Page 15 of Wild Highland Rose (Time After Time #4)

T he sentence hung between them in the glade, the words almost tangible.

It explained a great deal to Cameron—Marjory's fear of Torcall Cameron, her disdain for Ewen and even her repressed feelings.

His admiration increased. He didn't know too many women who could marry their father's murderer's son, and still maintain a fairly sane existence.

Although to be fair, if what Allen had said was true, then Ewen had married his mother's murderer's daughter. He shuddered at the thought. Two innocent victims caught up in what seemed to be a very barbaric world.

Without thinking, he tightened his hand on hers, but she wrenched away, tears shimmering in her eyes, her body language signaling clearly that the conversation was over.

Except that he didn't want it to be over.

For the first time since he'd awoken on the side of the mountain, he felt a connection with someone, and no matter how fleeting, he wanted to preserve it.

"Talk to me, Marjory."

"About what?" she spat, anger flashing in her eyes. "Your father killing mine?"

"He's not my father." The words came out before he could stop them.

"Nay. You just dinna remember him. 'Tis no' the same." There was regret in her voice, and he watched as her anger deflated. "You're still a Cameron."

"So what, you hate me because of my name?"

"I dinna hate you." She sighed.

"You almost sound like you wish you could." He watched the emotions playing across her face and wished he could erase some of the pain.

"'Twould be easier." Her smile was faint, her eyes still troubled.

"Yeah, but worthwhile things are seldom easy." Their gazes met and held. "Tell me what happened, Marjory. I need to understand."

She shook her head. "I canna. 'Twill surely tear me apart."

"No more than it's already doing."

She considered his words, then blew out a slow breath, her tears glistening in the dappled light.

"Your father and my father had a longstanding feud.

I canna say why. My father would never discuss it, but I know 'twas a bitter war between them.

Torcall had been imprisoned by some Macphersons on the other side o' the mountains.

I dinna know how long they held him, but when he was released, my father added extra guards at the pass leading to the valley.

"I o'erheard him discussing it one night with my mother. Something about revenge, but they heard me and were careful never to talk about it in my presence again." She paused.

He reached for her hand, absurdly grateful when she didn't pull away. "Go on."

"The extra guards made no difference. Torcall managed to get into the valley anyway.

He arrived at Crannag Mhór with an army of men.

They stormed the tower. Father made mother and I go to our quarters.

We huddled in my chamber listening to the sounds of the battle outside the door.

There's a connecting door between my chamber and my parents'.

" Her gaze collided with his. "You're sleeping in their chamber. "

"I'm sorry." He wasn't certain what he was apologizing for, but he meant the words just the same. "How old were you? "

"Eight summers." She leaned against him slightly, staring straight forward, lost again in the past. "I was so afraid.

My mother tried to reassure me, but you could hear women screaming outside in the courtyard.

I don't know how long we sat like that. Hours maybe.

Then we heard my father's voice in the next chamber, calling my mother's name.

"Mother pushed me back against a wall and hurried to join him.

I pressed myself against the rough stones.

" She shivered uncontrollably, and he wrapped a protective arm around her.

"They pressed through the thin fabric of my nightshift.

They were cold and their dampness seeped into my body, but I willed myself to stay absolutely still.

"It was dark. All I could see were shadows. Everywhere shadows. The doorway was a dark patch, yawning open, leading to my parents and the battle. I wasna strong. I wished with all my heart that the door would stay closed and that the evil on the other side would go away without harming me.

"I wanted to cry, but I knew I couldna. I was a Macpherson. It wasna a time for crying. Father had told me once that I was the bravest girl in all of Scotland. I was determined to make him proud.

"I had my sgian dubh . It had been a birthday gift from mother, for eating no' protection, but I knew it was the best defense I had. If the Camerons forced their way into the chamber, I would be ready. I could defend myself." She straightened as though ready to fight an imaginary foe.

"The ringing of steel grew louder. It was getting closer. I shifted into the corner, trying to fight my fear. It gnawed at my gut and made my hands sweat.

