Page 15 of A Fine Scottish Spell (The Magical Matchmakers of Seven Cairns #2)

Inalfi paused in her massaging of Emily’s calf. “Everything happens for a reason, my lady. The fire came to keep ye here where ye belong—spell or no spell. It snuffed yer magic.”

“ It did or you did? Gryffe said you could snuff magic, too.” Emily leaned forward and bundled her long braids on top of her head so Inalfi could wash her back.

“Forgive me, my lady, I shouldha tied yer hair up out of the way. I didna ken if ye wished it washed or not.”

Mesmerized by the deliciousness of having her back scrubbed, Emily closed her eyes and almost let her abundance of braids fall into the water.

She caught them just in time. “No. It’s clean.

Just needs some moisture. What kind of oils does Mrs. Thistlebran have?

Any that I could use on my hair and scalp? ”

“Aye, I am certain she does.” Inalfi moved to wash Emily’s arms. “She sent up a fine selection of scents from which ye can choose. They’re meant for yer skin and nails, but I dinna see why ye couldna use them for yer hair as well. They’re all quite nice.”

Even though she was now relaxed to the point of feeling boneless, Emily didn’t miss that Inalfi had failed to address her ability to snuff magic. “Explain snuffing magic. What do you do? Douse it like pinching out a candle?”

“More or less. ’Tis somewhat like breathing in the energy afore it can do what it’s meant to do.” She rinsed out the cloth and soaped it again. “Shall I wash the rest of ye now?”

While she might not be self-conscious about nudity, Emily was a far cry from being comfortable with being bathed like an infant or an invalid. She reached for the soap and cloth. “I’ll wash the rest of me, thank you.”

“As ye wish.”

The mesmerizing effects of the bath somehow seemed to be fading, but she felt far more rejuvenated from this simple act of bathing than she ever had before.

It encouraged her to shift to a Plan B for leaving for Seven Cairns.

“I need traveling clothes, Inalfi. Since mine aren’t ready, can you get me some while I finish washing? ”

The maid went still, appearing troubled as she turned to look at her. “Traveling clothes?”

“I am leaving for Seven Cairns. Today. It’s for the best.” Emily hurried to wash, suddenly energized into action. An urgency pulsed through her. Something akin to a very physical premonition or instinct was nudging her to get a move on before it was too late.

Inalfi paused with a wooden chest of quietly rattling vials of oil in her arms. “But ye canna leave, my lady. Ye belong here.”

“No, Inalfi. I do not.” She lathered her armpits, hoping Mrs. Thistlebran’s soap would battle any mustiness that would surely rear its smelly head since her body deodorant had remained in the twenty-first century. “I belong in my time and my reality. My landing here was an accident.”

“Everything happens for a reason.”

Emily rinsed and stepped out of the tub. “Are you going to help me or do I start across Scotland wearing a nightgown and a bedsheet?”

Inalfi wrapped her in a deliciously toasty length of soft linen and led her to a nearby chair. “I’ll not go against Himself, my lady, and ye would do well to listen to him also.”

“Exactly what I have told her many times,” Gryffe said as he swaggered into the room.

Gooseflesh washed across Emily with a tingling shiver. “You don’t believe in knocking?”

“This is my room. Why should I knock?”

“Because I was in here bathing, and a thoughtful host would be considerate of my privacy.” She glared at him, fighting the almost impossible to ignore urge to throw herself into his arms. Holy crap, this must be how animals felt when they were in heat.

The maid curtsied, then hurried to fetch the chest of oils and hold it so the chieftain might inspect it. “What scent would ye choose for our lady, my chieftain?”

Before Gryffe could answer, Emily rose from the chair with the linen clutched around her. “ Our lady is perfectly capable of choosing her own scents, thank you very much.”

He gave her a sultry look and almost smiled—almost “The musk for our lady. ’Tis my favorite, and it suits her.”

“I refuse to wear oils that come from the glands of a deer.” Emily might not be a die-hard vegan, but she went cruelty-free whenever possible.

“Mrs. Thistlebran creates Himself’s favorite oil from musk mallow, my lady.

’Tis a lovely plant with a pale lilac flower.

The petals remind ye of the palm of yer hand and form a delicate cup when they bloom.

Would ye care to have a wee sniff of it?

” Inalfi unstoppered one of the vials and held it out.

“This batch is from last summer’s flowers.

The blooms only come between June and August.”

Rather than place the poor maid in an untenable situation, Emily waved her forward. “Fine. The musk is fine as long as it doesn’t come from a deer or any other animal.” She locked eyes with Gryffe. “I can’t very well finish dressing with you in the room.”

