Wild Highland Rose (Time Travel Trilogy, Book 2) (33 page)

He traced the curve of her jaw, wanting more than anything to pull her into his arms, to erase the sadness in her eyes.  Instead, he dropped his hand to his side and stepped back, breaking contact.
 
"We should get back to the others.  I'd hate for them to think we'd gone missing again."

Marjory squared her shoulders, all emotion draining from her face, leaving in its place a mask of civility.  "Aye, 'tis getting late."  She turned to go, not waiting to see if he followed.

With one last look at the party of Camerons making their way toward the woods at the base of the mountains, Cameron turned to follow Marjory.  It seemed the adventure was over.

"I canna believe yer here, safe and sound.  I was so sure that that devil husband of yours had harmed ye in some way."  Aimil fussed over Marjory, tucking a blanket around her legs, then poking at the fire.

Marjory smiled tolerantly.  Aimil really wasn't that far from the truth.  Physically, she was fine, but emotionally she'd ever be the same.

"It was daft enough fer the mon to go out in a boat when he couldna swim, but to take ye with him…well, all I can say is that his fall definitely robbed him o' his senses."

"I wish everyone would quit blaming him.  I
chose
to go in the boat."  She paused, debating whether to say more.  Aimil turned from the fire, meeting her gaze.

"You've fallen fer him haven' t ye?"

"Nay.  I
'
ll admit he
'
s changed.  And that I like what I know o
'
the new and improved Ewen Cameron, but that's as far as the feelings go."  Marjory felt the warmth of a blush belie her words.

Aimil fisted her hands on her hips.  "Marjory Macpherson, dinna lie to me.  I can see that ye have feelings fer the man.  I only wish I could convince ye that he's up to no good."

Marjory pushed the blanket away and stood up with a sigh.  "Aimil, we've covered this territory before.  I know how you feel about him, but you're going to have to accept my word that he's changed."  Marjory crossed restlessly to the window and pulled back a shutter.  Icy wind blew through the open window, spraying her with a fine mist of rain.  She shivered.

"Close the shutter, girl, ye'll catch yer death."  Aimil reached around her and banged the plank of wood shut.  The solar immediately felt warmer.  With a firm, but gentle, shove Aimil sent her back to the bench by the fire.

Marjory held back a laugh.  The woman was almost clucking, a mother hen if ever there was one. "I'm a grown woman, Aimil, I've enough sense no' to make myself ill."

The older woman sniffed and sat in a small chair, pulling a tapestry frame closer to her.  With nimble fingers, she deftly began to weave the silken strands of thread into place.  "I suppose ye'll want
him
at the celebration tonight."

"Of course."  Marjory felt her eyes widen in exasperation.  "Without him, there would be nothing to celebrate."  How many times was she going to have to say it?  Apparently, Aimil was not of a mind to accept Cameron on any terms, no matter what he did.

She thought, briefly, about telling her who he really was, but stopped.  Aimil would no doubt confine her to bed certain she had a brain fever of some kind if she so much as breathed a word of the fanciful tale.

In fact, now that she thought on it, safely away from the sheer magnetism of her newly changed husband, she wondered how she could have accepted it as true?  The man had been very convincing, but suddenly she was filled with uncertainty.  What if all this was just an elaborate plot by the Camerons?  Maybe she was being naive and foolish.

"Did I hear you mention a celebration?"  Marjory looked up as Grania made her way into the chamber, holding a stack of folded plaid.  Moving slowly, but unerringly, she made her way to the bench, and sat down, patting Marjory comfortingly on the knee.

"I did."  Aimil didn't look up from her sewing.  "I thought in honor of Marjory's safe return we should do something special.  To that end, I've ordered Cook to prepare a feast for our evening meal."

"Well done, Aimil.  We've no' had a party at Crannag Mhór in ever so long."

Marjory reached over and squeezed the blind woman's hand, and Grania turned to her, bestowing an angelic smile.  Sometimes Marjory would swear the woman radiated peace and serenity.  Something, at the moment, she seemed to be in short supply of.

