Page 14 of Wild Highland Rose
She pulled her hand away, anger sparking in her eyes. "I've no more time for blethering," she snapped, jumping up from the chair. "There's work to be done and it won't take care of itself.Yourfather," she spat the word as if it were a curse, "will be here soon. Whatever it is you need to know, you can learn it from him."
Without giving him time to answer, she fled, leaving Cameron with the uncomfortable feeling that she'd taken the sunshine with her.
"I dinna knowwhat it is, Aimil, but he is no' the same." Marjory raised the linen to her lips and snapped the embroidery thread.
Aimil frowned. "Not with yer teeth. Ye were raised to be a lady no' a stable boy. And change or no', the mon is still a Cameron and in my books that makes him the enemy. Have ye forgotten so quickly then what his family did to yours?"
Marjory bit her lip in concentration as she tried to thread the small needle. Finally, in frustration, she handed it to Aimil who deftly threaded it and handed it back. Marjory sighed, failing to see the importance of being able to thread a needle. There were far more critical things to worry about. And best she could tell, there was no one at Crannag Mhór who cared at all if she could embroider tapestry. Well, no one except Aimil.
She picked up the piece and earnestly began to stitch. "Of course I haven't forgotten, Aimil. I live with that legacy every day of my life. I was only saying that I think Ewen has changed." Her body fairly sang at the thought of the physical changes. But that wasn't all of it. There was something more, something she couldn't put her finger on. Something she was hesitant to even think about, let alone believe.
"Ye sound as if yer taking an interest in the man." Aimil shot her a concerned look over the top of her tapestry frame.
"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 shiftedin 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, that 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."
