Page 31 of Outlaw Ever After (Highland Handfasts #3)

“Indeed, my sire is keen to win,” Laird Graham’s daughter gushed, appraising her from head to toe.

Imagine, being a stepmother to a woman her own age…

“Nay,” spoke Kendrew MacGregor’s sister. “My brother has kenned her since she was a babe and he a lad of nine. Lady Peigi should ken by now how he’s always favored her.” She cast a superior gaze at Peigi before slanting a glance at Graham’s daughter. “ And

remained unwed until now, unlike others.”

Peigi swallowed the distaste, remembering years of suitors coming to Urquhart with a shiny betrothal offer in hand, only to leave empty-handed when they realized how indebted the castle had once been.

“My sister has always been the epitome of grace,” Aileana said fondly. “Is it any wonder so many men vie for her hand?”

“I shall play yer game, Gertie,” Peigi said. “Let us see what the fates divine.”

“My Granny Jossy says the oat stalks only work if ye fix in yer mind the man ye favor,” Gertie said, as servants gathered along the walls.

Peigi took a sip, hoping the liquid might ease the nerves assailing her, though she still hadn’t yet regained much appetite after her convalescence.

“Have ye fixed him in yer mind, lady?” Gertie asked.

She closed her eyes.

A rogue’s face drifted beneath her eyelids, lying in the grass in a greenwood, his flute resting upon his chest and her finger twining his braided beard, so naive she’d been—

A blindfold was wrapped over her eyes.

The basket was given three shakes.

Followed by the rustling of the oats flinging onto the rushes. She reached out to pick three and be done with it except…she hesitated, as if by some invisible thread, guiding her.

Her hand tingled as it sifted through the stalks.

This was just a silly game, yet for some reason, she wanted to pick correctly. Wanted to pick for someone who loved her for her. If only such a man existed.

She shuttered her mind to all thoughts of cocksure rogues with emerald eyes and selected a stalk.

“Oooh,” cooed the ladies.

Intuition tingled. She handed it to Aileana, trying to shake the shivers away, for all they’d once done was lead her astray.

She sifted through the stalks. Drew another shaft.

“ Goodness

,” whispered the giggles.

“ Wait until she sees…

”

The second was for a man’s potency. Her cheeks heated. Either the stalk was devoid of a single grain…or thick and hearty with them—

She dropped it like it burned and hoped Aileana caught it.

Trembling, her fingers sifted through the stalks once more and settled on a third.

This is only a game. No need to be a violet over it.

“Has someone left a door open?” The chill was so strong.

“It’s hot in here,” another lamented. “The fire roars fiercely.”

She held up her third choice. The perfect silence rang, no one uttering a sound.

A collective sigh of surprise followed.

“Never seen that…” whispered Gertrude.

“What does it mean?” Aileana asked, taking it from her.

Peigi slipped her blindfold off.

Calum snored against her and instinctively her fingers migrated to his swaddling to tuck it away from his face.

Aileana held up the first stalk, smirking. Thick and tall and strong.

“Yer husband-to-be is hale indeed.”

“According to a game,” Peigi cautioned, for like the crab apples, this was only whimsy.

Then Aileana held up the second stalk, cocking an eyebrow. “This one needs no explanation, me thinks?”

Nerves twined through Peigi’s belly like a wrung washrag. The head was thick with seed. Her face raged red as giggles among the ladies abounded and sweet Gertrude whispered, “A man skilled at sowing will keep her pantries full!”

Calum, nestled to her belly, squirmed, as if to remind her that it wasn’t just a man’s potency that mattered, it was a woman’s ability to carry.

Then Aileana held up the third. And again, that silence descended. A prime, beautiful stalk of oats that split into three

balanced heads. The type a monk would love to depict in his illuminations in inks of golds and yellows and ambers.

“How will our love be if it’s a stalk like this?” Peigi laughed to Gertie, though she wetted her lips all the same.

But it was Mistress Joslyn who answered, as she glanced around with wonder as if she could sense those fae… Jossy was here?

“’Tis a beautiful grain, mi lady,” spoke that grandmotherly voice. “A beautiful love ye share, but nay so simple as singular. Like the stalk, yer love is no’ what it seems. Thrice

yer souls have loved.” Joslyn fingered the off-shooting seedheads. “If it’s meant to be, yer love will be strongest now, or never again shall ye meet.”

Like the Samhain song: But lo behold our lovers dear whose worlds collide on three.

The mystery of that statement hung in the air as if this woman understood its power—

Wait, Joslyn spoke of this love as if it already existed, not of some suitor who had yet to stake a claim.

The only men here she’d met more than once were Kendrew MacGregor, far more than thrice; Laird Graham once before at Lughnasadh when he’d tried to betroth himself to her; and Alex, whom she’d only known since Lughnasadh, too.

“Who here have ye met thrice?” Aileana said.

Peigi carried the stalks to the portico with Calum on her arm, sliding them like a bouquet among the corn dolls over the doorway, and had just returned to the others when that draft intensified, flickering the candelabra.

Peigi shivered. Did no one else feel this chill?

It never seemed as if they did. Except Joslyn, who eyed her, rubbing her gooseflesh with her free hand. Then her gaze lifted to Peigi’s. She smiled knowingly.

A deep voice cleared as… Alex

pushed through the door!

He froze in mid swing, portfolio in hand and Seamus behind him, taking in the scene of ladies in front of him, bracing the grooves of the masoned frame as if swinging beneath a yardarm.

Their eyes locked as he stood to full height, finally crossing the threshold, Seamus coming in behind him.

“Apologies for the intrusion, sister,” Seamus said, tight-lipped. “We can return later, Mister

Stewart.”

The women’s mouths gawped wide. Then they erupted with glee, pointing at the doorway—save the ladies MacGregor and Graham—and Alex, glancing up at the oat stalks, seemed to realize he’d just walked into something.

He hitched up his chin, that divot popping in his cheek as that damning shiver of premonition curled through Peigi’s belly.

Silly. He just opened the door. The draft was him.

It was a coincidence that he’d come to this chamber right now

on his treasury business, wasn’t it?

His eyes dipped to the babe in her arm. Pain lanced so suddenly, she gasped for air.

She jostled Calum back into Aileana’s hands, excusing herself from the chamber amid their teasing through the adjoining door to the lady’s chamber.

“Peigi, wait…” Aileana called at her back.