As the evening wore on, they barely ceased talking, determined to fill Sorcha in on what had been happening in her absence. There’d been two marriages, a few births and deaths, and a couple of drownings at sea — the Morrison lad and a man from Anster Easter. Hesitant at first to tell her, it was only when Sorcha insisted that they revealed the sad tidings. Three families had left Pittenweem to try and improve their fortunes in Edinburgh and another had arrived from St Monan’s. Though, as Nicolas noted wryly, how that family expected to fare better in the Weem than a neighbouring village a mere walk away, she couldn’t fathom. The catch had, overall, been poor, even for the ships that had left the Forth and sailed north. Not even the salt pan was as productive as it had once been. If it wasn’t for another coal mine opening nearby and a maltster setting up operations, there’d be more families relying on the parish for sustenance. As it was, men were being lured away from fishing to other occupations, including soldiering. Things were fairly dire.

Talk of soldiers turned the conversation to war and the men who’d taken up arms for the Queen, including the trio who’d accosted them earlier. Sorcha began to think of her brother Robbie again, praying that, against all odds, he was alive. Though how he could be after so many years locked up in a prison in a foreign land, she knew not. Best not to dwell on him either.

The conversation shifted to the recruits billeted in town, the women reassuring Sorcha they weren’t all like Privates Donall and Dyson or the sneering Englishman.

Finally, Sorcha was able to raise the question she’d been longing to ask. ‘Tell me about that dragoon, Captain… What was his name again?’ she asked, fooling no one.

‘Bonnie?’ teased Nettie with a leery grin.

‘Was he? I barely noticed.’ Sorcha laughed. ‘Aye, him. Why’s he riding about town with a drawn sword? And who’s the burly sergeant? I confess, they made me start when they first appeared. I wasn’t sure whether they’d come to help us or the soldiers.’

‘The captain’s sworn to protect us poor Weem women.’ Nettie swooned in her chair.

‘Aye, and the fine sergeant too,’ added Beatrix with a salty wink.

‘From what?’ asked Sorcha. If Weem women need protecting then more had changed since she’d left than she first thought.

‘From their men,’ said Nettie dryly.

‘Not their men, exactly,’ countered Nicolas. ‘Captain Ross replaced the former captain, remember him? Captain Douglas? Under whose command a woman was raped. His sergeant was transferred too and Captain Ross and Sergeant Thatcher came in their place.’

Sorcha sat up. ‘I remember the rape. Captain Douglas said his men had nothing to do with it.’