Forced to dismount, she began to walk towards the dark walls, the men remaining on horseback either side of her, their pikes held high. The scent of the ocean washed over her. Inhaling deeply, she allowed the brackish air to fill her lungs, remind her of simpler times when all she worried about was getting the men to their boats dry, baiting lines, laughing, blethering and arguing with the fishwives as they waited for the catch to come to shore. The air was tinged with smoke, fetid water from puddles and the metallic smell that presaged snowfall; she relished it all and yet… The white rooftops and bleached walls of the cottages with their hollow windows like accusing eyes tormented her. Were people watching? What were they thinking? What was going to happen?

Unaware she’d stopped walking until Gerard prodded her hard in the back, causing her to cry out, she reluctantly put one foot in front of the other. For the first time since they left Leuchars, she became aware of how sore she still was. How much her whole body hurt. Ached from within. This was not physical; this pain rose from her soul and was devouring her breath by breath.

Determined not to let the lads see she was spooked, she lifted her chin and continued.

It was only as she entered the walls that she saw them: Sorcha, Nettie and Nicolas racing up the lane. Janet’s eyes widened and her mouth broke into a grin.

‘Janet!’ cried Sorcha and, blithely ignoring Gerard’s warning, flew into her arms, followed by Nettie and Nicolas.

Janet sank into their embrace, knowing she’d reached, if not a safe harbour, at least a friendly one.

‘What are you doing here, lasses?’ Janet shouldered the women away and drank in their faces. ‘You should be at home by a fire keeping warm.’

‘So should you, Janet,’ said Sorcha, looking accusingly at the Stuart lads. They pretended not to notice. ‘Why, you’re freezing.’ Sorcha removed her shawl and went to wrap it around Janet. Nettie and Nicolas started to do the same.

Janet shook her head. ‘Nae, lasses. Save them for yourselves, I’ll not take them.’

Instead of arguing, Sorcha quickly explained that Isobel had tried to be there too, but halfway to the gate, her father had appeared and forced her to go home. What she didn’t say was how afeared he was for Isobel’s safety.

Janet nodded approval at Mr Adam’s decision. She turned to her guards. ‘Where are you taking me, lads?’

‘The Tolbooth,’ said Gerard Stuart, swinging a leg over his horse and dropping to the ground.

‘To the reverend,’ said Angus simultaneously as he also dismounted.

Sorcha and Nettie exchanged a look.

‘Och, then, lads,’ said Janet. ‘You can let an auld woman fetch a shawl to keep her warm, can’t you? My house is just down there.’ She pointed at the nearby wynd.