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
Expecting the townsfolk to avoid her or shout insults and curses, Sorcha was astonished when more than one came up to her and clapped her on the back, or thanked her for what she did.
‘We saw you, Sorcha,’ said Hetty Collins, wee Mary in tow. ‘You were mighty brave to try and save the reverend.’
‘Aye,’ agreed Rachel Mowbray, a long-time friend of the Cowpers inclined to regard Sorcha and the fishwives with loathing. ‘It was a Christian act.’ She said it as if it was the last thing she expected.
Perhaps it was, thought Sorcha. After all, in Rachel’s mind and so many others, she was a witch. Thanks to the reverend.
After that, many others came forward. Mr Donaldson the brewer offered to bring her a gallon of his finest, while Michael Bruce promised her a few drams when next she stopped in at the tavern.
Overwhelmed and wanting to simply get back home and if not sleep, then think on what had happened, Sorcha wasn’t to be let off the hook.
She found herself with Nicolas in Katherine’s cottage, her wounds tended, a meal and some whisky forced upon her while endless visitors dropped by.
From harlot and harridan to hero; from wanton witch to worthy woman — thanks to the reverend. The man would be turning in his grave. That is, thought Sorcha wickedly, once he was put in it.
Sorcha stared at the hearth and released a silent moan as the cold that had leached into her bones slowly and painfully receded. She couldn’t help but be glad the man was dead given all the pain, strife and sorrow his zealotry and obsession with witches had brought to the Weem. Not only would he get the burial he’d denied Janet Cornfoot and Thomas Brown, but likely he would get a funeral service filled with honours and prayers.
Unable to help herself, Sorcha cursed his soul. Remembering what he was prepared to do to her, the blame he was set to lay upon her shoulders for his own acts, the lengths he would go to maintain control, she was glad he was dead.
In thwarting his plans, surviving his calculated torture and his attempt to kill her, she was doing what she promised Janet she would: living.
