Page 24 of Wild Highland Rose
She stared at him. "No. I mean, what did youcallme?"
Cameron frowned, trying to remember. "I don't know. Obviously something that upset you."
"You called me Margie." She sank to the ground, looking incredibly small against the backdrop of trees and foliage. Her face, if possible, turned even whiter. "Margie, my girl."
He dropped to his knees beside her, reaching to rub her cold hands in his. "If I did, I certainly didn't mean anything by it." He continued rubbing her hands. "I was just being sarcastic."
"My father was the only one who ever called me that." She spoke as if she were lost in memory. Tears filled her eyes. She seemed to have forgotten he was even there. "'Twas his special name for me. He'd laugh and ruffle my hair.'Who loves you best,Margie, my girl,' he'd say. 'Who loves you best?'" Her tears were falling in earnest now.
She wiped them away with the back of her hand, valiantly fighting to pull herself back together. He eased down beside her, keeping her hand in his. Not really certain why, only knowing that he wanted to take the pain away. He waited for her to say more, but she remained silent. Taking a deep breath, he decided to risk her wrath.
"When did your father die, Marjory?" Cameron waited for the storm to erupt again, but Marjory's answer was quiet.
"'Twas just over fifteen summers ago." She looked up at him, her eyes full of pain. "Your father murdered him."
7
The sentence hung between them in the glade, the words almost tangible. It explained a great deal to Cameron—Marjory's fear of Torcall Cameron, her disdain for Ewen and even her repressed feelings. His admiration increased. He didn't know too many women who could marry their father's murderer's son, and still maintain a fairly sane existence.
Although to be fair, if what Allen had said was true, then Ewen had married his mother's murderer's daughter. He shuddered at the thought. Two innocent victims caught up in what seemed to be a very barbaric world.
Without thinking, he tightened his hand on hers, but she wrenched away, tears shimmering in her eyes, her body language signaling clearly that the conversation was over. Except that he didn't want it to be over. For the first time since he'd awoken on the side of the mountain, he felt a connection with someone, and no matter how fleeting, he wanted to preserve it.
"Talk to me, Marjory."
"About what?" she spat, anger flashing in her eyes. "Your father killing mine?"
"He's not my father." The words came out before he could stop them.
"Nay. You just dinna remember him. 'Tis no' the same." There was regret in her voice, and he watched as her anger deflated. "You're still a Cameron."
"So what, you hate me because of my name?"
"I dinna hate you." She sighed.
"You almost sound like you wish you could." He watched the emotions playing across her face and wished he could erase some of the pain.
"'Twould be easier." Her smile was faint, her eyes still troubled.
"Yeah, but worthwhile things are seldom easy." Their gazes met and held. "Tell me what happened, Marjory. I need to understand."
She shook her head. "I canna. 'Twill surely tear me apart."
"No more than it's already doing."
She considered his words, then blew out a slow breath, her tears glistening in the dappled light. "Your father and my father had a longstanding feud. I canna say why. My father would never discuss it, but I know 'twas a bitter war between them. Torcall had been imprisoned by some Macphersons on the other side o' the mountains. I dinna know how long they held him, but when he was released, my father added extra guards at the pass leading to the valley.
"I o'erheard him discussing it one night with my mother. Something about revenge, but they heard me and were careful never to talk about it in my presence again." She paused.
He reached for her hand, absurdly grateful when she didn't pull away. "Go on."
"The extra guards made no difference. Torcall managed to get into the valley anyway. He arrived at Crannag Mhór with an army of men. They stormed the tower. Father made mother andI go to our quarters. We huddled in my chamber listening to the sounds of the battle outside the door. There's a connecting door between my chamber and my parents'." Her gaze collided with his. "You're sleeping in their chamber."
"I'm sorry." He wasn't certain what he was apologizing for, but he meant the words just the same. "How old were you? "
"Eight summers." She leaned against him slightly, staring straight forward, lost again in the past. "I was so afraid. My mother tried to reassure me, but you could hear women screaming outside in the courtyard. I don't know how long we sat like that. Hours maybe. Then we heard my father's voice in the next chamber, calling my mother's name.
"Mother pushed me back against a wall and hurried to join him. I pressed myself against the rough stones." She shivered uncontrollably, and he wrapped a protective arm around her. "They pressed through the thin fabric of my nightshift. They were cold and their dampness seeped into my body, but I willed myself to stay absolutely still.
