Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
Lyla meandered through the practice rooms, trying to find something to do to get out of her own head while still being available to anyone who happened to stop by. She felt more and more out of place by the minute and wondered if this adventure had been a wrong turn.
The old, high-ceilinged rooms had been adapted into sound-isolation booths so that music students could work on their particular instruments without disturbing anyone else.
These weren’t therapy rooms—or at least not the sort of therapy rooms she had envisioned.
Had she been that far off base with her expectations?
She hadn’t come here to give lessons on how to play an instrument.
She’d come here to help people learn to use music to heal themselves.
Yet no one had stopped by in the four days since she’d arrived.
Maybe she should just go sightseeing, or better yet, plan an early return to Cincinnati.
Taking a violin down from the rack, she studied it for a moment, then realized it was less of a classical violin and more of a fiddle with a flatter bridge to make double stops easier.
It also had steel-core strings that would elicit a brighter, more durable sound.
Unable to resist, she tucked it under her chin and reeled out the old American folk song: Turkey in the Straw.
The man who’d helped raise her had taught her how to play that simple, bouncy tune when she’d been so young that his fiddle was almost bigger than she was.
Turkey in the Straw always brought that kind old gentleman to mind.
“What a lively song.” A white-haired woman, one of those older ladies who had aged so well that the number of years they’d walked the earth was impossible to guess, stood in the doorway, smiling.
Lyla lowered the instrument from her shoulder and naturally cradled it in the crook of her arm.
“It’s called Turkey in the Straw—one of the first songs my grandfather taught me on his violin—or his fiddle, actually.
That’s what he always called it.” She offered a polite nod as she tucked the bow in next to the instrument under her arm and extended her hand.
“I’m Lyla Ibrams. Are you here for music therapy? ”
“Nay, lass. I am Mairwen. I’m sure Keeva has mentioned me.” She shook Lyla's hand, her grip strong and sure for one who appeared so fine-boned and delicate. “I came by to see how ye’re settling in here at Seven Cairns. Is everything to yer liking?”
Lyla found herself trapped in the woman’s piercing gaze. She’d never seen eyes so blue—unless maybe her own. Many had remarked that her eyes were the brightest blue they had ever seen. “Um…yes,” she said, forcing a smile. “Everything is fine here, thank you.”
Mairwen arched a silvery brow. “Are ye certain? That is not what yer face says.”
A shiver rippled up Lyla's spine, making every nerve-ending twitch.
Nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she cleared her throat, then silently scolded herself to stop that.
It was hard on her vocal cords and would only irritate the scar tissue.
“Everything is fine,” she repeated with more conviction. “Really.”
Mairwen leaned closer. “Dinna worry. Keeva already told me about the voice ye hear—the man’s voice.” She shrugged. “’Tis nothing to fash yerself about. He’s only a spirit seeking to connect with ye.”
“I am not a house available for haunting or demon possession.”
“Demon possession?” Mairwen’s pleasant friendliness fell away to a leery stoniness. “Has the man suggested ye harm yerself or others?”
“No, actually, he assured me that everything would be fine and that he would always protect me.” Uncomfortable with this particular line of conversation with a person she’d just met, Lyla turned away to return the fiddle and bow to their place on the instrument rack across the room.
“But that’s neither here nor there. Would you mind clarifying what you need me to do here?
This setup is more suited for teaching music, not offering therapy.
” For some strange reason, this woman hit her the wrong way, irritated her, and made her tense, which didn’t make any sense.
Mairwen hadn’t said or done anything wrong. She’d just popped in to say hello.
“Do ye not feel that learning to coax music from something could also be therapy to a troubled soul?” Mairwen meandered deeper into the room, idly running a finger across the strings of a cello. “Wouldn’t learning music help someone to express themselves in a way other than speaking?”
Unable to argue with such logic, Lyla surrendered by lifting her hands and bowing her head. “I just needed clarification about whether I needed to teach them to play an instrument or help them find songs to listen to that would help them calm their minds.”
Mairwen shrugged. “Whatever is needed. Ye are simply here to heal—yerself as well as others.”
