Page 16 of Wild Highland Rose
The plan was to get out of the bed, head down the stairs, and out to the courtyard. Grania had said that fresh air would do him wonders, and the idea had taken hold. Unfortunately, the progress wasn't matching the motivation.
Part of the problem was the damn skirt. Kilts might seem simple in theory, but in reality he'd take a pair of 501's any day. Untangling himself for about the twenty-fourth time, he sat on the bed, wondering what in hell he'd done to deserve all of this. Maybe he'd been a bastard in his previous life, and this was the punishment.
"Having a little trouble are ye?" Allen Cameron stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, a devilish smile on his face. "Ye never did have the patience for the thing."
Cameron looked at the man who called him brother, searching his mind for a memory, an emotion, but there was nothing. Allen was as much a stranger as Marjory. Wrapping the wool around his waist one last time, he fumbled with the tail, grateful when Allen moved forward to pull it up across the shoulder.
"Thanks," he mumbled, embarrassed at his ineptitude. "I can take it from here."
Allen moved back, hands in the air. "Have it yer own way."
"I haven't really had much time to practice. Grania has been helping me." He almost kicked himself for the words. Memory loss or not, he should surely remember how to wrap himself in a plaid.
Allen's eyes narrowed. "I dinna fash how ye can let that woman touch ye. She's a witch, that one."
"I asked for a doctor."
"What did ye say?" Allen's frown deepened, and Cameron knew he'd made another mistake. "Ye hate the crazy bastards more than I do. When ye broke yer arm, ye practically skewered the mon who tried to fix it."
Cameron shook his head, fumbling for something to right his mistake. "I only meant that a doctor would be better than a crazy woman." He smiled at his brother in what he hoped was a conspiratorial manner, and was rewarded with a skeptical look. Allen wasn't buying. There was shrewdness under all that hair.
"Aye, I suppose it's a bit like being stuck between the devil and a banshee."
"And the point is, I've survived." Cameron said, still struggling with the damn plaid.
Allen tugged at the top, then deftly pinned it into place. "Ye should have brought Aida. She's got a sure hand when it comes to dressing a body."
There was subtext here he was missing, but there was no way to decipher it. "Who's Aida?"
"Yer mistress." Allen frowned. "Dinna ye remember anything?"
"That seems to be the question of the day." Cameron tried but couldn't keep the anger from his voice. "And unfortunately the answer is always the same. I can't remember anything." Notabout his life, not about Ewen's. It was as if he'd been dropped into the second act of a play without knowing his lines. Hell, without knowing the story.
Allen slammed a beefy fist against the wall. "They'vedone this to you, and by the saints, I'll see that they pay for it."
"Who are you talking about? Marjory? She had nothing to with what happened."
Allen moved closer, his eyes narrowing to slits. "I wouldna be so quick to let her off the hook, brother. I saw the place where you fell. Had our men examine it carefully. I'm convinced it wasna an accident, Ewen."
He fought a wave of dizziness. "You're sure?"
Allen nodded. "I canna say who was behind it for certain, but ye know as well as I who would best benefit from yer death."
"Marjory?" He was more than aware of the fact she despised him, but the idea that she'd try to kill him seemed ludicrous. "I can't believe she'd stoop to that."
"She's a Macpherson." Allen spat, as if it explained everything, but of course it didn't.
"And we hate each other." Cameron lifted a hand in exasperation. "That's already been made abundantly clear. What I don't know is why."
"Because Manus Macpherson killed our mother." Allen's features locked into harsh lines, his hatred radiating off him with almost palpable heat.
"Marjory's father?" Cameron let the news settle. It certainly explained a lot. The forced marriage for instance. But somehow it didn't sync with what he'd observed about the Macpherson household. There was obviously more to the story.
"Aye. I canna believe you dinna remember." Allen's frown was fierce.
"Look, Allen, I wish I remembered too. It's not like I haven't tried."
Again his look was skeptical. As if he didn't believe a word. And Cameron wondered just exactly what the brothers' relationship had been. Cordial certainly. United against common enemies, but still a far cry from friendly. "If I were you," Allen was saying, "I'd trust no one."
