Wild Highland Rose (Time Travel Trilogy, Book 2)

by Davis, Dee

  He nodded, his gaze intense. "I have a fiancée."

  She shot him a puzzled look. "I dinna know this word."

  He frowned and then, after a moment, tried again. "I'm betrothed."

  Her heart plummeted into her stomach and she thought, for a moment, she might be sick. Sucking in a breath, she strove for normalcy. "I see."

  "Well, I'm glad you do. Because I don't. I don't see anything at all. I've betrayed Lindsey, I've betrayed you, and maybe worst of all I've betrayed myself."

  "Lindsey." She said the name, hating the sound of it. "Is that her name?"

  "Yes."

  "And you love her?" She didn't want to ask the question, but the words came anyway.

  "I do, Marjory. I asked her to marry me."

  "Is she who you were dreamin' of, then?" She felt tears prick her eyes. Hadn't Grania warned her?

  Cameron nodded. "I don't understand it. I can't even remember it properly. Maybe it's a prophecy of some kind. Or maybe it's already happened. Either way, I'm certain that Lindsey is in trouble. Serious trouble. And I've got to help her. Don't you see, Marjory, I've got to go back." His eyes pleaded with her, his heart laid bare.

  He didn't want to leave. It was there on his face. But he had to. He had obligations. And she knew better than anyone about obligations. A part of her wanted to scream, to beg, to plead with him to stay, but she knew it wouldn't change things. "Aye. You have to follow your heart."

  "My heart is here with you." He said the words, then flinched as if they'd hurt him. "At least a part of it is."

  "And part of it is there, with Lindsey. And she's the one who needs you."

  He nodded, the pain on his face a reflection of the turmoil in her heart. "I've made such a mess of everything."

  "Nay." She crossed over to him, her only thought to erase some of his pain. "You didna remember her, Cameron, which means that you were no' betraying her, at least no' in the way you're thinking. What happened here happened because you didn't know who you were. Now that you do, everything is clearer."

  He shook his head. "But that's just it—it isn't clearer."

  "What I see," she said, surprised at the calm she felt, "is a man tormented by a situation that is no' of his making. Cameron, you couldn't have known. You just couldn't."

  He reached out to trace the line of her cheek, his touch sending shivers racing through her. "You're a magnificent woman, Marjory Macpherson."

  She leaned forward and curled a hand around his neck, bringing his mouth to hers. Their breath mingled as their lips brushed together. With a groan, he pulled her to him, and the kiss ignited. She opened her mouth to him, her tongue reaching for his, desperate for the contact.

  Her hands ran down the smooth contours of his shoulders, her body tightening with longing. He tangled his hands in her hair and tilted her head. His tongue plunged into her mouth again and again, as if he, too, were desperate for the taste of her. She felt her nipples bead into hard balls of desire and arched against him, a low moan escaping from her throat.

  Suddenly, he pushed away, setting her free. "We can't do this." He sat back, his breath coming in gasps. "I told you, everything is different now. I have another life, a fiancée…" He trailed off, his face reflecting his guilt.

  "You're a man o' honor. I canna fault that. 'Tis one of the things I love best about you." She tried to smile, but knew the gesture fell short.

  "You humble me with your faith, Marjory. I'm just a man and I've made my share of mistakes."

  "Perhaps, but you're still no' like the men o' my world." Her thoughts turned to Torcall, and the real Ewen, and she shuddered, wondering if Cameron's return would mean Ewen's as well.

  "I honestly believe he's dead." Cameron reached for her, reading her mind, pulling her close, his words whispered against her ear.

  "I pray that it's true. But even so, there's still Torcall to be reckoned with." Just speaking his name aloud sent anger coursing through her. It was his fault in part that she was losing Cameron. Had she never been forced to marry Ewen then Cameron could never have come. Twisted logic perhaps, but it was something to hold onto.

  "Marjory, you can't keep holding onto this anger. The hatred is eating you alive. You have so much to give. So much to offer. And you're wasting it all on bitter recriminations against a man who has lost as much as you."

  "What has he lost?" she spat.

