Page 9 of Claimed Highland Brides

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.”