Edge of Yesterday (Edge Series Book 1)

by Tarah Scott

  “Whoa there.” He laid a hand on hers. “I’ll do that.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Ye have been fighting all night, but swoon when a woman tends to you.”

  “A woman with a knife frightens me far more than any man with a sword.”

  Barely stifled laughter came from Gregory. Julianna shot him a narrow-eyed glare.

  He shrugged. “Ye cannae blame a man for being honest.”

  Cailean’s fingers tightened around hers and she shifted her attention back to him as he gently slipped the knife from her grip. In one quick move, he slid the blade between the knot and his arm and cut the bandage free.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

  “Aye,” she agreed. “Ye are fortunate the blade didnae go a little deeper.” Or a little farther down his arm. If the blade had cut much closer to the elbow, he might have lost use of the arm. She set the bloody rag on the floor. “Now this bandage.” Julianna slid a finger beneath the bandage around his right forearm.

  He cut the fabric as he had the other, then extended the knife toward Gregory. He sheathed the knife, then went to fetch more cider while Julianna unwound the fabric.

  Blood spotted the inside of the strangely woven cloth. “What is this?” She looked at Cailean.

  “Cotton bandage,” he replied.

  She’d never seen such loose weave. Julianna started to toss the fabric into the fire, but changed her mind and dropped it on the floor. She examined the old wound, which she estimated no more than two days old. Little more than a thin knife cut down the inside of his forearm. She dipped a new rag in the water, wrung it out, and began cleaning the fresh cut on his left arm. The wound had begun to clot. She released a breath. Good.

  Cailean watched for a moment, then said, “Are you a doctor?”

  “Doctor?”

  “Physician, healer,” he said.

  “I studied with the Beatons.”

  “Impressive. Not every woman gets to study with Scotland’s renowned hereditary medical dynasty.”

  “More than ye might think,” she replied, though she was proud of her time spent with the Beatons. “My abilities are modest, I am no’ gifted like our healer.”

  He smiled. “Anyone who studied with the Beatons is gifted.”

  Julianna shrugged, but was oddly pleased that he might think well of her. “The knowledge is useful. Such as now.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” he said.

  Gregory returned and gave him another cup of cider, then retreated to a bench near the bed.

  Cailean took a modest swallow of the cider. “It kind of grows on you. Give me enough of this and I won’t care that one of your players took the swordplay too serious. Until I wake up tomorrow, at any rate.”

  “Players?”

  He set down the empty cup. “They were…enthusiastic.” He shook his head. “Really into it.”

  Into it… Her thoughts snapped to attention. He had two more cuts on his left arm and one on his right arm. She grasped his right arm. “Be still now. This isnae from tonight?”

  He pulled free and gingerly touched the wound. “This is the cut I received for the Blooding Stone.”

  Blooding stone?

  “And this,” he lifted his left hand and indicated the small slice above his wrist, “is where Val nicked me during the reenactment. This beauty” –he looked closely at the last wound on his forearm– “I thought was gorse thorns.”

  “That is no’ a gorse thorn scratch,” she said.

  “No,” he agreed. “In fact, it’s another cut from a blade.” He shrugged. “I guess Val nicked me a second time and I didn’t realize it.”

  “This Val is a friend?”

  “A new friend.”

  Julianna shook her head. “Perhaps ye should find others.”

  He grunted. “Perhaps. Especially given the loons who did the real damage.” His gaze flicked to the gash on his left arm. “That wasn’t necessary. Val should have told them no’ to—”

  “Wait.” Julianna tensed. “You knew our attackers?”

  Gregory straightened, but didn’t move when Cailean shook his head, “Nae, but I bloody well plan to find them.”

  She glanced at her cousin, then said to Cailean, “Does this Val know our attackers?”

  The amusement returned to his eyes. “Of course, you don’t know him. So tell me…” he leaned forward, looking deep into her eyes, “what is your part in this adventure? Why were those men chasing you?”

  Julianna resisted the urge to cross herself. How could she tell him that she’d seen something she wasn’t supposed to see? Something no one was supposed to see.

