in a strand of the red wool and deftly working another row of neat stitches. When the front door opened she barely glanced up, expecting Braan to come bouncing in ahead of her father, the pair of them just down from the hill. But the next moment she had jumped to her feet, knitting thrown aside, and flung her arms around the young man in his blue and white naval uniform who stood in the kitchen doorway.
‘Ruaridh!’ she cried. ‘Oh, we hoped you’d be on one of those ships. Dad will be so pleased.’
Her brother grinned, picking her up and swinging her around until she couldn’t tell whether she was giddy with the whirling or with the joy of seeing him. Setting her back on her feet, he reached to give Mairi a hug, too. ‘Glad to see you’re keeping yourselves busy. Any chance of a cup of tea?’ he said matter-of-factly, as if he’d just popped out that very morning instead of it being nearly three months since his last leave.
‘How long are you here for?’ asked Mairi.
‘Not long at all. I’ve managed to wangle an hour ashore, that’s all. We’ve come to accompany the Nelson north. We’ll be leaving tonight.’ He settled himself at the table, stretching out his long legs.
‘Which is your ship?’ Flora asked, passing him a cup.
‘The Ordie. She’s over there towards the island. See those three destroyers? She’s the one on the right.’
‘Will you be coming back?’
‘Hard to say.’ He blew on his tea and then took a sip. ‘It all depends on where the action is. But for now it’s just great to be sitting here at home with my two favourite lassies.’
‘Didn’t you meet anyone in Portsmouth then? A girl in every port, as they say,’ teased Mairi. Although Flora had used to secretly hope that one day her best friend and her brother might become a couple, she knew that Mairi was more like a second little sister to Ruaridh.
‘Och, they kept us far too busy with our training for boring things like war, so I’m afraid I have nothing to report on that front.’
Just then the door was pushed open and Braan burst into the kitchen, giving a yelp of joy at the sight of Ruaridh who leaned forward in his chair to fondle the Labrador’s ears. ‘Good dog, Braan. Where’s your master then?’
‘Here,’ said Iain Gordon, pulling the tweed deerstalker from his head and stuffing it into the pocket of his jacket as he stepped across the threshold. ‘I knew there was something up when Braan turned and raced down the hill. Thought it might be you, son.’
Ruaridh stood and embraced his father and Mairi began to roll up her knitting, stowing it in her basket.
‘I’ll be off now,’ she said. ‘Best be getting back to help Mum with the supper and the weans.’ Mairi was the oldest of six, her siblings ranging in age from fourteen years down to five, which possibly accounted for her reserves of patient good humour. Her parents were hard-working farmers, with sheep and a herd of milking cows that kept the Macleods busy from dawn until dusk every day. Flora envied her and her sprawling family, but Mairi always joked that she’d happily swap them for a big brother like Ruaridh who could introduce her to his friends. ‘Take care of yourself, Ruaridh Gordon. And I hope we see you back here before long.’
‘Bye, Mairi. It’s been good seeing you.’ He glanced at his own watch. ‘I’ll not be able to stay long, Dad, just a few minutes more. I’ve to report back on board by five. But I couldn’t pass up the chance to come home, even just for half an hour.’
Once he’d downed the dregs of his tea, Ruaridh got to his feet, setting his cap firmly back on his head and bending to give Braan’s silken ears one last stroke. ‘Be seeing you then, Dad.’
‘Aye. Soon enough.’
Flora sensed the ocean of words, unspoken since they had no need of saying, that surged and tugged beneath the surface of their matter-of-fact parting. She fetched her thick gansey down from the hook by the door. ‘I’ll chum you back to the jetty,’ she said, wanting to spin out the precious time they had together for as long as possible.
And then the brother and sister set off down the track, turning on to the road that skirted the water’s edge. There was more traffic than usual – a purposeful to-ing and fro-ing of