Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Rowen shot Mason a quick look to make sure her magic had taken effect so he could rest. That’s when the herbs did their best work.
His wounds worried her. The bleeding might have stopped, but he was still much too weak.
The quicker she got him to his sister, the quicker Ferne would be able to talk him into a hospital.
Or, if luck were on their side, Skye would have a Healer.
What Rowen knew for certain was that Mason couldn’t continue much longer as he was.
She settled more comfortably in the seat and continued north.
It was difficult to temper her need to speed down the road and reach the isle quicker.
She kept glancing at the screen on the dash, hoping the estimated time of arrival would change.
At least the scenery was stunning and made up for it.
There were so many places she would’ve liked to stop and explore, but that was for another time.
After driving for so many hours, she had gotten used to the roads and the car.
They had made it out of England without incident, but the disquiet that had gripped her since the meeting hadn’t released her yet.
There had been a shift the moment they drove into Scotland, though that might have been her imagination.
Their talk of Skye and the history between them and London had been fascinating—and disturbing. Yet she yearned to know more.
Soft music played in the background as Mason slept. She was glad to be on a quieter stretch of road now, only passing a few cars every now and again. It was almost as if she had entered another time. History was all around her. And so was magic.
Magic was spoken about often in the Salish community, at least among the Druids.
Much of their past had been lost from her ancestors, who had come to the New World in the 1600s.
Or maybe that account had been intentionally removed.
Regardless, there was a wealth of history to learn and pass on to her family and the other Salish Druids.
Hell, all the Druids in America. She truly believed that knowledge was power.
She also didn’t want to see history repeating itself, and it would unless all Druids knew that history.
There was a wealth of difference in the magic of the Salish Druids, and she knew the same applied to Skye.
While she hadn’t cared much about the London Druids while there, she knew she had missed an opportunity to gather information.
She hadn’t gotten to see Mason’s magic, but hopefully, she would get the chance.
Maybe one of the Skye Druids would allow her to compare their magic.
She was curious to discover all the differences and even the similarities, because if all Druids originated from Skye, there had to be parallels.
For the next few hours, she drove through the gorgeous Scottish countryside and gasped—repeatedly—at the stunning landscape while taking mental pictures.
She had never been one to pull out her phone for pictures, since none she took ever truly captured the essence of anything.
She would rather hold those images in a special place that she alone could revisit.
“You drugged me.”
She briefly met Mason’s gaze. “I gave you a little urging through my magic. You needed it to heal.”
“That isn’t fair to you,” he said groggily and then yawned. “You’ve not slept.”
Rowen found herself yawning with him. She was tired, but they were close. She could make it the rest of the way. “I’m doing okay.”
“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
She felt his eyes on her. They pulled at her, urging her to look his way again. Each time she did, she found herself drowning in pools of molten mercury—volatile, magnetic. And impossible to look away from.
“That’s good, because you don’t need to,” she answered.
Before she left, her mom had claimed she was in a rut. That a trip was just what she needed to find her way out. Rowen preferred to think of her life as structured. She had a routine, and she kept to it. She was as far from spontaneous as it got. And that’s how she liked it.
Yet this trip had been anything but routine. She had made impromptu decisions time and again without hesitation. Maybe her mom had been right about that rut, because Rowen felt more alive than she had in years.
His voice was pitched low when he said, “I want to.”
“Let’s talk about this later,” she suggested, though she had no intention of changing her mind.
A sign on the side of the road read that the bridge to the Isle of Skye was 24 miles.
She was about to point it out when she heard Mason’s sigh.
Rowen followed his gaze to the body of water that stretched around the curve of the land.
The calm water rippled silver in the morning light.
Seabirds soared in the wind around fishing boats.
Beyond, Skye rose dramatically on the other side of the sea, green and rugged in the early morning sun.
Excitement mixed with nervousness as she followed the road toward the Skye Bridge.
There was no more talk between her and Mason.
They were each lost in their own thoughts as the isle drew near.