  “Julianna.” Cailean stared, a brow lifted in question. Sweet Jesu, she’d involved him, a stranger who could have no idea that he’d stumbled into a demon’s lair.

  “Well?” He looked at her. “You dinnae want to tell me why those men were chasing you?”

  “They were robbers.”

  “Robbers?” he repeated sharply. “Did they attack you on the road from Heatheredge?”

  “Something like that,” she said, and hoped that her expression remained neutral.

  “How convenient that I was able to save ye.”

  She studied him. “Are you unwell?”

  “Unwell?” He laughed, full, rich, and with genuine amusement. “That depends on your perspective.” He took another swig of cider.

  The liquor had begun its work. She should drink a bit herself. A good measure would dull her senses and perhaps she wouldn’t worry about why Lennox hadn’t yet returned home. It wasn’t late. He did have two miles to walk. But her stomach knotted tighter with each passing moment. If Crowe or his men found him—but they wouldn’t. He would appear soon, if for no other reason than to chastise her for being foolish enough to enter the woods alone at night.

  Cailean’s face came into focus and she noticed the sweat that dotted his brow. Dear God, if his skin burned… She touched his brow and was relieved to find him cool as an autumn breeze. He stared at her and she realized her fingers still pressed his flesh.

  Julianna snatched her hand away and rose. “I must fetch a few things.”

  She whirled, locked gazes with Gregory for an instant and read curiosity in his eyes. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks. She hurried to the shelf and began collecting her healing goods; her lidded basket of linen bandaging, earthen bowl of sphagnum moss, each healing clump gathered and cleaned by her own hands. Then she reached to the back of the cupboard for the most precious of all—a small, leather-wrapped flask. Julianna returned to Cailean’s side and placed the goods at his feet.

  She dropped a linen rag in the basin of water, then went to lift the pot of boiling water from the fire.

  “That’s quite a medical kit,” Cailean said.

  Medical kit? “Your speech is strange, Cailean.” She took the pot to the table. “Where are you from?”

  “Cumbernauld in the Central Belt.”

  Julianna paused in fishing the fabric from the water with a spoon. Central Belt? “I have no’ heard of Cumbernauld.” The name sounded common enough. “Is it far?”

  “Aye.”

  She lifted the rag from the water and let it drain for a few seconds, then dropped it onto a plate. “Where is Cumbernauld? In the Highlands?”

  “Nae. To the south, though no’ so far down as the Borders. Ye may know it as Cumyrnald.”

  She shook her head. “When did ye arrive in Heatheredge?”

  “A week ago.”

  That long and they hadn’t heard of his arrival? “Do you have family there?”

  “I came for the games.”

  She paused and looked at him. “The trials of strength? When the local chiefs call the clansmen together to choose their greatest warriors?”

  He gave a slow nod. “Aye.”

  “The ‘games’ as you call them, are no’ for three more months.”

  “Is that so?” He took another drink of cider.

  “It is.” Julianna noticed a decided sway
in his body. Good. He would sleep well tonight. He needed the rest. She returned to the bench, carrying the plate of wet rags and a few more dry strips of cloth. When she reached for her special leather-wrapped flask, he snapped to attention.

  “Tell me you found some whisky.” He gave her another lopsided grin.

  To her shock, her pulse beat faster. She yanked her gaze onto the flask. “Nae. This is better.” Julianna set the plate of rags on the bench, uncorked the flask, then carefully tipped it over the biggest cut on his left arm and allowed only a few drops to trickle onto the wound. “‘Tis healing water from my pocan cheann. It’s one of my greatest treasures, given to me by the Beatons when—”

  “Your what?”

  “Pocan cheann. Do ye no’ speak the Gaelic? It means ‘bag of heads’—a medicinal bag that holds three heads. An adder’s, a toad’s, and a newt’s.”

  “You have a bag of animal heads?”

  “A healing bag, aye.” She nodded toward the corner. “‘Tis kept there, in the cupboard. It is a leather pouch healers dip into burns that run between two properties. Boundary streams, see you?” He nodded as she sprinkled drops of the water on the other two cuts on his left arm. “As the Beatons teach, the pocan is plunged into and then lifted from the burn,” she went on. “The powers are in the water that runs off the bag.”

