Page 42 of Wild Highland Rose
"I doubt it, but what would ye be wanting it for?"
"I'm going to go fishing." Cameron felt a release of tension at the thought. Time to get things in perspective. Time to work Marjory Macpherson out of his system. Fishing was the perfect answer. He might suck at swordplay, but he could fish.
"Fishing? Whatever for? We dinna need food, and besides there are men here to do that. You needn't go." Fingal helped Cameron lean the boat back against the wall.
"I'm not going so that I can provide food."
Fingal looked puzzled. "Then why?"
Cameron shrugged. "For fun." He started walking toward a wood pile stacked against a storage shed, already trying to think of a way to construct a fishing pole.
"Fun? Yer going fishing for merriment? Seems to me Aimil's right. Ye are a wee bit touched in the head. Perhaps bed would be a better place fer ye." Fingal kept pace as he walked.
"Nope. Just a little relaxation, and I think fishing is just the ticket. Besides, Fingal, a man has to have his little eccentricities." Cameron handed him the claymore, then squatted down by the pile, extracting a long thin branch and inspecting it like he would a pool cue. Satisfied that it was fairly straight, he stood up, cast it back over a shoulder and then flicked it forward several times.
"Perfect. Now all I need is a some string and a hook and I'm set. You want to come with me?" He actually didn't want company, but Fingal looked fascinated.
"I'd love to, if for no other reason than to find out just exactly what yer up to." He frowned. "But I canna. I've work to do."
Cameron heaved an inward sigh of relief. "Next time, then."
Fingal nodded and set off toward the stable. Cameron watched him go, then turned to find the blacksmith. Surely he would have something that could pass for a hook.
"Marjory, are ye in there, lass?"Aimil's voice drifted through the closed door. Marjory rolled over, turning away from the sound. She frantically tried to erase signs of her tears, but she was too late. She felt the bed dip as the older woman sat on the edge.
"Come now, lamb, tell Aimil what's ailing ye."
Marjory felt a hand in her hair, smoothing it with a gentle caress. The sign of affection undid her and she sat up, throwingherself into Aimil's arms. "You were right, I should have listened to you," she sobbed.
"Right about what, love?" Aimil's voice was low, soothing.
"About him."
"Him who?"
"Ewen." Just saying his name made it all come back. She'd been so happy this morning. Waking in his arms had been wonderful. She had hurried downstairs to get his breakfast, eager to spend the day with him, to simply be with him.
"Ah. I was afraid this would happen. Has he hurt you?" Aimil pulled back, looking into Marjory's eyes. "Did he…."
"No, no, nothing like that," she assured the older woman, surprised by the strength of her desire to protect him.
"What then?"
"He...he spent the night here. 'Twas so…" she released a sigh, "so, beautiful. But then this morning he…I…"
"Take yer time,mo chridhe, tell Aimil."
Marjory took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. "I came to bring him the morning meal and found the chamber empty. So I took the tray in there." She pointed to the connecting door. "And he was with Aida."
Tears filled her eyes again as she relived the humiliation. Aida, naked and obviously ready to climb into Ewen's bed, and Ewen sitting there, waiting for her. It was her wedding night all over again, except this time her heart was involved as well as her pride. She fought the notion, but couldn't deny the truth of it.
"I wish I could tell ye the news surprises me, but it doesna. I warned ye against believing the man had truly changed. He hasna and he willna. 'Tis naught but a trick. The sooner you accept that, the sooner ye can get on with yer life."
Marjory wiped her eyes. "If only it were that easy, Aimil. The man is my husband after all. 'Tis no' as if I can get rid of him altogether."
"Dinna worry yourself, lamb, things have a way o' taking care o' themselves, just ye wait and see." She patted Marjory on the shoulder. "Come now, dry yer eyes. No use letting the man know how much he's hurt ye."
Marjory swallowed her pain, pushing it deep down. Aimil was right. She wouldn't let a man like that matter to her. She'd had a moment of weakness that was all, nothing that couldn't be forgotten. All she had to do was put him out of her mind. She climbed out of the bed, Aimil hovering worriedly. "'Tis all right, Aimil. I'm fine. 'Twas my pride and nothing more." Liar, her heart cried. "I'll be down directly."
