Page 44 of The Groom Wore Plaid
“Nay, and I stopped trying long ago.”
Maggie felt her shoulders slump with disappointment.
Euphemia continued, “I’ve accepted my glimpse through the curtains of time, and come to peace with it.”
Maggie thought about Owen—had he come to peace with the knowledge he’d had of his betrothed’s death? Or had he simply forgotten it all? “The dreams shaped me in a way I’ve not often acknowledged. I was afraid to become close to people outside my family, for fear I’d see something I could not change.”
“And Himself?”
“I keep my distance, aye,” she whispered, then leaned her forehead against a cold stone and sighed. The wind whirled around her.
“Ye cannot be second-guessing your life.”
“Can’t I? Do your visions make ye hold back? Ye don’t live in the center of the village, do ye?”
Euphemia’s smile was secretive. “Perhaps my customers prefer privacy; perhaps I prefer privacy. Or perhaps I’ve a lover no one needs to know about.”
Maggie’s head came around to gape at the oldwoman—and then they both laughed. “Glad I am to hear that.”
They walked a while longer on the mountaintop, taking in the beautiful view of the glen so far below, the loch a narrow, glistening line through it like a finger.
“Do ye think I’ll be able to discover the end of the dream?” Maggie asked, just before they were going to leave.
“I think ye cannot count on that, mistress. Ye can only hope. Make plans accordingly.”
Maggie went first going back down the steep path, turning to offer her hand where Euphemia might need it.
“Have you given thought to being honest with everyone about your gift, mistress?” the old woman asked. “Perhaps ye’re a wise woman like me. The village could use another. I won’t live much longer.”
Maggie gasped. “Ye’ve seen your own death?”
Euphemia gave another raspy chuckle. “Nay, I just feel it in these old bones. I cannot live forever.”
Though Maggie hadn’t received the help she wished, she found herself smiling all the way back to Euphemia’s cottage.
OWENfelt that his frown was a like a thundercloud preceding him as he entered the village. Most were still back at the castle, enjoying the refreshments he’dordered, but a woman carrying a bucket scurried out of his way, eyes wide.
After the wrestling competition was over and he couldn’t find Maggie, he’d been angry that she’d left the safety of the castle, and that his men had been too distracted to pay attention to her departure. When Mrs. Robertson had admitted Maggie’s interest in Euphemia, it had given him a measure of relief. On the quick walk, his anger had mostly turned to exasperation. But now that he saw how empty the village was, how anything could have happened to Maggie with no one to see even a clue, his exasperation merged into worry. She made rash decisions without thinking through the consequences. He wanted her safe within the castle walls, not wandering alone, an easy target.
And now he couldn’t stop thinking of a person who’d set Duff property on fire, risking lives, or would frighten a young woman by leaving superstitious nonsense in her bed. It was a threat, even if Owen didn’t believe in the ancient ways it stood for. He’d dealt often with crime in the cities, but it didn’t seem right, here at home.
But Maggie was exactly where Mrs. Robertson had suggested, at Euphemia’s cottage. He saw the two of them sitting on a little bench, Euphemia drooping as if tired. She was so much tinier than he remembered. He’d been frightened of her as a little boy, because everyone seemed so in awe of her. When he was a little older, he and some other boys had dared each other to touch her front door, and she’d opened it wide evenas he’d been an inch from touching it. He’d run away, convinced she was giving him the evil eye. Now she watched him approach with lively interest, and then looked from Maggie to him with expectation.
He stopped before the bench and nodded his head. “Euphemia, it’s been many years since we’ve last spoken. You have not changed much in all that time.”
“Neither have ye, my lord, though ye’ve gotten tall and brawny.”
“Have you convinced my betrothed to marry me?” he asked.
Maggie’s eyes went wide.
“Surely you had to know everyone is compelled to tell their troubles to Euphemia,” he continued. “Of course, most wouldn’t have come here alone with the village practically deserted.”
Euphemia gave a hoarse rasp that must have been a laugh. “She’s a stubborn girl who knows her own mind. There’s no hurrying her.”
Maggie made a point of looking behind him. “Where’s Fergus? Ye may not like me walking about alone, but he feels the same about ye.”
“I left him basking in the glory of second place.”
