Edge of Yesterday (Edge Series Book 1)

by Tarah Scott

  Cailean pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his leather motorcycle jacket then tossed the jacket onto the bed and stretched out on the mattress. He tapped contacts, then hit Ginny’s number. Her picture filled the screen as the phone rang. At five-eight, with auburn hair, Ginny was a knockout. She had her pick of men, but preferred the computers she ruled. That, he thought for the thousandth time, was a shame. A man—and maybe a baby or two—would give her someone to fuss over. Though, her version of fussing over someone was setting up his computer with security tighter than the Bank of Scotland.

  She picked up on the second ring and her husky voice proclaimed, “You’re calling early.” She spoke with the hint of a Boston accent. She’d completed her graduate degree and PhD at Harvard University and had yet to find that dropped R she’d left behind in Los Angeles.

  “I’m about to head out and it’s a bit of a walk into the village. I’ll be back too late to call.”

  “And you won’t take your phone with you.”

  “We’ve talked about this, Ginny.”

  “That doesn’t mean we can’t talk again,” she said. “If it was me up there in the wilds of Scotland you would insist I carry my phone with me—with the tracker on at all times.”

  “Big brother’s prerogative,” he said. “There’s nothing to worry about. I promise that when I leave Heatheredge I’ll carry my phone. Speaking of which, they’re trying to talk me into staying another three weeks.”

  “Three weeks? I’ll lose you to medieval life.”

  He laughed. “That’s what I said.”

  “Are you considering it?” she asked.

  “Honestly, yes. I’ve already contacted Tom to see if he can handle my classes.”

  “You’re damned lucky you have tenure.”

  “And I’m not afraid to take advantage of my position.”

  “Why not? They abused you long enough before giving you tenure,” she said.

  Count on Ginny to jump to the heart of a matter. She was right. The university hired him on a three-year tenure track that pushed nearly six years. Since tenure, the last four years had been a vacation compared to those years as assistant professor of engineering.

  “How did you do on the big jousting match?” she asked.

  “I won.”

  “Of course. So you got into that play?”

  Leave it to his sister to call a major reenactment a ‘play.’ “A major role, in fact,” he said.

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Because I’m your brother. How are things with the new project?”

  “Strange,” she replied.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that whoever hacked the system is damned good.”

  “You haven’t found the culprit?” Cailean asked.

  “I probably won’t,” she said. “These hackers can be anywhere in the world. And wherever they were, they’re long gone by now.”

  “If anyone can find them, ye can.” At seventeen, his sister hacked into the IRS SQL server. She hadn’t gone to prison—but only because they hadn’t caught her. She was that good.

  “Raylon should count themselves lucky that the thieves only managed to move a hundred thousand pounds from one investment account before the system detected them,” she said.

  Cailean gave a slow whistle. “That’s a tidy sum.”

  “It is to a starving professor like yourself, maybe. To Raylon Financial Corp, it’s a vacation in Greece for the CEO.”

  “They should have hired you long ago,” Cailean said.

  “I agree. So do they. I’ve overhauled their entire security system. I’m surprised someone didn’t pick them clean years ago. When will you know for sure if you’ll stay the extra three weeks?”

  “I hope to hear from Tom tomorrow. Then I’ll decide.”

  She snorted. “You’ve already decided. You would stay there the rest of your life if they ran this festival twenty-four/seven.”

  “I am having a fantastic time.”

  “Wait a minute. Do I hear a ‘but’ in there somewhere?”

  “No, no’ really.”

  “Well, this is interesting,” she said. “Cailean the Champ seems less than ecstatic about Heatheredge, Scotland. How is that possible?”

  “It’s not,” he said. “The experience has been a smashing success. More than I hoped for.”

  “That is a recommendation,” she said. “You’ve talked about this place as long as I can remember. So why the hesitation?”

  It wasn’t exactly a hesitation, and not something he couldn’t deal with. “It’s nothing. The man who runs the Gathering—”

  “Val Ross,” she cut in.

