Wild Highland Rose (Time Travel Trilogy, Book 2)

by Davis, Dee

  "What next, princess?"

  He stood next to her, looking every inch a Scottish warrior. She bit back a stab of concern. He wasn't a warrior, no matter how he looked, and she was taking him into what could very well be a battle for their lives. Still, despite her feelings of guilt, she was glad to have him with her.

  "I'm no' sure. We canna see the tower from here. But I'm fairly certain Torcall is still somewhere between it and us. Which means we can't safely leave the shelter o' the trees without risking discovery."

  "Is there some place in the woods where we can get a good look at the tower?"

  She frowned, her mind spinning with worry, and she fought to calm herself. There was no time for panic. She had to think clearly. "There's a ridge no' far from here. 'Tis no' in the woods, but I think we can safely climb to the top without being seen."

  "All right then we have a plan." He reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze. "We'll find a way to stop them. I promise."

  "Dinna make promises you canna keep." She pulled her hand free, and wearily pushed back a strand of hair that kept stubbornly falling in her face. "We'll follow the line o' the trees to the north until we're almost to the ridge, and then we'll break cover. The ridge itself ought to keep us out of view."

  Cameron surveyed the tree line. "Fine. What do you say we get moving?"

  She nodded, trying to focus on the task at hand. It wouldn't help if she let her imagination run free. No matter what was happening inside the walls of Crannag Mhór, she had to keep her wits about her. She'd not be able to help her people if she let her fears overtake her.

  They moved cautiously through the trees, trying to keep their speed without making too much noise. To their right the open meadowland beckoned. Everything was quiet, but there was no sense in taking unnecessary chances.

  "Wait." The single word was whispered, but it had all the power of a shouted command. Marjory pulled up sharply, almost running into Cameron's broad back.

  "What is it?" Her heart thudded as she scanned the area for danger. "What do you see?"

  "Over there." He bit the words out, jerking his head in the direction of a large birch. Marjory let her eyes drift down the tree. There was a splash of white lying at the base. She started forward, only to find her progress stopped, Cameron's big hand closing on her shoulder.

  "It could be a trap." His whispered words drifted past her ear, no louder than a breath of air. He yanked her back behind a rhododendron bush, its glossy leaves providing them cover. They crouched there, waiting and watching. Nothing moved.

  Finally, convinced that no threat awaited them by the tree, they left the shelter of the bush, walking cautiously toward the patch of white. As they neared the birch, what had been abstract color began to take shape. They stopped a short distance away and Marjory felt bile rising in her throat.

  Aida Macvail lay sprawled across the exposed roots of the tree, her eyes open, staring at the branches waving dreamily in the wind. Her mouth was frozen in a scream, her golden hair tangled with leaves and twigs. Her throat had been slit and her skirts were bunched haphazardly around her waist.

  Cameron moved forward, taking Aida's wrist, feeling for signs of life. He turned, meeting Marjory's horrified gaze, shaking his head in response to her unasked question. Turning back to the body, he carefully lifted her, pulling her shift back into place and then, with gentle fingers, reached to close her sightless eyes.

  Marjory crossed herself, trying to swallow back the need to be sick. Cameron reached her side, enclosing her in the circle of his strong arms. She buried her head in his chest, allowing herself the moment of comfort. Finally, feeling calmer, she pushed away from him.

  "I can only think of one person that could have done something like this."

  Marjory nodded, forcing herself to spit out the name. "Allen Cameron."

  "But why Aida?"

  Marjory shook her head slowly in denial. "I don't know. It doesna make sense." She tried to pull out of the lethargy of shock and force herself to think.

  "There's a basket over here." Cameron bent to examine it. "It's full of herbs."

  Marjory felt fear clutch at her heart as she recognized the basket. It didn't belong to Aida, it belonged to Grania.

  CHAPTER 25

  They found her a few yards from Aida. She was lying on her back, one arm draped across her abdomen. Cameron dropped to his knees, his mind sending fervent prayers to heaven. Marjory, knelt, too, cradling Grania's head in her lap.

