Page 128 of Edge of Yesterday

The boy arrived with the cider and wine and the men sat down as he placed mugs and pitchers on the table. Another lad hurried after him, carrying two large jugs of ale.

Julianna studied Cailean’s expression but could glean nothing. Lennox, too, remained blank. She wanted to scream, but smiled and offered the men food.

“We have excellent mutton stew, and I am sure oven-warmed loaves can still be had from our kitchens.” She looked between the sheriff and Crowe and the two guards who accompanied them. “Ye are welcome to anything you wish.”

“No thank ye, my lady.” The sheriff accepted a wine cup from her father. “We dined earlier.”

Of that Julianna was sure. They dined while conspiring about whatever it was that brought them here. Crowe’s elbow brushed the hilt of his dagger. Julianna fixed on the ornate hilt. Something niggled just out of the reach of memory.

A long dagger made in the fashion of a massive two-handed sword.

Where had the thought come from?

Then she remembered. Father Phillip’s account of the attack on Heatheredge.

Cailean said he’d seen a dagger like that and she’d told him the design was unusual but not unheard of. Still, how strange was it that Father Phillip described Valdar Ross as carrying one, Cailean had seen one, and Crowe had one?

“Julianna.”

Julianna jarred from her thoughts at the sound of Cailean’s voice. Everyone stared at her.

“Are ye all right?” Cailean said in a sharp tone no longer ale-slurred.

“Aye,” she said, but her gaze again locked onto the dagger.

“Ye seem interested in my dagger, my lady,” Crowe said.

Julianna lifted her gaze to his face. She knew she should smile and say she hadn’t even noticed the dagger. Instead, she said, “It is unusual.”

He nodded. “It belonged to my father.”

He grasped the hilt and Cailean and Lennox tensed beside her.

“Dinnae fash yourselves, lads.” Crowe glanced from Lennox to Cailean. “I only intend to let Lady Julianna examine the blade.” He slowly pulled it, still sheathed in its scabbard, from his belt, then laid it on the table and pushed it toward her.

She picked it up, aware that Cailean and Lennox stared with disapproval. To her surprise, the blade was lighter than she anticipated. The hilt felt oddly comfortable in her hand. She grasped the ornate scabbard and withdrew the blade. The steel gleamed in the torchlight. It was a magnificent dagger. She set the scabbard down and rubbed her thumb on the edge. Her finger pricked.

“My lady.” Crowe stood.

A pinprick of blood welled on her thumb.

She looked up at him. He stared, expression abashed.

“I am sorry,” Crowe said.

The words sounded as if they’d been spoken far away. She gave her head a small shake and realized warm fingers had covered hers. Cailean gently pried the dagger from her grasp.

“I am glad I didnae let ye use your knife when you changed my bandage the other night,” he said.

She blinked, then realized what he’d said. Heat filled her cheeks. She knew well how to use a knife, and pricking her finger was a mistake she hadn’t made since she’d been eleven years old.

“It is my fault,” Crowe said. “The blade is very sharp. I should no’ have allowed ye to touch it.”

“Nae,” she said. “It was foolish on my part. I know better.”

Cailean wiped the blade on his sash and a tiny smear of red marred the pale green in the weave. He picked up the scabbard, slammed the knife inside, then flipped it in the air, caught it by the blade end and extended the hilt toward Crowe.

Crowe slid the sheathed knife blade first into his belt.