Chapter 15 #2
Every fiber within Lyla shot to high alert.
Relaxation was officially over. They’d just loved away hours in the healing waters.
He had to be as exhausted as she was, and she’d caught a short nap before Albionna woke her for a massage and to help her dress.
She shoved up onto her elbows and twisted around to stare at the maid.
“What do you mean, prepares him for battle? I still need to go over the musical instruments Mairwen and Keeva brought. They need my music to have any hope of winning.”
Draping a warmed linen sheet around Lyla’s shoulders, Albionna steadied her on the table, then offered her a tankard of water to sip.
“While ye slept, Lord Darkmist sent word to the chief that Ipsillian and Hellys found a weakness in the wall. They are most optimistic that the battle can be won without yer involvement, which had the chief gravely worried.”
Clutching the sheet to her chest, Lyla hopped down off the table, vigorously scrubbed away any residual oil, then tossed the cloth aside, not caring that she stood there naked.
“I need clothes. Now. Pants, if you have them. I don’t have time to dress in the endless layers of linen and wool or gowns of even more infinite yardage.
Dress me in armor like the chief. Is that possible?
If you can create an entire wardrobe in a matter of hours, can you suit me up in pants, boots, and a shirt really fast?
And a jacket with lots of pockets. I need lots of pockets because I fully intend to carry as many musical instruments with me as I can.
Hopefully, Mairwen brought some smaller ones I can conceal. Or loud ones. Or all of the above.”
The maid eyed her, backing away as if Lyla possessed some sort of disease. “I dinna think that wise, Divine One. Not without the MacRaith knowing and granting me his permission.” She gave a determined nod. “He wants ye safe. Both yerself and the babe.”
Lyla refused to be stopped. She needed Magnus safe just as badly.
“Fine. I’ll dress myself in whatever I can find, but I hope you know that I’d be stronger and safer if you dressed me in something as I described.
” Still naked, she charged out of the solar and into the dressing room, praying she’d find something close to what she wanted.
Maybe she could trade clothes with a servant or something.
Some of the young boys who’d brought in peat blocks and wood for the hearths had been about her size. She could wear their clothes.
“When are Malik and Brodie coming back with more fuel for the fires?” she called out over her shoulder as she tossed open the lids to the trunks and started pawing through the contents.
“Why?” Albionna came in behind her, dodging the clothes Lyla held up to consider, then tossed aside. “The hearth baskets have plenty of fuel.”
“I don’t need fuel. I need the boys’ cloths. I’m going to wear them.”
“Ye will not, Divine One! I will not have it said that I allowed my mistress to dress in the rags of one of the chamber lads.”
Lyla whirled around and faced her. “Then dress me in what I asked for. Pants. Tunic. Knee or thigh-high boots. Lots of pockets. A belt. And a scarf to tie my hair back out of my eyes. All black if you’re taking requests for colors.
And a bit of a heel on the boots. It’ll make me look taller.
More intimidating.” She yanked open the doors to the nearest wardrobe and started pawing through the colorful and delicate silks and linens that just wouldn’t do.
Spotting something black hanging on a hook at the back, between the shelves, she pulled it out and held it up.
A cloak. A heavy cloak with a thick, woolly collar and a hood.
It would be warm, but also cumbersome and might slow her down.
She’d keep it out, just in case. Hopefully, she’d find something that would grant her more freedom of movement.
“Here, Divine One.” Jaw clenched in an unhappy scowl, Albionna shoved a bundle of black clothing into her arms. “Our chief will surely send me to the abyss, and truth be told, I will belong there.”
“You do not, and he will not.” Lyla caught hold of the maid by the shoulders.
“I won’t let him because I don’t trust anyone else to take care of me, and will throw nine kinds of fits if he even suggests getting rid of you.
And trust me, he can’t handle my nine kinds of fits.
” She pulled on the clothes, amazed that Albionna had tailored them within moments of hearing their description.
“You are an absolute wonder. This is perfect, and exactly what I had in mind.”
Black leather boots that reached well above her knee—a little bit of a heel but still low enough that she could run, jump, and maneuver however she needed.
