by Dee Davis
"Aye, that I will." His blue eyes twinkled down at her. "Or mayhap, I'll just take what I want."
"Not much of a battle, when you consider that it's something I gladly give," she teased as he slanted his mouth over hers. She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of his lips against hers. And, as she let herself sink into the warmth of her husband's love, she sent a glance heavenward, knowing that somewhere up there her parents were smiling.
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Sneak Peek at Wild Highland Rose
And Now A Sneak Peek at Wild Highland Rose,
the third novel in Dee Davis'
Time After Time Series!
Scotland, 1468
MARJORY WALKED THROUGH the gorse damning Ewen Cameron. The man had been the devil himself or at least the spawn of the same, and if she'd had her way she'd not be trekking through the mountains trying to find his body.
The sky threatened rain, the clouds so close to the ground now she could almost touch them. The weather in the mountains was always fluid, calm one moment, stormy the next, without so much as a by-your-leave in between. Pulling her plaid close around her, she stopped for a moment on an outcropping of rock, letting her eyes drink in the valley.
The lands of Crannag Mhór stretched below. The tower itself, situated on its islet in the loch, glistened white against the blue-black of the lake, the turrets already disappearing into the gathering mist. She breathed deeply, letting the cool mountain air fill her lungs.
This was her home, and she'd not let a Cameron take it away from her. Living in hell had always been a small price to pay for preserving her heritage.
Fingal stopped beside her, his large hand heavy on her shoulder. "We'll find a way, Marjory. We always do."
She nodded, comfortable with the fact that he could read her mind. Since her father's death it was Fingal to whom she turned. Fingal in whom she confided. At least about most things.
She forced a smile, looking up, comforted by the fierceness in his eyes. Fingal would protect her with his life, and she'd return the favor without pause. But, even so, there were things she could not share with him. Things she kept locked away tight in a dark corner of her heart.
"It's no' far now." He moved back, his gruffness meant to hide his emotion, but she knew him too well. "Just 'round the bend."
As if to underscore the point, Allen appeared from behind a jutting spray of rocks, his face twisted in anger. "He's no' there."
Fingal frowned, his hand automatically reaching back for his claymore. Marjory laid a hand on his arm, leaving it there until she felt him relax. "Maybe this is no' the place." They moved forward, flanked by two more Macpherson men. "Sometimes the mountain plays tricks." Crannag Mhór was an isolated place, many of its crannies and crags inaccessible to those who didn't know it well.
Fingal shook his head as they came to the foot of the cliff, rocks and debris clearly indicating a recent landslide. "This is where he fell."
Allen growled low in his throat, eyeing the older man. "What have ye done with him, then?"
"I've done naught." Fingal roared. "I left him here same as you."
Again Marjory stepped between the two men. She glared at Allen. "You know as well as I that there are wolves in these mountains. Anything could have happened to him." She narrowed her eyes, daring Allen to argue with her.
He glowered at her, holding her gaze for one beat and then another, and then with a snort, he turned away, walking over to his men, the division between the two groups, Cameron and Macpherson, symbolic of the everwidening gulf between the clans.
Ignoring both, she headed toward the burn. Solitude was always the best for thinking, let the men deal with the disappearance of Ewen's body. Fingal was always saying she lacked the sensibilities of a lady. So she'd use the fact to her advantage.
The flowers of summer were in fierce bloom, their color vibrant even against the mist. If it weren't for the fact that her dead husband had gone missing, she'd have stopped to revel in the beauty of the mountains. Her mountains. But there was no time for idling. She had to come up with a plan, and without a body it was going to be that much more difficult.
Coming out of a small stand of birch she walked toward the stream, and a large rock. A favorite thinking place since she was a child, it afforded the perfect view across the valley. Except of course when the mist hugged the ground. Then it was more like a cloister. Silent and safe.
As if in answer to her thoughts, a breeze rose, its gentle touch lifting the fog, revealing something lying across the rock. Something bulky. With baited breath, she crept forward, using the undergrowth to quiet her steps and shield her from view.
The mound began to take shape, and she recognized it for what it was. A body. She'd been right about the wolves. Steeling herself, she crept forward, torn between a desire to run back to Fingal and the macabre need to know for certain that it was him.
With a trembling hand, she pulled back a tree branch for a clearer view. It was indeed Ewen. Relieved, she released the branch and stepped into the clearing.
Suddenly, the body shifted. Marjory stopped mid-step, her heart jumping into her throat. She screamed as the body rose, the face all but obliterated by crusted blood. Flinching, she held out a hand, and shut her eyes tightly, certain that she was in the presence of the dead.
"What the hell?"
The voice was garbled, but definitely human. Alive. Marjory braced herself and opened her eyes. He stood there, staring at her as if she were the ghost, his left hand fumbling to open his sporran.
Involuntarily, she took a step backward, her head spinning, her hand still out as if to ward him off. It seemed the devil had alluded death yet again.
*****
Cameron closed his eyes and then opened them again, stupidly staring down at the young woman who had collapsed at his feet, out like a light. She was a tiny thing, her features as delicate as her frame. Ethereal was the word that came to mind.
He knelt beside her, trying not to jar his aching head, and lifted her wrist, automatically feeling for her pulse. It was rapid, but strong. Releasing her hand, he pushed the hair back from her face, surprised at how soft it was.
"Unhand her, or I'll slit your throat." The voice came from off to his left, and Cameron was certain that the owner meant every word.
He rose quickly, his head spinning with the action, hands raised in what he hoped was still the universal gesture of surrender. Pivoting slowly, he turned to face the voice, and immediately felt a shudder of alarm. The man before him was roughly the size of an oak, built every bit as solid, and he held the largest sword Cameron had ever seen.
