Here in Scotland, it fell to a Graham, as always—the bold Laird of Claverhouse, Viscount Dundee—to gather an army and take to the Highlands and, under the standard of King James, return the fight.

Every day it seemed the streets of Leith were filled with still more soldiers, mustering and heading north, or filing onto ships that waited for a wind to carry them to Ireland and war.

The Edinburgh town guard, too full of men who had been loyal to King James, was now disbanded, by the townspeople’s demand.

Lily knew not what Corporal Morison and Jean would do now, but she thought that Captain Graeme, when he could, would do as his own father had before him—take his sword and follow the king’s standard to the Highlands.

Feeling sure of this, she stayed alert for any mention of the fighting in the north, and she listened always for the captain’s name.

But she did not expect to hear it on the day that Barbara’s sister came to call.

Barbara had a wide-flung family full of cousins whom she sometimes mentioned, but in all the three years that had passed since Lily came to Leith, this was the first time Lily had met Barbara’s sister Margaret.

Margaret blew into the house one windy afternoon toward the end of May, her red hair bright and lovely in disorder. She had laughing eyes and lively ways, a gown the shade of sunshine, and she was so great with child that Archie swore.

“Take care how hard ye laugh,” he warned her, “else ye’ll drop that in my house.”

“Dear Archie,” Margaret said, and settled in the nearest chair, “that’s what I do intend. I’ve been tossed out of my lodgings.”

Archie’s eyes narrowed. “And ye think to hide here, is that it? Are ye being searched for?”

“They would have me name the father.”

“Aye, the church is curious, like that,” he told her in a dry tone. “They’re judgmental when it comes to fornication.”

“Even you,” she said, “can’t wish to see me sent to prison.”

“No. But I’d not weep to see you in the place of penitence.”

That was unkind.

It was a shameful punishment within the church when people had to stand or sit upon the wooden stool of penitence in front of the whole congregation while the minister rebuked them for their grievous sins.

But Margaret Malcolm looked at Archie calmly. “I have faith that ye’ll arrange it so that I’m in fear of neither.”

Archie tipped his head to one side. “Aye. But it will cost ye.”

“I can pay.”

“The father’s weighted down with silver, is he?”

Margaret, full of life and mischief in her golden gown, said, “Aye. ’Tis Patrick Graeme of Inchbrakie.”

Lily had stood quietly aside through all of this, but she was thirteen now—less shy of speaking. She said, “That’s a lie. He’d aye be faithful to his wife.”

All heads within the room turned round to look at her.