‘Have you any sons, yourself ?’ she asked, attempting to speak lightly so that it would seem his answer did not matter.

He looked sideways at her. ‘No, I have no sons. Nor daughters either. Or at least no lass has yet presented me with such a claim. And I’d think my mother would prefer it were I married first, afore I brought new bairns into the family.’

‘Oh,’ Sophia said, because she could not think of any other thing to say.

She felt him watching her, and though he had not altered his expression she could sense he was amused by her confusion, so she turned their talk along a different course.

She asked, ‘And do you live at Court?’

‘At Saint-Germain? Faith, no,’ he said. ‘’Tis not a place for such as me. I find my lodgings where the King of France sees fit to send my regiment, and am content with that, although I do admit that when, from time to time, I am called back to Saint-Germain, I find King Jamie’s court a grand diversion.’

She had heard much of the young King James—the ‘Bonny Blackbird’, so they called him, for his dark and handsome looks—and of his younger sister, the Princess Louise Marie, and of the grandeur and gay parties of their exiled court in France, but she had never had occasion to meet someone who had been there, and she longed to know the details. ‘Is it true the king and princess dance all night and hunt all morning?’

‘And make promenades all afternoon?’ His eyes were gently mocking. ‘Aye, I’ve heard it rumored, too, and it is true they both are young and on occasion have a mind to take such pleasure as they can, and who can blame them, after all that they have lived through. But the duller truth be told, the princess is a lass of charming sensibility, who does comport herself in all ways modestly, and young King Jamie spends his hours attending to his business matters, foreign and domestic, with the diligence that does befit a king. Although,’ he added, so as not to disappoint her, ‘I recall that Twelfth Night last, there was a ball held at Versailles at which King Jamie and the princess danced past midnight, and at four o’clock were dancing still, the princess all in yellow velvet set with jewels, and diamonds in her bonny hair, and some two thousand candles burning round the hall to give the dancers light. And when the ball was over and the king and princess came out in the torchlight of the Cour de Marbre, the Swiss Guard of the French king did salute them to their carriage, and they drove back home to Saint-Germain surrounded by a company of riders, richly dressed, and with the white plume of the Stewarts in their hats.’

Sophia sighed and briefly closed her eyes, imagining the picture. It was so removed from all that she had known, and so romantic. How incredible it all would be, she thought, to have the king at home again. The first King James had fled to exile in the year Sophia had been born, and in her lifetime there had been no King of Scots upon the ancient throne in Edinburgh. But she had listened, raptured, to her elders, as they reminisced about the days when Scotland’s destiny had been its own to manage. ‘Will he truly come?’ she asked.

‘Aye, lass. He’ll come, and set his foot on Scottish soil,’ said Moray. ‘And ’tis my resolve to see the effort does not cost his life.’

She would have asked him more about the court at Saint-Germain, but Moray’s gaze had swung away and out to sea, and suddenly he pulled upon the gelding’s reins and brought him to a standstill.

Stopping too, Sophia asked, ‘What is it?’

But whatever it was that John Moray had seen, I decided, would just have to wait until later. With reluctance I depressed the keys to save my work, and switched off my computer.

I was nearly late for lunch.

CHAPTER 11

ANGUS SET UP AN alarm at my first knock, and went on barking steadily till someone came to answer. Jimmy held the door wide with a smile of welcome. ‘Aye-aye, quine. Come in, and dinna fash yersel aboot the dog, it’s only Angus. He’ll nae bite. Here, gie us yer coat and umbrella, I’ll hang them tae dry.’

It was good to step in from the grey mist and rain to the warmth of the bright narrow hall with its yellowing wallpaper. Today the smells of cooking were not lingering, but fresh and strong. He’d kept his promise, so it seemed, to do a roast of beef, and the richly brown aroma of it met me where I stood, reminding me that I’d been so absorbed in writing that I had forgotten to eat breakfast, and was starving.

Angus, seeing it was me, had stopped his barking and came forward now, tail wagging, to nose round my legs in search of some attention. I bent down to scratch his ears and said, ‘Hi, Angus.’ Then I caught myself, and ran the conversation back a few lines in my mind to reassure myself that Jimmy had made mention of the dog’s name. And he had, but I would have to be more careful, I thought, if I was supposed to be pretending that this was the first time I was meeting Graham.

‘Will ye have a bittie sherry?’ Jimmy offered. ‘My wife aye liked a wee bittie sherry afore Sunday lunch.’

‘Yes, please.’

Following him through into the sitting-room, I felt a clutching of anticipation at my ribcage, so I had to draw my breath in deeper, to prepare myself. It might not be the first time I was setting eyes on Graham, but it would be the first time that I’d seen him since he’d kissed me, and I found that I was nervous.

If I hadn’t been so occupied with writing last night, I’d have likely analyzed that kiss to death. I’d know today if he had meant it, or if he was having second thoughts about the change of course we had just made in our relationship.