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A number of women turned to stare at her, some looking more enthusiastic than others. The younger women were twitchy, their ears primed for the crêche.

Finally Iseult stood. The projector beamed light onto the screen but no image. The doppelg?nger started fiddling again. Iseult smiled and came forward, beaming at the audience.

‘Ladies, welcome. Welcome especially to those of you who can’t normally attend and to newcomers.

Please sit back and relax for half an hour.

For those of you who don’t know me, or don’t remember me, I’m Iseult MacDonald.

I was born in Kirkglen into a family who believe it can trace its roots here further back than there are written records.

I’m probably related to half of you. My parents moved away when I was quite young and I was brought up in Glasgow.

I went to a good school, a wonderful university, got a good job, a lovely husband and a couple of encumbrances - sorry children - a lovely house in a leafy street, foreign holidays and yet…

I came back. I came back as an outsider, like the other half of you. ’

Rose couldn’t see Iseult very well without making her eyes water, she was standing too close to the projector screen. Some of the audience was fidgeting, exchanging glances .

‘“Very nice,” you’re thinking.’ said Iseult.

‘“How kind of her to tell us about her success and how she deigned to come back and grace us with her presence.” Well it’s not quite like that.

I came back specifically to join the Guild.

I came back because the Guild is in my blood and I want to explain what it can do for you, whether it’s in yours or not. ’

The projector suddenly connected to the laptop and an image appeared on the screen.

It was a rough sketch map of a town. You could make out the old church surrounded by dwellings.

It represented Kirkglen in the Middle Ages, before plague wiped out the population.

Try as she might, Rose, tilting her head, couldn’t align it in her head with the current town.

Iseult spoke at length about the history of the place in an unpredictable world of unhealthy monarchs, political wranglings, land grabbing, religious factions regulating and confusing.

Images flashed. She was a brilliant speaker, engaging and witty, knowing when to drop in a bit of legend or anecdote to amuse and when to counter this with tales of injustice and brutality.

‘Kirkglen was not unique in this respect.

You could go - can go - anywhere in the world and the same thing played out.

What made Kirkglen unique at this time was its relationship with its wise.

Their knowledge was so deep, the respect so great, that even in a time when communication and infrastructure was terrible, people came to this town for advice and help.

The community was noticeably healthier, children had a better survival rate, miscarriages, stillbirths and neonatal deaths were few.

‘Young people grew old. Those injured by dirty and rusty tools, did not die of lockjaw, but survived. The midwives were renowned, their secrets were shared with other midwives from other villages.

‘But do the powerful really want a healthy workforce?

A healthy workforce is strong. It is not so weak and desperate it will accept whatever the laird will throw at them.

It is not so fearful it will change its beliefs when told.

It learns to read. It sends children into the world to return with new ideas.

‘There was strength in the womenfolk and they would not accept maltreatment by husbands. If one sister fell, the others would take her and the children in. If the church told them to know their place, someone would prove from the Scriptures what was wrong in their argument.

‘Kirkglen was a place of strength and knowledge. Reports at the time say that it was a place considered blessed … but there were strange legends too. Tales of wolves who were not quite wolves, people who were not quite people, wild creatures who could change an d deceive. Selkie wives, it was said, were being brought from the firth to marry into the town.’

Rose felt her face redden.

‘And then the witch-trials started.’

A woodcut was displayed. Simple, black and white. Women dangled from scaffolds, stared to the heavens from pyres, tumbled trussed like fowl into rivers.

‘In three terrible years, seventy-five percent of the womenfolk and twenty percent of the menfolk were found guilty of witchcraft and executed, the youngest nine years old, the oldest seventy.’

She fell silent. The last image, a young girl, hands bound appealing to a group of men in black hats, faded and was replaced by an image of a door, its wood defaced with a white cross.

‘Within a year,’ she continued, ‘plague came to Kirkglen. Some say it was a curse. The town collapsed and a new one was built some distance from the old church: the one we live in now.’

An up to date map overlaid the old one. Rose found herself still tipping her head and squinting.

‘Around the time of the Clearances, the Guild was resurrected by Mrs Coira Straun’s great-great-great-grandmother among those who remained here.

’ Iseult motioned towards the woman in the wheelchair who inclined her head a little.

‘ This is what we aim to say to the women of this town,’ Iseult continued, ‘you are good enough. You are more than good enough. You are valid. It is not about wealth or education, it’s about what you’re doing and why you’re doing it.

Some of you are at home with small children.

Good for you. Some of you have demanding careers.

Good for you too. Just be sure you’re doing what you’re doing because it is right for you, not right for your parents or your friends or your partner or society but good for you. ’

Iseult moved slightly and the reflected light from the screen shone in Rose’s eyes again.

‘Why are you doing it?’ asked Iseult, ‘Why have you been doing it for all these years? Did someone make you? Or did you just stop yourself from following your own dreams?’

Iseult moved again, clicking on her remote control to change the image, the door opened and a beam of light shone onto her for a change. As she turned aside, blinded, Rose’s mobile vibrated. It was Simon.

Where are you Posie? I need some wine with my lunch.

Rose sidled out as quietly as she could, bumping into yet another obstructive man on the pavement. She’d no doubt missed the point of the talk, but she no longer cared.

Her phone went again, an unknown caller texted:

Sorry you had to rush off. Hope you can join us next time. E McPherson.

It was only when she was on the way home with the wine that Rose wondered who had given Emmeline her number.