Edge of Yesterday (Edge Series Book 1)

by Tarah Scott

  Julianna whirled and grabbed her cloak from the foot of the bed, then crossed to the door. She eased the door open and looked left, then right down the dimly-lit hallway. Empty. She hurried down the passage to the door that opened onto the garden. A moment later, she entered that broad open space and ran to the pebbled path Cailean had taken. Once past the overhead bridge, Julianna paused at a T in the path. Left lead to the infirmary; the right-handed fork went to the scriptorium.

  Would he go there?

  She turned right and hurried along the moonlit path to the arcade that stretched along the monastery’s most treasured building. She paused at the door, heart racing. Father Symon often worked late into the night copying scrolls or writing. He was sixty-nine years old, a master at illuminating texts. But his work was tedious and time consuming. If he grew tired, he slept on the bed that had been installed for him. What would he think of her chasing Cailean into the scriptorium? She drew a deep breath and inched open the door.

  Silence greeted her, along with the heady scent of old stone, ink, and parchment. She detected a hint of cold damp air and dust, the familiar smell of fish oil from the hanging crusie lamps, melted candle wax and a haze of peat smoke. All elixirs of ancient, learned men—and an intoxication to her.

  Cailean stood at the far end of the room, facing alcoves filled with books and scrolls. He held a book, but his attention seemed fixed on the tapestry hanging on the wall to his left, a colorful woodland scene filled with animals and crows that perched amongst the trees. He turned his attention to the books and pulled one from a shelf. Julianna stopped, transfixed as she watched him reverently run a finger over the cover. Aside from priests, she had never met a man who cared much for the written word. Except for her father, who had taught her and Lennox that shared thoughts enlightened a man—and a woman. She found herself oddly glad that Cailean was such a man.

  He turned, then stopped, his gaze locking with hers. “One of these days you’re going to get yourself into real trouble, my lady.”

  She kept her gaze locked with his. “Is this one of those times?”

  “It could be. What are ye doing here?”

  Julianna took two backward steps, closed the door, then crossed the room. “I saw you from my window and…” She shrugged.

  “That curiosity again, eh?” he asked without rancor.

  She nodded. “What are ye looking for?”

  “I’ve never seen a scriptorium. I was curious.”

  “A man who is simply curious to read books doesnae wear a sword.” She nodded to his weapon, strapped low on his hip.

  “Since meeting you and your brother, I have learned to be…cautious.”

  She angled her head. “Just since meeting us?”

  He laughed. “Let’s say I have grown more cautious.”

  “You are honest—I like that.” She stepped closer and looked at the book he held. “Have ye found anything interesting?”

  “I just got here—as ye saw—so I don’t know yet.”

  “Let us find out.” She took the book from him, went to the nearest table and set the book down. She unclasped her cloak and tossed it onto a nearby table, then looked at Cailean, who still stood at the shelves. “Can you bring two more books?”

  He blinked, then grinned. “Aye.” Cailean pulled three more books from their shelves and she hid a smile when he approached the table. She asked for two books, he brought three. No matter their age, men never stopped trying to impress women.

  She sat on a bench and he set the books down, swung a leg over, sat and swung the other leg over. Julianna glimpsed his sculptured thigh before his kilt settled across his leg. Mother of God have mercy, the man truly was a god come to life. He opened one of the books and Julianna couldn’t tear her eyes from his broad tanned fingers as he reverently traced the letters, as he had earlier. What would he do if she grasped his hand and kissed his fingers?

  “Scripture,” he murmured.

  “What?” She yanked her gaze from his hands.

  “Scripture,” he said. “Luke 4:1. Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, left the Jordan and was led by the Spirit into the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. Tempted by the devil,” Cailean repeated, and looked at her.

  Her throat went dry.

  “I wonder what those temptations were.”

  “We are no’ told.” She pretended to study the text.

  “Probably a good thing.” He flashed a heart-stopping smile. “We don’t need any more ideas on temptation.”

