Page 67 of Wild Highland Rose
"Nay, sit down. I'm fine. 'Tis only a wee prick. No harm done. I wasna watching what I was doing."
Marjory settled back on the bench. "We've really no idea what happened to the boat. One minute it was fine and the next it was full o' water. We looked for a hole, but there wasn't time enough to find it. We had to make for the shore."
"I thought ye said the curach was at the shore when you abandoned it."
"Did I?" Marjory shifted uncomfortably. Lying didn't come easily. "If I did, I meant to say that we were a short way out. Anyway, we weren't able to find the cause of the leak."
"Do ye think it could have been deliberate?" Grania's normally placid face was marred by a deep frown.
"Deliberate? Who would want to hurt Marjory?" Aimil looked up from the tapestry frame with widening eyes.
"Well, there's any number o' Camerons, but I dinna think the accident was meant for her. 'Twas Ewen who took the curach in the first place." Grania's tone was grim.
"But who would have had the time to damage it?" Aimil asked.
"Pretty much anyone, I suppose. I think everyone, from Cook to the blacksmith, knew he was setting out in the curach. He dinna make much of a secret about it," Grania offered.
"'Tis true and you canna deny that there are many folks here who canna tolerate a Cameron of any kind among them." Marjory felt a shiver of concern snake down her back.
All her previous doubt fled in the face of her worry over his safety. She hadn't thought about why the curach had sprung a leak. She's been busy with other things. But now that Grania had mentioned the idea, it took hold, filling her with fear. If someone had tried to harm him once, surely they might do so again.
"Well, I canna say that I wouldna be pleased to see the last o' him. He's brought naught but despair on this household, to say nothing o' the fact that his sire is a murderer." Aimil looked at Marjory with narrowed eyes.
Marjory took a deep breath. It was all so complicated. She felt the old wounds opening again and wondered how she could possibly have any feeling but loathing for the son of her father's murderer. And yet, whispered her heart, if he wasn't truly Ewen Cameron, then his father was somebody else altogether. Someone from another century, no less. She brushed a hand through her hair in frustration.
"Dinna let it worry ye, lass. I've no doubt that Ewen can take care o' himself." Grania patted her hand comfortingly.
"Ewen this and Ewen that…ye'd think the mon was a bloody saint." Most of Aimil's words were mumbled under her breath, but Marjory caught the gist of what she was saying.
"Speaking of the devil," Marjory said brightly, "has anyone seen him about?" She'd not seen him at all since they'd returned to Crannag Mhór.
"Oh, heavens." Grania reached for the folded plaids. "I'd quite forgotten. I was bringing him something to dry himself with. He's in the bath," she added unnecessarily.
Marjory already had a clear picture of him soaking his rugged frame in the little wooden tub, the water caressing his body. The familiar fire leapt in her belly. She forced herself to abolish the picture and concentrate on Grania's voice.
"…would ye mind then, love?"
"No, of course not." Marjory struggled to discern what it was she had just agreed to.
"Wonderful. I can manage just fine, ye know, but ye'll be ever so much faster and we dinna want the man to catch cold." Grania thrust the warm wool into Marjory's hands.
Oh, Blessed Mother, she'd just agreed to take the plaid to Cameron in the bath.
Cameron sat back,letting the warm water lap around his body. Not exactly a steaming hot shower, but all in all, it beat the icy water of the lake. He closed his eyes and allowed himself the luxury of picturing Marjory. His vivid imagination jumped into the task with relish and soon he had her straddling him in the tub, the water gleaming against her satiny skin. He groaned, ecstasy mixed with agony.
"Grania asked me to bring this to you."
The sound of her voice broke the spell his imagination was weaving. He jerked upright in the tub. Faced with the real thing, he felt his body tighten and knew that the reality of her was no less an aphrodisiac than his imagined version had been.
"Thanks." Silence loomed awkwardly between them . He had an absurd desire to cover himself, even though the water was effectively doing it for him. Her eyes drifted down the exposed part of his body, reflecting the desire he felt continuing to rise beneath the water. She took a hesitant step toward him and then stopped. Their eyes met and held. He drew in a breath and was just getting ready to reach for her when she suddenly swore under her breath.
"Are you daft, man?" She crossed the room in three strides, flannel still in hand, and disappeared behind the bed curtains. "You've left the window open. Do you want to catch your death?"
He smiled as he waited for her to finish the task, settling back against the side of the tub. Ever his practical Marjory.
The main door swung open with a loud creak. "Welcome home, Ewen." Aida sidled into the room. She was wearing another embroidered slip. The woman evidently didn't own any proper clothing.
"Aren't ye going to invite me to join ye?" she purred, pulling her slip down to bare a shoulder.
