There were jeers at his words.

‘What would they ken?’

‘They canna tell us what to do!’

There were shouts of endorsement at this daring.

‘Indeed, they cannot. Not any more.’ Again, Cowper used his hands to pacify the assembly. ‘Once this is over, I will be letting them know as much. Justice begins and ends here. With us. In the Weem.’

The crowd broke into defiant cheers. ‘Bless you, reverend,’ shouted a voice.

‘What do you want us to do with the auld woman, reverend?’ asked Gerard. The wind had picked up, bringing with it splinters of ice that plunged into exposed flesh, forcing breath out. The sky was a great glowering bruise above their heads. Flashes of lightning writhed within it, God’s weapons primed.

Reverend Cowper lifted his face to the firmament. Throwing out his arms, he stood silhouetted against the doorway, his dark robes and pale hands picked out by the torchlight, casting giant shadows against neighbouring houses. His lips moved as, eyes closed, he prayed. He was larger than life. Larger than death.

The mob were awed into silence, as Sorcha had no doubt he knew they would be. After all, it wasn’t every day you witnessed your minister communing with the Almighty.

When the reverend finished, he carefully surveyed all who waited before him. There were so many. Sorcha knew how much hinged on whatever he said next. What would this crowd do if his words didn’t satisfy their need for justice? Justice, as he’d been reminding them every Sunday, that had been denied them before. Would they listen or turn on him? Sorcha’s heart was beating so hard it hurt. What would the reverend tell them? He had the people of the Weem in the palm of his hand.

She felt Nettie’s fingers searching for hers. Sorcha grasped them, bringing them together with Janet’s. The three women huddled, hands bunched in a tight knot, mirroring the one in Sorcha’s heart.

Finally the reverend released a great sigh, as if what he was about to say was not his will, his choice. ‘Do whatever you please with her,’ he said sharply. He locked eyes with Janet. ‘I care not.’

‘You can’t! Nae!’ shouted Sorcha, reaching for him, but her words bounced off his retreating back and were drowned by the roar of the exultant throng.

The door shut behind him.

Nettie strode to it and beat her fist hard upon the wood.

Gerard and Angus looked at each other.

The reverend’s words were passed among the astonished crowd.

‘Get her back to the Tolbooth,’ yelled Sorcha to the Stuart brothers, trying to be heard as people surged forward. Nettie gave up on the door and flew to Janet’s side.