Page 9 of Time of the Druid (Stones of Scotland #7)
Chapter 9
M atthew had reached the point where he felt enough frustration to scream. All day long, he’d kept up his efforts to access the stones. He knew they were in there—he’d seen them on holy days when all the druids and novices gathered in the most sacred part of the nemeton—but he couldn’t reach them. Sneaking in at night had failed; there was always someone on watch, a silent grey-robed figure lurking just beyond the trees. Talking his way in was equally unsuccessful; he was not senior enough to visit the stones. Every request was met with a serene refusal and an empty smile.
After all these years, he could not fail now. He’d learned enough from the druids to understand their magic, but it had not been easy. That knowledge had come at a heavy price, and Matthew would not let it go to waste. He had to get his hands on those stones. They were the key to everything—to understanding, to controlling, maybe even to changing the past.
But it would not be happening tonight, that much was clear. Frustrated and fed up, he had been forced to admit defeat for yet another day. Now, he sat in sullen silence on one of the eating benches, his bowl of stew almost untouched in his lap. The scent of roasted roots and wild garlic made his stomach churn. Across the clearing, the fire cracked and popped, sending up little bursts of red-gold sparks. Druids gathered in small groups, speaking in hushed tones, the mood of the village quiet but watchful.
When Falda glided toward the eating druids, something twisted in Matthew’s stomach. She had a man with her, tall and pale, with a hood pulled back to reveal sharp cheekbones and a stern mouth. He wasn’t familiar, but there was a coldness in his eyes that made Matthew uncomfortable. It was more than disapproval—it was assessment. Calculation. Something was about to go wrong.
Instinctively, Matthew glanced over at Norah, who sat on the other side of the communal fire. She and Jack were deep in conversation, and she seemed entirely unaware of both Matthew and the stranger. But there was a tension in her posture that hadn’t been there earlier, a tightness in the way she held her shoulders.
Maybe this strange feeling was nothing. Maybe it was just because he’d suffered another day of failure.
Falda raised a hand to attract everyone’s attention. The quiet murmur of conversation faded instantly.
“Greetings, brothers and sisters,” she said in that sonorous voice that had talked Matthew through the histories and magics of the druids. “Please welcome Brude. He is the new trade master for the southern towns.”
A few of the more senior druids murmured a polite greeting. The tension that had coiled tight in Matthew's gut began to ease, just slightly. He let out a slow breath and went back to his stew, forcing himself to take a few bites this time. The food was still hot, rich with the earthy flavour of mushrooms and lentils, the steam rising comfortingly into the cool evening air.
Across the clearing, the hum of conversation resumed, low and casual. Someone laughed quietly. A child darted between the benches, herding a pair of half-wild dogs that barked playfully at her heels. For a brief moment, the village felt ordinary again—peaceful, even.
The druids might not leave the forest often, but they were not entirely isolated. They still traded with the surrounding farms and settlements, bartering for what they needed to survive. A new trade master was big enough news, to be sure, when they saw so few new faces, but it was nothing for Matthew to worry about. Or so he told himself.
Until Caradoc opened his mouth.
“Have you been in the south recently, Brude?” he asked, his whiny voice cutting through the faint murmur of conversation. “Perhaps you know the widow Norah, then. She must have traveled through your town just a few days ago.”
Matthew’s head shot up, that uneasy feeling bursting into a pulsing heat in his belly. Don’t screw this up, Norah.
To her credit, Norah’s eyes barely widened as she looked up.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said politely. “Our path brought us more from the east.”
It was a good lie, smooth and well-delivered. Matthew hoped that no one else could see the tightness around her eyes.
“That seems an unusual choice,” Brude said, his head tilted slightly to one side. “Few people choose to travel through the depths of the forest.”
He took a few steps closer. There really was something familiar about him, although Matthew could swear he’d never seen him before. Then the firelight hit at exactly the right angle and Matthew almost groaned aloud. He looked just like Caradoc—a brother, no doubt, appointed trade master because of his druid connections. Damn it . The last thing Matthew needed was a second Caradoc.
“It is a strange decision,” Caradoc himself said, his beady eyes darting from Norah to Brude and back again.
“Circumstances forced us into it,” Norah said coldly. Matthew admired her refusal to be drawn.
“So, you would have traveled past the farmstead of Macsen?” Brude asked. “He’s an old friend of mine. I must call on him on my way home.”
Norah hesitated for a second, the flicker of uncertainty barely visible in her expression. But Matthew saw it—he saw the subtle tightening at the corners of her mouth, the quick intake of breath she tried to hide. What an impossible question to face. Any answer might be a trap. Matthew clenched his jaw, willing her to think fast, to choose her words with care. He wished he could jump in, deflect, distract, do something —but there wasn’t a single thing he could say that wouldn’t make it worse.
Why wouldn’t Brude just let it go? He wasn’t poking at her out of curiosity anymore—he was circling something, waiting for it to crack open. Like he already knew exactly what she was and just wanted to make her say it out loud.
All of the druids were silent now, the kind of hush that went beyond listening. It was heavy, anticipatory, and it set Matthew’s teeth on edge. What did they know that he didn’t? There was a watchfulness in their faces, in their very posture, as if they too sensed that something more than trade politics was at stake.
That sick feeling had spread, holding his entire body in its grasp. The air felt colder, despite the nearby fire. Even the flames seemed to shrink, their light dimmed to an ember’s glow. The forest, so often a place of peace and power, felt suddenly foreign—hostile.
“I think we might have done,” Norah said. “But I’m not sure.”
“Wrong!” Brude said triumphantly, darting forward. Caradoc was on his feet as well, standing beside the man who must be his brother. “Macsen has been dead for well over a year. Who are you really, woman, and where did you come from?”
“Now, please stop this,” Falda said gently, stepping forward and resting a hand on Brude’s arm. “This is no way to treat one of our guests, trade master.”
“She’s a fraud,” Brude said, his gaze never leaving Norah’s white face. “No one has entered the bounds of this forest in the past few days. Not from the south and not from the east. Either she’s been here for months, watching you, or she came from the north.”
“Matthew knows her,” Caradoc interjected. “Doesn’t that seem a little suspicious? That she would come here for shelter, of all places?”
All eyes turned to Matthew, and he felt the atmosphere grow colder.
“That is correct,” he said carefully. Damn it, why had he been so careless? “The lady and I knew each other a long time ago. I believe that she is telling the truth. Brude cannot know about everyone who steps beneath these trees.”
“Exactly,” Norah said, relief evident in her voice. “I came from the east, and I don’t know why Brude’s spies missed me. Perhaps he should train them better.”
“No spies, just honest men,” Brude said, stepping even closer to her with his fists clenched. Matthew could see that Jack was poised, ready to act. This could get bloody.
“Well, they missed me,” Norah said. “And I didn’t even realise that I already knew a druid here. It was certainly a shock to see Matthew Edmondson.”
Oh, no. The words dropped like a stone in Matthew’s gut.
The air froze. The forest went still. Everyone fell silent, the quiet too deep, too exacting to be anything but stunned. Matthew watched Norah’s face change, her lips parting slightly as if she could call the words back, her eyes wide with instant regret. Her shoulders stiffened, chin lifting in defiance, but it was too late. The name hung in the air like smoke—sharp, acrid, undeniable.
“Edmondson?” Falda asked, turning to look at Matthew, one silvery eyebrow raised. She pronounced the name delicately, carefully. “Even here, even now, we have heard echoes of that name.”
“He’s come for the stones,” Caradoc breathed. “ Sabotage .”