  “No need to remind me that I talked about him so much that even ye know his name,” he chided.

  “Just sayin’,” she said.

  “Val Ross is a bit different than I expected.”

  “How?”

  “He…runs a tight ship.”

  “In other words, he’s a control freak.”

  Cailean nodded. “That sums it up.”

  “He sounds like my kind of man.”

  “He’s not,” Cailean said, and was surprised at his vehemence.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” she said. “Not that I care, but what’s your objection?”

  Good question. “He’s a hard man,” Cailean said.

  “And you’re not?”

  “Careful, lass, I’m big enough to take ye over my knee.”

  “I double-dog dare you to try.”

  He laughed. Not many men would try such a move with his sister and come out unscathed. She had a second degree black belt in Taekwondo.

  He glanced at the clock on the phone screen. 4:10 PM. “I’ve got to run, love.”

  “Can’t keep your fans waiting.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Text me when you get back to your room.”

  “I’ll call ye tomorrow,” he said. “You need a good night’s sleep.”

  “If you really stay the extra three weeks, I could come see you,” she said. “I’ll only be in Glasgow another week at the most and I don’t know when I’ll get back to Scotland.”

  “Raylon will have more problems you’ll have to deal with in Glasgow. What about their Edinburgh office?”

  “I’m setting up a network security that even I couldn’t breach and they’re putting a good man in charge. Plus, we have issues to deal with in New York that’ll keep me busy.”

  “Should I ask what those issues are?”

  “If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” she said.

  “We cannae have that. I would love to see ye, but there’s nothing techie out here, Ginny. You would go mad in two days. I could—”

  “Two days it is, then,” she said. “Call me tomorrow.”

  Before he could reply, she’d hung up. Cailean tossed the phone on the bed and shook his head. It seemed his sister was going to visit him in Heatheredge.

  *

  Cailean caught sight of Lady Morgana up ahead on the High Street, talking to a tall, dark haired man. He drew closer and recognized the stranger as the man who had boldly stared at him on his way to Heatheredge Tower last night. He read her displeasure in her profile. Cailean reached them and they both turned.

  “Cailean Ross,” the man said.

  “Do I know ye?” Cailean asked.

  “I doubt it. Constable Drummond.” He extended a hand.

  Cailean accepted and returned the firm grip. Police were a required presence at festivals, but he had the feeling there was more to Drummond’s presence than maintenance of the peace.

  “I hope everything is all right,” Cailean said.

  “Couldn’t be better.” Drummond flashed white teeth in a smile that didn’t reach his keenly intelligent eyes. “I hear you’re the Heatheredge champion this year,” he said.

  “I’ve done well,” Cailean replied.

  “Ye always do well.”

  “Cailean is good with a sword,”
Lady Morgana said. “Did you see him at the joust?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. Very impressive,” he said, though Cailean wasn’t sure if he was being sincere or patronizing.

  Not patronizing, he decided. He’d encountered competitiveness from plenty of men outside the tourney world. The pettiness manifested in overt male aggression. This man wasn’t jealous. Curious, was the word that came to mind.

  “How long do ye plan to stay?” Drummond asked.

  There was that curiosity. “Another three weeks, possibly.”

  Drummond’s brows rose. “Another three weeks. You’re quite the enthusiast. Where are you staying?”

  Cailean debated whether or not to answer. Curiosity was one thing, intrusion another. Still, he could think of no reason to withhold the answer. “Bain’s.”

  “Donnie Bain’s. His wife is a good cook.”

  “You’ve had her food?” Cailean asked, surprised.

  He laughed, a genuine laugh, this time. “She forced scones on me during our investigation four years ago. They were the best I’ve ever had.”

