An Enchanted Spring: Mists of Fate - Book Two Read Online Free Page A

hackles rising. If there was one thing she was not, it was uneducated in Irish history. “I’m aware that the Irish do not wear kilts, Mr. MacWilliam. However, there is no word in the English language that would properly convey what a léine is, which is why I drew a comparison to something similarly worn by a well-known people.”
    His smile grew. “Duly noted. Language barriers are difficult. It would be easier if the world spoke in Gaelic.”
    She tried not to snort. “Gaelic is no cakewalk.”
    “Are you familiar with it?” he asked. In Gaelic.
    “A bit,” she replied, also in Gaelic.
    He raised a brow, impressed. He reached down next to his chair and pulled a large leather satchel onto the table. Carefully, he withdrew a léine— holy moly, that looks authentic! she thought wildly—then slid it over to her.
    “Have you ever seen one of these, Ms. Perkins?” he asked again.
    Reverentially, she held the blue cloth in front of her. Silver threads shot through it in a checked pattern; the material was thick, soft, and warm. She carefully studied the thread and the weave, then stood and carefully shook it out. She spread it on the table, assessed, then turned it around and assessed again. It looked like a long tunic with flaps of fabric at the shoulders. She wrinkled her forehead in concentration; she couldn’t figure out how those pieces fit into the overall purpose of the garment.
    “I have, but only in pictures.” She met his eyes. “Do you know how this particular léine would’ve been worn?”
    Mr. MacWilliam watched her, his thumb and forefinger playing with his bottom lip as though he were deep in thought. Without answering, he stood and shed his jacket. He placed the léine over his head and wrapped the extra fabric around himself. The complicated knots he tied at the front and even the back puzzled her, but once she saw it on him she almost clapped with glee.
    That was most definitely a medieval style of dress.
    Aidan stood, completely at ease in a medieval piece of cloth and a modern-day suit. The dichotomy was jarring; if his hair were longer and he shed his trousers, Emma could almost picture him riding across a forest, low on horseback, sword strapped to his back…
    “It looks as though it’s from the 1400s, maybe the 1500s, I would guess,” she said without hesitation, erasing the image from her mind. She was a sucker for anything of medieval or Celtic history, and as such they were usually the subjects of her articles. Although it was nice to fantasize about it, college courses were about as close as she could—and wanted to—get to the Middle Ages.
    “Very impressive, Ms. Perkins,” Aidan said, approval written all over his features. “Mid-1400s.”
    “I’ve never seen a replica of such high quality.”
    He unfastened it as quickly as he’d put it on and tossed it onto the table. “It’s not a replica.”
    She gasped. “What? Good gracious, you just threw it! Shouldn’t it be behind glass? How is it so well preserved?”
    A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I believe I was asking the questions.”
    She blanched, horrified that she’d actually reprimanded a potential client for handling his own belongings.
    “I am relieved to find that you are interested in artifacts,” he replied wryly. “Are you aware of the upcoming Antique Armory auction?”
    “Of course,” she replied quickly, then cleared her throat. “Some of our clients plan to attend.”
    “Perfect. Are you free for dinner tonight?” he asked, stuffing the léine back in the satchel.
    She bit her tongue. Hard.
    “I have reservations at The Colcannon and would love your company. We can continue our discussion there, after you’ve had a chance to go through this information.” He nodded at the white binder. “I trust I’ve passed muster with your office, as no one’s interrupted us.”
    Her face gave away her guilt. She hadn’t had a client call the firm out on its in-office first meeting policy