“He was a leecher,” I said, jaw tight.
Aunt Flora slammed the cloth shut over the oatcakes.
“Ye get her oot o’here. I willnae huv her being attacked. Dae ye hear me, Callum McDonald? Ah willnae huv it!” she hissed.“We’ve lost enough.”
Uncle Callum stared at me—long, heavy, the way Da used tae look when weighing a choice he hated but knew was right.
Finally, he nodded.
“Get yerself ready,” he said quietly, closing his eyes as if sending the decision up to the heavens.
I stood and turned away as they began whispering again, giving them privacy—and giving myself a moment to steady the trembling in my hands.
I slipped behind the hanging cloth that separated the sleeping corner from the rest of the house, giving myself a moment of privacy. The floor was cold beneath my bare feet, the stones biting at my skin as I dressed quickly. I pulled on my thickest gown—though that wasn’t saying much—and packed an extra shift and stockings, folding them tight into the thin linen sheet I tied into a makeshift bundle.
My fingers trembled on the last knot.
A flutter in my chest stirred unlike any other, and the memory of the growl flooded back.
A warning.
A call.
It felt strange yet familiar.
I pressed my hand to the spot and shook my head fiercely.
Nonsense.
A dream brought on by fear and hunger.
I lifted my bundle and stepped out into the main room.
Aunt Flora caught me before I could even take two steps. She pulled me into her arms, her brown hair tickling my cheek as she crushed me against her warm, soft frame.
“Thank ye,” she whispered, voice breaking.“I’ve packed some food fur ye. Now away wi’ye before ye make me greet like a bairn.”
I kissed her cheek and hugged her back tightly.
“Tell the wee ones that I’ll be back soon,” I murmured, though the words scraped something raw in my throat.
She nodded quickly, wiping her eyes with the hem of her apron.
Uncle Callum waited by the door, adjusting the strap of his worn satchel. He gave me a stiff nod—not unkind, just weighed down by worry—before he pushed the door open.
The cold morning air rushed in, sharp enough to sting my eyes.
We stepped outside.
The sky was still dark, the kind of deep indigo that came before dawn. A thin mist curled along the ground, clinging to the heather and the old fence posts. Our breaths puffed into white clouds as we set off down the narrow pebbled path.
My bundle thumped lightly against my hip.
My shawl fluttered in the wind.
And every step carried me farther from what I knew… and closer to whatever waited at Eilidh House.
The air was cold, but fresh—almost sweet—filling my lungs in a way that made something inside me stretch, uneasy and alert.
