Shoulder the Skye (Skye Druids #2)(15)
Author: Donna Grant

 

Rhona quirked a brow at Balladyn, who shrugged in reply. She then asked Elias, “So, you want to…what? Help Bronwyn? Even though she’s drough?”

 

“I doona think she’d take help even if I offered. What I can tell you is that I wasna the only one watching her.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

 

 

 

 

Edie leaned her head back as steam rose from the tub. The water had turned rose gold from a bath bomb, and she sank deeper after taking a drink of her wine.

 

Even with her music playing, she heard the kids down the hall arguing over something. Every once in a while, she caught her husband shouting at the television for some stupid sports show he watched downstairs. Her baths were her quiet time. Her alone time. Her me time.

 

And she needed it.

 

How often had she brought up her parents at lunch with her brother and sister? Edie had intentionally spoken of their father to see if one of them would share the secret they thought they held—one she knew.

 

Not once did Elias or Elodie speak of it. They intended to hold that confidence among themselves. She didn’t like being left out. She had been the only one either of them had spoken to in nearly two decades, and now, it was like they were best friends again.

 

Why did her siblings want to keep this secret from her? And what else weren’t they sharing? What other confidences did they have? Did they think she couldn’t handle things? That she was too wrapped up in her family? Or perhaps they just wanted to have that bond again.

 

It was too much like their childhood, where Edie had always felt left out. The middle child. Unless a person was one, they didn’t understand.

 

Then Elias had the gall to bring up Bronwyn Stewart. A drough was a drough. They made their decisions, and there were consequences to such choices. Frankly, Edie didn’t think any Druids but mies should be allowed on Skye, but she wasn’t in charge.

 

“Maybe I should be,” she murmured.

 

She slapped her hand on the water. Trevor claimed that she had been short-tempered lately. It was true that she snapped at him and the kids repeatedly, which was why she had come up for her bath early tonight.

 

Her husband knew everything about her—except for how her father had really died. Trevor accepted her magic and social standing as a Druid, but he always became uncomfortable when he learned how someone used their magic to harm another. She hadn’t been sure how he would take what had transpired in her family, and then, after a year of dating, it had been difficult to bring it up and explain. So, she never did.

 

Now, when she wanted to talk to him about what her brother and sister were doing, she couldn’t. Because he would want to know why she had kept it from him all this time. She didn’t have a good answer for that. Which left her stewing in her anger now.

 

Maybe she’d call her mother and talk about it. No, she couldn’t do that. Jail conversations were recorded. She didn’t want to get her sister in trouble. That meant Edie would have to wait until her mum was released from prison.

 

Just thinking about that sent her spiraling again. Edie had always assumed her mother would live with them for a bit. Then she and Trevor would find Emily a house on Skye. There hadn’t been specific conversations with her about it, but hearing how Elias planned to take care of all of that was just one more blow Edie hadn’t seen coming.

 

She had been the only one to go and see Emily regularly. The only one Elias regularly contacted. And the only one Elodie would see. Now, she was irrelevant. And it hurt.

 

Painfully.

 

Then there were the cameras Elias had taken from the rental. Trevor swore he didn’t know anything about them, but someone had put them there. She trusted her husband. That meant Elias was trying to stir shite. But why?

 

“Mum!” her daughter called and pounded on the door. “Teddy took my book!”

 

Edie squeezed her eyes closed. “Trevor!”

 

Her husband raised the volume as her daughter pounded on the door again.

 

She sighed and stood, water sloshing over the tub.

 

 

 

 

 

There was no sleep for Bronwyn, not after the mist had appeared. She still didn’t understand why it had moved around her or what it wanted. It hadn’t hurt her, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t if it returned. She really hoped it didn’t return—once was plenty.

 

She finished her morning chores and tried to get motivated to make bread but just couldn’t manage it. Bronwyn gave up and tackled something she could get to work—her designs. She was surprised to find a request from a romance author for a book cover. She read the email twice just to be sure. Bronwyn had been waiting for this. She had the questionnaire ready to go for just such a client.

 

There was a smile on her face as she replied with her rates and specifics on how many changes could be made. Then she asked about the author’s timeline. She’d do the cover whenever. She didn’t care if she had to stay up for three days straight to meet the deadline as long as she could design a cover. Maybe even see her design in a bookstore. The thought made her so giddy it took her twice as long to compose the email and send it off.

 

Though she knew it was stupid to wait for a reply since the author might be on the other side of the world and sleeping, Bronwyn kept refreshing her emails, hoping a message would pop up. After thirty-six minutes, she forced herself to stop and move on to other things. Perusing Facebook didn’t help much. Finally, she pulled up her current project for a nail salon in America that was changing their logo. The owner had known exactly what she wanted, which made Bronwyn’s job much easier.

 

It took her another hour and a half to finish the design. Still, she didn’t send it off. She liked to let things percolate for a bit first, just to be sure she was happy with everything. Even as she told herself not to, she checked emails—still no answer from the author.

 

Bronwyn slammed the laptop closed and headed for the kitchen. She got everything out and began making the bread. If she got the cover job, she would set aside a small portion for a bread maker. She made decent money on her designs, but one cover could replace three other jobs. Besides, covers were where she really wanted to focus her work.

 

She had been making her own bread for over a year, which meant she had the routine down pat. Now, she had two loaves rising. One was plain, and the other rye because she liked to have options. If there was one thing she enjoyed eating, it was bread. She might not eat well, but she never skimped on her carbs.

 

Though she hated the kitchen, she’d get an itch every once in a while to make things she could munch on later—like today. The potential of designing a cover was something to celebrate, after all.