by Davis, Dee
Her attention returned to her opponent in time to see his blade descending. She hit the floor and rolled, hearing a loud chang as Torcall's sword met stone. Leaping to her feet, she swung her weapon, aiming for his back, but Torcall was faster, twisting successfully away.
Marjory backed away, her breath coming in gasps. The backs of her legs hit something solid. She looked down and stifled a scream. Allen's lifeless eyes looked up at her. Swallowing her revulsion, she looked up to find Torcall advancing, hatred contorting his face.
She waited until he was almost upon her then, as his arm raised to strike, she dropped down, rolled over the body, then jumped to her feet again. Torcall's claymore struck Allen's body. Stunned, he stopped, the anger in his eyes replaced by unspeakable horror.
Taking advantage of the moment, she raised her blade to his throat and with delicate pressure forced him to his knees. One twist, and he would be gone. It would be over. Forever. She met his eyes, and saw no remorse. She knew her own held no forgiveness.
"Finish what yer father started, girl. Or haven't ye the stomach fer it?"
Suddenly, Marjory felt tired. Old and tired. She had carried this hatred so long that it had become a comfortable part of her, but now, faced with the choice to let another live or die, it seemed an intolerable burden. She glanced around at the carnage, her eyes seeing not just blood spilled today, but blood spilled fifteen years ago.
Looking up, she spied the night's first star, shining through the open window. Angels, her mother had said. Angels. Marjory looked back at Torcall. Enough blood had been shed. The time for killing was over. Cameron had been right. It was time for living. Time for forgetting.
Still holding her sword to Torcall's throat, she used her other hand to pull his sword from Allen's body. She tossed it toward the door. "Get up."
Torcall sneered as he rose. "Ye canna do it."
"Nay, I haven't the taste fer it." She dropped her claymore, the sound echoing off the walls as it hit the stone floor. "Now get out o' my sight, before I change my mind."
She saw Fingal draw his weapon. He'd see that Torcall was escorted off Crannag Mhór lands. It was over. With a heavy heart, she walked over and knelt beside Cameron.
"No." Aimil's scream filled the air.
Marjory turned to see Torcall grab her abandoned claymore. With a single step, he would be within striking range. Her own stupidity would be her death. At least, she thought, I'll be with Cameron.
She staggered to her feet, trying to evade the blade, but suddenly, Torcall arched back, his eyes widening in pain. With a whimper of exhaled breath, he crumpled to the ground. Behind him stood Aimil, Torcall's bloodied claymore in her hand.
The woman was frozen in place her eyes riveted on Torcall. "'Tis as it should be." Her voice was low, almost a whisper. "Ye lied to me all those years ago, saying ye loved me."
Aimil moved forward, kneeling beside the dead man, talking to him as if he could hear her. "I believed ye, ye know. I would have gone anywhere with ye. Done anything fer you." She reached out and stroked the side of his face, her hand leaving a trail of blood. Fingal took a step toward her, but Marjory shook her head.
Aimil continued talking, taking no notice of the others in the room. "I've ne're loved another." She sat down and pulled his head into her lap. "'Twas me who helped ye past the guards at the pass. 'Twas only a potion to make them sleep." Her voice took on a sing-song quality and she rocked the dead man in her arms smoothing his hair as she spoke.
"And what a night o' loving we had. Ye told me that ye'd come fer me. To take me away with ye, ye said. I was such a fool." She rocked in silence, lost in the past.
Then suddenly she turned to Marjory, her eyes unfocused and wild. "'Twas me, ye ken. I helped Torcall that day." Tears streamed down her face. "I killed Manus and Gleda just as surely as if I'd run them through myself."
Marjory's mind went numb. She tried to think of something to say, but there weren't any words. She stared at the woman she had thought of as a mother. She ought to feel anger or rage, but instead she felt only sadness and pity. What a tangled web of emotions and deceit had led them to this place.
Aimil turned back to Torcall's body, still stroking his hair. "Ye tricked me, ye did. Ye ne'er loved me at all. 'Twas all a ruse to get ye into Crannag Mhór and I fell fer it like the innocent that I was." She tilted her head, looking into his face. "And even after, when everyone lay dying, I wanted to go with ye, but ye laughed, and said I was o' no of use to ye anymore."
