Thank the good Lord that Aidan understood her need to remain. It had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done, telling him she couldn’t go to Skye. She owed him that — her honesty, her heart as it really was, not as he wished it might be. It was what she had never had the courage to give to Andy and she wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Likewise, he’d told her true as well — everything, from what had happened in Bavaria, how he’d found Robbie, to his need to return to Skye.

It hadn’t been easy to track down Robbie in France. Taken prisoner during the first year of fighting, he’d been moved about the countryside. French records were poorly kept and trading prisoners was virtually unheard of. So many died in the squalid conditions of the gaols. Robbie believed if he remained, he would meet the same fate, either dying from dysentery or some other disease, or being killed to quell potential riots among the prisoners and stoke fear and obedience. So he and three other prisoners had escaped.

They fled into the countryside. Two of the soldiers were killed, the third recaptured. Only Robbie found freedom. He sought shelter in a monastery and remained there for over three years, virtually becoming one of the monks.

‘I knew I couldn’t worship God their way, but I discovered, much to my surprise, I did want to devote my life to Him. He saved me and so many others, and I felt I owed it to Him to dedicate myself to His service. I’d had enough of killing, I wanted to think about living instead. Living a good and worthy life, helping others to do the same.’

While Sorcha didn’t feel the devotion to God her brother did, she understood the sentiment. How different he was to his predecessor.

‘I left the monastery and rejoined the duke’s forces in Moselle as their minister. It was there I met Aidan.’

Aidan had taken the story up after that. Falling ill after the capture of Landau, Aidan, along with the other sick and wounded, were moved to a field hospital in Trier. Asked to administer last rites, Robbie had found a group of men who, far from dying, were healing well. He discovered not only that Aidan was Scottish but that his last posting had been Pittenweem.

‘Imagine that,’ said Robbie smiling at Aidan. If there was another joy Sorcha had derived from Robbie’s return, it was the close friendship that had developed between her brother and the man she loved. ‘Not only did he know Pittenweem, but my little sister as well.’

Sorcha had the grace to blush. Robbie might not have meant ‘know’ in the biblical sense, but the smirk on Aidan’s face didn’t help.