Page 63 of Wild Highland Rose
Fingal nodded, his eyes still questioning. "Aimil will be o'erjoyed to see you. She was practically inconsolable when she first heard ye'd gone out in the curach with Ewen."
"He prefers Cameron." She spoke automatically, and immediately wished the words back.
Fingal merely shrugged. "Cameron it is then."
"'Twill be good to get back home," she said, seeking to change the conversation.
Fingal nodded, not so easily put off, his face still shadowed with concern. "There's still something yer no' telling me, but I'll wait until yer ready to speak o' it."
Marjory managed a smile and let her horse fall back to the rear. Fingal was entirely too observant. She hated to keep anything from him. She owed him honesty, but she wasn't ready to share her feelings. Besides Cameron would soon be gone and she would rather deal with the loss on her own. She couldn't bear the thought of anyone else grieving for her.
Aimil and Fingal were almost like parents. After the massacre, they had been the glue that held Marjory together. She had no doubt that without them, she would never have been able to survive. It had been Aimil who had accompanied her to Moy and held her through all the long, dark, sleepless nights. Aimil who had dried her tears and soothed away the nightmares.
Fingal, too, had devoted himself to her. Staying behind and working all those years to rebuild Crannag Mhór. And then, staying on, after she returned, to help her run the holding and protect her from the wrath of the Camerons.
They had sacrificed their lives for her. The enormity of the thought was daunting. She had never really thought about it inthat way before. Neither of them had ever married, and there had never been talk of either of them leaving Crannag Mhór to build lives of their own. They'd simply always been there. For her.
She jerked forward abruptly as her horse stopped, gripping the pommel in an effort to keep her balance. Lost in thought, she had failed to notice that the men in front of her were slowing.
She looked past them, searching for the source of their caution. She could just make out a rider, approaching from the direction of the tower. She squinted into the sunlight, trying to see him more clearly. His colors were Cameron. She drew in a sharp breath, shading her eyes as she watched Torcall and Dougall pull away from the line of horses, spurring their mounts into a full gallop.
Fingal moved to follow them, but was blocked by Allen's claymore. He pulled back, drawing his own weapon, holding his position just behind Allen.
The other men shifted uneasily, Camerons eyeing Macphersons. Tension filled the air.
"What are they up to, do you think?" She shivered at Cameron's whispered words. She looked up, meeting the warmth of his gaze. For a moment enemies were forgotten and there was nothing but the two of them. She fought the urge to run her hand along the strong ridge of his jaw, to trace the line of his scar.
She shifted, pulling her gaze away from his. "I dinna ken, but the rider is Cameron."
"How can you tell?"
"The colors o' his plaid." She gestured toward the man.
"Who the hell is he, then? I thought all of Torcall's men were here with us."
"'Twas certainly what they led us to believe." Marjory turned her attention back to Allen. He was shifting impatiently in hissaddle, holding his sword at the ready. He alternated between watching Fingal and looking toward his father. It was more than obvious that he waited for a signal of some kind. She reached for her sporran. She would have preferred a sword, but hersgian dubhwould have to suffice.
Cameron glanced at her hand as she fumbled with the catch on the small bag. "Do you really believe you'll need that?"
"I've no notion, but 'tis best to be prepared." She watched as Torcall and Dougall reached the other man. The three riders stopped and appeared to be earnestly talking. "'Tis possible the man is no more than a messenger."
Torcall raised a hand in signal. Marjory drew in a breath, watching as Allen glanced at Cameron and then spurred his horse toward his father. Fingal sheathed his weapon, but didn't relax his guard.
"I believe you've been summoned."
Cameron looked confused. "Me?"
She smiled, feeling some of the tension ease out of her. "Well, perhaps no'youprecisely, but certainly Ewen." She paused, waiting for his comprehension. She didn't have to wait long.
"And that puts me in the perfect position to find out what's going on."
"You're as brilliant as you are handsome." She leaned forward and their lips touched briefly. She pulled away and their eyes met and held. "Be careful."
He reached for her hands. "Don't worry. I'll be back."
She watched as he urged his horse forward, riding away. If only he'd come back to stay. She shook her head, no sense in sinking into hopeless dreams, especially not while Torcall Cameron was still on Crannag Mhór soil.
"The Maclearys have been raiding again.They've taken forty o' our best beasts and laid havoc on the cottages in the far glen. Fergus Macmartin is dead." Torcall paced as he talked, and Cameron could see that he held his anger tightly in check.
