Page 8 of Claimed Highland Brides

“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.”