Page 90 of Wild Highland Rose
"Don't be foolish. You're going to live a long and healthy life. You've just got to hang in there." He spoke as a physician, adopting the voice he'd used thousands of times for a critical patient.
"Cameron, dinna forget I'm a surgeon, too. I know the effects of shock when I feel it."
Cameron felt Marjory slip her small hand into his. He held on for dear life. "Grania, you can't die now, not when we've only just found each other again."
"Hush, child, my time has come. Dinna let it grieve you. I've had a long and fruitful life. God gave me a second chance and I took it, never realizing what wealth it would bring me. The only thing I missed was seeing you. And now that wish, too, has been granted. 'Tis God's will that I go, and ye canna argue with God."
"What kind of God gives you back your mother, only to take her away again? I lived through losing you once. How can He expect me to go through it again?"
"Trust me, Cameron, God never gives ye anything to deal with that yer not capable o' handling. He has a purpose, even in this."
"But if He brought me back here to find you…"
"I canna believe that's all He had in mind. There's something more, lad. Ye just have to find it." She stopped struggling again for breath. The wheezing was getting louder. She jerked as more coughs shook her slender frame. Cameron released Marjory's hand, placing an arm under Grania, holding her upright until the coughing passed.
Helping her lie down again, he stroked her brow. "Rest now."
"I think I'll soon be getting all the rest I need." She shot him a weak smile. "I've just a few more things to say."
He glanced over at Marjory. She sat silently, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her sleeve. Their eyes met, and somehow even without a touch, he felt comforted. He leaned back over his mother.
She spoke quietly, her words for his ears alone. "Remember that there's one here who loves ye even more than I do. All ye have to do is open yer eyes to see. There is so much joy in loving. Dinna let yerself settle for anything less." She sucked air into her lungs, the sound of the her effort grating against his ears.
"Most importantly, ye've got to know that a person's identity is no' made o' flesh and blood, Cameron, but heart and soul. It's not what ye accomplish that matters, but who ye are. It took me two lifetimes to discover that truth. 'Tis my wish fer you, that'll ye find out the truth o' my words before 'tis too late. 'Tis my legacy to you."
He felt the tears begin to fall, his heart shattering into pieces.
"Dinna cry fer me, child. I die happy, knowing what a fine man you've become. I believe that God put me here to help ye find yer way. Now, 'tis up to you what road ye take, but know, Cameron, whate'er you choose, that the best part of me goes with you."
"I love you, Grania. And I'm proud to have you as my mother."
She smiled at him, her face lighting with the ethereal beauty he'd seen when they'd first met. With a sigh, she was gone. He sat holding her body, tears coursing down his face, certain that God had made a mistake, that it was him and not her who should have been taken. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Goodbye, Mother."
With reverent hands, he covered her with the bloody plaid. Marjory wrapped her arms around him and they sank to the ground beside her body, in silent vigil, each lost in their own grief, connected in sorrow.
Cameron placeda final stone on the cairns. It wasn't a proper burial. There wasn't time for that, but it would keep the animals at bay and it provided at least a sense of closure. He had no idea when, or even if, they would be able to come back to this place.
Marjory sat a little way off, stony-faced and silent. They'd held each other until the worst of the immediate pain had subsided, but since then she hadn't said a word. But one thing was for certain. They now shared a common enemy.
Cameron lowered his head over Grania's makeshift grave and tried to pray, but instead of words of comfort and hope, his mind seethed with anger and rage. What kind of God would send him here, only to make him watch his mother die again? In what way could he possibly serve these people? He was a surgeon. They needed a warrior.
Not that being a surgeon had helped him all that much. He felt bitter laughter bubble up inside him. What final irony that he would have to watch helplessly as his mother's life blood drained away, his skill absolutely useless without the aid of twenty-first century technology.
He cursed the situation, knowing one thing for certain—Allen Cameron was going to pay.
26
"Ithink I see something." They were lying side by side on their bellies at the top of a ridge just above the tower, a wild profusion of gorse and broom protecting them from detection. "Over there." Marjory pointed to the south slope of the meadow, along the edge of the wood.
He followed the line of her finger. The trees played out, thinning to open meadowland as the ground angled gently down toward the tower. Nothing seemed out of place. "What am I looking for?" Before she could answer, there was a sudden flash of sunlight against metal.
"There." She pointed again.
"I saw it." Something shifted within the shadows and then was still. He thought, for a moment, that he'd imagined the movement, but there was another telltale sparkle. "Shield?"
"'Tis possible, or a claymore."
The riders suddenly burst out of the shadows, relentlessly approaching Crannag Mhór. "Well, they're certainly not trying to make their presence a secret."
