Still the maid hovered. ‘I told him so, Mistress, but he seemed quite sure you’d be wanting to see him. He said he was kin.’

Sophia rolled over at that, for she could not think who…? ‘Did he give you his name?’

‘He did not.’

With a frown, she rose slowly and smoothed out her gown. As she went down the stairs she could hear someone moving around in the front room, the leisurely steps of a man wearing boots. Either he—or more likely the maid— had been careful to leave the door standing fully open to the entry hall, mindful of the fact that there was no one in the house to serve as chaperone, but because he had crossed to stand before the mantelpiece she did not see him until she had stepped into the room.

He had his back to her, head angled slightly while he took a close look at the paintings done in miniature that hung upon the wall, his stance and manner so like Moray’s that the memory tugged again a little painfully before Sophia caught herself and realized who it was. She gave a happy cry of recognition, and as Colonel Graeme turned she gave no thought to what was proper, only rushed across the room into his hard embrace.

There was no need to say the words, to speak aloud of sorrow or of sympathy. It passed between them anyway, in silence, as she pressed her face against his shoulder. ‘I did fear you had been killed,’ she whispered.

‘Lass.’ The single word held roughness, as though he were deeply touched by her concern. ‘Did I not tell ye I would keep my head well down?’ He held her tightly for a moment, and then pushed her back so he could have a look at her. ‘The maid said ye were ill.’

Sophia looked back at the doorway, and the quiet maid still standing there, and knowing that whatever happened in this room would be told to the Kerrs, Sophia gathered her emotions into something like composure. ‘It is all right, you may go,’ she told the maid. ‘This is my uncle, come from Perthshire.’

With a nod, the maid retreated, and Sophia turned again to look at Colonel Graeme’s face, and found him smiling.

‘Neatly done,’ he said, ‘although ye might have thought to have her bring a dram for me afore she went. I’ve had no whisky yet the day, and it has been a long hard road from Perthshire.’

‘Did you really come from there?’

He shook his head. ‘I took passage over from Brest, lass, and sailed into Kirkcudbright harbor on Saturday last.’

‘You have been here a week?’ She could scarcely believe it.

‘I’d have come to see ye sooner, but I had a bout of sickness on board ship, and it was lingering, and I’d no wish to pass it on to you. And anyway, it’s been the devil’s task to get ye on your own. I thought it an uncommon bit of luck to see the others trooping off to kirk without ye, so I told myself ’twas time I paid a call.’

She could not fully take it in, that he was truly here. She sat, and motioned him to do the same, and said, ‘I had a letter from the countess not three days ago, and she did make no mention of your coming.’

‘Aye, well,’ he said, and took a chair close by, ‘she likely was not told. Few people ken I am in Scotland.’

‘But how then did you know I was not at Slains, but in Kirkcudbright?’

He spoke low, as she had spoken, in a voice not meant to leave the room. ‘’Twas not the countess, lass, who telt me where to find ye. ’Twas the queen herself, at Saint-Germain.’

‘The queen?’ She shook her head, confused. ‘But—’

‘It would seem a wee bird once did sing to her that you were John’s own lass, and since he’d always had her favor she did take a special interest in your welfare. She brought you to Kirkcudbright.’

‘No.’ It sounded too incredible. ‘The Duchess of Gordon did find me this place.’

‘Aye. And who has the ear of the Duchess of Gordon?’ He eyed her with patience. ‘When you set your mind to leaving Slains, the countess wrote her brother and her brother telt the queen, and it was she who asked the duchess if she’d find a home to suit ye here.’ He watched while she absorbed this, then went on, ‘So when the word got round the king had plans to send me here as well, the queen was quick to tell me where ye were.’

She felt at sea again. ‘The king has sent you here?’

‘Oh aye.’ He settled back at that, although he did not raise his voice. ‘By his own order.’

‘To what purpose?’

‘I am here to guard a spy.’

‘A spy.’ She did not like the word. ‘Like Captain Ogilvie?’

‘No, lass. This man does risk himself for our own cause and has a right to my protection, and a need of it besides, for even though the Presbyterians do claim to take King Jamie’s part, they would not think so kindly of a fellow Presbyterian who now has turned a Jacobite and seeks to move among them as a spy.’

Sophia thought of the expression in the elder Mrs Kerr’s eyes when she’d spoken of King James, and knew that many others here were of a like mind. ‘So you are sent to keep him safe?’

‘Aye, for the time that he is here, afore he goes across to Ireland, to Ulster, for ’tis there King Jamie wishes to have eyes and ears and voices that can turn men to his cause. I’ll not be needed there. But we must wait awhile afore he makes the crossing, for the sickness that did strike me on the ship from France did strike him harder, and he’s not yet well enough to travel.’