Page 20 of Time of the Druid (Stones of Scotland #7)
Chapter 20
“O h, I don’t think the harvest festival is for me,” Norah said diplomatically, already wishing these women would just leave. For the past few days, this stillroom had been her sanctuary on the crannog—a quiet, fragrant place where she could work in peace.
But now, the door had barely swung open before the chaos poured in. Fion must have mentioned Norah's presence here, because the tiny room was suddenly packed shoulder-to-shoulder with chattering women, all laughing, passing around baskets of dried herbs like they were pastries, and debating which ribbons matched which dresses. Norah hadn’t even realised this many women lived on the crannog. The sound level alone was unbearable, a shrill hum of overlapping conversations and bursts of laughter. Someone knocked over a jar of dried lavender, and another tripped over the stool Norah used to reach the high shelves. How could there possibly be space for so many people on an artificial island in the middle of the lake?
It wasn’t their company, annoying as it was, that was the worst part, though. It was that they were determined to talk Norah into attending the harvest festival that evening. She was just as determined not to go.
“I’ll lend you a dress,” Fion said helpfully, nudging Norah’s side like they were suddenly best friends. “It’s dark green and it would look so pretty with your red hair.”
“Thank you but no,” Norah said. “I really need to finish this.”
“No excuses!” Fion said with another playful nudge. “I won’t leave you alone until you agree to come.”
The other women chorused their agreement, apparently all determined that Norah should come to the dance with them, although she had absolutely no idea why.
“Fine,” she said at last, dropping her knife and throwing her hands up in the air. “If you insist!”
She was rewarded with a cheer.
And that was how Norah, swathed in a fine green wool dress that swished softly around her ankles, her hair braided and pinned in intricate coils that tugged slightly at her scalp, found herself creeping into the packed, fire-lit roundhouse a good hour after the harvest festival had begun.
The air inside was thick with the scent of mead and roasted meat, mingled with the tang of sweat and smoke, and the press of bodies created a warmth that clung to her skin like a second dress. Laughter burst from the crowd in waves, rising over the thudding of drums and the clatter of dancing feet. Norah hesitated in the doorway for just a moment, blinking against the golden light, her fingers curling nervously around the edge of the woven shawl wrapped tight across her chest.
“I am never on time for anything,” Fion had announced grandly. “Bedwyn will just have to wait.”
Norah, of course, had absolutely no intention of attracting Bedwyn’s attention, so she hung well back, behind all the other ladies. She reached the wine without anyone stopping her and poured out a nice full cup from the earthenware jug. Sipping the sweet alcohol—only slightly watered down—eased her nerves a little, but she still thought this had been a terrible idea.
The second sip soothed her even further. She drifted away from the wine table, the press of bodies thinning as she skirted the periphery of the fire-lit space. Smoke from the central hearth curled toward the high thatched roof, where it mingled with the clamour of voices and the rhythmic pounding of drums. Every now and then, a blast of laughter or a screech of delight rose above the noise, carried on the thick, mead-heavy air.
Norah kept to the shadows along the curved timber wall, letting the flickering firelight brush over her in quick, golden streaks. The packed earth beneath her feet trembled with the force of the stamping dancers, whose feet smacked and slid across the dance-floor with joyful abandon. The smell of sweat and roasted meat made her stomach churn and her mouth water all at once. She watched the swirling chaos with wary detachment—fascinated, and yet apart. It looked like fun, a kind of riotous, reckless joy. But not something Norah would ever let herself try.
The second sip became a third, and before she knew it, her wine cup was empty. With a sigh, she stared down into it. Perhaps it was time to leave now. She’d done what Fion wanted. Besides, Matthew and Jack weren’t here, and she actually hadn’t seen them all day. Perhaps they were busy planning without her. Decision made, she strode back to the wine table and deposited her empty cup. But as she turned around, she walked almost straight into Matthew.
He grinned at her, and she suppressed a shiver at the way his eyes lit up with admiration.
“Norah! You look beautiful. I didn’t realise you would be here.”
She shrugged uncomfortably.
“Fion talked me into it. I was just thinking about leaving, actually.”
“Don’t go yet,” Matthew said, his face falling. “Jack and I only just got here.”
He waved over towards the doorway, where Jack looked to be deep in conversation with a busty blonde woman. Norah raised her eyebrows a little. Now that was something she’d never seen Jack do before—stop and talk with a woman .
“I’m just not really sure a harvest festival is my kind of party,” Norah said. “Besides, I’ve got things to do in the stillroom.”
