Aware of her chaperone’s discomfort, the snickering of his horse as he shifted in the saddle, she pretended it was the wind making her eyes water and forced herself to cough. Using the kinder memories that came with the raised voices and tangy scents to give her strength, she managed to control the sadness, the terrible shame. After all, she couldn’t go back — in time or to St Andrew’s. She must go forward, forget what had been and gone, face the present and create a different future. A fresh start. Fitting it should happen on the eve of a new year.

She turned to the man on his mount beside her.

‘I thank you kindly for your troubles, Mr McDonald. I can find my own way from here. I’ll not be needing your —’ She’d been about to say company, but the man had scarce said a word the entire way and it wasn’t as if he’d chosen to come with her. He’d been ordered to travel to the coast — not so much to see her home safe, but ensure she never came back. ‘… protection any more.’

Mr McDonald grunted and tugged his cap. A gust tried to lift the plaid from his shoulders, but the brooch bearing the insignia of his laird kept it in place. ‘I told Master Kennocht I’d see you to your door, lassie, and that’s what I’ll do.’

With a heavy sigh, Sorcha dismounted and began to untie her belongings from the saddle.

‘Nae, Mr McDonald, that you won’t do.’ She pulled a lock of hair from her mouth and tucked the escaped tendril into her scarf before the wind could snatch it away again. ‘While I appreciate the sentiment behind your insistence, I cannot accept your offer.’ She took a deep breath. She’d nothing left to lose. Not any more. ‘I’ve no doubt the reasons for my homecoming will follow me whether I wish them to or not. Even so, I would rather be on my own to greet them when they do and introduce them to those I call kith and kin my way.’

Mr McDonald’s thick grey eyebrows beetled. He opened his mouth to say something, but Sorcha, closing the distance between them, continued before he could.

‘Forgive my bluntness, but the last thing I need is for an unfamiliar man to ride through there —’ she indicated the harbourfront with a push of her chin, ‘past those I’ve known my entire life, whether you promised my brother-in-law and his wife, or not. You’ll be doing me no favours and the protection you offer will have been for naught once the gossips start their clecking and finger-pointing, do you understand?’

Mr McDonald peered down at the harbour, then back at Sorcha, his eyes becoming mere slits. Rain began to fall; light, fast drops that beat a tattoo upon the grass and rocks.