Magnus wouldn’t attempt to placate her with the hope that this new possibility the Weavers had found would be the healer, the savior, the prophecy had promised. But Lady Lyla Ibrams…Lyla…had filled him with more hope than he had felt in a very long while. He motioned for her to come away, to change course so they might visit Ipsillian before he slipped into the never-ending sleep. “Come.”
After a long moment of staring at the barrier keeping her from Thornpitch, she reeled away, spinning to the right and diving.
Magnus exhaled in relief. She was headed to the guard’s mountain. To her lair. To her beloved Ipsillian. They would follow and offer this mighty warrior the honor and respect he deserved.
Lyla tried notto think about thevoiceas she tucked her notes and sheet music into the folder she always carried whenever traveling. It had to have been the alcohol. Or maybe someone at the microbrewery playing a prank. They all knew her there, and she wouldn’t put it past any of those jokesters to do their best imitation of a deep-voiced Scot because they had all been quite taken with Keeva and frustrated when Keeva wasn’t nearly as taken with them.
“Tis a shame ye canna take yer piano.” Keeva circled the small, boxy spinet Lyla had gotten for an amazingly low bid at an estate auction.
“I’m not sure the poor thing could survive being shipped all the way to Scotland. It’s got quite a few years on it.” Lyla gave it a loving pat. “And then I’d have to ship it back whenever I returned. Does Seven Cairns not have one?” She found it rather odd that a place touting music therapy and specifically mentioning a piano on its website might not have one. “Or did you mean there’s just not a spinet there?”
Keeva squeaked with one of her nervous little laughs that Lyla had noticed a lot more lately. “Och, that’s what I meant. Of course, we have a piano in our music room, but ’tis a monstrous thing. Much bigger than this wee lass.”
“Well, then, it probably has a richer sound.” Lyla swept her hand across the top of the wooden instrument; its veneer faded and patchy. She should’ve dusted it before having Keeva over. “This little baby sounds great here in my apartment, but she’d be lost in a bigger room, especially if that room has high ceilings.”
Still meandering around the area, Keeva halted in front of the corner rack and shelves that housed the rest of Lyla's musical instruments she’d collected over the years. “Do ye play all of these?”
Lyla couldn’t help but laugh. Everyone always seemed surprised that she’d amassed and mastered such a collection. Violin, cello, guitar, flute, clarinet, oboe, even a trombone, harmonica, and an accordion. If it made music, and she spent a little time with it, she could play it. “I seem to have a knack for coaxing a song out of everything.”
Clearly impressed, Keeva reverently nodded while bending to examine the collection of items on the bottom shelf. “I’d be calling that a magical gift, not aknack.’Tis quite amazing, actually.” She straightened and gave Lyla a knowing smile. “Maybe that’s why the other evening both the tarot cardsandthe psychic encouraged ye to embrace a long journey across the water. They knew someone as magical as yerself belongs in mystical Scotland.”
“Yeah, I’m magical all right.” Lyla relived the deep, reassuring resonance of the voice that no one had heard except her. Of course, she hadn’t asked Keeva if she’d heard a fellow countryman that night in the pub. Maybe she’d heard him, too, and just not said anything. “You didn’t happen to hear another Scot the other night, did you? At the bar? Before Jana staggered off to pass out in the restroom?”
Keeva eyed her, her expression unreadable. “Another Scot, ye say?”
Tossing the folder of music on the couch with the other items she intended to pack for her visit to Seven Cairns, Lyla waved off the questions as if trying to erase them. “You know what? Never mind. It was crowded. No way to tell who was there.”
Keeva eased toward her with interest, creeping like a kitten sneaking up on a new toy. “Did ye hear another Scot that evening in the bar?” She tipped her head to one side, leaning closer as if to improve her hearing. “What did they say? Was it a man or a woman? What did ye hear?”
“Forget I asked. Not only does it not matter, but it was probably just the alcohol making me hear things.”
“Ye had two glasses of that beer that was little more than watered-down piss.” Keeva folded her arms like a pouting child and shook her head. “I canna believe they dared to warn that stuff might impair yer judgment. The only thing that impaired was the room in yer belly for a glass of heartier spirits.” She tapped her toe, reminding Lyla of her old mechanical metronome perched on top of the piano. “Now, what did ye hear? Or better yet,whodo ye think ye heard?”
“They said I would like it there—wherevertherewas—and they called me Lady Lyla.” Lyla tossed up her hands. “There. See? Alcohol-induced hallucinations. I don’t drink very often. Even though the beer was weak, it could still affect me.”
Keeva frowned. “Andtheywere Scottish?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed. “A man or a lass?”
Wishing she’d never broached the subject, Lyla groaned as she leaned her head back and stared up at the ceiling. “A man with a really deep, booming voice. But he didn’t shout. It was more of a whisper.” She shivered. It had been a very seductive whisper that had touched her like a lover’s caress.
“I see.”
Lyla recognized that tone. “So, should I stop packing now that you think I’m crazy? I take it you’re retracting the job offer?” That was fine. She’d only considered it a trial deal, anyway. Only a few months tops. Definitely not a permanent career change and most certainly not a permanent move to Scotland. She shrugged. “I understand. No hard feelings. I have enjoyed visiting with you, though.” At least meeting Keeva had enabled her to show Jana the exit without nearly as much angst. Her agent—correction: former agent—had easily accepted that while Lyla lived in Scotland for a couple of months, she was no longer Jana’s responsibility or client.
“I dinna think ye are crazy.”
“That is not what your face or your tone says.”
“What my face and tone should be saying is that the better I know ye, the more I believe ye belong in Scotland.” Keeva made a sweeping motion with her hand, one that encompassed the entire room. “Ye’re a woman gifted with a magical talent for creating music that touches the soul. This place, all this asphalt and concrete is smothering yer abilities.” She gave a firm nod. “That was probably Scotland ye heard speaking to ye. It often calls out for its own, ye ken?”
“Don’t placate me just because I told you I’d work at Seven Cairns for room, board, and travel expenses.” Forfeiting a salary, at least for the first couple of months, had felt like something Lyla needed to do because she wasn’t a certified music therapist and also not really certain about all that the job entailed. She knew what her own music therapy had consisted of, but that had been for a physical issue—not a mental or emotional one. Music therapy to heal a troubled soul wasn’t something she knew anything about. “I totally get how crazy I just sounded, and I don’t hold you to anything we already agreed on.” She held up both hands again, totally surrendering the issue. “It’s all good. No harm. No foul.”
“I dinna ken what that means exactly.” Keeva eyed her.
“It means I understand. Really, I do, and I’m still glad we met. You’re the breath of fresh air I needed.”
