Euphemia
My heart was full to the brim as I cradled wee Moire against my chest. Her soft weight, her milky warmth, her tiny fingers tangled in my sleeve—aye, this was the kind of comfort no grand manor could match.
My brother Ronald was a little stiff with me—his jaw tight, his eyes avoiding mine—but he’d forgive me soon enough. He always did. Food in our bellies mattered more than wounded pride or my sudden departure.
“At least wi’ the Sassunnach Laird we can celebrate Christmas alongside Hogmanay this year,” my aunt whispered, slipping an arm around my shoulders.
Ronald only grunted, crossing his arms tight across his chest like a gate shutting.
Uncle Callum was settling Angus and Hamish into bed, the pair chattering louder than a flock of geese. Their laughter drifted faintly down the hall—warm, familiar—filling the croft in a way it hadn’t in weeks.
Moire stirred in my arms, tiny face scrunching before she settled again. My heart swelled so suddenly I had to blink hard.
“Ye dinnae need tae fret,” Auntie murmured. “Yer brother’ll come roon’. He kens fine ye did what ye had tae.”
“Aye,” I whispered, though guilt curled like smoke through my ribs. “I just wish he smiled at me the way he used tae.”
She squeezed my shoulder. “Time, lass. Time heals maist wounds.”
Perhaps this year would be different.
Every year before this, we’d celebrated Christmas in secret—quiet hymns, a candle lit low, a bit o’ bannock if we had the flour.
Not because anyone here would stop us now, but because old habits lingered.
The Kirk had near stamped Christmas out generations ago, and folk never fully brought the day back the way the English had.
But this year… this year we had wages. Food. A warm roof. Safety enough to share a meal without fear of the next day stealing it away.
For once, Christmas didn’t feel like a guilty whisper.
It felt like hope.
? ? ?
I took a steadying breath and knocked on the dining room door. I didn’t know why the man insisted on daily updates, but it was his money and his right. Still, it felt unnecessary—a task anyone else could’ve handled.
When his voice called for me to enter, I pushed the door open.
His presence always managed to pull the air from the room, as though he displaced something essential simply by existing.
He nudged the chair beside him with his boot until it slid out.
“Euphemia,” he murmured. “How is your family?”
I blinked—because good Lord, his attire was more formal than usual: light tan breeches that fit indecently well, a darker waistcoat, and a rich navy tailcoat that did nothing to soften the severity of his frame.
The white cravat wound neatly at his throat only made his dark curls look darker, almost black.
“Aye, they are fine. Thank ye for huvin’ them over,” I said, forcing myself closer to the table.
“It is my pleasure,” he replied, pouring a cup of tea with a smoothness that made me suspicious.
I swallowed as I sat.
What was he up to now?
“And your brother?” he asked mildly.
Uncle Callum and his big mouth.
“He is a little upset wi’ me.”
“Oh?” he said, sliding the dainty teacup toward me.
Something fluttered beneath my chest—a small, unwelcome shift I refused to name.
“He didnae like that I left wi’oot saying goodbye,” I admitted.
“I see,” he murmured, lifting his own cup to his lips.
I placed the list between us on the table, a practical barrier.
Business. That was safer.
But he kept those darkening blue eyes fixed on me, refusing to glance at the list until I said every word aloud.
And that sound—that strange, soft purr rolling from his chest—should have sent me running straight for the Lowlands without stopping to pack a crust of bread.
Yet it didn’t frighten me.
It eased something inside me.
Warmed something.
Resonated in a place that did not belong to me at all.
A response that was mine… and not mine.
I don’t ken how long the meeting lasted, nor could I remember a single thing we discussed. My mouth had spoken, aye, but my mind had wandered somewhere far from the dining room.
When I slipped out and closed the door softly behind me, the echo of that sound lingered in my chest.
A faint vibration.
A pulse that wasnae my own.
And beneath it all, I still felt the weight of those piercing blue eyes.
Aye. I was cursed.
Or worse—he’d bewitched me wi’ dark seelie magic.
? ? ?
The day grew stranger and stranger. Beneath the vinegar, lye and lemon, another scent threaded the air—faint, warm, and wholly out of place.
A fragrant musk.
Rich earth.
And something I couldn’t name at all.
A restlessness stirred beneath my chest, sharp as a prickle and twice as irritating. It made me jittery, on edge. The clatter of a bucket, the crack of Uncle Callum’s hammer—every sudden sound had me jumping like a skittish hare.
By the time my work was finally done, I practically fled the manor. My feet carried me faster than reason, faster than pride, straight back toward the croft.
Yet even as I reached the door—breath misting in the cold air—I felt it.
Anticipation.
God help me, I was anticipating my early-morning meeting with the Laird.
The weans barrelled into me the moment I stepped inside, their laughter flooding the croft. Little Moire toddled behind them, arms outstretched. Ranald sat at the table with a book open, giving me a stiff nod that was almost—almost—a smile.
Hamish launched himself at me.
“Oi! She isnae a horse. Dinnae be jumpin’ on her like one!” Aunt Flora barked, swatting at him with a cloth.
Hamish only giggled and squeezed me tighter.
Aye.
It was all worth it for them.
“Right,” I said, setting him down. “Books out. All o’ ye.”
A chorus of groans rose like a funeral hymn.
My parents had sacrificed everything—everything—to make sure I could read and write. This was my way of honouring that gift. My way of giving back.
For all the strangeness of the Sassunnach’s ways…
For all the discomfort that prickled under my skin…
He’d brought stability into our wee family.