‘Knowing how slowly the wheels of law grind in Edinburgh, that could be weeks. Months even,’ said Bailie Robert Vernour, scraping back his chair and rising to his feet. He locked his fingers behind his back and began to wear a track in the floor.

Below them, within the cell on the first floor of the Tolbooth, the most recent captives could be heard. The low grumble of voices, a wet cough and clearing of the throat, the steady thump of a boot or fist striking a wall.

‘Bad enough we’ve to keep them here. But to finance their stay in an Edinburgh gaol —’ Bailie Bell shook his head. ‘That’s another expense we can ill afford.’ He wearily smoothed the material of his coat and stared at the pile of papers in front of him without really seeing them.

For all he gave the appearance of being focussed on the latest orders from Edinburgh, Patrick Cowper was thinking about Sorcha McIntyre, Nettie Horseburgh and Beatrix Laing. Would nothing quell those women? They needed to learn their place; to be schooled in it, and by him. Congratulating Sorcha McIntyre the way Beatrix did down by the harbour that morning — making a spectacle of the woman who’d not only been arrested once herself, but ever since had done nothing but actively undermine the authorities, his authority, and turned them into laughing stocks — it would not do. He would punish Beatrix first. After all, was she not the cause of all this? If she hadn’t put that charm outside the smithy last year, none of this would be happening. And she still bore the stain of the McGregor affair, having been named leader of the damned coven. It would be easy to justify disciplining her again. Shut that wicked mouth once and for all. After that, he’d turn all of his energy to Sorcha. He looked forward to that moment.

In the meantime, as Bell noted, there was the problem of the prisoners — specifically, the cost of transporting them, then maintaining them at inflated city prices. And that was before he even began to consider the fate awaiting himself and the Weem council once Edinburgh initiated proceedings against them. What was the old saying? There was more than one way to skin a seal? Or was it a cat? Time to sort this out.

‘Gentlemen,’ Patrick began, stretching his arms out on the table in front of him, waiting until the blether ceased. ‘I’ve an idea to put to you that may save us all time and money, may even restore our good name in the eyes of the city officials.’ Vernour paused mid-stride. All eyes were upon the reverend. ‘What if, instead of sending the lairds the prisoners as they demand, you ride to Edinburgh and present our case to them in person?’

The men looked at each other, their interest piqued.