Page 84 of Wild Highland Rose
Aimil colored. "Well, I've changed my mind, and I think Grania's right. Ye should go and find him. Say goodbye properly." She looked to Grania for support. "Or better yet, convince the man Crannag Mhór is where he belongs."
"I canna make him do something he doesna wish to do. Besides, Grania, you said yourself that he left hours ago. How am I supposed to catch up with him? Why he's probably taking tea with Lindsey at this very moment."
Aimil looked confused. Marjory had tried to explain things to her, but the woman was having none of it. She was convinced that Cameron was an angel and nothing Marjory or Grania could say could alter her opinion. Marjory sighed. Cameron was certainly not an angel. No angel would make her feel blissful one moment and furious the next.
She couldn't believe he had left without so much as a word in parting. Had she meant absolutely nothing to him? She pricked her finger again. Curse the man.
"Marjory." Aimil reached for her needle work. "If ye keep this up, ye'll ruin the wee thing."
She sat back, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. "The man is gone and that's that."
"Well, now, I dinna know that that's precisely true." Aimil bit her lip, looking something between gleeful and guilty.
"What are ye saying, Aimil?" Marjory leaned forward, trying to ignore the erratic leap of her heart.
"Well, ye see, I happened to run into Cameron as he was leaving the tower." She ducked her head.
"And…"
"And, he happened to ask if I knew the shortcut to the pool."
"And…" The hope began to spread outward, warming her entire middle.
Aimil shifted uncomfortably on her stool. "And, I told him he had to follow the loch and then head toward the black rock."
"But that would…" She felt her eyes widen in amazement.
"Take him twice as long, I figure." Aimil smiled hesitantly. "I didna think ye wanted him to go. 'Twas all I could think to do on the spur o' the moment."
"I say well done." Grania was grinning broadly.
Marjory sighed. She felt slightly overwhelmed, definitely outmaneuvered, and unexpectedly joyful. "I thank you for your concern, Aimil, but I'm still no' going after him."
"Marjory, there are only so many chances in life. I canna promise that something good will come o' yer going after him. But can ye honestly tell me ye'll no' regret it fer the rest o' yer life if ye dinna go?" Grania tipped her head in Marjory's direction, waiting for her answer.
She looked at Grania and then over at Aimil who was placidly sewing as if she didn't have a care in the world. With an exaggerated sigh, she stood up. "Fine, I'll go, but only so that the two of you will leave me alone."
Cameron struggledup the rocky side of an embankment, cursing Aimil Macgillivray all the way. She obviously still had it in for him. Shortcut, his Aunt Fanny. How was he to have known the damn stream wandered all over the mountainside?
And if that wasn't bad enough, it was also nestled so close to the rocks and trees in places that the only way he could be certain he didn't lose it, was to walk down the icy, frigid, toe-numbing middle of it.
He stumbled on a rock and cursed softly, his eyes searching for something he recognized. With a sigh, he squinted into the sunlight, realizing that the rocks here had formed a sortof natural dam.The pool. Relief surged through him, and he splashed through the water intent on the opposite bank.
If memory served, the landslide as just around the corner.
What seemed like hours later, he wasn't as certain. Truth was, the pool might as well have been located in a different country from the landslide for all the good it had done him to find it. He'd been walking in circles and there was no landslide in sight. No pile of rocks, no great tree, no embankment, nothing. It was as if the whole thing had never existed.
He moved through the brush, wearily pushing aside a clump of tall grass, and let out a groan. He was back at the pool. This place was worse than a Pavlovian maze. He started into the small clearing, heading for the rock. He needed a break.
Something moved across the stream, and he froze, visions of claymore-welding wild men filling his mind. The bank across from the rock was shadowed and it was hard to make anything out, but he was positive he'd seen movement. Groping for the sword he'd brought, he sent a silent prayer heavenward, grateful that Aimil had insisted he take it.
Holding the thing at his side, he took a hesitant step forward, still staring at the far bank. The bushes along its edge were waving ominously. Using both hands, he lifted the claymore, relieved when his muscles took the weight. His efforts to practice hadn't made him a pro, but he was definitely better. Thank God for muscle memory.
Taking a deep breath, he waved the weapon in front of him, eyeing the bushes, listening for the telltale rustle. When the noise repeated itself, he reacted instantly, swinging the weapon in a downward arc, swiping the tops off two small saplings.
Ignoring the saplings, he held his stance, trying to convince himself he was ready for anything. Anything except the pair of cobalt eyes that met his across the pool, their orbs reflecting suppressed laughter.
"You can rest easy, Cameron. I think the wee trees are dead."
