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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

The skies opened and in moments the harbour and even the path down to it disappeared in a thick veil. Sorcha didn’t mind. It was a game she’d oft played, hide and seek in the rain and attendant fog, so she walked the steep path with confidence. A confidence that, whenever she thought of facing the Pittenweem folk melted faster than the clumps of snow clinging to the grass.

After all, how would the town react when they learned that Sorcha McIntyre, the woman some called husband-killer and baby-murderer, the woman once praised as a boon to her family but ultimately cursed, had returned?

At that moment, a fork of lightning split the sky, throwing the tower of the distant kirk into stark relief, as if God’s house and His heavenly bolt were the only things standing between her and long-delayed justice.

Justice that, if some had their way, would now be meted out.

Two

TWO

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I’ll give you the dreel.

(You are just about to get into real trouble.)

It wasn’t so much Hogmanay preparations but the pouring rain that provided the miracle for which Sorcha had prayed. The fishwives had finished sorting and, before she’d even reached the path along the harbourfront, had disappeared up the wynds, taking the catch with them. The men secured the boats and, along with their women-folk and children who had gathered the nets, escaped indoors. The few souls remaining outside were too intent on completing their tasks or raising a dram to the new year to notice a young woman scurrying along the shore or slipping on the cobbles of the High Street. Those who did, with one exception, failed to give her a second look.

The Tolbooth and kirk at the top of the road emerged briefly out of the sheeting rain and mist, landmarks that melded the sacred and profane. Sorcha kept her head down, neatly avoiding those also heading for shelter and, when she reached the looming edifice of the kirk, chose not to think about the man who occupied its hallowed halls or those under his blessed thumb, but turned left into Kirkgate. Passing the walled cemetery, her thoughts leapt the crumbling barrier to roam the gravestones that bore her family’s name. She would pay her respects soon; truth told, sooner than she’d thought she’d be able.