Wild Highland Rose (Time Travel Trilogy, Book 2)

by Davis, Dee

  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."

  CHAPTER 16

  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 that 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."

  Fingal obviously believed Marjory's story. Which meant that he accepted the fact that Cameron had swum them both to safety. But if Ewen Cameron couldn't swim, then that also meant that Fingal must realize he wasn't Ewen. Which meant that Fingal might accept him as a potential ally. Just like that. Cameron marveled at the ability of these people to accept the seemingly impossible without batting an eye.

  Fingal was right though, Torcall Cameron was a different story. He wanted his son, not a twenty-first century surrogate. Telling their tale would only put them in danger. At all costs, Torcall must be made to believe that Ewen lived. Memory or no.

  Marjory interrupted his thoughts. "We could tell him that the curach washed us ashore during the storm."

  "Nay, he'd ne'er believe that," Fingal said. "We found the curach this afternoon. 'Twas smashed to bits."

  Cameron frowned. "Maybe it could have happened after we were safely ashore."

  "'Tis possible, I suppose. But whatever you tell him, be careful." He turned his attention to Marjory. "And no talk of heroes."

  Marjory gave him a mutinous look, then sighed. "Fine."

  Cameron reached for her hands. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, princess, but Fingal's right." Their eyes met. He gently squeezed her hands.

  "Fingal Macgillivray, I swear, if yer up to more of your tricks…" Torcall's voice rang through the woods.

  Marjory tightened her grip on Cameron's hands.

  "It's show time." Cameron watched as Torcall came into view and then stopped at the sight of the group on the path. His craggy face broke into a grin, and he strode toward what he believed to be his son, a look of relief lighting his fierce countenance. Cameron drew in a breath, preparing for the inevitable.

  *****

  "So the two o' ye were washed to shore?" Torcall frowned at Cameron, his eyes skeptical.

  "Yeah, we were lucky. It dumped us in shallow water. All we had to do was make our way to dry land." Cameron paused, sizing up his audience. Allen sat across the fire, a sullen expression on his face, lost in his own thoughts. Dougall had disappeared into the woods, presumably to heed the call of nature and Marjory was sitting by a second fire, surrounded by her kin, leaving him on his own with Torcall.

  "But you canna swim."

  Cameron sighed. This preoccupation with Ewen's water skills was getting on his nerves. Not to mention the fact that he hated lying. But in his heart he also knew that this all was necessary to protect Marjory. "I told you, all we had to do was walk to the shore. Crawl actually. We were pretty tired. There was no need for swimming."

  Torcall grunted, obviously unsatisfied with his answers. "Even if I accept your account of your landing that still doesna explain what you were doing in the curach in the first place."

  "I wanted to see what it was like to be in a boat. I never even thought about the need to swim." Weak, but plausible.

  But Torcall wasn't a fool. "Ewen, you canna even ford a stream without finding the narrowest place to cross. Now yer expecting me to believe that you suddenly had an urge to go out on the loch in a boat no bigger than a man?" Torcall's voice rose in frustration.

  Allen had pulled out of his lethargy and was staring intently at Cameron. "Yer no' telling us the truth o' it. I tell you, Father, there's more here than he's willing to explain."

  "Look, I'm not lying to anyone. I just wanted to go out in the damn boat. I had no idea Marjory would decide to come along and I certainly had no idea there was going to be a storm. That's all there is to it." He took a deep breath, his anger rising. Enough was enough. "Would you rather I tell you that Ewen is dead and that I'm a traveler from another time occupying his body and that I know how to swim?"

  Silence filled the campsite. Allen sat frozen in place, his mouth open, his chin resting on his chest. Marjory and her kin had obviously heard his outburst. Fingal looked bemused. Marjory looked terrified. His anger slowly drained from his body, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. What the hell was he doing?

  Blowing out a breath, he turned to face Torcall. The man stared at him, in shock, his eyes narrowed as he tried to process the import of Cameron's outburst. The two men glared at each other in silence. Then, suddenly, Torcall threw back his head and laughed.

  "You jest." He pounded Cameron on the back, the power of the blow nearly knocking him forward into the fire. Torcall continued to laugh, finally calming enough to wipe his eyes with a sleeve. Still breathing hard, he threw a heavy arm around Cameron's shoulders. "I've missed ye, boy. 'Tis glad I am that ye've survived, yet again. And I trust that, now, ye'll know better than to head out on the loch on your own."

  He nodded, relieved that Torcall seemed to have let the matter of the curach drop.

  "A time traveler, did you hear that, Allen?" He looked at his son and dissolved into laughter again. Cameron ducked to the side to avoid the already flying arm, his gaze meeting Allen's.

  Allen wasn't laughing. He was staring at Cameron, with speculative eyes. He offered no response, nor did it seem that Torcall expected one. Cameron suppressed a shiver. Brother or not, this man was his enemy.

  *****

  Cameron idly threw sticks into the fire and looked around the campsite. Men were sprawled in every direction, some sleeping, othe
rs tossing about trying to find a comfortable position. It almost looked like someone had drawn a line across the encampment, Camerons sleeping on one side, Macphersons on the other.

  Marjory was somewhere across the way, sleeping securely within the Macpherson ranks. It reminded him of something out of Romeo and Juliet. The Montagues and Capulets. Not that he was much of a Romeo. Hell, he wasn't even a Montague.

  Disturbed by the turn of his thoughts, he concentrated on the glow of the campfire. It had burned low, only shooting flames when he flicked a twig into the coals.

  "Cameron?"

  He turned at the sound of his name and smiled. Not exactly 'wherefore art thou Romeo', but it would have to do. Marjory emerged from the shadows, her mouth opening to speak again. He put a finger to his lips and motioned for her to come and sit by the fire.

  "I couldna sleep," she whispered.

  "Neither could I."

  They sat for a minute in companionable silence. He could feel the warmth of her body next to his and curbed the desire to pull her into his arms. The time for intimacy of that sort was long past.

  "What did you tell him?" She shot him an inquisitive look.

  "Torcall?"

  She nodded, the movement making her dark hair dance in the firelight.

  "You mean besides the fact that I'm from the future?" She'd heard that part loud and clear. Hell, probably everybody in the valley had been able to hear his outburst.

  "Aye."

  He lifted his eyebrows in surprise. It wasn't like Marjory to miss a chance to go for the jugular. "I told him I wanted to see what it was like in a boat, and that it never occurred to me that I might need to swim."

  She nodded again, this time drawing her brows together in a frown. "Do you think he believed you?"

  "I don't know. Possibly." It had been a lame explanation.

  "'Twould have been nice if you could have invented a more plausible tale."

  "Well, it was the best I could come up with. Next time, you be the one to try and pacify him."