Page 88 of Edge of Yesterday

“You’re cold, my lady,” Cailean said.

“It is a cool spring day,” she said. “Not so bad.”

He lifted a brow.

She frowned. “What?”

“Ye are shivering.”

She turned her gaze ahead.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re thick-headed, my lady?”

“Nae.” She chuckled. They wouldn’t dare. “But…” She drew her cloak tighter, tried to hide a smile. “You did just call me thrawn. ‘Tis almost as bad.”

“So it is.” He flashed a smile of his own, but it faded as he looked ahead again, his gaze fixed on Barbara’s home up ahead. “Dear God.” He slowed.

“They do no’ have much,” Julianna quickly explained. “But Barbara keeps her floor swept and her table well-scrubbed.”

“I am sure, sweet.” He spoke to her, but his gaze remained locked on the low stone cottage with its turf roof, the stack of peat leaning against a side wall nearly as large as the tiny cottage. “At least they have a good supply of peat.”

“Of course they do.” She looked at him, startled by his observation. “The peat banks hereabouts are plentiful. Our people could cut peat bricks for a thousand years or more and no’ drain the bogs. They can gather wood from Reay Forest, as well. My father has given them leave to take any wood they need, cut or fallen branches. But most villagers willnae touch trees in a lord’s wood. Besides,” she released a breath, “the monastery is so close, right in the heart of the forest. The monks have much use of the wood. Folk prefer to leave it to them.”

“Aye.” He nodded, but his brow remained furrowed.

She angled her head. “Is it so different where you come from?”

He shot her a sharp glance. “Where I come from?”

“Aye. Cumyrnald? In the south, I think? No’ Durness where everyone at Raghnall thinks you hail from.”

“So it is, lass. Cumber—er, Cumyrnald is almost a different world than your bonnie hills.”

“Then what bothers you so about Barbara’s cottage?” she pressed. “It is no’ that different from most, just a bit smaller and more humble.”

“It is just…” He shook his head. “A turf roof? Why not thatch? Most of the cottages hereabouts are—”

“A thatched roof costs more coin than Barbara’s husband can afford.” Her heart constricted, not for the first time wishing the man was not so proud. “Every year, he refuses my father’s offer to build them a better house. He willnae allow us to have their roof thatched.”

“Dear God,” Cailean said again, his stare now on the cottage’s half-opened door where smoke drifted out.

The glow of a small fire could be seen in the middle of the dim room. The family’s only ‘hearth’ was a circle of river stones in the middle of the floor. But at least it was peat smoke, the smell sweet and earthy, homey and warm.

As they neared the cottage, she laid a hand on Cailean’s arm, worried by his deepening frown. “Barbara will no’ appreciate your sympathy. She is almost as proud as her man.”

As she should be, to survive such a hard life.

Juliana shot him a look, uncertain if she’d heard his words or if she’d imagined his answer.

They reached the cottage and young Lucy Mackay appeared in the doorway. “My lady.” Her gaze flicked to Cailean then back to her. “We were no’ expecting you.”

“Dinnae worry, Lucy,” Julianna replied. “I came unexpectedly to visit my father and he told me that Barbara had the baby.”

“Aye, the lad was born just yesterday.” Her eyes again shifted to Cailean.

“This is Cailean Mackay,” Julianna said. “He is a friend from Durness, in the far north.”

“Welcome, sir.” The girl’s cheeks tinged pink. “Come in, my lady.”