  Heart pounding with fear, Cameron reached for her wrist. The skin was warm to the touch and to his relief he felt the faint flutter of a heartbeat. "She's alive."

  Marjory looked up, tears filling her eyes. "Is she going to be all right?"

  "I won't know until I can see the extent of her injuries." His eyes raked over her. There was a gash above her right eye, but despite the blood, it appeared superficial. Her left arm was bent across her body at an odd angle. Probing gently, he was relieved to discover that nothing was broken, but her shoulder was dislocated. It was already quite swollen and beginning to show color. "Nothing here life threatening."

  "She's no' awake." Marjory stroked the hair back from her face and wiped away some of the blood with the hem of her skirt.

  "I know, and it worries me." Help me roll her onto her side. Maybe we're missing something." Still holding her head, Marjory placed her other hand behind Grania's injured shoulder. Cameron put his hands behind her hip and lower back. "Okay—on three. One, two, three."

  They carefully rolled her up onto her side, exposing her back. "Merciful God." Marjory's position afforded her an immediate look at Grania's back. Cameron sat back on his heels, steeling himself for the worst.

  There was blood everywhere. It had soaked into the linen of her dress, so that it looked like a macabre tie-dye. Even the heavy wool of her plaid was stained brownish red. With fumbling hands, Cameron worked to free her from the blood soaked cloth, resorting finally to the small knife Marjory pressed into his hands.

  When he cut away the cloth, he almost wished he hadn't. The jagged edges of a stab wound glared at him, the edges an angry red. He fought to steady his hands, then carefully inspected the wound.

  It was around nine inches in length and was located on her right side, neatly penetrating the rib cage. He couldn't judge the depth accurately, but he was certain it had penetrated deep enough to have hit vital organs.

  Marjory silently handed him a wad of cloth and a strip to bind it with. Blessing her for her practical thinking, he pressed the pad against the wound, wishing for sutures and antibiotics, and a whole host of paraphernalia he didn't have.

  Grania needed surgery, and she needed it now. But that wasn't possible, so he swallowed back his frustration and bound the wound, hoping to at least prevent further blood loss.

  She moaned and shifted a little as he tied the bandage in place.

  "Grania? Can you hear me?" Marjory whispered anxiously. There was no response. They carefully rolled her over onto her back. "Grania? 'Tis me, Marjory. Cameron is here, too. Can you hear me?"

  She waited, exchanging a worried glance with Cameron, then leaned back over the older woman, crooning soft nothings to her. Cameron ripped a strip of linen from the sleeve of his shirt. He fashioned it into a sling and was in the process of placing it carefully around her injured shoulder when Marjory's words stopped him cold.

  "Eileen, can you hear me?"

  His head jerked up. "What did you call her?"

  Marjory looked up, meeting his gaze, pushing her hair impatiently back behind an ear. "Eileen. 'Twas her real name, before she came here. Eileen Even. I thought that maybe by using it I could reach her."

  A wave of dizziness washed through him, and he bent over, taking slow deep breaths, his mind threatening to explode.

  "Cameron, what is it?" He felt Marjory's hand on his back. "You look as if you've seen a kelpie."

  He slowly raised his head, staring in wonder at the injured woman. "Not a kelpie, Marjory, a ghost. An
honest-to-God ghost. You're absolutely sure that's what she said her name was?"

  "Positive. In fact there was a bit more." She screwed up her face in the effort to remember. "I have it," she said triumphantly. "She told me her name was Eileen Donovan Even. What is it about the name that upsets you so?"

  Cameron paused, his mind still reeling from the enormity of what he was now certain was reality. He drew in a breath, releasing it on a sigh. "Eileen Even was my mother, Marjory. She died in a plane crash when I was eight."

  A soft moan from Grania brought their attention back to the injured woman. She was tossing her head back and forth, mumbling something. Cameron felt her head. It was cool but clammy.

  Placing a hand at her throat, he timed her heart rate. Too fast. She was showing signs of shock. "We've got to get her to wake up."

  As if on cue, Grania's head turned in Cameron's direction. "Cameron, is that you?"

