Wild Highland Rose (Time Travel Trilogy, Book 2) (28 page)

"'Tis the bed.  And it's in passable shape."  To illustrate the point, she held up two raggedy blankets.

"You call that a bed?"  He could just imagine what was living in there.  It made his skin crawl.

"Well, I'd say we're lucky to find anything at all."  She bent to examine the bed more closely, stepping back in alarm when an unidentified rodent scurried out from under the pile of straw.  She turned to Cameron with a sheepish expression.  "Well, at least we have the blankets."

He eyed them with some hesitation and then nodded.  She was right.  Beggars couldn't be choosers.  "Help me gather up some of this broken wood.  We'll use it to start a fire."

How exactly, he had no idea.  Gas jets wouldn't be invented for a couple of centuries yet, and unfortunately, that was the only way he'd ever started a fire.  He wandered around the room, picking up scattered pieces of broken furniture and mangled tree branches.  The wood was dry.  That ought to help.

Arms full, he turned back to the fireplace to find Marjory kneeling in front of it, blowing gently onto growing yellow flames.  "How did you do that?"  People who looked down on the inhabitants of ages past had obviously not met any of them first hand.  They were a very resourceful lot.

She looked up with a pleased smile, the light from the fire illuminating her face.  "I had a flint in my sporran."  She held up the small bag triumphantly.  "Aren
'
t you glad now that I took the time to find it?"

Recalling the incident, he had to admit that escaping the boat had been his priority at the time, but now, feeling the heat of the flames reaching out to him, he was pleased she'd refused to abandon the sporran.  But, he'd be damned before he'd acknowledge it.  After all, he was the one who was supposed to be taking care of her, not the other way around.

Surprised at the Neanderthal nature of his reaction, he watched as her face fell.  Guilt washed over him, vanquishing his wounded pride.  "I'm glad you have it, but even if you didn't, I suspect you
'
d have found a way to coax a flame from the wood."  She brightened at the compliment and he stared at her, enchanted for a moment by her beauty.

"I'll need some bigger pieces to keep it going."  She looked pointedly at the stack he carried.

"Right."  He pulled his thoughts away from the lush curves of her body.  "I'll just put it all down right here."  He made a tidy little pile next to the hearth.  Stepping back, he watched as she efficiently fed the growing fire.  Turning away, he stripped off his plaid and hung it over a large branch of the dead tree.  It made a perfect drying rack.  Close enough to the fire to allow the wool to absorb the warmth, and far enough away to keep it from catching fire.  Hell, he sounded like Martha Stewart.

He pulled his shirt over his head and hung it beside the plaid.  With a shiver, he moved closer to the fire.  "You can hang your wet clothes over there on the tree."

She looked up at him, her eyes widening at his lack of attire.  Cameron actually felt himself blush.  The Scottish version of underwear resembled a pair of baggy Bermuda shorts, hardly enticing.  Hell, his bathing suit was more revealing.  But somehow, under her gaze, he felt naked.

"Here, give me one of the blankets."  She handed it to him without a word, color washing over her face.  Holding the material by two corners, he shook the blanket, thankful when nothing living popped off.  He twirled the thing around his shoulders making a cape of sorts.  It was musty smelling, but seemed to be bug free and it was certainly warmer than nothing.

Marjory's eyes were still on him.  He bent and picked up the other blanket, handing it to her.  "Your turn."

She took the faded rectangle from him, jumping back when their hands met.  Good, she wasn't as immune to him as she pretended.  It made him feel better to know he wasn't alone in his attraction.

"Turn your back."

She looked a bit like a prim schoolmarm in an old western.  With a grin, he spun around, granting her a little privacy.  He could hear her movements and his unapologetic brain conjured vivid pictures to go along with them.

"All right.  You can turn around."

She was covered from ankle to shoulder in the blanket.  She had managed to tie it somehow at one shoulder so that it hung from her body, toga style.  It was an appealing sight.

"Here."  She held out her shift.  He hung it next to his plaid, trying to get his libido in control.

"What now?"

"I think we should try and get some rest.  We've a long walk, in the morning."

That was his Marjory, practical to the core.  Her no nonsense attitude effectively tamped down his rising desire.  "Where do you suggest we sleep?"

She shot a look at the bed in the corner.  "Maybe we can use a bit of that?"

He walked over to the pile of straw.  It certainly looked more appealing than the debris strewn floor.  "All right.  You clear a place by the fire and I'll see what can be salvaged here."  He stirred the pile with a stick, hoping to frighten off anything else residing there.  Nothing moved.  Gingerly, he reached under the straw, grabbing an armload.

Three trips later they had place to sleep.  Marjory had found an old piece of linen folded in the chest.  She spread it over the top of the makeshift bed.  "It could be worse."  Ah yes, that Gaelic sense of optimism.

"It'll be fine," he said with more enthusiasm than he felt.

"It'd be better if we had a blanket for the top."  Marjory shot a look at his plaid.

"Not a chance, it's still too wet."

"Oh."  Her face fell.

"I've got an idea, but I'm not sure if you'll like it."

She bit her lip, waiting for his thoughts.

"I could take this off."  He gestured to his blanket.  "We could use it for cover."

She shook her head, slowly.

"Look, Marjory, it isn
'
t like I'm naked under here.  Besides, we've slept in the same bed before."

