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
Under instructions from Jon Durkie, the soldiers pulled and pulled, using all their strength. At some point, Mr Brown, Beatrix’s husband, came aboard and made his way across the deck. He took off his coat and placed it over Sorcha’s shoulders. ‘Dear God,’ he said in her ear. ‘What happened to you?’
Sorcha didn’t hear, she was too busy watching what the men were doing. Shrugging off the coat and pushing Mr Brown aside, she leapt into action.
‘You have to pull faster,’ she snapped at the soldiers. ‘He’ll drown if we don’t get him out of the water now.’ She added her weight to the rope, bending and straightening, pulling with a strength she didn’t know she still had in her. Her heart was pounding, her body ached, but still she kept going.
The rain had begun to lessen, the wind to drop. Still they worked the rope. Almost the entire length had sunk beneath the waves. More and more people emerged from their houses and lined up along the harbour. Ignoring the dangers of the decaying pier, many ran along its length to see what was happening aboard the Sophia.
Thus it was that most of Pittenweem bore witness to the moment the reverend was hoisted from the murky depths of the sea he never trusted by the woman he tried to kill.
When he broke the surface, there were those who swore he was still alive as his legs jerked and danced. Others said it was just his body in its final death throes, that his soul had already departed.
But Sorcha knew he wasn’t quite dead when they hauled him out. The rope that had twined itself around his neck hadn’t yet squeezed the life from him. He kicked a few more times, unable to raise his hands as they were bound to his sides in the welter of rope and weed.
Their eyes met — the sea-witch and the reverend. Hatred filled his gaze, hatred and a terror that came with the knowledge his end had come. There was nothing anyone could do. He opened his mouth to say something, to shout out in protest at such a dishonourable death.
The words never came. Instead, his swollen tongue lolled from his lips and his scorching eyes dimmed. Even though the men backed away in horror at the sight their reverend presented, releasing the rope and sending him back to the water, Sorcha saw the moment life left the reverend. The darkness he swore was within her had taken him instead.
Sixty-One
SIXTY-ONE
Fair is foul, and foul is fair.
— Macbeth, Act I scene i
By the time the reverend’s body had been recovered and taken to St Fillan’s Cave, Sorcha was sitting in Katherine Marshal’s cottage being tended to by Jean, Therese, Katherine herself, Mr Brown and Isobel’s father. Her cuts and scrapes had been bathed and bandaged, she’d downed more drams than she likely should have, and was just beginning to feel the benefits of the warm fire, clean dry clothes and the reassuring voices of those around her.