Edge of Yesterday (Edge Series Book 1)

by Tarah Scott

  “Are ye hungry, my lady? I have some fresh-baked oatcakes and a new round of goat’s cheese.” Barbara swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  “Barbara, if you rise from that bed I will punish ye,” Julianna said.

  The young woman’s head snapped up, then her face lit in response to Julianna’s smile. “You have a good heart, lady. But I was only going to stretch my legs. I have been abed all day.”

  “Ah…of course.” Julianna nodded. “I imagine ye are a bit stiff.”

  Barbara straightened, pressed a hand to her lower back. “I’m no’ used to no’ rushing about all day.”

  “Then Cailean and I will go.” Julianna glanced at him. “You need your rest.”

  “Nae, my lady.” The young mother shook her head. “Ye need no’ leave just yet.”

  “Aye, well…” Julianna considered, then smiled gently. “Will ye sit at the table with us and have some wine?”

  Barbara nodded and Julianna picked up the plaid folded at the foot of the bed and wrapped it around the girl’s shoulders. Julianna took the chair farthest away and sat as the girl made her way the few steps to the table. Once they’d settled, Lucy fetched more cups and Julianna poured wine for everyone.

  An hour later, Julianna noticed the tired look in Barbara’s eyes and told her that Lennox awaited them in the village. “I promise to visit again soon.” Julianna stood.

  Barbara nodded and allowed Julianna to help her back into the recess bed. Julianna pulled the covers up to her chin and said, “Now sleep. Ye know that babe will awake soon, ready to eat again.”

  Barbara’s eyes closed before she and Cailean reached the door.

  They walked in silence for several minutes before Cailean tipped back his head and stared up at the clear, rain-washed sky. “You are well loved by your father’s tenants, aren’t ye?” He brought his eyes to her face.

  She shrugged. “They seem to like me.”

  “It is more than that.” Something in his expression warmed her. “You care about them,” he said. “Deeply.”

  “They are good people.” She tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “They work hard and are honest—most are, leastwise,” she added with a laugh. “And how could one not love a beautiful new baby?”

  *

  Cailean was half sorry when the clang of the blacksmith’s anvil, the neighing of horses and other sounds of the village faded as they rode into Reay Forest. Mist curled through the trees and a thick bed of pine needles dampened the clop-clop of the horse’s hooves along the path that led to the monastery.

  He wasn’t sure he liked these woods. He couldn’t exactly say why, but to coin an old phrase, the place ‘gave him the willies.’ He loved the great Caledonian pines, but not a single bird sang amongst the trees. The complete silence amplified a rustling in the undergrowth that felt unnatural. He didn’t care for the shadows. either. Too many places for broken men and bandits to lay in wait for ‘well-pursed’ and unsuspecting travelers.

  His companions, however, seemed perfectly-at-ease. The medieval, unlike him, belonged here. Julianna rode beside him with Lennox close on her right. The guards followed close behind. He knew each would give their lives to protect her—if needed. Despite his misgivings, all remained calm.

  They’d ridden for half an hour before Julianna leaned close, catching his eye. “It is possible Father Andrew willnae be at Reay Abbey.”

  “Aye,” Lennox agreed. “But there is just as good a chance that he will be.”

  “Do ye think he knows your friend Valdar Ross?” Julianna kept her attention on Cailean.

  He shook his head. “Nae.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Then why do you want to see him?”

  “I am curious why and how he got Heatheredge to atone for their wrong toward Lady Elizabeth.”

  “Did ye know her?” Julianna waited, her face so innocent, as if she truly believed he might have met the woman.

  In his life, Lady Elizabeth had been long dead. Just like Julianna, her family and friends. Cailean thought of Lady Morgana, the modern Englishwoman who’d played the part of Lady Elizabeth. “Nae. I never met her.”

  “If ye wanted to know what happened with Father Andrew, ye could have asked Lennox,” Julianna said. “He was there.”

  Cailean shifted his gaze past Julianna to Lennox. “Is that true?”

  Lennox shot his sister a dark glance. Cailean knew that look. A brother peeved with his sister. Sorrow sliced his chest as Ginny’s face flashed across his mind. By now, she would be worried sick about him. When he returned home, how would he explain his disappearance?

  “Aye,” Lennox was saying, “I was there.”

  Cailean looked sharply at him. “Why didn’t ye tell me?”

  Lennox shrugged, his gaze forward. “It isnae my story ye are interested in, but Father Andrew’s.”

