Sorcha fell into a chair and dropped her head into her hands. She could barely think, she was so angry, so despondent. She’d not felt so powerless since… since… Davan died. Back then, as she held his little body in her arms, unable to breathe life into his wee blue form, make his sweet heart beat, she’d made a promise to never again allow herself to be in a situation she couldn’t control. Yet, here she was. Sometimes, no matter how much you wished to alter things, they simply were. It was like what old Thomas Brown would say, ‘You canna hold back the tides.’ It was so unfair. Raising her head, she stamped her foot.

Nettie knelt beside her, prodding the fire back to life. She placed a comforting hand on Sorcha’s leg and gave it a squeeze. ‘I know, lass, I know. This be madness. But we can’t let it affect us. We need to be calm, to think. Let’s have a drink and discuss what to do next. We have to be smart. Beatrix and Nicolas are going to need all the help they can get.’

‘And friends,’ said Sorcha, pulling the scarf from her hair and letting it fall in her lap. ‘And friends.’

‘Aye,’ said Captain Ross. Sorcha had almost forgotten he was there. He stood by the window, his back to them, looking up and down the street. He turned to regard them. ‘It seems your bailies and the reverend want to handle this matter themselves. Made no difference how many times I mentioned Edinburgh, reminded them of the law, legal procedure, they were having none of it.’

‘But,’ said Sorcha, taking the dram Nettie passed to her gratefully, ‘I thought the law states they have to notify the city magistrates in instances of witchcraft. They may have dealt with it themselves last time there was an accusation, but what happened at Bargarran changed everything. Edinburgh did not come out of that affair well.’

‘Let’s pray none of them forget that,’ said Nettie quietly, offering a drink to Captain Ross.

‘Thank you,’ he said.