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

Chapter 7

T here was no way that Norah would give up after a single attempt. She’d succeeded in more difficult situations, after all. Poisoning her target at a communal meal was definitely out, but there were other ways to go about this. She would just have to get Matthew on his own.

But that was more easily said than done. Norah wandered the druid village all afternoon, her eyes constantly moving, scanning doorways, shaded corners, and the edges of the woods for any sign of Matthew. The hours dragged, each minute stretching out longer than the one before, a slow drip of tension building beneath her skin.

She couldn’t ask after him—not without drawing attention. Not without inviting questions about their connection. So she kept walking. Kept pretending to take in the layout of the village, to admire the odd beauty of the place. All the while, she listened for the faint sound of his voice, a footstep that didn’t belong, anything.

The air felt heavy, full of the scent of pine needles and damp moss. Conversations drifted through the trees, voices rising and falling in a language she only half understood. Norah's head ached from the strain of staying alert, and the deeper it got into the afternoon, the more restless she became. What if he was avoiding her? What if he already suspected something?

For a while, she thought she might have no luck at all. She’d seen Matthew at lunch, but only for a few moments, and he’d quickly disappeared again. Where did he go? A deeper worry niggled at Norah—what if he’d guessed why she was here? He might have already left the druid village. Her fingers itched to pull the compass from her skirt pocket, but that would be a hard thing to explain if one of the druids saw her.

At last, she spotted Matthew. If she hadn’t been scanning the surrounding buildings and woodland so intently, she would never have seen him at all. He stood in the shadow of a particularly large tree, his gaze intent on something hidden further in the depths of the forest. Norah edged closer. What on earth was he doing? This was close to the restricted area, the place she’d been told was off limits for guests. Of course, Matthew wasn’t a guest. He might be allowed into that area. But something about his attitude, about the way he stood half-hidden in the shadows, told Norah that Matthew wasn’t supposed to be here either.

So, she wasn’t the only one with secrets.

She didn’t dare approach Matthew while he was so clearly occupied with something clandestine. Instead, she slipped away and returned to the guesthouse.

“I’ll try after dinner,” she snapped when Jack pushed her on the question of when she would carry out the deed. He just shrugged, looking unimpressed.

Dinner came and went, and Norah still had no idea how she was going to do this. She’d been expecting dangerous magic and vicious warriors, based on Jack’s warnings, but this was something almost as difficult: a total lack of privacy. She’d carried out poisonings in all kinds of places, but the druids genuinely seemed to never leave each other alone. Norah saw Matthew a few more times during the day, but he was always surrounded by people.

“Just get on with it,” Jack muttered. “It doesn’t matter if they know it’s you. We’ll just get out of here quickly, especially if the compass can take us home from anywhere.”

But Norah’s faith in the little golden compass was not that strong. What if Edmondson didn’t arrive for hours, or even days? They could be dead by then. No, she would wait for the perfect moment.

With dinner finished and dusk thickening into night, the druids began to drift away from the eating area, their soft footsteps fading into the hush of the forest. Norah lingered near the shadows, watching the paths empty, timing her steps with care. At last, she slipped into the kitchen.

The heat from the hearth clung to the stone walls, and the low fire crackled as she crouched beside it. The flames threw shifting shadows across the room, casting everything in flickering gold. She worked quickly, lifting a clay jar from the shelf and removing the lid. The scent was sweet—floral, almost—but with an earthy undertone that hinted at drowsiness. A sleep brew, or close enough.

She ladled a scoop into a wooden mug and added hot water from the pot, steam rising and curling through the air. Then, with hands that were steady only from years of practice, she slipped in the few poisonous herbs she had left. The colour of the tea darkened slightly, but the surface stayed clear. No visible traces. No bitter tang on the steam.

She watched the mixture swirl, then slowly rose, clutching the mug in both hands like a gift. Her pulse thudded in her ears. It had to be enough. She had one chance, and it was now.

Luck must have been on her side, because she found Matthew sitting alone not too far from the dining area. The clearing had emptied after the meal, the dimming twilight casting long shadows across the packed earth. A faint mist had begun to gather at the forest’s edge, softening the silhouettes of trees into blurred outlines.