“Of course ye can.” He went to the window and stared outside. “I promise not to look.”

“Himself never lies,” Inalfi hurried to say.

Emily glared at his back, focusing on a spot right between his shoulder blades and willing him to feel her gut-churning mix of frustration and yearning.

She wanted to leave the infernal man just as badly as she wanted to stay with him and make him want her as badly as she wanted him.

“Tell Inalfi it’s all right to either fetch me the clothes I arrived in or others that would be just as good for traveling.

I intend to leave for Seven Cairns today. ”

He slowly turned and scowled at her.

“You promised not to look.” She pointed a damning finger at him.

His glower darkened. “Ye canna leave—not when ye canna ride nor walk.”

She tightened her hold on the linen around her and limped toward him. “I am a fast healer. Always have been. The pain’s nothing like it was. I’m sure I can ride, if you’ll loan me a horse.”

“And if I will not?”

“Then I’ll walk.” She moved closer, noting that for every limping step she took, he took one toward her, as if daring her to continue. “I have to leave.” She flinched when her voice broke. Stay strong. Return to what you know. “I have to leave,” she repeated. “You know that as well as I do.”

“By horse, this time of year, it could take a sennight or more, and the weather is about to turn.”

“I have no choice.” She resettled her footing, wishing the linens would soak up the water trickling down her back and pooling with uncomfortable wetness in her crack.

But her spine ran deep, and her curves held the cloth away from the slope of her backbone rather than against it.

It was hard to stand firm and win an argument when you were cloying wet and wearing nothing but a freaking sheet.

She wiggled and reached around to try and dry herself.

“Help yer mistress,” Gryffe told Inalfi. “Ye are to see to her comfort at all times, ye ken?”

“Aye, my chieftain.”

“Stop yelling at her every time I do something stupid.” Emily scolded herself for not concentrating on the argument and ignoring her ever increasing case of swamp ass. After all, she was clean. It wasn’t like it was stinky sweat.

“I nay yelled at her.”

“Well, you sounded growly and authoritarian.”

“I am the authority here.” He glared at her, his dark scowl both irritating and enticing. If he was this handsome when he was grumpy, how handsome would he be when he was happy?

“I need traveling clothes,” she repeated, returning to the core issue.

Suddenly his glower seemed more sorrowful and sad than angry. He jerked a nod at Inalfi. “Ensure she is dressed in clothing that will protect her from the bitter cold. The sky is heavy with snow.”

The maid bowed her head. “Aye, my chieftain.”

Then he tucked a finger under Emily’s chin and lifted her face to his.

She held her breath, both hoping and fearing he was about to kiss her again.

“Once ye have dressed and had yer tea, I will transport ye to Seven Cairns the same way I brought ye here. No matter what ye claim, ye are nay hale enough to survive a seven day ride in the weather that’s coming. Will that do ye?”

She ached to throw herself against him, hold him tight, and say, No, I need to stay and make you want me— but she couldn’t, because she didn’t understand how she could possibly feel that way. It had to be a trap, a recipe for disaster. “Yes,” she forced herself to say. “That will do me.”

With a curt nod, he let his hand drop away. “Have Inalfi fetch me once ye have dressed and finished yer breakfast.”

Then he stormed out of the room as if unable to leave her fast enough.

Clutching the linens, she pressed her fist tighter against her breastbone. She hurt for him. So badly. Even more than she had hurt for a man she’d once thought she loved, before he had left her when she told him she was pregnant.

* * *

A sharp knock hit the door of Gryffe’s private solar.

He didn’t turn from staring out the window behind his desk.

It was more than likely just Inalfi, come to tell him that Emily was ready to leave him.

He bowed his head, fighting against the lonely, dangerous burn threatening to consume him.

“Damn ye, Nicnevin,” he said under his breath. “Damn ye straight to hell and back.”

The knock came again, thumping louder this time, insisting he acknowledge it.

“Come!” he bellowed.

The door’s hinges creaked, then it closed with a quiet thud.

“She is ready, I suppose,” he said, keeping his gaze locked on the blanket of gray clouds hanging low with the heavy threat of snow.

“Who is ready?” asked Ferris, second to Gryffe in command of the Highland Defenders and first commander of Clan MacStrath’s guard.

Gryffe turned. “I thought ye were Inalfi.”

Ferris rumbled with a low laugh that sounded more like the throaty warning growl of a wolf. “Since when do I resemble one of the Fae, especially that tiny maid?”