Kirsty asked her, ‘Did ye ken he was a colonel in his own right? A lieutenant-colonel, in the French king’s service. Rory telt me.’

‘No, I did not know that.’ But she did know his first name, because the Earl of Erroll called him by it: John. She thought it suited him. A simple name, but strong: John Moray.

Now she added ‘Colonel’ to it, tried it in her mind, while Kirsty shot her one more disbelieving look and asked, ‘Why did ye say ye would not ride with him?’

‘I did not say I would not. I but told him I was occupied with other things this morning.’

Kirsty’s eyes danced. ‘Aye, ’tis fair important watching me pick mint.’

‘I have my needlework.’

‘And heaven kens the tides might stop their flow were ye to leave that for an hour.’ She paused, and waited for the next excuse, and when none came she said, ‘Now tell me why ye telt him that ye would not ride with him. The truth.’

Sophia thought of saying that she hadn’t thought the countess would approve, but that was not the reason either, and she doubted Kirsty would be fooled. ‘I do not know,’ she said. ‘He sometimes frightens me.’

That came as a surprise to Kirsty. ‘Has he been unkind?’

‘No, never. He has always been a gentleman towards me.’

‘Why then do ye fear him?’

Sophia could not answer that, could not explain that it was not the man himself she feared but the effect he had upon her; that when he was in the room she felt like everything inside of her was moving faster somehow, and she trembled as with fever. She said only, once again, ‘I do not know.’

‘Ye’ll never best your fears until ye face them,’ Kirsty told her. ‘So my mother always says.’ She’d found her mint and taken what she needed. Now she stood. ‘The next time Mr Moray asks,’ she said, and smiled more broadly, ‘ye might think to tell him yes.’

A week ago, Sophia would have followed her inside and spent a warm hour sitting chatting with the servants in the kitchen, but the protocol within the house had changed now that the Earl of Erroll had returned. Although the earl himself had never made a comment, it was plain that while he was in residence, the servants had resolved to run a tighter ship.

And so, when Kirsty left, Sophia stayed outside and wandered in the garden. Here at least there was fresh air and peace. The songbirds flitted round in busy motion, building nests within the shadowed crannies of the wall, and flowers danced among the grasses that blew softly by the pathways. The scents of sunwarmed earth and growing things were welcome to her senses, and she closed her eyes a moment, reaching back within her memory to the spring days of her childhood, and the fields that tumbled greenly down towards the River Dee…

A hand closed hard around her arm.

Her eyes flew open, startled, and she found the sharp face of the gardener close beside her own. She felt the sudden and instinctive crawl of fear that every animal must feel when in the presence of a predator. And then, because she would not show her fear to Billy Wick, she damped it down, but he had seen it and she knew it gave him pleasure.

‘Have a care,’ he said. His voice was not the scraping one that should have matched his face. It had a softer edge but to Sophia’s ears its tone was yet unpleasant, like the whisper of a snake. ‘Ye should keep both eyes open when ye’re walking in my garden.’

She kept her own voice calm. ‘I’ll mind that, Mr Wick.’

‘Aye, see ye do. I widna wish tae see ye come tae harm, a bonnie quinie like yerself.’ His dark eyes stripped her with a slow glance as he held her by the arm.

She pulled away, but he did not release her and she knew that if she struggled it would only please him more. So, standing still, she told him, ‘Let me go.’

‘Ye look a bit unsteady on yer feet,’ he said, and smiled. ‘I’d nae want ye tae fall. Leastwyes, that’s what I’ll tell her ladyship, if ye should have a mind tae speak against me. I’ve been here at Slains a wee while longer than yerself, my quine. Her ladyship puts value on my word.’ His other hand was reaching for her waist as he was speaking, and Sophia realized that, where they were standing, they were all but out of sight of anyone within the house. She felt the panic and revulsion rise like bile within her throat, and choke her words as she repeated, ‘Let me go.’

‘I dinna think I will, the now.’ The hand had reached her waist and clasped it, and begun a progress upwards. ‘I’d best be making certain ye’ve nae done yerself an injury.’

The footsteps on the pathway were a welcome interruption. In an instant Billy Wick had dropped his hands and moved away, so there was nothing untoward in the appearance of the scene that greeted Mr Moray when he came upon them. But he slowed his steps, and with a brief look at Sophia’s face, stopped walking altogether, as his eyes swung, cold and watchful, to the gardener.

‘Good morning, Mr Wick,’ he said, but leaving no time for the other man to make reply, he added, ‘I am sure this lady did not mean to keep ye from your work.’

The gardener scowled, but touched his cap respectfully and, picking up his tools from where he’d set them down beside the path, he slipped away as neatly as a viper in the grass.

Sophia’s shoulders sagged a little with relief. Feeling Moray’s eyes upon her once again, she waited for the questions, but they did not come. He only asked, ‘Is everything all right?’