Page 33 of Wild Highland Rose (Time After Time #4)

T he old girl had been holding out on him.

Either she was a brilliant inventor or she wasn't a card carrying member of the fifteenth century either.

And then…well the implications were almost limitless.

She might know who he was. She might know the way home.

Heck, she might even be able to send him home.

"Cameron, what is it?" Marjory's voice brought him sharply back to reality.

He looked at her beautiful face, concern forcing her brows together.

There was no point in alarming her. He'd talk with Grania first, give her an opportunity to explain herself.

"Nothing. It's just an amazing thing to find a pump here.

Grania must have connections with people from London or the continent. "

"Hmmm…" She narrowed her eyes in thought.

"I do seem to remember hearing something about Bertram having family outside o' Scotland.

He wasn't from Crannag Mhór, you understand.

He was a tinker by trade, visiting the valley only on rare occasion, but, after he met Grania, he came more often, eventually staying for good. "

She still looked at the pump, trepidation mixed with awe, but at least for now she seemed to be buying the story. He moved to distract her. "What about that rabbit you promised me?" His stomach rumbled ominously. "Maybe you'd better try for two. I could eat a whole one by myself."

"Well, then you'd best come and help me or there willna be even the one."

An hour later, as they hiked through the woods, Cameron was still trying to make heads or tails of the fact that Grania had a pump.

Marjory walked ahead of him, holding a snare she'd fashioned from some rope she'd found.

Unfortunately the rabbits seemed to be way ahead of them and had all left the vicinity, and his stomach was still rumbling.

Marjory knelt suddenly, lifting a broken sapling, her eyes scanning the horizon. The sight made him think of an old TV show. Davy Crockett. King of the wild frontier . The inane theme song danced through his brain.

Oh yeah, he was Davy Crockett all right. Davy Crockett in a skirt. His warped recollections were interrupted when Marjory tugged at his hand. She held a finger to her lips and pulled him down into the tall grass of the forest undergrowth. "There's someone out there."

Listening intently, he could hear leaves rustling with the fall of footsteps. Whoever it was, he wasn't trying to make a secret of it. A tree branch, immediately in front of them, took on a life of its own as it bent forward and then snapped back into place.

"Bloody hell." The oath broke the silence of the glen.

The figure of a man emerged from the underbrush, gingerly rubbing his cheek.

Cameron couldn't help smiling. Score one for the trees.

The man walked slowly forward, searching the woods on either side of the path, still too far away for Cameron to recognize.

Not so Marjory. With a cry of joy, she jumped up. "Fingal." She flew along the path, throwing herself into his arms. Cameron stood up and followed her out onto the trail. It seemed they'd been rescued. Perversely, he felt an absurd sense of disappointment.

"Saints be praised, yer alive." Fingal kept hold of Marjory, his assessing eyes meeting Cameron's over the top of her head. "We feared you dead."

He meant Marjory of course, and for a moment, Cameron found himself wishing he had been included. It was hard enough to feel like an outsider, but for part of it to be because of someone he wasn't—well, it was almost more than a man could contemplate.

"Yer sure you're all right?" Fingal pushed her back, his eyes searching her face.

"I'm fine. Cameron took care of me."

"Cameron?" Fingal questioned, his gaze returning to Cameron.

"Aye." Marjory nodded, pulling out of his embrace. "Cameron saved me. We wouldna be here at all if it were no' for him."

"Again?" Fingal raised an eyebrow and looked at Cameron with speculative eyes.

Marjory planted her fists on her hips. "'Tis true. When the curach began to sink, we had to jump o'er the side, and Cameron swam with me to the shore. Without him, I would definitely have drowned."

"Without me, you would not have been in the boat at all." Cameron added dryly.

Marjory swung around to face him. "Dinna be starting that again. I chose to get into the curach all on my own. 'Twas no' like you forced me to do it."

"Peace, both o' you." Fingal said. "You sound like a couple of bickering children. 'Tis enough that you're safe and unharmed, lass." He ruffled Marjory's hair. "Come on then, they'll be wondering where I've gotten off to."

