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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

With a deep sigh, he clambered down the rocky slopes, away from prying eyes, intending to explore the tidal pools. There was no one to see him this side of the braes or to stop and ask how he’d gone in Edinburgh. Checking he had his knife, he rather fancied a mussel or two. Perhaps he’d even bring some back for his da. Their relationship had never been the same since that day by the smithy.

Peter was so busy looking for mussels, he didn’t see the woman at first. But he heard her. A sweet voice singing a sailor’s ditty. He almost turned around and headed back towards the cottages, only something convinced him to remain. Approaching the sound cautiously, he squeezed between two large rocks. The tide was turning but the skerries were still exposed, creating numerous pools — some no bigger than a key hole, others so large a few people could sit in them and not touch. Peter used to love exploring them when he was small, gazing into their translucent depths, reaching in to poke the starfish and other creatures, watching the way the tendrils of seaweed swayed to unheard music. Much to the amusement of the fishwives, he’d tell them it was an entirely different world down there, populated by tiny magical beings. An upside-down world, where water was the air they breathed, the lapping waves their wind. Transfixed, he would lie on his belly and wish himself into the place he’d created, where no one went hungry, everyone was friendly, God walked among them and fathers never, ever beat their sons.

Following the siren song, he squatted next to a wet boulder and peered around. The swollen sun had gone behind a cloud, transforming the light into a silvern glow. A woman sat on the edge of one of the larger rock pools. At first he thought she was a mermaid, as he couldn’t see her legs. Her face was turned away, her song a gift to the sea. Able to view her without being seen, Peter drank in the vision. The long neck, the cap of bronze curls, the soothing melody.

Unaware of him, after a time she hauled herself out of the water, hitching her skirts high, and he saw the terrible marks upon her limbs. What he first thought were tricks thrown by the water, he now knew were the scars of torture. The shorn hair, the lacerations, the voice. His heart skipped. It was the widow of the sea, Sorcha McIntyre.

The sea-witch.

Dear God, what he wouldn’t give to fall under her spell. But wasn’t that exactly what had happened? He’d named her and in doing so declared himself a victim of her malice.