Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
With every step Rowen took, moving away from the cottage, away from Mason, it felt as if the land beneath her rumbled like a drum, dark and perilous. She clung to the last traces of his warmth, but the cold, greedy air stole it the moment she crossed the threshold.
Just as it did her courage.
Inside, she was a ball of nerves, ready to crumple at any second. Maybe she’d draw Edie out. That was the plan. Bait the trap. Lure the enemy. But then what? What good would a couple of battle moves she’d only just begun to master do her when the real fight started? Could she hold her own?
Against an average Druid most certainly. But Edie wasn’t average. She was something darker, stronger. Rowen had sensed the undercurrent of violence and power when they spoke, and she had no illusions about what Edie could do to her.
Yet, she was still willing to face her and whatever else showed up. It had to be her. They had singled her out. Fear churned in her gut, but it did something else.
It lit the fuse.
The gusts of wind grew wilder, howling around her like an omen and whipping the ends of her hair about her head.
She shivered, wishing she had thought to grab a jacket.
Above her the sky was a gloomy, woeful gray.
The kind of weather that made some people cranky while others waited excitedly for rain.
She didn’t walk in the same direction as last time. Instead, she followed the rock wall away from the cottage. A few nearby sheep raised their heads at her approach, but their curiosity was fleeting. She wrapped her arms around her middle and held back another shiver.
“Where are you, Edie?” she whispered as she scanned the land for the blond.
That same probing from the gravesite came again, sharper, stronger.
Angrier. Her temples throbbed in response.
Something was trying to get in. For the barest of seconds, she contemplated returning to the cottage and Mason’s waiting arms. She didn’t want to be some chosen one.
Just as she hadn’t wanted to be the one to go to London.
Her aunt had assured that she was on that plane.
Had Aunt Maelin knew what would happen? The moment she was able, Rowen intended to find out.
She kept her pace slow. The others were out there somewhere, but they hadn’t told her where they would be so she wouldn’t look in their direction. But she really wished she could see one of them right about now.
The prodding in her head happened a third time like a fist through glass. Pain detonated in her skull. She gasped, doubling over as agony bloomed behind her eyes like a bomb. The ground swayed, her knees threatening to buckle beneath the force of it.
It was like her mind had been ripped open. A hot, jagged pulse stabbed through her temples sharp enough to steal her breath. She clutched her head, trying to hold it all in—trying not to scream. But the agony spread like wildfire.
Her vision blurred, her stomach turned. She squeezed her eyes closed as tears fell. All she could hear was the sound of her blood racing in her ears. Then, in an instant, the pain was gone. Evaporated as if it had never been there.
She opened her eyes and lowered her hands as she looked around expecting to see Edie.
Somehow, she was still on her feet, still in the same spot—and still alone.
Slowly, she straightened and rubbed her fingers in a circle at her temples.
Unable to help herself, she glanced over her shoulder to the cottage, half-expecting to find Mason running towards her, but there was no sign of him. Or any of the others.
That was good. She didn’t want anything ruining this meeting. Doing it once was stupid. Being the bait a second time was insane.
The wind held an icy note now that penetrated straight to her bones.
She curled her hands into fists and continued walking.
She imagined that one of her ancestors, eons ago, once walked this very stretch of land.
Had she looked out over the beauty and sighed with pleasure?
What had caused that ancestor to leave Skye and travel to America?
Had it been done for love? Or had they followed a wanderer’s heart?
Rowen hoped they hadn’t been forced out.
If every Druid could trace their roots to Skye, then every Druid should stand together to fight for the isle.
Her life might end that very day, but at least she could look back at her life with satisfaction.
Because she had stood with the light, with the worthy, with others fighting for their lives.
“Rowen.”
Her steps faltered as her thoughts scattered. Had she just heard her name? It hadn’t been shouted. It had come as a whisper, as if someone were next to her. She knew Balladyn was nearby, but he wouldn’t get too close.
The wind whistled past her, not quite a roar, not quite a scream. Her cheeks burned and her lips were chapped. Her body trembled from the chill. On the other side of the fence a couple of lambs played, unaware or uncaring about anything.
“Let me…in.”
Rowen jerked to a halt. There was no denying what she heard this time. The feminine voice wasn’t inside her head, but around her. All around her. “What do you want?”
“You.”
She swallowed nervously. “Too damn bad. I’ve made my choice, I’ve picked my side. And in case you didn’t get that, I don’t choose you.”
The laughter was hushed, bitter. Hostile. And it cut through Rowen like the sharpest blade. “You misunderstand, child. You don’t have a choice. You’re already mine.”