Page 13 of Time of the Druid (Stones of Scotland #7)

Chapter 13

T he circumstances might be less than ideal, but Norah had certainly not given up hope of winning her freedom. Matthew had been helpful so far—calm, capable, even kind—but Norah reminded herself that kindness didn’t erase history. It didn’t unmake the deal she’d struck. Her life still belonged to Edmondson until the job was done.

There was a flicker of guilt, of course. Matthew didn’t seem like the kind of man who deserved a knife in the back. But the stakes were too high. One moment of softness, one hesitation, and Edmondson would crush her without a second thought. Norah clenched her jaw. She would find the right moment, do what she came here to do, and walk away. That was the promise. That was the price of her freedom.

“Fion,” she asked casually, as she sat beside the young woman at the midday meal in the roundhouse. “Is there a stillroom here at the crannog?”

“Oh, of course,” Fion said brightly. “I can show you after the meal, if you like. Are you skilled with herbs? Our last herbalist died a few months ago, and we’ve yet to appoint anyone else to the position, so I’m afraid the room is a little neglected, although we do like to keep it well stocked.”

Norah had quickly learned that most settlements in the Middle Ages and earlier had a stillroom—a place where women prepared herbs to help with small ailments and minor pains. It was a relief to hear that the crannog was no exception.

It was even more of a relief to realise that the small room Fion led her to was extremely well stocked. The late herbalist must have been a skilled woman indeed. Some of the dried herbs that hung from the walls and filled the many stone jars were not even native to Scotland. Norah drifted around the room, taking the time to sniff everything, and sticking her head out of the door each time she needed to clear her nose. Fion quickly left, clearly bored by the stillroom, but Norah stayed.

There were many healing herbs here, that was for sure—bundles of dried yarrow and willow bark, calming lavender and fennel, and bunches of chamomile strung along the rafters like garlands. But there were others, darker and less familiar, that made Norah pause as she traced her fingers along their labels. Thorn-apple, henbane, belladonna. All of them deadly in the right dose, and tucked in among more benign jars as if they belonged.

She crouched to peer into a stoneware pot, the sharp scent of something pungent making her nose wrinkle. There were roots, dried mushrooms, and shrivelled berries in the back corners of the shelves, some of which she hadn’t seen since her training years ago. Of course, many plants could help or harm depending on the dosage and the condition of the patient, but Norah suspected that a few of these herbs had been chosen for harm and nothing else. There was a kind of honesty in that. Quietly, she smiled to herself. She could certainly work with this.

But her stomach rumbled, and she suddenly realised that she’d been here all afternoon. Outside, the sun had set, only the faintest traces of light still glimmering on the dark water of the lake. She must have missed the evening meal. Perhaps the women in the kitchen would have something that she could eat.

With one last look around the stillroom, Norah decided she was done for today. Now that she had a good idea of the available supplies, she could make a better plan and return tomorrow to prepare something helpful. Jack would be pleased.

She closed up the stillroom behind her, stepping into the deepening twilight with a slight shiver. The evening air had turned sharp, and the lake lapped quietly against the pilings beneath the crannog. Long shadows pooled between the roundhouses, distorting their shapes, making the familiar suddenly strange.

She tried to remember which of the many roundhouses was used as a kitchen. Was it that one, on the edge of the water? Or the one beside the main roundhouse? A faint unease prickled at the base of her neck, but she shook it off. The settlement was quiet, the narrow paths deserted. Still, her feet slowed of their own accord. Something about the silence felt too heavy.

“Good evening, Norah,” an all-too-familiar voice purred, from far too close.

Norah turned, her stomach sinking, and found herself face to face with Bedwyn.

“Good evening, my lord,” she said politely. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m looking for the kitchen.”

But he didn’t seem to take the hint. Instead, he stepped in even closer, his arms coming up to rest on the mud wall of the roundhouse. Norah shrank back, pinned against the wall.

“Hungry, are you?” Bedwyn asked. “I’m sure I can do something about that.”

His hand came up to stroke the curve of her hip.

Norah reacted instantly, lashing out. The movement was practiced and easy, and she knew that she was strong and fast.

But Bedwyn was faster. He caught her arm easily, twisting it above her head. In a matter of seconds, both of Norah’s arms were pinned helplessly above her head and the weight of Bedwyn’s hips held her legs still. She thrashed against him, trying every trick she knew, but he only laughed. He felt as solid as iron, and just as unmoving. How could she have underestimated him so badly? This was no weak, pampered lordling. He was a warrior. God, he’d probably killed the original owner of every gold piece he wore.

There was only one thing for it. Norah threw back her head and screamed.

Bedwyn backhanded her across the face with his free hand.

“Don’t bother,” he hissed. “You’re in my home. Even my wife would hold you down for me if I told her to.”

“Let her go.”

Norah had never expected to feel so relieved at the sight of Matthew, looming over Bedwyn’s shoulder, his face set and serious.

“Keep out of this, Matthew,” Bedwyn warned. “Let’s not ruin years of friendship over one foolish woman, hmm? I’ll pay you well for her.”

Matthew’s fist flashed, slamming into Bedwyn’s face with more force than should have been possible. Bedwyn staggered sideways, releasing Norah. From the slight glow around his head, she knew that Matthew had used magic. And that second was all she needed. The knife hidden in her skirts slipped into her hand like it belonged there, and she had it at Bedwyn’s throat before he drew another breath.

“You leave me alone, pig ,” she hissed.

“You will regret this,” Bedwyn hissed back, his face a mask of fury. “I won’t just throw you out of my home. I’ll chase you right across my lands. I’ll make sure that no one ever shelters you again, you filthy bitch.”

Norah couldn’t help but glance at Matthew. How powerful was Bedwyn? Could he really ruin everything for them? The uncertainty on Matthew’s face told her what she needed to know. Was this it? Their final safe place, ruined for them already?

“Bedwyn, you’re drunk,” Matthew said steadily. “You won’t even remember this in the morning. Let’s still be friends.”

To Norah’s astonishment, Bedwyn nodded.

“I am very drunk,” he agreed. “I won’t remember this.”

There was something strangely vacant about his expression, his gaze fixed on Matthew. Norah’s eyes widened. Magic?

“You will leave Norah alone,” Matthew instructed. “You love your wife.”

Bedwyn nodded.

“Yes. Fion. Yes.”

“You want to see your wife right now,” Matthew suggested.

Without another word, Bedwyn turned and walked off, leaving Norah gaping after him.

“Will he really—did you really?”

“He will forget all about this,” Matthew said, frowning at the shadows the lord had vanished into. “But I’m afraid that doesn’t mean we can trust him. Be on your guard, Norah.”