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
Patrick couldn’t but be pleased with himself. He’d helped put Pittenweem — and, indeed, the Kingdom of Fife — on the map again; put money back into the town’s coffers. If he could ensure there was still plenty of drama to keep the strangers fascinated and entertained, they might even make enough money to repair the ruined pier completely. And when the women were found guilty, there would be even more profit for the council and the kirk. Not only would hundreds flock to see them burn, but there was the disposal of the women’s property to consider. Not that the lasses were worth much. The only exceptions were Janet White — Nettie — and Sorcha McIntyre, though Beatrix Laing had a penny or two. Dear God, White’s husband’s health was failing and in no small measure due to what had happened to Nettie. He was unlikely to be around to make any claims on her wealth. She owned that lovely house in Anster Easter that she regularly leased. Sorcha was even better pickings with the cottage in Marygate and the Mistral. Imagine what he could do — what the village could do — with the monies earned from that boat, especially once the pier was fixed and ships could unload on Weem docks again. What if they found a wealthy merchant in the city, someone who traded with the north, to buy the vessel? And the new owner used their port to load and unload goods? The fees they’d accrue, the taxes. If that didn’t work, maybe they could find someone in London to sell it to. A lump sum would go a long way.
Thomas Brown’s daughter may have refused to sell the shares in the boat she inherited upon her father’s death, but that was small stakes compared to what Sorcha and the Horseburgh-White woman could potentially offer. After all, it was easier to dispose of a woman’s lot and while Mr White might kick up a fuss, he was a very sick man with a confessed witch for a wife. And as for Sorcha, she was alone in every sense of the word. Well, except for this stubborn captain from the west who seemed to have taken a shine to her. He wouldn’t be the first, Patrick thought, remembering Andy Watson — his own son as well — but he might be the last. The idea filled him with such righteous goodness, he had to grip the windowsill lest he keel over.
God would be smiling upon His Pittenweem son this day.