Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Mason jolted awake with a start. He stared out the windscreen, his gaze on the tree in front of him. Rowen had pulled over, and he hadn’t even realized it. He swung his head toward her, but found her seat empty.
He used his hands to push himself up in the seat to ease the ache in his hips, and instantly regretted the small movement as pain rose up and sent fingers of agony streaking through him like lightning.
It robbed him of breath and made sweat break out on his forehead.
Whatever strength he might have managed to reclaim during the last few hours evaporated in an instant.
It took several moments for the deep beat and searing sting to diminish to a burning discomfort.
He would’ve laughed had he been able. Each breath felt like jagged nails along his left side.
He couldn’t twist, bend, or reach for anything, since it tugged at the edge of the wound.
And if he made the mistake of laughing or breathing deeply?
The strike of pain was sharp and biting.
Sitting was torture enough. And nothing eased the pulsing of the injury.
Then there was his thigh. The burning there had subsided, at least, but it had been replaced by a dull throbbing and a constant pressure, as if the wound remembered every inch of the blade. There was a tightness that alternated between the bandage and the stitches.
He was frustrated with the limits of his mortal body and irritated that he had allowed himself to be injured in the first place.
Mason had been keenly aware of how little sleep Rowen had gotten, and he had been determined to stay awake.
If he couldn’t drive, then he figured he would at least keep her company and make sure she didn’t fall asleep at the wheel. Yet he hadn’t even managed that.
A glance at the clock on the dash told him that he had only been asleep for about thirty minutes.
Still, that was thirty minutes too long.
He got his bearings and tried to determine where they were.
Rowen had pulled into a narrow lay-by, curved into the edge of the motorway.
Before him lay an expansive view of moorland with patches of mist clinging to the hills.
Blue-gray clouds hung in the silvery sky, and the rising sun caressed the tops of the tall pines in a streak of brilliant light.
The place looked and felt remote. It was quiet. The kind of location where time paused.
Mason’s magic swelled and swirled, tugging at him from somewhere far ahead.
It slid just beneath his skin as if awakened, as if the land itself was calling to him.
He didn’t need a map to know they were getting close to Skye.
Even from hours away, the air hummed differently.
He could feel it. The island’s magic had reach.
For a heartbeat, he forgot the ache of his wounds and the threat that hovered over them.
But where was Rowen?
Doubts entered his head then. Maybe she’d finally had enough of taking care of him. Perhaps she was working with London, and they would arrive at any moment to finish him off.
Even as those thoughts worked their way through him, he knew they were ridiculous. Yet the suspicions lingered in her absence.
Movement outside caught his attention. He turned his head toward a cluster of trees.
Beyond them, he spotted more peaks rising in the distance.
Then he saw her. She exited the woods as if they reluctantly allowed her to depart.
Her steps were slow and unhurried. She still wore his gray shirt and a pair of Ferne’s white sweats, but it wasn’t her attire he saw. It was her.
Wonderment and awe filled her beautiful face as she gazed about her, clutching a cluster of flowers and bits of greenery in one hand.
She bent, then straightened, adding another bloom to her collection.
At one point, she paused and lifted her face, her eyes closed.
A soft breeze caused strands of her hair to lift softly.
It was as if her appearance alone called to the magic and created an enchanted space just for her. He could have sat there watching her forever. Her beauty, her elegance…it was mesmerizing.
Then she stepped into the sunlight. The beam struck her strawberry blond locks, and his breath seized in his lungs.
Her hair caught the light, glowing with hints of fire.
The soft, coppery gold appeared as if it had been steeped in the sun.
It was the kind of color that looked otherworldly, as if touched by magic.
She stood there, lit by the Highland morning, and he couldn’t look away. She transfixed him.
As did the land.
Her gaze suddenly met his, and a soft smile curved her lips. There was nothing sexual in it, but heat curled low in his gut just the same, slow and undeniable. Mason pushed the flicker of desire away as she drew nearer.
She opened the passenger door, and cool, damp air brushed his skin.
The sound of birds waking to meet the day filled the still morning.
Rowen knelt on the pavement next to him and laid out the flowers.
Annoyance swelled in his chest. His life was on the line, and she had stopped for flowers?
He tried to tell himself that she probably needed the break, but couldn’t it have waited until they got petrol? She could’ve stretched her legs then.
Harsh words were ready to fall from his lips when she began plucking the petals from one of the flowers to stack in her lap. Mason watched her do that to the other flowers before she turned her attention to the leaves of yet another plant.
“Can you hand me that cup of hot water?” she asked without looking up.
For a beat, he debated whether or not to release the words gathering in his throat. Then, he glanced at the center console and saw two paper cups. One was empty, but the other was filled with steaming water. She had stopped already, and he had slept through it.
All his anger dissolved instantly. Mason carefully lifted the beverage with his right hand.
He was ready to switch to his left when her fingers brushed his.
He released his hold as she took it with another of her sweet smiles.
It was fleeting, though, as she returned her attention to the flora in her lap.
With quiet focus, she took several white petals and crushed them in her palm before smelling them. Then she dropped them into the still-steaming water. Next, Rowen crushed yellow petals before adding them to the cup.
“What are you doing?” Mason asked curiously.
Her pale blue eyes briefly met his before she turned her attention to the small, bluish purple petals. “The tea will help with your pain.”
