Page 33 of Wild Highland Rose
He shot a quick look at Marjory, hoping for guidance. Instead, he found her narrow-eyed, practically spitting nails. No help from that corner. He wracked his brain for some clue to the woman's identity.
"Aida, was heartbroken to think ye gone, Ewen." Torcall said.
Aida. This was the mistress then. The one Allen had talked about. No wonder Marjory was frowning. With a whirl of petticoats, the girl closed the distance between them, her armsencircling his waist, the scent of lilac clinging to her hair. It was intoxicating. Hell,shewas intoxicating.
"I missed ye so much, Ewen." Tears filled her lovely eyes. "And when they said ye were dead, I wished I could follow ye to the grave." Aida smothered his face with tiny kisses, her breath wet and warm on his cheek.
Cameron pulled out of her embrace, more than a little overwhelmed. Given the circumstances, he couldn't exactly blame Ewen for sleeping with the woman. She was a hell of a package. But judging from the look on Marjory's face he also knew how much it had hurt her.
Maybe not because she cared about Ewen. She quite obviously didn't. But because it was an insult of the highest order. A rejection at a soul deep level, that would tear at a person's pride. He hated the idea of infidelity. No matter the reasons. And for a moment, he felt nothing but disgust for the man he was supposed to be. He knew the pain of broken promises only too well.
A memory flitted through his brain, tantalizing him with truth, but it dissipated before he could understand its true meaning. With a grimace, he disentangled himself from the blonde, suddenly feeling smothered by her fragrance and her presence. Oddly enough, he found that he preferred Marjory's smell, crisp and clean. Hell, he even preferred her acerbic comments to this fluff of a girl, no matter how pretty she was.
He turned to find her. She was standing alone by the window, her face even paler than usual, her eyes riveted on him and the blonde, who was now clutching at his arm, trying to regain his attention. Without a word, she pivoted and ran from the room.
Cameron fought an urge to follow. He wasn't yet ready to choose sides. He told himself the decision was as much for Marjory as for himself, but he knew it was the coward's way out.
Not that he owed anything to Marjory or to anyone here. But still, a part of him yearned for something more. A commitment, a sense of belonging. The idea was as frightening as it was foreign and he swallowed the thought whole, turning instead to the girl on his arm.
"Fingal,we just have to tolerate them until they're gone." Marjory sat on the edge of a rickety chair by the kitchen fire, her fingers laced so tightly together she could feel the blood pounding through them.
Fingal was pacing in front of her. "I dinna like the way things are going. First the fight with Dougall, then Torcall's threats, and now Ewen thicker than thieves with them in there."
Marjory glanced in the direction of the great hall. Both clans had settled for dinner, sitting on decidedly opposite sides of the room. Two armed camps within the confines of Crannag Mhór. And Ewen was sitting with the enemy, his mistress draped over him like a simpering cat. "Ewen is a Cameron. Even if he canna remember them."
"True enough. But I thought perhaps he'd changed."
Aimil looked up from the dish she was washing with a knowing snort. "That'd be the day."
"'Tis true, Aimil," Marjory defended. "He saved me from Allen."
"No doubt because it suited him." Aimil looked to her brother for support. "Ye know that's the way of it."
Fingal shook his head, his expression pensive. "I'm no' so sure, sister. There's also the fact that he caught her in the courtyard when she fell."
"An instinctive act, nothing more." Aimil shrugged.
"No. 'Twas more than that." Marjory felt heat washing across her face at the memory of his strong arms around her, his scent enveloping her, teasing her senses.
"'Ye see only what ye want to see." Aimil put down the rag she'd been using to clean the tabletop. "Mayhap it's a trick to get ye to breed with him."
The thought had occurred to her, but she couldn't believe Ewen, this Ewen would do such a thing. He'd been so gentle in the clearing when she'd told him about her parents. So understanding. Never mind that it hadn't lasted long, the fact that it had been there at all meant something, surely?
Fingal growled deep in his throat. "If bedding was all he wanted, he'd no' have to go to all this trouble."
Marjory shivered, and Aimil shot her brother an angry look. "Yer as bad as the lot of them. Thinking a man can just have his way with a lass whenever he desires."
Fingal held out a hand. "I dinna mean that and well you know it. I was merely saying that Ewen's done more for Marjory since he fell than the entire time he was with her before."
"He stopped the fighting today as well. And defended me to his father. The old Ewen wouldna have done that."
"Yer both as addled as he is," Aimil snapped, scorn coloring her voice. "A clean-shaven face is no' a rebirth. And just because he's chosen to help ye on occasion, it doesna mean that he's a new man. Only that there's something in it for him."
"I'm telling ye, I see something different in the lad. He's no' the same." Fingal stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"I see it, too."
"Ach," Aimil threw her hands in the air. "Ewen this, Ewen that. To hear ye both talk, ye'd think he was a bloody saint."