Matthew sat on a small bench, his posture still, almost contemplative, with his back against the curved wall of one of the druid houses. His face was turned toward the trees, as if watching something far beyond them. The soft light from a nearby fire-pit flickered across his profile, catching the angles of his jaw, the edge of one cheekbone. In the quiet, Norah could hear the distant crackle of flames and the occasional rustle of underbrush.

She slowed her approach, conscious of every step she took on the damp ground. Her heart thudded once, heavily, and her grip on the mug tightened. This was her chance. Everything she’d been waiting for—alone, quiet, no one nearby to witness. And yet the longer she watched him, the more her pulse insisted that this wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d told herself it would be.

“Good evening,” Norah said softly, sliding onto the bench beside him. She cradled the mug in her hands, letting the fragrant steam rise up past her face. No trace of the bitter herbs lingered in the scent. Excellent.

“Good evening,” he replied—in English. Norah couldn’t help but smile. He clearly hadn’t forgotten his native tongue.

“I was surprised to find you here,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

“And I was surprised to find you. This is a long way back for a commercial experiment. And a long time to stay if you just needed to confirm it was possible.”

“I need to find some kind of proof,” Norah explained. “For the investors.”

For the investors! What a stupid thing to say. But Matthew was nodding, so she hadn’t messed up too badly.

“Let me know if I can help,” he said.

Norah smiled weakly.

“Tea?” she asked him, holding out the mug. “I’m happy to share.”

Her hands definitely didn’t tremble—she had far too much experience for that—but her heart did skip a beat. Drink it. Then all of this will be over.

“That sounds lovely,” he said with a wide smile. “But please, you first. I’d hate to steal too much of your evening drink.”

Damn it.

Norah forced a smile.

“I’ll just wait for it to cool down,” she said.

Matthew’s smile stayed in place, polite and unmoving, but something in his eyes had shifted. Not cold, exactly—but watchful. Alert. Norah felt it like a weight against her skin, a tightening in the air between them.

Was that suspicion? Or was she just imagining it? Her instincts buzzed, unsettled. She couldn’t afford to misread him, not now. But Matthew had always been difficult to read, even as a boy—guarded, clever, and quietly sharp behind that easy smile. And right now, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was testing her.

Testing whether she’d drink the tea first. Testing what she’d say next. Testing why she was here at all.

“So what brought you all this way?” she asked.

Matthew leaned in closer, so close that Norah thought she could perhaps feel his breath on her cheek when he spoke. Her muscles tensed involuntarily, her skin prickling with awareness. Her hand tightened just slightly around the mug, but she didn’t move away. She forced herself to hold still, to breathe slowly, as though nothing were wrong—though every nerve in her body was suddenly on high alert.

“I think these druids are the ones who created the magic behind time travel,” he said. “I need to understand it. I need to see the beginning.”

Despite herself, Norah’s eyes widened.

“They created it?”

How could that even be possible? Time travel was a science—admittedly one that sometimes felt like magic. How could these primitive people have created it? Surely time travel had always existed.

“They already have the stones,” Matthew said, his gaze fixed on some distant image that Norah couldn’t see. “I just have to figure out the magic.”

“Right,” Norah said, not quite sure what he was talking about. “I’ve had some tea. Do you want some now?”

She held out the mug again, hoping that his attention had drifted enough that he wouldn’t notice the cup was still just as full.

“No, thank you,” Matthew said, his eyes still not quite focusing on her. “I have a lot to do. Good night, Norah.”

He stood abruptly, offering Norah a jerky bow that felt more like an exit strategy than any true politeness. Then he turned and walked away, quick strides taking him into the dark without a second glance. Within moments, he was gone, swallowed up by the shadows between the trees.

Norah sat frozen for a second longer, her fingers clenched around the mug, breath held as if hoping he might turn back. But the quiet deepened, and he didn’t return.

With a sharp motion, she stood and poured the tea out onto the ground. Steam rose in twisting ribbons, vanishing into the damp air. The scent of herbs clung to her hands, sharp and bitter. She watched the liquid soak into the dirt, fury simmering low in her chest.

What a bloody waste. Of time, of effort, of nerves she couldn’t afford to lose. She should never have accepted this mission. And yet, somehow, she knew it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.