“What’s in it?”
“Yarrow, which will promote wound healing,” she said, pointing to the white petals. “It has astringent and antibacterial properties. The yellow flower is calendula, an anti-inflammatory, and also has healing properties.”
He nodded to the flower she was handling. “And those?”
“This is comfrey. It’s used to speed healing,” she answered as she ground the petals between the heels of her hands.
When she separated them, he saw the oils from the petals coating her palms. She added more to the grouping and repeated the steps.
Then, to his surprise, she stuffed some of the green leaves into her mouth and chewed them before mixing them with the other petals and looking his way.
He glanced at the concoction resting in her palm.
“The plantain leaves are known as nature’s Band-Aid. They’re great at soothing irritated skin, reducing inflammation, and promoting wound healing.”
“Are you putting that in the tea?” he asked dubiously.
She chuckled softly. “This is a poultice.”
Before he could reply, she lifted the hem of his shirt with her free hand and gently began to peel away the bandage that ran the length of the cut on his side.
He held his breath when she spread the poultice on his wound.
There was a little pain, but the moment the compress met his skin, he felt the slow unraveling of discomfort.
Then he heard her whispered words. A Druid chant he didn’t know. Still, he recognized the magic.
Once fresh bandages were set, she lifted the edge of his shorts and carefully removed the dressing there. He watched her deliberate movements as she made more of the poultice and applied it to the knife wound.
A kind of tranquility came over him as he sat there. Without the constant pain, his muscles were able to relax, and he released a long sigh. His eyes closed as her finger moved softly over his skin, drawing him deeper into a state of peace.
He wanted to keep her hand on him when she smoothed the pad of her finger along the edge of a fresh bandage and repeated the chant, but he didn’t.
Instead, he opened his eyes and watched her carefully—and lightly—wrap up the rest of the leaves into a napkin.
Her movements were slow, purposeful. There was nothing hurried or harried about her.
She seemed to run on a different clock than the rest of the world.
Or maybe it was just him and those around him.
Rowen then lifted her face to the sun and closed her eyes, simply sitting there for a heartbeat. He had the overwhelming urge to touch her face. Her earthy beauty called to something deep inside him that was fiercely male. And intensely carnal.
“I thought you said you weren’t a Healer,” he stated softly.
“I’m not.”
He quirked a brow. “I beg to differ.”
She pressed her lips together as she looked away.
He waited for her answer, but she grasped the cup, along with the napkin of herbs, and climbed to her feet.
Mason didn’t take his eyes off her as she closed his door and walked around the front of the car before climbing into the driver’s seat. He waited for her to respond.
Rowen placed the cup in the center console and sighed. “I’m not a Healer. Some might mistake what I do for that, but there’s a difference.”
“What do you do?”
“I hear the plants. They tell me which of them will help, and how to administer them.”
He nodded, his amazement for her growing. “I’m very glad they do. It’s the first time I can breathe easier.”
“This is just a brief lull. The pain will return,” she cautioned, looking at him. Then she handed him the tea. “Drink all of it.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear and started the engine. “We’re about four hours from Skye.”
“I can feel it.” He sipped the tea. The initial sip wasn’t bad, but it left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.
“Me, too,” she replied softly. After a long beat of silence, she asked, “Do you think that’s why London didn’t want anyone coming?”
Mason shrugged and took another, longer drink, wanting to get it finished quickly. “I’m wondering the same thing. Ferne never said anything about it, but I didn’t give her a chance.”
“You’ll get it sorted with her.”
“You don’t know my sister. And I…well, I went to extremes to make her think I had cut her out of my life.”
Rowen checked the road before she put the car in drive and pulled into the lane. “She’ll listen to what you have to say, if for no other reason than to try and understand.”
“She might be too angry.”
“Probably, but you’re family. She’ll listen.”
Mason tried to forget their last conversation. “You sound sure of that.”
“Family can be complicated. We take a lot of shit, but we also forgive a lot. Just be prepared to do a bunch of begging for forgiveness. And answer any question she poses, even if it’s the same one a hundred times.”
“Are you speaking from experience?” He probably shouldn’t have asked, but he was dying to know more about her.
Rowen grinned. “It comes from having a large family.”
“How large?”
“Sometimes, too large.” She laughed softly. “The island only has a population of six thousand. Tourists come all year, but it’s still small. Everyone knows everyone, and that, of course, means we’re all in each other’s business. I’ve learned not to even try to keep a secret.”
He needed to look up the San Juan Islands so he could picture them as she talked. He went to take a drink and realized the only thing left were the herbs. He set the cup aside. “Do you have siblings?”
“No, but I never noticed with my cousins. We’re a pretty tight-knit group. They’re more like siblings to me.”
“And they let you come by yourself? I’m surprised your entire family didn’t travel with you.”
Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Mom wanted to come, and then it was supposed to be one of my cousins joining me.”
“What happened?”
“Aunt Maelin. She proclaimed I had to come alone.”
Mason pulled his gaze from the magnificent loch they were passing to look at her. “Is she a seer?”
“She’s a dream weaver. She didn’t tell me what she saw. All she would tell us was that I had to come alone.”
Her words began to sound as if they were coming from a far distance, and Mason’s eyes suddenly grew heavy. He fought against the pull of sleep, but he was no match for it.