  “I see.”

  Julianna looked up to find him staring in obvious delight. She gave him a narrow-eyed glare, but couldn’t halt the small smile that slipped past her annoyance. “I see that you are a rogue, sir. Nae bother.” She finished the cut on his right arm, recorked the flask, then set it on the floor and reached for the sphagnum moss. “All you need worry about is that the charmed water from my flask will speed the healing of your wounds.”

  “As you say, my lady. And the moss will make a good poultice.”

  “That it will.” She set about patting the moss onto his cuts, then wrapped the rags boiled in the herbs around his arm, and bound the wound with the dry cloths.

  When she’d finished, she stood and brushed down her skirts. “Can ye rise?”

  He pulled his shirt on, buttoned two buttons, then slowly pushed to his feet. Julianna kept her gaze locked with his, lifting her head as he stood at full height. She suppressed an urge to laugh when he grinned as if proud of himself.

  Julianna shook her head. “Ye need rest. Lie down for a while.”

  He glanced at the narrow, plaid-covered bed in the corner, then started to turn that direction.

  “Wait.” She grasped his sword belt and began unbuckling it. To her horror her knuckles brushed the flesh of his belly.

  He stilled. “If ye wanted to play, lass, all you had to do was ask.”

  The teasing note in his voice emphasized his soft burr and she startled at the butterflies that skittered across the insides of her stomach. This isn’t the first time she’d seen a man in a state of undress, though it was the first time she’d seen a man like him in a state of undress. Julianna unhooked the buckle from the loop, then released a silent sigh of relief when she grasped the sheathed sword and stepped away from his disturbing closeness.

  “If you would like to take my kilt, as well, ye are welcome to it.” He winked.

  “You will do well to remember who ye are speaking to,” Gregory said in a mild tone. “Lady Julianna isnae some maidservant to be tumbled.”

  Julianna wasn’t fooled by the lack of heat in Gregory’s voice. Her cousin seldom displayed much anger—until he leapt into action.

  “Never mind, Gregory,” she said. “He is drunk.”

  Cailean laughed. “No’ by half, lass, but Gregory is right. Forgive me, Lady Julianna. Now, how about more of that cider? It’s dulling the pain, and I’m beginning to grow accustomed to the taste.”

  Julianna started to deny the request, then realized it would be safer if he passed out. That would keep him abed until late morning, maybe even early afternoon. “Aye, if you like. Rest now, while I fetch the cider.”

  He started toward the bed—a little crookedly, she noticed with amusement—then her gaze snagged on his broad shoulders. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the beautiful sight. The man was magnificent. From the corner of her eye, she caught Gregory watching her and she turned and set the sword and buckle on the bench, then picked up his cup. Cailean made it to the bed as she reached the shelf. He practically fell onto the small heather-stuffed mattress. She filled the cup halfway, then walked over to him. He propped up on one elbow, took the cup she extended toward him, and gulped the cider.

  “Cailean.” Julianna reached for the cup, but he’d finished in a flourish then thrust the cup toward her. She took it and he flopped onto his back. “You will regret that in the morning,” she said.

  He chuckled. “The cider is the least of my regrets.”

  That, she thought, was easy to say while he enjoyed the pleasant effects of the liquor. He wouldn’t agree tomorrow morning. She got an extra plaid from a small chest at the foot of the bed and lay it over him.

  He looked up at her, eyes unfocused. Her shoulders relaxed a bit. When Lennox arrived home, they would decide what to do with him. Perhaps they might learn something of him in Heatheredge. She turned and started toward the table.

  “Julianna.”

  She stopped and looked back.

  “Tomorrow we shall talk.”

  Julianna found herself unable to move. Just what did he want to speak to her about?

  Chapter Seven

  A short while later, Julianna pushed open the tunnel door and entered Raghnall’s kitchens. She carefully closed the door then turned and headed for the rear stairs. She’d gone two paces when a familiar female voice said, “Lady Julianna, that isnae you?”

