Wild Highland Rose (Time Travel Trilogy, Book 2)

by Davis, Dee

Marjory flinched.

  He reached out to touch her hand. A mistake. Sparks flew between them. He withdrew his hand. "I was just joking. I would never leave you alone to face him."

  She relaxed. "Well, at least he thought your outburst was merely a jest. Whatever possessed you to tell him the truth?"

  It was his turn to flinch. "It was crazy, I know. It's just that I was so sick of the inquisition about my, or should I say Ewen's, inability to swim. Anyway, you're right, he thought the whole thing was a joke of some kind. Frankly, I think Torcall is willing to believe whatever I say. He wants Ewen alive so badly, he'll buy into almost anything."

  "Maybe, but I dinna like the way he was looking at you. I think 'tis possible that there's a seed o' doubt now, that wasna there before."

  "Possibly."

  "And then there's the wee matter o' Allen. He definitely dinna find your explanation humorous."

  He thought again about the look of animosity Allen had leveled on him. "I know. It seems we're stuck between a rock and a hard place."

  "A what?" Her eyes widened in confusion.

  "It's just a phrase. It means that we're in a difficult situation. We've got to figure out how to get Torcall back to Tyndrum and Allen with him."

  She nodded, chewing on her lip, a sure sign she was worried.

  "Look, I know that won't solve all your problems, but at least it will buy some time for you and Fingal to figure out what to do."

  She met his gaze. "Time is just exactly what I need. After the landslide I sent word to my grandfather, asking for reinforcements against Torcall's coming. But he's with the king and so didna receive my message. Given a little more time, he'll be home, and then I've no doubt he'll come to help me put Torcall Cameron in his place."

  "So as long as we can get Torcall to go home, you'll be all right?"

  She nodded, tears welling in her eyes.

  "Then why are you crying?"

  "You." She angrily brushed her tears on the linen of her sleeve.

  'Me?"

  "Dinna act daft, man. Of course I'm worried about you. You've got the here and now of Allen to deal with and then you've got to find…" She stuttered over the last words, tears filling her beautiful eyes. He resisted the urge to kiss them away. She took a deep breath, regaining her control. "You've got to find your way home. It may no' be as easy as you think. It may no' even be possible."

  He hoped she was wrong, that Grania would be able to help him, but he had to admit there was truth in what she said. "I'll find my way. I have to believe that."

  "So you can find yourself."

  "Right." Somehow when she said it, it sounded trite, but knowing who he was was important. Somewhere out there he already had a life, and he couldn't just desert it because he'd landed somewhere else. Surely he owed himself better than that? He simply couldn't go on living the life of another man. He had to have answers and those answers lay in the twenty-first century.

  "I understand." She rose wrapping her arms around herself.

  "Look, Marjory, if it could be any other way…" He moved to stand behind her, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders.

  She shook him off. "I said, I understand." She walked away from him, her slight form fading into the night. He watched until she disappeared and then sat back on the log, fighting the desire to go after her, to swear he'd never leave.

  Shaking his head, he broke the spell. He had no choice in the matter. He had to remember who he was. Had to get back to his life, to the blonde. He'd had the dream for a reason. And he simply couldn't ignore the fact. No matter how much he might want to.

  CHAPTER 17

  Marjory shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. They had been riding since dawn. The sun silvered walls of Crannag Mhór gleamed in the distance. Just an hour or so more and they would be home. She twisted around to look behind her.

  Cameron and Fingal rode together, their heads bent close in conversation. It seemed odd, the older man with Ewen. But then it wasn't really Ewen. She felt an unreasonable stab of jealousy watching the two of them. There wasn't much time left and she wanted Cameron to spend it all with her.

  As if sensing her eyes on him, he looked up and grinned. Her heart turned over and joy washed through her. With conscious effort, she forced herself to turn around. She was behaving like a ninny. She was the head of her clan and she had to act accordingly. People depended on her. She sighed, thinking how much easier it all would be with someone to love by her side—but that was impossible.

  "We're almost home."

  Marjory jumped at the words. Fingal had pulled forward, his mount riding along side hers. "What did you say?"

  Her captain shot her a concerned look. "I said that we're almost home. Are ye sure yer feeling all right?"

  "I'm fine, really. Just a little tired." She gave him a bright smile.

  Fingal nodded, his eyes still questioning. "Aimil will be o'erjoyed to see you. She was practically inconsolable when she first heard ye'd gone out in the curach with Ewen."

  "He prefers Cameron." She spoke automatically, and immediately wished the words back.

  Fingal merely shrugged. "Cameron it is then."

  "'Twill be good to get back home," she said, seeking to change the conversation.

  Fingal nodded, not so easily put off, his face still shadowed with concern. "There's still something yer no' telling me, but I'll wait until yer ready to speak o' it."

