Wild Highland Rose (Time Travel Trilogy, Book 2) (24 page)

"Good, then if it wouldn't be too much of an effort, would you mind telling your brother I'd like to use the curach?  I'm going to the kitchen for a few things, then I'll come and get the boat.  Okay?"

The woman relaxed.  In fact, she almost smiled.  "I'll do ye better than that.  I'll see that one o' the lads takes the boat down to the loch fer ye.  Ye can meet him at the shore."

Startled, Cameron managed to stammer out his thanks.  She drew herself up to her full height and leaned in close to him.  "Just stay away from Marjory.  Ye've no business confusing her with yer daft talk o
'
changing.  Ye and I both know the kind of man ye are."

Actually, he hadn't the foggiest notion what kind of man he was, but that wasn't something he intended to share with Aimil.  He was curious, however, to know what she thought.  "And what kind of man would that be?"

"A Cameron."  She spat the word like a blasphemy.  "Now go.  I'll have the curach ready fer ye."

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he hurried away, relieved to have escaped with most of his hide still intact.  Yes sir, short of returning to the twenty-first century, fishing was just what he needed right now.  He only hoped Scottish fish liked
oatcakes
.

*****

Men were all goats.  Well, most men…some men…one man.

Marjory turned the crank on the quern with a vigorous hand.  Each bit of grain ground to meal she pictured as a part of Ewen
'
s body.  First she'd grind his hands, then his arms, then his legs, and last…last she'd grind his head.  She dumped more barley into the hand-mill.  Oh yes, she'd grind him into fine bits.

"Marjory, lass, slow down.  Yer grinding enough meal to last us a fortnight, if the weevils dinna get at it first."

Marjory looked up from the mill.  Grania sat at a nearby work table, placidly peeling carrots.  "How can you possibly know how much I've ground?"

Grania smiled.  "Child, I may no' be able to see, but I know the amount of time it takes to grind the wee bit o' meal we need fer the bannocks.  Ye've been at it fer a good long while.  'Twould no' take a pair of eyes to know that yer no' concentrating on yer task.  What ails ye?"

Marjory gathered the barley flour into a large wooden bowl.  "What makes you think there's something wrong?"

"I know ye, Marjory Macpherson.  Now talk to me."

Marjory sighed and sat on a bench by the table.  "'Tis Ewen.  He hasna changed at all."

"I suspect that few men do what we expect o' them."

"'Tis more than that.  I truly thought he was different than before, but this morning he proved to me that he is still the old Ewen Cameron through and through."  She bit her lip, then in a quiet voice related the morning's humiliation.

"And yer sure ye saw the situation as it really was?"

"I dinna follow."

Grania put the bowl with the peeled carrots on the table and leaned forward, reaching unerringly for Marjory's hand.  "I mean, child, that when our pride is involved we often dinna see clearly.  From the way ye tell the tale it seems possible that Ewen was as surprised as you to see Aida in his chamber."

"But she was standing there in, well, in nothing."

"Aye, but a woman with no' scruples will use any trick in the book to get a man.  And if ever there were a woman
like
that 'tis Aida Macvail."

"But he was naked, too, save for his trews."  Marjory pulled her hand away, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Aye, so he was.  But tell me, lass, what was he wearing when ye left him?"

"The same, but I dinna see how…"

Grania motioned Marjory into silence.  "And where did ye leave him?"

"In my chamber."  She felt hot color wash across her face and was relieved Grania couldn't see it.

"So, let me see if I have this right.  Ye leave a sleeping Ewen in yer bed to go and fetch some food fer the two o' you…"

Marjory nodded, and then catching herself, answered verbally.  "Aye."

"How long do ye suppose ye were gone?"

"No' long at all.  I went down to the kitchen, got some oatcakes and barley bannocks and brought them back to the chamber."  She leaned forward, wondering what Grania was getting at.

"So then, yer saying in that short period of time, Ewen woke up, went to his chamber, summoned Aida, got her undressed, and was about to bed her when ye walked in?"

"Well, when you put it like that, it does sound a bit far-fetched.  But I saw it myself."

"Nay, lass, ye saw Aida, naked, trying to climb into bed with Ewen, who was dressed as ye'd seen him last.  And when ye add to that the fact that he ran to yer side the minute ye saw what was happening, I think ye have quite a different picture."

"He was just helping with the spilled food."

"Ah, he was helping you.  Now that's certainly a trait the old Ewen Cameron was known fer."

"He wasn't," Marjory snapped.

The old woman nodded her head.  "Exactly.  Ye have to learn to look at things with more than just yer eyes.  Ye have to view them with yer heart.  Things that appear one way to yer mind often appear quite differently when viewed with a little faith."

"Faith?  How can I have faith in Ewen?"

"Ye just do it.  Faith is no' earned, Marjory.  'Tis instinctive.  Stop listening to yer head child, and start listening to yer heart."  She stood, picking up the bowl of carrots.  "Now, go and find the mon and see if the two of ye can make peace afore we've enough meal to last us 'til Christmastide."

*****

Marjory sat on a boulder by the loch, tossing stones into its dark gray depths.  The day had turned colder.  Clouds were gathering to the east.  There'd be a storm before night set in, but that was hours off yet.  She sat still, her eyes closed, letting the breeze wash over her.  It carried the smell of gorse and rowan.

Worry ate at her.  She'd spent the better part of the early afternoon searching Crannag Mhór for Ewen.  He was nowhere to be found.  She was terrified that he had decided to leave her alone to face his father.

She'd only just avoided a confrontation with Torcall as it was, he and that witch Aida.  Whether she believed Grania's version of the morning's events or not, she knew that Aida was an adversary and a dangerous one at that.