  More like Lennox was waiting to see what Cailean asked Father Andrew. “I’d like to know more.” Cailean pressed. “Will ye tell me what happened?”

  “If ye like. Father Andrew arrived in Heatheredge and asked to speak with the leaders. Of course, my father was included in the meeting and he brought me along. I was twenty-two years old.”

  “How long ago was this?” Cailean asked.

  “Just over eight years ago,” Julianna replied.

  “He didnae come to Heatheredge two or three years after the slaughter?”

  Lennox shook his head. “Heatheredge lay in ruins. There were rumors about what had happed to Lady Elizabeth, but people were so angry, if they had known where to find her, they likely would have killed her. Our father spent many years helping to rebuild the town. He kept very little profit in those early years and gave much back to the people for their own use as so many homes were burned. If no’ for him, it is likely Heatheredge would no’ exist. Father Andrew told the leaders that he’d been with Elizabeth when she died.”

  Shock punched into Cailean. “Did he say she died in childbirth?”

  Lennox shook his head. “Nae. He said she died as a result of the abuse. After the attack on Heatheredge, we suffered nearly fifteen years of dry summers and cold winters. Crops failed, rivers turned to dust, and livestock starved—as did many villagers. Father Andrew said we were no better than the Rosses who had attacked us, and God was punishing us.”

  “And everyone bought that,” Cailean said more to himself than to Lennox.

  “No’ everyone. My father didnae believe him, but he knew many other leaders did. Most important, many tenants accepted everything the priest claimed. Father saw that the people needed something to cling to, even if it meant thinking they had sinned. At least then they would have hope that things would get better. If God forgave them, the town would be washed clean of all stains. Father Andrew conducted mass. Now, every four years, he says a special mass to commemorate our redemption and we renew our vow to never commit such an atrocity again, no matter what crimes are done against us.”

  “Did conditions improve?” Cailean felt sure they had. Mother Nature was neither good nor bad. Some years were hard, others easy. The ever-turning wheel of the natural world.

  “Look around.” Lennox nodded. “You see pines just now, but they shelter creatures who didn’t survive here when Heatheredge was soot and ash. The animals have returned and they provide food, leather, furs and more. You have seen the wealth in Heatheredge, its great castle. Reay Village bustles, the Monk’s Elbow Tavern and the Sleepy Abbot Inn are always busy. Soon you will see the outskirts of the abbey lands, their neatly-tended fields and orchards.” Lennox’s voice deepened, taking on an undertone of pride. “Reay Abbey is the gem of this region. We are blessed to have them. So, you see, in truth, we have been more prosperous since Father Andrew said that first mass than any time in my father’s life.”

  “But people disappear.”

  “Three,” Lennox agreed.

  “Aunt Agnes disappeared four years ago,” Julianna said.

  “The disappearances coincide with the mass?” Prickles lif
ted the hairs on his nape.

  “In the month of April.” Julianna swatted a fallen pine needle from her hair. “But not the same day. Agnes disappeared the last day of April.”

  Within the time period the festival took place in twenty-first century Scotland, Cailean thought, and didn’t like the implications.

  “You seem troubled.” Julianna pinned him with a stare.

  “Do ye no’ find it disturbing that people disappear?”

  “Of course, but I was referring to the account of Father Andrew.”

  He shook his head. “Nae. It’s clear you have prospered. Perhaps Father Andrew was right. Maybe forgiveness was the answer.”

  “Or mayhap people simply needed something to believe in, and by the sweat of their brow they changed their lives,” Lennox said.

  Cailean nodded. “Hard work is never a mistake.” He would like to think that was all there was to it. But something picked at the back of his brain like the drip, drip, drip of a leaky water faucet.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cailean forgot about dripping faucets when the path took a sharp curve and before them a humpbacked stone bridge crossed a rushing, white-water stream. It was the sort of bridge he’d more likely see in the English Cotswolds than here in the wilds of his beloved Highlands.

  “The monastery is near?” he asked.

  “Aye.” Julianna beamed. “That is Reay burn and its bridge. The monks built it because the water often busts its banks when we have a particularly wet spring.”

  “The burn also feeds into the abbey’s fishpond,” Lennox added as they clattered over the bridge, “and runs their mill.”

  Cailean looked around, excited despite himself. A medieval abbey, for Christ’s sake. He wasn’t sure he could disguise his eagerness. Especially now, with the tall monastic walls becoming visible through the trees despite the rising mist. Nearly as stout and imposing as any castle’s curtain walls, this outermost boundary of the monastery even boasted a huge, well-barred gate, that stood open in welcome.