  Marjory managed a smile and let her horse fall back to the rear. Fingal was entirely too observant. She hated to keep anything from him. She owed him honesty, but she wasn't ready to share her feelings. Besides Cameron would soon be gone and she would rather deal with the loss on her own. She couldn't bear the thought of anyone else grieving for her.

  Aimil and Fingal were almost like parents. After the massacre, they had been the glue that held Marjory together. She had no doubt that without them, she would never have been able to survive. It had been Aimil who had accompanied her to Moy and held her through all the long, dark, sleepless nights. Aimil who had dried her tears and soothed away the nightmares.

  Fingal, too, had devoted himself to her. Staying behind and working all those years to rebuild Crannag Mhór. And then, staying on, after she returned, to help her run the holding and protect her from the wrath of the Camerons.

  They had sacrificed their lives for her. The enormity of the thought was daunting. She had never really thought about it in that way before. Neither of them had ever married, and there had never been talk of either of them leaving Crannag Mhór to build lives of their own. They'd simply always been there. For her.

  She jerked forward abruptly as her horse stopped, gripping the pommel in an effort to keep her balance. Lost in thought, she had failed to notice that the men in front of her were slowing.

  She looked past them, searching for the source of their caution. She could just make out a rider, approaching from the direction of the tower. She squinted into the sunlight, trying to see him more clearly. His colors were Cameron. She drew in a sharp breath, shading her eyes as she watched Torcall and Dougall pull away from the line of horses, spurring their mounts into a full gallop.

  Fingal moved to follow them, but was blocked by Allen's claymore. He pulled back, drawing his own weapon, holding his position just behind Allen.

  The other men shifted uneasily, Camerons eyeing Macphersons. Tension filled the air.

  "What are they up to, do you think?" She shivered at Cameron's whispered words. She looked up, meeting the warmth of his gaze. For a moment enemies were forgotten and there was nothing but the two of them. She fought the urge to run her hand along the strong ridge of his jaw, to trace the line of his scar.

  She shifted, pulling her gaze away from his. "I dinna ken, but the rider is Cameron."

  "How can you tell?"

  "The colors o' his plaid." She gestured toward the man.

  "Who the hell is he, then? I thought all of Torcall's men were here with us."

  "'Twas certainly what they led u
s to believe." Marjory turned her attention back to Allen. He was shifting impatiently in his saddle, holding his sword at the ready. He alternated between watching Fingal and looking toward his father. It was more than obvious that he waited for a signal of some kind. She reached for her sporran. She would have preferred a sword, but her sgian dubh would have to suffice.

  Cameron glanced at her hand as she fumbled with the catch on the small bag. "Do you really believe you'll need that?"

  "I've no notion, but 'tis best to be prepared." She watched as Torcall and Dougall reached the other man. The three riders stopped and appeared to be earnestly talking. "'Tis possible the man is no more than a messenger."

  Torcall raised a hand in signal. Marjory drew in a breath, watching as Allen glanced at Cameron and then spurred his horse toward his father. Fingal sheathed his weapon, but didn't relax his guard.

  "I believe you've been summoned."

  Cameron looked confused. "Me?"

  She smiled, feeling some of the tension ease out of her. "Well, perhaps no' you precisely, but certainly Ewen." She paused, waiting for his comprehension. She didn't have to wait long.

  "And that puts me in the perfect position to find out what's going on."

  "You're as brilliant as you are handsome." She leaned forward and their lips touched briefly. She pulled away and their eyes met and held. "Be careful."

  He reached for her hands. "Don't worry. I'll be back."

  She watched as he urged his horse forward, riding away. If only he'd come back to stay. She shook her head, no sense in sinking into hopeless dreams, especially not while Torcall Cameron was still on Crannag Mhór soil.

  *****

  "The Maclearys have been raiding again. They've taken forty o' our best beasts and laid havoc on the cottages in the far glen. Fergus Macmartin is dead." Torcall paced as he talked, and Cameron could see that he held his anger tightly in check.

  Allen fingered his claymore. "We must avenge his death."

  "Aye. He's left behind a wife and three small bairns." The sentiment seemed out of place coming from Dougall's mouth. He wasn't exactly the sensitive type. Still, Cameron reminded himself, these people were real, not creations of someone's skewed view of the past. They had hopes and fears, love and loyalty…

  "We'll get our revenge." Torcall's voice was harsh. "Get the men ready."

  Dougall mounted and rode back toward the gathering. Torcall turned to Cameron. "This is Eamon Macleary's doing. He's taking advantage of my absence. I must leave at once, before he takes it into his head to try and take the tower."

  "Father, you know as well as I that there is no way that Macleary could manage to take Tyndrum." Allen spoke forcefully, his anger apparent.

