Page 103 of Unraveling Fate

Ruairi folded his arms across his chest and grinned. “Aye. Same difference.”

Cadenza threw a panicked look at Reyna. As much as she wanted to hit something too, a fist fight was not what they needed

The smith grabbed the Norroway brothers by the shoulders. “Boys, leave Mr. Lame-Ass alone. Those jeans are so tight he’s not going to be passing on any DNA, and eventually his kind will all die off and leave the rest of the planet in peace.”

The man grabbed his girlfriend by the hand and shoved out of the tent. “Whatever. Freaks.”

“We need to get them out of here,” Cadenza said. “They’re in no shape to deal with people right now.”

Reyna glowered after the man. “I’ll take them,” she said. “I don’t want to deal with people right now either.” Heat rippled out from her, scorching along Cadenza’s arm.

“Ok, maybe they’ll cool off in the cottage.” She eyed Ruairi, still flexing his fists.

“What about you?” Reyna asked.

“I’m gonna look around a bit more. I need to think.”

“Ok. Call me if you need us.” Reyna led the brothers out.

Cadenza wandered through a line of posters and touchable artifacts in the tent. She stopped to watch a demo booth where a half dozen people in period dress acted out a scene. A “vicar” read vows to a couple and then tied their wrists together with a strip of cloth.

“Oh,” she murmured. “It’s a wedding ceremony.”

“Yes,” an elderly woman breathed dreamily next to her. “Have you never seen a handfasting, dear? I thought them terribly romantic as a young girl.” Her accent fell like a softer version of the Norroways’.

“Elspeth Grier.” She held out a hand. “I’m here with the textile demonstrations.”

“Cadenza Cavalieri, I work for Drostan Norroway.” She shook Elspeth's hand.

Elspeth smiled. “Oh, Drostan’s a right good man. Our weaving group has been coming to his Games for years now, and he’s always treated us right. Easy on these old eyes, too.” Shewinked impishly. “But he was never interested in tying the knot again.” She gestured to the handfasting demonstration. “His heart’s still tied to his boys’ mam, more’s the pity.”

Cadenza coughed in surprise at the idea of someone having a crush on Drostan.Awkward. Change the subject.“You said you’re here with a weaving group?”

“Oh, yes.” Elspeth’s face brightened at her interest. “Not only weaving though. We do demonstrations on all stages of traditional textile crafts. Here.” She beckoned Cadenza to follow her to a corner of the tent.

Cadenza almost laughed out loud when she reached Elspeth’s group. Spinning wheels.

Real ones. Two more women Elspeth’s age sang while they spun, the hum of the wheels melding with their voices.

“Have you ever spun?” Elspeth asked.

Cadenza tried not to snort at the irony. “I’ve been trying to learn, actually, but I’m not very good at it.” She ran her fingers over the curve of a wheel. The wood sang like roses.

The older woman nodded sagely. “It can take a while to get the trick of it.”

“You have no idea,” Cadenza said under her breath.

“Fortunately for you, teaching is what we do.” Elspeth indicated her friends. “Sit. I’ll help you.”

Cadenza bit her lip. The kind of Spinning she needed help with was not done on a wheel.

“Sit, lassie,” another of the women commanded. “Elspeth will never be content if she can’t teach you.”

“Aye,” the other spinner laughed. “Once she starts blethering to someone about spinning, she’ll not rest till she sees it through.”

“Oh, shut it, you two.” Elspeth laughed with her friends but pulled a stool up next to Cadenza’s spinning wheel. She demonstrated how to work the pedal and how to pinch the end ofthe yarn that was already set up on the wheel. “Once you’ve got that in your hand, all you have to do is to keep feeding the raw fibers from your fleece onto the end of the yarn.”

The spokes of the wheel blurred into motion as Cadenza worked the pedal. The yarn scratched her fingers as it twisted. The earth hummed from the grass floor. A warm breeze whistled through the opening of the tent, and guitar notes rushed through her chest, catching her off guard. She gasped, and the clump of fleece slipped from her grip, clogging up the machine.