Wild Highland Rose (Time Travel Trilogy, Book 2) (6 page)

Like the click of a camera, the picture changed.  He watched through the windshield as the headlights revealed a beautiful blonde woman, her hair plastered to her head by the rain.  Her hands were stretched out in front of her as though she were pleading with him.  Her face was washed with fear and pain.  Her eyes seemed to be begging him for something.

"No."  She mouthed the word.  He couldn't hear her, but somehow he knew she had screamed.

Cameron jerked awake, sweat momentarily blinding his eyes.  Panic knifed through him.  It was dark.  Oh God, he was back in the darkness.  He strained for the noise, the rhythmic beeping, but it was quiet and cold.  He moved a hand and wiped away the sweat.  The darkness lightened and he recognized the fabric of the bed curtains.

A dream.  It had been a dream.  He reached out, with a shaking hand, to move the curtain back.  He needed the reassurance of light.  His hand encountered another hand, and still partially locked in the terror of his nightmare, he jerked back, gasping audibly.

"Be still, 'tis only me."  The curtain pulled back, revealing moonlight and Grania.

"'Twas naught but a dream.  Try to go back to sleep now."  Her age worn hand clasped his, the warmth of her touch sending comfort pulsing through his body.  He
closed his eyes,
surprised at how good it felt to know that someone was watching over him.

Marjory brushed Alainn's coat with a fury that had nothing to do with the horse.  Alainn shifted uncomfortably under the attack and Marjory stopped, soothing the mare with a touch of her hand.

"'Tis sorry I am if hurt you.  I wasna thinking of you, my sweet, but of that whoreson of a Cameron lying upstairs with the whole of the household waiting on him hand and foot."

"Talking to horses now, are ye?"

Marjory turned at the sound of Fingal's voice, giving her captain a wry smile and the horse a last brush.  "Guilty as charged, I
'
m, afraid.  I find it quite nice to have a conversation with the beast.  You see,
she
never argues with me."

"I think 'tis best to let that comment pass as I assume some of it, at least, was aimed at me."

Marjory shot him a look and then bent to examine her horse
'
s fetlock.  "Could be."

Fingal leaned back against the railing of a stall, resting his arms on the wooden bar.  "Come now, lass, there's no need to take yer frustrations out on me. 
'
Twould be better fer ye to spend some time with the claymore, I
'
m thinking."

Marjory
'
d been training for battle almost since the day her parents had died
, p
reparing herself for a fight she
'
d no hope of winning.  She sighed and released Alainn.  With a pat on the rump, she shooed the mare into her stall.  Closing the gate behind the beast, she reached into her pocket for a handful of oats.  Alainn nuzzled her hand, greedily eating the offered treat.

"
I
'
ve  no time for play pretending, Fingal.  No
'
with Torcall Cameron practically breathing down our necks.
"
  She purposely kept her back to Fingal, her hand absently stroking the mare as she nosed about Marjory's skirt in search of more grain.

"Mayhap.
"
Fingal shrugged. 
"
But with his son alive and well, perhaps he
'
ll no
'
be quite so ready to raise a sword.
"

She turned around to face him, watching his eyes for signs of his true thoughts.  But at the moment his ga
ze gave away nothing, his face
remaining impassive. 
"
I hope you
'
re right.  I
'
ve sacrificed much to keep Crannag Mhór safe.
"

"
Aye, ye
'
ve been brave, lass.  There can be no doubt o
'
that.
"
  Fingal stroked his beard, his eyes narrowed in thought. 
"
Eleven years in
exile
at Moy, and then four years married to that bastard.
"
  He tilted his head toward the tower where her husband lay sleeping.

"
'
Twas well worth it.
 
And as much as I
'
d like to see Ewen dead,
I
'
d no wish it at the cost of
the holding.  Torcall Cameron is a fearsome enemy, even in peaceful times.  I wouldna want to face him over the death of his son."

"He may have caught us by surprise once, Marjory, but I dinna think he'd be able to defeat us so easily now."

"Maybe no, but what he didna accomplish, the rest of Clan Cameron would."

Fingal opened his mouth to speak but Marjory held up a hand to stop him.  "I know what you're thinking and I agree, if Clan Cameron were to attack us, my grandfather would certainly retaliate but, the truth of the matter is, by that time we'd be long dead and no' care who was attacking who anymore.  I'll no' risk Cran
nag Mhόr for anything, Fingal.  You of all people should know that by now."

"It all comes down to that, does it no'?  Ye'd fight for this land and its safety, but no' for yer own happiness."  Fingal pushed up from his reclining position and stood in front
of her, his arms crossed over his massive chest.  "Sometimes, Marjory Macpherson, I think ye have love for nothing except this tower and its lands."

Marjory started at the depth of his insight, but met his gaze firmly with her own.  "Stones and hills canna die on you, Fingal.  They'll be here long after we are gone.  And best I can tell you, a body has never been hurt by a piece o' ground."  Marjory took a step back from him, turning to look out the stable door at the blue-gray of the mountains ringing her valley.  "'Tis all I have left, Fingal.  And he would want me to protect it, no matter the cost."

Fingal came up to stand behind her.  "Are you speaking of your father, Marjory?  I dinna think you have it right then, lass.  I canna believe Manus Macpherson would ever want a daughter o' his to spend her life in a loveless marriage, to a Cameron no less, merely to protect a piece o
'
land."

