Page 26 of Time of the Druid (Stones of Scotland #7)
Chapter 26
N orah hadn’t intended to run into Matthew on her way back to the guesthouse, but the crannog was small, and the rain drove everyone into the same few covered spots. The chill of it had soaked through her cloak, droplets trailing down her neck and spine, and she huddled under a shallow overhang, inhaling the clean, earthy scent of wet wood and peat smoke curling from nearby chimneys. As she tucked her damp braid into her collar and watched the silvery drizzle blur the view of the roundhouse, she caught sight of Matthew slipping into a narrow gap between buildings, his head lowered against the weather. Her heart gave an unexpected lurch. Even now, sodden and frowning, he still made her breath catch.
How odd. There wasn’t anything down that way, was there? It certainly wasn’t the way to the guesthouse. What was he doing?
With Jack’s words still ringing in her ears, Norah knew that she shouldn’t follow. Whatever Matthew was up to, she should trust that it was for the best. After all, he’d said he would help her, hadn’t he? He wouldn’t make promises like that if he didn’t mean them.
Trust him , Norah.
She hesitated there in the shadow of the overhang, staring at the place where he’d disappeared. Trust him .
Damn it, she couldn’t let a mystery lie if her life depended on it. Her instincts kicked in—the same instincts that had kept her alive all these years. With a muttered curse and a tug of her damp cloak, she crept after him, sliding into that narrow gap between the buildings, heart thudding with every careful step.
It turned out to lead to a small dock, half-submerged in the glistening shallows, where a cluster of weather-beaten rowing boats bobbed against the slick wooden posts. Rain hissed on the lake’s surface and dripped from the overhanging eaves, masking the sound of her quiet footsteps. Matthew stood near the edge, his tunic plastered to his back by the rain—and he was not alone. Another figure stood beside him, hooded and motionless. Norah shrank back into the narrow alleyway, pressing against the damp, cold wall as she tried to catch a glimpse of the other man’s face. Did she recognise him? Her skin prickled, breath catching. Something about the man’s posture set her teeth on edge, though she couldn’t say why.?
Frustratingly, she was too far away to hear anything the men said, thanks to their low voices, but something about this meeting struck her as distinctly odd. Why had this man come by boat, rather than across the causeway? Why was Matthew meeting anyone at all, when they were supposed to be hiding here and had arrived in secret? Surely, anyone he’d worked with before their dramatic escape from the druid village would have no idea how to find him.
She needed to get closer. There had to be another way to reach this little dock area. Norah scanned the surrounding buildings and made some quick calculations. She didn’t want this meeting to end before she could learn something, so she couldn’t go far, but she had to see that man’s face.
Backtracking a little way, she managed to find another, more roundabout path down to the lake’s edge. The route was slick with moss and mud, and she had to catch herself against the damp wood of the crannog as she slipped once, breath catching. Cold rain trickled down her collar, soaking into the back of her dress, but she kept moving until she reached the shadow of a low storage shed. Here, crouched low beside its dripping wall, she had a clear view of the dock. The boats bobbed gently in the rain-lashed shallows, their wooden hulls bumping softly against the slick posts. She tucked her arms in tight and slowed her breath, the scent of wet rushes and lake water heavy in her nose. All she needed now was patience. The man would have to return to his boat eventually, and when he did, she’d be ready to see his face.
Whatever the mystery man and Matthew talked about, it seemed to take a long time. Norah’s legs began to ache from holding the crouch, and rainwater soaked her hair to her scalp. She couldn’t wait this out much longer, not in this weather. Already, the wind was whipping up the waters of the lake, sending more water splashing over her skirts. In a matter of moments, she would be soaked through, and then the cold would grow even more vicious.
Come on , she silently begged the mystery man. Let me see your face.
It was almost as if he heard her silent plea. He stepped back, away from Matthew, and lowered himself into one of the small boats—but a hood covered his head. Norah nearly cursed out loud. She hadn’t waited in the rain and the cold for this, damn it.
And then, in the action of shaking the water from his cloak, the man lifted his hood, just for a moment. Norah got a good look at his face in the light, and she frowned. She couldn’t put a name to that face, but she did know him, no doubt about that. What she was even more sure of was that he did not belong here, in this time period. She’d seen him before in twenty-first century clothing, strolling the corridors of Edmondson’s laboratory. It was difficult to miss a man like that, tall and handsome, with strange tattoos marking his neck and jawline. What was he doing here, working with Matthew?
Well, one thing was clear. Matthew was keeping something from her. Something big. Whoever this man was, Matthew would not have told Norah about his visit.
Was Jack right? Were he and Norah the bad guys, destined to fight against Matthew as he tried to overthrow Edmondson?
No . That didn’t have to be how this ended.
Norah clenched her fists, fingernails digging into her palms. She was not going to be Edmondson’s puppet. Not for a moment longer. Whatever secrets he might keep, she loved Matthew, and she’d do whatever it took to help him. If he thought this information was best kept secret, so be it. She got up and wrung out her sodden skirts, ready to return to the guesthouse. No more snooping or sneaking. Just trust.
But then, as she squeezed her way back toward the guesthouse, she saw Matthew again, sheltering from the rain under the thatch of the very same storage shed that had hidden Norah from view. She froze, watching him.
He held something in his hands, almost obscured by the sleeves of his tunic. Was that a letter ?
Norah almost stopped breathing. The people of this period did not write letters, especially not on what looked like smooth writing paper. That man was from the twenty-first century, and he’d brought Matthew a letter! Her heart picked up speed. Whatever secret meeting had just taken place, this letter must be a key part of it.
Matthew tucked the letter into his pocket and strode toward the roundhouse, his shoulders hunched against the rain, his expression unreadable. He didn’t even glance in Norah’s direction. She watched him go, the rain plastering her hair to her cheeks, heart thudding painfully. Her fists clenched at her sides, fingernails biting into her palms.
Whatever hope she’d been nurturing, whatever dream she’d dared imagine of honesty and partnership—it cracked in that moment. No more waiting. No more blind trust. She was going to read that letter. She was going to find out the truth, whether it destroyed her or not. Because if she didn’t, the question would eat her alive.