Wild Highland Rose (Time Travel Trilogy, Book 2) (30 page)

He pulled back, a question burning brightly in his golden eyes.

But before she could answer a loud rumble erupted from the beneath the blanket.

"What was that?"  Cameron sat up, holding his hand to his chest in mock terror.

"'Twas my belly.
"
  She admitted, fighting embarrassment.  Cameron reached to run a hand down her cheek, smiling with tenderness.  Marjory felt her heart skip a beat.

"Well, I suppose if I were a true warrior, I'd go and kill something for us to eat, but I'm afraid my skill set doesn
'
t extend that far."

Marjory had never heard the phrase, but she understood the meaning.  And again it reinforced what Cameron had claimed last night.  Ewen had been a great hunter.  Evidently, the new, and greatly improved she might add, Cameron, wasn't.

Not a problem.  She'd been hunting since she was a wee lass.  "I could try and snare a rabbit."

Cameron shot her a look of open amazement.  "Beautiful and a huntress, too?  What luck."

Marjory blushed at the compliment.  Even after the morning's extended intimacy, she felt shy around him.

He smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.  "I guess we really ought to be getting back."  He looked at the sky through the roof.

She followed his gaze, shocked to discover that the day had progressed well into the afternoon.  "I think perhaps 'tis too late to try and make Crannag Mhór this day.
'
Tis quite a distance on foot.  The loch stretches from one end o
'
the valley to the other, climbing up into the mountains at either end.  Without horses
'
twould take more than a day. We
'
re better off waiting until the morning."  She ducked her head, her mind already imagining another night spent in his arms.

  "Well, I suppose we'll just have to make the best of it, then."  He bent and dropped a kiss on her cheek.  "But, first, I suggest we find something to eat."

Nodding her agreement, she rose from the makeshift bed, dragging one of the blankets with her.  Picking up her scattered clothing, she turned her back and began to dress, imagining his amused stare boring into her backside.  With a last tug at her ensemble, she turned back to face him, only to find that he was gone.  "Cameron?"

"Over here."  He stepped out from behind a pile of rubble, a wooden dipper held triumphantly in his hand.  His plaid was slightly askew, but he had managed to secure it in place, without her help.  She smiled.

"What have you found?"

"Water."

She frowned in confusion.  "Here?
"
  She walked over and looked into the dipper.  It
was
filled with water.  She smelled it.  It seemed fresh.  He offered it to her and she drank thirstily.

"More?"  He turned and gestured to an odd contraption behind him that was made of wood with a metal handle sticking out of the top.  It looked like a giant urn of some kind with a spout on one side.  She watched as Cameron moved the handle up and down.  Water flowed from the spout.  She crossed herself.  What magic was this?

"Marjory, what is it?  You act like you've never seen a pump before."  His concerned gaze embraced her and some of her panic receded.

"What did you call it?"  She took a step toward the contraption, curiosity overcoming her fear.

"A pump.  You know, it brings water into the house.  I'd guess from the stream we followed."

She tentatively touched the handle.  The metal was cool to the touch.  "I've never seen anything like it.  A pump, did you say?  Does it work by magic?"

"No, physics."

"Physics."  She repeated the strange word and, holding her breath, lifted the handle bringing it down.  Water spewed from the spout.  With a start, she jumped backward, then stepped back to the pump when she was certain nothing else was going to happen.

Cameron came up behind her, turning her to face him.  "Are you saying you've never seen one of these before?"

"Nay, never."  She pulled away, moving the lever up and down again, fascinated with the resulting fall of water.  "Will it run out, do you think?"

"No, not as long as there is a sufficient amount of water in the creek."

"How does it work?"  She couldn't pull her eyes away from the magical water maker.

"I don
'
t know that I can explain it all, but, basically, it forces the water from the stream, through a channel of some kind, to the reservoir.  Moving the handle makes the whole thing work and the water comes out the spout.  It's got something to do with pistons and valves."

"'Tis no' magic?"  He sounded so blasé.  Surely he wouldn't be so calm in the face of sorcery.

"Absolutely not."  He laughed.  "It's just basic technology."

"Perhaps wherever it is that you come from, but we have no such techno…" she stumbled over the unfamiliar word, "…thing at Crannag Mhór."

He frowned at her response.  "Who did this cottage belong to, Marjory?"  He stared at her, his expression intense, as if her answer held the key to a puzzle.

"Why, it belonged to Grania.  She lived here until the storm cost her her sight.  After that, she couldna manage on her own, so she came to live with us at Crannag Mhór."  She waited for him to say something, watching as different emotions washed across his face, confusion, then shock, then something that looked like amazement.

"Well, I'll be damned."

The old girl had been holding out on him.  Either she was a brilliant inventor or she wasn't a card carrying member of the fifteenth century either.  And then…well the implications were almost limitless.  She might know who he was.  She might know the way home.  Heck, she might even be able to send him home.

"Cameron, what is it?"  Marjory's voice brought him sharply back to reality.

He looked at her beautiful face, concern forcing her brows together.  There was no point in alarming her.  He'd talk with Grania first, give her an opportunity to explain herself.  "Nothing.  It's just an amazing thing to find a pump here.  Grania must have connections with people from London or the continent."

He flinched at the lie,
fairly certain now t
hat pumps hadn't been put into use anywhere until well after the 15th century.  He hated to play fast and loose with the truth, especially in the face of their newly found intimacy.  But, he argued with himself, it was for the best.  When the time was right, and he had some notion of what exactly was going on, he'd tell her the whole truth, or at least what tiny part of it he was privy to.

