Jean said, “There will be more danger when the rebellion is ended, I promise ye that, for there’s nothing so dark as a heart that’s lost hope.”

She sank heavily into her chair by the hearth as she said that, and fell silent for a while. Then Corporal Morison sat, too, in the tall, rush-backed chair across from her, and reached to take her hand into his own.

Lily’s eyes stung because he was sitting in her father’s chair, and that was a hard thing to see, so she looked down, and her kitten climbed into her lap and demanded attention, as though understanding.

The kitten had no name yet. Lily had not settled on a name that suited him, though Jean had made suggestions. He had grown a little, and his coat of black and white was filling in most handsomely, and when he caught a mouse he made a habit of presenting it to Jean, who now seemed nearly as attached to him as Lily.

Lily was then unprepared when, two weeks after Argyll’s execution, Jean announced they could no longer keep the kitten, but would have to find it a new home.

The tears came instantly. “Why?”

Jean had turned her back. Her voice was light, but her tone meant there was no room for argument. “Because we cannot live in this house any longer. And where we’ll be living, we are not allowed a cat.”

It was unfair. And Lily said as much. She said it with a breaking heart, and did not care if all the neighbors heard her.

“Aye,” said Jean, “it is unfair. But life will be that way, sometimes.” Jean turned, and Lily saw that there were tears in Jean’s eyes, too. “Have ye learnt so little of me that ye think I’d wish to hurt ye?” From beneath her skirts and apron, Jean reached deep into her pocket and drew out a scant handful of coins. “This is what I have left now, Lily. All that I have left, to keep a roof above our heads until the summer’s end. I’ll not ask Captain Graeme for a penny more, not after all he’s done for us. Nor will I ask Jack Morison to put himself in debt for us. I’ll find a way, I promise, but I cannot keep this house past Lammas Day, ye ken? Or all of this”—she held the coins out—“all of this is gone.” She turned away again, as though she could not bear to look at Lily’s face. “I’m sorry, Lily. I am doing all I can, but I do have four mouths to feed, and no silver to do it with, and aye, it is unfair.”

Lily thought long on this, afterward, and on the following morning she asked for the small, covered basket. “The one with the handle.”

Jean asked her, “And what are ye doing with that?”

Lily took a pair of stockings and arranged them in the bottom of the basket, for their softness. “For my kitten,” she explained. “When Jamie comes the day, I’ll take the kitten to another home, so ye’ll not have to worry anymore.”