Page 59 of Edge of Yesterday

Cailean pushed onto his knees and looked at their attacker. He’d fallen onto his back, his legs unnaturally angled beneath him. A red stain spread across the white shirt at his belly. Could this truly be real? What was the last thing he remembered that was real? The play, chasing Val, the swordfight. Oh, yes, that had been real enough to draw blood, if only a little. But this—

Lennox seized Cailean’s arm to pull him to his feet, but Cailean shook him off and scrambled over to the fallen man. He pressed trembling fingers to the man’s neck. No pulse. He ripped open the man’s shirt, then recoiled at sight of the open wound oozing blood. He fell onto his backside and stared.

This wasn’t possible. It didn’t matter how real it felt, it couldn’t be real.

Lennox stepped into his line of view. “Ye have never killed a man?”

Cailean shook his head. “And I never intended to.”

“You had no choice,” Lennox said. “He meant to harm Julianna.”

“Go to hell,” Cailean rasped. He didn’t miss the glance that passed between Lennox and Julianna. “Good God.” Cailean closed his eyes and shook his head, then slowly pushed to his feet. “None of this is real.”

Lennox nodded toward his left arm. “Real enough to draw your blood.”

Cailean frowned and looked at his arm. A tear in his shirt revealed the scratch that ran from his elbow to just above his left wrist. The small cut bled as much as the one above his elbow had…just like the one Val had inflicted. If this was a dream, it was unlike any dream he’d ever experienced.

“His sword came damned close to slicing open your arm,” Lennox said.

A line of red beaded the length of the scratch. A wave of dizziness swept over Cailean.

“He is going over,” Gregory said.

For an instant, Cailean thought he was right. Then his head cleared and he realized that it wasn’t that the situation didn’t feel real—it felt too real—the problem was, he didn’t belong here. It was as if the universe had made a huge cosmic mistake. He had no idea what that mistake was or how it had happened, but it had.

“Who are these men?” he asked, as if knowing their identities would somehow illuminate the mix-up.

Lennox’s gaze swung onto Julianna. “They might be Crowe’s henchmen.”

“We cannae know that,” she said.

Cailean frowned. “You said Crowe wanted to marry her.”

Lennox nodded. “It is possible he would kidnap her in an effort to force the marriage. So far, she has spurned his attentions. Crowe is no’ a man to take rejection lightly. Ye dinnae by chance know who they are?”

“What—how would I know them?” Cailean snapped. “I don’t know anyone here.”

Lennox’s gaze sharpened. “I recall ye saying you were here visiting relatives.” Cailean stared, unable to reply, and Lennox said, “Can ye ride?”

He nodded.

“Good. When we get to Raghnall you will tell me how you know Crowe.”

“What the bloody hell?” Cailean blurted, but Lennox turned to Gregory.

“Help me get these men onto Julianna’s horse. Take them to Heatheredge. Pitch them into the cellar at the Red Lion. They will keep cool enough until someone can determine if they are known. I will return to Raghnall with Julianna and Cailean.”

Lennox nodded toward the man Cailean had killed. Cailean’s legs went rubbery. This was no dream. He’d killed a man.

Lennox and Gregory hauled the body over the saddle, then led the horse to the second man and they hefted him up alongside the other corpse. They rounded up two of their attackers’ horses and by the time they piled the fifth body onto Julianna’s saddle, Cailean had regained enough of his senses to realize that murder, even self-defense, and even in medieval days, came with consequences.

"There will be questions,” he said. Many of which would come from him. “I should go to Heatheredge with Gregory.”

“Gregory can deal with things until I speak with Crowe. You will return with us.”

“Crowe? Is he sheriff, as well as Clan Ceann-Cath?”

Lennox cast him a disgusted look, but said nothing.