Chapters (76)
- Cover
- About the Author
- Also by Karen Brooks
- Title Page
- Dedication
- EXPLANATORY NOTE
- PART ONE
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- PART TWO
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- PART THREE
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- PART FOUR
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Epilogue: Autumn 1706
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- GLOSSARY
- LIST OF CHARACTERS
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
‘I thought you said I had no soul?’ said Nettie. ‘You told me I’d given it to the devil. So which is it, reverend? Do I have one, or not? ’Cause I wouldn’t want you wasting your time trying to save what’s not there.’
Sorcha bit back a grin. Nettie’s defiance gave her strength. From the way Nicolas’s grip on her hand tightened, it did her as well.
The reverend frowned. ‘Watch your tongue, hussy. You’re as bad as that Beatrix Laing and Janet Cornfoot.’
Nettie shot a sly smile at Sorcha. Their friends weren’t beaten yet either.
‘Very well,’ said the reverend. ‘Are any of you prepared to sign?’
In turn, the women shook their heads.
‘God would not want me to lie,’ said Isobel. Sorcha had never been prouder of her.
‘If that’s your final word?’ asked the reverend and, without waiting for an answer, scooped up the papers, folded them and replaced them in this satchel. ‘It’s as I told you, gentlemen.’ He bowed in the pricker’s direction. ‘They’re all yours, Mr Bollard.’
He strode out of the room followed by the officials. The constables, Bailie Cook and the pricker remained.
The noise of their boots upon the stairs echoed dully. The men were ascending to the floor above to position themselves to watch.
‘Come now, lassies,’ said Mr Bollard after the door shut.
Removing his cloak and draping it carefully over the end of the table, he pulled his leather pouch from wherever he concealed it. He smiled. He had grey teeth, as big as tombstones. ‘I thought you’d be happy to see me, considering we’ve gotten to know each other so well. Perhaps not as well as I’d like — after all, I haven’t seen you for a few days. I think it’s time to rectify that, don’t you?’
He turned from where he’d conscientiously lined up his needles and other gadgets on the table; soldiers ready for battle. ‘I think I’d like to refamiliarise myself with you first, Sorcha. If the rest of you would be so kind as to leave us alone? That would be grand. Constable, if you could take them?’ He gestured towards Constable Wood who ushered the others out of the room. They’d be guarded temporarily in the room above, where they could hear enough of what was happening to understand what was in store for them.
‘We love you, Sorcha,’ called out Nettie, earning a deep frown from Mr Bollard.
When the door was shut again, Mr Bollard passed Constable Stuart some rope, and drew a chair towards the table.