  "I'm here, Grania." Mother. His mind added, silently.

  "Where am I, then?"

  "You're still in the woods."

  "And Allen?"

  Cameron met Marjory's eyes, recognizing the flash of anger there, a reflection of his own feelings. "Gone, Grania, he's gone."

  She nodded, struggling to draw a breath. Her lungs made a gurgling noise as she inhaled. "Aida?"

  Cameron glanced at Marjory, unsure of what to say.

  "She's dead, I take it." Grania guessed.

  "Yeah, she is."

  "Poor thing. She came back to warn us. Fer what it's worth, I think she truly loved Ewen." Grania struggled to sit up. "Torcall is marching on Crannag Mhór. To hear the girl tell it, 'twas always the plan."

  "But when he discovered his son wasna dead, surely that changed his plans?" Marjory's worried gaze collided with Cameron's.

  "Perhaps fer a moment, but ye know as well as I that Torcall lives for his oldest son. And despite yer efforts, the man he found at Crannag Mhór was little more than a stranger." Grania coughed, her shoulders shaking with the force of it.

  "Easy now. You've got to lie still." Cameron stroked her hair.

  "But he left. I saw him go." Marjory's voice was carefully controlled.

  "We'll ne'er know for certain what was in the man's mind, but once Aida had told him about Fingal—about what ye did, lad—Torcall was convinced ye'd been bewitched."

  "And he wants someone to pay for what he believes has happened to Ewen."

  Grania nodded. "Aida panicked. She'd no intention of starting a battle. And so she slipped away, planning to come back and warn ye. But Allen found her first."

  "With you."

  "Aye."

  The word hung between them, and Cameron fought against his rage. "Was Torcall here?"

  "Nay. No' at first. 'Twas only Allen, roaring about betrayal. Had Torcall no' arrived when he did, I've no doubt Allen would o' finished what he started."

  Cameron clenched his jaw. "How long ago was this?"

  "I'd guess no' too long, but I canna say fer sure. I'm afraid I blacked out." She paused, wincing. "Ye must go."

  Marjory reached over to pat her hand. "Torcall's already well ahead o' us. A few minutes spent with you will no' make a difference."

  Cameron met her eyes, willing her to understand the depth of his gratitude. He looked back at his mother. "Try not to worry about anything right now. You need to concentrate on getting better."

  She struggled to lift her hand and he reached over, placing his around it, squeezing gently. She smiled faintly. "Dinna lie to me, Cameron. The sword's caused a great deal o' damage. Unless I miss my guess, 'twill no' be long before I bleed to death."

  He lowered his head, grief overwhelming him.

  Her hand fluttered beneath his. "Dinna take it so hard, son."

  Son. The word resonated through his head. "You know?"

  She nodded.

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Because ye'd decided to go, and I knew telling you would only add to the burden o' yer decision." She squeezed his hand. "Besides, in truth I canna say that there's much of Eileen Even left inside me. Except my love fer you."

  She jerked forward as a fit of coughing wracked her body. Cameron held her, while Marjory held a square of linen against her lips. When she calmed, Cameron eased her back down, noting the pinkish fluid on the linen as Marjory drew it away.

  "'Twill no' be long now." Grania's words were low, but clear. She'd obviously seen the blood tinged phlegm, too.

  "Don't be foolish. You're going to live a long and healthy life. You've just got to hang in there." He spoke as a physician, adopting the voice he'd used thousands of times for a critical patient.

  "Cameron, dinna forget I'm a surgeon, too. I know the effects of shock when I feel it."

  Cameron felt Marjory slip her small hand into his. He held on for dear life. "Grania, you can't die now, not when we've only just found each other again."

  "Hush, child, my time has come. Dinna let it grieve you. I've had a long and fruitful life. God gave me a second chance and I took it, never realizing what wealth it would bring me. The only thing I missed was seeing you. And now that wish, too, has been granted. 'Tis God's will that I go, and ye canna argue with God."

  "What kind of God gives you back your mother, only to take her away again? I lived through losing you once. How can He expect me to go through it again?"

