Page 34 of Time of the Druid (Stones of Scotland #7)
Chapter 34
M atthew couldn’t quite believe that everything was going to plan. He’d expected Norah to put up a fuss, to do everything possible to delay the mission, but she’d barely said a word. And now, here they were, so close to the end of everything. A few guards lurked in the woods, which was unusual, but Matthew and Norah had so far slipped past all of them, apparently undetected. Matthew felt his magic unfurling within him, ready to strike. All those months of planning had been worth it, after all. Everything was going perfectly.
And then Norah stumbled—her step faltering as if the earth beneath her feet had vanished. Her body crumpled, a strangled gasp escaping her lips as she collapsed onto the forest floor, limbs twitching. The sound was sharp and final, cutting through the birdsong like a knife.
Matthew spun around, alarm flaring in his chest, and rushed to her side. She lay twisted in the underbrush, her breath ragged, her skin already paling. When her gaze finally met his, there was something broken in it—an apology, a plea, a goodbye.
"Norah!" he shouted, his hands trembling as he reached for her shoulders. "What—what’s happening?"
Her lips parted, but only a whisper emerged.
Realisation slammed into Matthew like a blow. The water. The poison. Norah had changed her mind. She had taken it herself.
“Norah, no,” he gasped. “Why did you do this?”
“You’re the… good guy,” Norah whispered. A single tear trickled from her eye. “You have to win.”
“How touching,” a familiar voice said, cold and sardonic.
Matthew shot back upright, his pulse hammering, breath caught in his throat as he spun on his heel. Only seconds before, the woods had been empty—just the hush of leaves and birdsong. Now, as if conjured from the air itself, Lucanus Edmondson stood in the clearing like a spectre from a nightmare. He was draped in dark, rain-damp robes that caught the dappled light, and his presence seemed to suck the warmth from the air. On either side of him, druids emerged from the trees like phantoms, their expressions unreadable, their eyes fixed on Matthew with eerie, expectant calm. The forest around them grew unnaturally still, as if even the wind held its breath.
“It was not a bad plan,” Lucanus said. “But you were a fool to think I would not discover it. I’ve been watching your little messengers from the beginning. I even obtained one of those nice golden compasses, to help Norah find you. An excellent invention, by the way.”
Matthew’s heart hammered. He’d known nothing could be kept secret. He’d known that Lucanus Edmondson would worm his way in somehow. But still, deep down, he’d hoped that it wouldn’t come to this.
“Norah, I need the poison,” he said softly. “Now.”
Thankfully, she wasn’t yet so far gone that she couldn’t hear him. One trembling hand reached into her skirts and produced a tiny glass bottle. Matthew snatched it from her, trying not to think about the clammy, cold feel of her hand. Hang on a little longer, Norah.
“I have a deal for you,” he announced to his father. There were still a few drops of poison left in the bottle. Hopefully, they would be enough. “My life for Norah’s.”
“No antidote,” Norah gasped, but Matthew ignored her.
“I will drink this poison right now, like you wanted, if you promise to save Norah—and to end the magic that binds her life. Promise me, Father. Promise me that, no matter what happens, you will do everything you can to keep Norah alive, well, and happy.”
Lucanus hesitated, his eyes flickering between the poison bottle and Matthew’s face. Matthew knew his father did not make promises often; a druid’s word could not easily be broken.
“I promise,” Lucanus said at last, the first sparks of triumph showing in his eyes. “Drink that poison, and I will grant everything you have asked.”
The other druids said nothing, but Matthew watched their eyes narrow. Whose side were they on? He didn’t see Falda, and that made him uncomfortable.
But he had no time to worry about the druids. He faced his father and squared his shoulders.
“It ends here, Father,” he said softly. “You’ve ruined innocent lives for too long.”
“Ruined?” Lucanus asked, arching an eyebrow. “What about all the people I brought together, despite the centuries that separated them? What about you and Norah?”
