Wild Highland Rose (Time Travel Trilogy, Book 2)

by Davis, Dee

  Marjory held back a laugh. The woman was almost clucking, a mother hen if ever there was one. "I'm a grown woman, Aimil, I've enough sense no' to make myself ill."

  The older woman sniffed and sat in a small chair, pulling a tapestry frame closer to her. With nimble fingers, she deftly began to weave the silken strands of thread into place. "I suppose ye'll want him at the celebration tonight."

  "Of course." Marjory felt her eyes widen in exasperation. "Without him, there would be nothing to celebrate." How many times was she going to have to say it? Apparently, Aimil was not of a mind to accept Cameron on any terms, no matter what he did.

  She thought, briefly, about telling her who he really was, but stopped. Aimil would no doubt confine her to bed certain she had a brain fever of some kind if she so much as breathed a word of the fanciful tale.

  In fact, now that she thought on it, safely away from the sheer magnetism of her newly changed husband, she wondered how she could have accepted it as true? The man had been very convincing, but suddenly she was filled with uncertainty. What if all this was just an elaborate plot by the Camerons? Maybe she was being naive and foolish.

  "Did I hear you mention a celebration?" Marjory looked up as Grania made her way into the chamber, holding a stack of folded plaid. Moving slowly, but unerringly, she made her way to the bench, and sat down, patting Marjory comfortingly on the knee.

  "I did." Aimil didn't look up from her sewing. "I thought in honor of Marjory's safe return we should do something special. To that end, I've ordered Cook to prepare a feast for our evening meal."

  "Well done, Aimil. We've no' had a party at Crannag Mhór in ever so long."

  Marjory reached over and squeezed the blind woman's hand, and Grania turned to her, bestowing an angelic smile. Sometimes Marjory would swear the woman radiated peace and serenity. Something, at the moment, she seemed to be in short supply of.

  "You're none the worse for yer little adventure?" Grania's voice was filled with concern.

  "Nay, I'm right as rain. Just a wee bit tired. Nothing a good night's sleep won't cure."

  "Well, with Torcall Cameron gone from beneath our roof, I'd imagine we'll all sleep a bit better." Aimil continued making neat stitches in the tapestry.

  "Aye, no doubt o' that." Grania nodded in Aimil's direction.

  "I'll feel better when I know that he's off Crannag Mhór land altogether." Or, better yet, dead and buried. Marjory frowned at the violent turn of her thoughts.

  "Is he no' gone then?" Grania asked, a puzzled expression on her expressive face.

  "Oh, he's gone, right enough, but it'll take him at least another day to reach the entrance to the valley."

  "Well, at least he's no longer here, in the tower." Grania covered Marjory's hand with hers. "So tell me a bit about yer adventure. I've not heard the whole of it."

  Marjory smiled broadly at the older woman. It was hard not to, even if the gesture was wasted. She told Grania about the fishing expedition and the storm. She skimmed over Cameron's water exploits, hesitant to have to explain his sudden ability to swim, using instead, the story he'd concocted for Torcall.

  "Heavens child, what a tale. I take it ye managed to find shelter fer the night?"

  "Oh yes, Grania, they stayed in yer cottage, or what's left o' it. To hear Marjory tell it, they wouldn't have survived without it." Aimil snapped a silken strand and deftly threaded the needle with another.

  "I dinna think I made it sound that dramatic, surely?" Marjory felt Grania's hand tighten slightly around hers.

  "And how did ye find the cottage?" Grania's voice had lost some of its usual timbre.

  "In much disrepair, I'm afraid. What damage the tree didna do, the wilds of the forest are finishing, but it served nicely for our purposes." Again, she felt herself growing hot. She had to learn to control these blushes. Thankfully, Grania couldn't see her, and with a quick glance, she ascertained that Aimil was still absorbed in her needlework.

  "I'm delighted that it was still of some use." Grania shifted on the bench, freeing her hands from Marjory's.

  "It was." She felt her blush deepening. She needed to change the subject before her body betrayed her feelings for Cameron. "Grania, did Bertrum have family in England?"

