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Back The Darkest Shore Save as PDF
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

But Sorcha knew he wasn’t quite dead when they hauled him out. The rope that had twined itself around his neck hadn’t yet squeezed the life from him. He kicked a few more times, unable to raise his hands as they were bound to his sides in the welter of rope and weed.

Their eyes met — the sea-witch and the reverend. Hatred filled his gaze, hatred and a terror that came with the knowledge his end had come. There was nothing anyone could do. He opened his mouth to say something, to shout out in protest at such a dishonourable death.

The words never came. Instead, his swollen tongue lolled from his lips and his scorching eyes dimmed. Even though the men backed away in horror at the sight their reverend presented, releasing the rope and sending him back to the water, Sorcha saw the moment life left the reverend. The darkness he swore was within her had taken him instead.

Sixty-One

SIXTY-ONE

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Fair is foul, and foul is fair.

— Macbeth, Act I scene i

By the time the reverend’s body had been recovered and taken to St Fillan’s Cave, Sorcha was sitting in Katherine Marshal’s cottage being tended to by Jean, Therese, Katherine herself, Mr Brown and Isobel’s father. Her cuts and scrapes had been bathed and bandaged, she’d downed more drams than she likely should have, and was just beginning to feel the benefits of the warm fire, clean dry clothes and the reassuring voices of those around her.

Of all those voices, it was Mr Brown’s she’d most heeded in the immediate aftermath of the reverend’s death. He’d pulled his coat back over her and sat her down on a gunwale out of the way as the bailies ordered the soldiers to fetch hooks and a stretcher so they could retrieve the reverend’s body, and get all the onlookers off the pier before more tragedy struck.

Insisting she keep the coat on, despite it being too large and becoming wet and heavy, he’d whispered she should hide the rope burns and wounds on her wrists, legs and other parts of her body. Her skirts were shredded, she’d lost her boots, how would she explain that?

Dazed and filled with crazed wonder at what had happened to her as well as disbelief at the reverend’s final moments, it took Sorcha a beat to understand what Mr Brown was saying. When she did, she nodded grimly, eyeing the bailies, who stood near the shattered railing, examining it closely, turning to regard her with what she could only surmise was suspicion. She no longer cared. She was too weary.

Nevertheless, she wasn’t so weary that she didn’t repeat Mr Brown’s version of events when the bailies finally crossed the deck and spoke with her.