Page 35 of Edge of Yesterday

“A week ago.”

That long and they hadn’t heard of his arrival? “Do you have family there?”

“I came for the games.”

She paused and looked at him. “The trials of strength? When the local chiefs call the clansmen together to choose their greatest warriors?”

He gave a slow nod. “Aye.”

“The ‘games’ as you call them, are no’ for three more months.”

“Is that so?” He took another drink of cider.

“It is.” Julianna noticed a decided sway in his body. Good. He would sleep well tonight. He needed the rest. She returned to the bench, carrying the plate of wet rags and a few more dry strips of cloth. When she reached for her special leather-wrapped flask, he snapped to attention.

“Tell me you found some whisky.” He gave her another lopsided grin.

To her shock, her pulse beat faster. She yanked her gaze onto the flask. “Nae. This is better.” Julianna set the plate of rags on the bench, uncorked the flask, then carefully tipped it over the biggest cut on his left arm and allowed only a few drops to trickle onto the wound. “‘Tis healing water from my pocan cheann. It’s one of my greatest treasures, given to me by the Beatons when—”

“Your what?”

“Pocan cheann. Do ye no’ speak the Gaelic? It means ‘bag of heads’—a medicinal bag that holds three heads. An adder’s, a toad’s, and a newt’s.”

“You have a bag of animal heads?”

“A healing bag, aye.” She nodded toward the corner. “‘Tis kept there, in the cupboard. It is a leather pouch healers dip into burns that run between two properties. Boundary streams, see you?” He nodded as she sprinkled drops of the water on the other two cuts on his left arm. “As the Beatons teach, the pocan is plunged into and then lifted from the burn,” she went on. “The powers are in the water that runs off the bag.”

“I see.”

Julianna looked up to find him staring in obvious delight. She gave him a narrow-eyed glare, but couldn’t halt the small smile that slipped past her annoyance. “I see that you are a rogue, sir. Nae bother.” She finished the cut on his right arm, recorked the flask, then set it on the floor and reached for the sphagnum moss. “All you need worry about is that the charmed water from my flask will speed the healing of your wounds.”

“As you say, my lady. And the moss will make a good poultice.”

“That it will.” She set about patting the moss onto his cuts, then wrapped the rags boiled in the herbs around his arm, and bound the wound with the dry cloths.

When she’d finished, she stood and brushed down her skirts. “Can ye rise?”

He pulled his shirt on, buttoned two buttons, then slowly pushed to his feet. Julianna kept her gaze locked with his, lifting her head as he stood at full height. She suppressed an urge to laugh when he grinned as if proud of himself.

Julianna shook her head. “Ye need rest. Lie down for a while.”

He glanced at the narrow, plaid-covered bed in the corner, then started to turn that direction.

“Wait.” She grasped his sword belt and began unbuckling it. To her horror her knuckles brushed the flesh of his belly.

He stilled. “If ye wanted to play, lass, all you had to do was ask.”

The teasing note in his voice emphasized his soft burr and she startled at the butterflies that skittered across the insides of her stomach. This isn’t the first time she’d seen a man in a state of undress, though it was the first time she’d seen a man like him in a state of undress. Julianna unhooked the buckle from the loop, then released a silent sigh of relief when she grasped the sheathed sword and stepped away from his disturbing closeness.

“If you would like to take my kilt, as well, ye are welcome to it.” He winked.

“You will do well to remember who ye are speaking to,” Gregory said in a mild tone. “Lady Julianna isnae some maidservant to be tumbled.”

Julianna wasn’t fooled by the lack of heat in Gregory’s voice. Her cousinseldom displayed much anger—until he leapt into action.

“Never mind, Gregory,” she said. “He is drunk.”

Cailean laughed. “No’ by half, lass, but Gregory is right. Forgive me, Lady Julianna. Now, how about more of that cider? It’s dulling the pain, and I’m beginning to grow accustomed to the taste.”

Julianna started to deny the request, then realized it would be safer if he passed out. That would keep him abed until late morning, maybe even early afternoon. “Aye, if you like. Rest now, while I fetch the cider.”

He started toward the bed—a little crookedly, she noticed with amusement—then her gaze snagged on his broad shoulders. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the beautiful sight. The man was magnificent. From the corner of her eye, she caught Gregory watching her and she turned and set the sword and buckle on the bench, then picked up his cup. Cailean made it to the bed as she reached the shelf. He practically fell onto the small heather-stuffed mattress. She filled the cup halfway, then walked over to him. He propped up on one elbow, took the cup she extended toward him, and gulped the cider.

“Cailean.” Julianna reached for the cup, but he’d finished in a flourish then thrust the cup toward her. She took it and he flopped onto his back. “You will regret that in the morning,” she said.

He chuckled. “The cider is the least of my regrets.”

That, she thought, was easy to say while he enjoyed the pleasant effects of the liquor. He wouldn’t agree tomorrow morning. She got an extra plaid from a small chest at the foot of the bed and lay it over him.

He looked up at her, eyes unfocused. Her shoulders relaxed a bit. When Lennox arrived home, they would decide what to do with him. Perhaps they might learn something of him in Heatheredge. She turned and started toward the table.

“Julianna.”

She stopped and looked back.

“Tomorrow we shall talk.”

Julianna found herself unable to move. Just what did he want to speak to her about?