Maggie had already walked into the small inn and Sheena stood for a while looking out over the grey sea. It was just fitting, she thought, that the sunshine should not be on it for it seemed to her that her whole life in the future would be grey and pointless.
‘I must work for Scotland,’ she told herself and wished that the flame of patriotism that had been there in the past could infuse some fire into her words.
She turned away and went into the inn. The innkeeper, bowing politely, met her in the passage.
“The sitting room reserved for you is at the end of the passage, mam’selle,” he said.
“Thank you.”
She had walked away from him before she remembered it might have been wise to ask him when there was a ship sailing and whether he knew if any reservations had been made for herself an