She looked up, but her eyes saw only the past. "What a fool I was, what a bloody awful fool." She ran her hand over his face, tracing the curve of his jaw. "And even when I hated ye, I loved ye. Always, I loved ye. But ye've got to understand, I couldna let ye hurt Marjory. I pledged to protect her, penance fer what I'd done. I couldna let ye kill her. And so, mo chridhe, I had to kill you." She leaned down and kissed his lips.
"Enough, Aimil."
Marjory tore her gaze away from the tormented woman to look toward Fingal, whose face was awash in emotion. Aimil looked at her brother, her eyes pleading. "I had to do it, Fingal. He would have hurt our Marjory. I had to do it."
Fingal placed a hand on his throat. His voice was low and raspy, but clear in the silence of the chamber. "I know, mo phiuthair, I know. Come now, let me take ye to yer chamber. Ye need to rest. 'Tis over, love, 'tis all over." He held out a hand, but instead of taking it, Aimil pulled her sgian dubh. Fingal rushed forward, but it was too late. But before anyone could stop her, Aimil plunged the dagger into her heart.
Marjory sat in stunned silence, the chamber reeking of death. Torcall, Allen, Cameron and now Aimil. Fingal wept openly, leaning down to gather his sister's body into his arms. With nary a backward glance he carried her from the room.
So much lost this day. Cameron had been right, the cost of hatred was high. With a gentle hand, she reached out to touch his body. It was already starting to cool. She traced the muscles of his chest, stopping to lay her hand over his heart. There was nothing. No breath. No life. Tears filled her eyes, tears for all that had passed and for all that would never be.
"I love you." She whispered the words, bending low to his ear, knowing he couldn't hear her and yet needing to say it. "I love you."
CHAPTER 29
Cameron listened to the darkness. The beeping was back. The whooshing noise had vanished and this time he recognized the incessant beeping for what it was. A monitor. He was in the hospital. He'd made it home.
"Cameron, can you hear me, sweetie?"
Lindsey. He recognized her scent before her voice. He let his eyelids flutter open and waited for his eyes to adjust to the artificial brightness of the room.
"You're awake."
Lindsey's face swam into view, rich pink artfully accentuating her lips and cheeks. He thought of Marjory's pale unadorned face, and oddly, found it more beautiful.
He opened his mouth to say something, but Lindsey shook her head. "Don't try to talk. You've been in a coma. They just took the tube out this morning."
She laid the book she'd been reading on the bedside table, the title, Touch Not The Cat was the motto of Clan Chattan. Marjory's grandfather.
Marjory. Her name resonated through his mind like sweet music.
"Cameron, honey?" Lindsey reached for his hand. "Can you hear me?"
"Coma?" he croaked, his throat raw and painful.
"Yes." She squeezed his hand and licked her lips. "They put you into a drug induced coma, to help you heal. Dr. Graham reduced your meds today. He thought you wouldn't wake up until this afternoon."
A coma. That explained the noises and the darkness, but what about his adventure in Scotland? Had it only been a fantasy? Had he dreamed it all?
He wriggled his toes and fingers. No paralysis. Whatever medications he was on, they were keeping the pain to a dull roar. His head throbbed and he thought there might be a splint on his leg, but other than that everything seemed to be in working order. He looked over at Lindsey, catching a look
of guilt on her face.
"Cameron, I've got something to say." She licked her lips again. A habit, he remembered. "I've had a lot of time to think about this. And I need to tell you, while I've still got the courage."
Something in her tone set off alarm bells. Memory teased him, but slipped away almost as quickly as it had come. Lindsey shifted so that she was leaning forward, the tops of her breasts just visible below the neckline of her shirt. She reminded him of Aida. He frowned, forcing himself to concentrate on what she was saying.
"…it was all my fault. And I swear it will never happen again. Deke and I made an awful mistake, but I want to make it up to you."
His heart rate jumped. Deke and Lindsey. Deke and Lindsey. Suddenly, it all came crashing back, the scene replaying itself in his mind. He'd left the hospital early. He'd planned to surprise Lindsey with a night on the town, but he'd been the one surprised. He'd walked in on her in bed with his best friend.
