Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Ten steps. That’s all it was for Mason to get from Rowen to the bathroom. It had seemed simple enough. Easy, even. He had been so very wrong.
Those ten steps had felt like ten million. He’d gotten to the door of the toilet without falling on his face. Though once inside, he had stumbled against the wall, bounced off it, and barely caught himself on the edge of the sink to remain upright.
During that, he had managed to pull his side.
Whatever Rowen’s herbs had done to ease his pain vanished in the blink of an eye.
He was breathless, drenched in sweat, and riddled with agony as he made his way to the toilet.
There was no dignified sitting. His legs shook so badly from the exertion that he collapsed onto the seat.
The room spun, causing him to hold on to the wall and the sink. Splashing cool water on his face sounded like heaven, but that would require him getting up. He could stay there and wait for Rowen, but she had already done so much. Too much, actually.
Mason didn’t know how long he sat there before he finally regulated his breathing.
He slowly and carefully removed his shorts, which was far easier than getting his feet into the sweats.
That wore him out again, and he had to rest once more before pulling the pants over his knees. Next came the hard part.
He drew in a deep breath and slowly released it.
Then he used the wall next to him and stood, keeping his weight on his good leg.
He had to be vigilant, so he didn’t overcompensate and pull the stitches in his side again.
His fingers were weak and wouldn’t work properly, so he made several attempts before he got the sweats up.
Just as he was ready to cheer, he realized his shorts had fallen to the floor.
There was no way he was bending over, and he wasn’t sure he could get back up if he sat down again.
He decided to leave them and pivoted to the sink.
He leaned against the structure and ran his hands under the faucet. Cool water spilled over his skin, easing the heat in his palms and wrists. He gathered a handful and splashed his face. Most of it soaked his shirt, but the chill felt so good, he did it again—twice.
That’s when he dared to look at himself in the oval mirror. His hair was a mess, he had two days’ worth of stubble, and his skin was drawn tight, as if every ounce of strength had been sucked from it.
The man staring back at him was nearly unrecognizable. Not because he looked knackered, but because everything he had feared was true. The people he had trusted were immoral. Evil. He wasn’t sure there was a safe place for Ferne—or anyone, for that matter.
The smell of tea reached him, and his mouth watered at the thought of some caffeine.
He slowly turned and limped to the door, using the wall for support.
Once outside, he stayed against the wall as he slowly, agonizingly, made his way around the corner of the wall to find Rowen.
He owed her everything. He would’ve bled out on the sidewalk if not for her.
She hadn’t just gotten him out of there and stitched him up. She had brought him to Skye.
Mason was sweating again. He scanned the shop and found Rowen immediately.
Her hair drew his attention like a parched man to water.
She had her back to him as she talked to a brunette beside her, and he was thankful that she couldn’t see the state he was in.
He was determined to make it to her without help.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t make a fool of himself and fall into the chair.
He put the toe of his right foot against the floor.
It was only then that he realized he was only in his socks.
Where were his shoes? The toilet, perhaps?
He should care, but right now, he didn’t.
His gaze moved around him, but if anyone noticed that he was shoeless, they didn’t say anything.
Mason steadied himself on his left leg and then put the barest amount of weight on his right toes as he inched forward.
Two more like that, and he was past the corner.
There were chairs he could grab hold of, but they likely wouldn’t keep him upright. He’d fall, making all kinds of racket, while also hurting himself and drawing every eye to him. And the place was busy. Every table was taken, and three people were queued at the counter to order.
Inch by inch, Mason moved toward Rowen. He hated the weakness that had taken hold of his body, and he wanted to push himself. At the same time, he hoped she would turn to look for him. He needed her to lean on. And…he wanted her against him again. Not just to hold him up, but so he could feel her.
Pain pulsed in his leg with every shuffle, unforgiving and sharp as glass.
His side felt like fire threaded with needles shooting up and down his body.
He was close enough to Rowen that he could call out to her.
He parted his lips to do just that when the brunette moved, and he saw the second person sitting with Rowen.
His gaze connected with his sister’s, and shock ran through him.
“Mason,” Ferne said, her green eyes large as she hastily stood.
Rowen twisted in her chair before jumping up and running to him. She looped his right arm around her shoulders. “You should’ve called out to me.”
He heard her, but he couldn’t answer. He was too busy staring at his sister.
“Uh, yeah,” Rowen said sheepishly. “I’ll explain, but let’s get you to a chair first.”
The brunette who had been talking to Rowen came up on his other side and lent a hand. They got him to the chair, and he had never been so grateful to sit down as in that moment. He closed his eyes, the pain swelling and threatening to swallow him.
