Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rowen found her gaze drawn to a beam of sunlight that broke through the clouds, illuminating a section of the woods at the back of the manor. She walked closer to the window, drawn to the sunbeam like a spark chasing dry grass.
She had never been one of those girls attached at the hip to a guy, but she couldn’t dismiss the fact that she felt…
well, the only way to put it was adrift once Mason left.
Actually, he had vanished. One moment, he was there.
The next, gone. Rhona had attempted to explain how the Fae could teleport, but Rowen hadn’t been paying attention.
Her thoughts had been on Mason heading straight into danger.
She was no one from a small island in the Pacific Northwest. And he was a man she barely knew, who was embroiled in a tangle of malevolence that made her head throb anytime she thought about it too hard.
She might be a Druid, but she didn’t have the kind of magic the Skye Druids possessed.
It was her curiosity that kept her on the isle, not because she actually believed she could make a difference in this war they were in.
“Want to talk about it?”
The deep, Irish accent jerked her out of her thoughts. She turned and found Finn, his fingers stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans, his head of dark waves tilted to the side as he regarded her with his deep brown eyes.
“Talk about what?” she asked.
He shrugged, his lips twisting. “You tell me. You’ve been thrown into the deep end of the ocean here. Most would have been sucked under by now, but you’re staying afloat. Rather well, I might add.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
He chuckled and glanced at the floor as he shifted his weight to one foot. “Trust me. You’re doing better than most.”
“How do you handle it?”
“Hmm,” he replied, his brows raising as his gaze went distant for a heartbeat. “Good question. I think we’re all doing the best we can. Some days are good. Some…aren’t.”
She rubbed a hand up and down one arm, unable to chase away the chill. “Yet you’re still here.”
“So are you,” he said with a grin.
“I thought I could help.”
He nodded slowly. “Then that means you can.”
“I’m not a Skye Druid.”
“Neither am I. Neither are several others here. But that doesn’t matter. According to Rhona, every Druid in the world can trace their roots to the isle. This was the Druids’ home once.”
She pressed her lips together and debated whether to talk to him about her concerns.
“I can see you have questions. I can’t promise I’ll know the answers, but someone here certainly will.”
She hadn’t been able to talk to Mason. Maybe it would be better if she spoke to someone else about what was weighing on her. “Have you ever heard the Ancients?”
He shook his head, smiling sadly. “I wish I could say I had. Have you?”
“I’ve not been that lucky.”
“But you know of them? You were taught about them?”
“Oh, yes. The leader of the Salish Druids in the forties heard them. I can’t imagine anyone who knows they are a Druid who hasn’t sought out the Ancients’ guidance and wisdom.”
Finn’s dark eyes were sharp and penetrating as he stared. “You remember Ferne’s story from the other night, right? Where the Ancients managed to speak through her and let us know their voices were being suppressed.”
“Yes,” she replied warily.
His brow furrowed for a heartbeat. “Have you heard something claiming to be them?”
“No.” But it didn’t come out as firm as she had hoped.
“Rowen, this is serious,” Finn said as he took a step toward her. “Have you heard what you thought was the Ancients?”
She fought not to back up. “Of course not.”
“Are you sure? Because your face says otherwise.”
Rowen turned her head to the side. It had been a mistake to talk to Finn. She should’ve kept this to herself, or, at the very least, spoken to Mason. “It was a dream. That’s all.”
“What was?”
“It was nothing, okay?” she stated, her tone defensive as a thread of anger wove through it. She didn’t like the way he was staring at her as if she were a potential enemy. “Just a dream.”
Finn held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, his lips twisting. “All right. If you say so. Just be sure. Because what may seem like nothing could be something. Especially here on Skye.”
Rowen nodded, knowing he was right.
“Something made you ask about the Ancients. That means something about the dream didn’t sit right.”
She sighed, unsure what to do. Did she voice the fear that had been with her all day, feasibly giving everyone a reason to question her again?
Did she stay silent and possibly give evil a foothold?
Rowen studied Finn for a long minute before wrinkling her nose and shrugging.
“It was when Mason and I got back to the cottage last night. I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow.”
“And? What happened?” Finn pressed when she paused.
She bit her lip, teetering on whether to continue. But she had started, so she might as well tell him the last part. “I heard someone say my name, and then they said they had been waiting for me.”
“Did you see anything in the dream?”
“Nothing. I just heard the voice.”
“Do you dream often?”
She tucked her hair behind her ear and began to pace nervously. “I have a couple a month that I might recall parts of when I wake.”
“How clear were the words?”
Very. “Clear enough.”
Finn considered her for a moment. “How many voices did you hear?”
“Just one.” Rowen halted and faced him. “It was a female voice. Maybe I was just thinking about being here, and I dreamed of an ancestor.”
“Could be.”
But he didn’t sound convinced. She struggled to remain still and not fidget. “You don’t think so.”
