Page 93 of Edge of Yesterday

“Lennox.” The priest clasped Lennox’s arm and gripped his shoulder with his free hand, then turned to Julianna. “My lady, ye are looking well.”

Julianna kissed him on the cheek. “As are ye, Father.”

Father Andrew looked at Cailean.

“This is a friend, Cailean,” Lennox said.

The priest grinned and extended a hand. Cailean clasped his arm as he’d seen Lennox do and Father Andrew gripped his arm, then released him.

“What brings ye to Reay Abbey?” Father Andrew’s gaze traveled between them.

“We have just come from our father in Reay village.” Lennox raised a hand to the monks standing beside the newly turned garden bed. “He wanted to take a look at Alan Muir’s ale-and-wine cellar.

Father Andrew’s smile widened. “Muir is a good man. A fine neighbor. And” –his tone sobered a bit— “how is your sire?”

“Good.” Lennox drew a breath. “Father, do ye have time to speak with us?”

The priest nodded. “Of course. The others can keep an eye on the planting, make sure the seeds of our medicinal plants receive proper respect as they are sown.” His broad smile flashed again and he started toward the stone benches that circled the well. “Come with me.”

He led them past the benches, around a curve in the wall, and through an arch. Cailean hoped his expression remained cool, for he was surprised when the burly monk escorted them into a private courtyard where table and chairs overlooked a small, sparkling pond with a tinkling fountain at its center. White linen draped the table, set with platters of cold, sliced chicken, roasted meat, bread, an assortment of herb-laced cheeses, and what Cailean guessed were two different sorts of custards. Silver goblets with tiny gemstones glittering along their rims sat to the right of each place setting. A canopy stretched overhead, the heavy blue-and-gold cloth sturdy enough to repel a drizzle, even a good rain should such weather dare to invade the lovely spot.

“Holy shit,” Cailean muttered, then winced, hoping no one had heard him.

Apparently not, for Father Andrew was drawing back chairs. “Sit.” He motioned to them. “I will get the wine.”

“Father, you rest. I will fetch the wine,” Julianna said.

He smiled. “Ye are a good lass. Thank you.”

The priest sat in the nearest chair and Lennox claimed the seat to his left. Cailean squashed an impulse to help Julianna. A man helping a woman fetch wine would be too strange for these medievals. He sank down on his own cushioned chair.

Lennox placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Cailean would like to ask about the first time ye came to Heatheredge. When you instructed us to take the mass to beg forgiveness for our crimes against Lady Elizabeth.”

Father Andrew looked at Cailean in surprise. “What do ye want to know?”

“What prompted ye to come to Heatheredge?”

The priest snorted. “God, of course.”

Of course. Suddenly, talking to the priest seemed like a very bad idea. What did he expect to learn? What difference could this man make? But Lennox sat waiting for Cailean’s response. Julianna returned then and placed a large jug of wine before Father Andrew.

“Thank ye, lass.” He half rose, picked up the jug, and smiled as he filled the waiting goblets. But as Julianna edged past him to take her seat, his eyes dropped to her backside.

The bloody bastard, Cailean thought with a surge of anger that flexed his jaw. So much for putting aside earthly desires when he took his priestly vows.

“The wine is even better than usual,” Lennox said.

Father Andrew nodded. “The grapes were particularly sweet last year.”

Julianna picked up the heavy, silver platter piled high with sliced chicken and meat, and extended it toward Cailean. As he took it from her, his fingers brushed hers. Her gaze locked with his for an instant, she smiled, then settled back on her chair. Cailean filled his plate with some of the meat, then passed it to Lennox and took a sip of wine. Lennox was right. It was very good, but not as tasty as Barbara’s violet petal wine.

Cailean set down his goblet, then said to the priest, “Do ye know what happened to Lady Elizabeth?”

Surprise flickered in his eyes again. He stared at Cailean for a beat, then said, “Patrick’s men used her as no woman should be used.” He shook his head and crossed himself. “But I believe she died of a broken heart.”

“Died of a broken heart?” Cailean repeated. “As in a woman who gave birth to a bastard child?”

Father Andrew blinked. “What?”