Page 95 of Edge of Yesterday

Were all medieval Scottish abbeys run by warrior monks?

The priests clasped their hands together in front of them and bowed their heads as Father Gabriel began to pray over the meal set out before them. “Heavenly Father…”

Cailean studied the men. Other than Andrew and Gabriel, he’d only met two other priests. He’d half feared one of them would look like Val’s other companion, Lord Bains. Cailean slid his gaze over to Father Andrew. The resemblance between him and Rathais was uncanny. Andrew must be a relative of Rathais—or maybe Rathiais was the priest reincarnate. Cailean laughed silently. Why not? These days he would believe anything.

An elbow to his ribs yanked him from his reverie. He jerked his attention onto Julianna, who had slanted her head to stare at him. She flicked a glance at his hands in an obvious command to pray. He’d been right that first night he met her. She was trouble.

She furrowed her brow in an effort to emphasize the telepathic command for him to pray with them. Cailean couldn’t resist, and tweaked a lock of hair that had slipped free of her hairnet. She flicked his finger away with an audible snap. She winced and Cailean stared. The woman had actually flicked him with a finger.

“In Jesus’ name,” Father Gabriel said—and she squeezed her eyes shut, hands clasped demurely in front of her— “amen.”

Everyone looked about, including Julianna, who appeared as innocent as a newborn babe. She picked up a piece of bread from the plate in front of her and tore off a hunk. Cailean watched as she blithely ignored him while she filled her plate. He wanted to laugh. Heaven help him if she ever decided to lie to him. She finally looked at him and lifted a brow as if to ask why are you staring at me? without a hint that she’d been acting like a schoolgirl while her priest droned on in prayer. Cailean grinned and a corner of her mouth twitched before she caught it. His attention snagged on her full mouth, and he experienced a sudden urge to kiss her. He envisioned leaning toward her until his lips brushed hers. What would she taste like? She shifted, and he whipped his gaze to hers. Her cheeks colored. Bloody hell, she’d read his thoughts.

Cailean turned his attention to the food, more roasted meat, pan-fried herring, cold salmon slices, spicy, pickled mushrooms, and steaming mounds of butter-sautéed onions and garlic, and began filling his plate.

Julianna cast a sideways glance at him and a pang of regret surfaced. What a shame he was returning home. He would like to get to know this woman. If he were to meet someone like her in the twenty-first century… Cailean shook off the thought.

Who was he fooling?

No one like Julianna Mackay existed in the twenty-first century.

Two hours later, the room had quieted substantially. At least half the priests had sought their beds, Father Gabriel included, but Father Andrew was drinking like a fish—as were several of the other priests—yet he seemed unfazed. It would probably take two bottles of whisky to lay the big man flat on his back.

“Tell me, Father,” Cailean sat back, watching him, “where did you learn to use that sword?”

A lad filled the priest’s mug with ale. “Och, lad, that was another life.” Father Andrew chuckled. “A long ago one.”

“I can imagine.” Cailean glanced across the hall to where Lennox sat playing chess with one of the monks. Julianna hovered at her brother’s elbow, seemingly pleased at Lennox’s skill. Cailean was pleased they’d left him alone with Father Andrew. He returned his attention to the priest. “You speak of another life, Father. I wager that life had to do with steel?”

“I am no’ a young man.” The monk’s eyes glittered in the candlelight. “I spent fifteen years selling my sword before I took my vows.”

Cailean’s interest quickened. “A mercenary?”

The big man chuckled again. “So some would say, aye. In truth, there are many names for men such as I was back then.” He leaned back and stretched his arms over his head, cracking his knuckles. “I would answer to any of them.”

“That bad?”

“That good, I would say.” Father Andrew grinned. “It was a life of great adventure. Danger at every turn, enemies as well as friends ready to kill you for gain, but also…” His smile turned reminiscent. “I had dreams of the Crusades of old, thought to visit the Holy Land and see the endless sand deserts and the burning sun, the markets of every imaginable good, from exotic spices to silks to sultry-eyed female slaves.

“But alas…” He slapped a hand on the table, rattling the goblets, knives and spoons. “I ended up cutting throats for a wealthy Spanish merchant. But in my spare time, when there was any… Och, laddie, those were the days.”

“I’m sure,” Cailean said.

The warrior monk leaned toward him, lowering his voice. “Have you e’er had a Spanish woman? Their blood is hotter than—”

“I’m a man who loves cold, wet lands, Father,” Cailean told him. “So you sold your sword and then found God?”

“That was the way of it, aye.” Father Andrew’s expression sobered. “One of my closest friends fell to an enemy blade. The bastards slit his throat ear to ear. But he still had his last breath in him when I found him and I dropped to my knees and prayed. Me, a man who’d ne’er believed in anything beyond the need to fill my belly and dip my wick in a comely wench. So there I was, on my knees, begging God to save my friend, a man I loved like a brother, and vowing to take up the cross and spread His word if only he’d hear my prayers and bring my friend back to health.”

“And your friend’s life was spared?” Cailean murmured.

The big man grabbed the wine jug, topped off the goblets. “My friend recovered. No’ overnight, but he lived. I’ve been a holy man e’er since.”

“What of your friend now?” Cailean asked.

“He lives still.” The monk chuckled. “Better than I do, in fact. He married one of those hot-blooded Spanish lassies, an olive grove heiress. He stepped in when her father died and now—” he grinned “—almost every olive eaten in those distant lands sends a coin into his purse.”

“He was lucky, indeed.”