"Someone screamed. My mother. They were in the outer chamber. I tried frantically to find a place to hide, but there was nowhere. I clutched the sgian dubh and inched forward, trying to be brave, but shaking like a leaf in the wind. I dinna think I've ever been so afraid.

"I watched in horror as the door swung slowly inward, the flicker of torchlight from the adjoining chamber momentarily blinding me. I closed my eyes and then after counting to ten, I opened them. There was a figure in the doorway, standing motionless, his face hidden by the shadows.

"I opened my mouth to scream, but at the last moment recognized the familiar bulk of my father.

I released my breath. I dinna even know I'd been holding it.

I ran toward him in relief only to stop again, watching helplessly as he fell to the floor.

The light washed over his face and body.

All I could see was blood. Everywhere blood.

I threw myself down beside him, calling his name, running my hands across his face.

His eyes were empty. He couldna see me. He was gone.

"I remember looking up and through the door at the crumpled heap of white linen that was Mother. Her life blood was ebbing away. I couldna move. I just sat there, holding my father's hand.

"There was a movement in the outer chamber.

I wasna alone. A man, barely more than a boy, stood in the doorway, his great claymore dripping with blood.

His eyes were narrowed and filled with a feral blood lust that sent shivers of panic knifing through me.

I moved my hand slowly to the floor, feeling for my wee knife.

I found it near my father's head. Using his body as a shield, I grasped the knife and slipped it into the folds of my nightshift.

"The boy moved forward, his lips drawn back over his teeth. He looked like a cat, a young and vicious mountain cat. He moved closer, close enough for me to see that blood spattered his face and hair. His eyes were filled with hatred. I dinna think I'd ever seen hatred like that before.

"He called to me. 'What have we here? A Macpherson brat?

' And then he took another step toward me.

He looked like a devil, an evil grin lighting his face.

I held on to my knife. If only he would step closer.

I knew in my heart I dinna stand a chance against this monster, but for my parents' sake I vowed to make him pay at least in some small measure for what had been done this night.

"He advanced again. Only this time, he dropped his claymore and began to hitch up his shirt.

I felt bile rising in my throat. He looked so strange, almost hungry, like he was going to devour me.

Another man entered the chamber, speaking to the boy.

'What are ye wasting yerself on that skinny child fer?

' he said. 'There are lasses to be had in the buttery with far more to offer than this wee scrawny thing. '

"I stared at the huge man in the doorway and backed up a step.

This was the man who had killed my family.

Torcall Cameron. I was certain of it. I canna say exactly what happened next.

I remember feeling rage burning in my gut and spreading through my body.

I flung myself at him, my sgian dubh held high.

"But the boy grabbed my hands and, before I knew it, I was swinging in the air.

He laughed at me. 'Yer right, Father, I've no use for one as skinny as this.

' I struggled to get down, but his grip was like a vise.

His next words, I'll never forget. He said that for such a wee lass I had fire in me.

Then he said, ''Tis almost a shame we'll have to kill her.

I'd have liked the opportunity to sample her in a few years. '

"Torcall laughed with his son. 'Have ye nothing on yer mind but wenching, lad?

Leave the brat. She'll likely die anyway.

There's no one left here to care for her.

Come, we've work to do. Vengeance is served.

' The boy wrenched the sgian dubh from my hand and with a shove sent me sprawling into a corner.

My head hit the wall, and I slid to the floor, trying with everything I had to hold onto consciousness.

The last thing I remember seeing is a Cameron bending over my mother, searching her body. "

Cameron leaned close, horrified at her story. "Was it me?" he whispered, caught up in the story, his mind reeling with the enormity of it all. "The boy?"

"Nay." She said, her gaze meeting his. ""Twas Allen. You were away fostering that summer."

Suddenly it all made sense. Why Ewen had been chosen as the sacrificial lamb. He hadn't been a part of the atrocities of that day. He alone could come to Marjory with a clear conscience. Although there would still have been blood on his hands.