Shoulder the Skye (Skye Druids #2)(28)
Author: Donna Grant

 

“Food. That’s what I need,” Finn replied.

 

“There isna much here,” Elias told them as he motioned them out of the room. He wanted to give Bronwyn time to rest.

 

Carlyle grabbed his keys from his pocket. “I’ll get some things for us.”

 

A moment later, the sound of a motor reached him as Carlyle drove away. Elias took the others to the library. He was so exhausted from using his magic that it took him two tries to get a fire going to heat the room. When Elias next looked at Finn, the Irishman was stretched on the sheet-covered sofa, fast asleep.

 

“So,” Sabryn said as she faced Elias. “Blood magic, huh?”

 

He sighed and nodded.

 

“That’s going to be an issue.”

 

He ran a hand over his jaw. “I know.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

 

 

 

 

Bronwyn snuggled contentedly beneath the heavy blankets as she slowly came awake. She blinked open her eyes to see the dancing flames of a fire. A log popped, sending sparks shooting up into the chimney. She felt rested. Restored and warm. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been any of those things.

 

She sat up and looked toward one of the windows. The curtains were closed, but one had a slit wide enough for her to see that it was dark outside. Had she woken that early?

 

Confusion filled her as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Something pulled on her right knee. She yanked up the leg of her sweats and saw the bandage. Memories poured into her then. The last thing she remembered was not being able to breathe.

 

Slowly, she tugged one side of the dressing off to find the jagged cut healed with only puckered, pink skin to prove that she had been injured. Bronwyn removed the bandage completely and tugged her sweats down. Then she took a deep breath. No pain followed. Next, she circled her left foot first one way and then the other. Again, no pain.

 

Bronwyn sat for a moment, letting all of that sink in. That was when she realized the house felt different—almost as if it rested, breathed easier. She listened for anyone, but the fire and closed door made it difficult to hear.

 

She got to her feet and went to her Ugg boots by the fire. They were warm and toasty as she slipped her feet inside. Bronwyn smoothed her hands over her hair and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Then she slipped out of the parlor and quietly shut the door behind her.

 

She stood, listening once more. The house was undeniably calmer. Her boots didn’t make a sound on the rug that ran the length of the wide corridor. She paused beside the newel and put her hand on it. There was no need for blood this time because the house wasn’t under attack.

 

Her gaze lifted to the room she hadn’t ventured into in weeks. She would need to go soon, but it reminded her why she was alone and had chosen the path of a drough. Still, she needed to visit the space.

 

After a deep breath, Bronwyn turned her head toward the kitchen, where the smell of something delicious reached her. Her stomach growled in response. She dropped her arm to her side and walked along the runner, each step cautious and guarded.

 

As a child, she had run amok through the manor’s many rooms. That was back when her mother had been alive, and her parents had hosted elaborate events where every speck of wood had been polished to a high shine. The women who entered had glittered with jewels and stunned in bespoke gowns. The men had been dressed to the nines in evening attire. Bronwyn had hidden on the stairs, watching and dreaming of joining the parties someday.

 

She wondered if the house remembered those happier times when laughter had run free and risen often. Not once had the manor let her down, though. It had stood guard over her, around her, shielding her from the hurtful world outside. The dwelling had sheltered her when she cried her river of tears, mourning all that had been lost, that she would never regain.

 

It hadn’t pulled away from her, even when she turned to blood magic. It was almost as if it understood. The manor couldn’t speak to her, but they were connected in a way that only someone with magic could truly understand. It had been that way for as long as Bronwyn could remember, but things had strengthened when she returned.

 

Some claimed that a house was just a building, but she knew differently. A home was something you accepted and brought into your life to shield and safeguard. The energy of its inhabitants could be felt in every nook and cranny of the space, and a home protected its family valiantly.

 

The fact that the manor had accepted her as a drough spoke of how deeply tied she was to it—and it to the Stewart line.

 

Which was why she was pleased to sense its current contentment. It might be short-lived, but she hoped the house soaked in as much peace as it could. It deserved so much more than Bronwyn could give it.

 

She heard the laughter as she neared the kitchen. She paused outside the door and simply listened. The four within had an easy camaraderie she envied. She had never been that free with anyone. She’d longed for siblings or close friends to share things with, but it had never worked out for her.

 

Bronwyn recognized Finn’s voice as he told a story about Carlyle and some posh woman. She couldn’t hear everything, but the room erupted in laughter a few moments later. She wanted so badly to go inside and be a part of the group, to be accepted. Then she remembered who she was. What she was.

 

And what she had done.

 

If she had been apart before, she had solidified that by becoming drough. She was about to return to the parlor and hide away when she recalled that this was her home. She had never shied away from any place in it. She wouldn’t now, no matter how uneasy she was about entering the kitchen with the others.

 

Bronwyn squared her shoulders and pushed open the swinging door. Her gaze landed on Carlyle, who stood at the stove, cooking. Finn was at the counter, holding a bowl in his arms as he stirred something within it. Sabryn sat at the table in the middle of the room, smelling a sprig of rosemary. Bronwyn hadn’t realized she had searched each face for Elias until her gaze finally landed on him. He casually leaned back against the counter with a glass in hand and a wide smile as Finn spoke.

 

That smile remained as his expression softened, and he straightened. “Bronwyn.”

 

Everyone went quiet as all eyes turned to her. She nearly buckled under the scrutiny, but she remained on her feet and entered the kitchen—a room that seemed to have come alive with its occupants. A plethora of foods lay on the counters, several pots rested on the stove, and plates had been set on the table. No wonder the house was happy. The very air around her hummed with cheerfulness.

 

Bronwyn realized that her healed wounds were a result of the people before her. “It seems a thank you is in order for healing me.”