Page 37 of Edge of Yesterday

Two years had passed since Julianna’s husband died and she expected to enjoy the same privileges and freedoms of any young widow. But her mother had other plans. Sir Lawren was twenty years younger than Julianna’s deceased husband and he had never married. A man such as him wanted a wife who appeared pure. None of this would be an issue if Julianna had given her husband a son. If she had, her husband’s lands would have gone to the lad—which meant their family—and not to the brother who inherited the title and land.

“Our meeting shall be our secret,” Sir Lawren said. Julianna suppressed the urge to correct him—this was no meeting—and gave a nod of acknowledgement when he added, “But I must insist you return to your bedchambers now.”

He stepped aside in an unspoken command for her to precede him, and Julianna realized she was glimpsing what life would be like with this man. Not so different from her husband, in truth. What cruel fate had prevented her from giving Walter a son? That would have allowed her to remain a widow. If only things were as simple as her wanting to keep her freedom.

Sir Lawren waited, and Julianna started up the stairs. He followed while she prayed he didn’t notice anything amiss with her dress. When they stopped in front of her room, Julianna kept her left side angled toward the door.

“Thank you,” she said, and pushed open the door.

He grasped her arm. “We are alone, my lady.”

He pulled her close and she resisted the urge to push him away. The woman who had kissed him yesterday had been eager, encouraging, even. This was not the time to tell him that only moments ago her desire had cooled.

He pressed his mouth against hers, then boldly thrust his tongue between her lips. Yesterday, his kiss had thrilled her. His willingness to brave her mother’s anger should she learn of their encounter had made her feel almost wicked. Something she’d never felt with Walter. Walter had cared for her, but his passion hadn’t been that of a young man. The possibility of passion—of children—had excited her. Now, she felt little more than she had in Walter’s arms.

Lawren’s hold tightened and Julianna relaxed in his embrace. She was being unfair. His dominance was no more than any other man’s, and less than many. He would protect her, care for her, and provide for her and their children—if there were any. He released her and she dropped her gaze for fear he would read the disappointment that made her want to weep. Perhaps tomorrow she would feel different.

“Thank you, sir,” she murmured. To her relief, he didn’t stop her when she entered her room.

~*~

Cailean opened his eyes. Then grimaced at the fierce spike of pain that pounded in his head. What had happened? Whatever it was, he needed to sleep it off. The murmur of a voice penetrated the haze, but he couldn’t discern the speaker or their location. Slowly, his surroundings came into better focus and he realized he lay on a bed in a modest room. Nae. A cottage, he amended when he caught sight of the low-burning cookfire in the middle of the room. A very old cottage, if the thud in his head wasn’t distorting his vision. He shifted and his left arm grumbled with pain. Cailean turned his gaze to the arm and frowned. A bandage was wrapped above his elbow. A second bandage covered the cut on his right arm.

“This is your doing,” a man said.

The voice came from the shadows.

“He saved me,” a woman said as he shifted attention in her direction. She sat with a man at a small table located against the wall a few feet from the head of his bed. “Unless our mother taught you differently than me, we do no’ leave behind men who have given us aid,” she said.

Julianna. Last night, her soft fair hair had come free of its tie in unruly ringlets. Today, however, she looked every inch the lady she portrayed with her hair nestled against the back of her neck inside a pearl-studded netting.

“Our mother didnae intend for us to become fugitives,” the man said.

Julianna sniffed. “You are being difficult. We are no’ fugitives.”

“A dozen men chased us last night.”

“Chased me,” she corrected. “And, as I told you, they have no idea who spied on them.”

“Crowe doesnae know who ye are only because we killed the men who caught you.” She opened her mouth to reply, but he shook his head. “Ye are no’ to leave Raghnall alone like that again, Julianna,” he said, and Cailean placed the voice. Lennox, Julianna’s brother.

“Lennox—” she began.

“Nae,” he cut in. “I dinnae care if you see the devil leading his entire bloody army, you are to shut yourself up in your room.”

“We now know that Crowe is up to no good,” she said.

“We knew that before last night. You could have been killed, and for nothing.”

“But—”

“Did you recognize any of the men?” Lennox demanded.

“You know I did not.”

“Then it doesnae matter if they were calling Beelzebub from the underworld. We can do nothing. We killed at least four men to protect you. The sheriff will come looking for their murderers and Crowe will be one step ahead of him.”

“Who is going to tell them it was us?” She didn’t sound concerned. “You? Me? Gregory? The dead men?”