Page 58 of The Highlander's Auctioned Wife
It was the first thing she’d said in a while.
“Pardon?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
She gestured animatedly at a particular stall, where plump buns were arranged neatly, studded with dark, dried fruits and adorned with a single, ripe raspberry.
“Raspberry buns!” she repeated, her beautiful face breaking into a grin. “They’re me favorite. When I was a lassie, I once ate so many that I truly thought me stomach would burst. The cook wanted to box me ears, ye could tell, but bein’ a wee lady of the castle, she couldnae. She left the scoldin’ to me faither.”
He brought his horse to a standstill. “Ye can have one for yer breakfast.”
“Och, daenae tempt me—I’ll eat the whole tray.” She laughed brightly, not waiting for him to help her down from the saddle.
As Gordon jumped down, however, the villagers seemed to notice who it was who had come to their market. The bustle and chatter vanished as if a fearsome gust had swept away their voices, countless eyes widening in alarm, while others narrowed in dismay.
It wasn’t a surprise to Gordon, for though there had been a long line of well-wishers the day before, he knew there were pockets of his clan who liked to keep their distance. They respected the safety he offered and the prosperity he encouraged, but they were scared of the man himself, preferring it when he kept to his castle.
“Do I have somethin’ on me face? Is there a bird in me hair?” Anna whispered, noticing the silence.
He shook his head and offered his arm to her. “It’s nae ye.”
“Oh…” She peered up at him and took his proffered arm. “Would ye rather go elsewhere?”
“It wouldnae make a difference,” he replied, leading her forward to the baker’s stall, so she might have her breakfast of fresh raspberry buns.
At first, the sellers were stiff and cautious, speaking too formally to their Laird and their potential future Lady. They bowed too much, curtseyed too often, stumbled and stammered over their words, repeating “M’Laird” or “M’Lady” after practically every sentence.
But after the first few purchases—raspberry buns, several sticks of roasted oysters in a vinegary glaze, two cups of blackberry wine, and the most succulent, flaky mackerel that Gordon had ever tasted—the villagers slowly began to relax. Their chatter and activity resumed, the market thrumming back into life around them, almost as if they were just an ordinary couple wandering around, sampling the delights.
Thank goodness…
Anna hadn’t said anything, but he had noticed her discomfort at the response of the villagers. Yet, it faded along with the inhibitions of the marketgoers, her smile, her enthusiasm, growing brighter with each minute, each delicacy, each new wonder to coo over.
“A fortune for the Laird and Lady?” a croaky voice called out as the pair passed by. “I’ve never yet been wrong, good or bad.”
Anna halted, her eyes widening with excitement. “Ye tell fortunes?”
“Aye, and it doesnae cost one,” the fortune teller joked, her wrinkled lips curving into a smile that showed surprisingly pristine, white teeth.
Gordon hesitated, his arm instinctively sliding around the back of Anna’s waist. “I daenae think that’s a good idea.”
“Why nae?” Anna replied, her expression pleading. “What harm can it do? Please, Gordon. Me faither never allowed me to have me fortune told, but I’ve always been curious.”
The old woman reached blue-veined hands out to Anna, her skin speckled with age spots, her crooked fingers adorned with silver rings. But it was the woman’s eyes that made Gordon uneasy, the blue shine of them so inexplicably youthful in a face that had been given over to the wearing passage of time, craggy and ancient.
Gordon flashed the fortune teller a warning look. “Very well.”
The old woman gently took hold of Anna’s hands, those youthful eyes closing.
There’s nothin’ to fear,he told himself.She’s likely a charlatan anyway. Nay one can predict or ken fate before it happens.
“I see shadows, lass,” the fortune teller said, her lined brow furrowing into deeper crags. “Shadows all around, nae showin’ their faces. There’ll be a struggle… but there’s light, piercin’ through. If ye stay with the light, there’s… such joy in yer life. I see bairns… many of them, in a… place that isnae here. Hair the color of sand. Eyes like the sea.”
Frowning, Anna turned her gaze up toward Gordon, observing him as if she was trying to find some light in the darkness of him.
Yet Gordon’s first thought was of that blond-haired weasel, Laird Glendenning. That simpering boy who would never have the wherewithal to make Anna happy.
Am I any more qualified?
He could please her—he’d proven that twice—but could he make her truly happy? He wasn’t even sure he knew what that entailed or felt like. Happiness was a feeling he’d long forgotten.
