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Back The Darkest Shore Save as PDF
Chapters (76)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Also by Karen Brooks
  4. Title Page
  5. Dedication
  6. EXPLANATORY NOTE
  7. PART ONE
  8. One
  9. Two
  10. Three
  11. Four
  12. Five
  13. Six
  14. Seven
  15. Eight
  16. Nine
  17. Ten
  18. Eleven
  19. Twelve
  20. Thirteen
  21. Fourteen
  22. Fifteen
  23. Sixteen
  24. Seventeen
  25. Eighteen
  26. Nineteen
  27. Twenty
  28. Twenty-One
  29. Twenty-Two
  30. Twenty-Three
  31. Twenty-Four
  32. Twenty-Five
  33. Twenty-Six
  34. Twenty-Seven
  35. Twenty-Eight
  36. PART TWO
  37. Twenty-Nine
  38. Thirty
  39. Thirty-One
  40. Thirty-Two
  41. Thirty-Three
  42. Thirty-Four
  43. Thirty-Five
  44. PART THREE
  45. Thirty-Six
  46. Thirty-Seven
  47. Thirty-Eight
  48. Thirty-Nine
  49. Forty
  50. Forty-One
  51. Forty-Two
  52. Forty-Three
  53. Forty-Four
  54. Forty-Five
  55. Forty-Six
  56. Forty-Seven
  57. Forty-Eight
  58. Forty-Nine
  59. Fifty
  60. Fifty-One
  61. Fifty-Two
  62. PART FOUR
  63. Fifty-Three
  64. Fifty-Four
  65. Fifty-Five
  66. Fifty-Six
  67. Fifty-Seven
  68. Fifty-Eight
  69. Fifty-Nine
  70. Sixty
  71. Sixty-One
  72. Epilogue: Autumn 1706
  73. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  74. GLOSSARY
  75. LIST OF CHARACTERS
  76. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

‘We know that,’ said Aidan one night, pulling at the short strands of hair on her head. Now her hair was thicker and growing longer, she liked him playing with it. ‘But where there’s a yearning to see them, and money to be made through their appearance, there’s a way to produce them.’

A chill entered her heart. A chill that not even this inviting autumn day so full of promise could disperse.

Only thoughts of Aidan had the ability to do that. So, as Sorcha tore herself away from the window and prepared to go to the harbour, the sky transforming into a palette of rose and violet, she lost herself in thoughts of the captain, her love.

Truth be told, her reason for living.

Thirty-Two

THIRTY-TWO

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You are just menseless.

(You want far too much.)

Peter Morton skulked along the narrow lanes inside the crumbling town walls, doing his best to avoid anyone, wanting nothing more than to find a private place where he could lick his wounded pride and think about what had happened to him in Edinburgh.

Ducking behind a coop in an untended garden, he waited while a group of soldiers led by brawny Sergeant Thatcher went past, arms swinging, weapons bouncing against their hips, voices low. What they were doing up this end of the Weem, God only knew. That officer of theirs was determined his men not remain idle, so sent them out of town to local farmsteads to offer themselves for work, or made them practise with their swords and muskets on the fields between Anster and Pittenweem.

As the soldiers disappeared around the corner, Peter re-emerged cautiously. It was a glorious autumn day, warmer than usual for November. The sun shone, bees buzzed and starlings and lapwings cavorted and sang. Above a hedge of hawthorn, butterflies performed a ballet and Peter stopped to enjoy their merry antics until the events of the last two days flew back into his head.

Summoned to the city by none other than Her Majesty’s advocate and questioned thoroughly by the Earl of Rothes, Peter knew he’d let the reverend down. The reverend and all those in the village who’d supported and prayed for him the entire time he was afflicted.

Nae, bewitched.

When he was abed with tremors, cursed, a victim of malice, folk had listened when he said it was witches who caused it. While he knew there were those among the townsfolk who doubted, as time went on and even the doctors who’d come from Edinburgh to examine him were inclined to believe it was malfeasance, they’d been persuaded as well. Never before had he been showered with such attention, such compassion. It made him giddy just remembering it.