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
Sorcha threw back her head and laughed. It was more like a scream. ‘’Twas not the devil in her, but the demon in you!’
With a yowl of rage, he stepped forward and slapped her hard. Sorcha’s head rebounded against the wood and blood filled her mouth.
‘Liar! Bitch! ’Twas your filthy incomer mother who tempted me, with hair like silver and those blue eyes. She came to me in my dreams and whispered in her strange tongue and told me to take her. Who was I to resist? I’m a mere man and she, she was a witch. A witch in league with the devil, just like her daughter. A witch who, from the moment I arrived in the Weem, cast her spell upon me.’ The ship tilted and he fell against her again. His mouth was so close, his nose bent against her cheek. ‘Just like you.’
Sorcha felt his sour desire in his every panting breath. Just as she feared he was about to kiss her, he pushed himself away with a cry of rage.
‘But God has spoken to me. He has shown me what I must do to save myself; to save us all.’ As he spoke, half his words were whipped out to sea. He picked up the remainder of the rope and wrapped it tightly around her waist, restraining her arms by her sides. ‘Janet Cornfoot shouldn’t have died,’ he yelled as he worked. ‘Not the way she did.’ For a fleeting moment Sorcha thought he was expressing regret.
‘She should have been lynched good and proper, like the witch she was.’
With a sinking heart, Sorcha understood what was about to happen. Through the heavy rain, she tried to see the harbourfront, the shore. There was not a soul about. No one to witness what this deranged man intended to do. No one to stop him.
He untied her from the mast, casting aside the bindings. The rope around her waist had been flung over the crosstree of the main mast and hung loosely until the reverend grabbed it and twined it around his forearm. Sorcha eyed it warily as it tightened as he dragged her towards the middle of the deck. She tried to free her arms, her wrists, but it was no use. Helpless, shaking uncontrollably, she stood looking from the deck to the freezing roiling waters, aware of the binding about her middle growing increasingly taut. She knew she didn’t have much time.
‘Reverend,’ she shouted, facing him. ‘Listen to me. Edinburgh will not tolerate another death. Not without a trial. You have me now, arrest me, lock me up and await their judgement. Prove to them I’m the witch you believe me to be. But don’t do this.’