Page 4 of Claimed Highland Brides

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FORTUNE-TELLER

D aividh froze in the doorway, looking around the room as if he expected Fiona to spring up from the corner and yell “surprise!” in his face. When he realized that was not going to happen, he stepped into the room, eyes narrowed, looking around for any sign as to where they might have gone. He strode to the wardrobe and flung it open, eyes flying about looking for clues. Her bag was still on the floor, unpacked but open, clothes spilling out.

Good, this must mean she has not gone far , he thought with relief.

Or someone took her by force , a more insidious and snide voice interjected. He shook his head in denial. If someone had stolen her away, they would have had to walk down the corridor he was watching. He would have seen them. Just to be sure, he walked out of the room and walked the length of the corridor, looking for clues or signs of a struggle.

Finding nothing, he returned to the room and began to search it inch by inch as he tried not to panic.

I knew she would be trouble the moment I saw her .

He sighed, looking around, trying to see what might be out of place. The beds were still made, however, the blankets were wrinkled as though somebody had sat on top of them. The maid’s bags were in the corner and hanging off the bed was the gown she’d been wearing on the road.

So she changed her clothes .

That was a good sign. It indicated that they had the time and leisure to primp and polish themselves before leaving. There was a shawl strewn on the bed as if thrown off agitated shoulders. It sprawled across the blanket, covering it from left to right. On the floor, beside the bed, he found a silver hairpin that seemed as if it had fallen off someone’s hair.

Hmm, somebody was agitated.

It did not tell him much about where they might have gone. He exited the room and followed the corridor to the other end, where it culminated in the kitchens. He looked around, where the innkeeper’s wife was busy at the fire, stirring a huge pot. In the corner sat a young boy, sucking on a bone, his eyes on Daividh.

Walking toward him, Daividh squatted right in front of the boy. “Good evenin’ t’ye. What’s yer name then?”

The boy ceased his suckling. “Aonghus,” he said.

Daividh nodded. “Well Aonghus, I have a question tae be askin’ of ye. Did ye see twa ladies pass by here? Mebbe alone, mebbe wi’ someone? They would ha’ headed out o’ the inn?”

Aonghus thoughtfully sucked on his bone before letting it go with a loud slurp. “I seen twa ladies gang that way.” He pointed towards the back fence of the inn, which seemed to lead to an open field.

“They were alone? No one was making them gang?”

The boy shook his head so vigorously his hair flew back and forth, finally landing in his eyes. He flicked it back with a jerk of his head and resumed his suckling. Daividh got to his feet with a frown. He did not understand what Fiona and her maid would want with an empty field. If nobody was chasing them, and they were not running away, then what were they doing?

He shook his head and spat.

Women …

* * *

Fiona leaned against the door after slamming it in Daividh’s face, and sighed. Her chest heaved with annoyance and she closed her eyes, trying to get herself under control.

“The nerve of that man.”

Julieta laughed. “I think he truly is trying tae protect ye.”

Fiona opened her eyes so she could glare at her maid. “I dinnae need any protection.” She moved away from the door, still glaring, “Have I no been in charge of the keep all these years since Ma died? Have I no given orders, kept order?” She was veritably steaming.

“Of course ye have,” Julieta tried in vain to calm her, “but yon oaf doesnae ken that. Ye cannae blame him for tha’. He doesnae ken ye.”

“Aye, he definitely does not. If’n he thinks I’m gang tae stay in here like a meek little?—”

“Miss Fiona!” Julieta narrowed her eyes before widening them.

“What? He’s no’ my keeper. I dinnae have tae do as he says!”

“But...yer uncle sent him to fetch ye. He’s in charge o’ ye until we get tae Dunavar.”

“I am not a parcel to be delivered from one place tae another. If’n I wish to walk aboot, I shall.”

“ Do ye wish tae walk aboot?”

Fiona gave it some thought before nodding once. “Aye, I do. Come on. Let us gang. I have heard tell of a fortune-teller in Drummacree. A most notorious harridan whose prophecies are afeared far and wide due tae how often they come true. I should like to ken my fate,” she replied airily.

Julieta sighed deeply as she shook her head. “Are ye sure? Or are ye just being contrary?”

