I could not know his mind completely, but I knew that he distrusted Lily, and I gathered he was seeking to learn more about her life within this “house of ill repute,” as he so called it—not to help her, but to help discredit her.

And Henry Browne, God help him, was about to take the bait.

I couldn’t warn him, not in words. I’d promised Gilroy I would let him take the lead. Besides, there was a part of me that, having heard the start of Lily’s story, wished to have it now continued.

But the wind that struck the window glass and made it rattle as a coal fell in the fire seemed to set the mood, uneasily, as Henry looked down in the way men do when they’re remembering.

And in a voice that, for the first time, held no trace of anger, said, “She came to us the winter she turned ten.”

Chapter 15

Sunday, 7 February, 1686

There lay the ships upon the water, their reflections scattering beneath the waning moon, with lanterns hanging from their prows like shining beacons, and yet Lily could not see a way to reach them. She stood shivering upon the Shore of Leith while the sharp wind cut through her stockings and her shift beneath the thin folds of her plaid.

It was still dark. She did not know the hour, nor when it would be dawn. She only knew she had been walking a long time—at first with only fields around her, then with houses closing in, and streets, and following those she had found herself here, at the harbor’s edge, where she could see the means of her escape so near, yet out of reach.

Exhausted, Lily sank down on the cold stones of the Shore—the road that ran along the waterline. One light had broken off from all the others in the harbor and with dulled eyes she watched it draw nearer, focused on its swaying and the steady sound of splashing oars that soothed her toward sleep.

Then came the voices. A woman’s voice, gentle and kind. “It’s a lass.”

And a man. “Barbara—”

“Poor wee soul.”

“Captain said I was to see ye got safely home.”

“Then ye’d best carry her for me,” the woman replied, “for I’ll not leave her here.”

Lily could not tell if she was dreaming or awake and since her limbs were halfway frozen she did not resist when she felt herself being lifted.

When her eyes came open she was lying in a bed, and there was daylight coming through a little window close beside her, and across the room there was a woman seated at a table, neatly fixing pins into her hair before an oval looking glass.

The angle of the looking glass allowed a half view of the woman’s face, and Lily saw that she was beautiful. She had fine eyebrows and clear skin the color of fresh cream, and hair so deeply russet red it seemed to glow against the brown cloth of her gown. Her gaze met Lily’s in the glass. She smiled, and with the final curl arranged and pinned, she turned and stood and crossed to Lily’s bedside. “Ye’ve wakened. I am glad.” She smoothed the hair from Lily’s face and let her hand lie searchingly on Lily’s forehead as though feeling for the signs of fever. Finding none, she drew her hand back and said, “I am Barbara. What’s your name?”