Unnerved by the influx of nephews, agitated parsons, and the trouble brewing in Woodstock, I reached behind me for the chair. With my reach restricted by the unfamiliar clothes, I lost my balance and began to fall. A rough hand shot out and gripped me by the elbow, lowering me to the seat with surprising gentleness.
“It’s all right, Auntie.” Gallowglass made a soft noise of sympathy. “I’m not sure what’s amiss in your head, but Matthew will take care of you. He has a warm spot in his heart for lost souls, bless him.”
“I’m dizzy, not deranged,” I retorted.