Page 70 of Outlaw Ever After

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—