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The Blackhouse

Carole Johnstone
Contents ( 56)
  1. THE BLACKHOUSE
  2. Carole Johnstone
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Maps
  7. PROLOGUE
  8. CHAPTER 1
  9. CHAPTER 2
  10. CHAPTER 3
  11. CHAPTER 4
  12. CHAPTER 5
  13. CHAPTER 6
  14. CHAPTER 7
  15. CHAPTER 8
  16. CHAPTER 9
  17. CHAPTER 10
  18. CHAPTER 11
  19. CHAPTER 12
  20. CHAPTER 13
  21. CHAPTER 14
  22. CHAPTER 15
  23. CHAPTER 16
  24. CHAPTER 17
  25. CHAPTER 18
  26. CHAPTER 19
  27. CHAPTER 20
  28. CHAPTER 21
  29. CHAPTER 22
  30. CHAPTER 23
  31. CHAPTER 24
  32. CHAPTER 25
  33. CHAPTER 26
  34. CHAPTER 27
  35. CHAPTER 28
  36. CHAPTER 29
  37. CHAPTER 30
  38. CHAPTER 31
  39. CHAPTER 32
  40. CHAPTER 33
  41. CHAPTER 34
  42. CHAPTER 35
  43. CHAPTER 36
  44. CHAPTER 37
  45. CHAPTER 38
  46. CHAPTER 39
  47. CHAPTER 40
  48. CHAPTER 41
  49. CHAPTER 42
  50. EPILOGUE
  51. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  52. CAST OF CHARACTERS
  53. GLOSSARY OF TERMS AND PLACES
  54. About the Author
  55. Also by Carole Johnstone:
  56. About the Publisher
Cover image: The Blackhouse by Carole Johnstone

THE BLACKHOUSE

Carole Johnstone

The Borough Press logo

Copyright

The Borough Press

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

HarperCollinsPublishers

1st Floor, Watermarque Building, Ringsend Road

Dublin 4, Ireland

First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2022

Copyright © Carole Johnstone 2022

Carole Johnstone asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008361433

Ebook Edition © 2022 ISBN: 9780008361457

Version: 2022-07-13

Dedication

For Iain

Epigraph

‘No man chooses evil because it is evil;

he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks.’

Mary Wollstonecraft

‘Whisper her name,

she is island,

sheep-littered, stone-wracked

she cries the wild Atlantic

to her door;’

‘Na Hearadh’ (Harris)

Shirley Wright

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Maps

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Cast of Characters

Glossary of Terms and Places

About the Author

Also by Carole Johnstone

About the Publisher

Maps

Map of Isle of Kilmeray
Map of Blairmore Village

PROLOGUE

It wasn’t the screams he remembered most, although they crashed to shore inside the howling, furious wind and ricocheted for hours around the high cliffs above the beach. It wasn’t the storm or the roaring, foaming waves that carved great snaking wounds through the wet sand and stole its shape from under his feet.

It wasn’t the dark or the flashing torchlight. Or the frantic hours of men pushing boats into the wild surf: motorboats, fishing boats, even old wooden sgoths. All to be smashed into the bay’s high headlands or hurled back onto the shore like stones from a slingshot.

It wasn’t the long, tired wails of the women whose silhouettes stood in a clifftop vanguard ahead of the silver-starred inland sky. Nor those waving white arms out on the rocks, which became slower and less frequent as the screamed chorus grew quieter. And it wasn’t the wondering about which of those arms, those bobbing heads that disappeared and sometimes reappeared, belonged to his father.