Patrick Cowper might appear to be pliant, but he was also ambitious and ruthless. Aidan had learned what he could about the man over the last few weeks. A widower, father of eleven children whom he dominated as he did his congregation, he was both feared and resented. He had the ear of the powerful, including some gentlemen in St Andrew’s, most of whom, according to the fishermen he’d spoken to and the letters he’d received from his commanding officer, were too scared to go against him lest he turn on them. Moving to Pittenweem twelve years earlier, he’d set about changing the church from an Episcopalian to a Presbyterian one, establishing his authority swiftly. A proud Covenanter who supported English rule, he made a point of condemning Jacobites. Not that this changed how most in the Weem felt towards the one true King: the place was a veritable hotbed of Stuart sympathy. Which was also why folk followed Cowper — not because they shared his support of the English Crown, but in order to appear loyal to it. He oft threatened to unmask Jacobites and report them to the authorities, authorities who included his influential friends. In that regard, Aidan could understand and even forgive folk’s compliance.

However, as Aiden discovered, despite the influence he wielded, the minister’s ambition did not extend beyond the streets of Pittenweem, even though he was a moderator pro tempore of St Andrew’s presbytery. His real interests lay mainly where he could see and be seen. Many believed he accepted the position in Edinburgh for the sake of the title, throwing it about to increase his standing in the Weem. Most were unaware it meant he was merely a replacement for the usual moderator if ever he was absent. The position was as hollow as the reverend’s heart.

In this small seaside kingdom, Patrick Cowper, minister, Covenantor, Presbyterian, and temporary moderator of the Kirk, reigned.

‘Sit, sit,’ the reverend said to Aidan as he resumed his own seat. Aidan pulled up the chair indicated and moved his sword to one side so he could perch on the edge of the seat. Bailies Cook and Bell took this as a signal to come out from behind the desk and find chairs. Bell acknowledged Aidan with a dip of his head. Cook ignored him.

‘What is it you wish to see me about, Captain Ross?’ asked the reverend amiably, picking up a glass and swirling the amber fluid. He didn’t offer Aidan a drink.

‘You know the reason, reverend,’ said Aidan, equally affable. ‘It’s the same one we’ve oft had cause to discuss of late.’

A flash of displeasure crossed the reverend’s face.

‘Until the women and Mr Brown are released from the Tolbooth,’ continued Aidan, glad he’d discommoded the man, ‘or a reason accompanied by proof is given for their continued internment, I’ll not have a different one.’