Page 8 of Wild Highland Rose
Again she tilted her head. This time her brows knitted in concentration. Something pulled at Cameron's brain. He tried to pull it to the forefront, something about the woman. The thought slipped away.
She reached across him and automatically adjusted the bedcovers. Then she trailed her hand up his shoulder to his face, coming to rest on his brow. Her touch was light and soothing. "Yer no' as hot as ye were. 'Tis a good sign."
She withdrew her hand, settling it in her lap. Her head never moved. He frowned. The nagging feeling was back again. There was something here he should notice. But what?
"How long have I been here?" Cameron asked more abruptly than he had meant, but Grania seemed to take no notice.
"Only a few hours. They brought ye in just after noontime. It's close to nightfall now." She leaned forward offering Cameron an earthenware cup. "Try and drink some of this."
He reached for it, his hand closing around the smooth surface, grateful for the warmth it provided. Sniffing cautiously, he recognized broth of some sort and as he slowly began to sip it, his mind clicked and he realized what was wrong with the picture.
"You can't see, can you?"
The woman smiled, unerringly patting his arm. "Nay, no' for many years. But what God takes from us, he repays with other things."
Curious, Cameron couldn't help his next question. "Like what?"
"Bits and pieces." Again she favored him with a smile. "I've a bit o' the healing touch and I've a way about me that allows me to see things that sighted people canna."
Cameron stayed silent for a moment, absorbing her words. "Do you know me?"
She turned slightly at the sound of his voice. "They say yer Ewen Cameron."
He turned the name over in his mind. Part of it certainly seemed right. Still there was something unfamiliar about it. Maybe hewasaddled. He frowned at the woman, realizing she hadn't actually answered his question. "That's not what I asked." He shook his head for emphasis, realizing almost immediately that the gesture was pointless. "I want to know ifyouknow me?"
It was her turn to pause. The room was silent. Then she shrugged. "I canna say for sure. Ye feel a bit like Ewen Cameron, but ye dinna sound like him and ye certainly dinna smell like him." The last was said with a smile, a small dimple appearing in her cheek.
Cameron let out his breath. It wasn't exactly what he was looking for. But somehow under the circumstances, ambiguity seemed to fit. "My name is Cameron," he groaned. "But I'm afraid that's all I'm certain of."
"Dinna fash yerself, lad. 'Twill come to ye when the time is right. What's important now is that you rest." She took the cup and helped him settle back into the warmth of the bed. For a blind person she was amazingly adept. He closed his eyes and let the darkness surround him.
Whoosh beep-beep.
The sound swelled out of the darkness. Panicked, he wrenched open his eyes. The room swam in front of him. Grania's face appeared and came into focus.
"'Tis all right now. I'm here. Hold on to my hand." He grasped it as if holding a lifeline. "There now, yer fine. I'll stay with ye. Sleep. Nothing can harm ye as long as Grania is here."
Cameron closed his eyes again. The dark was blessedly quiet. And, with a sigh, he let himself slip into sleep.
Marjory stoodat the open window, watching the last of the sun drop behind the mountains. Sunsets had been different when she had lived at her grandfather's. There they had lingered, caressing the landscape as the sun slowly sank into the velvety hills, leaving behind fingers of red and orange that spread through the sky, fading to a wash of pale pink. Here, at Crannag Mhór, the sun simply disappeared. One minute it was light and the next dark. The rugged mountains that ringed the little valley seemed to swallow the sun with one great gulp.
She closed her eyes, thinking of her valley. A narrow pass lined with birch trees gave access to Crannag Mhór. Only thosewho knew the way could find it. It was supposed to have been a sanctuary, a place set apart from the turbulence that surrounded it, a place for love to flourish. Marjory shook her head, sweeping away her foolish thoughts. It hadn't been a place of peace for long. The Camerons had found it and destroyed it.
Marjory stared at the first star as it twinkled high in the night sky. Her mother used to tell her that the stars were the lights of angels. She bit her lip, momentarily mesmerized by the tiny point of glowing light. When she was little she'd wished upon the stars for true love. The kind her mother and father had had. A ray of hope flashed deep within her.
With a deep breath, she hardened her heart. Her mother and father were dead. There were no angels. And there were no happy endings. There was nothing but Crannag Mhór and her driving need to preserve it at all costs.
It was rainingcats and dogs. The driveway was slick with water. Cameron tried to hold his suit coat over his head to protect himself from the deluge, but even so, he arrived at his car soaking wet. He fumbled for the key and managed, with shaking hands, to open the car door. Sliding into the leather seat, he automatically brushed at the droplets of water that accumulated there. He leaned on the steering wheel, trying to get his emotions under control. With an angry groan, he slid the key into the ignition and turned it. The powerful engine sparked to life and he flicked on the headlights.
Like the click of a camera, the picture changed. He watched through the windshield as the headlights revealed a beautiful blonde woman, her hair plastered to her head by the rain. Her hands were stretched out in front of her as though she werepleading with him. Her face was washed with fear and pain. Her eyes seemed to be begging him for something.
"No." She mouthed the word. He couldn't hear her, but somehow he knew she had screamed.
Cameron jerked awake, sweat momentarily blinding his eyes. Panic knifed through him. It was dark. Oh God, he was back in the darkness. He strained for the noise, the rhythmic beeping, but it was quiet and cold. He moved a hand and wiped away the sweat. The darkness lightened and he recognized the fabric of the bed curtains.
A dream. It had been a dream. He reached out, with a shaking hand, to move the curtain back. He needed the reassurance of light. His hand encountered another hand, and still partially locked in the terror of his nightmare, he jerked back, gasping audibly.
"Be still, 'tis only me." The curtain pulled back, revealing moonlight and Grania.
