Page 9 of A Fine Scottish Spell (The Magical Matchmakers of Seven Cairns #2)

Grennove smiled as if she had just won a bet.

“Ye can trust me, m’lady. Never worry about that, ye ken?

” She nodded at Emily’s bare behind. “Straighten yer trews, if ye wish. We’ll not be using the poultice.

’Twill do no good for what ails ye.” She dried her hands on the towel hanging from the thin belt buckled around her middle.

“When yer maid arrives, she can help ye don a shift. Ye will be more comfortable then. Moist heat and several days in the bed will cure what ails ye.”

Emily nodded and fixed her clothes, still unsure as to just how much she could trust the little old woman with the eyes of an old soul, as her father used to say. “Thank you.”

Folding her pudgy hands in front of her, Grennove tipped a nod at the items on the table.

“We shall still add a few herbs to yer tea. That will help ye as well.” She resettled her stance on the stool and nudged her chin higher.

“Himself refuses to believe ye are his one. Fears to believe it, in fact.”

“His one what?” Why did everyone here talk as if they belonged in an epic fantasy movie? They were as bad as the Weavers of Seven Cairns.

Grennove frowned and wrinkled her nose to adjust her glasses. “The one , m’lady. The missing part of his soul. His fated mate.”

Fated mates. Emily refused to say the term aloud, especially when she was more like a thorn in Gryffe’s side rather than the other half of his heart. But what about that phenomenal kiss? She shook away the thought. “Maybe he refuses to believe it, because he knows it’s not true.”

“So, ye feel nothing for him, then?”

“We just met.”

“Aye, but the bond rekindles quickly as the fire from all yer past lives returns to revive the love ye shared. Ye feel no drawing to him? No faint memory of having met him before?”

“Are you a Weaver?” Emily curled deeper into the pillows and eased away, putting a bit more space between her and Grennove. The old woman asked too many pointed questions that hit entirely too close to the mark.

“No.” The healer’s expression softened with a look that spoke of a cherished memory filled with sorrow as well as joy.

“But I loved one, once.” She smoothed the bedcovers, tugging them wrinkle free.

“As I said, ye can trust me, m’lady. I never betray a confidence.

” She turned her head and smoothed a silver curl behind her faintly pointed ear. “I am an excellent listener.”

“He kissed me,” Emily said without meaning to say it. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from blurting out anything else.

“Good.” Grennove nodded. “I thought he might have, considering the state he was in when he spoke to us in the hall.”

“I am going back to my time. To my world. I’m going back to where I belong.” Emily hugged the knee of her uninjured leg to her chest, curling into herself while gathering up the bedclothes and pillows like a shield. “I can’t stay here.”

Grennove jutted her chin higher still and looked down her nose, wrinkling it again and making her glasses wiggle. “And why not?”

“My family. My friends. Everything I know and love is not here.”

“Ye are a Weaver and can open the portals of Seven Cairns any time ye wish to visit those ye cherish. Ye should know that. Weavers are blessed with that boon from the goddesses themselves.”

“I am not a full blooded Weaver and didn’t find my way here by passing through a portal.

My great-great grandmother was a Spell Weaver—all I ever do is catch things on fire, and apparently, shoot myself into alternate realities.

” Emily covered her eyes. She hated to cry worse than anything in the world.

Crying helped nothing. All it did was make her nose run, her eyes burn, and her head hurt. “Is that tea ever going to get here?”

The bedroom door swung open as if it had heard her childish whininess that even made her cringe.

Breenoa marched in, smiling broadly as if proud to be the leader of the parade.

An older woman dressed all in black followed her, and next came a petite, young girl who didn’t look sturdy enough to even lift the large tray she carried.

It bore a teapot, a milky white pitcher, cups, and an assortment of plates and bowls covered with white linens.

Not only did the enormous round tray look heavy, but unwieldy as well.

But the girl carried it with agility and finesse, as if it were light as a cloud.

The lady in black, silvery haired and an old-fashioned grandmotherly sort, drew closer to the bed and offered a graceful nod.

“Good day to ye, m’lady. I be Mrs. Thistlebran.

Housekeeper. Anything ye be needing, I shall see that ye have it.

” She tipped a nod at the delicate young woman still holding the tray.

“This be Inalfi Shadowfen. Yer personal maid. She will take the verra best care of ye, I assure ye.” She motioned Inalfi forward.