"You're none the worse for yer little adventure?"  Grania's voice was filled with concern.

"Nay, I'm right as rain.  Just a wee bit tired.  Nothing a good night's sleep won
'
t cure."

"Well, with Torcall Cameron gone from beneath our roof, I'd imagine we'll all sleep a bit better."  Aimil continued making neat stitches in the tapestry.

"Aye, no doubt o' that."  Grania nodded in Aimil's direction.

"I'll feel better when I know that he's off Crannag Mhór land altogether."  Or, better yet, dead and buried. 
Marjory
frowned at the violent turn of her thoughts.

"Is he no' gone then?"  Grania asked, a puzzled expression on her expressive face.

"Oh, he's gone, right enough, but it'll take him at least another day to reach the entrance to the valley."

"Well, at least he's no longer here, in the tower."  Grania covered Marjory's hand with hers.  "So tell me a bit about yer adventure.  I've not heard the whole of it."

Marjory smiled broadly at the older woman.  It was hard not to, even if the gesture was wasted.  She told Grania about the fishing expedition and the storm.  She skimmed over Cameron's water exploits, hesitant to have to explain his sudden ability to swim, using instead, the story he'd concocted for Torcall.

"Heavens child, what a tale.  I take it ye managed to find shelter fer the night?"

"Oh yes, Grania, they stayed in yer cottage, or what's left o' it.  To hear Marjory tell it, they wouldn't have survived without it."  Aimil snapped a silken strand and deftly threaded the needle with another.

"I dinna think I made it sound that dramatic, surely?"  Marjory felt Grania's hand tighten slightly around hers.

"And how did ye find the cottage?"  Grania's voice had lost some of its usual timbre.

"In much disrepair, I'm afraid.  What damage the tree didna do, the wilds of the forest are finishing, but it served nicely for our purposes."  Again, she felt herself growing hot.  She had to learn to control these blushes.  Thankfully, Grania couldn't see her, and with a quick glance, she ascertained that Aimil was still absorbed in her needlework.

"I'm delighted that it was still of some use."  Grania shifted on the bench, freeing her hands from Marjory's.

"It was."  She felt her blush deepening.  She needed to change the subject before her body betrayed her feelings for Cameron.  "Grania, did Bertrum have family in England?"

"I dinna remember.  Why do ye ask?"

"Because we found the most amazing thing at your cottage."

"Amazing?  I canna imagine there's anything left to call amazing."

"Well, there was."

Aimil looked up, her attention caught.  "Well, dinna hold us in suspense.  What was it ye found?"

"A pump."  Marjory smiled triumphantly, her mouth stumbling only a little over the new word.

"A what?"  Aimil looked confused.

"A pump.  'Tis the word Ewen used.
"
  She
'
d started to call him Cameron, but changed her mind. 
"
It made water flow from its mouth like magic."

Aimil snorted and turned back to her needlework.  "Yer having us on."

"Nay, 'tis true.  I saw it with my own eyes.  Ewen says 'tis the newest thing.  I thought maybe your husband had built it for you.  They have them in England, you know, and I thought maybe Bertrum got the idea there."

"Oh yes, the pump.  I'd forgotten all about it.  Bertie did make it for me."

"Did he?  I dinna recall him being good with his hands."  Aimil raised an eyebrow.

First the first time in Marjory
'
s memory, Grania looked flustered.  "Well, perhaps, he bought it on one of his travels.  I canna remember, it's been so long since Bertie was living.  'Tis no' as exciting as Marjory would have ye believe."  She waved a hand in dismissal as Marjory opened her mouth to disagree.  The pump had been nothing short of a miracle, but if Grania didn't wish to discuss it, she wouldn't press the matter.

"Ye didna say what happened to the curach," Grania interjected, obviously trying to change the subject.

Aimil cried out as she jabbed her finger with her needle.

