by C J Matthew
And he needed a Willow Druid down here on the beach to make some decisions fast. Considering their Druid might have to consult with the others, depending on how much of this woman’s story they were inclined to believe.
Heather and her injured pilot had passed right through his early warning without triggering any alarm. Amazing. Only a shifter or a magical being should be able to pull that off. He eyed Heather. Not a shifter. He silently checked with his beast.
Human female. His dragon almost sounded bored.
Liam could feel a lingering weak level of magic surrounding Heather. But that could be residual from going through the Druid’s powerful invisibility barrier surrounding the island. Another impossible feat for humans.
The boy, Hank, had called her a wicca, one of the ancient Celtic words for witch. Out of the mouths of babes? Better get going.
Liam bent to catch and hold Hank’s attention “All right, you’re my man. Run straight to the house in the grove. Remembering your manners, tell the red-haired Druidess we have a wounded man here on the shore. Beg her to come along with her medical supplies. Ask to borrow several blankets. When she agrees, you carry everything. Understood? Everything. The woolen covers and the basket. Got that?”
“Yes, Guardian, I understand.”
“Just Liam.”
“Yes, sir, Guardian Liam.”
“Go.” The boy took off at a full run, racing toward the cliff. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman, Heather, the wicca, shiver. Pulling his sweater over his head, he stepped closer and offered it to her.
“Thank you.” She gave it a shake, then spread the fine wool over the bloody man on the sand. Liam shrugged and beckoned to the younger boy. “Paul?”
At the sound of his name on Liam’s lips, a smile exploded over the boy’s face.
“Yes, sir, Guardian Liam. Sir.”
“Let’s get some back up. Go first to the common hall in the village. If you see any of the big shif—the big, strong men, ask them to come quick and bring the stretcher. If none of them are there, try the pub. We need five or six guys. Four to handle the stretcher, one to assist Heather up the cliff, and I’ll take the rubber raft and what all’s in it.”
“Yes, Guardian Liam.” The boy took off like a shot and Liam called after him. “No need to run.” He watched the enthusiastic youngster disappear and tried to remember if he’d ever been that young.
He examined the inflatable raft and wasn’t sure how to deflate it. It would be bulky, but he could carry it as is up the cliff and to the Druid’s house or even to the village. Once it was inside a lighted room, or tomorrow when the sun rose, he’d let the air out and refold the little boat into a more manageable size.
Liam sat on the gunwale of the rowboat and hunched toward Heather, his elbows resting on his knees, his loose hair swirling in the ocean breeze. The woman must be cold. No jacket, no shoes. She was down to a still damp silk blouse and pencil skirt. What kind of a meeting was she in such a rush to get to in Scotland?
The pilot seemed too quiet. “How’s the patient?” he asked, cringing at the thought of the man dying on a Draíochtia beach. What kind of uproar would that cause?
Heather seemed to slide a glance up at him from her spot in the sand next to Drake. “He seems better,” she said. “I don’t have any medical training aside from BLS, the basic life support, but he seems to be calmer; resting.” She looked up at the dark sky. “The darker it gets, the harder it is to see his color and the bandage, but putting pressure on the bleeding wound appears to have worked like a charm.”
He’d pulled a spare length of leather cord from his pocket and started to tie back his unruly hair when that word grabbed his attention. “A charm?”
Now she frowned up at him. “It’s just an expression. And an old one at that. I heard the smaller boy call me a wicca. That means witch, doesn’t it?
“Around here, yes,” he answered. “It’s a very old Celtic word for witch.”
“I’ve been called a bitch plenty of times, but up till now, nobody ever accused me of being a witch.”
He raised one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I figure Hank didn’t mean it as an accusation, just a kid’s observation of what seemed magical. The root of the word has come to apply to those who follow the goddess and an earth-based faith.”
“Wiccan?”
“Exactly.” So far, besides the fading aura of magic, he hadn’t noticed any signs she was a witch. Drake, on the other hand… a man passing unscathed through the Druids’ barrier? Surviving then healing from a gunshot wound in record time? Was it possible Drake was a shifter?
