Page 14 of A Fine Scottish Spell (The Magical Matchmakers of Seven Cairns #2)

“N othing? No sign of her at all?” Mairwen searched each of their downcast faces, looking up and down the line of Weavers, all of them Masters of their particular divinity. Even the Dark Weavers, those in charge of curses, conflict, nightmares, emptiness, and hate, refused to look her in the eye.

“It is as though she never existed.” Taskill, Master of the Curse Weavers’ ragged, weary appearance gave testament to his efforts in the search for Emily.

“I have never seen anything like this in all my eons.” He splayed his hands across the glowing map of worlds and realities that floated at eye level in the center of the meeting hall, and slowly rotated it, occasionally enlarging regions as it turned.

“We have never lost a mortal before. Never!”

Mairwen reached out and touched the map, lending her energy to it, but the glittering pinpoints that marked the many worlds and eras didn’t react. As far as the map was concerned, the mortal known as Emily Mithers did not now, nor ever had existed.

“But the flagstones where last she stood still retain her warmth after all this time,” Ishbel said. “Surely, that means something.”

“Could the one whose name is not spoken on these hallowed grounds have taken her?” Graine, Master of the Hate Weavers, was a particular admirer of Morrigan, Mairwen’s evil sister, but she admired the fearsome Phantom Queen from afar.

“No.” Mairwen had sought her sister to discover just that and found Morrigan still in deep mourning for the son from her illicit affair with Mairwen’s beloved husband.

Carman’s cruel sons had destroyed Valor at the same time that they had murdered Mairwen’s son, Valan.

“If my sister had taken Emily, she would have demanded a proper audience. She feeds on attention and fear.”

Keeva stepped forward, holding what mortals perceived as one of their electronic tablets, but was actually the goddesses’ Ledger of Infinity. “Do ye wish this meeting of the Council recorded or…”

Mairwen shook her head. “Not yet. I would like to avoid a conversation with the goddesses about losing a mortal—the next fated mate slated to strengthen the Highland Veil—until after we have exhausted every possibility.”

Her assistant nodded, darkened the mystical tablet, then retreated to the shadows until needed.

“Is it time yet to notify the Defenders across the realms?” Dream Weaver, Glennis asked.

“No.” Mairwen moved to the window and rested her hands on the cool smoothness of the pane.

Not only was Emily gone, but the sun had left them as well, leaving them blanketed in the cold, gray dreariness of late November.

“Continue the search for the remainder of this moon’s cycle.

If we have not found Emily by the dark of the moon, we will send out the call then.

” She pulled in a deep breath and released it with a heavy sigh that fogged the window. “So say Bride and Cerridwen.”

“So say Bride and Cerridwen,” echoed the Council of Weavers before slowly filing from the room to continue the search.

* * *

Hushed conversations. Soft footsteps. The gentle thump of a carefully closed door.

Water cascading down into something metal.

Emily slowly opened her eyes and sighed.

She was in the same position as last night, turned toward Gryffe’s side of the bed—his empty side of the bed.

She rolled to her back and stared up at the dark canopy embroidered with silver threads in the pattern of a star-filled sky.

“Good morning to ye, my lady,” Inalfi said. “Yer bath is nearly ready. Just a few more kettles by my reckoning. The lads are off to fetch the last of them now.”

“Thank you, but all I really need are my clothes from yesterday. Where are they?” Emily rose from the bed and gingerly tested putting weight on her left leg.

Her hip grumbled with a bit of soreness, but was loads better.

Good. She had a life to get back to. “Inalfi? My clothes from yesterday? And my boots?”

Defiance shouted from the maid as she stood there hugging a bundle of linens and kept her mouth clamped shut.

Emily wasn’t in the mood for this. She’d had no tea yet this morning, and yesterday had proven to be a complete disaster that still had her emotions in an uproar.

Struggling to maintain control and a reasonable tone, she ambled closer to prove she was fine.

“Inalfi—I know you have to obey your chieftain, but I need my clothes, the ones I arrived in, and I need them now.” She couldn’t very well start across the Highlands in late November, barefoot and wearing nothing but a shift and whatever blankets she took from the bed.

But if she had to, she would. For both her and Gryffe’s sakes, she had to leave. Today.

The tight-jawed maid, almost comical in her attempt at being stern, stretched as tall as her petite form allowed.

