“’Tis a grave mistake, this freedom of religion,” Archie said.

Walter, who had studiously copied the king’s declaration printed up at Edinburgh, summarized its plan. “The king believes the great divides in our religions these past years are wasting Scotland’s harvests, playing havoc with our country’s trade, and bringing us to ruin, turning all of us to vengeful, sniping folk who’d rather keep within our factions than live Christian lives or show our neighbors charity. He thinks by giving equal rights to all, he will bring peace.”

Archie dismissed this. “Presbyterians don’t want peace. ’Tis why they hold their greatest meetings in the fields, like nests of adders, and like adders ye may think they’ve slithered down into their hole and gone away, but mark my words, lad. They’ve been lying this whole time beneath our feet, and they’ll rise up to bite us when they can, and then we’ll feel their poison.” He spat, feelingly, upon the stones.

Barbara’s hand squeezed Lily’s. “Shall we go and see the ships?”

They often walked down to the Shore on afternoons after the service when the day was fair, the two of them alone, to watch the sails and smaller boats and to imagine where each cargo might be bound. As fond as Lily was of Archie and the lads, she liked it best to be with Barbara.

Walking through the Sheriff Brae they passed the small house where the Presbyterians had lately met—although their congregation had outgrown it and was moving to a larger one. Near the door a little group of people stood, from which an older woman broke away and followed after Barbara and Lily as they passed, and when they came out to the water’s edge the woman drew in closer.

“Mrs. Browne?”

Barbara turned.

The woman, grey of hair and feature, nervously went on, “I heard yer lad skelpt Sandy Fearne. I wanted to say thank ye. He…” Her pale eyes filled with sudden tears. “My husband was condemned to the plantations in the Caribbees two winters past, when he refused to swear allegiance to a Catholic king. And Sandy Fearne, he found the ship to carry him. They sent my husband off in shackles like a criminal.” The tears spilled over, and she wiped them angrily away. “Ye tell your lad he has my thanks.” She half turned, then turned back again and added, “And ye tell him I am sorry for his brother.”

Barbara blinked as though the sunlight hurt. “I will.”

Behind the older woman, a young man, perhaps her son, called out, “That’s enough. I telt ye not to talk to whores.”

The words stung.

Lily’s head went down to hide the redness that had started spreading on her cheeks. She tugged hard at Barbara’s hand. “Let’s go home.”

Barbara said, “It’s all right, they’re gone now. Let’s see the ships.”

“Please. I want to go home.”

Barbara looked at her closely, then bent low and, taking the edge of her apron, wiped Lily’s face. “Never let another person have such an effect on ye. Now, lift your chin. This will not be the first time ye will hear me called a whore. ’Tis what I am.” She said it simply, without shame, and there was stubbornness behind her gaze as she met Lily’s eyes.