“Once ye choose, it is done.” His sadness reached out to her, begged her to give him a chance. “Until the next lifetime.”
Chapter
Eight
The weight of the decision Magnus laid out before her made it feel as though the dark stone walls of the bathing solar were closing in on her. Lyla scooted off the couch and knelt in front of the fire, staring into the dancing flames but finding no answers in the bright, yellow-white tongues licking across the logs or the glowing, red-orange coals.
“I take care of people back there,” she said without turning to look at him.
“There are many here who need ye more than ye could ever imagine, lass.” He joined her on the woolly rug, the origin of which she’d rather not think about. “And I am not simply referring to myself—although, my need for ye grows stronger the longer I am in yer presence.”
“The people I take care of could lose their homes. Lose the chances I’ve made sure that they have. I give them safety. Security.”
“The beings here who await the song of the prophesied mate of the chief could lose their lives if ye refuse our bond and return to yer time.”
“Song?” She huffed a bitter laugh and patted her chest. “This is my voice. It is not temporary. I will never sound any betterthan I do right now. Songs are no longer in my repertoire.” And a prophesied mate? Really? She bowed her head and massaged her throbbing temples. The not-so-subtle pounding was probably from lack of caffeine, and if she didn’t find whatever they used as a toilet here soon, there was going to be an embarrassing puddle on this rug. “And how could a song save someone’s life?”
“Surely, ye dinna doubt the healing magic of music?”
She couldn’t argue with that, but he sounded soliteral.“I know music helps people, but you make it sound like it pulls them from death’s door here.”
“It does.”
“How?”
He rose to his feet, then leaned down and offered her his hand. “Join me in the waters, and I will show ye.”
If she stepped down into that warm water, her bladder would launch its contents and foul the pool. Cheeks burning with embarrassment, she caught hold of his hand and stood. “Where can I”—she fidgeted from side to side—“where is the bathroom?”
Frowning, he cast a glance all around the room as if checking to make sure it was still there. “Thisisthe bathing solar.”
Rubbing her forehead, she deflated with a heavy sigh, then looked up and locked eyes with him. There was nothing to do but say it. She might as well find out right now just how archaic this place was. “I need to pee in the worst way.”
He arched a brow and backed up a step. “How do ye pee in theworstway?”
“I need to pee really, really bad—as in—I am about to ruin your rug.”
Taking her by the shoulders, he gently turned her and pointed out a tall, foldable screen painted with an amazing fantasy scene of colorful dragons in flight that partitioned offone side of the room. “Behind that wall is the privy with everything ye need.”
“Thank you.” Scurrying across the warm stone floor, she rounded the screen, expecting a pile of leaves and a porcelain soup tureen to squat over. Instead, she discovered a wide, box-like stone bench with a round wooden lid corking a hole in the center of its seat.Interesting.She eased toward it as if the thing was a jack-in-the-box, fully wound and ready to pop. Holding her breath, she removed the lid, set it on the floor, then risked looking down into the hole. Total blackness stared up at her, and thankfully, an absence of smell. A basket of what appeared to be fluffy wads of wool sat on the bench beside the hole, alongside another basket with small rolls of yellowed rags. Were these choices meant as toilet paper? An ingrained need tonotbehave like a rude guest, one taught to her early on, demanded she make sure. “So, I pee in the hole in the box, and then use the puffballs to dry?”
“Aye.”
That, aye,didn’t sound like he’d finished his thought. She stood beside the box, waiting for whatever other information Magnus might think she needed. “Well?” She locked her knees together and wriggled back and forth, suffering with this relief so close yet still so far.
“How are they in yer time?” he finally asked. “The privies?”
“Nothing like this. They’re bowls of water with a seat on them, and we dry off or clean ourselves with small squares of paper on rolls—or wash with a bidet and dry off.” When he didn’t comment, she decided to get on with the task. They had more important things to talk about than toilets. After relieving herself and making use of a fluff of wool, she placed the lid back over the hole, then turned and noticed a lightweight robe of linen hanging on a hook beside the screen. Small as it was, it couldn’t possibly belong to Magnus, and for some strangereason, that irritated her to no end. Who else had he brought to this bathing solar? “Someone left a robe back here. May I borrow it?”
“It is yers, lass.” The sound of his heavy sigh echoed through the cave-like room. “All that I have is yers.”
She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and pressed a fist to her aching heart. “This is not possible,” she hissed under her breath. This raging storm of emotions threatened to blow her to bits if she didn’t fight the impossibilities of all that had happened. None of this could be…Could be what? Real?What about the way his clothes materialized on his body? That had been real enough. She’d seen it with her own eyes. But all that she felt toward him? Aside from the very plausible confusion, how could any of those feelings, those achy, needy, oh-my-gosh-he’s-the-one-I’ve-been-looking-for feelings be real? She shook her head. No, it could not be, and that was that.
“Lyla?”
“Coming.” She shrugged on the robe and tightened the belt around her. Strangely enough, it fit perfectly. Emerging from behind the screen with her hands fisted at her waist, she tried to smile but failed. “Now, then. I believe you were going to show me who needs the healing of my music the most?”
“Aye,” he said with disturbing seriousness. He held out his hand. “Join me in the waters where all will be revealed.”
