Page 30 of Highland Dove

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Mari, Tillie and Malmuira watched in the shadows as Angus nervously sat down at the trestle table across from Eideard.

“What took ye so long?” complained Eideard.

“I – had things to do,” said Angus in a high voice, rubbing the cut above his lip.

“What’s wrong with yer lip? Are ye bleedin’?”

Angus’ eyes shot back over to the girls. Malmuira pointed to her palm.

“Give me yer palm,” said Angus, reaching out for the man’s hand.

“My, ye have big hands for a wench,” said Eideard, staring down at them.

“Dinna speak,” snapped Angus, tracing a line on Eideard’s hand. “Uh huh . . . och . . . oh . . . mmmmm.”

“What? What do ye see? Can ye tell me my future? Is it guid?” Eideard shot questions at him one after another.

“I see ye have a big head.”

“What?”

“Headline,” whispered Malmuira, smacking her own head.

“The line,” said Angus, clearing his throat. “It means somethin’.”

“What? Which line? What does it mean?”

“And this one, too.” Angus traced another line on the man’s palm. “It tells about yer heart.”

“What about my heart?”

“Yer life, I mean. I think. And there’s yer fate here somewhere, too.”

“Are ye sure ye ken what ye’re doin’?” Eideard used his other hand to scratch his head and then his neck.

“Blethers, of course I do. It means ye’re goin’ to lose yer head and then yer life.”

“What?”

“Oh, no,” said Tillie. “He’s goin’ to ruin everythin’. No one wants to hear they’re goin’ to die.”

“I should have read his palm instead,” grumbled Malmuira. “He’s never goin’ to find out where his mathair is by tellin’ Eideard things he doesna want to hear.”

“I’ve got to try to help him,” said Mari, shooting forward, joining them at the table.

“Guid mornin’,” she said, standing next to Angus. “I see ye are havin’ yer palm read.”

Eideard jerked backward, his hand still in Angus’. “What are ye doin’ here? I told ye to stay away from me.”

She looked down to his palm and gasped.

“What? What is it?” asked Eideard, staring at his hand.

“I’m sure Annabel is about to tell ye about yer long life and success in battle.”

“I am?” asked Angus, his voice too low. She scowled at him and he cleared his throat. “I am,” he said in his wench’s voice. “Ye will have great success in battle and have a long life.”