Stirling, Scotland, October 1619 "Kristina, wake up and…

““Stirling, Scotland, October 1619 "Kristina, wake up and ready yourself for a journey!" In her bedchamber, Kristina MacQueen jolted awake. Had she just heard her mother's voice? 'Twas impossible. Her mother had passed many years ago. The voice had been inside her dream. What had Ma meant about a journey? Kristina had not left the vicinity of her aunt and uncle's manor house in many months. Hearing the faint hoofbeats of many horses galloping in the distance, she sat up and listened. As each moment passed, the horses' hooves pounded closer and closer until they echoed off the cobblestones just outside the window. Her heart thumping and an eerie feeling prickling along her skin, she swung her feet toward the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. A fist battered violently at the home's entrance door below. "Saints. Who could that be?" she whispered. It had to be the middle of the night or the wee hours of the morn, for she heard no one moving about the house and her room was chilly. The visitor couldn't be the physician calling to treat Uncle Gilbert, who suffered from gout, rheumatism and various other ailments. Nay, he wouldn't bring that many horses with him on a house call. Maybe 'twas the creditors, come to expel them from their home. When her uncle's health had declined, so had his funds. Could it be news of her older sister? She had not heard from Anna in many months. Ready yourself for a journey, her mother had said in the dream. Good heavens! Had someone come for her, to take her to Anna? Heart hammering, Kristina leapt from the warm bed. Though she couldn't see, she knew the placement of the furniture in her room and could easily navigate the space without bumping into anything. After tiptoeing across the cold wooden floor in her stockings, she approached the door and turned the knob to open it a crack, then listened. The maids were in an uproar on the ground floor below. "What's the racket?" Aunt Matilda yelled as she tromped by Kristina's chamber and down the stairs. "Who is it?" she demanded near the front door. "Chief Blackburn MacCromar!" The snarled response was bellowed from outside, just below her window. A chill of terror and revulsion flashed through Kristina. "Saints, preserve us." She shut the door and barred it, her fingers trembling. She had not been near the malicious bastard in two years. He had finally come for her. Anxiety and nausea froze her to the spot. What would he do? Would he kill her for a certainty this time?””

— Vonda Sinclair