Page 43 of Wild Highland Rose
"If yer sure?"
Marjory nodded and the older woman hugged her.
"Yer like me own child, Marjory. I'll never let the likes o' Ewen Cameron harm ye. I promise ye that,mo chridhe."
"Thank you, Aimil, but I can take care of myself. I'm a grown woman after all."
Aimil beamed. "That ye are, me girl, that ye are." With a final pat, she turned to go.
Marjory kept her face serene until Aimil was gone. Then, with a small cry, she sank to the floor, burying her face in her hands. It was easy to tell herself Ewen didn't matter, that he hadn't the power to hurt her, but unfortunately her heart wasn't listening.
12
Cameron leaned against the handle of the narrow wooden shovel. If there were worms in the garden, they were evidently on a coffee break. He'd been digging for what felt like an hour without locating a single slimy one. Maybe it was the wrong time of year. Maybe he wasn't digging deeply enough. Actually, he didn't seem to know a damn thing about finding worms.
One more shovelful and he was going to give up. He'd head for the kitchens. Surely there was something there fish would eat. Hell, he really didn't care if he caught anything. It was just the normalcy he sought. Something removed from the harsh reality of fifteenth century Scotland.
He ought to be out searching for a way home. Wherever the hell that was. But just at the moment, even that was too much to deal with. He needed something to ground him, something that he knew how to do, in any body.
He stuck the shovel into the soft brown earth, carefully turning the dirt so he wouldn't disturb the plants. All he needed to add to an already bad morning was to incur the wrath of Aimil Macgillivray.
"And just what do ye think yer doing, Ewen Cameron?"
Speak of the devil. He looked up from the pile of sod he was carefully examining. "Looking for earthworms."
"I'll no' have ye speaking yer addled gibberish to me. Say it to me plain."
"I'm looking for something to bait my fishing line."
"Yer fishing line." She repeated his words slowly, as if saying them would make them make sense.
"Yes, my fishing line. It goes with the fishing pole."
"Seamus warned me, ye were talking crazy."
The blacksmith had made it clear what he thought of fishing, in fact, what he thought of all recreational endeavors. It seemed the people at Crannag Mhór weren't big on leisure time activities.
"I'm well aware of Seamus' views." Cameron dumped a handful of soil back to the ground. No worms there. He stood up, brushing his hands against his legs to knock off the remaining dirt.
"I'll have ye know, I've no time fer yer playacting. Ye may be able to fool Marjory, but ye canna fool me." The older woman crossed her bony arms across her chest and glared at him.
"Look, Aimil, I don't know what Marjory told you, but there's been a misunderstanding. When she cools off a bit, I'll explain it to her. In the meantime, I'm going to go fishing." He walked over to the shed and replaced the shovel, only to turn and find her blocking his way, a speculative look on her face.
"Fishing is it? Are ye sure 'tis no' a rendezvous with yer whore?"
Cameron groaned. God save him from women. "I am going out in a boat to the center of the lake to be by myself. There will be no one with me, not Aida, not Marjory, not anyone. Do you understand?" He spoke slowly, carefully enunciating each word.
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Oh, I understand ye, all right."
"Good, then if it wouldn't be too much of an effort, would you mind telling your brother I'd like to use the curach? I'm going to the kitchen for a few things, then I'll come and get the boat. Okay?"
The woman relaxed. In fact, she almost smiled. "I'll do ye better than that. I'll see that one o' the lads takes the boat down to the loch fer ye. Ye can meet him at the shore."
Startled, Cameron managed to stammer out his thanks. She drew herself up to her full height and leaned in close to him. "Just stay away from Marjory. Ye've no business confusing her with yer daft talk o' changing. Ye and I both know the kind of man ye are."
Actually, he hadn't the foggiest notion what kind of man he was, but that wasn't something he intended to share with Aimil. He was curious, however, to know what she thought. "And what kind of man would that be?"
"A Cameron." She spat the word like a blasphemy. "Now go. I'll have the curach ready fer ye."