  She shook her head. “Ye are a rogue, Cailean Ross.”

  His smile softened. “And ye are quite beautiful.”

  Julianna waited, not breathing, suddenly sure he would kiss her. But he closed the book and opened another. That book and the others they’d gathered were all scriptures. He stared at the last book, which contained a picture of the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus.

  “Amazing.” He traced the book’s heavy leather binding, letting his fingers hover just above the bright, illuminated words.

  It was clear he could read quite well, yet he acted as if he’d never seen a book.

  He closed it with great care. “I suppose I shouldnae be surprised it’s all Biblical.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But I was hoping…”

  “For what?” She watched him as he rose.

  He glanced around the room. “I don’t know. We’re in a scriptorium in the Highlands and it’s after midnight.” He picked up the four books and returned them to their shelves.

  Julianna stood and joined him. “Ye act as if you expect to see a ghost.”

  He nodded slowly. “I wouldn’t be one bit surprised.”

  “Reay Abbey has over a hundred books. The priests often record battles and stories. I am sure we can find something besides scripture.”

  “Why not?” He smiled. “This is a chance of a lifetime.”

  “Aye,” she agreed, and reached for a book on a shelf above her. “Father Symon is usually here, and he allows no one to touch the books. So we are fortunate he is absent tonight.”

  “I was surprised to find a fire going and candles lit,” he said, as they began examining more books and rolled scrolls.

  “Father Symon is insistent about making sure the scriptorium doesn’t grow too cold and damp. It is bad for the books.”

  Cailean pulled a small scroll from a shelf. “He’s right.” He opened the coiled parchment. “Now we’re talking.” He set the book on the tall table to his left.

  “What is it?” Julianna leaned in to see.

  “The chronicle of a battle fifty years ago.” He read a bit of the text, a vivid account of a Sutherland laird who stole a bride and so drew the wrath of two clans upon himself—the bride’s own clan and the family of her left-at-the-altar groom. A fierce battle raged on for years—even after the ‘stolen bride’ and her captor fled across the sea to marry in Ireland.

  He finished and Julianna smiled. “True love prevailed, it seems,” she said.

  He nodded. “I wonder if someone chronicled what happened in Heatheredge?”

  She touched his arm. “Father Phillip was in Heatheredge when the wedding party arrived.”

  “You have a firsthand account of the attack?” Cailean blurted.

  “Aye, written in his own hand. Father Phillip was one of the fortunate who survived.”

  “I wonder if it’s here.” Cailean looked around.

  “I dinnae know.”

  “You havenae read it? Why?”

  She shrugged. “I have heard the story as long as I can remember. I know what happened.”

  “But he was there,” Cailean insisted.

  Julianna lifted a brow. “So were my mother and father.”

  “You’re right, of course.” His expression softened. “I’m sorry.”

  Her stomach flipped. “Nae bother.”

  He stared down at the text for another moment, then said, “This scroll is fifty years old.” He rolled the parchment, returned it to its shelf a
nd pulled out another few books. Cailean scanned them, quickly. “No date.” He looked at three more before he found a date that predated the scroll by twenty years. “So, these are the older books.” He pointed to them. “That means the newer books are over there.”

  He began looking through the newer side, while Julianna perused the other shelves. She had only visited the scriptorium twice and now realized the opportunities she’d missed when she found a book of verses and became lost in the words.

  “Here we go.”

  She looked up at the sound of Cailean’s voice. He carried a small book to the first table they had used.

  “You found the chronicle of the attack?” Her heart leapt.

  He nodded as he placed the book on the table then sat down. The document could scarcely be called a book. It was no bigger than eight inches by eight inches, whereas most of the other books were what he’d called ‘tomes,’ being at least a foot tall. She estimated this one held no more than ten pages.

  Julianna traced a finger along the cover in a snake-like motion, disturbing a layer of dust. “It looks as if it’s never been read.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised to find that’s the case.” Cailean was looking at the cover, his expression tense.

