Page 53 of Wild Highland Rose
"And why didn't you mention that fact to me before we took off for the middle of the lake?"
"Would you have taken me with you if I'd told you?" She looked up again, still defiant.
He was silent for a moment, then smiled ruefully. "No."
"Well, then…" She paused, hoping the conversation was at an end.
"I see." He studied her face until she felt squirmy under his gaze. With amazing speed, he reached for her hands, pulling her close. "I'll say one thing for you, Marjory mine, you've got guts."
She searched his eyes, trying to understand the meaning of his words. Was he insulting her? She sucked in a breath and swallowed convulsively, he was so close she could see the stubble of his beard. She wanted…well she didn't know what she wanted exactly, but she was pretty sure now wasn't the time or the place for it. Jerking her hands free, she sat back.
His lips curled into a knowing smile. Damn the man, he saw entirely too much. "Do you know where we are?"
Praise the saints, a change of topic, and none too soon, she'd actually been fantasizing about throwing herself into his arms, propriety be damned. She looked around the clearing. Thick trees bordered it on one side. The sound of running water gurgled over the quiet lapping of loch water.
"I canna say for sure. 'Tis too dark, but I hear the sound o' a wee burn just o'er there." She pointed off to the right. "And if it'sthe burn I think it is, then there's a cottage no' far upstream from here." She shivered, suddenly aware of how cold she was.
"A cottage sounds great. We need to get inside and out of these wet clothes before we catch cold."
Marjory nodded in agreement. Looking down at herself, she realized for the first time that she was wearing only her shift. She felt the heat rise into her face and automatically covered her breasts with her arms. The thin material did little to hide her body.
He laughed, standing up and extending his hand. "Now is not the time for modesty Marjory mi…" He cut off the endearment. She felt absurdly disappointed. She reached for his outstretched hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. "Okay, so where is this cottage?"
Cottage was a kind word.Cameron looked at the remains of what had once been a dwelling of some kind. Gaping holes marked where walls had been and vegetation had overtaken its masonry to the point that it resembled a mangled topiary gone wild. A great tree lay drunkenly across the center of the cottage, effectively dividing into two halves, what had been, in better days, a whole house. The tree, obviously the victim of some long gone storm, straddled the structure, its gnarled roots reaching skyward in grotesque imitation of human limbs.
"This is your cottage?"
"I didna say 'twas mine. I only said I knew it was here." Marjory looked as disappointed as he felt. "I knew it had been damaged, but I'd no idea it had been destroyed. What do we do now?" Her voice sounded small and tired. The long trek to the cottage had taken some of the fire out of her.
"Come on. Maybe it's not as bad inside as it looks from out here." He reached for her hand and felt her fingers curl warmly around his. Stepping carefully over debris and tree roots, they made their way to what had once been the door.
"Stay here." He released her hand, pushing her behind him.
"I willna. I'm no' a weak babe that needs protecting." She moved around him and stepped through the doorway.
"Fine. Have it your way." He held out his arm, bowing from the waist in an imitation of chivalry, but his gesture was wasted on her back as she disappeared into the gloom of the interior.
"Marjory wait..." His words were interrupted by her groan. He leapt through the opening, ready to battle whatever it was that threatened her. He barked his shin on something immobile and let out a sharp curse. Feminine laughter filled the air. He stared in its direction, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the shadows. Marjory stood directly in front of him, a beam of starlight from a hole in the roof lighting her face. He grimaced. At least there was a roof—sort of.
"I dinna think you need to attack the chest. It willna harm you. Although as a sentry, I can say with certainty," she rubbed her hip ruefully, "it does a good job."
He turned to find the infidel responsible for his throbbing shin. A waist high chest partially blocked the door. Stepping gingerly around it, he surveyed their newfound castle. There wasn't much left of it, but miraculously the tree had just missed the fireplace. It sat in the far corner, amazingly undamaged.
"Have a look at this."
He turned from his perusal of the hearth to find Marjory in the opposite corner, gleefully looking at what appeared to be a moldy pile of hay. He raised his eyebrows in question.
"'Tis the bed. And it's in passable shape." To illustrate the point, she held up two raggedy blankets.
"You call that a bed?" He could just imagine what was living in there. It made his skin crawl.
"Well, I'd say we're lucky to find anything at all." She bent to examine the bed more closely, stepping back in alarm when an unidentified rodent scurried out from under the pile of straw. She turned to Cameron with a sheepish expression. "Well, at least we have the blankets."
He eyed them with some hesitation and then nodded. She was right. Beggars couldn't be choosers. "Help me gather up some of this broken wood. We'll use it to start a fire."
How exactly, he had no idea. Gas jets wouldn't be invented for a couple of centuries yet, and unfortunately, that was the only way he'd ever started a fire. He wandered around the room, picking up scattered pieces of broken furniture and mangled tree branches. The wood was dry. That ought to help.
Arms full, he turned back to the fireplace to find Marjory kneeling in front of it, blowing gently onto growing yellow flames. "How did you do that?" People who looked down on the inhabitants of ages past had obviously not met any of them first hand. They were a very resourceful lot.