“I’ve learned to keep my mind open to all possibilities. Nothing is what it first appears on Skye.”
“Does that include you and the others?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned. “I like your grit. You’re going to need it.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Everyone here has had to choose a side. You will, too.”
She shot him a look. “I already have.”
“You might think so, and I hope it never comes to it, but you just might be faced with that choice.”
“It was only a dream,” she stated again.
Finn’s smile was quick and fleeting. “I hope so, for your sake. Just know that the Ancients have been stifled. If something comes to you claiming to be them, it’s a lie.”
“How do you know that what spoke through Ferne wasn’t the lie? How are you all so sure that you haven’t been deceived on a grand scale to fight with this evil against the Ancients?”
“We’ve all come face-to-face with Kerry and Edie and whatever turned both of them.
There’s no denying the malice in their deeds and words.
There’s nothing any of us can say or do to persuade you if our stories haven’t convinced you.
What I can promise you is that if I think for even a second that you’re working with the evil, you’ll never see me coming. ”
Rowen stood shaken as he walked away, whistling. He had allowed her to glimpse the fury in his eyes, and she knew he would carry through with the threat.
Sabryn leisurely rounded the doorframe. One side of her jaw-length black hair was tucked behind an ear, showing studs running from her lobe all the way up the cartilage.
She glanced at Finn’s retreating back before swiveling her head to Rowen.
“We’re the only family he has, and he’s very protective of us.
Then again, we’re pretty damn protective of each other. ”
“I take that to mean you heard our conversation.” Great. Just what she wanted.
“Not intentionally. I was getting coffee. And you weren’t exactly whispering.”
Rowen propped herself against the windowsill. “It was just a dream.”
“You keep saying that. I’m wondering if you’re trying to convince us or yourself.” Sabryn shrugged as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Sure. Go ahead.” What could possibly make any of this worse?
“What did the words in your dream make you feel?”
A dark knot formed in Rowen’s chest, and it felt like icy fingers were tracing slowly, menacingly down her spine.
“Wow,” Sabryn said. “That bad, huh?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.” Sabryn pushed away from the doorjamb. “It was all over your face. Have you heard anything since?”
Rowen shook her head. “Nothing. I was still exhausted, and I had heard stories about the horrors you all have faced. I chalked it up to that.”
“Not sure if it’s nothing if it bothered you enough to talk to Finn about it.”
Was she right? Was there more? Rowen was out of answers—and that scared her. “I stayed because I want to help. I’ve chosen my side. I stand with all of you.”
Sabryn glanced behind her when voices drew near. “I believe you. We’re all here for you. Don’t forget that.” She motioned behind her. “There’s food in the kitchen if you get hungry. Help yourself.”
Rowen watched one more person walk away. It was just a dream. She wanted it to be nothing more than her subconscious working through everything she had absorbed since landing in London, but she was no longer sure that it wasn’t something more.
Filip poked his head into the room. “There you are. I’m heading to the co-op. Do you need anything?”
“Thank you, but I’m good.”
“I’ve got my mobile if you change your mind.” He paused. “Are you okay?”
Rowen forced a smile she didn’t really feel. “Just still taking it all in.”
“Doona worry. Balladyn will get everyone back safely.”
“Thanks.”
She waited until he had left before finding the back door to the manor and heading out.
It rained more on Skye than it did back home.
Orcas Island had sunnier, drier summers, and from what she had learned, Skye seemed perpetually cool, wet, and cloudy.
Yet that didn’t keep her from walking outside.
She didn’t care if the sky opened up again and drenched her.
She needed to clear her head, and she could only do that by being among nature.
Rowen crossed the lawn where patches of wildflowers sprouted.
She reached for her gift and heard their song, soft to her ears.
The clouds had swallowed the sunbeam from earlier, casting everything in a dull, damp cloud, but she found it appealing all the same.
There wasn’t a glimpse of blue through the thick cloud cover that hid even the sun.
A cool gust of wind whipped around her, tangling her hair in her face so that strands caught in her lashes. She shoved it away and lengthened her strides to get to the trees. Their song rang the loudest. The forests always did.
She burst into the tree line and put her back to a trunk as she closed her eyes.
The deep, resonant melody vibrated through the earth and up into her body, the trees’ tranquil strength quieting her racing heart.
A softer melody, gentle and calming, filled the notes between the trees, proclaiming its name.
She opened her eyes and searched for the flower responsible, finding the plant low to the ground, its pale yellow color bright against the green.
“Primrose,” she murmured as she squatted and ran her fingers along the petals.
Its song rose louder at her attention.
“Spring’s first promise.”
Other tunes reached her then. The deep timbre of different trees, along with some quieter and sharper notes of other plants. She heard each of them singing their names for her, and with each passing moment, the knot that had tightened in her abdomen loosened.
The voice had been nothing but a dream.