  "True enough, but they could do a lot of damage before Eamon accepts that fact. I need to stop him, and there's no way to do that from here."

  "So you're riding back to Tyndrum?" Cameron asked. He had no idea who Eamon Macleary was, but at the moment he was willing to kiss the man if it meant Torcall was leaving.

  Torcall paused before answering, searching Cameron's face. "Aye, as soon as all is readied." He turned to Allen. "Go help Dougall. I need to talk with yer brother."

  Allen opened his mouth to protest, but Torcall cut him off with a single word. "Go."

  Shooting a sullen look at Cameron, Allen lept up into the saddle, and turned his horse to follow Dougall.

  Cameron turned to face the man who thought he was his father. The older man looked concerned and perhaps a little sad, his eyes crinkled with age, and sorrow. So much had been lost. It was a brutal age. One that Cameron couldn't even pretend to understand. And in that light, he wasn't about to judge either.

  Torcall placed a hand on Cameron's shoulder. "I dinna think ye should try and go with us."

  Cameron started to speak, but Torcall cut him off.

  "Nay, I know that ye want to ride with me, but ye've only just escaped dying…twice, and I'll no' risk yer health. I've handled the likes o' Macleary afore and I can do it again."

  Cameron nodded, completely at a loss for words. He felt relief that he didn't have to try and explain his way out of going to Tyndrum, but he also felt a vague sense of discomfort.

  "You be careful and watch yer back. I dinna trust these people." Torcall's stern gaze met Cameron's. "There something afoot here. First yer accident on the mountain…" Cameron opened his mouth in rebuttal, but Torcall shook his head silencing him. "I know ye dinna believe it. But yer no' thinking straight. Besides, there's also the question o' the wee boat. I've no idea what ye were doing in the thing. But I dinna believe it went down on its own."

  "But Marjory was with me."

  "'Twas no' expected ye said. Think on it, Ewen. Who knew ye were going out?"

  Fingal and Aimil were the only ones he'd talked to but he'd made no secret of going. "Anyone could have seen me, Father." He was surprised at how naturally the name came to him.

  "Aye, 'tis true. And were it no' for Macleary, I wouldna leave ye here on yer own. As it is, I'll leave some protection, but I canna leave too many. Still, ye can get word to me if need be. And make no mistake, I'll come back in a heartbeat. I'll no' lose ye again, son. Especially no' to the Macphersons."

  Cameron nodded, not knowing what to say. Torcall was a brutal man, but he couldn't reconcile that fact with the man's obvious devotion to his son.

  "Remember, Ewen," Torcall continued. "Marjory Macpherson is only a means to an end. Never forget that. If ye start to have tender thoughts toward her, think of what happened to yer mother. That should make it clear what side yer on." Pain washed across his face and then just as quickly was gone. "I'll leave Aida with you. She'll help ye ken what a real woman is like."

  "Thanks." Aida was the last thing he needed right now, but the gesture seemed to call for some sort of gratitude.

  "Ewen." Torcall looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I love ye, lad." He stepped forward enveloping Cameron in his embrace. They stood like that for a moment and then he released him and turned to go.

  Cameron watched him ride away, strangely saddened by the fact that if Cameron had his way, the man would never see his son again. Even without his memory, Cameron was certain that his own father had never felt as strongly about him. Whatever his other shortcomings, Torcall Cameron loved his son.

  *****

  "Well, that's it then. They're gone." Cameron watched as the riders moved off across the valley.

  "For now." Marjory held a hand over her eyes, blocking the sun.

  Cameron pulled his gaze from the departing men and looked down at Marjory. "Well, hopefully, by the time they come back, you'll have some help. When will you send for your Grandfather?"

  "He's no' due back at Moy for a se'nnight." She kept her eyes on the party of riders. "So he canna come until after you're gone."

  He felt his stomach lurch. Put into words, his departure sounded so final. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her toward him. "Promise that you won't wait to contact him."

  "'Tis no' your concern." She refused to look at him, but her voice was steady.

  He should have been pleased that he was out of this mess—that she wasn't trying to make him stay. Hell, he should be euphoric, but he wasn't. Absurdly, he wanted to be the one to protect her and keep her safe, but of course that was impossible. He might look like a Scottish warrior, but he certainly wasn't one.

  He wasn't anything. The shell of one man and the vague memories of another. The only thing he was really certain of was that he wanted this woman more than he thought possible, that and the fact that he couldn't have her.

  Almost of its own volition, his hand reached for her chin, tipping her face gently upwards. Their gazes met and held. The longing in her eyes mirrored his own…longing and pain. Pain that he was responsible for.

  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 b
ack 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.

  CHAPTER 18

  "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.