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Back The Darkest Shore
Chapters (76)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Also by Karen Brooks
  4. Title Page
  5. Dedication
  6. EXPLANATORY NOTE
  7. PART ONE
  8. One
  9. Two
  10. Three
  11. Four
  12. Five
  13. Six
  14. Seven
  15. Eight
  16. Nine
  17. Ten
  18. Eleven
  19. Twelve
  20. Thirteen
  21. Fourteen
  22. Fifteen
  23. Sixteen
  24. Seventeen
  25. Eighteen
  26. Nineteen
  27. Twenty
  28. Twenty-One
  29. Twenty-Two
  30. Twenty-Three
  31. Twenty-Four
  32. Twenty-Five
  33. Twenty-Six
  34. Twenty-Seven
  35. Twenty-Eight
  36. PART TWO
  37. Twenty-Nine
  38. Thirty
  39. Thirty-One
  40. Thirty-Two
  41. Thirty-Three
  42. Thirty-Four
  43. Thirty-Five
  44. PART THREE
  45. Thirty-Six
  46. Thirty-Seven
  47. Thirty-Eight
  48. Thirty-Nine
  49. Forty
  50. Forty-One
  51. Forty-Two
  52. Forty-Three
  53. Forty-Four
  54. Forty-Five
  55. Forty-Six
  56. Forty-Seven
  57. Forty-Eight
  58. Forty-Nine
  59. Fifty
  60. Fifty-One
  61. Fifty-Two
  62. PART FOUR
  63. Fifty-Three
  64. Fifty-Four
  65. Fifty-Five
  66. Fifty-Six
  67. Fifty-Seven
  68. Fifty-Eight
  69. Fifty-Nine
  70. Sixty
  71. Sixty-One
  72. Epilogue: Autumn 1706
  73. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  74. GLOSSARY
  75. LIST OF CHARACTERS
  76. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

She hadn’t gone very far when the rain began. It was no light spittering either, but dropped from the sky, a pounding like none Sorcha could remember. Chin tucked into chest, she forged ahead as it lashed her body, and gusts of sleet-driven wind tried to knock her feet out from under her. Down by the western shores, the road was little more than filthy snowdrifts interspersed with mud-filled holes. Wrapping her coat more tightly about her, she pushed on.

The journey was taking much longer than she intended. Around her, the familiar landscape of the fishermen’s cottages and their piles of disused creels, nets and lines, that had been nothing but a black labyrinth when she left her house, slowly began to take shape. To her right, the sea had become a seething wash of crashing waves and sea-spray that boomed against the distant pier, smashed against the rocks and showered her with frigid lances. Fighting against nature’s forces, refusing to seek shelter, her only chance of slipping home unnoticed was to hope that the fishing had been delayed. What would folk think if they saw her out in this tempest? Not even the foolhardiest of men would launch their boats in this weather, let alone take a stroll. The market would be cancelled and people would keep to their homes until the storm passed.

Wouldn’t they?

As the rain continued and the wind grew stronger and wilder and the sea groaned and growled, Sorcha couldn’t help but worry about what state Pittenweem would be in when this blew over. It had been a long time since they’d endured such a battering and then it had taken out half the pier and ruined the harbour wall and many livelihoods in the process. If this continued, the few repairs the council had paid for with incomer funds would be undone, and her boat and the rest would be forced to anchor in other ports, meaning a loss of revenue for the town.

Screwing up her eyes, she tried to see the pier ahead. For a moment, she thought she spied a lone figure moving along the eastern road. Instead of heading up the nearest wynd so the houses might offer some protection, she decided to continue lest whoever she thought she saw was some daft fishwife or fisherman appearing for work. After all, she couldn’t get much wetter and, despite the impossible swirls of snow, she knew where she was heading. She wondered where the escaped prisoners were and how they’d travelled. They would have had to seek shelter, surely.