Page 33 of Time of the Druid (Stones of Scotland #7)

Chapter 33

S he was out of time. No more putting this off or pretending it wasn’t happening. Today was the day.

Norah woke to the pale blue light of early dawn spilling through the thin chinks in the roundhouse wall. The air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of earth and woodsmoke. For a moment, she felt caught in the comforting haze between dream and waking—until she opened her eyes and saw Matthew and Jack looming over her. Both their faces were serious, etched with tension and fatigue. Her heart gave a sharp jolt and she scrabbled to sit upright, clutching the rough wool blankets around her like a shield.

“We need to go,” Matthew said. “No more time to waste.”

Jack began to say something but then closed his mouth, apparently deciding against it. Norah looked at him curiously, and he turned away.

“Why today?” she asked, but Matthew was already striding toward the door.

“It’s time,” was all he said.

Norah lurched from the bed, her limbs stiff with sleep and dread. Her hands trembled as she reached for her cloak, breath shallow and sharp in her throat. A slick sheen of sweat was already forming on her palms, and she wiped them quickly on her skirt. Her mind spun with panic. It couldn’t be time, not yet. The potion wasn’t ready—it still needed at least another hour or two to reach full potency. She fumbled for her satchel, the weight of the tiny glass vial burning a hole in her pocket. Her heart thundered against her ribs, every beat a reminder that she wasn’t ready for this.

“Shouldn’t we at least wait until it’s fully light? Or eat some breakfast?” she asked, but no one replied. Matthew and Jack had already left the guesthouse.

Norah pushed open the guesthouse door and stepped out into the morning air, her boots crunching against the damp wooden planks. Her breath puffed visibly in the chill, and she wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders, blinking against the rising sun. Her legs ached from tension, but she moved quickly, jaw clenched and words already forming on her tongue—she was ready to argue, to demand a delay, anything to buy more time.

But when her eyes found Matthew and Jack, already striding away toward the causeway, her words faltered. They kept their distance from each other, walking with the stiff, awkward posture of two men who had stopped speaking. As she caught up, Matthew turned and looked back over his shoulder. Their eyes met briefly, his expression unreadable—and then he picked up his pace, shoulders squared, leaving her with no choice but to hurry after him.

“No time to waste,” he said shortly, and Norah had no choice but to rush after him.

They reached the other side of the causeway and were heading for the woods when Jack stopped abruptly.

“I’m going to wait here,” he said. “I’m sorry, Norah, but this isn’t my battle.”

She heard everything he wasn’t saying, and her heart clenched with guilt. Jack’s silence was louder than words, thick with resignation and sorrow. He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod—permission, perhaps, or forgiveness—and it nearly broke her. Poor Jack. Always the protector, the steady hand. Too good, too honourable, too human for a mess like this. How had he ended up caught between monsters and martyrs?

“You should stay and watch our backs,” she said gently. “We need to make sure that no one comes after us. Bedwyn can’t be trusted.”

Jack nodded shortly.

“Good luck, both of you.”

For a second, his eyes met Matthew’s, and Norah looked away. She didn’t want to be part of this. She slipped her hand into the pocket of her skirts and felt the cool glass of the vial, then she hoisted the strap of her satchel higher on her shoulder.

“Let’s go,” she said grimly. “Get this over with.”

She and Matthew set off into the forest in silence, without another backward glance at Jack. Dawn came quickly, flooding the forest with streams of golden light and the sound of a hundred new birds greeting a new day. Norah struggled to share their enthusiasm. She knew that she should say something, try to put Matthew at ease, but no words came.

Hold yourself together, Norah. You can do this.

Just like she’d expected, the forest offered few familiar markers. Every twisted root and crooked tree looked like the one before, their moss-darkened bark indistinguishable in the dappled light that filtered down through the dense canopy above. The air smelled of wet earth and green things, and every rustle in the underbrush set her nerves jangling. Her boots scuffed against damp leaves and soft mud as she hurried after Matthew, her breath loud in her ears. Panic clawed at her throat. What if he knew the truth? What if this wasn’t the same route they had taken before? A flicker of movement ahead—a turn she didn’t recognise—sent a fresh wave of unease through her. Was he taking her somewhere else entirely? Was this the moment he would leave her behind?

But no, here was the road once again, telling her that they were well on their way. They crossed without any incident—although Norah struggled not to think of Matthew’s body pressed against hers—and now she knew that her time was almost up.

“We should stop for a while,” she said. “I’m thirsty.”

Matthew looked at her a little strangely, but he nodded.

“There’s a stream near here,” he said.

And indeed there was. He led Norah to a small clearing, bisected by a gently bubbling stream. Perhaps it was the place they had visited before, although Norah couldn’t be sure. She sank down beside it with a sigh, suddenly tempted to pull off her boots and soothe her feet with the cold water. But now was not the time for that.

She pulled the little cup out of her bag and filled it with stream water. Then, making sure that Matthew could see her, she took a heavy swig, sighing in relief. She filled the cup again. And drank once more. Matthew wasn’t watching her anymore, his attention back on the forest. Now was her chance.

In the smoothest, stealthiest motion she could manage, Norah slipped the poison into the cup. Heart hammering, she turned to Matthew.

“Would you like some water before we carry on?” she asked, extending the cup toward him.

A slight smile touched his lips. Those beautiful lips that had kissed her and lied to her.

“Thank you,” he said, reaching toward her. “I’d appreciate that.”

Norah’s hand froze, the cup trembling slightly between her fingers. The forest seemed to hush around her, birdsong dimming, the soft trickle of the stream suddenly deafening. So close to freedom. So close to love. Her chest tightened. Was this really the future she wanted? A hollow life built on the ruin of the one good thing she'd ever had? Her heart twisted painfully. No—she couldn’t do it. Not like this. Not to him.

She downed the cup in a single gulp.

“Sorry, still thirsty,” she said. “I’ll fill this up again for you.”

She did, handing Matthew a cup of clear, bright water. He drank it down and returned the cup with a murmured thanks, although she could see a hint of a frown on his face.

“Time to get moving again,” she said, forcing a smile onto her face. “We must be close now.”

Matthew nodded.

“We’ll reach the nemeton in just a few moments,” he said. “I hope you’re ready for this.”

Norah almost laughed aloud. She’d been ready, alright—ready to kill him. And now, as she followed Matthew toward these magical stones, the ones that had caused so much trouble, she was the one who felt death sliding along her veins. Oh, the poison hadn’t begun to act. Not yet. But it wouldn’t be long.

She stayed silent, fixing all her attention on the outline of Matthew’s back.

Don’t let me down, Matthew. Be the man I know you are. Be the good guy.

They reached the edge of the sacred enclosure just as she felt the first tingle of poison.