  "His son. Whatever his faults are, Marjory, he loved Ewen. And now he'll have to lose him all over again."

  "To my way o' thinking, 'tis no' much o' a loss."

  "You don't mean that." He grabbed her shoulders, turning her to face him. "His loss is as real as yours. And Ewen's death on top of Cait's will no doubt fuel his hatred as well."

  "Who is Cait?" She frowned, trying to remember the name.

  "His wife." Cameron blew out a slow breath, as if he weren't certain if he should speak.

  "And how is it I've never heard of her?"

  "She died when you were quite small. Your father supposedly killed her."

  In the stillness that followed his words, Marjory could hear the fire pop, and the wind whistling through a crack in the window. Everything seemed to slow down, as if frozen in time.

  "That canna be. My father wouldna kill a woman."

  "I don't think he meant to. But it happened just the same. The Macphersons were stealing cattle, and Torcall and Cait stumbled upon them. In the chase, your father cornered them, and spooked Cait's horse. She was thrown and died."

  "And Torcall never forgave him."

  Cameron nodded. "And her death set off a never-ending circle of hatred and revenge. And one of you is going to have to stop it. Before it destroys you both."

  Marjory pulled away from him, her thoughts tumbling through her mind like sparrows in the wind. "I dinna understand why my father never told me."

  "Maybe because he wanted to spare you. To protect you. To keep you from the ugliness of reality. He loved you, Marjory. Just as Torcall loves Ewen."

  "It's all too much." She waved a hand through the air as if she could simply brush it all away. Cameron, Lindsey, Torcall, Ewen. Everything that had been real suddenly flipped on its side, the world as she knew it changed forever.

  He was beside her again, this time with his arms around her. "Let me hold you. Make it right for at least one more night."

  She leaned against him, letting the warmth of his body soothe her. His smell now familiar, comforting. "We shouldna be together."

  "I know," he whispered, "but if things go as planned, I'll be gone tomorrow. And I want to hold you one last time. Just hold you, Marjory."

  She allowed him to pull her down beside him, her cheek resting warm against his chest, the rhythm of his breathing a final link to a life she'd never know—happiness that had once more alluded her.

  Within minutes, his even breathing signaled his descent into slumber, and she lay in silence, staring at the ceiling, reveling in the warmth of his body against hers, agonizing over the fact that he loved someone else.

  The words bit into her heart, cutting deeply. She had to accept the fact that he had a covenant with Lindsey, and she knew, without a doubt, that Cameron was the kind of man who would honor his promises.

  She swallowed back tears. He'd never made promises to her. In fact, he'd been clear from the beginning that there could never be anything permanent between them. He was going back, back to Lindsey, back to where he belonged.

  It was for the best. He'd no doubt be safer there as well.

  She tightened her arms around him, feeling the warmth of his breath against her hair, and shivered. At least for tonight, for this moment, he belonged to her. Tomorrow… She sighed. Tomorrow, she'd have to let him go.

  CHAPTER 23

  Cameron groaned, trying to block the shaft of sunlight stabbing into his eyes. He'd forgotten to shut the bed curtains again. He rolled over, dragging the pillow over his head. Surely, it couldn't be morning, it felt as if he'd only just fallen asleep.

  Last
night had been a doozy, and the memory of it made him reach out for Marjory, only to find the bed beside him empty. They'd said so much last night, yet neither had spoken the words that really mattered. He supposed it was all for the best. He needed to move forward, to think of Lindsey and his life with her.

  He saw her again, standing in the rain, reaching for him. Blood everywhere. She needed him. He was certain of it. And nothing else could be allowed to matter. He had to make things right.

  "Come on then, lad, are ye going to sleep the day away? I've been sitting here for a quite a time, and I tell ye, I've had enough o' waiting."

  The voice startled him out of his thoughts, and he rolled over to find Aimil hovering over him with a tray. He closed his eyes again, certain that he was dreaming. Aimil would never come to his bedroom, and if she did, she'd much more likely be carrying a knife than a tray.

