Page 71 of Edge of Yesterday

Now, however, Cailean realized how closely Charles’ disappearance mirrored his own, which was too much of a coincidence. What would Val tell the authorities about his disappearance? “You see, Constable, we were walking in the woods, lightning struck and, wham! Cailean Ross was gone. Shit happens.”

Another memory struck. Val alleged that he’d been with other reenactors when he’d last seen Charles. Cailean’s stomach turned. Christ, was it possible that Val had something to do with Charles’ disappearance…with his disappearance?

Cailean raked a hand through his hair. What could Val possibly have done to send him back in time? Cailean’s stomach roiled again and he feared he would vomit. Even if it was possible for a man to fall into some sort of time portal—as he must have—it simply wasn’t possible for it to be planned.

Cailean remained motionless.

Why not?

If Val knew of the time portal, then all he had to do was push someone into it.

But why do such a thing?

Val…

Crowe’s face flashed in Cailean’s mental vision. Crowe was a dead ringer for a younger Val Ross. Crowe had to be an ancestor of Val’s. But Val was a Ross, not a Mackay. History claimed that, a few years after the slaughter, Valdar returned to Heatheredge as a monk and brought Heatheredge to redemption. He hadn’t been clan Ceann-Cath. Was it possible this was an alternate dimension? Still, an alternate dimension six hundred years in the past. In this world, the Rosses attacked the Mackays and Valdar Mackay wasn’t a monk—or a Mackay—but a Ross and a war chief. Time travel or alternate reality, his Val Ross knew…and had somehow sent him here.

His head throbbed just trying to connect the threads. He had to get back to modern Heatheredge. If he could find the spot where he’d arrived, might he discover a doorway of some kind, a place where time shifted or where he could step through like a wormhole, perhaps? In movies, people who went back in time often returned home at a point in time where no one knew they’d been gone. If he could travel to fourteenth century Scotland, that had to mean there was a way to return.

Fear sent another wave of nausea through him. He’d never heard reports of any of the missing Gathering attendees showing up again.

The door to the cottage creaked and Cailean leapt to his feet. Julianna froze in the threshhold, a basket in hand.

“Did you save me only to run me through with your sword?”

Cailean started at seeing Triumph in his hand. Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? He had no recollection of grabbing the sword. Had he so easily turned into a savage? A medieval?

“I frightened you,” Julianna said.

He snorted, and sheathed Triumph. “Right now a sparrow would frighten me.”

She stepped inside, closed the door, then crossed to the shelf to the left of the door and set the basket down on the table. He watched as she removed cloths and herbs from the basket, seeing her in a different light than he had previously. This woman was a true fourteenth century noble Scotswoman. Fuck. What was she like? He knew what she was like. She was fierce, a skilled doctor and smart as a whip.

She was also beautiful, and damned provocative.

“I thought Malvina was going to attend to me.”

“She was busy.”

“I think it’s more likely you disobeyed your mother and came yourself.”

She smiled. “Do no’ worry yourself over my mother. I am well used to her moods.”

“She is a formidable woman,” he said. A sense of terror crept over him. Lady Ravenstone was a very formidable woman, and she wielded great power. As a noble, she could have him flogged, even hanged.

Julianna went to the medicinal cupboard in the corner and retrieved her awful pocan cheann. Cailean recalled his glimpse intothe bag of heads and he had to force back hysterical laughter. There really were heads inside the damned bag.She pulled out a jar he now knew contained a soothing salve, and her trusty sphagnum moss.

Julianna carried her healing goods to the bench. “Take off your shirt and sit down.”

“What?”

She looked at him and frowned. “Take off your shirt and be seated.”

“It’s just a scratch,” he said.

“Perhaps, but I need to look at your old wound.”

“Lady Julianna—” He broke off when her eyes snapped up to meet his. Cailean saw in her expression the same determination he’d seen in her mother. She was quite a strong woman herself. And he was finding it ever harder to ignore her appeal. That was dangerous ground, more dangerous than he’d imagined.