“Put it down,” Lyla ordered. “I don’t want you burnt.” She continued with the song revealed on Rurik’s scrying scale, keeping pace with the music as the scrolls unrolled, revealed themselves for a moment, then changed to more sheets of the strange writings.
Fearing it would weaken her as it had done before, Magnus attempted to draw closer and halt her. “Lyla—ye’re not fully well. This is not wise.”
Without taking her eyes from the vision of the music, she kept playing the violin. “It’ll be all right. This is important and has to happen right now. I don’t know why, but I feel it.”
“Lyla—”
She shoved the violin into his hands, took the flute from Percival, and filled the air with the instrument’s lilting sound. But after a while, it became obvious that playing the thing winded her. She set it aside, took the guitar from Merriweather, sat on the floor, and played it.
“Enough!” Magnus shoved the violin back into its case, clamped it shut, and handed it to Talon. “She must rest. There is evil afoot. I smell it.” After securing the flute the same way, he crouched in front of her and pried the guitar away. “Enough, Lyla. Enough for now. Ye can hardly catch yer breath. This is some sort of spell. Some type of evil.”
She stared up at him, looking as if she had just awakened from a dream. Blinking slowly, she barely shook her head. “No. Not evil.” She narrowed her eyes, squinting as if struggling to focus. Barely able to stretch out her arm, she pointed to the south. “Rurik was showing us the way. Check Thornpitch’s wall. See if it’s weaker.”
“I dinna care about the feckin’ wall. I care about ye.” He gathered her up in his arms and held her.
“She is right, brother.” Talon tapped a claw on the window’s ledge. “Less lightning flickers in the clouds, and they are markedly thinner.”
She weakly patted Magnus’s chest, smiling up at him. “See? Rurik saw that music was the key. Music will take Kcirred down. My music.”
“Aye, and it will kill ye in the making of it. I’ll not have it.” Magnus clutched her tighter and uttered, “Tutum.” When they materialized in the bedchamber, he hurried to ease her down onto the bed and sat beside her, unwilling to be far from her. “Ye will not go back to the tower, ye ken? ’Tis too open. Thesluagh na marbhcould snatch ye away.”
Breathing easier now, but still visibly spent, she reached up and rested a hand on his chest. “What is asluagh na marbh? How could they possibly get past our guards? Past the dragons?”
“They are the accursed, the damned ones, flying through the sky like ravens, swarming their enemies to snatch away their souls.” He gathered her up in his arms again, unable to console himself by merely sitting beside her. He couldn’t breathe if he didn’t feel her heart beating against his. “Ye must not go to the tower again. Not ever. Swear it.”
She caught hold of him, burying her fingers in his hair and forcing him to lean back and look her in the eyes. “When I am stronger, we will fight him together. Your magic, the dragons’ magic, and my music. It’s our chance to finally free the Realm of his evil. Don’t you want that?”
“I want ye safe more than anything else.” He’d never felt such fear before, and he hated it. This terror shamed him, as a man, as a mate, and as a leader. Is this what being mated was like? The constant dread that something was about to rip the most precious thing in your life away? He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I need ye safe. Alive and well. I need ye—beyond reason. I canna explain it.” Did she not feel the same?
Almost as though she’d heard his thoughts, she pulled at him, silently urging him to lie down beside her. “That’s why I don’t want you to fight. I can’t imagine trying to survive without you. Lay beside me and hold me. I’m feeling better already. Your touch heals me.”
With his powers, he thought away their clothes, then settled her more comfortably in his arms and rested her head on his chest. “Ye’ve gotten cold again. Ye always grow cold when ye weaken.”
She pressed tighter against him, testing his resolve to go no farther thanholding.“You’re nice and toasty. I’ll be warm in no time.” She kissed his throat and nuzzled her mouth along theridge of his neck between his jawline and his shoulder. “In fact, you’ve already set me on fire. Are you certain consummating our vows wouldn’t make us a more effective power couple?”
“Not until ye’re stronger, minx.” He pecked a kiss to the top of her head and prayed for more control than he’d ever known was possible. “Be still now and sleep, aye?”
Thankfully, she shuddered in his arms with a jaw-cracking yawn. “Oh my, I am sorry. How rude was that? Trust me, if you had taken me up on my offer, I would not be yawning.”
While he nay wished her weariness to continue, he did wish she’d go to sleep so she’d stop wiggling and rubbing against him like a kitten wishing to be cuddled. The silkiness of her flesh sliding against his was pure torture. His manparts raged for the relief only she could provide.
At long last, she went still, breathing with the slow, steady rhythm of one safely ensconced in their dreams. He inhaled deeply, drawing in the perfume of her warmth, her trust, and the sweet floral essence of the soaps and oils she’d used in the bathing solar. His mate. His wife.Wife.He had never used that word, but it rolled easily off the tongue. He’d known of it, recognized it from Scotland’s parallel realm of her time. Something about it felt right. Felt perfect.
Just as he relaxed and toyed with the notion of closing his eyes, Albionna silently appeared in his line of sight on the other side of the bed. She pointed at the door and mouthed,Weavers.
Feckin’ hell.The old one would show up now. He’d have to laud her on her damn timing. Taking care not to awaken Lyla, he eased out of the bed, clothed himself in a black tunic, the leather trews usually worn under his armor, and boots—all black to match his mood—then fixed a stern scowl on the maid as he pointed at his beloved mate and said in a low tone, “Guard her well.”
Albionna nodded.
While not thoroughly comfortable with leaving Lyla, Magnus comforted himself with the knowledge that the maid had devotedly served his brother’s mate for many years. Talia swore Albionna could be trusted. Magnus sincerely hoped so.
He strode down the short hallway and stormed into the solar. “Where were ye when she lay at death’s door?” He stabbed a finger in the air, jabbing it first at Mairwen and then at Keeva. “Where were ye when she needed warning that a traitor was in our midst? A traitor who tried to kill her?”
“We are only allowed to meddle so much,” Mairwen said, her demeanor entirely too calm for his liking. She offered a gracious nod. “Congratulations on her choosing ye and the speaking of the binding vow.”
“Aye, but now she wishes to battle Kcirred with her music. The feckin’ Scale of Rurik has turned against me, endangering her with visions of the songs of war and burning her music makers with fires that dinna consume them. She is too weak yet. It will surely kill her.”
The pair of Weavers studied him, their expressions pained and less than reassuring.