Compared to St Fillan’s Cave, the room on the first floor of the Tolbooth was luxury. Not only was it filled with light, and the bed of straw more comfortable, but Janet had the blankets Sorcha had given her to keep warm. She also had the guards for company. Changing at least three times a day, she knew them all; had done since they were bairns suckling on their mothers’ breasts. Not that it made a difference. With the exception of guileless Camron, the Stuart brothers and that Wood lad would act as if she were one of the incomers — welcome only while she spent coin. If only she could…

At least here, in the Tolbooth, she knew what time of day it was as daylight, rain, snowfall or moonbeams were visible through the window. Fresh air, no matter how frigid, streamed in. She was fed, and didn’t want for water either. They even gave her a pail for washing some days. Best of all, she could look out and see the town, well, parts of it; it was almost like being amongst folk again. Almost. The High Street, a combination of brown sludge and pristine white depending on the time of day, was there to behold and, if she stuck her head out far enough, ignoring how the cold bit her paper-thin skin or the sleet behaved like the pricker’s needles, she could see all the way to the Mercat Cross one way and even catch a glimpse of the sea if she looked the other.