  Beyond the gate, thick-walled stone buildings stood visible. All were large, low-slung structures with fine slate roofs, sturdy chimneys, whitewashed walls, and arch-topped windows with shutters open to the afternoon air. Cailean’s pulse quickened. Likely there were also a brewhouse, workshops and lodgings for the gardening-monks, herbalists, and physicians, along with an infirmary. The place to heal the sick and injured would be near the medicinal herb and kitchen gardens.

  Sure enough, the moment they’d passed through the gate, the muddied path gave way to several broad pebbled pathways, each carefully raked. Lennox led them through a garden into the enormous orchard. They rode past row upon row of apple, pear, and plum trees. He would guess the monastery covered at least two hundred acres. At last, the fruit trees thinned and they entered a huge walled garden. Cailean stared in awe at the expanse of raised flower and herb beds. At the far end of the garden, the raked pebble path encircled a picturesque well bounded by low stone benches.

  As they neared the well, Cailean caught sight of a stout standing stone located on the left, probably a relic of more ancient times here on this hallowed ground. Runic markings and other symbols he couldn’t make out due to the thickening fog were chiseled into the pillar of stone. A carving near the top, just above the gathering mist, came into view. Cailean started, uncertain for an instant if he was seeing right. But staring at a carving of the crow’s talon Val Ross wore was no stranger than him being in fourteenth century Scotland. At least he now understood where the talon originated. Val Ross probably knew of the design and had incorporated it into the Gathering celebration.

  “‘Tis their sanctuary stone.” Lennox’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Anyone able to reach it is guaranteed protection from their pursuing foe,” he said.

  Cailean’s attention drifted to the garden wall and lit on a protrusion of lighter colored stone. The object was half-hidden by vines and he squinted in an effort to discern the odd, misshapen stone. Cailean almost choked.

  It was a sheela-na-gig!

  He cleared his throat to hide a laugh. He’d only seen a few such beauties for they were rare, usually hidden in corners and walls of chapel ruins throughout Ireland and Scotland. But this crudely carved image of a naked woman gripping her thighs, legs wide for all to see her most private parts, looked new. With her oversized head and bulbous eyes, she reminded him of an ‘alien,’ or perhaps Gollum from Lord of the Rings. The Sheela-na-gigs he’d seen in the twenty-first century had been barely discernible carved statuettes, their purpose unknown. The detail of the visible portion was astonishing. What would Julianna do if he halted his horse and went over for a closer look? He fought a smile. No wonder priests were so debauched.

  “There is Father Andrew,” Julianna called out.

  Cailean yanked his gaze from the Sheela and looked along Julianna’s pointing hand to a small group of cowl-robed men standing before a large herb bed. They directed several kilted lads who pricked seed holes in the newly turned earth.

  The largest of the men had his back to them. His dark robe strained across impossibly broad shoulders. The broadsword he wore looked so at home strapped to his side that Cailean had to resist an urge to lay his hand on his own sword hilt. Something about the monk prompted a vague memory. The monk then turned in profile and Cailean drew a sharp breath.

  Julianna’s head snapped in his direction. “What is it?”

  Cailean couldn’t tear his eyes from the man. The monk was a twin to Val’s companion, Lord Rathais, and, like Crowe was to Val, he was at least twenty years younger than Rathais.

  “Cailean,” Julianna’s voice penetrated his stupor.

  Cailean forced his mind to focus. “I…He looks like someone I know.”

  “Who?” Lennox demanded.

  Cailean shook his head. “Someone I met in passing years ago. I didnae know him well.”

  Lennox’s gaze sharpened. “Then why are ye so startled?”

  “The likeness is uncanny.” Cailean leaned slightly forward and squinted as if to get a better look at Rathais’ doppelganger.

  “Maybe ye met Father Andrew before he became a priest,” Julianna said. “He was a warrior for many years before he became a man of God.”

  “He’s Father Andrew?” Cailean demanded.

  Julianna nodded, her brow furrowed in worry.

  Father Andrew looked up and his face lit with pleasure. He said something to the men with him, then strode toward them. Cailean decided the man was just as imposing a priest as he was a pretend warlord. Even the eight inch pectoral wood cross that bounced off his massive chest added to his dangerous look.

  They reached each other and Cailean noted two other chains around his neck, one silver and the other gold. How many medieval priests owned gold? Weren’t priests supposed to cast off all earthly valuables?

  Lennox dismounted and Cailean followed suit. Lennox reached his sister’s horse before Cailean, but she was already stepping onto the ground.

  “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 no
dded. “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.