Page 111 of Edge of Yesterday

Guilt stabbed. “I am, of course. I am just surprised. Is all well at Reay?”

He smiled gently. “Aye.” He kissed her forehead. “Now, lass, sit beside your mother.”

Julianna gave him a weak smile and took her seat as he sat back down.

“Cook tells me ye made the shortbread.” Her mother looked at her. “You could have overseen the task. It is not your place to stand before a bake oven.”

Julianna face warmed. Then you should not have allowed me to spend so much time in the kitchens as a wee lass. Cook taught me to make shortbread to keep me from getting in everyone’s way—as you well know.

She smoothed a wrinkle in the table linen. “Cook favors the shortbread—the way I make it.”

“So does Lord Sutherland.”

“Then I am glad I made it.” Julianna caught the nobleman’s eye at the nearest table and smiled at him.

“You have made a good impression,” her mother spoke low so no one else heard.

Julianna nodded, but said nothing.

Her father stood and, after three beats, the room quieted. “Lady Ravenstone and I are pleased to welcome ye tonight.” His gaze shifted to Julianna and a gentle smile spread across his face. Her heart began to pound.

“We are here to” –A tremor rocked her. Nae!– “celebrate our daughter’s marriage to Sir Cailean Ross.”

Julianna snapped her gaze onto her mother. She stared at Julianna amidst the shouts of congratulations. Her head spun. They knew. How? Lennox. He had to have told their mother. What did Cailean think? She had assured him that her father would annul the marriage. Her head spun faster and she feared she would swoon. She groped for her wine. Strong fingers grasped her hand and she stilled as Cailean picked up her wine goblet and set it in front of her. Julianna lifted the goblet and gulped the wine. Their guests’ jubilation died down and Julianna caught the hard stare Lord Sinclair directed her way.

The earl stood, his voice carrying in the great vaulted space. “Lord Ravenstone, ye know we are pleased for you and will welcome another member to your family. But we must ask why your daughter married a Ross.”

“I would know, too.” Lord Sutherland stood, his good humor replaced with a downward turn of his mouth. “Rosses are no’ welcome in these parts.”

“Sir Cailean’s mother is a Mackay.” Her father’s tone matched the challenge in their voices.

The men exchanged looks. Throughout the hall, everyone sat frozen as if straining to catch every word, to see each expected glare. Julianna half expected one of the men to overturn his table. The stillness thickened until it became a living thing.

Sinclair broke the silence. “Good sir, we havenae had a Ross in Heatheredge since James Ross attacked us.”

Her father nodded. “Would ye no’ say it is time we put the past behind us? This Ross has pledged his sword to our house.”

Juliana felt her jaw slip. Cailean had given his oath to House Ravenstone? Her father wouldn’t lie about such a serious matter. Anger began to bubble in her belly.

She cast a covert glance at Cailean. His attention remained on Lord Sinclair.

She leaned toward her mother and whispered. “It seems my family has everything planned.”

Her mother tore a piece of bread, placed it in her mouth, and swallowed it down with wine. “We only do what any family would do by supporting your decision.”

Julianna fought to control her fury. If any of the ladies realized her discomfiture, by tomorrow morning, gossip would pour from the mouths of every highborn lady within ten miles of Raghnall. “I meant to tell ye everything,” she replied, “but you were too busy.”

Her mother smiled at a boy who stopped at their table with another pitcher of ale, then said, “Making preparations for your wedding feast.”

The truth hit her. “Ye mean I spent the day baking shortbread for my own nuptial celebration?”

“Strange, is it no’?”

Julianna had always known her mother had a flair for the dramatic and would go to great lengths to make her point. Once, at age thirteen, Julianna informed her mother that she was capable of taking care of herself. Her mother put her in charge of running Raghnall for a week. A sennight—seven full days of misery—as she’d hastened about making certain that every imaginable task had been completed. She checked the stores constantly, ensuring the household had adequate supplies, and watched the ledgers to assure they had enough coin for the expensive wax, sugar, and imported spices. She’d been shocked to learn the sheer quantity of wax, tallow, and oil Raghnall consumed in a week. She hadn’t expected to need to know the myriad duties of every servant employed within Raghnall and without the castle’s walls, including those on her father’s lands.

She’d thought her head would burst from having to organize the instruction of young girls in everything from how to dress, proper behavior, how to entertain through singing and dancing, and even table manners. Worse had been her embarrassment at not knowing the names of the garrison men’s knightly gear and yet having to inspect each piece to see whether it was properly maintained or in need of replacement. And so much more!

She’d always thought her mother just ordered others about, or sat at her loom weaving tapestries. How wrong she’d been. And how quickly she’d learned respect—for her mother, and any woman acting as chatelaine of a stronghold, large or small.