“Himself said ye are to have a good, long soak in a hot bath this morning while I smooth out yer bed. Then ye’ll be donning a fresh shift and having yer breakfast tray before Grennove and Breenoa come to see how ye’re faring. ”

“I am not faring well at all because you refuse to do as I ask.”

The bedroom door swung open, and a pair of young men with their eyes downcast hurried inside, each of them bearing large, gleaming black kettles with steam rising from their spouts.

“Add two to the bath and hang the other two over the fire,” Inalfi told them.

The lads did as she asked, then moved to stand in front of Emily, bowed their heads, and knelt.

“Lady Emily,” Inalfi said, in a pompous, regal tone, “this be Alpip Whistlehide and Ianwin Lightbell. They are more than proud to be the first ones selected by Himself to be yer personal guard and serve ye howsoever ye shall need.”

Her personal guard? Why did she need a personal guard? But not wanting to hurt the lads’ feelings, she smiled and kept her questions to herself. “Thank you so much, Alpip and Ianwin. I appreciate your service.” What else should she say? She had never had a personal guard before?

“We be loyal to the death,” Alpip said, then nudged his partner. “Aye, Ianwin?”

“Aye.” Ianwin stole a glance up at Emily, then quickly bowed his head even lower.

Bless his shy heart, came to mind. Emily hugged herself, suddenly very much aware that she stood before them in her nightgown with nothing underneath. “Thank you. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to death.”

“Aye,” both lads echoed.

“Off wi’ ye now. Our lady needs her bath.” Inalfi herded them out and closed the door behind them.

“I need my clothes,” Emily said. She limped around the enormous copper tub in front of the hearth and turned her backside to the fire, rubbing it to warm it faster.

Maybe if she convinced Inalfi that her leaving would be in Gryffe’s best interest, that would work in her favor.

She lowered her voice in case the Chieftain of Grumpiness had decided to hover in the hallway and eavesdrop.

“Himself wants me gone. You know that—right? This glamour his mother cast upon me is causing him nothing but pain. You don’t want him in pain, do you? ”

Inalfi’s eyes narrowed as she gathered more cloths and small chunky bundles wrapped in creamy white parchment.

“I dinna believe that. Ye are not like the others Queen Nicnevin sent.” She pointed at the steaming bath that was lined with linen and emitting a very pleasant floral fragrance.

“In with ye now, lest the water cools too much to do ye any good. I think ye will find Mrs. Thistlebran’s oils and soaps verra soothing.

” She lifted her chin to a stubborn angle as she approached. “Shall I help ye off with yer shift?”

“I will get in that bath if you promise to bring me my clothes.” Emily stood her ground.

“I took them to the laundress. She’ll not finish with them until later in the day. Maybe not even until tomorrow.”

Temporarily defeated and more than a little frustrated, Emily yanked the linen chemise off over her head and stepped into the tub.

She had never been self-conscious about nudity and had more important things to worry about than someone seeing her naked.

The water bubbled around her as if she were a fizzy tablet for indigestion.

It wasn’t unpleasant—just unexpected. “Why is the water bubbling as if I’m dissolving? ”

Inalfi beamed a self-satisfied smile. “Mrs. Thistlebran’s salts pull away ill wishes, curses, and anything else that might harm ye. Sit ye down, my lady. All is well.”

Ill wishes, curses, and anything else that might harm me?

Settling down into the tub and leaning back against its sloped end, Emily watched the milky white water’s effervescing surface gradually calm to a few lazy ripples.

“So, I’m curse free now—right? Does that mean Nicnevin’s glamour has been neutralized? ”

“A glamour is nay a curse, my lady.” Inalfi carefully pulled away the parchment wrapped around a thick cake of pale pink soap.

She wet a cloth and rubbed it across the bar until a creamy lather frothed around her hands.

“A glamour is merely an illusion. It canna harm the one upon which it is placed.”

“Good to know.” The longer Emily soaked in the comfortably hot water, the lazier and more pliable she felt, which was bad. She had to leave for Seven Cairns. Today. “Thank you for taking such good care of me. I am sorry about getting you yelled at yesterday.”

“I should never have left ye.” Inalfi gently lifted Emily’s foot out of the water and washed it. “I knew better.” She lowered that foot and washed the other, pausing to level a scolding glare that almost made Emily laugh. “But I never thought ye would try to leave with a fire spell.”

“It wasn’t a fire spell. It was a serenity spell. I have trouble focusing and tend to set things on fire whenever I try to use magic.”