  Memory hit. Constable Edan Drummond headed the investigation into the disappearance of a Gathering attendee—a reenactor, in fact—four years ago. A scandal ensued when Drummond brought Val Ross in for questioning. In the world of renaissance fairs and medieval reenactors, it was equivalent to the scandal of Prince Charles and Camilla’s tampon-gate. Rumors flew that the police suspected him in the man’s murder. That the authorities never found a body eventually brought a halt to the investigation, but not to the gossip.

  An article in the Renaissance Times reported that the authorities had targeted Val Ross in an effort to prove that they were on the job. Over one hundred thousand visitors attended every Gathering. Sadly, crime couldn’t be avoided. Mainstream media painted a different picture. The authorities alleged six disappearances over the course of five Gatherings was too many, and vowed to crack down on the crimes. Drummond had agreed.

  “Tonight is the main event, if I recall,” Drummond said, “and ye have a part in the reenactment.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “Aye.” Cailean nodded. “You’ve seen the reenactment before?”

  “Every year since I was a lad of seven.”

  Just like him. And to his surprise, Cailean detected emotion behind the words. The man had some feeling for the Gathering.

  Drummond’s eyes shifted past him. “I see someone I know.” His attention swung to Lady Morgana and he smiled. “I hope to see you again, my lady.” He directed a salute to Cailean. “Take care of yourself tonight. People have gotten lost in the shadows beyond the theatre lights.” He spun and strode across the street.

  “Strange man,” Cailean said.

  “Yes,” Lady Morgana said.

  Cailean turned toward her. She looked even more beautiful than she had that morning on the jousting field. Her black velvet and gold baroque damask gown molded perfectly to her trim figure.

  “Did he bother you?” Cailean asked.

  She laughed without mirth. “It is in his nature to be bothersome.”

  “Some constables are like that.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, then smiled. “But it is a pleasure to see you.”

  “It’s nice to see you, as well,” he said. “I wanted to thank you for coming to my rescue on the jousting field.”

  She laughed. “Where are your admirers?”

  “With another knight, I pray.”

  “Have you come from visiting our swordsmith?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, surprised. “I wasnae aware ye had a swordsmith in Heatheredge.”

  “A swordsman like yourself didn’t know that we have a renowned swordsmith? I’m surprised.”

  “No more than I,” he said. “I make it a point to know all the master swordsmiths.”

  “So I thought.” She nodded to something behind him. “I asked only because the lane is just down the High Street. I thought perhaps you came from there.”

  Cailean glanced over his shoulder and spotted what looked like little more than an alley. He turned back. “That alley is a street?”

  “Not a street really. As you say, an alley. But there are several interesting shops there. One is the swordsmith’s. You might also visit Gillie’s Hardware. He has some items you might like.”

  “Such as?” he asked.

  Her mouth twitched in amusement. “Go see for yourself.” She glanced at the pub. “Now, I must go.”

  “Must you?” he asked. “Can I buy you an ale?”

  “A lady does not frequent common taverns,” she said with amusement.

  “At least tell me where you live,” he said. “I am likely staying another three weeks. I would be pleased to visit you.”

  She glanced again at the pub and he had the sudden thought that she expected someone. “I will be here in Heatheredge,” she said. “For now, settle for visiting the swordsmith.” She started to turn away. “And don’t forget Gillie’s.” She began walking down the street away from him.

  Cailean watched her for a moment, uncertain if she had brushed him off or meant to play hard to get. After the reenactment, he would find out. He turned in the opposite direction. He’d visit the swordsmith—and Gillie’s.

  He reached the lane and spotted the sign for Gillie’s extending from a building halfway up the lane. Cailean headed toward it, then slowed when two women appeared up ahead, where the lane intersected with the street. Was that—The blond woman turned slightly. Yes, Randi and her friend—what was her name?—Denise. He quickened his pace and ducked inside Gillie’s. Cailean pressed close to the door and peered through the window to the right of the door, but couldn’t see the women. Bloody hell, he and Lady Morgana had conjured them by talking about them. At least they hadn’t seen him enter this store—he hoped.