Their eyes met, and the man blanched, the sword wavering for a moment. "Ye're a dead mon." His tone held a mixture of fear and awe, and with his free hand he managed the sign of the cross.
Cameron, hands still held high, took a step forward, and the man swallowed, but to his credit held his ground, the sword steady now.
"Be gone, spirit." The man waved his weapon threateningly.
Cameron, more than aware of his mortality, stepped back. "Your friend needs help." He spoke slowly, as if to a child. The man's English was garbled at best, and although Cameron understood him, it was obviously not his
native language.
The sound of his own voice startled him, the tone deeper than he remembered, more guttural. Almost as if he, too, were speaking something other than English.
Ridiculous thought.
"Move away from her, Cameron."
The man knew his name. The thought was somewhat less than comforting, and Cameron searched his memory for some hint as to who he might be. He lowered his gaze to the sword. Obviously not a friend.
"I said move." The giant barked again, edging forward slowly, his narrow-eyed gaze fierce.
Cameron did as suggested, watching as the man inched toward his friend. "She's only fainted," he volunteered. "I checked her pulse and she's fine."
"Ye've no right to touch her." This last was hissed between gritted teeth. The big man bent down to touch the woman, who was beginning to stir.
"Holy Mary, Mother of God." Another giant rounded the corner, crossing himself in the same way as the first. The tangle of red hair, both on his head and face, left only a white swatch of face visible.
Again, Cameron searched for recognition, but there was nothing. Enemy or friend, these people were strangers to him, the idea far more frightening then the monstrous swords they held.
The woman was sitting up now, her gaze locked on him, her expression guarded. Pushing aside the first giant's offer of help, she scrambled to her feet, and moved toward Cameron, tipping her head first to one side and then the other, as she studied him.
"You're supposed to be dead." Her voice was low, the timbre velvety. It raked across him like a warm breeze, sending his senses reeling.
"That seems to be the consensus." Cameron glanced toward the two men, noticing they'd been joined by others, all sporting swords and kilts. Apparently he'd fallen down the rabbit hole and landed in the middle of Braveheart. The only thing missing was the blue war paint.
Not a comforting thought, and not something he wanted to examine right now. The situation was puzzling at best, downright frightening at worst. And the truth was this wasn't the time for a melt down. As if in contradiction to his thoughts, his head spun, black spots swimming across his line of vision.
"I saw you fall." Giant number one had moved closer. "There's no way you could have survived." He looked toward giant two for confirmation, and though it looked as if agreement was not in his nature, the man gave a brief nod, his gaze still locked on Cameron.
"Fingal, 'tis obvious that he has survived," the woman said. "And nothing we wish to the contrary will make it less than so."
Another vote of confidence. It was pretty obvious he wasn't going to be voted Mr. Popularity in this crowd. Cameron opened his mouth to tell them he wasn't who they thought he was. That in fact as far as he could tell, he wasn't anyone at all, but another look at the still drawn swords changed his mind. Best to find out the lay of the land before committing to anything.
Maybe there was a way out of this Scottish version of Deliverance, a hospital around the corner, or a nice cold beer. Something that fit into his concept of reality.
"We'd best get you back to the holding. It'll be dark soon." The first giant, the one they called Fingal, took a step toward him, and involuntarily Cameron stepped back. "Allen, he's your brother, perhaps you should help him."
Brother.
The word washed over him and he waited for emotion, some connection to the big man striding toward him. But he felt no sense of belonging or recognition. The man was a stranger. Again he moved backward, this time following his instincts. The other man's expression changed, his eyes narrowing in confusion and something else. Wariness possibly. It seemed there was intelligence under all that hair.
"Marjory," Fingal said. "Perhaps you should be the one to help your husband."
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, a look of loathing crossing her face. "I'm sure he has no need of me." Despite her words, she moved to take Cameron's arm.
Her skin against his started pheromones firing. Husband? Yet another revelation. He should have been put off. After all he had no memory of the woman, and she certainly hadn't bothered to hide her disdain for him. But his body wasn't listening to reason, and an absurd sense of elation swirled through his head.
He turned to say something, to explain that he had no brother, and certainly no wife, but before he could open his mouth, the ground rushed up to meet him, the world going suddenly black.
Check out these books by Dee Davis:
Time Travel:
Time After Time Series:
Everything in its Time
Cottage in the Mist
Wild Highland Rose
The Promise
Romantic Suspense:
Last Chance Series:
Endgame
Enigma
Exposure
Escape
Liar's Game Series:
Lethal Intent
Eye of the Storm
Chain Reaction
Still of the Night
A-Tac Series:
Dark Deceptions
Dangerous Desires
Desperate Deeds
Daring
Deep Disclosure
Deadly Dance
Double Danger
Dire Distraction
Random Heroes Collection:
After Twilight
Just Breath
Dark of the Night
Midnight Rain
Dancing in the Dark
Paranormal:
Devil May Care Series:
Hell Fire
Hell Fury
Women's Fiction:
The Matchmaker Chronicles:
A Match Made on Madison
Set Up in SoHo
About Dee Davis
Bestselling author Dee Davis worked in association management before turning her hand to writing. Her highly acclaimed first novel, Everything In Its Time, was published in July 2000. Since then, among others, she's won the Booksellers Best, Golden Leaf, Texas Gold and Prism awards, and been nominated for the National Readers Choice Award, the Holt and three RT Reviewers Choice Awards. To date, she is the author of over thirty books and novellas. When not sitting at the computer, Dee spends time in her 1802 farmhouse with her husband and cardigan welsh corgis.
Visit Dee at http://www.deedavis.com or catch up with her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/deedavisbooks or follow her on Twitter at http://twitter.com/deesdavis
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Photo: Marti Corn