Page 3 of Time of the Druid (Stones of Scotland #7)

Chapter 3

N orah was a little late, as usual, but that hardly mattered. Jack wouldn’t leave without her, and they’d made sure that no other time travel was booked today. Still, her footsteps echoed a little louder than normal in the corridor, and her pulse ticked faster than it should have. Something about today made the air feel heavier.

She didn’t bother to rush the last of the distance to the travel chamber. What difference would it make now? She strolled along, trying to look calmer than she felt, her satchel slung over one shoulder and a bigger bag clutched in her hands. Every step brought a subtle tightening in her chest, as though her body knew what her mind refused to dwell on.

She’d packed carefully—spare dresses that were reasonably period-appropriate, a set of language chips, and a handful of gadgets that might just give her an edge if things went wrong. Which they often did. Edmondson’s compass, warm and solid through the fabric, rested in a special pocket sewn into her skirt. She touched it briefly, reassuring herself it was still there. It would have to be enough.

She reached the door. Paused. Then pushed it open and stepped inside.

“I hate these costumes,” Norah grumbled as she marched into the travel chamber, where Jack was already waiting beside the time travel machine.

“They’re not too bad,” he said with a shrug, gesturing down at his own baggy tunic and loose trousers.

Norah glared at him.

“You wouldn’t say that if you had to wear a floor-length skirt all the time.”

To be fair, the early medieval or prehistoric outfits weren’t that bad—long and loose, the dresses were easy enough to move in, and much better than a Victorian corset. The linen itched a little at the seams, and the wool was heavier than she’d like, but at least she wouldn’t freeze. Still, Norah missed having her running leggings. They offered quiet comfort—freedom to sprint, climb, or drop into a crouch without tripping over a hem.

“All packed?” she asked Jack.

He gestured to the large leather bag that lay on the floor beside him. Knowing Jack, it was probably almost entirely full of weapons.

“Good,” Norah said briskly. “Let’s get moving, then. I’ve got everything I expect to need.”

“Poisons?”

“I’ve got the basics. If I need more, prehistoric Scotland should offer me a good range of options.”

“Your specialty, not mine,” Jack said with a shrug. “Is that outfit period-appropriate?”

It was Norah’s turn to shrug.

“We don’t have anyone here who specialises in Iron Age costumes, so it will have to do. I can’t imagine things changed that much over a few hundred years. And we won’t be there for long, anyway. Let’s go.”

“Alright,” Jack said. “If you can get the machine working.”

This would be the first major hurdle, and Norah’s hands weren’t as steady as she would have liked as she switched everything on. The familiar whirring noises began, but today they seemed slower to start, the hum of machinery just a fraction off pitch. Her eyes flicked to the chronology dials. They looked the same as always, but suddenly she wasn’t sure she’d ever really understood them. If only she’d paid more attention when the technicians explained how this worked.

She could go and fetch someone. It would be safer, smarter. But she hesitated, her fingers hovering near the controls. Edmondson hadn’t exactly forbidden extra involvement, but she had the distinct sense he wouldn’t approve.

She believed he’d set this up correctly. She did. But that didn’t stop her stomach from knotting. Because this wasn’t supposed to be possible. Not this far back. And yet here she was, standing on the edge of something that felt more like a gamble than a plan.

“The Professor said it would work,” she insisted. “Let’s just get in and go.”

“And risk ending up in any time at all?” Jack asked incredulously. “You must be mad, girl.”

“I trust Edmondson,” Norah said. That was a total lie, but Edmondson definitely wanted to send her back in time. Surely he’d set the machines up to make that happen.

“What the hell,” Jack said with a sliver of a smile. “Ladies first.”

He pulled the last lever. For a beat, nothing happened—then the machine roared awake with a deep, vibrating hum that seemed to rise from the floor itself. Panels lit up in quick succession, bathing the chamber in pulses of white-blue light. The air grew warmer, prickling against Norah’s skin, and a faint metallic scent filled her nose, sharp and unmistakable. With a sudden surge, the central core began to spin, arcs of static crackling in tight, controlled bursts. The machine flared into life, alive and waiting.

Norah took a deep breath—this was always the worst part— and stepped into the opening of the time travel machine. She waited for that familiar feeling of the earth vanishing from beneath her feet. But nothing happened.

“What’s going on?” Jack asked behind her.

Norah turned around to frown at him.

“Absolutely nothing,” she said. “Something must have gone wrong.”

“I told you this wouldn’t work,” Jack said, squinting at the dials. “Come and have a look at all this.”

Norah strode back out of the time machine, frustration beginning to claw at her stomach. Why couldn’t this just be over already? She dumped her bag beside Jack’s and then joined him in staring at the time machine.

“Edmondson made out that this would be easy,” she said. “Look, he gave me this.”

She pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket—the same one she’d scribbled on while Edmondson rattled off instructions with maddening speed, refusing to slow down or clarify. The notes were rushed, uneven, and already beginning to smudge at the edges. She waved it at Jack, frustration mounting. Edmondson had talked as though the mission would be straightforward, but now, standing in front of a machine that wasn’t working and a partner who looked unconvinced, the whole thing felt increasingly absurd.

