Panic seized me.
My limbs jerked, fighting something I could not see, could not name—until the world toppled sideways.
Thud.
My eyes flew open.
I lay sprawled on the wooden floor, tangled in blankets.
The cold bit into my spine.
The chamber was dim, silent but for my ragged breaths.
With a groan, I kicked the covers off and stared up at the once-white ceiling. A damp patch spread like a bruise in the corner near the window.
Another leak to add to the list.
I pushed myself upright, glancing toward the hearth.
No point lighting a fire when there was so much work to attend to.
I braced a hand on the bedframe and paused.
The beast from my nightmare—no, vision—hovered at the edges of my mind.
Something more had been there.
Something important.
The colour red?
I shook my head sharply.
This was how people became addled.
I needed a stiff drink, not tea.
Chapter 4
Euphemia
I told no one about what happened yesterday. My aunt and uncle had enough to worry about without adding my madness to the list. With seven mouths to feed, things were already dire. They hid their worries from us, whispering in the corner when they thought we were asleep, but the house was small and the nights were long.
Uncle Callum had been out from dawn till dusk for weeks, walking miles on foot, trying to find a day’s work. Tonight was no different.
“A new lord has set claim tae Eilidh House. There may be work there. A’ll need tae speak tae Graham McTavish. Try’n get ma foot intae the estate,” he whispered.
“Maybe ah could find a position,” Aunt Flora murmured.
“Ma wee darlin’, naw. Yu’ve got Moire tae tend to.”
“Och, Euphemia can take care o’the bairns,” she muttered.
“How’s the wee lassie goan tae feed her?” he shot back gently.
I almost burst out laughing into my pillow—Aunt Flora was breastfeeding Moire as she said it.
“I could take Moire wi’me,” she grumbled stubbornly.
