Fate's Hand: Book One of The Celtic Prophecy by Melissa Macfie Read Free Book Online

me to pick up the slack.”
    Alex peered over the counter to look at the aforementioned cast and shook his head. “Does this ha’ anything ta dae with th’ kerfuffle?” Confirmation of his question was reflected in Leo’s face. “I think she has ye, woman. Ye cannae participate wi’ a cast on yer foot. Gi’ o’er ta Brenawyn. Ye have two weeks, more than enough time ta rehearse it with her.”
    “All right, fine. You got it, and you’ve seen me do this for years. There’s nothing to it. I’ll make a list of the items you’ll need for the program,” Leo added helpfully and hobbled back to the office, leaving Brenawyn and Alex standing at the counter staring at each other. Brenawyn made a face, and Alex realized she was looking over his shoulder. He turned to find Maggie rearranging a shelf to no purpose close by, whistling in tune with the Celtic music that was playing on the sound system. Looking back, Brenawyn’s face was now devoid of emotion, whatever had passed between them was undecipherable to him.
    “So, what can I help you with today, Alex?”
    “Leo called me yesterday morn and told me tha’ two books tha’ I ordered finally arrived.”
    “Hmm, let’s see,” she circled the counter and after a short search found a pile of ordered items waiting to be picked up. She squatted down to rummage through it. “So, you’re a teacher at the community college? What do you teach?”
    “I’m an anthropology professor but I also teach a class on Celtic lore and mythology.” He answered, looking over the counter at her.
    Brenawyn found the books and handed them to him. She stood up to find Alex digging in his back pocket for his wallet. “How much dae I owe ye?”
    Brenawyn crossed to the register and rang up the sale, “The total is $56.79. That’s interesting, anthropology and mythology. I bet you’re a great storyteller.” She stopped and looked away, the blush creeping back up her neck, but then continued. “Especially with your accent. Where are you from?”
    “Yes, I ha’ been told tha’.” He leaned on the counter. “If ye ever have an evening to spare, I could tell ye one or…” he moved closer to her, “two.”
    Brenawyn let out a giggle. “Well, I might have taken you up on that, but something tells me I’d be getting more than a story.”
    Smiling, he handed his credit card to Brenawyn. “Yer loss, then. As to whaur I call home, Scotland, a wee place near Roslyn, around sixteen kilometers from Edinburgh.”
    Her quest to complete the transaction came to a halt when she couldn’t locate a pen. She looked on the shelves underneath the register and on the floor, coming up to ask him to wait until she retrieved one from the back.
    “May I?” Alex asked, reaching over. A puzzled look washed over her face. Her mouth opening slightly, to voice a protest perhaps, but nothing came out. She leaned closer.
    He reached behind her and pulled out the scissored pens holding her hair. Waves of raven hair fell about her shoulders, and she smoothed the errant strands away from her face. “Ye should leave yer hair doon. ‘Tis beautiful.” He reverently reached for a wayward tendril with a knuckle and gently tucked it behind her ear.
    “Um. Thank you. I appreciate that.” Brenawyn blushed again.
    Alex signed the receipt and looked at the clock on the wall behind her, then verified the time with his own watch. “Och, I ha’ ta go, but I will see ye again.”
    “Oh?”
    “Aye, ye may have just volunteered for this thing on Thursday next, but many o’ us were corralled and beaten inta submission by yer wee grandmother in thaur.” he admitted, gesturing to the back room.
    A mysterious sparkle in his eye had Brenawyn changing postures. Coming out from behind the counter, she took the time to slowly look him over with a playful half-smile on her lips, “Beaten into submission is it? And here I was thinking that you were a strong, braw lad, well capable to fending off the sting of a small