‘Food order’s in,’ Chrissy said on her return from the bar. She set down two large glasses of white wine and handed Rhona a key. ‘Jamie is still out with the MRT. It sounds like he’ll be late back.’

Rhona relaxed at the news, realizing she could eat, then head back to Jamie’s for a hot bath, and if Jamie was out with the rescuers, she wouldn’t have to discuss where she’d been again tonight.

Jamie’s, unlike the cottage, had central heating as well as an open fire, and Rhona was met with warmth at the front door. Taking off her muddy boots, she immediately headed upstairs to run a longed-for bath. The shower would have been quicker, but her aching muscles demanded immersion.

Before stepping into the water, Rhona selected one of the array of bath oils on display, deciding they definitely hadn’t all been brought here by Jamie’s sister.

Soaking in the scented water, with flurries of snow melting against the dormer window above, Rhona thought of Seven somewhere on the soggy bog marsh that constituted most of the area around the flat-topped Healabhal Bheag. Being out in the open tonight would certainly be a test of endurance.

But that’s not why she went there.

If it had been, she would have gone prepared for the conditions.

The girl’s manner, her nervousness, didn’t speak to Rhona of soldiering bravado. It reminded her too much of herself for that.

Sliding down to lay her head against the rim, she raised her hands above the water and examined her knuckles. Bruising always got worse before it got better, she reminded herself, recalling the state of her body when she’d come here to Skye.

The bruising had gone from her torso, yet to her eye it still lingered below the surface of the skin. Just the way it loitered in her mind, bubbling up at times, to explode in a fierce anger, which even she couldn’t pacify.

Those mementos in the bag weren’t there to remind Seven of something good that had happened. They were harsh, stinging memories. Perhaps imprisoning them in the drawstring bag rather than in her mind was Seven’s answer to the problem.

Her mobile rang as she climbed out of the bath. It was McNab’s name on the screen. When she didn’t answer, the call ended and a message pinged in seconds later.

I have news. Call me.

Dressed now, the fire lit, and having helped herself to a measure from Jamie’s whisky bottle, Rhona did as asked.

‘Why’d you take so long?’ McNab said on picking up.

The tone of his voice warned Rhona that he had probably been drinking. It was an edge she hadn’t heard in a while, and it unnerved her.

‘What is it?’ she said tersely.