Page 2 of Scottish Rose: Coira

“I’m going to read your palm.” Zara slid the candle across the table, bringing it closer for more light.

Coira didn’t want her palm read. With her luck, she would have a short lifeline. Nay, she didn’t need to know. Choosing a card was the lesser of two evils right now, so that is what she’d do. “I think this card will be fine.” Blindly, she reached out and slid a card across the table to Zara. “I’ll go get some ale now. I’m parched.”

She got up off the bench, but Effie reached out and grabbed her arm, not letting her walk away. “Let Zara read yer fortune first.”

“I dinna ken if I believe in the cards, Effie,” said Coira shyly. She didn’t want to know anything that might be bad, especially if it pertained to her future.

“Dinna believe?” asked Effie with a chuckle. “Coira, ye ken more than anyone that Zara was correct in predictin’ the gender of both my bairns, Elspeth and Arabella.”

“That’s right,” said Zara. “I said she’d have two girls, and she did. And the one she is carrying now is a boy.”

“Aidan will be so happy.” Effie smiled from ear to ear. “He has been wantin’ a son so he can teach him how to toss the caber someday.”

“That’s just a coincidence that her predictions came true,” stated Coira.

“Was it?” Zara sniffed and raised her nose in the air, taking Coira’s comment as an insult. “And was it a coincidence when I predicted that Ian and Kyla would have twins? I have been reading the cards ever since Storm MacKeefe and Wren first met. Actually, ever since I was once a handmaid to Wren many years ago. Everything I told Storm and Wren came true, so do not question my ways.”

“Coira, how can ye no’ believe in the ways of the gypsies?” asked Effie. “We were raised with gypsies! And ye even helped Kyla try to see the man she was to marry in the fire on Samhain while ye two threw chestnuts into the flames to see if they would pop. Why are ye actin’ this way?”

“Aye, I did do that,” Coira agreed. “I suppose, I’m only nervous because I’m gettin’ married.” Coira’s eyes roamed once more to the door.

“Sit down and let me finish,” snapped Zara.

Coira didn’t like confrontation, nor did she want to disappoint anyone. When Effie nodded, she begrudgingly took a seat.

“That’s better,” said the old gypsy reaching for the card. “Now, let’s see which card you chose.” She turned over the card and gasped. “The blue rose,” she said no louder than a whisper. A dark shadow crossed her face.

“What’s the matter?” asked Effie. “What does the card mean?”

Coira looked down to see a card that looked different than the rest of the cards in the deck. Instead of the usual emperor or magician, she saw a card that depicted no people at all. It was a tangled vine with sharp thorns. And at the top of the vine was a beautiful, blue rose.

Zara mumbled and shook her head. “I haven’t ever seen this card come up before. It is very rare, indeed.”

Coira’s stomach clenched. She didn’t want to know what it meant. “I think I need that ale now.” Looking around the room, she tried to get the attention of a server, but the tavern was too crowded, and no one responded.

“Dinna ye want to ken what the blue rose means?” asked Effie.

“Nay. No’ really,” Coira answered, picking invisible lint from her sleeve. She was so upset that Zara had gasped that she couldn’t even look at the card anymore. It had to mean something terrible. She should never have agreed to this at all.

“I’ll tell you anyway.” Zara held up the card in front of Coira. “It means that when the rare blue rose blooms, enemies will turn to lovers.”

“It does?” asked Effie. “Well, that’s no’ so bad, Coira. It just means ye and yer husband-to-be will someday fall in love. After all, he is English, and ye are a Scot, and our countries have been enemies for a long time now.”

“Effie, it doesna mean that,” said Coira in a soft voice. “After all . . . he’s no’ even comin’.” Coira pushed up from the table, feeling sad to have been rejected. But at the same time, she was relieved that she wouldn’t have to marry the stranger after all. Before she could walk away, the door to the tavern banged open, and a knight dressed in chain mail and a ripped tunic with lots of dirt on his clothes stomped into the room. He held a sword in his hand.

Instantly, the MadMen MacKeefe, Onyx, Aidan, and Ian, drew their swords, bounding across the room, knocking over a bench in the process. They met the man at the door with the tips of their blades resting under his chin.

“Put down the sword, Sassenach,” Aidan warned him in a gruff voice. Aidan’s pet squirrel chattered and scolded him from one of the ceiling beams.

Rowdy soldiers that followed him into the tavern joined the knight. When they saw what was going on, they drew their swords as well. Instantly, more Scots with weapons surrounded them.

“Boys, I think you have the wrong impression,” said the stranger with a chuckle. “We’re not here to make trouble, nor are we here to fight you.”

“Then why are ye here?” asked Ian, holding his sword steady. Ian’s wolfhound growled lowly from behind him.

“Why, I’m here for the wedding, of course,” said the man, flashing a quick smile that disappeared as the Scots moved in closer.

“Who invited ye?” spat Onyx.