“Myself?” Lyla wondered what all Keeva had told this woman, who struck her as being a lot more sly and powerful than she let on. She’d bet money that when Mairwen told anyone in Seven Cairns to jump, they hurried to ask, How high? “I’m fine, thank you.”
Mairwen eyed her in a way that uncomfortably stripped away the layers of her soul. “But are ye, child? Are ye truly fine?”
Maybe it was her hoarseness that confused Mairwen.
But surely Keeva had told her about that, too.
Still, upon meeting her for the first time, many people mistakenly thought she was struggling to overcome some sort of illness that affected her voice.
Lyla patted the base of her throat. “This is permanent. Result of a botched surgery on my vocal cords to remove nodules I should’ve left alone. ”
“Actually, I was referring to yer spirit.” Mairwen offered her a sympathetic smile. “Ye are in search of peace. Yer soul cries out for it.”
Lyla stared at her, once again snared in the older woman’s cutting, sapphire gaze, then she slowly shook her head, deciding to drop all pretenses. “There is no peace for me. Never has been. Never will be.”
“Peace exists for everyone, child,” Mairwen said ever so gently. “Ye simply have to recognize it once ye find it, then hold fast to it and never let it go.”
Teeth clenched, Lyla forced another polite smile.
As far as she was concerned, this first impression had not gone well at all, and it was time to manage things better.
“Maybe Scotland will provide the peace I need,” she glibly answered.
“By the way, have you seen Keeva today? She mentioned something about stopping in, but I haven’t seen her since the morning after I arrived.
” And that had been over three days ago.
In a town this small, Keeva had to be going out of her way to avoid her.
Lyla wondered if she had said or done something to offend the happy-go-lucky girl who had wrangled her into this little adventure that had so far, fizzled into an uneasy state of limbo where she didn’t exactly know what to do with herself.
She didn’t want to treat it like a free vacation in Scotland and take advantage of her new employers, but wandering around here with no purpose was not an acceptable option either.
“I tried calling and texting, but haven’t gotten a response. Is there something I need to know?”
“Keeva is busy with a new venture. Yet another reason I stopped in to check on ye. I hadn’t realized she had left ye to yer own devices for so long.
Forgive us. Since ye are not from this area and have yet to build up a clientele, we should be better hosts…
and employers.” She waved Lyla forward as she turned toward the door.
“Come. We have a surprise for ye. One that will chase away the tension plaguing ye.”
“Should I run upstairs and get my purse?” So far, Keeva had footed every bill, making Lyla feel a little…
weird. She’d not been allowed to pay for anything she’d gotten at Boyd’s or the treats from Innis’s.
Granted, she wasn’t drawing a salary, but that didn’t mean Seven Cairns owed her anything more than the agreed-upon room and board.
Especially since, so far, she’d not seen a single person about helping them with music therapy.
The only times she had paid her way were when she stopped in for a meal or a drink at the pub—and even that had been a battle.
Lilias had tried to insist that Keeva had instructed them to run a tab and that the Council would cover whatever Lyla ordered.
But Lyla had won that battle of wills. “It won’t take me but a minute to dash up there and grab it.
The Council doesn’t need to pay for everything. ”
Mairwen shook her head. “Unnecessary, child. This surprise is healing provided by myself and Scotland. It costs nothing to yerself or the Council.”
“Okay.” Leeriness settled in with a vengeance, but Lyla relented, trying to shake off the feeling that something she might not like was about to happen.
She followed the enigmatic woman dressed in the same sort of vintage, flowy skirt and shawl that every tarot card reader and psychic she’d ever consulted had worn.
Were the brightly colored linen garments some sort of universal uniform among the new agers?
She shrugged off the observation. The rich blues and rusty oranges of the loose clothing suited Mairwen, making her seem a more vibrant force to be reckoned with.
Lyla glanced down at her oversized sweater, black leggings, and extremely well-broken in black hiking boots she’d found at a thrift store.
Who was she to question someone’s fashion choices?
As they exited the building, Mairwen pointed at a bright red, yet slightly rusted-out pickup truck. “Hop in. My spa is up the hill a ways. ’Twould be rude of me to make ye walk when it’s about to come on a rain, and I’m no’ in the mood for a wet stroll.”
Lyla climbed in and closed the door, but it didn’t latch.