She nodded. ‘Fortunately for you, he is visiting relatives in Aberfeldy but he’ll be back tomorrow to take the mail up the track. He always seems to know when the mail comes in.’ She looked around the little room. ‘It’s not much, but it’s clean and dry.’

The bed seemed little more than a narrow cot but the linen carried the scent of sun and soap and the smell of fresh hewn wood filled the room. Caleb looked up into the shadows at the rough bark of a roof rising above him. He had certainly known much worse.

He sat up with a start. ‘Where’s my box?’

The woman glanced at a corner of the room. ‘Over there. Burrell brought it across from the coach.’

‘My revolver?’

‘Safe. I secured it in your box, Mr Hunt’

The familiar waves of panic started to wash over him. ‘It’s locked. How did you …?’

Her lips curved in a small, tight smile. ‘But you wear the key around your neck. We had to open it. This is a house of women, Mr Hunt. We are not possessed of a man’s night attire.’

Caleb plucked at the frayed cuff of his nightshirt. He had no memory of these women stripping him or any idea how they got him from the kitchen to the hut.

Again, she answered his thoughts. ‘Fortunately Amos Burrell was able to assist us in seeing you settled.’

He touched his chest and found the key hung once more from the string around his neck.

She cleared her throat. ‘I have to thank you for what you did today. Danny is my only son and he could have been killed.’ She paused. ‘You could have been killed.’

‘It takes a lot to kill me, ma’am, and trust me, plenty have tried.’

‘I saw the scars, Mr Hunt. I suppose they are the legacy of that terrible war?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Dr Bowen seems to think you will heal without any lasting damage. You were lucky.’ She took an audible breath. ‘How is the leg?’

‘In truth, ma’am, it hurts like the very devil.’

‘I’m afraid I have no more laudanum to offer you and we are limited in what we can do. Netty made a mash of parsley, which she says is highly efficacious in the reduction of bruising. The doctor will be back in the morning.’

‘Parsley mash?’ That explained the strange vegetable smell in the room. It made him think of the fish his mother used to produce for Friday dinners, lathered in a parsley sauce. The memory provoked a chuckle.

‘I fail to see the humour,’ Mrs Greaves said.

Caleb shook his head. It was not something he had any wish to explain. Now he just wanted to sleep. ‘Thank you for your concern and kindness, Mrs Greaves, but I have kept you from your own bed long enough.’