  He frowned. On second thought, maybe a tray could be used as a weapon. Something along the lines of Mrs. Aimil doing it in the bedroom with the tray. Not exactly the lead pipe, but it would probably do in a pinch.

  He opened his eyes to find the smiling woman still in the room. She'd moved away from the bed and was busy arranging the tray on the bedside table. "I've brought ye food to break yer fast."

  He sat up blearily, eyeing her with suspicion. "Aimil, why are you here?" he asked, deciding the direct approach would be best.

  She smiled cheerily. She was actually quite pretty when she wasn't scowling. "I just told ye, I've brung yer meal."

  He rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. "I know that. But why have you brought it?" This was not an easy conversation. It was like trying to do bypass surgery with tweezers.

  "Because ye were bound to be hungry. And, look, no oats." She removed a square of linen with a flourish. "Barley bannocks, sweetened with honey, just the way ye like them." She fidgeted with the tray.

  "Aimil, why don't you sit down and tell me why you're really here. We both know it's got nothing to with food."

  She sank down onto the chair by the bed, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. "Well, truth be told, I came to thank ye."

  "For what?"

  "For saving my brother."

  He reached for the mug of ale on the tray and took a long swallow. Wishing, as he did most every morning, that it would magically turn itself into a strong cup of coffee. "It was nothing, Aimil."

  Maybe in his world, but, here, it ranked as a miracle. He immediately regretted his choice of words.

  She shifted uneasily in her chair. "Ye know that it was far more than nothing. Without ye, my brother would likely have died. I've no notion where ye learned to do what ye did, and I'm no' likely to be asking, but I thank ye just the same."

  "Well, you're welcome." She made no move to leave. So, Cameron reached for the tray.

  He was hungry and the bannocks smelled delicious. Then, remembering his thoughts about Aimil and arsenic, he hesitated, the food halfway to his mouth, another thought pushing itself front and center. The landslide, the curach…

  "Ye know." She met his gaze, shifting uncomfortably on the chair.

  "I guessed." Just now. But he didn't tell her that.

  She motioned to the bannock still halfway to his mouth. "'Tis all right. I've done naught to yer food."

  He hesitated a moment more, then bit off a piece and chewed. It was delicious. He swallowed then put the bannock back on the tray. "So you're the one who caused the landslide."

  "Aye. 'Twas easy enough to do. I thought I'd kilt ye." She twisted her hands nervously, but held his gaze. "I came to apologize, and to beg yer forgiveness."

  Cameron had no problem forgiving her for the landslide, after all, it was Ewen she'd wanted dead, but there was still the issue of the curach. "What about the boat?"

  She lowered her head and stammered in the direction of her lap. "When ye told me that ye were going out on the loch in the wee curach, it seemed an ideal time to…to…" She broke off, her eyes welling with tears.

  "Kill me?"

  She swallowed uncomfortably. "Aye."

  "But Marjory could have been killed."

  Tears slipped down her weathered cheeks. "I dinna know that Marjory would be on the curach. I thought 'twould just be you. I would ne'er do anything to harm her. Ye have to know that."

  "It's all right, Aimil." The woman's obvious misery deflated his anger. "It was brave of you to come and tell me this."

  "I had to do it. 'Twas only right. Ye saved Fingal and Marjory. I dinna know who ye are, but yer certainly no' a Cameron."

  "Well, I am sort of a Cameron. I mean, that is my name, but I'm not related to Torcall, if that's what you're getting at."

  She breathed a sigh of relief. "I think yer an angel sent to watch o'er us all." She peeked at him through her lashes. "Especially Marjory."

  The thought sobered him. He didn't want to be anybody's angel. In fact, based on his actions over the last few days, he wasn't even certain he'd qualify for the job. But the thought once presented could not be pushed away. And he remembered something Grania had said about having a purpose here.

  He shook his head, unwilling to go there, to allow for anything beyond what he knew he had to do. "Aimil, I appreciate your confession and your apology." He held out his hand. She looked at it, unsure of what to do.

  He reached over and clasped her trembling hand in his. "Why don't we start over?" She nodded, pulling her hand back from his grasp. "How's your brother this morning?"

