Page 17 of Wild Highland Rose
An apt sentiment. Cameron studied the man before him, wishing he could read minds.
Allen met his gaze, his own hardened. "Father would no' forgive me if anything happened to you. I'll deliver ye safe and sound or die trying. And I'll no' let a bit o' skirt like Marjory Macpherson get in the way."
"Father's close?" Cameron chose to ignore the implication of Allen's words, concentrating instead on applying a name to the menace that seemed to surround them all.Torcall Cameron. To hear Marjory talk, the man was next in line to the devil himself, but, in truth, Cameron hadn't any idea who he should believe. His brother or his wife.
Like most things he suspected the answer was somewhere in the middle, and until he knew the whole truth, he wasn't making any judgments.
"I've just had a message. He's through the pass and should be here on the morrow."
"Does Marjory know?"
"No' from me." Allen shrugged. "'Tis no' my place to tell her. Although her kinfolk will no doubt send word that he's near."
"And when he arrives?" Ewen's father's arrival seemed to represent some sort of catalyst. A cataclysmic one, if Cameron had to call it.
"When he arrives," Allen said, his expression grim, "Marjory Macpherson will pay for all that she's done."
Cameron sat on the bench,eyes closed, leaning back against the cool stone tower wall, letting the afternoon sun warm his face. Allen had helped him down the stairs, then gone off to check on his men.
It was a beautiful day, but it was hard to enjoy it. Not with all the information swirling around in his head. It seemed that not only had he woken up to find himself inside another man's body, he'd also landed into middle of a feudal war. Ewen Cameron at the heart of it.
AndMarjory. The thought of her made his blood heat, despite the things Allen had said of her. It was difficult to believe she'd want to kill him. No matter how much she despised him. Yet, Allen was his brother, and he'd been certain the landslide was intentional.
A conundrum if ever there was one. Add to that the fact that he couldn't remember who the hell he really was and it increased from conundrum to calamity. Possibly a deadly one.
Which of course left him with the primary question. Who the hell did he trust?
What he needed was a way out. Or more realistically a way home. But was that even possible?.
He was feeling much better, the lumps on his head greatly reduced in size and the drummers seemingly departed for their next concert stop. But that didn't mean he was up to the trek back to the mountain. If he even could find the place again.
Still, the little voice in his head insisted, leaving was worth any risk, if he got back where he belonged. The blonde's face flashed through his mind, as if underscoring the thought. He had a life, and it wasn't here. He couldn't let these people and theirproblems get to him. Not Grania, not Allen, and certainly not Marjory. He had nothing to offer any of them. And even if he did, he wasn't certain he'd offer it.
A cold thought, surely, but a man had to protect himself. People weren't to be trusted.
He frowned, wondering where the hell that thought had come from. Not exactly a Pollyanna moment. He laughed at himself, surprised at how bitter he sounded, and for the first time it occurred to him that maybe he hadn't been all that happy in his old life.
As quickly as the thought came, he pushed it away. Good or bad, he needed his own identity. Any thoughts to the contrary were the result of listening to Grania with her endless predictions and enigmatic ways.
If he believed in such things, he'd have to agree with Marjory's assessment that Grania was touched in some way. Or maybe they were all enchanted. A Grimm's fairy tale run amok.
Definitely not his style.
With a sigh, he opened his eyes, surprised to find Marjory Macpherson perched precariously on a rickety looking wooden ladder in front of a shed just across the way. She was obviously content to ignore him, and just at the moment the fact suited him just fine.
He couldn't help admiring the soft curve of her backside. It was something just this side of mouth watering, and he was happy to note that his borrowed body responded like any red-blooded male to the sight of a beautiful woman.
Even a deceitful one.
Marjory barked something at a man standing below her at the foot of the ladder, and, with a fatalistic shrug, the guy passed her what looked to be a handful of straw. As she reached for it, the ladder shook ominously, but held, and Marjory began to weave the straw into a hole in the shed's roof.
An accident waiting to happen, if ever there was one. But far be it from Cameron to try and share the information with Marjory. The woman was prickly at best, and since the moment in his room when they'd practically electrified the tower, she hadn't so much as acknowledged his presence. Besides, if Allen was right, she was more than cantankerous. She was an enemy. Possibly a deadly one.
He blew out a breath, and dismissed all ideas of intervening. The building wasn't high and he didn't think a fall would result in serious injury as long as someone was there to catch her. She'd be just fine without him. And he'd be better off without getting involved. Entanglements only resulted in pain.
And he'd had enough of that for a lifetime.
Again he frowned, wondering what it was he was remembering—or not remembering. Frustration crested then died as he slowly forced a breath. He had to remain calm. Hold onto his wits.
