“And that was before the two of ye spoke the binding oath?” Ferris widened his stance and folded his arms across his broad chest, appearing as perplexed as Gryffe.
“Aye. At that time, if she could have gone through the portals, she would have left me.”
Scrubbing the stubble of his day’s growth of beard, Ferris cringed as if the wonderment of it all pained him. “There is no way Nicnevin, even as powerful as she is, there is no way she could have spelled the entire village of Seven Cairns and the Weavers. The goddesses blessed that land in the beginning—eons ago—it protects those upon it.”
“Aye, and any glamour Nicnevin might have attempted to place on Emily to hide her from their minds would have fallen away as soon as we stepped inside the borders of the village.”
Ferris appeared even more pained. “This stinks of a higher power meddling. Ye ken that, aye?”
“Aye, and where they have meddled once, I fear they will meddle again. They have been known to take away just as quickly as they give.” A feeling of helplessness, the not knowing, raged through Gryffe. “They will never take her from me,” he said with a low, guttural growl. “Not her nor any of our children. Never.”
Ferris took hold of Gryffe’s shoulder and squeezed. “Whatever ye need from me, ye have it. Aye?”
“Aye.” Gryffe appreciated his old friend more than he could ever put into words, and he knew Ferris knew that. “Come into the Dreaming with us tonight. Nicnevin put it into Emily’s head as a way of visiting her loved ones, and there’ll be no peace now until she attempts it.”
Ferris’s lips curled back in a distasteful sneer. “I hate the Dreaming, and so does my wolf.”
“I would never ask it of ye if I didn’t fear I would need ye.”
Ferris nodded. “I’ll be there, old friend.”
“I thank ye.”
With a formal nod, Ferris went to the door. “I shall return at moonrise.”
“Aye—to moonrise.”
Inalfi adjusted both the front and back ties of Emily’s corset.
“You’re actually loosening them?” Emily sucked in a satisfyingly deeper breath. “Usually, you yank them so tight they cut me in half.”
The studious maid gave her a scolding look. “If yer stays are not tight, they do little to support yer lovely figure, my lady.” She caught hold of the bottom edge of the corset and tugged and shook it, settling Emily’s parts more snugly into the increased space. “But the Dreaming is…different. Yer ability to move is more important than uplifting yer bosoms.”
“That sounds ominous.” Emily stepped into the dark blue overskirt Inalfi held out, then wiggled to straighten the layers of petticoats beneath it before the maid buttoned the waistband in the back. “If I need to be able to move, perhaps I should wear the clothes I wore when I arrived here in this time.” The more she heard about the Dreaming, the more she wondered if using it as a way to contact Jessa was wise. That momentary cowardice made her shake her head. No. She would not be a chicken. She had to at least try to let everyone know where she was and that she was all right. With a nod at the trunk beneath the window, she resettled her footing as if about to charge into battle. “Everything’s in there, isn’t it? Fetch my stuff. All of it. Hiking boots and underthings too, please.”
Inalfi went still, her pale blue eyes narrowing as she eyed the fullness of Emily’s skirt. “That is not a bad plan, my lady. Those clothes from yer time are scandalous the way they cling to ye, but ye would be able to run, jump, and roll with more speed and accuracy.” She wrinkled her nose. “But Himself might not be pleased.”
“Himself will only fuss a little, then I’ll fuss back, and he’ll give in because he’ll know I’m right.” Emily glanced back over her shoulder and smiled at the great black panther stretched across the bed. “Case in point right over there.”
“Himself gives in because he is besotted with ye and willna deny ye anything as long as he knows it willna hurt ye.” Inalfi grunted as she hefted open the thick lid of the wood trunk trimmed with brass and leather. She rooted around in it, then returned with the clothes and boots bundled in her arms.
After helping Emily remove her corset, skirt, and petticoat, she backed away with the eighteenth century garments hugged to her middle. “On with yer things, my lady. I know ye dinna need my help to don them.”
“They’re not that bad, Inalfi.” A happy sigh escaped Emily as she pulled on her favorite panties and sports bra. She had missed the ease and comfort of her twenty-first century garb. After wiggling into the snug, black tank top she always wore as another layer during workouts, she slipped on the fleece-lined leggings that had been her mainstay. “These are my old friends. I wore them all the time back home.”
“I thought this was yer home, my lady.”
Emily paused before slipping on her chunky cable knit sweater, suddenly guilty about the quiet but impossible to miss hurt in Inalfi’s usually sparkling tone. “Well, of course, this is my home—now.” She tried to shake off not only a silly sense of guilt but the strange sensation of having somehow betrayed Gryffe by referring to somewhere else as home. “It’s just a figure of speech. A lot easier than saying I wore them all the time in the reality I came from in the twenty-first century. See? So many more words. I don’t want to sound like one of those people who love to listen to themselves talk.” And yet here she was babbling. Why? Why did she feel so guilty about that one little slip?
Doubt. The word filled her mind and took her back to a conversation she’d once had with Jessa before that terrifying battle with the Morrigan that had nearly cost Jessa her life. Doubt had caused that. Doubt was a dangerous thing when it came to the magic of Scotland.
Inalfi remained subdued, turning aside to put away the skirt and petticoats. Her deafening silence made Emily feel even worse.
Snatching her old hiking boots up from the floor, she crossed the room to the bed and sat beside Grimalkin. The great cat trilled out an affectionate welcome, rolled over onto her back, and nudged Emily with her head. Emily paused long enough to scratch the softly rumbling feline under the chin while trying to think of a way to make Inalfi feel better. But she couldn’t. Once something was said, it was impossible to snatch it back—kind of like trying to unring a bell.
She settled for a despondent sigh while pulling on her socks and lacing up her boots. “Will you be coming to the Dreaming with me?” she asked the cheerless maid.
“Coming with ye?” Inalfi looked as if she had just been asked to assassinate the chieftain. She clutched Emily’s heavy wool cloak to her chest like a shield. “Oh no, my lady. I canna go to the Dreaming.”
