She’d taken a daily swim until the weather had got too cold even for her wetsuit. She’d climbed and walked, and walked and climbed, since Skye was a perfect place to do both.

In all this endeavour to forget, she’d enlisted the help of Jamie McColl, who had shared her teenage summers on the island. Jamie had stayed behind to run the family undertaker’s, while Rhona had gone to Glasgow University initially to study medicine, then switching to forensic science. A member of the local Mountain Rescue Team, Jamie also knew the hills better than anyone, so was the perfect guide when she required one.

He was also easy company and they never discussed his work or hers, or even why she’d forsaken it.

Throwing back the duvet, Rhona rose and, grabbing a jumper, went to check on the stove. Entering the sitting room, she found it still warm from the dying embers of the fire. Had she remembered to build it up with peat before falling into bed, the rest of the cottage would have been equally warm.

Used to gas central heating in her Glasgow flat, and the instantly available fire in the sitting room, her biggest adjustment in coming here had been how to stay continuously warm. Only now did she fully appreciate the work involved in doing that.

Rhona opened the stove and threw in some more wood, after which she headed for the kitchen. Filling the coffee machine, she then grabbed her coat, pulled on her boots, opened the back door and stepped outside. Despite having done this every morning since her arrival, the sight that met her never failed to fill her with wonder.

This was why she’d come here and this was what might save her.

In the darkness of despair, in the blackness of her incarceration, this was the image she’d tried to remember when she closed her eyes.

The tide was out, leaving glistening pools among the grey rocks. The Sound of Sleat was as calm as the sky above it. Something that didn’t happen very often. A blue sky belied the cold that sent a shiver through her body, although the distant peaks of the mainland told the truth, coated as they were in a white mantle.

Bathed by the warmth of the Gulf Stream, the west coast of Scotland experienced plenty of rain, but wasn’t renowned for snow cover. Winter climbers rarely visited Skye and the Cuillin to challenge themselves on snow or ice, but this winter had been different.

This winter had brought more snow and lower temperatures than usual, and, Rhona thought, made this part of Scotland even more beautiful for its presence. She stood breathing in both the scene and the sharp air, before the scent of the freshly brewed coffee beckoned.