  She watched him place a hand on the leather and had the impression he was afraid to open the book.

  But he did, and they both began reading…

  I was in the chapel when the Ross party arrived in Heatheredge and I hurried to the town center to welcome Laird Ross and his daughter. Lady Elizabeth rode between her father and the great seer and healer Valdar Ross. He was a formidable man, with rings in his beard and wearing a great furred robe as if he were a Norse warlord and not a Highlander. He’d also come in full war gear, bristling with steel, his armor polished and gleaming. I was surprised that a healer wore a sword, but he did, along with a Viking-style battle ax and a long dagger made in the style of a massive two-handed sword.

  “What the bloody hell?” Cailean burst out.

  “What is it?” Julianna stared.

  He pointed at the passage and read out loud, “A long dagger made in the fashion of a massive two-handed sword. I think I’ve seen that dagger.”

  “Are ye sure?” She rubbed the back of her neck. “The design is a bit unusual, but no’ unheard of.”

  “Maybe no’,” he said, “But—” He shook his head.

  “What is it?”

  “Probably nothing.” He leaned back over the book and resumed reading.

  Julianna hesitated, then decided not to press him—for now—and went back to examining the text….

  I remember thinking how glad I was that these men were allies. Oh, if only God had seen fit to gift me with the sight I might have seen the evil that lurked behind the smiling faces. But we were lambs led to the slaughter.

  That night, Lady Elizabeth sat beside Patrick at the wedding celebration in the great hall. She was beautiful, with the glossiest raven hair I have ever seen and emerald green eyes. Everyone believed she was a chaste maiden who did not want to part with her family, for her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but I am convinced she knew of her father’s plans, and did not want to be part of the atrocity.

  Everyone made merry, for this union would bind two mighty clans and bring peace to the region. James brought wine, ale and cider that he passed out liberally amongst our people. When our men had drunk themselves into near stupor, James insisted his daughter and Patrick consummate their marriage.

  After the bedding ceremony, when the door closed on the bride and groom, James Ross announced he would fetch more wine. That was the only time that day in which I felt trepidation, for I know it is a sin to overindulge in spirits. James, coward that he was, left, and his men fell upon us. Man, woman and child, the Rosses cared not who they slew. I fell upon a man who raised his sword to one of the young serving lads and rammed a splintered piece of wood through the back of his neck. That is the only time I have killed and, though I would not trade that boy’s life for the fiend who would have killed him, I still have nightmares, and pray that God has forgiven me.

  I carried no sword and was felled by a blow to my head. I am not certain whether or not it was a vision, but I have a memory of Valdar Ross, eyes blazing as if he were the devil himself. He held his sword in one hand and that beautiful dagger in the other as if he would kill us one and all. After that, I became aware only of the crushing weight of a warrior who had fallen on me. I thought I would suffocate and prayed that God would forgive me my sin of murder. God, in His infinite wisdom, spared me and I awoke days later here at Reay Abbey.

  I will never forget the screams. Our men fought valiantly, but most did not have swords and were cut down. The women’s screams still haunt me, and my dreams are too often run red with blood. I have often wished that I had died that day. Perhaps living is God’s punishment for my taking a life. But how could I have stood by and relied upon prayer alone? My prayer now is that when I leave this world God will show mercy and let me forget.

  “Are ye all right, my lady?”

  Cailean’s voice jarred her.

  She looked up at him. “What?”

  He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “You’re crying.”

  Julianna looked at the parchment. “As far back as I remember, I have heard the stories of how James Ross attacked Heatheredge unprovoked.” She touched the book. “I see now that I have been shielded from the worst of the details.”

  He closed the book “I’m sorry. I should have known better than to read this with you beside me.”

  She shook her head. “Nae, I am no’ a child. I should know the truth. I should have spoken about it with Father Phillip when he was alive.”

  “He’s dead?”

  Julianna nodded. “Nine years ago. Father Andrew took his place.” Shock shown on Cailean’s face. “What is amiss?” she asked.