“He says we’ll end up in the right time period, and then the compass will lead us to the right place. And then, when I see the man, who has all these tattoos, I’ll recognise him.”

She showed Jack the tattoo sketches, but he barely looked at the paper.

“Sounds like an awful lot to take on faith, Norah. How do we know that we’ll find the right time period? Or the right man?”

These were all questions that Norah had stubbornly avoided asking herself.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But we’ve got to have faith. I’ll find the right man.”

Abruptly, the lights of the time machine flashed on and off, filling the room with pulsing light and darkness.

“What the hell’s going on?” Jack demanded sharply.

“I don’t know,” Norah said, reaching for the lever that would turn the machine off.

But she was too slow. The lights flared bright enough to hurt, and the familiar hum of the machine deepened to a low, throbbing growl. Something was wrong—she could feel it in the shift of the air, in the way the room seemed to tilt beneath her feet. It should not have been possible to travel without stepping into the machine. But she could feel time reaching for her anyway.

“Jack!” she shouted, trying to turn, to grab something—her bag, the edge of the console, anything. Her fingers closed on nothing. The air around her had changed. It felt thin, hollow, and full of motion.

Then the world gave way. Colours blurred at the edges of her vision. She wasn’t falling, exactly, but she wasn’t standing either. Her breath caught in her throat as the sterile white of the lab dissolved into rushing shadow and light. It was happening.

And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

It was a few moments before everything subsided, leaving Norah panting for air as she stood on a muddy path, surrounded by tall trees that blocked out almost all the light. She just about managed to hold onto the contents of her stomach—all that time travel practice came in handy—but it was a close-run thing.

What the hell had just happened?

A second later, the air beside her rippled. Jack appeared, looking every bit as queasy and confused as she felt.

“The machine!” he said. “It took us! It just—what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Norah said grimly.

She closed her eyes for a moment and drew a steadying breath. The trees pressed in around them, silent and strange, the air thick with earth and damp leaves. Her heart was still thudding, but she forced her shoulders to loosen, made herself stand upright. She wasn’t going to panic. She’d trained too long and survived too much for that.

“We just have to trust that this is the right time period,” she added, more levelly. Then she looked to Jack. “Did you manage to grab your bag?”

Jack shook his head.

“All those guns,” he said mournfully. “I’ve only got two small ones left, and a couple of knives.”

Norah sighed. This was definitely less than ideal.

“I left all my poisons behind,” she admitted. “Except a few emergency items in my satchel. But don’t worry. I’ll manage.”

“This better be the right year,” Jack said. “I’ve no idea in hell how we’ll get back.”

“Oh, the compass will bring us home,” Norah said. “Or so Edmondson assured me. But first, it has to take us to our target.”

She pulled the compass from her skirt pocket, deeply relieved that she hadn’t packed it in her bag. This mess might be bad, but it could have been much worse.

“It’s working,” she told Jack brightly, as the needle began to spin. “Look, we need to go this way.”

The compass led them right into the thickest part of the forest. At first, the trees only seemed close—but within minutes, they pressed in on all sides, ancient and towering.

If Norah had thought it dark on that first path, she quickly had to think again. The canopy above was dense enough to block out almost all the light, and what little filtered through was greenish and dim. The air grew cooler and damper, thick with the scent of moss and wet bark. Every step landed on a soft carpet of leaves and mud, muffling their footsteps into near silence. The stillness was unsettling, broken only by the occasional rustle of branches high above. Here, in what must be the depths of Scotland’s most ancient woodland, she could barely see the sky. There were certainly no recognizable landmarks—only trees, shadows, and the growing sense that they were being swallowed whole by the forest.

“Without this compass, we would have been completely lost,” Norah remarked, trying to stay positive.

Jack just grunted.

The downside to the compass was that Norah had absolutely no idea how long they would keep walking for. A few moments? Or a few days? Edmondson hadn’t given her any kind of distance guarantee. The time dragged by, and Norah started to worry that she’d got something very wrong.

“Halt!”

The word took a second to reach Norah’s brain, as it had to be filtered through the high-tech language chip in her ear. She froze just a second too late, almost stumbling over her own feet—and found herself staring down the length of a long, fiercely pointed spear.

“Declare your purpose,” said the man at the other end of the spear. A grey robe draped his entire head and body, shadowing his face from Norah’s view. A cluster of similarly robed figures stood around him, each clutching a silvery spear of their own.

She swallowed hard. She and Jack had a standard story that had worked for the last few missions. Hopefully, it would be the same here.

“I’m a widow looking for shelter,” she squeaked, infinitely grateful for the language chip, as always. “This is my faithful manservant. May we beg you for hospitality?”

The spear remained steady for a few seconds longer, then gradually lowered.

“We never deny hospitality to the needy,” the man said. “You are lucky to have found us. Few do. Welcome to the village of the druids.”