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
FIFTY-SEVEN
… he [Reverend Patrick Cowper] exercised more of the civil authority than any of the other bailies…
— An Answer of a Letter From a Gentleman of Fife, 1705
Clouds scudded across the moon, turning the path that ran along the seashore between Anster and Pittenweem into a nether world of shadows followed by bursts of silver. Not even her thick woollen shawl protected Sorcha from the barbs of icy-cold sea-spray that showered her. Blasts of wind drove the watery arrows deep.
Sorcha thought about Beatrix, safe now, staying with Nettie’s daughter Rebecca and her husband in Anster until the fuss died down. Until either the reverend’s temper — and thus that of the kirk — was restored, or Edinburgh brought the threatened legal proceedings against the council. What a brave lass Nettie’s daughter was, welcoming Beatrix, giving her a comfortable bed in the attic and a small space where she could read, or sew or otherwise occupy herself. It was worth the risk to visit her and ensure she was settled — well, as settled as one could be when they were all but hounded from hearth and home. At least, with a few exceptions, no one knew Beatrix’s whereabouts. Between them, Sorcha and Nettie spread a rumour that Beatrix was wandering outside the Weem walls, awaiting the reverend’s pardon, and seriously considering moving to St Andrew’s once that occurred. It was gossip Mr Brown, who remained in Pittenweem for his wife’s sake, and the Lawsons, also fuelled.
As Sorcha walked, she lifted her head occasionally to gaze across the shifting waters of the Forth, catching sight of the lighthouse on the Isle of May and the dark silhouettes of ships anchored in the wide expanse. Soon, she prayed, one of those ships would bring Aidan home. Thinking of Aidan brought to mind Sergeant Thatcher, and how less than a week ago he’d come to the cottage door to bid her farewell.
After the murder of Janet Cornfoot, he had accepted a posting to join his captain in Bavaria. A number of the billeted soldiers would also be leaving and would be replaced, and a new officer appointed.
‘I never thought I’d say this, Mrs McIntyre, Sorcha,’ he’d said quickly as she started to correct him. He smiled. They’d been through too much together to rest on formalities. ‘But I think it be, if not safer, then more honourable fighting the bloody French for Queen and country in a foreign land than fighting auld women and an enemy I cannot see here in Fife; even if it’s in God’s name.’
Stepping forward, uncaring who might see, Sorcha had thrown her arms around him. ‘Be safe, Stephen. And please, bring Aidan home with you.’