“Don’t bring her into this,” Matthew said, clenching his fists. “As if you care about her at all. You’ve done nothing but hurt her, over and over again.”
“I sent her to you,” Edmondson pointed out, a hint of a smile on his face. “I don’t believe that anyone else could have reached you so easily.”
That twisted bastard. There was only one force that could cross time so easily: love. Edmondson had suspected what would happen between Norah and Matthew, and he’d sent her anyway. Perhaps he’d tested other options first, seeing who could reach Matthew with the least effort. This was why Matthew had to stop his father. He treated other people’s lives like a game.
“You’re finished,” he told his father. “For once, you underestimated me.”
Lucanus scoffed.
“Said by a man who just drank poison?” he asked.
Matthew just smiled sadly and crouched down beside Norah. Her skin had taken on a greyish hue, lips cracked and dry, lashes trembling faintly against her pale cheeks. Her red hair lay in limp, tangled strands across her face and the dirt, and dark smudges had formed beneath her eyes, which were dull and glassy with pain. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, like her body was surrendering inch by inch—and still, somehow, she managed to tilt her head toward him, her gaze laced with sorrow and love.
“So sorry,” she whispered.
Matthew shook his head firmly.
“This was always the plan, Norah,” he said. “I’m so sorry that you were caught up in it.”
Her eyes filled with confusion, but he couldn’t explain, not when his father might hear.
Matthew needed to die.
Time and time again, he’d hunted through every scrap of magical theory, consulted every timeline he could reach, and pleaded with druids older than recorded memory—desperate for an alternative. But no matter how he twisted the possibilities, the conclusion remained the same: his death was the catalyst. Only by offering his own life could he summon the immense power needed to unweave the stones' magic, to collapse the threads that anchored time travel to this world. The sacrifice wasn’t just symbolic—it was the final ingredient, the ultimate fuel that could drive the ancient spells to completion. Only in death could he generate the raw, irreversible force required to obliterate the stones once and for all.
Already whispering the words in his mind, laying the spells in place, Matthew lowered himself to the ground beside Norah. He could feel the poison dancing through his body already, dimming his vision and weakening his hands. It wouldn’t be long.
“Matthew,” Norah whispered, her voice so weak and broken that it splintered his heart. He blocked everything else out – his father and the druids were gone, the forest faded away, even the humming power of the stones slipped from his mind. There was only Norah.
Gently, he reached out to cup her face, his fingers trembling as they brushed across her cheek. Her skin was almost cold to the touch—clammy and fragile, like fine porcelain left too long in shadow. A faint tremor passed through her, lashes fluttering, and for a heartbeat he thought she might slip away. Her eyes flickered closed, and the breath caught in his throat, choked with fear and overwhelming love. He leaned closer, his own body aching with the effort of holding on, and cradled her face in both hands as if trying to pour his strength into her, to anchor her to life by the sheer will of his touch.
“I love you, Norah,” Matthew whispered, and he kissed her.
As his lips touched hers, everything changed. Sound fell away, swallowed by a sudden hush so profound it made his ears ring. The air between them shimmered, heavy with the crackle of raw magic and thick with the scent of moss and ash and something wild and ancient. Somewhere in the distance, voices shouted—sharp, panicked—but they belonged to another world, far beyond the storm now spiralling around the two of them.
A light bloomed behind Matthew's eyelids, brilliant and golden, as though the sun itself had poured into his bloodstream. Life surged back into him—fierce, unstoppable—flooding through every weakened vein with the force of a river breaking its dam. The aching hollowness in his chest vanished, replaced by radiant warmth. He gasped against Norah’s mouth, clutching her closer, feeling her stir beneath his hands like the earth waking after winter.
He kissed her harder, the press of his lips desperate, reverent. Her lips moved against his, weak but real, and something inside him ignited. His magic burst free in a blaze of golden heat, spiralling outward in tendrils of light that tangled with hers—wild, alive, and brimming with power. It roared through him, through them both, not as a weapon but as a song, a vow, a promise kept by two hearts bound across time.