Liam eyed his sweater draped over Drake’s torso, and the bulge underneath the knitted garment caused by the folded cotton, the pressure bandage. He’d be interested in getting a quick peek under the cotton. If the man had shifter powers, shifter healing, his mending wound had likely pushed the slug out, so the muscles and layers of flesh and skin could knit themselves back together.
And shifter healing was usually accelerated by a shift.
In the trauma of getting shot, why didn’t Drake shift immediately? The more he considered this, the more doubtful he became that Drake was the one with any magic powers. The red-haired Druidess, the one with the healing talent, would certainly know.
He spotted two figures at the top of the cliff. A woman enveloped in a long dark cloak with the hood up, covering her hair, and beside her stood the youngster Hank, an odd shaped basket hanging from one elbow and both his arms loaded down. The wind tugged at the bottom of the Druidess’s cloak revealing a glimpse of her light-colored gown underneath.
When the duo reached the sand and started toward them, Hank’s penetrating voice, obviously meant to be a whisper, carried clearly, in a rasp, through the salt air.
“I swear, Lady Druid, I saw her paddle through the barrier our Willow Guardian set up, the one that warns us. And when she brought the wounded man past your magic wall, there was a bright bolt of light and a loud boom. And she’s not hurt at all.”
“Yes, thank you Hank. You are very observant and that’s always helpful. If you’ll set my basket down there and hand the blankets to Liam.”
He was already standing and when she indicated he should take charge of the blankets, Liam bowed and complied. He unfolded a soft woven length of material and placed it, followed by the basket, beside Drake.
“Hank, please set up the Druidess’s lamp. Make sure it points right to Mr. Drake’s shoulder. Then could you check the shoreline? See if you can find any airplane parts the sea washed up on the beach.”
Knowing their healer would want the female intruder further away, he extended his hand to Heather. When she placed her cold hand in his, he experienced a jolt of awareness, almost desire. Inside him, his dragon slowly lifted his horned head.
Inappropriate, he silently told the beast. It’s been a weird evening.
The dragon tucked his head under one small wing.
When Heather was standing, Liam wrapped her in a thick blanket and motioned her toward the bench seat across the inside of the rowboat.
“Be comfortable,” he said. “And this lady is Andraste, one of our medics,” he introduced the healer. “Like a Nurse Practitioner and—”
“She’s an NP?” Stretching out her legs, Heather snorted. “More like a wiccan healer, I’d say, with the honorary title of Druidess.”
Andraste offered Heather a gentle smile and said, “Your guess would be correct. But in Liam’s defense, it’s often easier for us to supply titles and definitions people are used to.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Give me a minute to check on Drake’s wound, then I’ll be happy to answer all your questions.” She pulled several packaged gauze sponges from the basket, and a bottle of Betadine antiseptic. Gently removing the wadded shirt, she donned gloves to examine and clean the entry wound. Together, he and the healer rolled Drake gently on his side and smiled as she examined the exit wound. “Good news. It appears the slug went straig
ht through. Liam, hold him there while I bandage the back.”
The healer applied tape to both bandages, front and back and pulled a linen shirt from the basket. They slid the soft clothing over Drake’s head before gently returning him to his back.
“Heather,” the druidess said as she stripped off the gloves. “I’d be honored if you’d accept our Celtic hospitality. This island is private property, isolated with no electricity. I live in a big house on that cliff with two other women. My wing has two guest rooms and one of those has a bathroom with an amazing tub.”
“Is this a…” Heather pulled the blanket tighter around her, “a cult?”
Chapter 6
Heather
Heather regretted asking the question the minute it left her mouth. How stupid can you be? Naturally, these people wouldn’t admit to being a cult, just because some idiot asked. And this woman—healer, Druidess, whatever—had done a professional job of cleaning Drake’s wound and bandaging him up. She’d even thought to bring a clean shirt.
