Page 59 of Wild Highland Rose
"I don't know that I can explain it all, but, basically, it forces the water from the stream, through a channel of some kind, to the reservoir. Moving the handle makes the whole thing work and the water comes out the spout. It's got something to do with pistons and valves."
"'Tis no' magic?" He sounded so blasé. Surely he wouldn't be so calm in the face of sorcery.
"Absolutely not." He laughed. "It's just basic technology."
"Perhaps wherever it is that you come from, but we have no such techno…" she stumbled over the unfamiliar word, "…thing at Crannag Mhór."
He frowned at her response. "Who did this cottage belong to, Marjory?" He stared at her, his expression intense, as if her answer held the key to a puzzle.
"Why, it belonged to Grania. She lived here until the storm cost her her sight. After that, she couldna manage on her own, so she came to live with us at Crannag Mhór." She waited for him to say something, watching as different emotions washed across his face, confusion, then shock, then something that looked like amazement.
"Well, I'll be damned."
16
The old girl had been holding out on him. Either she was a brilliant inventor or she wasn't a card carrying member of the fifteenth century either. And then…well the implications were almost limitless. She might know who he was. She might know the way home. Heck, she might even be able to send him home.
"Cameron, what is it?" Marjory's voice brought him sharply back to reality.
He looked at her beautiful face, concern forcing her brows together. There was no point in alarming her. He'd talk with Grania first, give her an opportunity to explain herself. "Nothing. It's just an amazing thing to find a pump here. Grania must have connections with people from London or the continent."
He flinched at the lie, fairly certain now that pumps hadn't been put into use anywhere until well after the 15th century. He hated to play fast and loose with the truth, especially in the face of their newly found intimacy. But, he argued with himself, it was for the best. When the time was right, and he had somenotion of what exactly was going on, he'd tell her the whole truth, or at least what tiny part of it he was privy to.
"Hmmm…" She narrowed her eyes in thought. "I do seem to remember hearing something about Bertram having family outside o' Scotland. He wasn't from Crannag Mhór, you understand. He was a tinker by trade, visiting the valley only on rare occasion, but, after he met Grania, he came more often, eventually staying for good."
She still looked at the pump, trepidation mixed with awe, but at least for now she seemed to be buying the story. He moved to distract her. "What about that rabbit you promised me?" His stomach rumbled ominously. "Maybe you'd better try for two. I could eat a whole one by myself."
"Well, then you'd best come and help me or there willna be even the one."
An hour later, as they hiked through the woods, Cameron was still trying to make heads or tails of the fact that Grania had a pump. Marjory walked ahead of him, holding a snare she'd fashioned from some rope she'd found. Unfortunately the rabbits seemed to be way ahead of them and had all left the vicinity, and his stomach was still rumbling.
Marjory knelt suddenly, lifting a broken sapling, her eyes scanning the horizon. The sight made him think of an old TV show.Davy Crockett. King of the wild frontier. The inane theme song danced through his brain.
Oh yeah, he was Davy Crockett all right. Davy Crockett in a skirt. His warped recollections were interrupted when Marjory tugged at his hand. She held a finger to her lips and pulled him down into the tall grass of the forest undergrowth. "There's someone out there."
Listening intently, he could hear leaves rustling with the fall of footsteps. Whoever it was, he wasn't trying to make a secret ofit. A tree branch, immediately in front of them, took on a life of its own as it bent forward and then snapped back into place.
"Bloody hell." The oath broke the silence of the glen. The figure of a man emerged from the underbrush, gingerly rubbing his cheek. Cameron couldn't help smiling. Score one for the trees. The man walked slowly forward, searching the woods on either side of the path, still too far away for Cameron to recognize.
Not so Marjory. With a cry of joy, she jumped up. "Fingal." She flew along the path, throwing herself into his arms. Cameron stood up and followed her out onto the trail. It seemed they'd been rescued. Perversely, he felt an absurd sense of disappointment.
"Saints be praised, yer alive." Fingal kept hold of Marjory, his assessing eyes meeting Cameron's over the top of her head. "We feared you dead."
He meant Marjory of course, and for a moment, Cameron found himself wishing he had been included. It was hard enough to feel like an outsider, but for part of it to be because of someone he wasn't—well, it was almost more than a man could contemplate.
"Yer sure you're all right?" Fingal pushed her back, his eyes searching her face.
"I'm fine. Cameron took care of me."
"Cameron?" Fingal questioned, his gaze returning to Cameron.
"Aye." Marjory nodded, pulling out of his embrace. "Cameron saved me. We wouldna be here at all if it were no' for him."
"Again?" Fingal raised an eyebrow and looked at Cameron with speculative eyes.
Marjory planted her fists on her hips. "'Tis true. When the curach began to sink, we had to jump o'er the side, and Cameronswam with me to the shore. Without him, I would definitely have drowned."
"Without me, you would not have been in the boat at all." Cameron added dryly.