  Her eyes brightened. "He's doing much better. He slept well last night and this morning ate a little broth. His throat's bothering him a wee bit, but I told him that was to be expected. Grania's already been in to check on him and seems to think with a little rest that he'll be right as rain."

  Cameron smiled. "I'd trust her diagnosis any day."

  Aimil frowned at his choice of words, but then smiled, obviously getting the gist. "You'll see him yerself?"

  "Yeah, I'll check on him as soon as I'm dressed." He gave her a pointed look and she sprang up from the chair.

  "I'd best be off then. I'll just leave the tray until yer finished." She headed for the door, and he watched her leave, then reached for his plaid.

  It was time to go. Of course there was still the problem of finding the way back to the landslide, and even if he found it, there was the very real possibility that he still wouldn't be able to get back to his own time, but he had to try. Lindsey needed him. Surely that was the point of his dreams.

  Again he saw the blood, her terrified eyes beseeching him. He threaded his fingers through his hair, knowing he was missing something. But what? His memory seemed to be intact, but he still wasn't seeing the whole picture. He struggled to remember, but his mind remained stubbornly blank.

  The only way to find out the truth was to try and get home again. To find the door to the future. His future. Maybe he'd been sent here to learn about himself. To realize that there was more to life than achievements and success. Maybe now he'd be the kind of husband Lindsey deserved.

  Just for a moment he allowed himself to think of Marjory. He remembered the feel of her wrapped in his arms, their bodies moving together as one. Heart to heart, soul to soul…

  With a curse, he cleared his thoughts. He had obligations to fulfill and they weren't here, no matter how tempting a certain Scotswoman might be. He jumped out of bed, swallowing the last of the bannocks. It was time to go home.

  *****

  Cameron stood at the gate to the garden, watching as Grania dug her hands into the warm, moist soil. The smell of the earth filled the air, the scent soothing in some intrinsic sort of way. Grania felt carefully along a row of plants, her hands stopping when she reached a dark green, long-leafed one, then with deft hands, she harvested stems and leaves, placing them in a basket by her side.

  It was peaceful watching her work, the drone of the nearby bees a musical accompaniment. It would be easy to stay here, to forget about honor and doing what was right, but he was knew he couldn't. So he walked int
o the garden preparing to say good-bye.

  Grania must have recognized the sound of his footsteps because she looked up, her wrinkled face creasing into a smile. "You're an early riser. I thought fer sure ye'd sleep the day away after all ye went through last night."

  "I could say the same thing about you." He came closer, squatting down on the dirt beside her.

  "I dinna sleep much anymore. One of the privileges of age."

  "Are these herbs for healing?" He was fairly certain of the answer, but he couldn't bring himself to move to heavier topics.

  "Aye. I've got quite a few of them growing here, although there are some I can only find in the woods. I thought I'd make a poultice for Fingal. Have ye seen him?"

  "Yeah, I just left him. He's healing nicely. Hasn't quite got the hang of covering the stoma before he talks, but he's getting there. I imagine, in a few more days, he'll be talking non-stop."

  "Probably." She stopped awkwardly, as if she already knew what he was here to say.

  "I've come to say goodbye."

  "Ye've made up yer mind, then?" She broke off another plant, adding it to the basket, a slight tremble in her hand the only evidence that his announcement had affected her.

  "Once I remembered there was never really anything to decide. I belong in the twenty-first century, Grania. My life is there."

  "Ye have a life here, too."

  "No, Ewen had a life. I've just been prolonging it for him."

  "And what about Marjory?" She looked up at him, her expression so intense, that for a moment he forgot she couldn't see.

  He sighed, his heart twisting inside him. "She'll find someone new. Someone who can love her the way she deserves to be loved."

  Grania reached over and tentatively touched his hand. "I know that, but I canna be as sure that she knows it. She's given her heart to you, lad, and it'll no' be easy for her to give it to another."

  He pulled away. "I wish it could be different, Grania. I'd do anything to keep from hurting her. But I have a fiancée and she needs me, too. If my dreams are to be believed her very life might depend on it."