  "I dinna remember. Why do ye ask?"

  "Because we found the most amazing thing at your cottage."

  "Amazing? I canna imagine there's anything left to call amazing."

  "Well, there was."

  Aimil looked up, her attention caught. "Well, dinna hold us in suspense. What was it ye found?"

  "A pump." Marjory smiled triumphantly, her mouth stumbling only a little over the new word.

  "A what?" Aimil looked confused.

  "A pump. 'Tis the word Ewen used. " She'd started to call him Cameron, but changed her mind. "It made water flow from its mouth like magic."

  Aimil snorted and turned back to her needlework. "Yer having us on."

  "Nay, 'tis true. I saw it with my own eyes. Ewen says 'tis the newest thing. I thought maybe your husband had built it for you. They have them in England, you know, and I thought maybe Bertrum got the idea there."

  "Oh yes, the pump. I'd forgotten all about it. Bertie did make it for me."

  "Did he? I dinna recall him being good with his hands." Aimil raised an eyebrow.

  First the first time in Marjory's memory, Grania looked flustered. "Well, perhaps, he bought it on one of his travels. I canna remember, it's been so long since Bertie was living. 'Tis no' as exciting as Marjory would have ye believe." She waved a hand in dismissal as Marjory opened her mouth to disagree. The pump had been nothing short of a miracle, but if Grania didn't wish to discuss it, she wouldn't press the matter.

  "Ye didna say what happened to the curach," Grania interjected, obviously trying to change the subject.

  Aimil cried out as she jabbed her finger with her needle.

  Grania cocked her head at the sound. "Are you all right, Aimil?"

  "Aye, fine. I only stuck myself a bit. No serious damage." She sucked at the end of her finger.

  Marjory stood. "Perhaps I should go for some salve."

  "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.

  He groaned. There was no sound from behind the bed curtains, but he knew Marjory was there, listening to every word.

  "Look, Aida, now is not a good time for this. Why don't you just put your clothes back on and we'll talk later?" He emphasized the word talk, but apparently nothing he'd said got through to her, because she took another step forward and slid the gown lower, baring a breast.

  "Ewen, mo chridhe, I'm ready." He turned, stunned to see Marjory emerge from the bed curtains, clad only in the plaid. It opened suggestively as she walked towards them. "Oh, Aida, I didna hear you come in. 'Tis glad I am you're here, however. Would you be a lamb and run down to the kitchens? I'm afraid we're out of wine and I'd so like some more. Wouldn't you, my heart?"

  Cameron could only nod, his voice having plummeted to some part of his anatomy heretofore unknown. He couldn't take his eyes off her. She was magnificent.

  Still looking at Aida, Marjory dropped the plaid and gracefully stepped into the tub. "Do hurry. As you can see, we've no other needs right now." She gave Aida a queenly smile and sat down. The feel of her body against his sent a tremor running down his spine.

  "I'll do no such thing. Ye can fetch yer own wine. I'd like to know what this is all about, Ewen? Surely 'tis only a jest. Ye canna possibly prefer a woman like her o'er a woman like me." She thrust out her chest, making Cameron think of a highly plumed bird, strutting its stuff.

  He struggled for words. His mind had deserted him entirely, his body lost in the feel of the woman in the tub. "This is no jest, I assure you." His voice came out a hoarse croak.

  Marjory placed a gentle hand along his cheek, sending tremors of need streaking through him. "Let me tell her, mo chridhe." She turned her attention back to Aida. "I'm afraid there is no gentle way to say this. So listen well. Ewen belongs to me. You seem to have forgotten that he is my husband and that this is my home. And since we obviously no longer have any need for you, I'd like you out of here now and out of the tower at first morning light. I'm sure we can find someone to escort you home." She smiled sweetly and then turned her attention to back to Cameron, effectively dismissing the other woman.

  "Ewen, surely yer no' going to let this woman treat me like that?" Aida stood her ground, but wrapped her arms around her waist, a certain sign that she was no longer feeling as sure of herself.