Someone pressed a cool, wet towel to his forehead.
He recognized Rowen’s touch as she stood behind him to hold up his head and wipe his brow.
She was talking, but he couldn’t make out the words.
He felt himself drifting. Not quite asleep, but not awake either.
It would be so easy to slip into unconsciousness. Then he remembered that Ferne was here.
Mason focused on Rowen’s movements and then her words. Slowly, he was able to make out what she was saying.
“…I shouldn’t have let him go alone,” she said.
Ferne’s voice was tight as she said, “He was always stubborn.”
“We’ll see to him.”
He didn’t recognize the woman’s voice. Was it the brunette? Mason opened heavy lids and blinked several times until everything came into focus.
“There he is,” the brunette said, a slight smile on her lips. “You need to drink this.”
She held a cup of tea to his mouth. Mason took an obligatory sip, not sure he wanted anything.
As the hot liquid ran down his throat and into his stomach, it spread like a soothing wave, easing tight muscles and calming his breath.
When she bade him to drink more, he eagerly obliged.
Again and again. By the time he’d drained the cup, he could hold his head up.
Rowen returned to her chair, her pale blue eyes filled with worry. He gave her a nod, letting her know that he was okay. For now.
“Some of your color has returned,” she said as her gaze swept over him.
He shot a glance at the empty teacup. “I hate to tell you, but that tasted better than your brew.”
That got him the smile he had hoped for.
“I’ll make another cup,” the woman said before walking away.
Mason swung his gaze to his sister. She sat stiffly, staring at him as if he were a complete stranger. He wanted to reach over and embrace her, but he could tell she would refuse it. “You look good.”
“You look like shit,” she replied.
“That’s good, because I feel like death.”
Rowen got to her feet and grabbed her tea. “I think it’s best if I leave you two alone.”
“Please stay,” Mason urged. “There are parts in the story I won’t be able to tell.”
A look passed between Rowen and Ferne that made him frown.
“Stay,” Ferne told her.
A long minute ticked by before Rowen lowered herself into the chair. Another cup of tea was set in front of him, but the woman was gone before Mason could thank her.
“Ariah knows what she’s doing,” Ferne said. “She’s one of us. Drink whatever she puts in front of you.”
Mason intended to do just that. His pain was still there, but it no longer felt as if it were controlling him.
He took another drink. All the while, Ferne’s gaze was locked on him, the look in her eyes suspicious, guarded.
He set down the fragile cup. “Before you left to come to Skye, you guessed that I was looking into Mum and Dad’s accident. ”
“I swear to all that is green that if you acted like the absolute wanker you are to keep me safe, I’m going to wallop you,” she bit out angrily.
Mason understood her ire, and he didn’t blame her for it. “You’re all I have left, sis. If London had gotten to you, I never would’ve forgiven myself.”
“Did it ever enter your mind that I was thinking the same thing?” she retorted, green eyes flashing.
Ferne was one of the gentlest souls he had ever known. His sister was loyal and true—a rare combination in today’s chaotic world. She was powerful in her own right, but he knew he had a duty to protect her. “I did.”
“And you proceeded anyway? You’re a right bastard, Mas.”
“You were safe here. The moment I learned that Carlyle was with you, I knew he would look after you should anything happen.”
Ferne’s nostrils flared as she shook her head, but she remained silent.
“I had to know the truth about Mum and Dad.” Mason sighed. “If our parents were murdered, then others were at risk. You were at risk. More than that, I wanted to know who killed them so I could bring them to justice.”
Ferne rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “How’s all that going for you?”
“Badly, actually.”
Ferne snorted. “You don’t say.”
“I found something,” Mason stated. “I was digging a little deeper to tie everything together when I was attacked, instigated by Thomas Oliver. He isn’t missing at all.”
Ferne released a long sigh and dropped her arms. “We know. Were you aware that he tried to kill Carlyle?”
Shock slammed into Mason. “What? When?”
“When Carlyle was in London, looking for him. Thomas’s supposed disappearance was all a ruse to get Carlyle to come home. When he refused to join Thomas in ruling London, his father made an attempt on his life.”
Mason couldn’t believe the words, but then he’d had a difficult time reconciling all the things he thought he knew with what he had uncovered. “Is Carlyle all right?”
“He is, and he’s here. There’s a lot going on that you aren’t aware of,” his sister said.
Mason straightened in his chair, only to grunt in pain. He’d temporarily forgotten about his injuries.
Rowen took his hand. “This can wait. He needs a Healer.”
“They’re on the way,” Ariah said as she strode up to the table. “For now, let’s get Mason in the back and on the sofa so he can lie down.”