Page 35 of Wild Highland Rose
"I asked them to let Cait go. To take me fer ransom and leave her to her sons. But Manus would no' hear of it. He wanted her. I could see it in his eyes. But my Cait was a fighter, and she refused to surrender, instead moving her horse away, saying her bairns needed her and she'd no' go peacefully.
"Manus laughed. I can still hear it. Then he charged at her, his steed twice as big as the mare she rode. The wee beast took fright, and reared back, Cait flew off and landed against a tree, her neck broken. I held her in my arms until she died.
"I wanted to kill him, but there were too many of them and I had you and yer brother to think about. So I let them take me." He reached for a pitcher to refill his tankard, and then drank deeply. "So ye see, my son, there can be no' room in yer heart for anything other than revenge."
"But wasn't that what happened here, when you killed Marjory's parents?"
"How is it ye remember that and no' yer own mother?" Torcall's voice rose in anger, and Allen looked up to eye them speculatively.
"Idon'tremember. Someone told me."
Torcall studied him for a minute, then nodded. "The raid was meant as revenge. A way to honor yer mother. And for a while it was enough. But there was talk of Macpherson retaliation, with more than just our two families involved, and so the lairds came together to find a solution." He spat the word as if it were poison. "Yer marriage was the outcome. I've no mind telling you that I'd as soon have seen ye marry the devil himself as Manus' spawn, but I had no choice in the matter."
"And now you think if Marjory bears a child it will be the end of it all?" Cameron wasn't sure he followed the logic.
"I'd rather run her through with a claymore, but it canna be so. And if it canna, then what better revenge than to take Crannag Mhór? Manus loved this valley more than he loved life itself. And since he took what I loved best…"
"You'll take what was his."
"Aye." Torcall nodded, slamming a fist upon the table. "Tis how it must be done."
And of that Cameron had no doubt. But revenge came at a price, and not just to those who were on the receiving end. The Camerons and the Macphersons were living proof. One death had led to others and they in turn would lead to more. It was a never ending cycle fed by hatred.
Hatred that couldn't be stopped—unless someone with little to lose could step in and make things change.
It was a heady thought. And one he did not want to accept. He was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. He refused to acknowledge the idea that he might have been sent here for a reason. He didn't believe in things like cosmic intervention.
He was a man of science.
And more importantly, he was a man who wanted to go home.
10
Cameron had had enough toasting to last his entire life. At least, he was pretty sure he had. He'd know for certain when he could think clearly again. He tried to focus on the fire in the fireplace, but its hypnotic dance made him queasy. Best he could remember, they'd drunk their way well into the night.
The Cameron contingency that is. Most of the Macpherson clan had skipped the festivities, and those that had attended had been stoically silent. Marjory of course hadn't stayed. She'd finished her dinner and left with the frigid regality of a queen.
She hadn't spared him so much as a glance, making it more than clear she thought him a defector. Although it wasn't entirely apparent why she'd think he'd do anything less. She'd consistently rejected him, even when he'd tried to save her. Hell, hehadsaved her, and gotten nothing but ice in return.
Damn the woman. He burped noisily—which seemed to be the order of the day for Cameron men—and drank from his cup. In truth, he didn't need Marjory. He had Aida. No smart mouth on that one, just plain old adoration. She was up theresomewhere, right now, waiting for him. He looked toward the stairs, surprised to see that there were two sets.
"Have some more, Ewen. We'll drink to yer health." Torcall held up his cup, sloshing ale over the rim.
Cameron tried to shake his head, to signal that he'd had more than enough, but the gesture was more than he could handle. Besides, it wouldn't have stopped Torcall anyway. The man was a bottomless pit.
"To my heir," his pseudo-father called, and the Cameron crew dutifully hoisted their cups.
"To Ewen," Dougall bellowed, seeming no worse for wear. Which was amazing considering the amount of ale he'd personally put away.
"To my brother." Allen's toast lacked sincerity, but Cameron had already realized that there was no love lost between them.
Like Dougall and Torcall, Allen seemed to be in no danger of succumbing to the effects of the alcohol. For just a moment, Cameron wished for the man's genes. Or at least a stouter stomach.
His father waited expectantly. Never one to disappoint, Cameron focused on both of his cups, concentrating until there was just the one, and, with a satisfied grin, lifted it in salute, somehow managing not to spill.
Looking around at the assembled group, he realized there was not a Macpherson left. It was only the diehard Camerons that remained, and evidently they intended to stay until the keg ran dry. A practice he fervently hoped was not a nightly routine. If so he'd pickle his liver before he had a chance to figure a way out of this mess.
"Are ye listening to me, boy?" Torcall asked, "I want to know when yer going to end this thing and get the woman with child."
