Further down the High Street, outside the tavern, men’s heads shot up as the racket grew and the mood changed. They rose from their stools and trundled towards the Tolbooth, rolling up their sleeves, exchanging ominous looks. Sensing a fight was brewing, women pulled their children close, grasped their baskets tightly, and followed at a distance.

The circle around the reverend grew tighter. The faces stubborn.

Still, Captain Ross bade his men wait.

Lillie Wallace, pale, shrunken and dirty like them all, finally surfaced from the Tolbooth to weak cheers as more accusations were hurled at the reverend. Rather than joining the throng, Lillie waited atop the step, one skinny arm raised to attract attention. Noticing her stance, there were nudges, calls for quiet. One by one the voices stilled. When there was complete silence, she spoke.

‘Today, with the exception of dear Thomas Brown, may God rest his soul, those falsely accused of witchcraft walk free.’ There was a roar of approval as well as some dissent. ‘All but one.’

Sorcha tightened her grip on the pommel, felt the captain’s fingers close over her own.

‘All except Janet Cornfoot.’ Lillie screwed up her eyes, searching for someone. ‘Under orders from our council, from the Reverend Cowper, they’re not releasing her.’ Her voice cracked. Someone handed her a small flask, which she raised with a shaking arm. Much of the liquid bubbled over her lips as she drank. Coughing and spluttering, she wiped her mouth and handed the flask back. ‘We’ve been told Janet’s to remain imprisoned but not why.’

There was an upswell of anger, of confusion.

This time, the sergeant moved his men into position. Townsfolk parted to let them through, most grateful they were there.

Lillie waited for the reaction to her news to die down, and leaned heavily on the building. Spying the reverend, she raised a finger. ‘This be your doing.’ Her voice was quiet at first, but as she continued it grew louder and more confident, filled with a repressed rage at what she’d endured, at the treatment of her closest friend. ‘Call yourself a man of God? I ken who’s your master.’ Before she could say any more and incriminate herself, Sergeant Thatcher strode forward and gently coaxed her from the steps. She was passed to one of the soldiers and swiftly led away.

Sorcha almost tipped from the saddle. She didn’t know Janet was to remain; Janet, Lillie, Margaret and Thomas had been confined in the room below, and communication between them had been sporadic and down to the goodwill of Camron and the other guards. This decision must be sudden. No wonder Lillie was in shock. Poor Janet.

Their freedom came at an additional cost after all. Not just the outrageous bond, but an old woman’s liberty.

The crowd’s mood became uglier.

‘Where’s Janet?’ The question could have come from anyone, but was clearly directed at the reverend.