In the course of infrequent letters, written more out of a sense of duty than desire, over time Sorcha had begun to recast their relationship in a kinder light, remembering the moments when they’d behaved like normal sisters, not jealous enemies. She was even able to forgive Dagny’s absence from their mor’s burial, accepting her excuse that it was too hard to leave her children. That was why, after Andy and Davan died, when Dagny’s plea to help with the bairns when the new one was due arrived, Sorcha accepted. She wanted to believe her sister when she wrote that not only would Sorcha’s presence be a boon with a newborn, growing bairns and household tasks to manage, but it would be a chance for her to heal a sorrowful heart, put behind her the deaths of her husband and son and for the sisters to start afresh as well. For all Sorcha was frustrated by Dagny and failed to understand her, she loved her. She really did.

Nettie had warned her about going; so had other friends, especially wise old Janet Cornfoot. They knew Dagny and the spite that ran in her veins; how it boiled in Sorcha’s presence. But caught up in the romance of a reconciliation and a desire to help while mending the rent in their relationship, and to see if leaving the Weem would allow her to repair herself, Sorcha went.

Turned out Nettie and Janet were right and Dagny’s overtures of sisterly affection were short-lived. Not that Sorcha could blame her sister, after the way she had behaved with Kennocht.

She resumed her seat, filled with shame and regret at what she’d done, and refilled Nettie’s quaich.

‘As it was, I told Kennocht never to come near me again or I would tell Dagny what he was up to.’

Nettie grunted. ‘And what did he say?’

Sorcha took a swig, coughing as it bit the back of her throat. ‘First of all, he tried to persuade me with words. You know — how he’d always fancied me, said we’d be good together if it wasn’t for his wife and bairns (as if they were ill-fitting clothes he’d discard). How he knew I wanted him — the daft beast! I put him straight and told him I no more wanted him than I did the horse in the next stall who, I might add, was paying us a mite more attention than a mere animal should.’

Nettie chuckled. ‘That would have hurt his pride. Especially if it were a stallion you were comparing him to. No man’s tossel can compete with a stallion’s.’

Sorcha snorted. ‘Maybe that was the mistake I made. ’Twas indeed a stallion.’ Her laughter ceased as quickly as it began. ‘Anyhow, he did something I didn’t expect.’

Nettie waited.

‘He told Dagny.’

This time it was Nettie’s turn to choke. ‘He did what?’