Page 27 of Wild Highland Rose
Cameron jerked upright in the bed, his heart racing. He gulped air, trying to calm himself. Each time, the dream seemed a little more detailed, almost like his memory was taunting him, dancing maliciously just out of reach.
Clutching the bedcovers, he tried to reconstruct the dream in his mind, but already reality was crowding in and the dream was fading away, slipping back into the dark recesses of his subconscious. He groaned in frustration.
He wanted to remember. To help the blonde. To help himself. He'd remembered other things, vague memories of childhood, but nothing concrete, nothing that could clarify his identity. Or his relationship to the blonde.
Long term memory came first, the small voice in his brain whispered. What he needed was stimuli, something to jog it all back, but that certainly wasn't going to happen here in the fifteenth century. He had to find a way back to his own time, to his own body.
His best chance was the landslide. He had no idea what to expect, but there had to be a door there. Wasn't there always a door in the movies, orStar Trekor something? He sighed, running a hand through his hair. One thing was for sure, the only way to find out was to return.
But with Torcall's imminent arrival it could be hard to get away. Ewen would be in much demand, and if his father's hatredran anywhere near as deep as Marjory's, he'd want his son away from Crannag Mhór at all costs. Especially once Allen started spouting his theories about the landslide.
Cameron shot a look at the door that separated him from Marjory. He didn't believe the woman was a killer. Still, it was possible that someone had rigged the fall. And whoever it was might indeed try again. Cameron rubbed his head, confusion making it ache. The tangle of lives at Crannag Mhór was almost epic in proportion. The hatred the two clans shared bound them together in some sort of insane intrinsic dance, tragedy repeating and repeating in the name of revenge.
But it wasn'thistragedy.
Yet, even as he had the thought, he knew it wasn't true. Whether he liked it or not, he was now a part of the pattern, and as much as he wanted to get home, he knew he also had to play his part, to try to avert further deterioration.
A seemingly impossible task. One he'd just as soon ignore. Again he looked at the door to Marjory's room, thinking of the woman behind it. It seemed he was uniquely equipped to protect Marjory Macpherson. Not that she'd actually appreciate anything he did on her behalf. The woman was really hard to figure out, one minute spilling her guts and the next retreating behind that icy façade of hers. It was enough to drive a man in any century crazy.
He sighed, knowing he had made up his mind. He would stay and watch over Marjory, but as soon as the Camerons made their exit, he was out of here. The decision acknowledged, he felt better. He was, after all, an honorable man. At least, he assumed so.
A picture of the blonde screaming 'no', popped into his mind. He again felt his foot pushing down on the accelerator, and he broke out in a cold sweat, his mind scrambling to erase the vision.
He forced himself to concentrate instead on the imminent arrival of the Camerons. He'd have to try and convince Torcall that he was Ewen, and, more importantly, he had to convince him that Ewen was fine and not interested in returning to Tyndrum. How he was going to accomplish this feat he had no idea, but he knew that both Marjory's safety and his freedom depended on it.
8
"They've arrived."
Marjory jerked her head up from the plaid she was mending. "Where are they?"
Fingal strode into the chamber, a frown creasing his brow. "Downstairs in the great hall."
Cold beads of sweat break out across her forehead. Torcall was here. The moment had come. "How many are there?"
"Four in the hall and about fifteen or so in the yard. I have the lads seeing to their horses."
"Added to Allen's men it's more than enough to pose a threat. But hopefully, with Ewen well, Torcall will hold his men at abeyance. Tell me who's in the great hall."
"His man, Dougall." Fingal paused, his eyes searching her face.
Marjory raised a hand to her cheek, seeking a physical cause for his scrutiny. "Who else is there Fingal? 'Tis best I know the worst of it."
"Ach, I suppose yer right. Allen's there, of course." Marjory forced an impassive expression, but Fingal saw right through it. "I wish ye'd let me deal with the bastard."
She'd told him about the attack, and Ewen's rescue. Although she still wasn't certain Ewen could be trusted, she'd felt it important to tell Fingal all of it. "What's done is done. And no harm befell me. 'Tis best we forget it."
Her captain nodded, but it didn't look as if he'd forgotten a thing.
"Who is else is down there?" She forced her mind back to the looming confrontation.
"They've brought Aida with them."
Marjory felt her chest tighten. Ewen's whore, here. He had never hidden the fact that he had a mistress, but since their wedding night, he hadn't seen fit to bring her back to Crannag Mhór. Marjory flushed with the memory.
It hadn't been bad enough that their wedding night had been harsh and painful. No, Ewen had added insult to injury by taunting her with the fact that he much preferred the skilled arms of his lady love. So much so that he had left her alone after taking her and returned to his lover's embrace. She shuddered at the memory of lying alone in her shame, listening to the sounds of their passion from the adjoining chamber.
"They're asking for ye, lass."
