‘Happy New Year,’ said Janet warmly. ‘Was waiting down by the harbour, wondering where you both had got to and now I know. You were just reacquainting yourself with the good minister.’ She acknowledged him briefly.

Reverend Cowper folded his arms and frowned. ‘Mrs McIntyre has no need to reacquaint herself with me or anyone in this town, Mrs Cornfoot.’ He paused and his eyes travelled over all who stood there. ‘We all know a brazen besom when we see one.’

There were gasps. One or two of the women shook their heads. Others lowered their chins. A couple of the men smirked, but no one dared correct him.

Sorcha gave an internal sigh. This is what she feared. ‘I hope the year will be a blessed one for you, reverend; for you all,’ she added, incorporating everyone. She took a step towards Cowper. ‘I’d hoped it being a new year, we’d make a fresh start.’

The reverend’s smile widened, as if a prelude to sharing a pleasantry. ‘You ken how we can make a fresh start, Sorcha McIntyre, and it has naught to do with a new year.’

Sorcha understood: surrender herself to a man and marry again. Like so many, the reverend couldn’t bear to see an independent woman, especially a widow with property. It was an observation he oft shared with his parishioners, even if they didn’t all agree. From the looks on the faces of those standing about, many more did than before. The very idea made Sorcha’s heart sink, at the same time making her more determined than ever to resist him… Nae, not resist, to prove him wrong.

There was nothing to fear from an independent woman, only a broken one — especially one who’d pieced herself back together.

Satisfied he’d made his point, and pleased Sorcha didn’t argue, the reverend raised his voice, addressing the growing assembly. ‘Happy New Year to one and all,’ he said. The greeting was returned. ‘Blessed be those who follow the ways of the Lord, who understand what it is to be a righteous man or woman. They do dwell in His light always.’ He lowered his arms and faced Sorcha. ‘Make sure you are righteous, Sorcha McIntyre, and that you understand your place. I tell you this as a warning because He and I will be watching and the moment you step from His path, I’ll be there to set you aright… After all, we can’t afford to lose any more good men… or bairns.’

Sorcha bit her tongue and forced herself to appear impassive as a storm raged in her chest.

Upon receiving no visible reaction, the reverend tore his eyes from her and regarded Nettie and Janet. ‘That goes for both of you, too.’

Without another word, he swept past them towards the High Street. With some muttering and backward glances, the bailies and a few others followed.