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

woman.” Brenawyn leaned back on the counter and crossed her arms, “Tsk. Too bad.”
    Alex registered her deliberate perusal and broke out in laughter. “Ah aye, I see wha’s happening haur. Ye’ve decided ta flirt with th’ master. Verra guid.” He spread his arms wide and took a few steps backward. “Ta th’ victor go th’ spoils.”
    As he exited the store, he shared a look with Maggie, who hovered by the door. Knowing she’d find an excuse to follow him out, he stopped in front of the window of the next shop. He heard the faint chime of the Rising Moon’s door and turned in time to meet her. Her eyes were brimming with tears, “Please, Alex. Don’t do anything. It was my fault… I made him mad.”
    “Maggie, was it yer jakey knob, Buchanan?”
    “Please…”
    “Margaret, ye doonae ha’ to be afeart. I’ll take care o’ him.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 6
     
    Brenawyn looked over the list her grandmother had made last night and counted two things that were actually specified—the candles, which she had retrieved from the shelf yesterday, and the ceremonial robes, which she knew were boxed in the office closet. She went into the office and located the robes which were, surprisingly, hung up and pressed in a garment bag. Every year, she would take these full length robes out for her grandmother, luxuriating in the cool, smooth feel of the white and green silk. Emerald and silver embroidery in a Celtic knot design decorated the lapels, back placket, and the cuffs of the wide bell sleeves. The sleeves were further lined with an emerald silk dyed to match the embroidery. The bottom eighteen inches of the white silk was vertically cut every six inches and embroidered to reveal six inches of the green, cut in a similar fashion. It was the most beautiful garment that she had ever seen.
    Brenawyn didn’t hear her grandmother approach, absorbed as she was. Leo hobbled into the room and joined her at the closet to admire the robe. “It’s an antique, you know. I never knew whether to believe the provenance, but I bought it from a woman who told me quite a story about it. In the back of my mind, the place that no reality or logic resides, I want it to be true because it’s romantic,” Leo mused.
    Drawn out of her ruminations and interested by the promise of a romantic story, Brenawyn turned. “I can’t believe you never told me this one. Here, sit down and I’ll pull up a chair. Tell me everything. You know I love this stuff. Wait, first, do you need anything?”
    “No, honey I’m fine,” Leo answered as she carefully sat down in the office chair.
    Considering whether her grandmother needed anything she wouldn’t ask for, and deciding the answer was no, Brenawyn settled down in the chair opposite the desk, “Ok, spill,” she urged.
    “Let’s see. I bought the robe back, hmm, over thirty-five years ago, well before I had this place. I bought it from a woman named Rosalyn Feegan when I went to Ireland with your grandfather. We had been on an extended vacation, staying with his family and mine alternately. During the first week I wandered into a shop and I bought a few items of no consequence. Weeks later, I found myself back at the same shop on one of my many solitary walks to escape the family bickering. Rosalyn was the owner, and we got to talking. I thought she was odd, more than odd, the way I would catch her looking at me periodically, like she expected some great surprise at any moment. It really was strange. But she was a fantastic storyteller, and before long I was caught up in her tales, eager for another when she had finished the last.”
    “Sounds interesting,” Brenawyn agreed.
    “It was. She told me the legends. I had heard them all before, but the way she told them, it was like she had been there. She made it believable, that if I walked out and over the next hill I would be carried off by the Faerie themselves. So at last, she tells me that she has something for me and she