It was evening when the little car chugged into Campbeltown, and pulled up in front of the Royal Hotel. Fiona was tired; it had been a wonderful day, a memorable day - but a long and taxing day. She let Andrew hand her down, and, remembering to be on her most correct behaviour, accompanied him at the correct distance into the hotel. She was known here; her reputation mattered here. She made appropriate small talk as Andrew registered, but was relieved when a maid came to show her to her room. It was on the second floor, and not large, but comfortably furnished. The maid showed her where the bathroom was, at the end of the hall, warned her that the water could be quite hot, and left her.
Alone, Fiona cast off her clothes, and examined herself. The mirror showed no scratches or bruises on her face, although there was considerable road dirt. She ran warm water into the basin in her room, and, taking her a wash-cloth from her bag, washed first her face, and then, sadly, her groin. She unbraided her hair and brushed it out carefully. She had brought one light petticoat and one blue tea gown, high of collar and long of sleeve, plain save for a white lace collar. It was old, but it was extremely respectable, which she wanted for this evening; but at the same time light and comfortable to wear.
She'd also brought stockings, suspenders, french knickers and even a light corset. She looked at these things now with amused revulsion. Why on earth had she brought them? Well, because they were expected, of course. But she flushed at the thought that Andrew should even know she'd brought them. Then she smiled at her own contradictory thoughts, and started, still naked, to braid up her hair.
And stopped herself, and realised she'd never done this before.
Somehow, today, it seemed natural to be naked. She had better control herself, lest she go back downstairs unclad! Smiling happily, she finished the braid, coiled it into a bun, netted and pinned it; and only then slipped into the petticoat and then the dress. She glanced at her wrist watch; it was five minutes past seven, so she was only a trifle late.
Downstairs she found Andrew still dressed in the same clothes - he had, she realised, since the fire, no others, but in Argyle tweeds and brogues are always respectable enough - talking with a black-besuited minister. Suppressing a shudder, she walked across to them.
"Ah, Miss Campbell," said Andrew, smoothly, "how good of you to join me. Are you aquainted with the Reverend MacPherson?"
"I have that honour," she said, bowing slightly to the minister. "Do you dine here?"
"Indeed I do," said the minister. "Should you care to join me?"
A knot of panic tightened in Fiona's stomach. Andrew, please...
"Miss Campbell and I are travelling together," said Andrew, still smooth, "since she had business to transact here in the town, and I should have been driving down in any case. But we should be most grateful if you should join us?"
The panic eased only slightly. Of course, the man accepted.
-----
They were seated. A waitress took their orders, and shortly served cullen skink -- a fish soup traditional in Scotland -- which they had each ordered as their entrée.
"Gracious God, we have sinned against Thee, and are unworthy of Thy mercy," intoned the minister. "Pardon our sins, and bless these mercies for our use, and help us to eat and drink to Thy glory, for Christ's sake. Amen."
Fiona and Andrew waited until he had finished, and muttered "amen" politely, before taking up their spoons.
"You'll be some sort of cousin of Hugh O'Doherty of Crossconnel, will you not, Miss Fiona?"
Fiona glanced at the minister warily, and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin.
"You must know that I am. And not of 'some sort', but first cousins; his mother and mine are sisters."
"But they do not share a father."
"I see you are well informed. No, indeed, my grandmother Carrol's first husband died in the fighting in the Gold Coast, in 1874."
"And your mother was born a papist."
"She was born into the church of her parents," said Fiona, "as I imagine you were. We do not choose the faith into which we are born. In any case, she converted to the protestant faith when she married my father."
"The Lord God, who knows our hearts and sins and fates from the hour of our birth, who knows well His chosen, chooses the faiths we are born into," said the minister, with menace rumbling in his tone. "He does not assign His chosen to the church of the antichrist. The walls of Babylon are fallen, cast down by His almighty power as the Emperor of the Germans has so recently been, but its whores live on."
"Forgive me, Reverend McPherson," said Andrew, "this hardly seems a conversation for a gently reared maiden."
The minister cast him a sharp glance. "Is that what you imagine her, aye?"
"Sir," said Andrew, firmly, "this is the lady who will, I hope, shortly become my wife."
The minister's eye looked skeptical. "Is she, indeed?"
But he said no more for the present, and ate his soup. Fiona looked at Andrew, gratefully.
The waitress returned, and removed their bowls; and shortly after, served their main courses.
"You're a naval man, Commander Smith?" asked the minister.
"I have that honour," said Andrew.
"And as an officer of the King's navy, what's your opinion of men who take arms to the Irish rebels, in private yachts?"
"If it happens, I deplore it. We have had enough of killing; it is time, I believe, for us all to beat our swords into ploughshares. But have you evidence that it does happen?"
"I shall have," the minister replied. "Many of the fishermen who sail these waters are good, loyal communicants of my church, who know their duty to God and to the King. Bad things might happen to yachts which happened to have arms aboard them, if their owners were not well trusted folk."
"I would hope that any private vessel smuggling arms into Ireland would be reported, and stopped, in these uncertain times."
"The loyal protestant people of Ulster will never surrender their arms!"
"After these last four years," said Andrew, coolly, "surely we have had enough of killing. The future of Ireland must be in the hands of the people of Ireland. The general election is overdue; it must surely be called within the year. And then His Majesty's Government must surely, in honour, honour the result."
"Never!" declaimed the minister. "Never! Almighty God will not allow Ireland to fall to the papist heretics."
"If almighty God will not allow it," said Andrew, even more coolly, "then we can be certain that it won't happen. Do you lack faith in His power, Reverend MacPherson, or in His judgement?"
The rest of the meal was eaten in silence.
-----
The door opened quietly, and Fiona, in her nightgown, slipped in, a candle in her hand. Andrew seized her, and crushed her against him, closing the door silently and twisting the key in the lock. He was still fully dressed.
"That was pretty horrible, wasn't it?" he whispered.
Her face crushed into her shoulder, she nodded.