He felt pain rocket through him, as the memory returned. He'd rushed from the house and jumped into his car, his only thought to get as far away from the scene in the bedroom as possible. It was raining, and Lindsey had followed him to the car, begging him to forgive her, to forget what he'd seen.
He'd slammed the car into reverse and backed out of the driveway, speeding away into the night. He'd rounded a curve on the interstate going too fast. The highway was slick with rain and the Porsche had lost traction. He'd spun out of control and hit an embankment. And wound up here.
An alarm went off above his head. Lindsey jumped up. "Oh, God, have I upset you? I was just trying to make things okay. You know, to get us back where we were. I'm truly sorry, Cameron." She stood by the bed, wringing her hands. He couldn't stop staring at her perfectly manicured nails.
A nurse hurried into the room and over to the monitor by the bed. Flipping a switch, she turned off the alarm. Reaching for Cameron's arm, she felt for his pulse. With a firm look in the direction of his ex-fiancée, she said, "Miss Bowden, you'll have to leave now." Lindsey backed through the door, her eyes wide with worry.
The nurse wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm and began pumping as she glanced at her watch. Ripping away the cuff, she took a capsule from her pocket and stuck it under his tongue. Verapamil most likely.
"Your blood pressure is high, Dr. Even. This ought to bring it down."
She fussed with an IV bag, increasing the flow of fluid into his arm. Morphine Sulphate, he noted. No wonder he was feeling no pain.
"Close your eyes and rest now. I'll check back in a little while. I've put in a call for Dr. Graham." Then she bustled out of the room as quickly as she had entered.
Cameron settled into his pillows and closed his eyes, amazed that he hadn't blown an artery. He couldn't remember ever having felt so angry, so betrayed. And to think that he thought it had been his fault. That he needed to prove himself to Lindsey. To come back and save her. The lying bitch. He should have never left Marjory.
Marjory. Just thinking her name was painful. He didn't even know if she really existed. Maybe she was just a coma induced hallucination. He'd read of such things before. His heart cried out at the thought, insisting that she was real—more real than anything he'd ever had in his life.
And he'd let her go.
The realization hit him like a brick. He'd had had everything he'd ever wanted and he'd let it all slip through his hands. He'd tried to do the honorable thing, but in reality he'd simply refused to listen to his heart. Grania had told him, but he'd refused to listen.
He wondered what had happened. Had he died in the fifteenth century? Had Marjory survived? Had she mourned his loss? Suddenly, he longed to go back—to go home. The word surprised him, and he whispered it out loud. "Home." Crannag Mhór. It felt right, more right than anything else in his life. But it was too late.
His brain was getting foggy, the pain killer doing its job. With a sigh, he let his eyes drift shut allowing the darkness to take him.
*****
Marjory sat up with a start, excitement making her pulse quicken. "I think he's breathing." She laid her head back on his chest. She could definitely feel a shallow up and down movement. "Holy Mary of God. He's alive."
Cook materialized from nowhere, the kindly woman kneeling by her side, doubt written across her ample face. "Nay, Marjory 'tis just your imagination. The man is dead."
"'Tis no' true." She grabbed the woman's hand and forced it down on Cameron's chest. "Feel for yourself."
Cook frowned her, then slowly smiled. "Dear God, ye speak the truth. The man is breathing." Her smile faded. "You canna get your hopes up, lass. Just because he's breathing now, doesna mean he'll ever wake up. He took a bad blow to the head, and there's all this blood. That canna bode well for his recovery."
Marjory ignored the woman's gloom. She had hope. Hadn't Cameron first come to her through just such an injury? She placed an arm under Cameron's shoulder. "Help me get him up. He needs to be in bed."
"Fine. I'll help ye get him to bed. But I dinna want ye getting yer hopes up."
"I'll think what I want." Marjory cried, surprised at the vehemence in her voice. "The man has risen from the dead before." Her heart soared.
She leaned over Cameron, whispering in his ear. "Come back to me, you stubborn oaf. I've need of you here. You belong to me and no one else. Come back to me."