Fiona snorted. “Can I no’ do both?”

Julieta just shook her head and bent to the bags, extracting a woolen tartan and passing it to Fiona before refastening her cloak. “’Tis cold out. This’ll serve ye better than the shawl.”

Fiona nodded, leaving the shawl spread out on her bed as she whirled around and headed to the door. “Guid. Weel if that is settled, let us be on our way.” She strode out the door, confident that Julieta would follow. At the end of the corridor she stopped short. If she went around the corner, she would be visible from the main hall of the inn. Maybe Daividh would see her. Maybe he would forcibly return her to her room. She did not want that kind of embarrassment. It was not that she was afraid of him. He simply came across as very neanderthal and she would not put it past him to manhandle her “frae yer own guid.”

So she whipped around, almost smashing into Julieta who jumped back, her reflexes surprisingly quick. “Oh!” she exclaimed in surprise.

“I’m sorry. I dinnae see ye there.” Fiona walked around her maid and then back down the corridor. Julieta followed her with a loud sigh. At the end of the corridor, they could hear the noise from the kitchen—pots banging, a high-pitched voice reprimanding someone else, loud conversation...it would be an ideal place to slip out without necessarily being noticed.

Fiona glanced back one more time to check that they were still free of pursuit and then slipped into the kitchen, keeping out of people’s way. She scurried as fast as she could towards the door that clearly led to the stables, Julieta on her heels.

Heaving a sigh of relief as they stepped outside, she immediately began to head in the opposite direction to the stables. They walked quickly around the building and out of the gates, relaxing once they knew for sure they were unpursued.

“This is a terrible idea Miss Douglass, and ye ken it weel. Why are ye doing this? Where are we gang?” Julieta complained.

Fiona huffed. “I awready told ye where we are gang. Why must ye be sae ornery all the time? Just haud yer wheesht and follow me.”

Julieta grumbled a bit more to herself but obligingly kept her own counsel as she followed Fiona. This was a relief because Fiona was not sure exactly where she was going. She simply followed the road until it brought them to the town square. There were a number of shops surrounding the Mercat Cross, as well as a church.

To the left of the square was the market where vendors loudly advertised their wares. Fiona cautiously approached a woman selling pigeon pies, reached into her pocket for a penny, and handed it over. The woman put two pies in her hands and she handed one to Julieta before taking an appreciative bite.

“Pardon me, ma’am, but we’re looking for the fortune-teller. Can ye tell us where we’ll find her?”

The woman looked her up and down with narrowed eyes. “What does a young lady like ye want wi’ a spaewife?”

Fiona pursed her lips. “That isnae any of yer consairn. Can ye direct me tae her or no?”

The woman sighed and pointed further down the stalls. “Ye’ll find her at th’ end o’ this line. ’Tis the tent which looks black as midnight with the wee bawbee at th’ top.”

Fiona nodded curtly. “Thank ‘e kindly.” She hurried off, dodging customers and stalls, slowing down as the path got narrower and darker. She turned her head to make sure that Julieta was still following, a sliver of fear shivering through her frame. It was still daylight but down at this end, the stalls were so close together that hardly any light filtered through. It was gloomy and dank, the ripe smell of rotting fruit permeating the air.

Still, Fiona did not let it slow her down at all.

She came to a stop at a large tent, covered with a midnight blue sheet as described by the pie woman. She lifted her hand tentatively, wondering if she should knock or simply barge in.

“Come in Miss Fiona. I have been awaiting ye’re arrival since yesterday. What took ye sae long?”

Fiona blinked into the gloom, trying to identify the direction from which the voice came. A slight movement on her left had her turning to see what looked like a bundle of rags in a corner. “Guid day t’ye?” she murmured tentatively.

“Come in, Miss Fiona. Dinnae be shy.”

Fiona crept tentatively into the room and stood awkwardly in the middle of the floor, waiting for the voice to give her further instruction. She flicked a glance behind her and realized that she was alone. Julieta had stayed outside. As she turned back around, a figure emerged from the dark making her dart backward and scream.

Julieta stuck her head in the tent. “Miss Douglass? Are ye alrigh’?”

Heart fluttering erratically, she nodded slowly, her bosom heaving as she placed a hand over it. “I-I was just startled,” she breathed.

