Euphemia
My eyes kept drifting back to the window. Aunt Flora had told me Thaddeus had asked to see my uncle, and he still hadn’t returned. My mind filled with macabre images I couldn’t quite chase away.
“Och, it’ll all work oot. Dinnae be frettin’,” she murmured, stroking the back of my hair.
“I’d never seen Uncle Callum so angry before.”
“He thought the worst when ye didnae return.”
I jumped when I spotted Uncle Callum through the window. The door opened, but his face gave nothing away. He set a box down on the table. His hands weren’t bloodied—which felt like a very good sign.
“The laird sent some Christmas decorations fur the hoose,” he said, removing his cap and running a hand through his hair.
“We’re staying?” I asked cautiously.
“Fur now.”
I smiled.
Sassunnach or wolf, I didn’t know which part of him had swayed my uncle—but I was grateful he’d persevered.
My aunt opened the box and began laying the contents out: candles, ribbons, ornate holders, sprigs of holly and ivy.
“He said nobody will work on Christmas Day,” Callum added gruffly.
My eyes widened at that.
He would openly call Christmas a day of rest? No man, woman, or child was spared their labour on Christmas Day.
“We can bake some Yule bread this year,” Aunt Flora murmured, pressing a candle to her chest. “This wuz kind o’ him.”
My uncle grunted, but his eyes stayed on me.
“Ah’ll huv a word wae Ranald,” he said.
“Thank ye, Uncle Callum,” I said, standing to hug him.
We didn’t do it often enough.
He hesitated—just a beat—before his arms came around my shoulders. I felt him kiss the top of my head.
“Aww. You’s are goin tae make me bawl,” Aunt Flora said.
? ? ?
Years ago, when time had been kinder, we had celebrated Hogmanay. But seeing the children’s excitement for Christmas now felt like a balm laid gently over my heart.
The day was spent cleaning and decorating the house. I’d taken Angus and Hamish with me to gather evergreen branches to lay above the hearth.
Ranald still wouldn’t speak to me. He’d declined to join us.
Another night followed—restless and aching without Thaddeus. Madadh grew more agitated, circling and pacing within me. She remained quiet, though. She could feel my pain.
The steady presence of her was a reminder that the days and nights in the cottage had been real.
The bond was real.
“Are ye awake?” Ranald asked softly.
“Aye,” I whispered back.
Moire stirred beside me. I reached out, patting her shoulder until she settled again.
“Ah didnae mean what I said,” Ranald murmured, his voice thick with regret. “I cannae even remember what they look like.”
I turned my head toward him, but his pallet lay swallowed by shadow.
“Da looked awffie like Uncle Callum,” I began. “Màthair…”
My voice broke.
I remembered how different she had looked at the end.
“Màthair had the same colour hair as you,” I said softly, “wi’ brown eyes like the baith o’ us. She loved ye so much. And ye always used tae hide behind her skirts when ye were wee.”
He was quiet for so long I thought he’d fallen asleep.
“I used tae pretend that ye were Màthair,” he said at last. “And noo…” His voice thickened. “Ah’m just so angry.”
“We cannae change the past, Ranald,” I said gently. “But we owe it tae them tae live—for them. They sacrificed everythin’ fur us.”
He sighed heavily, his weight shifting on the pallet.
“An Englishman?” he asked, disgust plain even in a whisper. “Ye couldnae have found anyone else? Anyone at all?”
I grinned into the darkness.
“He grows on ye,” I said. “A bit like a weed.”
Another sigh followed—then silence.
But this time, it was comfortable.
? ? ?
I didn’t know what woke me, only that Madadh was suddenly there—pressing, insistent.
Mate. Mate. Mate.
I sat up slowly, careful not to disturb Moire beside me.
Outside, Madadh hissed, sharp and urgent.
I pulled on my shawl and boots, then slipped from the room. At the door, I hesitated only long enough to grab my uncle’s coat from its hook. It drowned me, heavy and oversized, but the warmth wrapped close. I eased the iron bolt free and cracked the door open.
Madadh’s excitement spilled over the moment the cold air hit us.
I shut the door quietly behind me and ran, snow biting at my ankles as we cut across the yard. Madadh’s nose guided us unerringly, her certainty thrumming through my blood.
A low whine came from the trees.
I skidded to a stop, my breath catching.
He stepped out from the shadows—massive, black as pitch, his size made all the more striking against the blinding white of the snow. His shoulders rolled as he moved, powerful and sure, and when he lifted his head, his eyes caught the moonlight—burning gold.
Mate, Madadh purred, awed and breathless, unable to look away.
I didn’t remember crossing the distance.
One moment I was standing there, the next I was on my knees in the snow, arms wrapped around his thick neck.
He gave a great huff of pleasure and flopped down with me, licking my face and snapping his teeth playfully in the air before pressing his heavy head into my chest.
His chuffs rumbled through him when I buried my hands in his fur, the sound vibrating straight through me.
“Hallo, Wulfric,” I whispered.
Through the bond, his joy flooded me—but it was threaded with a yearning so sharp it robbed me of breath. Beneath that lay something darker.
Pain. Loneliness. A vast, aching silence.
He lowered his head to my chest, and I held him there, offering what comfort I could. I stroked his jaw, kissed his fur, and whispered sweet words meant only for him.
Wulfric didn’t love us.
It was far greater than that.
He was unequivocally devoted to us.