The Druidess straightened. “A cult? Goddess forbid, absolutely not.” She finished gathering her stuff. When she reached for her basket, Liam took it and the blanket she’d been kneeling on. Assisting Heather from the boat, he whistled for Hank.
Robust masculine voices drifted across the beach. Liam’s back up had arrived at the top of the cliff. “Hank,” Paul shouted from the group. “Look who I found.”
Hank pounded past the rowboat in a real hurry to greet whoever Paul had found. Before the crowd gathered, she needed to apologize.
“I’m sorry about the cult question. It’s been an all-around crappy day and I—”
“Perfectly understandable.” Andraste offered a reserved nod.
“No, it isn’t. That question came from out in left field. Backed by no evidence what-so-ever. And I offended you, after all you’ve done for me and for Drake. Could we possibly start over?”
“Yes. That’s an excellent idea. Let’s get clean and warm. That always makes it easier to really talk.”
“Great. Will you bring Drake to your house?”
“If that would that make you more—yes, I see having the pilot nearby would ease some of your anxiety. We’ll put Drake in the adjacent wing.”
“Thank you.”
Liam moved away to greet the group of oversized men. These guys looked like a team of extreme sports enthusiasts. And she noted Liam fit right in. After the prerequisite back slapping and arm-punching, they lined up to greet Andraste and be introduced to her. Heather normally took pride in her ability to memorize names, lots of names at a time, but the healer had been right. The attack and crash and rescue had taken its toll. She smiled and bobbed her head and the group immediately became a fuzzy memory.
They gently transferred Drake to the litter and strapped him down. Somehow, they managed to keep his ride to the cliff base relatively smooth. But the awesome part was the climb up the small “steps” on the face of the cliff to the top. The two leaders lowered their handholds while the two men by Drake’s feet lifted their end of the carrier above their heads. All the way to the top.
Without a word, the two boys split up all the smaller items: Andraste’s basket, the blankets, her purse, and laptop. The remaining giant swung the inflated life raft over his head and scrambled up the cliff. She climbed between Andraste in front and Liam right behind her. The steps were tricky and in places damp from sea spray but she wasn’t going to make a misstep between these two. At the top of the cliff, their little expedition headed into a thick grove of enormous willow trees. Ah, that’s how the village got its name.
The deeper into the glade they went, the darker it got. When she stumbled over an exposed root, Liam hurried forward and Andraste turned back to her. Hank scurried back and handed the lantern to Andraste. Liam took her hand and gently guided her arm through his. With smiles all around, they started forward.
“Almost there,” Liam whispered.
The house was in a clearing with a fragrant garden leading up to the carved door. Painted all white except for green shutters and a thatched roof, lights shown in every window and sent out a welcoming glow.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“I think so,” Andraste whispered. “My great grandmother was born here.”
The men carrying Drake didn’t seem to need directions. They opened the front door, carried the stretcher inside and turned left. The young boys darted off to parts unknown and in the foyer, the healer turned. “Your choice, bath first or food and a fire?”
“If I can wash my face and hands first, I’d love to eat in front of a warm fire.”
“Done.” She tipped her head at Liam. “And you Guardian, will join us.” She seemed to anticipate an objection. Instead, Liam gave her a mini bow and said, “I’ll thank the men and wash up. Where is dinner being served?”
“This is an Irish house. In the kitchen.”
Heather hurried through a face and hands scrub so she could devote the bulk of her ‘wash up’ time to un-tangling hair. As she dragged the brush she’d found beside the bathroom sink through the snarls and knots, it occurred to her to question the source of the hot water.
“It came from a pitcher,” she whispered to her reflection, “also beside the sink.” Good. But how did the water get hot? Another mystery to add to the rest.
Hair finally tangle-free, Heather considered a French braid. Then her stomach grumbled.