“Aye, alrigh’,” Julieta sounded dubious but she withdrew her head from the room anyway.

“Forgive me. I dinnae mean to startle ye.” The fortune-teller had eyes so big and dark they seemed to swallow her entire face. Her skin was surprisingly smooth and she did not look very old. She was very different from the image of an old crone Fiona had been carrying about in her head.

“’Tis alrigh’ I suppose.”

The woman stepped aside, pointing to a chair. “Come. Sit.”

Fiona stepped up to the chair right away and sat down. She smiled tentatively at the fortune-teller, who ignored her, crossing the small table that Fiona was sitting at and taking the wooden chair on the other side. She sat still, arms folded in her lap, and contemplated Fiona with those wide dark eyes.

Fiona wanted to squirm, wondering if this had all been a colossal mistake. Then the woman began to speak.

“How are yer sisters then?” she asked with a smile.

Fiona just gaped at her. The woman reached for her hand and drew it to her, peering down at it. “Ye have a long life line. That means ye’ll live a long life. Is that what ye came here for? Hocus pocus?” She looked up at Fiona, seeming disappointed.

“Uh…” Fiona scrambled for an answer. “Uh, no. I mean, I wish t’hear anything ye have tae say tae me.”

She nodded once. “Guid.”

“But first, what should I call ye?” Fiona hastened to add.

The woman laughed, her voice sounding like a creaky loose plank in an old house. “I am Aifric.”

Fiona nodded. “Very pleased tae make yer acquaintance. Now, how did ye ken my name?”

Aifric laughed. “Ah ah, that would be tellin’.”

Fiona stared. “Weel then? What can ye tell me?”

Aifric laughed. “Are ye sulking my child? Perhaps ye should gang and come back when ye’ve had a few more yea?—”

“No ma'am please,” Fiona interrupted frantically, waving her arms. “I’m sorry. Please tell me what ye can. I shall keep silent.”

Aifric abruptly sobered. “Nae nae, ye can speak. I need ye tae speak.”

Fiona quirked an eyebrow. “What would ye like me to say?”

“Tell me, how are yer sisters?”

Fiona cleared her throat nervously. “They were well when I left them. Should I be fashit?”

“Ach, no. But ye mun’ keep them close. Ye’ll need their love and protection soon.”

Fiona’s eyes widened. “What d’ye mean?”

“I mean...this wedding ye are headed frae, it has more twists and turns than ye ken. And at the end of it all, ye shall unfurl a veritable worm’s nest. One ye might not ken what tae do wi’. ’Tis no too late tae turn away. Take do leannan and go back to your keep and wait for yer uncle to seek ye out. Do ghràidh will defend ye wi’ his life. But if ye choose tae gang on, then gird yer loins.”

Fiona’s heart was pounding. “Who is this ‘love’ ye keep speaking of?”

Aifric just smiled. “Do ye no ken? Think.”

Fiona blinked at her, brow furrowed. “I...dinnae…” She trailed off, mind touching on Daividh.

No.

Surely not.

She cannot mean...him?

Her vision blurred and she swayed with dizziness. “Wha…?”

“Ach, ’tis nae tha’ surprising, is it? Tell me ye havenae been making eyes at each other since ye met?”

Fiona blushed crimson and looked away.

Aifric gave a delighted laugh. “Aye, ’tis the sweet bloom of young love that may grow into a strong and healthy tree bearing abundant fruit...or it may be killed ifn’ it isnae watered and tended. ’Tis up to ye.”

“Isn’t...a prophecy supposed tae be more definite?”

“I’m afraid not, little one. Nothing is set in stone.”

“ Nothing ?”

Aifric spread out her hands. “Our Lord gave us free will. What we do wi’ it is up to us.”

“But there are paths that are set frae us to walk, are they no?”

“Ye pick yer paths, my dear. And then ye walk down them and sooner or later, ye come tae a crossroads, and ye pick a path...and another...and another. Sae far, all yer choices have brought ye here. Ye stand at a crossroads. Which way will ye gang tae next?”

“I suppose…” Fiona bit her lip, thinking hard. “I shall follow the road to unearth the worms. My faither always said that ignoring something willnae make it gang away.”