Every few days after they’d sorted and sold any of the catch that wasn’t going to market, a few of them would meet and walk to Nicolas’s cottage, bringing supplies and gossip about what was being said around the Weem. Her health was slowly improving, but it would be a while before she’d be her old self again. The doctor advised her to lie in bed and keep her legs wrapped. He’d lathered her limbs with all sorts of pungent salves, swearing by their efficacy. Once he’d gone, Nicolas would order her husband to carry her to the ocean and prop her by a rock pool. Peeling off the bandages, she immersed her legs in the salt water. She persuaded Sorcha and Nettie to do the same; they were reluctant at first because the pain was so very great. Nicolas told them to dangle their legs for a minute at a time, to allow their bodies to get used to the cold and the sting. Within a few days, they were able to leave their legs in for longer and the dreadful welts and holes began to heal, the pus to dry up. After that, Beatrix and occasionally Isobel, Lillie and Margaret would join them, dipping their arms in the sea as well, amazed and grateful to Nicolas and her healing knowledge as their remaining wounds mended.

Once, daringly, they’d even soaked their entire bodies. Slowly, the marks left by the pricker began to scab and turn pink. The infection that had entered so many of the lacerations disappeared.

But it was the unseen scars that ate away at tranquillity, that entered dreams to tear away good memories and hope. Those would take longer to heal.

Most nights, Aidan shared Sorcha’s bed. She marvelled that such a man had come into her life; so ardent, so understanding. Oft she’d wake with his arms around her as he comforted her out of a terrible nightmare. He never demanded she tell him what she relived, and for that she was grateful. How could she explain that even her nightmares didn’t compare to the reality? Instead, she’d snuggle against his bare chest, feel the heat of desire rise within her, and stir her limbs to relish the life and passion in him as well.

As for poor Janet Cornfoot, even weeks after they’d been released, she still languished in St Fillan’s Cave. The moment she retracted her confession before the legal representatives of the Crown, Mr Ker of Kippilaw and Mr Robert Cooke from Edinburgh, her fate was sealed. It was nothing but cruel and petty punishment and all in the Weem knew it.

Once they’d recovered from the worst of their injuries, the fishwives determined to do what they could to change that.