Page 134 of Edge of Yesterday

“With Father Phillip’s chronicle of the attack on Heatheredge.”

“I have never read it.”

Before Cailean could start toward the books, Julianna hurried forward and pulled the book from its place on the shelf. She brought it to the table where they’d sat the first time they’d visited and Cailean fetched two candles from the table where Father Symon had been working. The three of them sat down and Cailean began to reread the account as Lennox read over his arm.

When Cailean read the passage, I was surprised that a healer wore a sword, but he did, along with a Viking-style battle ax and a long dagger made in the style of a massive two-handed sword, he paused, covertly observing Lennox.

Lennox’s brow furrowed and he muttered, “By God,” then looked at Cailean. “Did ye read this?”

He nodded. “Aye.”

Lennox’s eyes shifted back to the book and he read the passage aloud.” He again looked at Cailean. “This sounds like the dagger Crowe carried the other night.” His head snapped in Julianna’s direction. “The dagger ye pricked your finger on.”

“The dagger he was using the night I saw him in the woods,” she replied.

Lennox frowned. “Last night, after he left, ye mentioned the similarities in the dagger and this account.” Before she could respond, he went on. “Crowe said it was his father’s blade. Is it possible Valdar Ross is Crowe’s father?” Lennox shifted his gaze onto Cailean’s gaze. Suspicion glinted in his eyes. “Ye spoke of a friend, Val Ross.”

Cailean was taken aback. He had forgotten that. Bloody hell, it hadn’t occurred to him that Lennox would make a connection between Valdar Ross and his mention of Val.

“Ye know Valdar Ross,” Lennox said.

Cailean shook his head. “Nae. I have never met Valdar Ross.” Not a complete lie.

Lennox’s mouth thinned. “Val is no’ a common name.”

“Not terribly so,” Cailean agreed.

“Are ye sure your Val isn’t Valdar Ross?”

Cailean hesitated as if the thought had never occurred to him. “That isn’t what he called himself.” At least not in twenty-first century Heatheredge.

“Does he carry a dagger like this one?” He tapped the book.

“They sound similar, but I cannae be sure,” Cailean replied.

“I do no’ like this,” Lennox said.

Cailean nodded. “Neither do I.”

Lennox stared for three heartbeats, then returned his attention to the book. He finished reading and closed it. “Other than the dagger, there is nothing here that tells us more than we already know. Let us see if that cursing bone is still here.”

The cursing bone sat in its place and Cailean felt certain it hadn’t been moved. At least Crowe had no idea they were onto him. They searched the remainder of the shelves but found only books, scrolls, parchments, and writing paraphernalia. Why had Crowe left the cursing bone in the scriptorium? Why only the cursing bone? Didn’t he fear Father Symon finding the bone? Was the priest a member of the secret society? No. Otherwise, he never would have left them alone. Had Crowe hidden the cursing bone there only temporarily? Maybe he hadn’t had time to stash it in a better hiding place. Where would that be? Cailean scanned the room.

He turned to Lennox and Julianna. “Is there a secret passageway anywhere in this room?”

“A secret passageway that leads to the priests’ quarters, mayhap?” Lennox glanced about.

Cailean grunted. “I can see one leading to Father Andrew’s quarters.”

“Lennox,” Julianna said in a recriminating voice, as her brother began to feel along the wall, then she frowned. “Father Andrew does seem to have championed Crowe.”

Emotion rammed through Cailean. Where was he going to find a woman like her in his world?

Nowhere. And that truth gutted him. Pushing that pain aside, he flattened his hands on a section of ancient stone wall and felt for any odd protuberance or depression, something that might release a hidden door. He scanned the whitewashed wall for any telltale seam of an opening. His gaze caught on an untidy stack of parchments on a nearby shelf. All other books, scrolls and parchments were aligned with the precision of foot soldiers. The small tapestry he’d noticed three days ago hung to the left of the shelf. He’d admired the colorful woodland grove filled with fanciful animals. But this time his attention fixed on the crows perched among the trees. His blood chilled. The damn birds also filled the sky and the ground, clearly making the wood their own.

“Of course,” he murmured.

Julianna paused and looked at him. “What is it?”