"Hmmm…"  She narrowed her eyes in thought.  "I do seem to remember hearing something about Bertram having family outside o' Scotland.  He wasn't from Crannag Mhór, you understand.  He was a tinker by trade, visiting the valley only on rare occasion, but, after he met Grania, he came more often, eventually staying for good."

She still looked at the pump, trepidation mixed with awe, but at least for now she seemed to be buying the story.  He moved to distract her.  "What about that rabbit you promised me?
"
  His stomach rumbled ominously.  "Maybe you'd better try for two.  I could eat a whole one by myself."

"Well, then you'd best come and help me or there willna be even the one."

An hour later, as they hiked through the woods, Cameron was still trying to make heads or tails of the fact that Grania had a pump.  Marjory walked ahead of him, holding a snare she
'
d fashioned from some rope she
'
d found.  Unfortunately the rabbits seemed to be way ahead of them and had all left the vicinity, and his stomach was still rumbling.

Marjory knelt suddenly, lifting a broken sapling, her eyes scanning the horizon.  The sight made him think of an old TV show. 
Davy Crockett. King of the wild frontier
.  The inane theme song danced through his brain.

Oh yeah, he was Davy Crockett all right.  Davy Crockett in a skirt.  His warped recollections were interrupted when Marjory tugged at his hand.  She held a finger to her lips and pulled him down into the tall grass of the forest undergrowth.  "There's someone out there."

Listening intently, he could hear leaves rustling with the fall of footsteps.  Whoever it was, he wasn't trying to make a secret of it.  A tree branch, immediately in front of them, took on a life of its own as it bent forward and then snapped back into place.

"Bloody hell."  The oath broke the silence of the glen.  The figure of a man emerged from the underbrush, gingerly rubbing his cheek.  Cameron couldn't help smiling.  Score one for the trees.  The man walked slowly forward, searching the woods on either side of the path, still too far away for Cameron to recognize.

Not so Marjory.  With a cry of joy, she jumped up.  "Fingal."  She flew along the path, throwing herself into his arms.  Cameron stood up and followed her out onto the trail.  It seemed they'd been rescued.  Perversely, he felt an absurd sense of disappointment.

"Saints be praised, yer alive."  Fingal kept hold of Marjory, his assessing eyes meeting Cameron's over the top of her head.  "We feared you dead."

He meant Marjory of course, and for a moment, Cameron found himself wishing he had been included.  It was hard enough to feel like an outsider, but for part of it to be because of someone he wasn
'
t
—
well, it was almost more than a man could contemplate.

"
Yer sure you
'
re all right?
"
  Fingal pushed her back, his eyes searching her face.

"
I
'
m fine.  Cameron took care of me.
"

"
Cameron?
"
  Fingal questioned, his gaze returning to Cameron.

"
Aye.
"
  Marjory nodded, pulling out of his embrace. 
"
Cameron saved me.  We wouldna be here at all if it were no
'
for him.
"

"
Again?
"
  Fingal raised an eyebrow and looked at Cameron with speculative eyes.

Marjory planted her fists on her hips.  "'Tis true.  When the curach began to sink, we had to jump o'er the side, and Cameron swam with me to the shore.  Without him, I would definitely have drowned."

"Without me, you would not have been in the boat at all."  Cameron added dryly.

Marjory swung around to face him.  "Dinna be starting that again.  I chose to get into the curach all on my own.  'Twas no' like you forced me to do it."

"Peace, both o' you."  Fingal said.  "You sound like a couple of bickering children.  'Tis enough that you're safe and unharmed, lass."  He ruffled Marjory's hair. 
"
Come on then, they'll be wondering where I've gotten off to."

"Who's with you?"  Cameron suspected of course, but he wanted to hear it nevertheless.

Fingal frowned. 
"
Some of our men, along with the Camerons.  Torcall and Allen and that henchman o' his, Dougall are here.  We
'
re making camp o'er there."  He nodded in the direction of the cottage.  "We'd just about given up hope o' finding you.  Torcall has been raging about yer luring Ewen to his death.  He
'
ll be pleased to see his son still lives, but I
'
ve no doubt he
'
ll still be thinking there
'
s witchery afoot.
"

Cameron suddenly felt tired.  There was no winning this war.  Hatred would consume them all in end.  Revenge begetting more revenge.  He wished he could just escape the lot.  Go home.  Nothing in his old life could possibly be as complicated as all of this.

As if on cue, his mind trotted out the vision of  the blonde standing in the rain.  Maybe she needed him.  Maybe her very life depended on his return.  But then Marjory needed him, too.

  At the thought, he pivoted to face her, surprised to see she and Fingal huddled together, whispering.
 
They sprang apart, Fingal
'
s expression guarded.  Marjory
'
s apologetic.

"
Fingal was just telling me that we should be careful what we say to Torcall.
"

"What do you mean?"  Cameron frowned.

Fingal sighed.
 
"I mean that tales of you swimming to Marjory
'
s rescue willna go o'er well with the mon.
"

"
Go on.  Tell him the rest o
'
it.
"
  Marjory poked her captain, insistent that he continue.

"
Whatever is happening here,
"
  Fingal shot another speculative look in Cameron
'
s direction,
"
it canna help anything to share it with Torcall.  He's talked o' naught but the fact that Ewen canna swim since he discovered you took the curach.  I dinna like to think how he'll react when he finds out you swam to shore with Marjory in tow."