Page 31 of Wild Highland Rose
"Unhand her." Fingal entered the great hall, his claymore drawn, shaking his head in answer to her unasked question.
Dougall, who had so far not uttered a word, seemed to spring to life at the sight of Crannag Mhor's captain. Sliding his own claymore from its sheath, he pivoted to face Fingal, his eyes narrowing to slits.
Three more Camerons materialized from the doorway, their swords drawn as well. All eyes were on Torcall, waiting for a command. Marjory hadn't the voice to cry out. And she knew even if help did arrive it would be too late.
The events of fifteen years ago were unfolding again, and once more she was powerless to stop them.
"Where is my son?" Torcall hissed.
"I told ye, I dinna know."
Dougall moved into a fighting stance, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.
"Perhaps if yer man dies, 'twill loosen yer tongue." Torcall inclined his head toward Fingal.
Almost immediately, a ringing noise sounded through the room as Dougall thrust forward, his sword glancing off Fingal's.
"Perhaps it is your man who will die." The words were out before she had time to think better of them, anger overriding all practical thoughts.
Fingal circled to Dougall's left, successfully moving the fight away from Marjory, his face a tight mask of concentration. "Come on,Cameron," he urged. "Let's have a taste o' yer blood."
Dougall moved a step closer, brandishing his claymore. "It'll take more than the likes o' ye, Macgillivray," Dougall growled and lunged forward. Fingal countered, metal hitting metal with a deafening clang.
"Stop." Marjory screamed above the din, anger superseding everything else. Jerking free of Torcall, she moved forward a step, hands held out beseechingly. "I willna have it. No' in this house. No' again."
The two men stopped for an instant, stunned, but just as quickly, they turned back to each other, intent on their fight. They moved apart and then together, thrusting and parrying, two dancers in a death dance.
Dougall drew first blood. Fingal cried out in anger, his next thrust going wide of the mark. Dougall turned and caught the edge of Fingal's sword, pushing it backward until her captain was forced to drop it. With another deft twist, the point of Dougall's claymore rested against Fingal's neck.
"What the hell is going on here?"
Silence descended. All eyes went to the man coming through the archway. Marjory exhaled slowly as Ewen walked into the great hall, his eyes locked on Dougall. The big man shot a questioning look at Torcall, but Torcall had eyes only for his son.
"Ewen?" Torcall frowned as if he wasn't sure it was in fact his son.
Fingal used the opportunity to move away from Dougall, and Marjory rushed to his side.
"Hello, Father," Ewen said, his eyes locked on the older man.
Marjory's heart nearly stopped. He'd remembered. Holy Mary, mother of God, he'd remembered who he was.
9
Cameron stood in the doorway, trying desperately to sort out the players. He knew Allen of course, and the man with the tangle of graying hair was clearly Torcall Cameron. But the man who'd almost skewered Fingal was a stranger. As were the other giants standing watch over the old man.
Marjory had rushed to Fingal, her face, blanched of all color, making her eyes seem unusually large. Fingal was brushing her aside, his claymore still drawn, the blood on his arm apparently only a scratch.
Tension in the room was tight enough to sever an artery without a scalpel, and Cameron felt as if he was the unintentional vortex of the whole thing. Or Ewen Cameron was. He wished desperately that the door—or whatever the hell it had been that had transported him here—would open and send him home, leaving these people and their feud behind.
Except that he didn't like the idea of anyone hurting Marjory.
"Ye know me?" Torcall asked, his words pulling Cameron from his rambling thoughts. "They said ye dinna remember anything. But ye know me." The old man smiled, and despiteeverything Cameron had heard, he smiled back. Whatever Torcall Cameron's faults, he clearly loved his son. Unfortunately, his son was most likely dead. It was only his body that lived on with someone else in it.
"I don't remember." Cameron shook his head regretfully. "It's just that there's a resemblance. And I assumed you were…my father." He'd been about to say Ewen's father, but corrected himself just in time.
Disappointment washed across Torcall's face, the emotion making him look suddenly older. Cameron immediately wished he could have said something different. Something that wouldn't have taken the light from the old man's eyes.
In contrast, Marjory seemed to be breathing easier, the color returning to her cheeks. He shot her a questioning glance, but she ducked his gaze, fussing instead over Fingal. The other men had relaxed slightly. It seemed his arrival had averted the killing, at least for now.