Marjory straightened her shoulders, tightening her face into a mask of indifference.  "Ach, foolish talk, Fingal.  What's done is done.  Anyway, what use have I for love?  I've got all that I need right here.  And I'm doing what Father asked of me."

"And what would that be, lass?"

"I'm preserving his legacy.
"
 
Marjory closed her eyes, hearing again her father's words, reciting them aloud as though saying them with him. 
"Protect all that I've worked to accomplish, Margie, my girl.  'Tis your birthright.  'Tis all I've left to give you now.  Make me proud, daughter.  Never forget that yer a Macpherson of Crannag Mhór."
  Marjory stood in silence, lost in the memory of long ago.

"I canna speak for the dead, Marjory, but I dinna believe this is what he meant for you to do."  She felt two hands tighten around her shoulders and then, just as quickly, release her.  She heard his retreating footsteps, bu
t didn't turn to watch him go.

Instead she found herself wondering what would have happened if things had been different.  If her father had been here to protect her.  If her mother had been right about angels, and Marjory
'
s wish upon the stars had come true.  What if there had was someone out there just for her
?
  Someone who
'
d love her.  Cherish her…

How foolishness to want something completely unobtainable.  Her parents were dead,
and she was a married woman. 
What hope for love was there from a Cameron, and a half-witted one at that?  Marjory laughed at herself, and with a last pat for Alainn, headed for the tower.

It was time to face her ailing husband.

*****

"Truth be told, ye were dirty enough to warrant ten baths."  Grania reached out to steady his elbow as Cameron stepped from the oak cask that served as a bathtub.  Even though he knew the woman couldn't see him, he was relieved when she handed him a length of cloth meant for drying.

"I feel like a new man."  The comment was nothing more than a polite response, but the minute the words were out, he realized just how accurate they really were.  More than he wanted to contemplate actually, and certainly more than he wanted to share with Grania.

He walked over to the bed, and sat down on the edge.  Clean and shaven, he definitely felt more human, but the fact did nothing to lessen his increasing sense of unease.

The morning sunlight hadn't done anything to relieve the gothic gloom of the room.  And with the cold harsh light of day there was no denying that he wasn't in Kansas anymore.  Something about the world he was currently inhabiting didn't jive with his sense of self.  Or maybe more relevantly his sense of century.

The pieces of the puzzle simply didn't add up to a logical whole.  And the illogical options were a bit more than his beleaguered mind was willing to consider.  Maybe there was an explanation.  Something involving the relative normalcy of cults or historical reenactment.  Anything that didn't involve a journey through the
Twilight Zone
.

The theme song echoed menacingly through his head, and with a sigh he walked over to the bed, dropping onto the mattress, trying to ignore the fear clawing at his gut.

"I've let ye over
do it."  Grania clucked, her voice if not exactly comforting, at least a known quantity.  Cameron lay back, closing his eyes, the drummers in his head returning with a vengeance.

"
What ye need now is a wee bit 'o sleep
"

"What I need now are answers," he snapped, immediately regretting the anger that colored his voice.  Opening his eyes, he struggled to sit up, ignoring Grania's attempt to help.  The woman meant well, of that he had no doubt, but rest was the last thing he needed. It was tempting to voice his thoughts, to share his  fears with her, but some inner sense of preservation urged caution.

"There's no' much I can tell you."
 
She sat unerringly in the chair by the bed, her expression inscrutable.

Ignoring her obvious reticence, Cameron push
ed for more. 
"Well for
starters you can tell me about
Ewen Cameron."

The woman paused, then sighed.  "Yer no' among friends here."

It was a cryptic answer at best, but it was a start.  "Something to do with the woman who called me husband."  A vivid memory of the blue-eyed beauty filled his mind, his body reacting as if she were present in the room.

"Aye," Grania conceded with a nod.  "There's no love lost between the two of ye."

"
And the man with her,
Fingal.  Is he an enemy as well?"

"He's loyal to your wife, and would see you in hell before he'd a
llow her to be hurt."

"And he believes I want to hurt her?"

"'Twould not be impossible."  Again she seemed purposefully vague.  As if she too had secrets to keep.

"Why?  What has this Ewen done to deserve such distrust?"

If she noticed his use of third person, she made no comment. "'Tis no' my story to tell.  When you're strong enough you can talk with Marjory, herself."

"
Something tells me that won
'
t be as easy as you
'
re making it sound.
"

"
It
'
s no easy to gain her trust, I
'
ll grant ye that.
"
  The old woman smiled. 
"
She
'
s kind of like the highland rose.  Beautiful and prickly on the outside, but if ye can get to the flower itself,
'
tis sweeter than any other.
"

As analogies went it was kind of sappy, but Cameron had the feeling it was accurate.  Marjory Macpherson was indeed easy on the eyes, and he
'
d already seen evidence of  her thorns.  Still, if breaching the thorns was his ticket to understanding what the hell was going on, he was more than game. 
"
I
'
m not sure she
'
ll talk to me, but I
'
ll make nice with Marjory if it means getting answers.
"

"
I
'
ve the feeling yer more than capable of cajoling a body
'
round to yer way of thinking, once ye put yer mind to it.
"
  There was a hint of mischief in Grania
'
s face, as if she was orchestrating some grand scheme or another.