Page 45 of Wild Highland Rose
"He wasn't," Marjory snapped.
The old woman nodded her head. "Exactly. Ye have to learn to look at things with more than just yer eyes. Ye have to view them with yer heart. Things that appear one way to yer mind often appear quite differently when viewed with a little faith."
"Faith? How can I have faith in Ewen?"
"Ye just do it. Faith is no' earned, Marjory. 'Tis instinctive. Stop listening to yer head child, and start listening to yer heart." She stood, picking up the bowl of carrots. "Now, go and find the mon and see if the two of ye can make peace afore we've enough meal to last us 'til Christmastide."
Marjory saton a boulder by the loch, tossing stones into its dark gray depths. The day had turned colder. Clouds were gathering to the east. There'd be a storm before night set in, but that was hours off yet. She sat still, her eyes closed, letting the breeze wash over her. It carried the smell of gorse and rowan.
Worry ate at her. She'd spent the better part of the early afternoon searching Crannag Mhór for Ewen. He was nowhere to be found. She was terrified that he had decided to leave her alone to face his father.
She'd only just avoided a confrontation with Torcall as it was, he and that witch Aida. Whether she believed Grania's version of the morning's events or not, she knew that Aida was an adversary and a dangerous one at that.
Praise the Saints, for the serving passage. Her father had built it so that food could be brought more easily from the kitchen to the great hall. The passageway wound down the tower wall without stairs, a ramp of sorts. It started in the pantry and ended in an alcove in the wall behind the dais.
It was designed so that the entry sat behind an elaborately carved screen. That way dinner guests wouldn't be able to see it. Her father had always been proud of it. Marjory had always used it as an escape route. As a child, she had mostly escaped fromimaginary enemies, but as she grew older, she'd found it useful in evading people she didn't want to see.
Today, it had been Torcall Cameron. He'd been sprawled across a bench in the main solar, bellowing for his son. Aida had been there, too, sitting beside him, wrapped around his arm like an eel Marjory had seen once at Cluny, all slippery and evil smelling. Once out of their sight, it had been easy enough to sneak back up the stairs and out the front entry. Now she was safely away, but still no nearer to discovering where Ewen had gone.
A splashing noise off to her left caught her attention. Someone was struggling to get a curach into the loch. The man held the boat over his head with both arms. He had waded a short way into the loch and presently was trying to turn the boat over and drop it into the water, without tumbling in himself. After watching for a few minutes, Marjory realized he wasn't having much success.
Curiosity aroused, she stood, and hurried down the beach just as the man managed to flip the curach into the water. He made a wild grab for it, snagging the edge before it could drift out into the loch. As he straightened and pulled the craft partway onto the shore, her heart began to race. The man was Ewen.
"Wait," she called, beginning to run. He was loading something into the boat. He didn't hear her and began to push the curach out into the water again. She hiked up her skirts so that she could move faster, driven by an overpowering urge to get to him.
"Ewen, wait," she yelled again, breathlessly. He paused and looked up, shading his eyes with his hand. She skidded to a stop within a few yards of him. No sense in letting him know how anxious she was. She released her skirts and patted her hair, trying to appear nonchalant.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, trying to sound surprised.
He raised his eyebrows. "Watching you tear across the meadow-like a madwoman."
Marjory dipped her head, embarrassment heating her cheeks. "I was afraid you were going to leave."
"I am leaving."
"What?" Her head snapped up.
"Not forever, princess, just for a little while. I'm going fishing."
Relief washed through her. He wasn't leaving her permanently. "Fishing? Whatever for?"
He shot her an exasperated look. "For fun. Why is it you people don't know anything about fishing? You live on a lake for God's sake."
"We know about fish." She tipped her chin up. How dare he insult her people? "They live in the loch, and sometimes, when there is a shortage of game, we actually eat fish, but I canna imagine going out in that," she pointed at the curach, "for enjoyment."
"Well, you may be right on that count. This thing does look a little rickety to me, but both Fingal and Aimil assure me its sound." He tapped the boat, illustrating his point.
"You talked with Aimil?" Marjory felt the color rising again.
"Yeah. She had quite a bit to say." He looked at her pointedly.
"About me?"
He nodded. "She basically told me that if I ever got near you again there'd be hell to pay."
"Oh." She studied her slippers.
"Marjory?"
