Page 16 of Time of the Druid (Stones of Scotland #7)
Chapter 16
T he crannog was no place for secret meetings, but they hardly had any other choice. At the crowded morning meal, Norah wove her way through the throng of warriors and women, the scent of porridge and woodsmoke thick in the air. She spotted Matthew near the edge of the long table and bent low under the guise of adjusting her shawl. "Behind the stillroom," she murmured, barely moving her lips, her voice a breath against his ear. "Half an hour." Then she was gone again, vanishing between two servants as if she’d never stopped at all. Caradoc might have been rushed back to the nemeton, but the danger hadn’t passed. There was still a great deal to plan—and no time to waste.
She’d found a small, almost private space tucked beside the stillroom, where reeds swayed gently along the crannog’s edge and moss crept between the ancient timbers. Here, Norah could sit with her back against the rough wood of the platform, trailing her bare feet in the cold, silty water. The chill bit at her skin, a sharp contrast to the rising warmth of the morning sun on her shoulders. The air smelled faintly of lake-weed and woodsmoke, and every so often, a soft splash echoed from somewhere under the platform, where fish stirred below the surface. Her boots sat beside her in the dirt, dusted with dew and the fine powder of weathered wood.
“Where’s Jack?” Matthew asked quietly, coming to sit beside her.
“Still in the guesthouse,” Norah said, keeping her gaze focused on the distant, watery horizon. “It doesn’t lock from the outside and I don’t want anyone snooping around.”
Matthew nodded, although Norah didn’t know if he understood. Her poisons were in that house, and she couldn’t risk anyone linking her to Caradoc’s sudden illness. The people of the crannog were already on edge, muttering of dark magic and curses. It would be easy for them to turn on a friendless, female stranger.
“Well, good morning, you two,” a booming voice said.
Norah's stomach gave a sickening lurch as Bedwyn's voice rolled over her. She clenched her jaw and forced herself to turn, every muscle stiff with revulsion, and offered a faint, brittle smile. The morning light outlined his figure like a halo, but to her he looked grotesque, gilded rot dressed up as nobility.
“Good morning, my lord,” Matthew said. Norah couldn’t even bring herself to speak. Did Bedwyn truly not remember anything? Regardless, his timing couldn’t have been worse. She really needed to speak with Matthew.
“Beautiful morning,” Bedwyn said, coming to sit on the other side of Norah. She shrank away from him, brushing against Matthew in her attempts to escape touching the young lord.
“Beautiful indeed,” she echoed.
Silence fell. Norah heard nothing except the gentle lap of the waves that brushed against the crannog. The lake must grow fierce when the water storms came. She stared out at the distant shore and prayed that Bedwyn would leave soon.
“Bad business about that druid last night,” he said finally.
Norah stiffened, the prickle of sweat already forming at the nape of her neck. A tightness coiled in her chest, and the tang of fear rose sharp in her throat. Was this the beginning of an accusation??
“Bad indeed,” Matthew said. “I wish I could have helped more, but healing was never my strong suit. The nemeton will be the best place for him.”
Bedwyn nodded enthusiastically.
“My thoughts exactly. I’m glad you think so too. I’ll be able to tell the druids that it wasn’t just my decision.”
Norah glanced at Matthew, whose face was frozen in a grimace of a smile. So, that was what Bedwyn wanted: someone to blame, if Caradoc did not survive. They could only hope that he didn’t mention Matthew’s presence to the druids too soon.
“Well,” Bedwyn said. “Back to work for me. Lovely seeing you both.”
He jumped up and left without another word, although he did spare a wink for Norah.
“Work?” she asked Matthew, feeling disgusted. “What kind of work does he do, except pray on helpless women?”
“Don’t let Bedwyn distract you,” Matthew said, although his expression was equally disgusted. “We have our own plans to worry about.”
Norah nodded, dragging in a long, steadying breath. She’d faced far worse than this—missions in crumbling cities, poisonous courts, dark woods full of things that hunted after sunset. But something about Bedwyn’s smug, glistening presence made her skin crawl in a way she couldn’t quite shake. Still, she locked it down like always, the way Edmondson had trained her to do. One memory at a time, one task at a time. She pushed him aside, boxed him up behind the wall of ice she’d built for moments like this, and forced herself to focus on Matthew’s mission.
“So, you need to reach the restricted area in the village. The sanctuary.”
Matthew nodded.
“That’s where the druids keep the stones. The time travel stones.”
Norah’s eyes widened.
“The stones we use to travel through time? But some of those are far older than the druids.”
“I’m not quite sure about those,” Matthew admitted. “Maybe some time travel is older than these druids. Or maybe some of them traveled to enchant stone circles in far-flung parts of Scotland. But I know that at least some of their stones are important. Very important. I need to reach them before my father does.”
Norah nodded slowly. Of course Edmondson would want access to something like this—time travel power in its rawest, most original form. And of course Matthew would want to keep him away. She still hadn’t figured out the issue of Edmondson’s captivity, though, and Matthew’s role in it, but she couldn’t think of any good way to ask. I’m sorry, did you really hold your own father captive in terrible conditions? Best to leave it unmentioned, especially as Matthew still didn’t know that she’d spoken to Edmondson.
Matthew began to lay out his suggestions for how they would access the stones. He’d clearly spent a lot of time scouting the area, and he explained the layout and security arrangements with an impressive degree of detail.
It wasn’t the detail that caught Norah’s attention, though, much as she wanted to focus. She couldn’t stop herself from watching Matthew’s face—how the soft morning light caught the dark blonde hairs of his beard and brought out the vivid blue of his eyes. The straight planes of his cheeks and nose, outlined by golden sunlight against the rich darkness of the lake, made something stir low in her stomach. There was a pull to him, something deep and physical, that made her chest tighten and her breath catch slightly in her throat. He really had grown into a handsome man. Too handsome. The kind of handsome that made her fingers itch and her thoughts slip sideways—dangerous, not because of his face, but because of what it made her forget.
“Are you alright, Norah?”
Norah almost had to shake herself out of her stupor. Foolish! Never before had she found herself gawping like that at someone she had to kill. Because nothing had changed. Nothing . She was working with Matthew for now, but only until she had the compass. His handsome good looks were not worth her life, and she must not forget that.
Still, though, it was tempting. She could slide forward just a few inches, press her lips against his—they looked so soft—and let her hands slide up to frame his face…
“I’m fine,” she said gruffly, turning to look out over the water again. “Just thinking.”
Just thinking about you.
To her horror—or delight—he shifted slightly closer. She felt his arm brushing hers. And was that a soft breeze that stirred her hair, or his breath? She was too afraid to turn and find out.
“Hey, you two,” Jack said, stomping up behind them.
Norah jumped, taking the opportunity to jerk away from Matthew as she twisted around.
“Jack! What are you doing here? Did something happen?”
“You took too long and I need breakfast,” Jack said grumpily. “Go keep an eye on the guesthouse, Norah.”
Nodding, she jumped to her feet and rushed off without a second glance at Matthew. Not because she was avoiding him. Not exactly.
But her skin still tingled where his arm had touched hers, and her thoughts were sliding in dangerous directions. If she didn’t watch herself—closely, ruthlessly—she might forget what she came here to do. And Matthew Edmondson could be the last mistake she ever made.