Page 69 of Outlaw Ever After

“Do tell,” Aileana encouraged.

Gertrude beamed, confidence restored, and shifted onto her knees. “We prepare it for all the lasses who marry! We blindfold the bride, shake the basket of stalks thrice, then dump them out. Ye must select three oat stalks, then fasten them over yer doorway. The first man who walks beneath it will be the man ye marry.”

Like the crab apples. Old wives’ tales spun to life without any merit behind them.

“What is the purpose of picking stalks if it boils down to which man walks through the door?” Peigi teased.

“Because the stalks summon the type of man. The first stalk will represent his strength. If the stalk is frail, so will he be, but if it’s strong, the man will be so. The second will represent how well he sows his oats and barley—”

Peigi’s eyes rounded as laughter surged. Gertrude frowned. “What’s so funny? Doesna a man need to be good at sowing?”

Peigi chewed her smile into submission as Aileana and Elizabeth wiped their eyes. “If he wishes to reap a strong harvest, aye.” She swallowed, voice wavering on a laugh barely contained. “So the second will determine if he’s good at sowing crops ?”

Oblivious to their humor, the girl nodded. “Aye. So if the second stalk is barren of seed, he will be poorly at sowing oats.”

Even as giggles surged again, tingling assailed Peigi’s stomach. No. She wouldn’t let it hurt. Not amid such joy and laughter.

“And then the third will be for love. If it’s beautiful, and nay mangled, yer love will be singular.”

A sweet game, in sooth.

“Does it ever come true?” Peigi said carefully.

Gertie shrugged, plucking up a rush and fraying the end while flopping against Peigi. “In my experience”—spoken like an old soul and not the tongue of a girl of ten years—“aye, because they were already promised to each other and so it was expected that he’d cross the threshold.” The ladies shared another giggle. “Ye’re so lucky, mi lady, to have the favor of many suitors. The results will truly be a surprise!”

“Lucky, eh?” Peigi said. That wasn’t the word that came to mind.

She hadn’t felt lucky when Seamus had vowed to kill the whoreson who’d dishonored her, or when he’d proposed this tourney for her protection.

“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.