Praise the Saints, for the serving passage.  Her father had built it so that food could be brought more easily from the kitchen to the great hall.  The passageway wound down the tower wall without stairs, a ramp of sorts.  It started in the pantry and ended in an alcove in the wall behind the dais.

It was designed so that the entry sat behind an elaborately carved screen.  That way dinner guests wouldn't be able to see it.  Her father had always been proud of it.  Marjory had always used it as an escape route.  As a child, she had mostly escaped from imaginary enemies, but as she grew older, she'd found it useful in evading people she didn't want to see.

Today, it had been Torcall Cameron.  He'd been sprawled across a bench in the main solar, bellowing for his son.  Aida had been there, too, sitting beside him, wrapped around his arm like an eel Marjory had seen once at Cluny, all slippery and evil smelling.  Once out of their sight, it had been easy enough to sneak back up the stairs and out the front entry.  Now she was safely away, but still no nearer to discovering where Ewen had gone.

A splashing noise off to her left caught her attention.  Someone was struggling to get a curach into the loch.  The man held the boat over his head with both arms.  He had waded a short way into the loch and presently was trying to turn the boat over and drop it into the water, without tumbling in himself.  After watching for a few minutes, Marjory realized he wasn't having much success.

Curiosity aroused, she stood, and hurried down the beach just as the man managed to flip the curach into the water.  He made a wild grab for it, snagging the edge before it could drift out into the loch.  As he straightened and pulled the craft partway onto the shore, her heart began to race.  The man was Ewen.

"Wait," she called, beginning to run.  He was loading something into the boat.  He didn
'
t hear her and began to push the curach out into the water again.  She hiked up her skirts so that she could move faster, driven by an overpowering urge to get to him.

"Ewen, wait," she yelled again, breathlessly.  He paused and looked up, shading his eyes with his hand.  She skidded to a stop within a few yards of him.  No sense in letting him know how anxious she was.  She released her skirts and patted her hair, trying to appear nonchalant.

"What are you doing here?"  she asked, trying to sound surprised.

He raised his eyebrows.  "Watching you tear across the
meadow like
meadow-like
a madwoman."

Marjory dipped her head, embarrassment heating her cheeks.  "I was afraid you were going to leave."

"I am leaving."

"What?"  Her head snapped up.

"Not forever, princess, just for a little while.  I'm going fishing."

Relief washed through her.  He wasn't leaving her permanently.  "Fishing?  Whatever for?"

He shot her an exasperated look.  "For fun.  Why is it you people don
'
t know anything about fishing?  You live on a lake for God's sake."

"We know about fish."  She tipped her chin up.  How dare he insult her people?  "They live in the loch, and sometimes, when there is a shortage of game, we actually eat fish, but I canna imagine going out in that," she pointed at the curach, "for enjoyment."

"Well, you may be right on that count.  This thing does look a little rickety to me, but both Fingal and Aimil assure me its sound."  He tapped the boat, illustrating his point.

"You talked with Aimil?"  Marjory felt the color rising again.

"Yeah.  She had quite a bit to say."  He looked at her pointedly.

"About me?"

He nodded. 
"
She basically told me that if I ever got near you again there'd be hell to pay."

"Oh."  She studied her slippers.

"Marjory?
"

She looked up, her heart skipping a beat as she met his eyes.

"I'm sorry about what happened this morning.  I know it was awful for you, but I didn't invite her to my room.  I swear it.  If you
'
d given me a chance I could have explained."

"You don't have to explain.  'Twas nothing."  She looked down again, afraid he'd see through the lie.

He lifted her chin with his fingers.  "That's not true.  It hurt you.  I know it did.  And if I could have waved a magic wand and made it all disappear, I would have.  You have to believe me when I tell you, I did not ask Aida to come to my room."

He brushed a strand of hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear.  "In fact, when you came in, I was telling her to leave.  Unfortunately, she isn't good at taking no for an answer."  His gaze met hers and held.  "I really am sorry."

Looking into his eyes, she saw nothing but concern and sincerity.  "I believe you."  And she was surprised to find that she actually did.  Which was confusing considering who she was talking to.  But then the truth was, for whatever reason, the man he was now was a far cry from the Ewen Cameron she had married.  And she prayed to God that the change was permanent, and that he would stay at Crannag Mhor.

At least, until his father took his cohorts and went home.  Beyond that she did not dare imagine.  It was too new, and there were too many things that could upset the fragile feelings that were building inside of her.  For now at least, she'd do best to keep them at bay, locked away in some safe corner of her heart.

"Do you want to come with me?"

She broke from her reverie.  "In that?"

"Well, if we're going to go out on the lake, its best to take a boat, don't you think?"

"Aye, but I still dinna see the purpose o' going at all."

"Marjory," he sighed, "sometimes it's good to do things for no reason at all.  Come on.  Let go.  Live a little."

What was it Grania had said?  Listen with your heart?  Maybe she did let her head rule too much.  "All right," she said, the decision made.  "I'll go.  What do I do?"

"Give me your hand."

She placed it in his, shivering at the warmth of the contact.  The man definitely had an effect on her.  She sat on the bench in the center of the curach.

"All settled?"

She nodded and he pushed the little boat clear of the shore.  Then almost effortlessly, he jumped over the side and settled beside her on the bench.  The curach rocked back and forth, but held strong.

The bench was small, with barely enough room for the two of them.  She settled comfortably against his side, thinking that maybe fishing wouldn
'
t be so bad after all.

*****

"Are you sure you're doing it right?"  Marjory peered over the side of the curach into the murky water where his line disappeared.