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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

Same with that auld crone, Janet Cornfoot. Now there was a contermashus woman if ever there was one. Known for threatening those who disagreed with her and working charms, most, including Patrick, gave her a wide berth. There she was, over by the harbour wall, clecking away to the Lawson lass — what was her name again? Nicolas? Aye, that was it. Wasn’t enough being a fishwife, she also fancied herself a healer with her potions and lotions. Folk would go to her for medick instead of the local doctor. It wasn’t right. None of those women were right, Patrick felt it in his bones.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that all three carried the taint of witchcraft; nor, he was convinced, was it a coincidence they were friends with Sorcha McIntyre. Why even Mrs Lawson, though she was married to a farmer and worked the land during summer and the autumn harvest, still came to the foreshore most days to help with the drave. Raised to do the work, she declared it was in her blood; a calling she’d no choice but to answer. It was what they all said, these women of the sea. Coming from the countryside himself, the reverend couldn’t understand it. Och, he enjoyed the sight of the ocean, the waves and birds that circled endlessly above. He even liked the seals that bobbed in the waters around the harbour. But to claim the sea was a part of you? A calling you couldn’t ignore? It wasn’t natural. Only God could call to a person and expect an answer. God and the Queen. To listen to anything or anyone else was blasphemy, heathen; bewitchment by any other name, surely. All the same, he ensured he at least gave the appearance of abiding by the laws of the sea and encouraged others to do the same. He feared if he didn’t, he’d be treated as the incomer he was. Where would his authority be then? How could he hope to maintain order within the community, let alone among these women, if he didn’t at the very least act as if he believed in the curious ways of the locals?

Just as he was about to make his way back to town, the reverend spied Sorcha. She hadn’t been among those sorting and gutting but had accompanied a group of children collecting bait along the skerries for the next day’s fishing. He watched as she appeared directly below him, walking across the sand, a wide basket pressed against her hip, leaning the opposite way to keep it in place. Her long hair blew in the wind, a mass of tangled curls that teased her swaying hips. The children not old enough to carry buckets danced about her, one walking backwards in front, holding up something to show her.