She tried to memorize everything she looked at, but she knew she would never be able to do it justice while describing this striking land.
It was something that had to be experienced firsthand.
No matter how or why Rowen found herself here, she was glad of it.
As she drove the Focus onto the bridge, she noticed Mason’s breaths quickening. His hands were clenched on his legs as he stared silently out the windshield to the isle before them. Somewhere out there were his sister and his best friend—and the Skye Druids.
He had spoken about a war being waged there, but nothing she saw hinted at anything.
Then again, with magic involved, nothing was ever cut and dried.
Did everyone who lived on Skye know about the Druids and magic?
What about the tourists? If the isle was anything like the San Juan Islands, the magic was kept secret.
Her attention swung to Mason when he shifted in his seat and hissed in pain. The herbs and her magic were wearing off, but they had lasted longer than she had expected.
“I need to see to your wounds. We’ll find a place to rest once we’re on Skye,” she told him.
He grunted. “I’d like to change, too.”
She raised a brow but kept her thoughts to herself.
Rowen could feel Mason’s tension as they crested the bridge and began the curving descent.
Their tires thudded off the bridge onto the isle’s soil.
Ahead, the road split. To the left was Kyleakin village, and to the right, the wild unknown of Skye.
Rowen turned left and headed into the small, coastal village.
It had a quaint harbor and views toward the mainland.
She saw a few places that might be good to stop, but something told her to keep driving.
Mason stared out the window without uttering a word.
She wished she knew what was going through his head.
It must be difficult for him to be somewhere that he’d learned went against everything he had been taught.
She continued along the winding, scenic road with the water on one side and the rugged land on the other.
Her magic screamed to be let loose, for her to get out of the car and touch the ground.
The land pulsed with power, its magic in every blade of grass and tree leaf.
She saw it in the oodles of waterfalls—some nothing more than a trickle from rocks to massive cascades—the striking lochs, and exquisite beaches.
Everything about Skye was dramatic and astonishing. She hadn’t thought anywhere on Earth could compare to Orcas. She had been wrong. Skye wasn’t steeped in magic. It was magic.
They drove slowly, passing homes and cars pulled over at lay-bys and pull-outs, as visitors attempted to get the perfect picture. Rowen had no idea how large the isle was, or how long it would take to circle it, but she was prepared to find out. Until she remembered that Mason needed tending.
Rowen planned to stop at the next village she came upon, no matter what she found.
Mason had remained quiet, but his anxiety had only grown.
The village appeared out of nowhere. She eyed various shops, but she slowed when she spotted a black and white awning over a door with a sign proclaiming: Tea Talker.
She glanced at Mason as she pulled into the small lot and parked. Rowen shut off the engine and turned to him. “How bad is the pain?”
“I’m fine.” Then he softened his words by swiveling his head toward her. “I half-expected Druids to arrive the moment we reached the isle to force me to leave.”
“They didn’t.”
He shook his head, his lips twisting. “No, they did not.”
“I’m guessing by the name of this place that they sell tea,” she said with a grin.
Mason chuckled. “Should we give it a try?”
“If you’re up for it. If not, I can get it to go, and we can get back on the road.”
“I have no idea where Ferne is.”
“Ah.” She’d thought that might be the case. “Changing in here will be difficult, but I bet they have a restroom, er, toilet, for you to use. The herbs can remain if you’d prefer.”
He nodded. “Let’s leave them for now. The pain is manageable.”
It likely wouldn’t stay that way when he tried to walk, but he knew that. There was no need for her to point it out. “All right. What would you like me to grab out of your bag?”
“Anything besides these shorts.”
“What? Don’t like how we Americans dress so casually?” she teased.
His gaze slowly moved over her T-shirt and sweats that she’d had to roll up because they were too long. Those steel-hued eyes shifted with every unspoken thought. Then he blinked, and the emotion was gone.
“I’d rather no one see the bandages,” he explained.
Rowen swallowed, suddenly too warm. “Got it. I’d advise against jeans.”
“Agreed.”