“Come, Inalfie. Our lady needs her tea.”

Inalfi had the lightest blonde hair Emily had ever seen and was so pale she was almost translucent.

She stepped forward and managed an impressive curtsy while still holding the tray.

“Would it be to yer liking if I rest the tray here on the bed with ye, m’lady, so ye might easier reach what ye need?

I also brought a few nibbles and bits I thought ye might enjoy.

Healing takes food, and lots of it. Leastways, that’s what my grandmam always said. ”

“That would be fine, thank you.” Emily managed a nervous smile, not entirely comfortable with the idea of having a personal maid. But the bed was huge, much larger than any standard, king-sized bed, so Inalfi might as well make use of it.

“And what would ye be having in yer tea, m’lady?” Inalfi poured a cup, then adjusted the chunky knit tea cosy that had shifted slightly. “Silly thing. Not tied properly.” Fingers flying, she corrected the oversight.

Emily blinked hard to focus more sharply. No one’s fingers moved that fast.

“Milk, sugar, honey?” The wisp of a girl held the cup and saucer aloft in one hand while uncovering everything on the tray.

“A bit of honey, please.” Emily stared at the stack of neatly folded linens that had previously covered all the plates and bowls.

How had they gotten that way, as if they had folded themselves?

She rubbed her eyes, then pressed a shaking hand to her forehead.

Maybe she had hit her head when she landed.

It was starting to hurt, and everything was so—strange.

“Uhm…maybe I should just try to sleep. I’m not feeling very well all of a sudden. ”

“Bring me her tea,” Grennove told the maid. “She needs the herbs. ’Twill help her.”

Inalfi hurried around the bed and set the tea on the table beside the healer. Grennove scraped some of the greenish substance out of the mortar, added it to the tea, and stirred, then nodded at Inalfi. “Now.”

“Here ye are, m’lady.” Inalfi ever so gently placed the cup and saucer in Emily’s hands. “Steady now. Verra good, there. Now, have ye a wee sip and let me know if ye wish more honey or less.”

Less? What would the maid do if she wanted less sweetness?

She would add more tea, silly. Emily sighed.

She hated it when her logic and good sense waited too long to kick in.

She took a hesitant sip and closed her eyes.

It tasted exactly like the tea Lilias always served her at the pub, so much so, it was about to make her cry.

She wished she was back at Seven Cairns.

“Oh no, m’lady. I got it wrong, then.”

Inalfi moved to take the cup, but Emily stopped her. “No. No, you got it perfect. It’s just like the tea I always had at The Fearless Scottie. It reminded me of home.” Another sigh shuddered free of her as she wrestled with her churning emotions. “It’s fine. I’m just…I’m just tired.”

Grennove gave Mrs. Thistlebran an almost imperceptible nod.

The housekeeper immediately stepped closer.

“I shall be leaving ye then, m’lady. Should ye have need of anything, let Inalfi know, and she will fetch me.

” She shifted in place and looked as though she was trying to decide if she should say more or keep her thoughts to herself.

Then she cleared her throat and bowed as if Emily were some sort of royalty.

“We are all verra glad to have ye here, m’lady.

Please know ye are as welcome as welcome can be. ”

Something about the housekeeper gave Emily an eerie shiver.

Not necessarily a bad shiver, but the kind she got whenever she suspected something about a person.

Mrs. Thistlebran was trying to tell her more without actually saying the words.

Hugging her tea closer, she tried to smile and failed.

“Thank you, Mrs. Thistlebran. Everyone here has been most kind.”

“Good, then. Good day to ye, m’lady.” After a curt nod, the housekeeper swept out of the room and softly closed the door behind her.

Emily breathed in the steam rising from her tea, then consoled herself with another sip.

She had to stay calm and get a grip on her emotions.

Everything would be fine. Once she healed enough to walk, she would borrow a horse and head to Seven Cairns as fast as it could carry her.

Or maybe she’d try that serenity spell again.

Excitement and hope stirred within her. Yes.

She could try the spell before she was fully healed.

All she had to do was center her thoughts and say the words.

She could do that once everyone left her alone.

The prospect sent a much needed shot of adrenaline through her, giving her the strength she needed.

“Breenoa, bring the resin cloth, so we might get our lady settled on her warm padding afore the tea makes her sleepy.” Grennove pointed at Inalfi. “Steady our lady’s tea and tray to keep us from causing a messy topple.”