Wild Highland Rose (Time Travel Trilogy, Book 2) (9 page)

"
I couldna do such a thing.
"
  Marjory felt heat rising in her cheeks.  She bent her head to her work, hoping Aimil wouldn
'
t notice. 
"
No
'
with all that lies between us.
"
 
And she meant the words.  At least on most levels.  Still, she couldn
'
t deny that there was something about Ewen now that was more than what he
'
d been before.  Something that called to her in the age old way of men and women.

If she'd felt anything at all for the old Ewen, it was revulsion, but try as she might she couldn't seem to recapture that feeling.  It was almost as if he truly was another man.  Saints preserve her, now she was one who was daft.

"Marjory Macpherson, I've known ye since ye were a bairn and I know when yer no' telling me the truth.  Ye are feeling something fer him."

Marjory met Aimil's eyes, her own gaze clear and strong.
 
"Only pity, Aimil.  Ewen has clearly gone a wee bit soft in the head.  And the least I can do is make sure he's well taken care of until Torcall Cameron comes to take him home."

"And what if Torcall Cameron doesna want him the way he is?"

"Then he'll just have to stay here at Crannag Mhór."  Aimil was silent, but Marjory knew she was holding her tongue.  "Out with it, Aimil.  I know you've something to say to me."

Aimil smiled.  "Ah, child, ye know me too well.  'Tis just that I dinna want ye to get any more involved with the man than ye already are."

Marjory laughed, but the sound held little humor.  "I married him.  I dinna know how much more involved I can get."

"Aye, but when ye married him, he wasna injured and he didna want to be here.  He only came now and again in the hopes o' getting ye with child, and when that failed, he hightailed it back to his father's house and his mistress."

Marjory opened her mouth to speak, but Aimil cut her off with a wave of her hand.  "Nay, I'll no' dance around the fact that he has a mistress, maybe scores of them for all we know.  And it'll do ye good to remember the fact.  A cat canna change his ways, Marjory.  He will always roam, and this one is worse than most.  He's a Cameron.  Dinna let yerself care fer him, child.  It canna bring ye anything but heartache.  And more than likely, it'll bring ye harm."

They sat in silence, sewing almost in rhythm.  Aimil was right. 
Marjory
knew it in her mind and her heart had long been closed to anything that even resembled feeling.  She ought to be safe from the charms of her half-brained husband.

But she wasn
'
t.  Marjory touched the back of her hand, feeling again the strange warmth his fingers against her skin had invoked.  No matter what her practical mind said, her body would not, could not deny that his touch had woken a part of her she had long thought dead.

She shook her head.  She knew better than to open herself up to someone, and particularly to a Cameron.  With a strength of will built from the pain of a destroyed childhood, she forced herself to picture her parents' bodies.  The horror of the image washed over her like icy water.  The man upstairs was an enemy.  No matter what he said or did, he was still a Cameron.  And she hated the lot.

*****

Cameron shifted in the bed so that he was closer to the window.  From this vantage point, he could look down into the courtyard of Crannag Mhór, people below him going about their daily chores, scurrying here and there, each intent upon his or her task.

One girl, wrapped in a brightly colored plaid, looked up at his window.  He waved.  She blushed a bright crimson, quickly averting her eyes, and continued on her way without an answering gesture.  Obviously, she had been warned about the infamous Ewen.

There were several outbuildings directly across from him.  He had no idea what purpose they served.  One billowed smoke and so he figured it was probably a blacksmith of some kind.  His knowledge of fifteenth century craftsmanship was limited to television and movies.  And everyone knew how accurate they usually were.

Adjacent to the front of the tower was another structure.  This one was surrounded by a pen of some kind.  A barn, he figured.  At least it looked like a barn.  He frowned in frustration.  A horse whinnied. 
A barn
.  He smiled with relief.  Funny, how even the slightest shift in a man's sense of reality left him questioning even the most mundane observations.

Not long ago, he'd had an ordinary life in the twenty-first century, or more precisely he thought he'd had such a life.  And now…well now he seemed to be a man without a memory, stuck in some crazy time warp.

He felt frustration rising again and tried to push it back down.  It was only a matter of time, he reassured himself.  His memories were already starting to come back.  He'd remembered his car in the dream.  And then there was the girl.  The blonde.  It was clear that she was important somehow
, t
hat she needed him.  But why?

He told himself that it would all come back.  He just had to be patient and get well.  Once that was accomplished he
'
d find his way back to the rockslide.  Surely there, he
'
d find a way home.  The little voice in his head insisted that it was a long shot at best, but he ignored it.  If sheer will would get him home, then he
'
d soon be on his way.

"Are ye all right?"  Grania stood at the foot of the bed.  He'd been so deep in thought, he hadn't heard her come in.  He automatically reached for the sheet to cover himself, realizing as he did so that the gesture was unnecessary.  Grania couldn
'
t see him.

"I think, even if I were no' blind, I would be too old for you to have to worry about modesty, but I thank ye for the thought."  Her voice was filled with laughter.  Somehow she must have guessed his actions
.  Her tone grew more solemn. 
"I passed Marjory outside yer chamber a bit ago.  Did the two of you have words?"

Cameron winced.  If only it were that simple. 
"
Believe me, words had nothing to do with it.
"

"Cameron, ye see what ye want to see and naught more." 
W
ith that enigmatic comment, she moved to open another window.  "'Tis time ye were up and about, lad.  'Tis a beautiful morning."  She handed him his shirt.  "Dinna fash yerself about things ye canna change."

