‘What do you wish us to do about her?’ asked Gerard after a while. ‘I mean, the sun be rising and folk will be setting out for kirk soon.’

Dear God, thought Patrick. He would have to address the townsfolk — those responsible for the obscenity behind him. Had God really willed such a punishment? Patrick finally stood upright. ‘Aye… we have to do something.’ He raised his head to the sky. What would You do, my Lord, in this situation? The witch recanted her baptism and so couldn’t in all fairness be given a Christian burial. ’Twould make a mockery of all we’ve stood for, make a mockery of me. Of You too, God.

‘Reverend?’ Gerard’s voice broke into his thoughts.

It was getting lighter. Birds had taken wing, their cries welcoming the day. He could hear noises coming from inside the cottages. Smoke began to cough from chimneys. Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed. They must do something, remove Janet’s remains before anyone else saw her, before those who were there last night saw what they’d done in the broad light of day and held him to account.

The reverend almost sickened again.

‘Gather her up.’

‘Us?’

He saw the shocked look on Angus and Gerard’s faces.

‘Who else?’ he hissed. ‘Get some auld sails from outside the fishermen’s cottages, some linen, I care not. Wrap her up and throw her on the braes. It’s what we did with Thomas Brown. It’s the best we can do for this witch.’

The men studied him in dismay. For just a brief moment, he saw himself as others must: a man of God who disappointed. Who coolly pushed aside love and clemency in favour of power and punishment. Well, they were the Lord’s weapons as well.

‘Come away with you,’ he demanded, shooing the lads with his long fingers. ‘Get it done now. I’ve a sermon to deliver and can’t be dealing with this.’ He began to walk down the wynd, towards the sea he could hear but needed to feel and see as well. He passed by a cottage without a door, the hinges hanging, the door frame splintered and torn. A dark unblinking eye, it accused him, condemned him. Let it. God knew he was guiltless in this; that right from the beginning, his only concern had been for the good Christian souls of the townsfolk. ‘On second thoughts,’ he said, taking only a couple of extra steps before stopping and talking over his shoulder. ‘Dig a shallow grave. After all, once Edinburgh reads her confession and recognises her for the witch she was, they’ll pardon her death and demand a burning. We don’t want to waste time and money digging her up again, do we?’

The men simply stared.