“Finwell Hyndman,” the judge called out. Amy stiffened and gasped as she watched her mother brought out to the court. Finwell was strong and stout, with thick black hair like Amy’s, but she had changed so much that at first I was sure they’d brought the wrong woman. The figure before us was thin, her hair shorn and her clothes replaced with rags. She was barefoot and her face bore black marks that were either dirt or bruises.
Duncan’s oldest son, Calan, took the stand to state the way Duncan had died. Calan was a tall, loud-voiced man with a flair for drama, which he used to regale the court with a long, drawn-out depiction of the way his father died. He said that Duncan’s death was painful and horrifying in its physical elements, which I already knew, but new to the tale were visitations from the spirits of his tormentors. He said that Finwell and the eleven others had all swept into the room on regular occasions, invisible to everyone but Duncan, who begged them to remove the curse. Kit said a black cat had appeared in the rafters of the roof and watched while Duncan writhed in pain.
Others were called forward to give evidence against Finwell.
Margaret McNicol, a wet nurse who had lost all four of her children in childbirth, said that she had often spied Finwell venturing out late at night, headed for Mither Stane on top of the fairy hill. We all knew Mither Stane, an ancient stone, brought good or bad luck, depending when you visited it, but Margaret charged Finwell with going there to converse with the fae.
“Finwell Hyndman,” the judge boomed. “You are charged with the practice of witchcraft upon the Council of Lòn Haven in the Year of Our Lord, 1662. What is your confession?”
The crowd fell silent as the confession was to be heard. Finwell struggled to speak, but couldn’t, and so the judge called out again.
“I have before me written evidence of your confession, which I shall present to this court. You will assign your agreement or disagreement by nodding or shaking your head. ‘I, Finwell Hyndman, confess to renouncing baptism in servitude of the Devil, and acting alongside my coven to bring about the sickness and subsequent death of Duncan McGregor.’？”
The crowd erupted into chatter and whispers. I saw Amy lift her head and stare at her mother, who kept her face bowed to the floor. What coven? I thought. Why isn’t she refuting this charge? Why isn’t she shaking her head?
The judge stared at Finwell. “Speak yay or nay to these charges, woman.”
My heart was pounding in my chest as I watched Finwell for her response. Finally, with a whimper, I saw her nod. The crowd burst into jeers.
I felt Amy sway beside me. The sight of her mother being led away, charged with terrible crimes, had made her legs weak. It was the sight of her sister, Jenny, being brought to the court floor, that made her sharpen her focus again.
Jenny looked stronger than her mother, though she wept openly and her head was shorn like Finwell’s had been. Elspeth Mair, a widow who Jenny had often assisted at the market, brought forth her evidence, sweeping to the stand and proclaiming to a rapt audience that she had seen Jenny speaking with the fae at Mither Stane. The fairy hill, she believed, was where the coven gathered to plot their foul doings. She had chided Jenny for this, she said, and as a result one of her cows died.
The judge told Jenny to nod or shake or head if she agreed or disagreed with her charges. She nodded.
“I have here your confession,” the judge said, “which I will read before the court. ‘I, Jenny Hyndman, confess to performing acts of perversion with the Devil in the forest, whereupon he did turn me into a cat, instructing me to roam upon the rooftops of those I wanted to curse.’？” He lowered the scroll and stared at her. “Nod or shake your head.”
The crowd gasped as Jenny nodded.
Amy and I shared a glance. We knew this wasn’t true. Why, then, was Jenny confessing to such acts? She knew the penalty for witchcraft was death—why would she lie?
But she wasn’t the only one to confess—every woman and girl, the youngest only two years older than Amy, claimed to have made a pact with the Devil. The confessions turned my stomach and hurt my head. I didn’t believe that any of them did these terrible things, especially not Finwell and Jenny, and yet each of them confessed readily.