Easy for her to say.  Her life was ordered and as it should be.  His was falling down around his ears. 
"
I don't have the faintest idea what to do, Grania.  I don't remember the person she thinks I am.
"
  Cameron didn
'
t allow himself to stop and examine why it was Marjory in particular that he worried about. 
"
To listen to her tell it I
'
m, at best, a self-centered bastard and, at worst, a hideous fiend of some kind with the devil for a father.
"
  He shifted uncomfortably on the bed as he pulled
on his shirt.

Grania sat patiently in the chair by the bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap.  He was amazed at her ability for stillness.  "I canna see, Cameron.  By necessity I must sit for long periods of time.  I find 'tis easier to bear if I find a peace within."

With uncanny accuracy, she had read his thoughts.  "How do you do that?"

She smiled at him. 
"
Marjory would say I
'
m fey, but I think it
'
s more to do with observation.
"

"
Without your eyes?
"

"
There
'
s far more to the world, lad, than what you can see.  Tell me what ye remember of yerself.
"

"
Nothing significant.  Only everyday things."  He didn't mention that they were everyday things that hadn't been invented yet.  That would surely throw even the unflappable Grania.  Then again, maybe not.

There was something about her that made him feel like she could see through him, even without conventional sight. He shook his head at the ridiculous notion.  She was nothing more than she appeared.  An old lady with good instincts.

"Well, I wouldna worry o'ermuch.  It will all come to ye in time.  Besides, the past is ne'er as important as the present.  And I've the feeling ye've something important to do here."

"Me?  I hardly think so.  Even I can tell I
'
m not wanted here.  Hell, without your help, I
'
m fairly certain they
'
d have left me to die.  The one na
med Fingal would probably have
helped me on my way, if you know what I mean."

"Ach, lad, dinna go making things worse than they are.  Marjory has had a rough time of it, and because o' that, she's closed off her heart, but she is no' a bad person and I dinna think she'd actually let any real harm befall ye."

"Maybe not, but I'm still glad you're here.  I don't think I like the idea of putting your theory to the test."  He eased his legs off the side of the bed.

"There now, what do ye think yer doing?"

"You said it was time I was up and about.
"
  He slowly eased himself into a standing position.  For a minute, the room whirled about him and his stomach did flip-flops, but he held onto the bed frame and the room soon took on its regular proportions.  "There, see?  I managed it all right."  He winced at his choice of words, but Grania didn't seem to notice.

"Are you standing then?"  She held out a hand and Cameron took it.

"Yup.  I feel a bit wobbly, but that's to be expected.  I haven't had anything but broth since I got here."

"Aye, and lucky ye were to get that, ye ungrateful oaf."

"Oh, Grania, I'm sorry. 
I wasn't complaining.  Honestly."  Great, he'd managed to insult his only friend.

"Dinna fash yerself lad, I was but teasing ye.  Perhaps tonight we'll dig up a wee bit o' meat for you to gnaw on."

They laughed together, their camaraderie restored.

After awhile the old woman said, "She needs ye, lad.  Ye must know that."

Cameron sobered and sat on the edge of the bed.  "She?  You mean Marjory?  I hardly think so.  Besides, I don't think I'll be here long enough to help anyone.  Sooner or later, I'm bound to remember everything, and when I do, I expect I'll be heading back where I belong."  He sincerely hoped it would be that simple.

"And how do you know this isna where ye belong?"

"Because it isn't home, Grania.  Even I know that much.  Somewhere out there, I have a home, an identity.  All I have to do is remember."

"Maybe 'tis best if ye dinna."

"No, I can't accept that.  I will remember.  Which means that making attachments here would be foolhardy."

"I've the feeling, lad,
that ye've trouble making attachments no matter where ye are."

"Nonsense."  The single word put an end to the conversation.  But it was a lie. Unfortunately, he was afraid Grania
'
s comment was right on the mark.  Which left him somewhere to the left of nowhere.

The plan was to get out of the bed, head down the stairs, and out to the courtyard.  Grania had said that fresh air would do him wonders, and the idea had taken hold. Unfortunately, the progress wasn
'
t matching the motivation.

Part of the problem was the damn skirt.  Kilts might seem simple in theory, but in reality he
'
d take a pair of 501
'
s any day.  Untangling himself for about the twenty-fourth time, he sat on the bed, wondering what in hell he
'
d done to deserve all of this.  Maybe he
'
d been a bastard in his previous life, and this was the punishment.

"
Having a little trouble are ye?
"
  Allen Cameron stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, a devilish smile on his face. 
"
Ye never did have the patience for the thing.
"

Cameron looked at the man who called him brother, searching his mind for a memory, an emotion, but there was nothing.  Allen was as much a stranger as Marjory.  Wrapping the wool around his waist one last time, he fumbled with the tail, grateful when Allen moved forward to pull it up across the shoulder.

"
Thanks,
"
he mumbled, embarrassed at his ineptitude. 
"
I can take it from here.
"

Allen moved back, hands in the air. 
"
Have it yer own way.
"

"
I haven
'
t really had much time to practice.  Grania has been helping me.
"
  He almost kicked himself for the words.  Memory loss or not, he should surely remember how to wrap himself in a plaid.