The kitchen table, well-scrubbed and big enough for six, was positioned right in front of the fireplace. There was a tureen of soup, a colorful tossed salad, cooked vegetables in a divided platter, and several baskets of bread on the table. The mouth-watering aroma-winner turned out to be a cauldron of stew hanging over a corner of the fire, bubbling gently.
Rather than passing the serving dishes, the plates made the rounds. Heather’s came back to her piled with veggies and bread sporting slabs of butter. Then two crockery bowls arrived—soup and stew.
The three of them ate in silence for a few minutes. The food was delicious. When Heather paused to breathe, the Druidess placed a soft hand over hers and said, “When you’re ready, I’d appreciate hearing about your day from the beginning. This isn’t like an interrogation where official people take turns asking the same questions and trying to catch you in a lie. This is all from your viewpoint. If you can go slowly, remember your exact words and what you were feeling when you said them, I give you my pledge, we’ll only do this once. Agreed?”
“Everything?”
“The best you can remember.”
Her mind went blank.
“Start by telling the healer,” Liam suggested. “Who were you going to Inverness to meet?”
She back-tracked a little to describe her PR predecessor, Lester, and her Dublin supervisor. Admitted how angry Lester’s behavior made her, how frustrated she was with the local Mr. Wells for demanding that she hunt down Liam Rudraige. Not to apologize but to get his signature on the contracts.
“While Mr. Wells was issuing his orders to you, and you grew frustrated, did anything unusual or strange happen?”
“I agreed to go after Mr. Rudraige.”
“And that’s strange, why?”
“If I’d been in my right mind, I still be at that conference table, refusing to chase after Mr. Rudraige. I can’t believe I caved.”
“Then what?”
“I called to apologize to Mr. Rudraige’s assistant. She shut me down. But after a few minutes, she seemed to relent. Hinted at where I might find him.”
“Any other strange things happening?”
Heather described the turbulence, the harpoon shot, the crash, the pirate Jack stealing their luggage, and finally the boat blowing up. Including what she said and felt each time.
“Good. And lastly, how did you manage to find our beach?”
“After Drake was shot, I was terrified, panicky really, that he’d die. Things we needed to survive popped into my head. For some reason, I was saying them out-loud.”
“And?”
“And they happened, or floated by, they just appeared.”
“After that, you were in the inflatable raft…”
“Paddling like crazy and wishing for land. There was a big sizzle, like damp static electricity. And a few moments later, a loud boom and a bright flash like horizontal lightening. When I looked up, there was the cliff. Still pretty far away to paddle. And a moment later, Hank was out there, rowing his little boat toward us.”
The kitchen was quiet. Heather could feel the tension creeping over her skin.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “What did I say that means something to you two?”
Both Liam and Andraste continued to look directly at her. Swear to god, she’d lose it if the two of them exchanged one significant look.
Liam touched her fingers. “As long as it’s not bad news, you’re the kind of woman who just wants to hear it straight out. Am I right?”
“Maybe you’d better define bad news.”
“Let’s do it this way,” Andraste offered. “I’ll give you my professional opinion. You’re free reject it. I’ve agreed to answer your questions so no matter how you react, I’ll still answer anything. How’s that?”
“Your opinion is like a diagnosis?”
“Your presence here is uncovering suppressed or latent magical powers. I believe you’re a hereditary witch.”
Chapter 7
Liam
Liam held his breath, anticipating an outburst of epic proportions. Yet, Heather sat quietly, a puzzled expression on her lovely face. Her blond hair, wavy to her elbows, glowed in the firelight. And for the first time he noticed she had a sprinkling of tiny freckles across her nose and cheeks.
She’d been sent on this nightmare trip because Lester had screwed up? Because the jerk had aggravated his potential clients to the point they’d rather go it alone than hook up with a PR firm stupid enough to hire a man like Lester to represent them. She’d boarded a small plane to chase Liam to Scotland because her boss wanted the Muirdris contracts signed? He sucked in a deep breath. He needed to explain who he was. Promise he’d sign anything she wanted just as soon as she was cleared to leave Draíochtia.