  "My wife has spoken, Aida. It would be best for all of us, if you honored her wishes." It was all he could do to get the words out, but if Marjory could stand up to Aida, the least he could do was support her.

  Aida's mouth dropped open. The scene was oddly gratifying. Something tugged at his memory, but was gone before he could identify it.

  "You heard my husband. Go." Marjory waved a hand regally in the direction of the door. "And dinna forget the wine."

  Aida narrowed her eyes in anger. "Ye'll regret this Ewen Cameron. I gave ye all that I had to give and I'll no' be tossed aside fer the likes o' her." She whirled around and ran from the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Marjory sagged forward and she started to push herself out of the tub. Cameron reached for her, pulling her back into the now tepid water, holding her against his chest. He stroked her hair and felt silent sobs wrack her body. "You were amazing."

  He tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. Emotions ran riot across her beautiful face. Embarrassment and triumph, elation and sadness. He leaned forward, kissing her gently on the lips, tasting the salt of her tears. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, caressing her back with his hands. He could feel every inch of her body pressed against him and delighted in the knowledge that she was as aroused as he was.

  She opened her mouth to his kiss and their desire took flight, the kiss deepening and taking on new meaning. He felt her rock against his groin, the soft silkiness of her inner thighs caressing his engorged manhood. With a moan, he gathered her in his arms and stood, stepping carefully from the tub.

  He walked to the bed, and laid her reverently on it. Turning back, he reached for the toweling she'd dropped. With gentle hands, he began to dry her, his fingers caressing every inch of her flesh. She lay still, her eyes closed, offering no comment other than an occasional moan when his hands found a sensitive place. Drying himself hurriedly, he stretched out on the bed beside her, his heart pounding out his need for her.

  She opened her eyes, revealing deep pools of blue filled with desire. His mouth found her shoulder. With hot, wet kisses, he trailed his tongue down her arm, lingering on each of her fingers, pulling each slowly into his mouth. She shuddered and began to writhe against the soft linen of the sheet.

  He rolled on top of her, pinning her with his body. Sliding down the silky leng
th of her, he began at her toes. Caressing each one with his mouth, before slowly making his way up her legs, kissing first her ankles, then her knees, and then the soft flesh of her thighs. He lifted his head, meeting her fevered gaze.

  She mouthed the word 'please', her breath coming in harsh gasps, her legs opening for him. His body ached with his need, but he wanted only to give her pleasure, a reward for her bravery and strength, for all she had so willingly given him. He needed to please her, to make her writhe with ecstasy, needed it almost as much as he needed to be inside her.

  He lowered his head to her thighs and plunged his tongue into her, tasting her sweetness, reveling in the fact, that at least for the moment, she belonged to him. He felt her fingers rake through his hair as she pressed him closer, bucking against him. He held her legs, holding her still, his tongue finding the tiny knot that marked the center of her desire. He flicked at it lightly with his tongue and then drew it into his mouth, sucking gently. She arched against him and he felt an uncontrollable surge of masculine pride when she screamed his name.

  He kissed her once more, and then moved upward, until his mouth found her lips. Her body shuddered beneath his and his need to possess her grew to almost unbearable proportions. He framed her face with his hands, drinking in her beauty. Her blue eyes met his, still glazed over with the power of her release.

  She tangled a hand in his hair, pulling him close, kissing his ear, taking the soft lobe between her teeth and tugging at it. He shivered and felt the heat in his belly begin to spiral out of control. Rolling onto his back, he pulled her with him, so that she lay on top of him. With a smile, she slid down his body, stopping to kiss his nipples, her tongue rubbing them to erection. The sensation surprised him and he reached to pull her back for a kiss.

  "Nay, 'tis my turn now." She laughed softly and slipped from his grasp, moving lower, her tongue finding the throbbing hardness that marked his manhood. The wet heat of her mouth against his already over sensitized skin almost made him explode. She circled him with her tongue, tasting and exploring. When her mouth finally closed over him, he felt a cry rip from somewhere deep inside him.