Page 4 of Time of the Druid (Stones of Scotland #7)
Chapter 4
T he druids might have been terrifying at first sight, but Norah started to think that they weren’t so bad after all. Their village was undeniably beautiful—clusters of houses that seemed to grow from the forest itself, their walls woven with living vines and their roofs thick with moss. The structures blended effortlessly with the towering trees around them, as though the forest had simply decided to shape itself into homes.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves in shifting golden patterns, dappling the paths beneath her feet. There was a gentle hush to the place, broken only by birdsong and the occasional low murmur of voices. It should have felt peaceful. It was peaceful.
And yet Norah couldn’t relax. The air felt too still. The trees loomed a little too close. The beauty of the place was undeniable—but so was the weight of the mission hanging over her. She kept her shoulders loose, her stride easy, but tension coiled deep in her gut. She didn’t trust this calm. Not yet.
Her feelings of claustrophobia were definitely due to more than the architecture. She and Jack had been given a neat little guest house on the edge of the clearing, tucked just far enough into the trees to feel separate—but not private. Every time they stepped outside, Norah felt the weight of unseen eyes.
As they followed the winding footpaths of the village (they could hardly be called streets), she kept her head up and her expression neutral, but the tension beneath her skin wouldn’t quite fade. People moved quietly among the trees, sometimes passing close, sometimes just visible between branches, always watching. The druids had let them in, but that didn’t mean they were welcome.
Worst of all, Norah had no idea where to find her target. A druid, Edmondson had said, so this should be the right place. But what if the compass had wanted them to travel further? There could be hundreds of druid villages scattered across Scotland, and there was no way of knowing if the compass had been pointing at this one. Norah didn’t dare sneak another glance at it yet, not when an overly polite young druid followed them even into the guesthouse itself. They had not yet earned the right to privacy, it seemed.
Norah let half of her attention be occupied by the same young druid as he gave them a rambling tour of the village, but most of her focus was on the people who passed them. Frustratingly, the loose grey robes of the druids covered almost all of their skin. Norah could see faces and hands, but very little else. What if she’d already passed her victim and had no idea? A few tattoos peeked out at the edges of the robes—these druids were clearly no strangers to ink—but it was impossible to make out the details. Norah found herself growing more and more frustrated with every moment that passed.
Training to be a druid , Edmondson had said. That was a useful detail to remember.
“Are you a fully-fledged druid yet?” she asked the young man, hoping that the question sounded like polite interest rather than pushy rudeness.
“I am a year away from my initiation,” he said, thankfully looking pleased that she’d asked. “I am one of the most senior novices.”
“How exciting,” Norah said, turning her smile to the most charming expression she could manage. “Are there many novices here?”
“A dozen,” the young druid said. “And here is our main gathering area. The space under this covering is where we eat our evening meals, all together as a group.”
Norah murmured some vague sounds of interest. To her right, a tall wooden palisade, almost camouflaged by the surrounding tree trunks, rose up to above head height.
“What’s through there?” she asked.
“Our most sacred sanctuary,” the young druid said, his voice suddenly flat. “Forbidden to outsiders. Now, this is the cooking house. You may find it interesting.”
Norah rolled her eyes at his obvious sexism. Idiotic, to boot, given that she’d seen grey-robed women wandering the village as well. Some things clearly never changed.
She twisted her head to look back over her shoulder as they passed by the fenced-off area. That certainly did look interesting, even if it wasn’t directly relevant to her mission. Perhaps she’d try to sneak back in later. Edmondson would surely appreciate a little more information on his apparent enemies, and there was no harm in getting on his good side.
Norah turned back to face forward—and stopped short, something twisting in her chest.
She’d felt it before she saw him. A flicker of awareness, like a shift in the air, or the sudden weight of being watched. No, not watched— drawn . Her gaze lifted without conscious decision, and her breath caught.
There he was.
Just ahead, walking slowly with his back turned, was a broad-shouldered man. He wore the grey robe of the druids like the rest, but his hood was pushed back and his sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing dark, unmistakable tattoos that curled up from his wrists and climbed the sides of his neck. Even at a distance, they matched. She didn’t need to check the paper hidden in her pocket. Those patterns were etched into her memory.
Her heartbeat faltered, then kicked up sharply, thudding against her ribs so hard she was sure Jack must hear it. Heat rushed to her face, then drained away just as quickly, leaving her cold and still. Her stomach turned over. After all the guessing, all the wandering, all the what-ifs—here he was. Real. Unmistakable. Right in front of her.
“Who’s that?” she whispered to her guide, pointing at the man up in front.
He looked confused, but he answered. Unfortunately, Norah’s language chip couldn’t quite translate what he said. A name, perhaps? Usually, the chip managed fine with names, but it seemed determined to garble this one. Because, surely a prehistoric druid couldn’t be called…
Norah glanced at Jack, who looked just as confused as her. He tilted his head at the broad-shouldered man, who was already disappearing behind a nearby building. Norah nodded emphatically.
“Excuse me!” Jack bellowed, ignoring the wince from their guide. “Hey, you!”
The man froze. Slowly, he turned to look at them.
With his hood thrown back, sunlight glinted on bright blue eyes as they met Norah’s gaze. She felt her jaw drop, a jolt shooting down her spine like cold water. Beside her, Jack gasped aloud, but Norah couldn’t take her eyes off the man in front of them.
This was a face they both knew well. The cheekbones were sharper now, the jaw more defined, the shoulders broader than she remembered—but there was no doubt in her mind. Time had changed him, yes, but not enough to hide who he was. Norah hadn’t seen him in years, not since he hovered uncertainly between boyhood and manhood. He had grown into his features with startling confidence, and faster than she would have imagined.
Still, there was no mistaking him. That face was carved into her memory.
“Matthew Edmondson,” she breathed.
This was Professor Edmondson’s son. And this was the man she was supposed to kill.