Page 48 of Claimed Highland Brides

Aifric looked up, dark eyes so big that Fiona thought they might swallow her whole. “I have tae? Wha’ makes ye think tha’?”

Fiona went down on her knees. “I apologize for...framing tha’ in the wrong way. I am here presenting mysel’ humbly to ye. I need yer help. Tell me what I must do tae get it.”

Aifric was already shaking her head before Fiona finished speaking. “Ye came to hear yer fortune. Ye heard it. I cannae tell ye more.”

“Ye said I am to lose the love of my life. Is he to die at the hands of my betrothed? Wha’ can I do to save his life? Please, ye have to help me!” Fiona clutched at Aifric’s skirts, shuffling closer on her knees so she could look up at her in entreaty. “Ye’re my last hope.”

Aifric reached for her cheeks, cupping them with her dry callused hands, and looked into her eyes. “I cannae tell ye wha’ tae do, Fiona Douglass. The choice mun’ be yers.”

Fiona closed her eyes in despair. “Then we are all doomed.”

Aifric let out a trill of a laugh. “Ye young ‘uns and ye’re histrionics.” She waved Fiona away with her long, regal fingers. “Gang then wi’ ye afore they realize ye’re gone.”

“Will ye no at least gi’ me some hope?” Fiona stubbornly tightened her grip on Aifric’s skirts.

The woman smiled. “Have ye no faith in yersel’ lassie?”

Fiona wanted to shake her head sulkily but she understood that the fortune-teller would give her no more than she already had and got to her feet, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Thank ‘e for yer time,” she said dully.

Aifric leaned in, looking up at Fiona. “Nae, my dear. Dinnae thank me. I have gi’en ye nothing ye dinnae awready have.”