Page 38 of Edge of Yesterday

“They know the spy is a woman—and, please,” he held up a hand, palm out, when she opened her mouth to reply, “do not argue that he cannae know who you are from among the two hundred women in Heatheredge. You know as well as I that he can whittle it down to a quarter of that, and it will take little more to figure out you were there.”

She shrugged. “In time, perhaps. But so long as we go about our business as usual, he will do nothing.”

“Julianna,” he said in a gentler voice, “he doesnae have to know. Suspicion alone is enough for him to drag you away in the dark of night and bury your body where we will never find you—and the fact he wants to marry you will no’ stop him.” He shook his head. “Christ, I dinnae want to think about what might have happened had ye not found me at Alan’s home.”

She released a sigh. “I know. But before we condemn Cailean, let us be sure we are no’ doing him the same injustice that Crowe would do us.”

Cailean pushed up on his arm. “Who is Crowe?”

Her eyes swung onto him and Lennox shifted to look at him.

Julianna arched a brow. “It seems our guest is awake.”

Cailean grinned. His throbbing head flared. “That cider is dangerous,” he muttered. “Who wounded me?” He should be angry, but the haze that blanketed his brain was evaporating only slowly, and he couldn’t muster any real fury. Later, he told himself. When you’re able to think straight.

“Your attacker didnae give his name,” Lennox said.

Julianna rose. “Now that you are awake, I will look at the wound.”

“You’re an able medic, Lady Julianna. But I should at least make one office visit.” He gritted his teeth, pushed into a sitting position, and scooted back until he could prop himself against the wall. “If I recall correctly” —and there was every chance he couldn’t— “the wound is severe enough that a few stitches might be in order.”

“If so, I can tend to that,” Julianna said. “If you mean a visit to a physician besides our own healer, the nearest monastery is many miles away.”

“A monastery, as in monks and priests?” Cailean asked.

Her eyes shifted onto him. “Of course.” Shaking her head, she crossed to a shelf on the opposite wall, reached for a knife lying there, then returned. She extended it toward him, hilt first. He looked questioningly at her, and she said, “Last night you were afraid I would cut you.”

He nodded. “Aye, but today I trust you.”

Her gaze sharpened and he knew she thought him fickle. Still, she sat on the mattress beside him and he remained still as she slid the knife between the bandage and the knot, then slit the fabric in a quick cut. She set the knife on the small table beside the bed and began unwrapping the bandage.

“Who are ye?” Lennox’s gaze flicked over him. “The colors of your plaid are strange. Whose banner do you ride under?”

Cailean snorted. “My own.”

“You are no laird,” Lennox said.

Cailean’s head had cleared enough for him to notice that the ache in his arm had worsened. He should have gone back to sleep. “Laird Cailean Ross,” he quipped.

Julianna looked sharply at him.

“What is it?” Cailean asked.

She exchanged a look with her brother, then said, “No Ross has set foot on Mackay land since the slaughter of Heatheredge.”

Cailean frowned. “The slaughter of Heatheredge? What are you talking about?”

Lennox locked gazes with him. “He is daft, Julianna. Or mayhap he simply thinks we are stupid enough to believe a Ross doesnae know his own clan’s history.”

“I know my clan’s history quite well,” he said as Julianna unwrapped the last of the bandage. She rose, crossed to the ledge on the other side of the room and began placing herbs into a passel. Cailean returned his attention to Lennox. “What’s this about the slaughter of Heatheredge?”

The warrior studied him for a moment, then said, “Twenty-four years ago, our laird betrothed his son Patrick Mackay to the Ross laird’s daughter Lady Elizabeth. But when they arrived, the Ross warriors slaughtered most of Heatheredge. With our laird dead, the Ross chief, James Ross, intended to seize Mackay land and rule both clans. With territory stretching from the west to the east coast, he would have been one of the most powerful lairds in all of Scotland. He might have succeeded if not for Broc Mackay.” Lennox’s mouth thinned. “Broc found the bastard in the trees beyond the chapel, waiting with half a dozen men like a coward. Broc killed James, along with his men.”

“Wait—Broc Mackay, Mackay the Bear?” Cailean sat forward.

Lennox nodded. “Aye.”

Cailean’s mind raced. His mother had been a Mackay, a direct descendant of Patrick Mackay. Years before the slaughter at Heatheredge, Patrick fathered a bastard son who went on to become a knight—Broc Mackay, known as Mackay the Bear. He would have been twenty-one when Elizabeth Ross arrived in Heatheredge. Broc didn’t reach lofty heights like Robert the Bruce or Rob Roy. Cailean had spent days searching for information on Broc, but little was known about him other than the fact he’d been in—Cailean’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. Broc had been in the service of Sir Grray, Julianna and Lennox’s father.