She blushed.  "Aye, but that was because of Torcall."

He smiled to himself, remembering her plea for him to stay after it had no longer been necessary.  "Well," he said, trying to reassure her with his tone.  "It's like this.  Even with the fire, it's cold in here and the best way I know to stay warm is to share our body heat.  For that to work best we need insulation of some sort.  And it's either mine," he ran a hand along the blanket, "or yours."

She frowned, obviously thinking it over.  Then squaring her shoulders, she sighed.  "Fine.  We'll use yours."

The woman made it sound as if he was asking her to sleep with a cobra, for heaven's sake.  He waited until she was lying down and then settled in beside her, tucking the blanket around them for additional warmth.  She turned her back to him, snuggling against his chest.  He willed himself not to respond as she wriggled against his body.  Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled her closer, listening as her breathing deepened and slowed.

"Good night, Marjory."  No answer.  He inhaled the soft floral fragrance of her hair, marveling at the fact that she could still smell so good after all they had been through.

It was going to be a long night.

Marjory stood by the shell of a window and looked at the stars, thinking, as she always did, of her mother.  Happiness would be all that her mother's spirit would wish for her now.  No cry for vengeance would come from those long dead lips.  Gleda would only want for her daughter to find a love as rich as the union she had shared with Marjory's father.

Marjory tried to reach inside herself, to find her anger and her pain, but all she could think of was the man lying on the pallet by the fire.  Heaven help her, she wanted him.  As surely as there were clans in Scotland, she wanted this man
,
whoever he turned out to be.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off the early morning chill.  One thing was for certain.  He was not the man she had been forced to marry, not the man who had taken her with the callousness of a conqueror.  She shivered again, but this time it wasn't the cold.

"You're going to catch your death."

Marjory felt the meager warmth of Cameron
'
s blanket wrap around her shoulders.  She leaned back against him, letting her body mold to his.

"
Are you wishing on the stars?
"
  His voice curled around her, warm and alive, lighting fires deep within her.

"
I dinna believe in such nonsense.
"
  But she wanted to, oh heavenly Father, she wanted to.

Cameron pulled her closer, his chin resting on her head. 
"
Star light, star bright, first star I see
tonight
.  I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.
"
  He paused for a minute, looking up at the night sky. 
"
I
'
m pretty sure my
mother used to recite that for me.  And then I
'
d make a wish.
"

Marjory stared up at the twinkling stars, and felt hope blossoming. 
"
My mother always said they were angels.
"

"
Maybe they are.
"
  His voice was soft, thoughtful. 
"
If so, then
maybe
one of them is my mother.
"

"
Mine, too.
"
  She twined her fingers through his, not wanting the moment to end. 
"
Except that I don
'
t believe in them anymore.
"

"
If you did, what would you wish for, Marjory mine?
"

She turned in his embrace, amazed at her own boldness.  He met her gaze and she caught her breath.  His face was close to hers, so close she could feel his breath as it stirred tendrils of her hair.

She swallowed convulsively.  She could feel the blood coursing through her body.  "I
'
d wish for you, Cameron."

His arms tightened
around her
.  "You called me Cameron."  He leaned even closer and she shivered as his hair brushed against her cheek.

"
'
Tis your name.
"

"
Yes, but you
'
ve never used it before.
"
  He whispered the words and they came out sounding like a caress.

"
I know.
"
  She swallowed again, trying to focus on his words.  "But
'
twould be wrong to call you by another man
'
s name.  And you
'
re no
'
Ewen Cameron, of that I
'
m certain.
"

"
How can you be so sure?
"
  His eyes searched hers, the intensity there almost as dazzling as the stars.

"
Ewen canna swim."

He laughed, a rich, deep sound that echoed off of the remaining walls of the cottage.  She tried to pull away, unexpectedly hurt by his laughter, but he pulled her back, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"
Wait, Marjory.  I wasn't laughing at you.  It's just that after all this time and everything I've been through, I find it amazing that something as insignificant as swimming could convince you."

She looked up at him, letting his words sink in.  Her heart had begun its staccato beating again.  His warmth flowed into her, robbing her of strength.  She leaned against him, trying to find words for what she was feeling.  "'Tis just that…"

"
Hush.
"
He placed a finger over her mouth. 
"
There
'
s been enough talking.
"
  With one swift movement, his lips replaced his hand.  Marjory felt his tongue trace the contour of her
bottom
lip, and opened her mouth in response.  Her  insides turned to liquid fire, their tongues thrusting and parrying almost as if they dueled.  Marjory wondered, briefly, what they battled for and then lost the thought as his mouth left hers and strayed to the curve of her throat.

The blanket he'd given her fell to the floor.  She moaned in ecstasy, feeling a place deep inside her tighten and throb with need.  No one had ever made her feel this way before.  She reached for his head, pressing it into the soft skin of her throat.  She shivered with delight as he followed one tender wet kiss with another.  Her hands curled instinctively into the soft silkiness of his hair.

She tipped back her head, offering herself to him.  He licked lightly at the swell of her breast above where the other blanket covered it.  Suddenly she wanted more.  Much more.  Her nipples hardened and she wondered what she was anticipating, but almost as quickly as the thought came, it fled in the wake of sensation.