Scotland 1746The sky is bright, but cloudy above me. An icy wind blows across the moor making the grass sway around me. My skin is parched, like I’ve been standing too close to a fire. Underneath my woven dress, I am cold and burning at the same time.
Sitting up makes my head spin. I hold still so I’m not sick. Eventually, I realise I’m being watched. Will stands nearby studying me. I shake my head to clear it and immediately regret the action. I clutch my stomach. Will continues to watch me.
I’m uneasy as if there is something I need to do elsewhere, but my mind fails to hold on to the moments that led to this point. I reach a hand up to my forehead thinking I cut it, but there is no blood.
“Am I dead?” I ask Will.
“You don’t look dead,” he replies with his Scottish accent. It sounds
