Page 40 of Edge of Yesterday

Cailean stared at her, but she ignored him and went on cleaning and fingering the flesh around the cuts as if he weren’t present. He silently laughed. This one was a handful. He grimaced when she applied pressure to a sensitive spot. He jerked his attention onto the arm and, despite the discomfort, admitted the cuts were healing beautifully. Ten years ago, during a reenactment, he’d made an almost fatal mistake and twisted when he should have leapt aside, and been badly cut in his lower left ribs. He’d learned a firsthand lesson in how a nasty sword wound heals. He hadn’t truly believed that herbs had such tremendous healing powers. They didn’t, he realized. Lady Julianna mentioned only herbs but, of course, modern medicine had been added to the mix when he wasn’t looking. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about infection.

“You still havenae said why a Ross would visit Heatheredge,” Lennox said.

Cailean met his gaze. “You say that as if Rosses aren’t welcome.”

“Depends on the Ross. For all I know, ye are James Ross’ son.

Julianna patted the herbal paste onto the cuts on his left arm, and his gaze caught on the cut on his outer forearm. He could have done without Val nicking him the two times on his left arm. Cailean wouldn’t have guessed his fighting skills had dulled. Val had fought as well as any opponent he’d faced—maybe better. But the two accidental cuts indicated he was slipping.

Julianna began binding his arm. Her medic training showed. She rose and he rested his head against the wall. This last day had been far more than he’d bargained for. If not for getting wounded, he would be having the time of his life. But he had been wounded, and the attitude of those around him bothered him not because it was cavalier, though it was, but because…because why? Because his life had been at risk due to the cut on his arm? In fact, he was healing as well as if he’d seen his own doctor. Though he was now conscious of an itch on his side. What—the damn gorse thorns. He scratched his ribs through his shirt.

“What is amiss?” Julianna asked.

“Nothing, lass. Just a little itch.” A little itch that suddenly felt like a case of chicken pox.

“You have an itch?”

Cailean looked up at her.

She stared down at him, brow furrowed, eyes intense. A decided tug on his cock made him uncomfortably aware of another itch. “I brushed against the granddaddy of gorse bushes,” he said. “The sting eased, but now it itches.”

A corner of her mouth twitched and he realized she was repressing a smile. She was damned beautiful. His cock began to lift. If brother Lennox continued to play his part, he would jump to his sister’s defense and knock Cailean onto his arse. He was already on his arse, which meant—well, trouble. A kiss or two might be worth the trouble.

“Shall I look?” Julianna asked.

Cailean repressed a groan. “If you’re so inclined.”

She went to the corner cupboard and opened it again. “I have a jar of elderflower ointment,” she said, her back to him as she rummaged through her collection of jars. She returned, a small clay pot in hand. “Elderflower will soothe any itch or rash. Where are you itching?” She waited.

“The thorns lashed my side.”

“Lift your shirt.” She sat beside him on the mattress as he pulled his shirt free of his kilt. Her brow knit. “Did ye wrestle a wildcat in that gorse bush?”

He laughed. “Damn close.”

She dipped two fingers in the jar then patted the salve onto the scratches. The itch began to ease. She gently rubbed the salve in. He wished her brother was anywhere but there. The way her fingers felt on his skin, he wanted her to rub lower. She seemed oblivious to his attraction—which took a Herculean feat on his part to keep his cock from flying at full mast. By the time she finished, the itching had stopped altogether and he’d busied his thoughts with what Val had in mind by putting him here.

“That’s amazing,” he said. “What’s in it?”

“As I said, elderflower.”

“No hydrocortisone?”

She frowned. “Hydrocortisone?”

“Hydrocortisone.” He laughed. “Never mind.”

“You are a strange man, Cailean.”

“You’re not the first woman to tell me that.”

She shook her head and rose. Cailean watched as she put the salve back in its place, then set the dishes on the shelf. She turned to the cookfire and hung a kettle of water over the flame. She worked deftly, naturally, as if she’d done this every day of her life. Only moments ago, he’d thought the two people in the room with him guilty of overacting. Now, it seemed they were too good at playing their parts. Maybe that’s what bothered him. The depth of fanaticism it took to play a role to the degree of kidnapping a man— He broke off the thought. Things had turned extreme, but he wasn’t a hostage. If anything, they’d helped him.

Even so, a strange sense of loss washed over him. All these years he’d dreamed of participating in the reenactment of Heatheredge’s atonement for the slaughter of Elizabeth Ross’ clan. A boy’s fantasy that had grown into a man’s dream. But last night the violence that began with Val and ended in this asylum made him feel as if a part of him had died. In a way, it probably had.

A thought struck.

Cailean looked at Lennox. “What about Elizabeth Ross?”