Sorcha reached over and thumped Nettie’s back a few times. ‘Aye. He told my sister that I’d come upon him in the stables and begged him to take me. That I’d thrown myself at him like a moggy on heat. He said I claimed I’d been too long without a man.’

‘And she believed the arse?’

‘Of course she did. She feels and looks like a milch cow with babes hanging off her nugs and her body heavy, never mind she’s always wanted to believe the worst of me. Kennocht told me she’s too tired or waspish for bedding.’

‘What a prick.’

‘Aye, he had one of those. He may not have been a stallion, but it was a decent size all the same,’ said Sorcha. They burst into gales of laughter.

When it subsided and they replenished their half-drunk cups, Nettie shook her head. ‘And so ’twas Dagny sent you on your way.’

Sorcha took a deep shuddering breath. ‘And told me never to come back. That the devil could take me and I was as dead to her as our mor and da. As our Erik and Robbie.’ Sorcha paused for a beat. ‘She said a great deal more than that as well.’ She chewed her lip a few times. ‘Something tells me it’s what she intended to happen all along. Not her husband, but sending me away. For good.’

Nettie reached over and took Sorcha’s hand, squeezing it hard. ‘I for one am beyond happy you’re home, lass. It’s not been the same without you.’

Sorcha pulled a face. ‘From the welcome I received and what I’ve no doubt Reverend Cowper will say when he hears I’m back, never mind if he learns the why of it, it appears things are exactly the same.’

She thought of the soldiers, their violence, their need. What was it one of them had said about Andy? Weren’t he the one who drowned because his wife didn’t carry him to the boat?

Seems that was how she was to be remembered — as the widow responsible for her husband’s death.

Not surprising, really, since it was the reverend who first accused her. When he did, she could scarce believe what she was hearing. It was the way of the fishwives to carry their husbands to their boats when they were fishing inshore so they didn’t board with wet boots and legs and thus fall sick, but Sorcha hadn’t carried Andy on his last trip. He’d stridden through the waves to the craft himself. Having lost her last three bairns early in pregnancy, neither she nor Andy wanted to risk the one that now quickened in her belly. It had been Andy’s decision and Sorcha was grateful for it.