  "Trust me, Cameron, God never gives ye anything to deal with that yer not capable o' handling. He has a purpose, even in this."

  "But if He brought me back here to find you…"

  "I canna believe that's all He had in mind. There's something more, lad. Ye just have to find it." She stopped struggling again for breath. The wheezing was getting louder. She jerked as more coughs shook her slender frame. Cameron released Marjory's hand, placing an arm under Grania, holding her upright until the coughing passed.

  Helping her lie down again, he stroked her brow. "Rest now."

  "I think I'll soon be getting all the rest I need." She shot him a weak smile. "I've just a few more things to say."

  He glanced over at Marjory. She sat silently, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her sleeve. Their eyes met, and somehow even without a touch, he felt comforted. He leaned back over his mother.

  She spoke quietly, her words for his ears alone. "Remember that there's one here who loves ye even more than I do. All ye have to do is open yer eyes to see. There is so much joy in loving. Dinna let yerself settle for anything less." She sucked air into her lungs, the sound of the her effort grating against his ears.

  "Most importantly, ye've got to know that a person's identity is no' made o' flesh and blood, Cameron, but heart and soul. It's not what ye accomplish that matters, but who ye are. It took me two lifetimes to discover that truth. 'Tis my wish fer you, that'll ye find out the truth o' my words before 'tis too late. 'Tis my legacy to you."

  He felt the tears begin to fall, his heart shattering into pieces.

  "Dinna cry fer me, child. I die happy, knowing what a fine man you've become. I believe that God put me here to help ye find yer way. Now, 'tis up to you what road ye take, but know, Cameron, whate'er you choose, that the best part of me goes with you."

  "I love you, Grania. And I'm proud to have you as my mother."

  She smiled at him, her face lighting with the ethereal beauty he'd seen when they'd first met. With a sigh, she was gone. He sat holding her body, tears coursing down his face, certain that God had made a mistake, that it was him and not her who should have been taken. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Goodbye, Mother."

  With reverent hands, he covered her with the bloody plaid. Marjory wrapped her arms around him and they sank to the ground beside her body, in silent vigil, each lost in their own grief, connected in sorrow.

  *****

  Cameron placed a final stone on the cairns. It wasn't a proper burial. There wasn't time for that, but it would keep the animals at bay and it provided at least a sense of closure. He had no idea when, or even if, they would
be able to come back to this place.

  Marjory sat a little way off, stony-faced and silent. They'd held each other until the worst of the immediate pain had subsided, but since then she hadn't said a word. But one thing was for certain. They now shared a common enemy.

  Cameron lowered his head over Grania's makeshift grave and tried to pray, but instead of words of comfort and hope, his mind seethed with anger and rage. What kind of God would send him here, only to make him watch his mother die again? In what way could he possibly serve these people? He was a surgeon. They needed a warrior.

  Not that being a surgeon had helped him all that much. He felt bitter laughter bubble up inside him. What final irony that he would have to watch helplessly as his mother's life blood drained away, his skill absolutely useless without the aid of twenty-first century technology.

  He cursed the situation, knowing one thing for certain—Allen Cameron was going to pay.

  CHAPTER 26

  "I think I see something." They were lying side by side on their bellies at the top of a ridge just above the tower, a wild profusion of gorse and broom protecting them from detection. "Over there." Marjory pointed to the south slope of the meadow, along the edge of the wood.

  He followed the line of her finger. The trees played out, thinning to open meadowland as the ground angled gently down toward the tower. Nothing seemed out of place. "What am I looking for?" Before she could answer, there was a sudden flash of sunlight against metal.

  "There." She pointed again.

  "I saw it." Something shifted within the shadows and then was still. He thought, for a moment, that he'd imagined the movement, but there was another telltale sparkle. "Shield?"

  "'Tis possible, or a claymore."

  The riders suddenly burst out of the shadows, relentlessly approaching Crannag Mhór. "Well, they're certainly not trying to make their presence a secret."

  "'Twould seem so, but I thought there were more of them."