  Julianna stilled and jammed her eyes shut. What was Cook doing up so early? She turned to face the older woman.

  Cook frowned. “Child, ‘tis the middle of the small hours. What are ye doing in the tunnel?” Her eyes widened. “You havenae been out all night looking for that monster?” She pointed toward the hearth. Julianna took three steps and peered around the corner to see Jiggles—a plump ginger cat as bright as a Highland sunset save a small triangular patch of white between her eyes—in front of the coals, calmly leaning her paw.

  “Jiggles, you rascal.” Julianna hurried to the cat and picked her up. “I was so worried.” Julianna turned and faced Cook’s narrow-eyed gaze.

  “We are grateful you braved thon bogle-riddled passage to look for our dear wee Jiggles. But it is late, my lady. I wonder that ye stayed out so long searching for the cat. Ye had time to walk to Heatheredge and back.” A speculative light entered the older woman’s eyes. “Ye didnae have a male visitor at Haven Cottage by chance?”

  Julianna met her gaze squarely. “Mayhap, but just remember that my mother would never allow me to go in search of Jiggles.”

  Cook’s brows rose. “So ‘tis blackmail, then? I say nothing about ye being out God knows where all night—doing God knows what with a man—and ye will continue on as Jiggles’ protector?”

  “The arrangement has worked well thus far.”

  Her expression turned serious. “I love Jiggles, but I would no’ have anything happen to ye for the world, my lady—not even for Jiggles.”

  Julianna set the cat back on the floor and hurried to the older woman, then stepped into her warm, flour-scented hug.

  “I was with Lennox, so you need no’ worry,” Julianna said.

  Cook pulled back and frowned. “Your brother isnae in the habit of keeping you out all night.”

  “No, he is not,” Julianna agreed. “Which is why my mother need no’ find out.”

  Cook sighed. “Up to bed with ye, then. And take the rear stairs—as ye plainly intended to do.”

  Julianna placed a kiss on her cheek, then turned and hurried to the stairs. She neared the second floor, but came to a sudden halt at the sound of approaching bootfalls around the bend up ahead. Who else would be up and about this time of night? It was too early even for
Raghnall’s seneschal Hector to be making his rounds. And wee Archie, the lad who carried a basket of candles from room to room of a night was only seven summers. The heavy step that approached belonged to a man.

  Julianna whirled and took two steps down, then heard, “Lady Julianna? Is that you?”

  She froze. Lawren. Heaven help her, this chance meeting was second in disaster only to encountering her mother. Julianna turned as he descended to the step level with her and she leaned back against the cool stone wall to keep her breasts from brushing his chest. She lifted her gaze to meet his green eyes.

  He frowned. “My lady, is something amiss?”

  His gaze took in her dress, and she gave thanks she’d forgotten her cloak at the cottage. There would be no explaining a cloak at a time of night when she shouldn’t be away from her room, much less outside the castle. Then she remembered with horror the tear on her skirt where the fabric had caught on a bush when she’d fled Crowe.

  “I could not sleep.” She bunched the material in her fingers in an effort to hide the damage.

  His brow furrowed. “It is dangerous for you to be running about the castle alone this time of night.”

  He was right, but the censure stung. He sounded too much like Lennox, and brotherly commands were the last thing she wanted from this man.

  “I know Castle Raghnall well, sir. Ye need no’ worry.”

  “Ye may know Castle Raghnall well, my lady, but you do no’ know men. If you encounter the wrong one—”

  “My father’s men are not allowed on the second floor,” she cut in, “I just came from the ladies solar.”

  “But you were headed down from the third floor toward the solar,” he pointed out. Her mind went blank. Before she could recover, he said, “Admit it, my lady, you heard my approach and feared an encounter with a bad sort of character.”

  Any bad sort of character that might think to do her wrong would meet the sharp point of her dagger. But she would do better not to admit that. Neither could she let him think that she quaked like a child. She glimpsed the red hair that curled down alongside his neck. Yesterday, sight of those curling locks had excited her. Now…nothing.