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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

Taking a deep breath, as soon as Sorcha hit the water she shrugged her arms loose and untied her ankles, peeling off the rope from around her middle. It was harder than she thought and the push and pull of the tide meant she was swept past the ship. Other dark hulls bobbed above her. She knew as soon as she was unbound, the reverend would feel the slack. She had to act fast.

Her head began to ring with want of air, bright bursts of colour flashed in front of her eyes before she finally freed herself. Pushing off from another boat, cutting her feet in the process, she swam towards the surface, all the while thanking her da that he had taught her to swim. Taught all his bairns. He could never understand how the folk of Pittenweem could put their trust in the sea and then fail to learn how to move within it. Not that it helped him or Erik. But it would help her.

The reverend was right about one thing, she thought as, pushing aside her pain, she used even strokes to make her way to the surface. She was a fishwife, a woman who understood the ocean and respected it.

Drawing in air, she floated, getting her bearings, grateful now for the wailing wind, the timpani of rain that hid the sound of her movements. Above her loomed the other side of the Sophia. It was too high and too damaged for her to climb, but the boat next to it wasn’t.

Using the last of her strength, she pulled herself into it and sprawled on her back on the deck, panting, allowing the rain to fall upon her. As much as she wanted to lie there, she knew she didn’t have long. Scrambling to her feet, she used the rope attached to the boat to drag it closer to the pier. From there, she climbed onto the stones, some crumbling back into the water. She looked over her shoulder, but couldn’t see the reverend. Surely he wouldn’t have left? Assumed she was dead? He’d want evidence, if not for the council, then for himself.

She crept towards the bow of the Sophia. It was bent and broken, half-embedded in the pier that held it and the remains of the bowsprit within its stony grasp. Quietly she leapt across, her bare feet making no noise that could be heard above the constant rain, booming waves and whistling wind.

Around the side of the forecastle, behind the first mast and past the old coils of rope, collapsed sails and other equipment, she found an iron bar and hefted it in her hand.

The reverend was bent over the railing, searching the surging water.

She came closer and closer.

‘Lost something, reverend?’ she yelled.