Page 70 of Wild Highland Rose
"Will ye have some caboc?" Fingal smiled at him, thrusting a small platter in his direction. Taking it, Cameron eyed it dubiously. It looked like an ice cream cone dipped in oatmeal. Seeing his look, Fingal laughed. "'Tis no just oats, mind ye. There's much more inside." Taking hissgian dubh, he cut a piece off the cone and held out the knife.
Sharing utensils was common among the Macphersons, and with a sigh of resignation, Cameron took the offered blade and popped the oat-clad morsel in his mouth, praying that it wasn't intestines or eyeballs or something. He held his breath, chewed, then relaxed and swallowed. Caboc was cheese—just cheese.
"It's good." He returned the knife, and reaching for his own, cut off more of the cone, trying to avoid the oats.
"A toast." A red-faced man at a nearby table stood, swaying slightly, his cup held aloft. Cameron groaned. He'd already had firsthand experience with Scots when they started toasting.
The room quieted somewhat and the man raised his glass higher. "To Marjory Macpherson. 'Tis glad we are to have her home."
There was much scraping and scuffling as the assemblage pushed back benches and rose to their feet echoing the toast. Cups were drained and refilled, others expressing similar sentiments. Marjory stood serenely, looking out at the members of her clan, the faint wash of color across her cheeks the only sign that she was embarrassed by all the attention.Finally, exhausting both beverage and verbiage, the assembled Macphersons settled back into their seats.
Cameron leaned over to Marjory, speaking softly. "They love you."
She flushed a deeper red and turned to meet his gaze. "Nay, no' so much me, 'tis Crannag Mhór they love. I'm just a figurehead o' sorts, filling the role my father should rightfully have occupied."
"Or your husband."
The color drained from her face. "I've no' husband and well you know it. Ewen is dead."
He placed his hand on the gentle curve of her cheek. "I didn't mean Ewen. I meant someone new. Someone who could love you as you deserve to be loved."
Her eyes searched his, looking for something that he knew he didn't have to offer. "You need a man to help you here." He paused, watching hope flare in her eyes. "A man from your own century."
As quickly as it had come, the hope died and her eyes hardened. "I dinna need a man or anyone else. I've done fine on my own all these years and I'll manage quite nicely now." She turned away, asking Fingal for a platter of meat.
Cameron looked at his food, his appetite gone. Why couldn't he learn to keep his mouth shut? The idea of Marjory with another man was repulsive to him. So why had he felt the need to speak to her of finding someone else?
To ease his guilt. Cameron reached for his goblet and drained it, letting the warm wine wash away his thoughts. Guilt or not, at the end of the day, the facts remained the same. He had to get back to his own time, to his own life, and he couldn't let his feelings for Marjory stand in the way.
Marjory smiled at Aimil,trying to listen to what the woman was saying. This was supposed to be a celebration, but she didn't feel particularly festive.
"Are ye going to send word to yer grandfather?"
Marjory focused on the words. "If need be."
"If need be? I dinna ken. What are ye waiting for? A direct attack by Torcall?" The old woman frowned at her.
"Aimil, I'd like nothing better than to see Torcall Cameron brought to his knees, but for now he has gone, and I canna bother my grandfather with my fears. I'll send word to him when the time is right, and no' before."
"I dinna believe we've seen the last o' Torcall Cameron. 'Tis a trick o' some kind hatched up between the mon and his son." She tilted her head toward Cameron, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I told ye before that a cat canna change his ways."
Marjory swallowed a sigh. "There is no plot between them. Of that I'm certain."
Aimil stabbed viciously into a chunk of meat. "Well, if ye ask me yer dancing with the devil, and there's no way ye can win. A Cameron is ne'er to be trusted. And believe me, I know that better than most."
Marjory tilted her head, studying the woman. "Yer speaking o' my parents murder."
"Among other things." Aimil said, her face closed, memories reflected in her eyes. "The important thing is that ye mustn't trust a Cameron. No matter how comely of face. And I'd be watching my back if I were you. I tell ye the mon will be back."
Marjory nodded, sipping absently from her goblet. There was truth in Aimil's words, no matter how enigmatic. Once Cameronwas gone, it was only a matter of time until Torcall discovered it. And when he did…she shuddered involuntarily…when he did, there would be hell to pay.
"Are you all right?"
She felt Cameron's words, warm against her ear, almost before she heard them. "I'm fine." She flashed him a smile, hoping that it looked sincere.
"Look," he screwed up his mouth, a look of regret on his face, "I'm sorry if I was out of line before. I just want you to be happy." He reminded her of a puppy, scolded for something it didn't understand, but still honestly repentant.
"I know." She patted his hand. "Perhaps we should call a truce. Just for tonight." She smiled and raised her cup in tribute.