She went to walk past Matthew, but the gentle touch of his hand on her waist stopped her in her tracks.
“One dance?” he asked softly.
How could she say no?
It was like the sensible, rational part of Norah’s brain completely shut off. There was nothing left but swirling sensations of touch and scent—the rough warmth of Matthew’s hand in hers, the musky tang of sweat and crushed herbs in the overheated air, the smooth drag of her skirts around her ankles as they wove into the dancing crowd. The firelight painted Matthew’s face in flickering amber and gold, his smile brighter than the torchlight that ringed the room. The drums pounded like a second heartbeat beneath her ribs, and the floor seemed to ripple underfoot as their bodies moved in perfect rhythm. All around them people laughed and whooped, the sound rising and falling with each shift in tempo, but Norah heard only the deep, steady thrum of music and the breathless hush between their movements. She didn’t take her eyes off Matthew’s face—not once.
For the first few dances they laughed and shouted along with everyone else, then they paused for another cup of wine. The next couple of dances brought them closer and closer together, until every twist and turn brought their bodies flush together. Norah felt her cheeks warming and her heart beating faster, and she knew this was a terrible idea, but she couldn’t bring herself to walk away.
When they stopped for a third cup of wine, Norah caught sight of Jack again, still with that same blonde woman. He turned to look at the two of them, his gaze slipping to Matthew before returning to Norah. For a second, she thought he might walk over to them, remind her of their mission. But instead, he winked. And then, to Norah’s utter astonishment, he wrapped his arm around the blonde lady’s waist and led her out of the roundhouse.
“Well!” Matthew said with a laugh. “It looks like Jack’s been busy.”
Norah shook her head wonderingly, then let Matthew pull her into another dance.
They didn’t stop for hours, until the crowd had grown thinner but somehow louder—raucous laughter echoing off the roundhouse walls, drumbeats shaking the packed earth beneath their feet. Norah’s muscles ached with exertion, and her breath came in shallow bursts, but still she moved with Matthew, caught up in the reckless joy of it all.
At last, with a breathless laugh and a wince as she flexed her sore toes inside her borrowed shoes, she tugged Matthew to a halt.
“My feet are going to fall off,” she said, half-laughing, half-gasping. “I can’t take one more step.”
Matthew groaned in mock dismay, but his hand tightened warmly around hers. “Alright, alright,” he said, grinning. “But only because I’m fond of your toes.”
He draped his arm around her waist again, their bodies swaying together as they slipped out through the open doorway. The moment they stepped outside, the cool night air rushed over Norah’s flushed skin like water, raising goosebumps on her arms. The stars wheeled bright above them, undimmed by firelight, and the air smelled of woodsmoke, crushed grass, and distant water. Every breath she took felt sharp and clean, washing away the heat and noise behind them as they headed toward the guesthouse.
“I admit it, I was wrong,” Norah said, leaning against him. His arm had somehow ended up around her waist, but she didn’t mind. “That was actually fun.”
“Glad you stayed for one dance?” Matthew asked, a teasing tone in his voice.
Norah twisted to look at him. With his arm still wrapped around her waist, she suddenly found herself pressed tightly against him. Whatever reply she’d intended to make vanished from her mind like smoke.
“Norah?” he asked softly.
One more chance to do the right thing. The necessary thing. One more chance to walk away.
But instead, Norah lifted up onto her tiptoes and kissed him. His hands curled around her waist as he kissed her back with an intensity that made her knees buckle, his mouth hot and hungry against hers. He walked her backward step by step, each movement stealing the breath from her lungs, until her spine pressed against the rough wooden door of the guesthouse. Norah clung to him, her fingers tangled in the fabric of his tunic, overwhelmed by the feel of his body against hers, by the way he tasted—like wine, like fire, like something dangerous she wanted anyway.
She walked into something and realised they were back at the guesthouse. Matthew reached around her and fumbled for the door handle. Still wrapped around each other, they half-tumbled inside. Matthew barely managed to close the door again before Norah tugged him down onto the bed on top of her, her hands grasping at the fabric of his tunic. She kissed him again, and again, and again, until she was dizzy with kisses and gasping for breath.
All the while, Matthew’s busy hands made light work of her many laces. Before Norah even realised what was happening, she found her dress lifted over her head, the heavy fabric settling down beside her.
“Do you want this?” Matthew whispered.
“Yes,” she whispered in reply. “I want you .”
That was her last conscious thought for a while, until, at last, she lay in a gentle doze with her head on Matthew’s chest. And this second thought was far, far more terrifying.
I’m falling in love with him.