  Cailean turned and immediately understood why Lady Morgana had suggested he visit this store. Medieval axes, scythes, picks and other tools mingled with modern hammers, sandpapers, nails and the like. He halted. Was that a mouldboard plough in the far left-hand corner near an open door? Cailean crossed to the plough. Damn, if it wasn’t—and the wood looked as though it really came from the medieval era. He squatted and traced a finger along the beam to the mouldboard, which actually showed dirt stains on the cutting edge.

  He pictured a large kilted medieval farmer, massive hands on the plough, steering behind the family cow that pulled it. The mouldboard plough cut the ground, then lifted the soil to the sides of the furrow, and represented a major advancement in farming. The farmer could plough much more land in a day with this tool than the earlier version, which meant more crops for lord, as well as family.

  Cailean rose and peered through the doorway to the right of the plough. Other tools in various states of disrepair lay scattered about the room. This was probably an Employees Only area, but the door stood open, so… He entered and stopped to the right of the door where a worn battleax, at least five feet long and three bladed, leaned blade down against the wall. He hadn’t seen a battleax like this anywhere but museums. With two blades on one side and a third on the opposite side, the weapon was lethal.

  How would that battleax differ from modern ones? Cailean grinned. He grasped the end of the handle and lifted. Light as a feather. He gripped it with both hands and slashed through the air. The audible whoosh sent a bolt of excitement through him. He spun, swinging the ax in a wide arc that would have sliced an opponent within seven feet of him.

  He stood the ax on its handle and rubbed a thumb across the blade, surprised at the sharp edge. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the blade had been used recently. Leave it to Heatheredge to make sure their weapons struck fear into the hearts of observers. Cailean carefully returned the ax to its place against the wall, then perused the room. So many wonderful weapons and tools. He would have to come back when he had time to examine each one. Spears and polearms leaned against a corner in a group of two dozen or more weapons. Like the battleax, their blades
weren’t blunted. His attention snagged on a long branch stripped of bark and sanded smooth, half hidden behind the weapons. Symbols had been burned and painted into the wood. A large red crystal had been lashed to the top of the staff with leather thongs.

  Cailean stared, unable to believe what he was seeing. This was a magical staff, a wizard’s staff. He crossed to the corner and shifted aside the polearms and spears, then pulled it from among the weapons. The natural heft of the wood sent a thrill through him. His fingers fit around the worn wood as if made for him. He examined the strange markings, but had no idea what they meant. He trailed his gaze upward to the crystal and brought it closer. No doubt about it, the translucent red stone was a ruby the size of a woman’s fist. Cailean rubbed a thumb across the edges where the rock had been cut away from a larger whole. Although smoothed from time, the angled edges were still distinct. The stone hadn’t been polished in a rock tumbler, which gave the crystal an ancient and beautiful look.

  Might the owner of the shop sell him the staff? Why not? It sat hidden behind weapons.

  “Who the devil are ye?”

  Cailean whirled, the staff in hand. A short man built like a rugby player strode toward him. He reached Cailean’s side and took the staff from him.

  “Ye may not believe in things like privacy where you come from, but here we respect a man’s belongings.” He leaned the staff back with the polearms and spears.

  “The door was open,” Cailean said. “I didnae know this room was off limits to customers.” Not a total lie. He had suspected…

  “Now ye know.”

  Cailean nodded. “Ye wouldn’t, by chance, be willing to sell the staff?”

  The man folded his arms across his broad chest. “Nae.”

  “It’s a handsome piece,” Cailean said. “I would be willing to pay what it’s worth.”

  Derision washed across the man’s face. “Ye think money can pay what this is worth?”

  Apparently not. “The staff has sentimental value?” he asked.

  “Aye.”

  Cailean nodded. “I understand. Forgive the intrusion.”

  He strode from the room and out onto the lane. Too bad Lady Morgana hadn’t warned him that the storekeeper was a cantankerous sort.