Page 21 of Wild Highland Rose
Allen laughed, rubbing his lower body against hers. "There's no one to hear ye, girl. We're all alone. Didn't yer parents warn ye that it was dangerous to go walking alone in the woods?"
Marjory swallowed back tears, still fighting against his hold. "You killed my parents, remember?"
"Nay. You know as well as I, it was my father who had that honor. But make no mistake, I'd have done it had I the chance."
"Well you should have killed me, too." She spat the words at him, her hatred momentarily overcoming her fear.
"And miss the chance to fill ye to the brim?" He tugged her closer, his hardness, pressing against her thigh. "I think no'."
She looked frantically around the clearing, praying for help. But of course there was none. Fingal had warned her to take someone with her. She had landed herself in this awful mess. Now she had to use her head and figure out a way to escape.
With one hand circling her wrists, Allen jerked her around to face him, pushing her back against the rough bark of a tree trunk. He licked his lips as though contemplating a morsel of food, and Marjory felt her stomach lurch in revulsion.
"I dinna take kindly to alady," he spat the word like a curse, "trying to run from me. If ye know what's good fer you, ye'll no' try it again." To emphasize his point, he twisted her wrists with one hand and fondled her breast with the other. "I intend on having ye, girl. So ye can decide now how ye want it to be. Willing or unwilling, either way 'twill pleasure me."
His sneered at her, his eyes glinting with more than just lust. This was a man who enjoyed causing others pain.
Marjory swallowed a scream, her blood running cold.
Cameron followedthe stream bed as it curled upward. Rocks jutted out haphazardly, occasionally blocking his access to the water, forcing him into the undergrowth. Branches pulled at his kilt, scratching his legs, and he alternated between swearing and swatting at what seemed to be the world's most persistent mosquitoes.
He had stopped several times along the way, giving serious thought to throwing in the towel and going back to the tower. Determination kept winning the day, however, and he continued hacking a path through seemingly impassable vegetation.
All he had to do was find the pool. It should be simple to backtrack from there and find the place where he had arrived, so to speak. He grimaced and slapped at a particularly obnoxious insect. He figured his best bet for getting out of this insanity was where it had begun. All he wanted to do was go to sleep and wake up safely in the twenty-first century.
A nagging voice inside his head reminded him of the darkness and the beeping. He angrily pushed the thought aside. The darkness would be preferable to the animosity and confusion he faced here.
Even if there hadn't been a plot against his life, there was still the fact that his supposed bride was a piece of work. One minute all honey and sugar, the next pure venom. Given her obvious dislike for anything Cameron, it wasn't a far stretch to imagine she wanted Ewen dead. But wanting and acting on that desire were two separate matters.
It wasn't important anyway. Whatever Marjory Macpherson did or didn't want, it had nothing to do with him. He had a place in his own world. He just had to find a way back to it. Pushing aside a tangle of vine laden branches, he moved back in line with the stream. Where was that damn pool? Surely if he could find it, he could find the rockslide. He knew it was probably naive to think that traveling through time was as simple as a place or location, but it was the best he could come up with at the moment, and a plan was a plan. He was nothing if not a man of action.
He forged ahead, ignoring the brush scraping his skin, his mind reviewing the few facts he knew about himself. Bits and pieces had been coming to him. Nothing concrete, mainly just random pictures. Visions from his past. Some places and things, a few people.
The blonde was a big part of it all. He felt a connection to her. She was important in his life. He was certain of it. He concentrated, trying to pull something more from the blank void of his memory.
A birch sapling slapped him in the face, forcing him to abandon his thoughts and slow his pace. Passing a level rock hanging out over the stream, he stopped and gingerly sat down, rubbing his stinging cheek.
This was a nightmare, and, best he could tell, there was no waking up. Which only made him all the more determined to find a way back—or forward, depending on how you looked at it. With a sigh, he stood up, ignoring the aching protest of his muscles, but before he could start off again, a scream rang out from the woods behind him.
Startled, he splashed into the stream, crossing it in two strides, breaking into a run once he reached the other side.
Someone was in trouble.
The undergrowth soon gave way to trees and he slid to a quick stop. Narrowing his eyes, he could just make out two figures. From this distance, it was hard to tell, but it looked like one of the two was struggling. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he moved slowly, using the trees for cover. Drawing closer, he could now clearly make out the couple, a man and a woman.
The man had pushed the woman back against a tree, one arm holding her wrists, the other intent on exploring her body. From the look of things, the woman was not enjoying his attentions. The man shifted slightly, his back still turned to Cameron, but the woman came clearly into view, her frightened blue eyed gaze colliding with his.
Marjory.
Stunned, Cameron signaled her to be quiet and tried to think what to do. He needed a weapon. Fumbling with the closure of his sporran, he felt inside for the little knife he'd found by the river. With relief, his hand closed over the horn handle. Not exactly a weapon inspiring great fear, but a weapon nevertheless.
He grasped the knife, amazed at how comfortable he felt holding it, almost as if it were a part of him, an extension of his hand. He was obviously no stranger to a dagger. Memory flashed. Startled, he forced himself to let it go. No time nowfor reminiscing. He'd deal with his memories after he'd rescued Marjory.
Ifhe rescued Marjory.
Time was of the essence. Surprise was his single advantage. He tensed himself, preparing to launch an attack.
Everything seemed to happen at once. He sprang into the clearing, and Marjory gasped in surprise, hope flaring and then dying in her eyes. Her assailant turned, and Cameron raised the knife, praying that it would stand him in good stead.
