Appalled that her tongue had run away with her and she could speak to him using such language, her face coloured. It didn’t help that what she said was true. Kennocht and so many other men of her acquaintance were living proof — men who were ruled by their cocks. Her hands curled into fists by her side.

Aware the owners of the cottage and their servants were likely listening, she lowered her voice. ‘How will Bel manage? The man should have been made to own his mistakes.’

She waited.

‘One cannot force a person to own anything, madam,’ said Captain Ross dryly. ‘Much less what you consider a mistake. It’s hard to credit now, but Miss Courie and the bairn will be much better off without Corporal Varner and the kind of support he might offer. We all will be.’ He regarded her with such kindness, she found her rage hard to maintain. Anyway, it wasn’t him she was mad at so much as mankind. If she was honest, Bel wasn’t exactly innocent in all this, it was her wee bairn who would suffer, and that infuriated Sorcha.

Without a word of farewell, she’d stormed off up the street, ignoring those who hailed her, almost knocking over Widow Adams as she barged past the costermonger.

Later that evening she learned from Nettie that the captain had arranged for some of the corporal’s pay to be set aside for Bel. She also discovered from Janet, who heard it in the tavern, that while Corporal Varner may have been married, Bel wasn’t the first lass he’d left with a bairn.

Well, thought Sorcha, I hope she’s his last.

Now she owed Captain Ross an apology for her behaviour. What right did she have to ask him for aid, then to rebuke him when he rendered it? She’d no reason to expect anything of the man, and yet she did. Apologising might be the correct thing to do, but was it wise? Given there was already talk in the village about her and the captain, to seek out his company again would only fuel further gossip.

Sorcha pushed thoughts of him from her mind, and instead she focussed on the silhouettes of the larger ships dotting the coast, returned at last and bringing with them goods from distant shores and, just as important, news.

Out on the water, smaller boats from the Weem, Anster and beyond surged against the currents, the men on the oars until they could raise a sail. She regarded them for a moment, admiring how they came together like dancers in a reel, marvelling at their united purpose to achieve a common goal. Why couldn’t people always be like that?