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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Kirkwall, Orkney

December 1594

EDWARD

Long after the thugs left Mr.Couper’s office, Edward stays in the crawl space, rigid with fear. He thinks of the men who came twelve days after Samhain to his cottage and arrested his mother, the searing pain of the baton one of them cracked against his skull. He still gets blinding pains from it.

He waits, silently pleading for Mr.Couper to wake, to come and find him.

To tell him that all is well.

But he doesn’t, and when Edward’s leg muscles begin to shriek from the uncomfortable position of the small space, he finally pushes himself out into the room.

It is dark, but he can see the shape of Mr.Couper on the ground.

“Mr.Couper?” he says quietly. He lowers, touching him. Mr.Couper is cold, and he thinks about pulling the blanket that he lies upon to cover him. But then he realizes that the dark, glossy blanket is blood, sticky to the touch.

He gasps at the sight of it, spread far across the floor. When he finds the courage to look upon Mr.Couper’s face, he knows he is already dead.