Grania cocked her head at the sound.  "Are you all right, Aimil?"

"Aye, fine.  I only stuck myself a bit.  No serious damage."  She sucked at the end of her finger.

Marjory stood.  "Perhaps I should go for some salve."

"Nay, sit down.  I'm fine.  'Tis only a wee prick.  No harm done.  I wasna watching what I was doing."

Marjory settled back on the bench.  "We've really no idea what happened to the boat.  One minute it was fine and the next it was full o' water.  We looked for a hole, but there wasn't time enough to find it.  We had to make for the shore."

"I thought ye said the curach was at the shore when you abandoned it."

"Did I?"  Marjory shifted uncomfortably.  Lying didn
'
t come easily.  "If I did, I meant to say that we were a short way out.  Anyway, we weren't able to find the cause of the leak.
"

"
Do ye think it could have been deliberate?
"
  Grania
'
s normally placid face was marred by a deep frown.

"Deliberate?  Who would want to hurt Marjory?"  Aimil looked up from the tapestry frame with widening eyes.

"Well, there's any number o' Camerons, but I dinna think the accident was meant for her. 
'
T
was Ewen who took the curach in the first place.
"
  Grania
'
s tone was grim.

"But who would have had the time to damage it?"  Aimil asked.

"Pretty much anyone, I suppose.  I think everyone, from Cook to the blacksmith, knew he was setting out in the curach.  He dinna make much of a secret about it," Grania offered.

"'Tis true and you canna deny that there are many folks here who canna tolerate a Cameron of any kind among them."  Marjory felt a shiver of concern snake down her back.

All her previous doubt fled in the face of her worry over his safety.  She hadn't thought about why the curach had sprung a leak.  She
'
s been busy with other things.  But now that Grania had mentioned the idea, it took hold, filling her with fear.  If someone had tried to harm him once, surely they might do so again.

"Well, I canna say that I wouldna be pleased to see the last o' him.  He's brought naught but despair on this household, to say nothing o' the fact that his sire is a murderer."  Aimil looked at Marjory with narrowed eyes.

Marjory took a deep breath.  It was all so complicated.  She felt the old wounds opening again and wondered how she could possibly have any feeling but loathing for the son of her father's murderer.  And yet, whispered her heart, if he wasn't truly Ewen Cameron, then his father was somebody else altogether.  Someone from another century, no less.  She brushed a hand through her hair in frustration.

"Dinna let it worry ye, lass.  I've no doubt that Ewen can take care o' himself."  Grania patted her hand comfortingly.

"Ewen this and Ewen that…ye'd think the mon was a bloody saint."  Most of Aimil's words were mumbled under her breath, but Marjory caught the gist of what she was saying.

"Speaking of the devil," Marjory said brightly, "has anyone seen him about?"  She'd not seen him at all since they'd returned to Crannag Mhór.

"Oh, heavens."  Grania reached for the folded plaids.  "I'd quite forgotten.  I was bringing him something to dry himself with.  He's in the bath," she added unnecessarily.

Marjory already had a clear picture of him soaking his rugged frame in the little wooden tub, the water caressing his body.  The familiar fire leapt in her belly.  She forced herself to abolish the picture and concentrate on Grania's voice.

"…would ye mind then, love?"

"No, of course not."  Marjory struggled to discern what it was she had just agreed to.

"Wonderful.  I can manage just fine, ye know, but ye'll be ever so much faster and we dinna want the man to catch cold."  Grania thrust the warm wool into Marjory's hands.

Oh, Blessed Mother, she'd just agreed to take the plaid to Cameron in the bath.

*****

Cameron sat back, letting the warm water lap around his body.  Not exactly a steaming hot shower, but all in all, it beat the icy water of the lake.  He closed his eyes and allowed himself the luxury of picturing Marjory.  His vivid imagination jumped into the task with relish and soon he had her straddling him in the tub, the water gleaming against her satiny skin.  He groaned, ecstasy mixed with agony.