‘What do you mean?’ Sorcha examined her skirt with exasperation. The rip was wide. She wished she really was a witch and could not only repair her skirt with a spell, but cast one that would make Peter Morton vanish. The thought made her lips twitch.

Mistaking her smile, Peter stepped closer. ‘I refused to corroborate what Mr McGregor said, to name you, that’s what I mean.’

Sorcha frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

Peter pulled an impatient face. ‘When the reverend asked me to support Mr McGregor in front of the bailies and identify the witches, those he’d revealed had come to murder him, I said it couldn’t possibly be you because I saw you in your cottage that night. I said you never left it. After that, Mr McGregor couldn’t claim you were in his house. He withdrew your name.’

Biting back a sour laugh, Sorcha threw up her hands. ‘Why would you ever have thought to name me in the first place? Why would he? Like the others, I wasn’t there. Like the others, I was at home. That part at least is true. I’m no witch. Though, in case you’ve forgotten, you were ready to call me such once.’

‘That’s because he ma—’ Peter bit his lip. His eyes darted left then right.

‘He? Who do you mean, Peter?’ Sorcha closed the distance between them. Further down the street, a group of small children were chasing a chicken.

Burying his hands in his pockets, Peter shrugged. ‘I didn’t mean nothing. All I meant was I could have said you were one of them, but I didn’t.’

‘Nae,’ said Sorcha, her eyes flashing, her anger rising faster than a tide at full moon. ‘But you named innocent women, Peter. Caused them to suffer terribly before and again now. You’ve ruined their lives.’ You almost ruined mine. ‘Why? Why did you do it?’

‘Why? Why do you think?’ He leaned towards her. Their noses almost touched. His chest was heaving, his cheeks flushed. ‘Because they’re not innocent. They are the devil’s servants and they seek to recruit all of us into Satan’s army. Steal our eternal souls. I see they tried to steal yours too. Don’t you ken? In naming them, I’ve saved them. They’ll be baptised now, or if they refuse, God will give them their dues. You should be thanking me, not blaming me.’

Taken aback by his vehemence, his ignorance, Sorcha studied his face, the earnestness in his gaze; earnestness and something else.

‘If that’s so, then why didn’t you name me? If you think you’re saving them, then why not save me too?’

Before she could say anything more, he grabbed her face and kissed her.

His lips were hard. His tongue, clumsy and rough, plunged so deep into her mouth she almost gagged. His whiskers grazed her chin, his fingers dug into her cheeks.