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
The reverend took his time, sniffing the whisky, as if he hadn’t already drunk a great deal. ‘Aye, well, this time, captain, I’m pleased to report we not only have a reason to keep the women and Mr Brown locked up, we also have this proof you keep demanding.’ He shot a sly look at Aidan. ‘I mean the authorities in Edinburgh. You’re really only their mouthpiece, after all.’
Bailie Cook nodded smugly. The reverend smirked.
It was all Aidan could do not to flatten the man’s thin nose all over his face. Choosing to ignore the insult, he persisted. ‘You have proof? Of witchcraft?’
‘As you ken, Captain Ross, that’s what the prisoners are accused of, aye.’
Aidan clenched his fist, took a deep breath and waited. He learned long ago that people like the reverend didn’t like silence and sought to fill it. He wasn’t wrong.
‘You, see, captain, these people you’re so keen to defend, that you’ve stuck your neck out for, involving your superiors in Edinburgh, are everything we feared they were and more, aren’t they, gentlemen?’ He addressed the last question to the bailies.
‘Aye, that they are,’ said Bailie Cook, and was rewarded with an appreciative smile. There was a beat, then Bailie Bell grunted agreement.
‘What proof can you possibly have?’ It was all Aidan could do to keep the scorn from his voice. Pushing aside memories of Sorcha as he had last seen her leaning out the window of the Tolbooth, her beautiful bronze locks gone, the terrible marks upon her arms, the deep lilac crescents beneath her eyes, the sunken cheeks, he regarded the reverend calmly though a storm raged in his chest. ‘You can hardly concede that anything said under the duress of pricking, let alone the other punishments you’ve ordered,’ he included the bailies in his statement; Bell, at least, had the decency to look uncomfortable, ‘counts as proof.’
The reverend raised his bony hand and rested it lovingly on a pile of papers to his right. ‘Ah, but there you’re wrong. These, sir, these papers. These ones right beneath my fingers. These are my proof. You ken what they be?’
Aidan glanced at them but didn’t respond.
‘Confessions, captain. They are confessions, each and every one signed by the witches themselves.’
Aidan did his best not to look shocked. He already knew the pricker claimed to have found witch’s marks upon the women’s bodies, marks the man no doubt carried himself but would describe differently.
The reverend noticed Aidan’s change of demeanour and sniggered. ‘Aye, they’ve each confessed — with the exception of Mr Brown, who still refuses. But give him time.’ He glanced knowingly at the bailies. ‘We’ll give him time.’ Mr Cook seemed to find this very amusing.