Shivering now, she clung to the saddle for dear life, enjoying the feel of his flesh against hers, the security it offered. When he said no more, she followed the direction of his gaze.

There were others besides those gathered directly outside the Tolbooth. Clustered in groups of two and three, they stood further down the wynd and at the crest of the High Street. Some looked upon the reunions with healthy curiosity. Others pointed towards her, then Nettie, and leaned in to whisper among themselves and nod sagely, as if measuring fish for sale. Each time a woman came out of the Tolbooth, their mutters grew. There were faces she didn’t recognise, some in fine clothes, others draped in unfamiliar plaids.

Her extra height atop Liath allowed her to see another group just beyond the Tolbooth in Cove Wynd, close to the kirk entrance. This disturbed her the most. They were people she knew and who, even as she acknowledged them, turned aside. There were the Crawfords, standing shoulder to shoulder, arms folded tightly and, beside them, the Mortons — all except Peter. Bailies Vernour, Crawford and Cleiland were there. Of Bailie Bell, she could see no sign. But the rest, aware she’d noticed them, shook their heads in disapproval that left her with a cold, hollow feeling.

In the centre of the group, the small space around him making him easier to see even in his black robes, was Reverend Cowper. Despite the distance between them, she could still feel the power of his stare, the loathing he brought with him, as if it were alive, a virulent sea-creature with long tentacles, reaching out to draw her closer.

It took a monumental effort to redirect her attention.

‘How… how long have they been waiting for us?’ she asked, finally finding some words.

‘As soon as news of your release spread, people came. Your supporters,’ the captain jerked his head towards the Tolbooth, ‘and detractors.’ He didn’t need to indicate who they were. ‘They keep a length from each other.’ He nodded towards another group Sorcha had failed to notice until that moment. It was Sergeant Thatcher and at least a dozen soldiers spread out around the edges of the crowd. In full uniform, they carried weapons. ‘I could at least see to that. I didn’t want you having to deal with any scuffles.’

‘There’s been fights?’

‘Aye, a few. Mainly since Thomas Brown died, and then again after your bail was posted. It galvanised folk, his dying, the unfairness and cruelty of it. But today is not a day for quarrelling. Sergeant Thatcher and my men will make sure of that.’

Unable to find words as her throat became suddenly thick and her vision swam, she simply nodded. She knew who it was motivating folk, who encouraged them to speak up about the injustices; and who was partly responsible for the brawls. She would thank him later.