Page 39 of Edge of Yesterday

What the hell kind of game was Val playing? He proudly proclaimed to the world that his Ross line reached clear back to Lady Elizabeth’s clan. That’s why Cailean made a point of telling him that his father’s line also went as far back as the conflict between the two clans in Heatheredge. Cailean felt certain that because they shared an ancient past Val had given him preferential treatment.

A memory niggled. “It was not his clan that attacked,” Lady Elizabeth had said in last night’s play. “My future husband was innocent.” Her future husband had been the Mackay chieftain’s son, Patrick Mackay. It was a well-known historical fact that Patrick’s father, Eric Mackay, slaughtered the Ross wedding party when they arrived in Heatheredge. Cailean had wondered how Val could make such a huge historical blunder in this—whatever it was. Now these two actors were saying what Elizabeth had implied, that the Rosses attacked Heatheredge. Was this some sort of twisted reenactment?

And why had Val included Cailean’s ancestor Mackay the Bear in this fictional history? How had he known the Bear was Cailean’s ancestor? Cailean hadn’t told Val about his Mackay connection. Could it be a coincidence that Val chose the Bear as a character? And why make him a hero? To stroke Cailean’s ego? The Bear hadn’t killed clan leader James Ross. James had fallen in battle defending his daughter Elizabeth Ross against the Mackay attack.

“You’re saying the Mackays didn’t attack the Ross wedding party?” Cailean asked.

“Our clan?” Julianna cut in sharply. “Is that the tale the Ross clan tells its children?”

Yes, he thought, but the anger in her voice made him think twice about a reply.

“Our mother still suffers from nightmares.” Julianna stood, her profile facing him as she ground herbs in the mortar. “Lennox was four years old. Our mother fled with him into the woods and hid inside a hollow tree.” She paused. “But they found her.”

Lennox came to his feet. “Julianna.”

“Sit down, Lennox. I am well.” She waved him away, but Cailean was startled at the pain in her voice.

What happened? Then he knew. Cailean shifted his gaze to her brother, the dark-haired warrior who had been a boy when terrible men found and assaulted his mother. He stood now, a fierce determination etched on his face. Cailean returned his gaze to Julianna, fair haired, with alabaster skin. The men found their mother, and Julianna arrived nine months later.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Sorry?” Lennox repeated in a voice that made Cailean wonder if the man intended to draw his sword and quarter him.

“Hush, Lennox.” Julianna went to him, placed a hand on his arm. “Like you, Cailean would have been a boy when his clan attacked Heatheredge. He may no’ truly understand the horror.”

“Horror?” Lennox gave a snort of derision. “Evil is what it was—the devil’s own.”

Cailean stared at them. What was Val trying to accomplish with this reversal of history? The strangeness began last night with Val leading him into the woods, then fighting as if he meant to kill him. The sudden storm… Then Cailean woke up here.

Nae. No’ woke up exactly. Landed on the lane. A knot formed in the pit of his belly. Had Val and his men rendered him unconscious then thrown him onto the lane? He concentrated on remembering what exactly had happened. But try as he might, he remembered nothing more than the blinding flash of lightning before regaining consciousness when his head hit the ground.

Then he’d been rammed by Julianna and had been wounded. Cailean lifted his arm and examined the cut. The four-inch slash on the outer part of his arm stopped half an inch above his elbow. He was damned lucky the blade hadn’t cut the triceps tendon. The anger he hadn’t felt a few minutes ago began to mount.

“Is my attacker in jail?”

“Jail?” Lennox blinked. “He is dead.”

Cailean swung his gaze onto Lennox. “What? How?”

“I killed him.”

If not for his pounding head, Cailean would have laughed. His surroundings were as authentic as ever he’d seen—more so, in fact. But as Lady Julianna had pointed out, things had turned a bit melodramatic, which made Lennox’s acting a little over the top. Well, not everyone could be Liam Neeson. Including him. His left arm ached like hell, his thudding head warned of a whopper of a headache in the very near future, and his body hurt in places he hadn’t known existed. This last day had been a workout that had taxed even his high endurance.

Julianna returned and set a small bowl of water and another bowl containing ground herbs on the table. He recognized the purple lavender buds in the ground concoction. She again intended to treat the wounds with medieval medicine.

“I’m for natural healing, but proper medical care includes a bit more than lavender.” He grasped the bowl edge and tipped it, peering into its depths.

“Yarrow, garlic, comfrey,” she said.

“You might show some gratitude,” Lennox said. “Julianna is as proficient a physician as the Cistercian monks at Reay Abbey. Not to mention, if I had not intervened when I did, your attacker would have killed you.”

Cailean righted the bowl. “That would have ruined your fun.”

“A wee bit snappish, are we?” Julianna sat beside him. “Mayhap ye will no’ drink your cider quite so fast next time,” she said as she began to clean the wound.

“I suspect the pounding in my head has more to do with fighting as if those men truly intended to kill me than it does with the cider.”

She snorted and said as if talking to herself, “Men will tell themselves anything to save their pride.”