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.”
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.”
