Chapter 11 #2
“I did pack some sweats. Will that work?”
He nodded, still staring at her.
Rowen licked her lips and hastily looked away. “Be right back.”
She hopped out of the car and opened the back hatch to rummage in the bag she had packed for him.
The sweats were on top, but she paused there and took a deep breath to steady herself.
Then she closed the trunk and walked to the passenger side.
He had already unlatched the door for her.
She swung it wide and gave him an encouraging smile.
“I parked close to the door. Hopefully, the toilets won’t be that far,” she said as she helped him get his feet on the ground.
“Bloody hell,” he murmured, out of breath.
She moved to his side and gripped his arm to help him stand. She expected him to tip to the side, which is why she planted her feet and caught him before he could fall.
“Fuck.”
Rowen swallowed a smile. “You’re doing good.”
“Liar,” he said, but he chuckled.
They reached the door and got inside better than she had hoped. A red-haired waitress walked toward them, smiling.
“Excuse me,” Rowen said, stopping her. “Do you happen to have a toilet?”
“Sure do,” the woman said. She turned and pointed to an area adjacent to the counter in the back. “It’s to the left, just beyond that wall.”
Rowen shot her a smile. “Thanks.”
“I got it,” Mason mumbled.
“Mm-hmm.” But Rowen didn’t release him as they headed to the back.
It wasn’t until they turned the corner that he removed his arm from her shoulders. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“You have ten minutes before I come looking for you,” she warned.
There was a crooked grin on his face as he hobbled away.
She watched him for a few seconds before walking back around the corner.
There, she stopped and gawked in awe at the place.
The ceiling was glass, allowing light to filter in for the numerous plants that were everywhere.
Tables in various sizes were set with an eclectic array of chairs.
At the back was the wooden counter with an antique cash register, but it was the shelves lined with glass jars behind the kiosk that had her attention.
“Can I help you?” asked a woman with a Scottish accent.
Rowen looked toward the voice to find a pretty brunette, who took boho to a whole new standard and worked it in stunning fashion. “Hi. Yes, I think I’d like one of everything.”
The woman’s smile grew. “I can make that happen.” Her brow furrowed. “I saw the man you came in with. He looked injured. Is he all right?”
“He’s…” What did she say? She couldn’t exactly blurt out that she needed a Healer. Skye might be home to Druids, but that didn’t mean everyone here was one. Yet as she looked into the woman’s golden brown eyes, she found herself saying, “He ran into some trouble recently.”
“Hmm. Let me put something together for him. My name is Ariah, by the way.”
Rowen sighed, not realizing until then that she had been tense. “Thank you. I’m Rowen.”
“What would you like to drink?” Ariah asked.
Rowen shrugged. “You pick.”
“I can do that,” Ariah said with a smile. “Find a seat, and I’ll bring the tea out.”
Rowen turned to pick out a table, wishing Orcas had a tea house like this. She’d be in it every day.
The bell over the door chimed, and she looked toward it to see a pair of women enter. The one with long, black curls and stunning green eyes caught her attention by the stark similarities between her and Mason. It was there in the line of her face, her nose, and the way she smiled.
The woman had the kind of beauty that turned heads, just like Mason.
On a hunch, she walked over to the pair.
“Excuse me,” Rowen said, looking up into brilliant and arresting green eyes.
They were the olive green but had a sharp, cutting band of dark olive, set against the contrast of her dark features.
“Apologies for interrupting, but does your name happen to be Ferne?”
The woman’s smile slipped as those green eyes narrowed slightly in wariness. “Who wants to know?”
It was the way Ferne held her head that reminded her so much of Mason. Rowen glanced over her shoulder to see if he had come out of the restroom yet. “It is you, isn’t it? I’m Rowen. I’m here with your brother.”
“Mason?” Ferne repeated, doubt in her voice.
“He’s in the restr—toilet, changing. We were stopping here before he called you.”
Ferne’s friend walked away, leaving the two of them alone. Ferne didn’t seem to notice. All her attention was focused on Rowen. “Wow. London has sunk to a new low. Or is it Edinburgh? I don’t care where you hail from, or which of them sent you, but you should leave before I make you.”
“I’m tel—” Rowen began.
“Ferne,” Ariah said, interrupting them as she walked up. “I think you and Rowen should sit.”
The two women exchanged a long, silent look. Then, with a frown furrowing her brow, Ferne headed to a table. Rowen followed her, and they each sank into a chair.
“What’s going on?” Ferne demanded, her voice tight with barely controlled anger—and a hint of worry.
Rowen ran her fingers through her tangled hair.
Maybe she should’ve gone to the restroom, too.
She probably looked an absolute fright. “My name is Rowen Thornevale. I’m a Salish Druid from the States.
London invited someone from my group to visit.
While there, I encountered your brother, who had been attacked. ”
“Attacked?” Shock widened Ferne’s eyes and slackened her lips.
Rowen nodded. “He needs a Healer. And quickly. He’ll tell you he’s fine, but trust me, he isn’t. I stitched him to stop the bleeding, but he’s in a bad way.”
“How bad?”
Rowen took a deep breath and laid out everything quickly and succinctly.