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
‘This time, there’ll be no one to help them, no one to plead mercy on their behalf. This time —’ his eyes took on a faraway look, ‘they’ll not escape the Lord’s justice. Nor will they escape mine. Unlike some, I’ll not suffer a witch to live.’
Thirty-Eight
THIRTY-EIGHT
Isabel Adam… in pursuance of a quarrel which Beatrix Laing, formerly mentioned, had with one Alexander McGrigor, a fisher in town, made an attempt to murder the said McGrigor in bed; which was prevented by his awakening and wrestling against them.
— A Just Reproof to the False Reports and Unjust Calumnies in the Foregoing Letter, 1705
Sorcha was by the harbour, watching as her father and brother prepared the boat to leave the Forth and sail into deeper northern waters, following the whitefish. Wind whipped hair into her eyes, the ocean spray stung her face. Gulls swooped overhead, the men were checking lines, folding nets and hammering nails into some loose decking…
Dull thuds interrupted the image, making it quiver before it slowly dissolved.
Stirring, Sorcha lay still upon the bed, trying to bring it back. The pounding began again; this time, she heard her name. ’Twas no dream. She pushed back the covers and scrambled for her shawl in the dark. She collided with Nettie in the main room as, half asleep, they fumbled their way to the front door.
Sorcha reached it first and wrenched it open. In the dim light of the embers in the fireplace she could just make out Mr Adam, Isobel’s father, and Nettie’s daughter from Anster.
‘Rebecca!’ exclaimed Nettie, any sign of sleep vanishing as she reached for her daughter’s hand and dragged her across the threshold. ‘What are you doing here? Come away in.’
‘Mr Adam,’ said Sorcha, moving to allow Rebecca past. ‘Come away in too, please.’ It was raining steadily and both visitors were sodden. Peering out the door, Sorcha couldn’t see anything; just the rain, and the bleak stone wall of the graveyard opposite. The ocean rumbled and rolled. By the time she’d closed the door, a protesting Rebecca was peeling her coat off and Nettie had stoked the fire.
Sorcha quickly lit some candles. Mr Adam was pale and deeply agitated.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘Let me help you with your coat. You’re drookit.’
‘Nae, lass,’ said Mr Adam, raising a gnarled hand to prevent her. ‘I not be staying. I came to warn you both.’
‘Warn us?’ asked Nettie, flashing a look at Sorcha as she draped her daughter’s coat over a stool. Rebecca gave up trying to retrieve it. ‘About what?’
Mr Adam pinched the bridge of his nose, as if focussing his thoughts. He took a deep breath. ‘Earlier this morning, the guards and Bailie Cook came for Isobel, before the cock even crowed. Marched her off to that damn Tolbooth. Again.’
Sorcha gasped. Nettie’s hand flew to her mouth. Rebecca appeared stunned.