Chapters (76)
- Cover
- About the Author
- Also by Karen Brooks
- Title Page
- Dedication
- EXPLANATORY NOTE
- PART ONE
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- PART TWO
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- PART THREE
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- PART FOUR
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Epilogue: Autumn 1706
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- GLOSSARY
- LIST OF CHARACTERS
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The reverend’s heart quickened. ‘Oh?’ He hoped Alexander couldn’t see how thrilled he was.
Peter sat up in his chair.
‘Come, come,’ said the reverend, walking towards his desk. ‘Why are you standing over there? Make yourself comfortable. Take a seat, take a seat.’ He led Alexander to a chair. ‘Don’t worry about a bit of water upon your clothes. Peter, pour the man a wee drink.’
Once Alexander had a glass in his hand and had downed at least half the contents, the reverend propped himself on the edge of his desk, folded his arms, and tried to appear casual. ‘Now, what is it that you wish to tell me?’
As Alexander voiced what had happened last Hogmanay, how he woke to find Isobel Adam casting a spell over him, Patrick wanted to shout with joy. At last. Here was the proof he needed.
The more Alexander spoke, gleaning the grave interest of the reverend and Peter Morton, it was evident he began embellishing. He said how he understood, in light of what the reverend preached in the kirk that morning and many more Sundays besides, that Isobel and her accomplices had summoned a demon to dispatch him or worse. ‘Do to me what was done to you, Peter,’ said Alexander, looking at the lad. ‘But when her efforts failed, she must have done something so I couldn’t remember. Not until today. Not until your words, reverend, juddered the memory free.’
Patrick wasted no time but found a quill, inkhorn and paper. Pulling up another chair, he sat beside Alexander, glancing occasionally at Peter, who was working not to show his relief. If Alexander was tormented by the witches as well, then it cast a whole new light on what had happened to him.
As he questioned the fisherman carefully, Patrick made sure to catch the details. It was remarkable what, with a little prodding, the man could recall.
‘There were others with Isobel, Alexander?’ asked Patrick softly as the man finished, staring into his empty cup.
At a sign from the reverend, Peter swiftly refilled it.
‘I… believe so, reverend, but I can’t be sure who they were.’
‘Was Nettie Horseburgh one of them? She’s a good friend to Isobel after all. You might remember, they were locked in the Tolbooth together.’
‘And sat near each other in the kirk today,’ added Peter. Patrick cast him an approving look.
‘Aye, aye,’ nodded Alexander. ‘She was there. I remember now.’
‘And what of Beatrix Laing?’ asked Patrick. Peter nodded encouragingly. ‘It’s unlikely Isobel would dare do something without that auld witch to guide her.’
‘Beatrix was there too.’ Alexander gave a violent tremor. He then named Lillie Wallace and her friend Margaret Jack — they’d been imprisoned in the Tolbooth. Why? Because they were witches. Witches stuck together so as to use their collective powers to cause harm — wasn’t that what the reverend said?