  He picked up the book and rose. “It just seems too strange.”

  “I think ye dinnae believe in strangeness?”

  She glimpsed his smile an instant before he turned and slid the book into its shelf. Julianna caught sight of a smaller shelf two rows above the book. What looked like a black velvet bag was tucked back in a corner.

  “That is odd…” She stood and went to the shelves, then rose on tiptoes and stretched her arm upward, but her fingers only brushed the edge of the shelf.

  Cailean stepped up close behind her and reached along the shelf. His chest brushed her back and butterflies skittered across the inside of her stomach. He pulled the bag down and set it on the table.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Julianna grasped the drawstring opening. “I dinnae know.” She drew the ties apart and pulled the fabric down, revealing a hollow bone thrust through a fist-sized round of wood. She gasped. It couldn’t be. It was the same cursing bone she’d seen Crowe use that night in the woods.

  Yet… Why was it here, in the scriptorium—on holy ground?

  “A cursing bone,” Cailean said.

  Julianna’s eyes widened. “Ye know what it is?”

  He laughed that rich sincere laugh. “I’ve seen them, but never had the opportunity to use one.” The amusement in his voice reached the corners of his eyes. He reached for the bone.

  “Nae.” Julianna shoved his hand aside.

  Cailean looked at her. A troubled frown creased his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

  She looked at the cursing bone. “Ye cannae touch it.”

  “You don’t truly believe it can hurt anyone? It’s just a bone.”

  “It has blood on it.”

  “I wonder who was cursed—more importantly, who did the cursing. I’m surprised to find it here.” He leaned over and studied the hollow blood channel, the clump of smooth wood at its halfway point, a ‘grip-piece’ that provided an easy yet firm hold of the bone during ceremonies.

  He straightened. “I suppose I didnae realize how deep paganism ran amongst the priesthood.”

  “It isnae theirs.”


  “You mean not the priests’? But it’s here. Who else’s would it be?’

  “Crowe’s,” she whispered.

  A heartbeat of silence passed, and he said, “You’d better explain.”

  Julianna tore her eyes from the cursing bone and met his gaze. The spell seemed to break, and the concern in Cailean’s eyes brought a sense of relief. She smiled, then followed him to the bench where they’d been sitting earlier. Wishing they were anywhere else, having any other conversation, she drew a long breath and then began.

  “The night I met you, I went in search of Jiggles.”

  “What?” he blurted.

  She laughed. “Our cat. He was missing and the women in the kitchen fret terribly about him. He’d slipped into the tunnel leading to Haven Cottage. I saw a man and a woman and I thought they were lovers having a tryst.”

  His brows rose. “Like to peep do we, my lady?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Ye are no’ funny, Cailean Ross. I wanted to warn them. I had heard rumors of lovers meeting in the woods. If my mother caught anyone fraternizing out there she would punish them.”

  “Ah,” he said in mock seriousness, and she rolled her eyes. “What next?” he asked.

  “They were no’ lovers, as I thought, and I followed them to a bonfire.” Her stomach pitched with the memory of the dancers, naked and aroused. She told Cailean the rest.

  When she finished, he frowned, and said, “Are ye saying Crowe performed an actual sacrifice?”

  “I have never seen such a thing before but, aye, that is what I am saying.”

  “Why didn’t ye tell anyone?”

  She shrugged. “I told Lennox and Gregory, but who else can we tell? Crowe is Clan Ceann-Cath. Our laird has a great deal of faith in him.”

  “What about your mother or father?”

  “Our mother would chase him down like a rabid dog and kill him—which would no’ please my father. And what good is it for one sorcerer to accuse another sorcerer?”

  He frowned. “What do ye mean?”

  Devilry twinkled in her eyes. “Do ye no’ know? It is rumored we dabble in black magic.”

  “Ah.” He had forgotten that. “Worse than that, however, is the fact that your mother doesnae know ye were out alone that night,” Cailean said. “You followed those people a long way from Raghnall. I see now why your brother was miffed with you.”