*****
"Come back to me." The voice echoed in his head, pulling him from sleep, darkness surrounding him. He listened to the darkness. The beeping was incessant, pounding out a steady beat. But instead, he concentrated on the voice. Marjory's voice. Had he dreamed it, or was he still linked with her time?
He tried to open his eyes, but couldn't. Hope shot through him. It had been like this before. He willed himself back to Crannag Mhór, to Marjory, but nothing happened. There was only the darkness and the syncopated beeping. He struggled to see something, anything, in the dark, frustration consuming him.
"Rest easy, child."
Grania.
He relaxed at the sound of her voice, and immediately, the white door appeared. He felt his heartbeat accelerate, whether from excitement or fear he couldn't say, probably a bit of both.
"Dinna be afraid, I'm with ye."
He felt the warmth of her love surrounding him. "I can't see you." He spoke and yet he knew he hadn't truly vocalized the words.
"I'm here. Feel me with yer heart."
Again, he felt the warmth of her love embrace him.
"'Tis time fer you to make a decision, Cameron. Ye must decide what it is ye want, lad. Yer old identity or a new life with Marjory. Ye canna have both, and I canna hold the door open much longer."
As he watched the white door dimmed a little. "Why are you here?"
He felt her laughter. "'Tis my job to watch o'er ye. What I couldna do in life, God has allowed me to do in death. I want only your happiness. But the decision must be yer own."
The light faded a little more, and he wondered suddenly how he could have ever thought anything was more important than love. For he loved Marjory Macpherson with all of his soul. He belonged with her, no matter what century, no matter what body.
"Ye have chosen wisely, my son, I'm proud o' you. Remember a part o' me is always with you."
Grania's voice faded away with the door, and the darkness shifted, black to gray. The beeping was gone. Afraid to hope, he slowly opened his eyes.
*****
Marjory sat on a chair, resting her head on the edge of the bed coverings, her hand entwined with Cameron's. With Cook's help, she'd managed to clean and bind his wound. Once the congealed blood had been washed away, the gash had seemed less nasty. He did have a large knot on the back of his head, but in truth, it didn't seem any worse than any he'd had before.
But he hadn't awakened, hadn't even made a sound. Once, she'd thought she heard him say her name, but then she'd decided she'd only imagined it. With a sigh, she raised her head, quickly sucking in a breath, as she looked into his amber ey
es.
"Marjory, mine." The words were weak, but she'd never heard anything more beautiful in her life.
"I'm here, love, I'm here."
EPILOGUE
Marjory let the merriment of the wedding feast surround her. Camerons and Macphersons alike danced and drank and toasted to the newly wed couple. It was perhaps a bit odd to repeat the vows, but her folk accepted it without question, glad enough to have peace in the valley again.
Fingal sat slightly apart from the others. His wound had healed, but his face was still lined with grief. Aimil's death had hit them all hard, but life continued, and with time she knew that Fingal would recover. The hatred that had run their lives was gone. It died with Torcall and Allen and Aimil—and with Ewen.
Not many knew of Cameron's true identity, but even those who still thought him Ewen Cameron knew that he was not the same man, and because of that they were here to celebrate the joining of the clans.
Cameron reached for her hand, pulling her close against him, and Marjory leaned back into his embrace, delighting in the even rise and fall of his breathing. It had been touch and go for a while, but he was finally completely healed.
It would take a while before Crannag Mhór did the same, but on the whole her people were recovering. Her grandfather had made certain that there was peace between the Camerons and Macphersons. Accomplished in no small part because so many believed Cameron was in fact the resurrected Ewen, and it was simpler to let people think what they would.
"Penny for your thoughts." Cameron's voice echoed through his chest, and she felt the words as much as heard them.
"I was thinking about you." She tipped her head to look up at him.
He smiled down at her, his hand running softly along her back. "I love you, Marjory Macpherson."
The look in his eyes, made her heart turn over, and she felt tears well up inside her. He reached for her hand again, his fingers entwining with hers. "I love you too, Cameron Even. And even though the world will know me as Ewen Cameron's wife. 'Tis your wife I am, and always will be."