Black pants that were kind of like denim but not really.
She couldn’t decide what kind of material they were.
All she knew was they fit like a dream and enabled her to move as easily as wearing leggings or joggers.
A belted, oversized tunic and a multi-pocketed utility jacket that would go viral if she ever took it back to her twenty-first century reality and posted a picture of it on social media.
“Thank you so much, Albionna. This means everything to me.” Lyla tried to reassure the maid with a confident smile, but the efficient Selkie wasn’t having it. It was more than a little obvious that Albionna felt she had betrayed her chief. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
“I find little comfort in that, Divine One.” With a disapproving sniff, the scowling servant made a show of straightening the seams of the jacket across Lyla’s shoulders as if critiquing the fit.
Lyla wished she had time to console the maid, but an ominous urgency nipped at her. She had to hurry, or she’d be too late. The weakness in the poison wall was a trap. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name. “Where are the instruments Mairwen and Keeva brought? Still in the solar?”
“Aye.”
Heady with the freedom of her new clothes, Lyla ran to the other room and started going through the stack of black cases, round wooden boxes, and leather crates.
How in the world had Mairwen and Keeva carried all this stuff?
She huffed at her own ridiculousness. Magic, of course.
How did anyone around here accomplish nearly everything?
She seized the piccolo, more affectionately known as the devil’s whistle, and slid it down inside her right boot.
An Irish wooden flute she discovered in the next crate fit snug against her calf in her left, and the flute Mairwen had first brought her fit perfectly into the long narrow pocket in the side of her jacket.
“A harmonica…hmm.” She eyed the thing, tried a few notes, then nodded and stuffed it into another jacket pocket.
She’d have that thing singing a tune in no time.
Strapping the guitar across her back, mainly for bait and to keep anyone from looking for the smaller instruments she’d hidden, she continued sorting through the containers but set aside a cello, harp, dulcimer, and banjo, deciding against them.
Then she worked open the drawstringed neck of a duffel bag and peered inside. “Wow.”
“What is it, Divine One?” Albionna eased closer, eyeing all the musical instruments as though fearing they might attack her.
Lyla pulled the monstrosity out of the duffel and held it up.
“Bagpipes.” She scratched her head while studying the stocks, the blowpipe, and the chanter.
She’d only tried to master this thing one time before and had somewhat succeeded.
It was not an easy instrument to play, and she admired anyone who could make the mournful pipes sing.
Her amazing knack for catching on to any tool of music with little to no trouble had been thoroughly stretched to the limits with the bagpipes.
Playing Scotland’s blessed horn was not for the faint of heart.
But drastic times demanded drastic measures, and the one major thing the pipes had going for them was that they were loud—so loud, they’d been proven to cause hearing loss in those who played them.
Pipers who wore special hearing protection while they played were counted among the wise.
“I don’t know if I’ve got the wind for these yet, though. ”
Deciding to take a leap of faith, she secured them in the same strap holding the guitar across her back.
She had to try. Better to have them and not need them than to need them and not have them.
Although she couldn’t ever remember a time when she’d ever wished she’d brought along a set of bagpipes.
Then again, she’d never charged off to battle an evil, fire witch that turned into a black bird or a druid that sucked souls.
She turned in a slow circle, scanning the many musical instruments one last time.
“My violin. I need to take the violin.” It had broken the curse of the sickness.
She couldn’t possibly leave it behind. The violin in one hand and the bow in the other, she eyed her unorthodox battle suit, trying to figure out a way to carry it.
“Allow me, Divine One.” Albionna rushed forward with a woven leather strap that she secured around the pegbox of the violin, then attached to Lyla’s belt.
“And now for this piece.” She took the bow, slid it into a cloth, drawstringed sheath, then tied it alongside the violin hanging against Lyla’s hip.
“Brilliant, Albionna. Absolutely brilliant.”
Tears in her eyes, the maid stepped back, bowing her head. “I pray it protects ye, Divine One.” With a hurried sniff, she pulled a square of cloth from her pocket, pressed it to the corners of her eyes, then shoved it back out of sight. “How do ye mean to get to the wall?”