Captain Ross smiled at her. ‘You were forgiven before you’d even finished, lass. You were right to be mad — at me. Corporal Varner was my responsibility and I should have watched him more closely.’

‘Aye, well, Bel Courie should have thought twice before bedding an incomer, a soldier as well.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s the bairn I really feel for… And now there’s this —’ She nodded in the direction of Routine Row.

They both stared up the street. The glow from the candlelight vigil outside the Morton house could just be seen, a faint aura above the rooftops.

‘I saw you coming away from there and wondered if you knew what was going on,’ said the captain. ‘The villagers in the tavern are full of talk. Something about the Morton lad and an evil charm.’

Sorcha sighed. ‘Aye, well, I think it’s a bit more complicated than that.’

‘It usually is. Here,’ said the captain. ‘Let me take that.’

Before she could protest, he lifted the creel, helping her with the straps that sat across her shoulders. Free of the weight, Sorcha rolled her neck. ‘Thank you. It’s heavier now than it was a few hours ago, but I think that’s because there’s now a greater weight in here.’ She touched her heart.

Captain Ross followed the direction of her hand then quickly looked away.

Embarrassed lest he think she tried to draw his gaze deliberately, Sorcha began to walk again. The captain fell into step beside her. Whereas Peter Morton had been of a height, the captain was much taller. She was aware of his broad form, a wall between her and the darkness beyond. When she didn’t immediately talk, he touched her gently on the shoulder. ‘You know, Mrs McIntyre, I find a burden shared is one halved. I’d be honoured to help lighten what you evidently carry.’ When she didn’t reply, he bent his head. ‘A complication can oft be made simple once described.’

Wanting to explain what had happened, even if only to herself, she quickly filled him in on Peter’s fit, omitting the part about what she knew the bucket contained and who she strongly suspected had put it there. She told him what the villagers were already saying, the conclusions they were leaping to. He listened without interrupting.

When she finished, he nodded gravely. ‘And do you think there is a charm involved?’ he asked.

Sorcha forced a smile. ‘I don’t really believe in such things.’

‘If that’s so, then why are you so worried? Why do you fear a complication? Surely there’ll be others see it as you do?’