Page 18 of Wild Highland Rose (Time After Time #4)

"I guess the concept is there somewhere, but when you put it in a personal context, it seems barbaric.

" His words sounded lame, but she seemed to accept them, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

He had to be more careful. It was so easy to say or do the wrong thing.

Something that would brand him as more than just a little off center.

"What about me? Was I happy with the decision?"

Grania shook her head. "I dinna know ye then. But 'twas easy to see ye were an angry lad. Angry about yer mother. Angry about the marriage. Ye did no' tolerate the union well."

"I hurt her?" He hated that he had to ask the question, but he wanted to know.

"I dinna know for certain. Marjory does no' confide in me. But Aimil says it's so."

"Fingal's sister."

"Aye. She's a bitter woman, that one. She hates all things Cameron, especially Torcall, and because of that she's no' friend o' yers."

Cameron mentally added yet another enemy to his list. A noise from the surrounding brush pulled his thoughts back to the present, and he whipped around, searching out its source. A young boy broke from the cover of the trees, running to the edge of the lake.

"Mistress Marjory sent me," he gasped, his cheeks bright from exertion. "The Camerons are here, and they're asking fer ye."

"Help Grania," he barked, as he sprinted for the tower, his mind trying to assimilate all that he knew about his supposed father. With or without memories, it was time to face the old man, and hopefully convince him that all was right with the world.

Except of course that he wasn't Torcall's son.

And nothing, it seemed, was anything close to all right.

"I've told you, I dinna know where the man is. I'm no' his keeper." Marjory stood with her back to the fire. Hands on hips, she stood as tall as her small frame would allow. Her palms were sweating, but she'd be damned to hell before she let Torcall Cameron know he was scaring her.

"I want to see my son."

Torcall and his henchman, Dougall, stood across from her.

She watched as he fingered the hilt of his claymore.

Why hadn't she thought to arm herself? It was happening all over again.

She was alone, facing Torcall, with nothing but her sgian dubh .

She felt her breath quicken as she met Torcall's eyes.

They were golden like Ewen's, only Torcall's were flat, devoid of any emotion.

She wondered briefly if it was a mask, or if, in fact, part of the man was dead inside.

"Do you think, Torcall Cameron, that I can produce him with a wave o' my hand?" She glared back, hoping that she looked half as fierce as he did.

"I dinna know what to think. First I've word that Ewen is dead." A shadow crossed his face, a flicker of pain, but just as quickly it was gone. "And then I'm told that he lives, but is no' himself. And now," he frowned, his expression turning fierce, "it seems my son has disappeared."

"Perhaps she's killed him, Father." Allen stood by the dais, casually sipping ale from a wooden cup.

"Wouldn't that be a daft thing for me to do?" Marjory shot him a murderous look. "After all, you yourself saw your brother only yesterday. I'd hardly expect to get away with murdering him at this late date, now would I?"

"Allen, stop with your nonsense. The girl isna stupid." Torcall eyed her speculatively. "But I wouldna put it past her to have sequestered him away from us."

"I've done no such thing. You act is if the man hasna a will of his own."

Torcall searched her face. "Allen tells me the accident was no' what it seemed."

"Allen lies." She stood toe to toe with him, lifting her face to meet his gaze. He towered over her, but she held her ground, determined not to let a Cameron get the better of her.

There was a grumble from the dais, but neither Torcall nor Marjory broke their stance to look.

"And why, may I ask, should I believe you over my son?" Torcall's eyes narrowed, his hand still on his claymore.

"Because your son lives. Had I ordered his death, you can be certain I would no' have failed." She'd had this conversation before, with Ewen. Like father like son.

Suddenly Torcall Cameron threw back his head and laughed. "Ye've spirit in ye, lass, I'll give ye that. 'Tis possible yer grandfather was not so daft as he seemed. Ye'll give Ewen strong sons." He sobered. "Assuming he's still capable of performing the act."

This time there was laughter from the dais. "If he's no', I'll be more than happy to oblige."

Torcall turned toward his younger son, his eyes full of warning. "I'll no' have ye taking what belongs to yer brother."

Despite herself, Marjory shot Allen a triumphant look, surprised to see resentment coloring his expression. It seemed there was a favored son. "I'll thank ye to stay away from me, Allen Cameron."

Torcall reached out to grasp her chin, moving faster than she'd have imagined from so big a man.

"Ye'll do what yer told, girl. Make no mistake about it.

Ye belong to the Camerons as surely as if ye'd been bought and paid fer.

" His fingers dug into the tender skin of her neck, and she felt a shiver of fear run down her spine.

"Understand this. I canna abide ye or yer kin.

The only reason yer breathing at all is to give Ewen an heir.

Once that's accomplished, we'll see who it is that has an accident. "

She tried to break free, but his hold was too strong. She fumbled to draw her sgian dubh.

"Nay," Torcall snarled, his other hand closing on her wrist. "I'll no' fall for that again."

"Unhand her." Fingal entered the great hall, his claymore drawn, shaking his head in answer to her unasked question.

Dougall, who had so far not uttered a word, seemed to spring to life at the sight of Crannag Mhor's captain. Sliding his own claymore from its sheath, he pivoted to face Fingal, his eyes narrowing to slits.

Three more Camerons materialized from the doorway, their swords drawn as well. All eyes were on Torcall, waiting for a command. Marjory hadn't the voice to cry out. And she knew even if help did arrive it would be too late.

The events of fifteen years ago were unfolding again, and once more she was powerless to stop them.

"Where is my son?" Torcall hissed.

"I told ye, I dinna know."

Dougall moved into a fighting stance, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.

"Perhaps if yer man dies, 'twill loosen yer tongue." Torcall inclined his head toward Fingal.

Almost immediately, a ringing noise sounded through the room as Dougall thrust forward, his sword glancing off Fingal's.

"Perhaps it is your man who will die." The words were out before she had time to think better of them, anger overriding all practical thoughts.

Fingal circled to Dougall's left, successfully moving the fight away from Marjory, his face a tight mask of concentration. "Come on, Cameron ," he urged. "Let's have a taste o' yer blood."

Dougall moved a step closer, brandishing his claymore. "It'll take more than the likes o' ye, Macgillivray," Dougall growled and lunged forward. Fingal countered, metal hitting metal with a deafening clang.

"Stop." Marjory screamed above the din, anger superseding everything else. Jerking free of Torcall, she moved forward a step, hands held out beseechingly. "I willna have it. No' in this house. No' again."

The two men stopped for an instant, stunned, but just as quickly, they turned back to each other, intent on their fight. They moved apart and then together, thrusting and parrying, two dancers in a death dance.

Dougall drew first blood. Fingal cried out in anger, his next thrust going wide of the mark. Dougall turned and caught the edge of Fingal's sword, pushing it backward until her captain was forced to drop it. With another deft twist, the point of Dougall's claymore rested against Fingal's neck.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Silence descended. All eyes went to the man coming through the archway. Marjory exhaled slowly as Ewen walked into the great hall, his eyes locked on Dougall. The big man shot a questioning look at Torcall, but Torcall had eyes only for his son.

"Ewen?" Torcall frowned as if he wasn't sure it was in fact his son.

Fingal used the opportunity to move away from Dougall, and Marjory rushed to his side.

"Hello, Father," Ewen said, his eyes locked on the older man.

Marjory's heart nearly stopped. He'd remembered. Holy Mary, mother of God, he'd remembered who he was.