"Who's with you?" Cameron suspected of course, but he wanted to hear it nevertheless.

Fingal frowned. "Some of our men, along with the Camerons.

Torcall and Allen and that henchman o' his, Dougall are here.

We're making camp o'er there." He nodded in the direction of the cottage.

"We'd just about given up hope o' finding you.

Torcall has been raging about yer luring Ewen to his death.

He'll be pleased to see his son still lives, but I've no doubt he'll still be thinking there's witchery afoot. "

Cameron suddenly felt tired. There was no winning this war. Hatred would consume them all in end. Revenge begetting more revenge. He wished he could just escape the lot. Go home. Nothing in his old life could possibly be as complicated as all of this.

As if on cue, his mind trotted out the vision of the blonde standing in the rain. Maybe she needed him. Maybe her very life depended on his return. But then Marjory needed him, too.

At the thought, he pivoted to face her, surprised to see she and Fingal huddled together, whispering. They sprang apart, Fingal's expression guarded. Marjory's apologetic.

"Fingal was just telling me that we should be careful what we say to Torcall."

"What do you mean?" Cameron frowned.

Fingal sighed. "I mean that tales of you swimming to Marjory's rescue willna go o'er well with the mon."

"Go on. Tell him the rest o' it." Marjory poked her captain, insistent that he continue.

"Whatever is happening here," Fingal shot another speculative look in Cameron's direction, "it canna help anything to share it with Torcall.

He's talked o' naught but the fact that Ewen canna swim since he discovered you took the curach.

I dinna like to think how he'll react when he finds out you swam to shore with Marjory in tow. "

Fingal obviously believed Marjory's story.

Which meant that he accepted the fact that Cameron had swum them both to safety.

But if Ewen Cameron couldn't swim, then that also meant that Fingal must realize he wasn't Ewen.

Which meant that Fingal might accept him as a potential ally.

Just like that. Cameron marveled at the ability of these people to accept the seemingly impossible without batting an eye.

Fingal was right though, Torcall Cameron was a different story. He wanted his son, not a twenty-first century surrogate. Telling their tale would only put them in danger. At all costs, Torcall must be made to believe that Ewen lived. Memory or no.

Marjory interrupted his thoughts. "We could tell him that the curach washed us ashore during the storm."

"Nay, he'd ne'er believe that," Fingal said. "We found the curach this afternoon. 'Twas smashed to bits."

Cameron frowned. "Maybe it could have happened after we were safely ashore."

"'Tis possible, I suppose. But whatever you tell him, be careful." He turned his attention to Marjory. "And no talk of heroes."

Marjory gave him a mutinous look, then sighed. "Fine."

Cameron reached for her hands. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, princess, but Fingal's right." Their eyes met. He gently squeezed her hands.

"Fingal Macgillivray, I swear, if yer up to more of your tricks…" Torcall's voice rang through the woods.

Marjory tightened her grip on Cameron's hands.

"It's show time." Cameron watched as Torcall came into view and then stopped at the sight of the group on the path.

His craggy face broke into a grin, and he strode toward what he believed to be his son, a look of relief lighting his fierce countenance.

Cameron drew in a breath, preparing for the inevitable.

"So the two o' ye were washed to shore?" Torcall frowned at Cameron, his eyes skeptical.

"Yeah, we were lucky. It dumped us in shallow water.

All we had to do was make our way to dry land.

" Cameron paused, sizing up his audience.

Allen sat across the fire, a sullen expression on his face, lost in his own thoughts.

Dougall had disappeared into the woods, presumably to heed the call of nature and Marjory was sitting by a second fire, surrounded by her kin, leaving him on his own with Torcall.

"But you canna swim."

Cameron sighed. This preoccupation with Ewen's water skills was getting on his nerves.

Not to mention the fact that he hated lying.

But in his heart he also knew that this all was necessary to protect Marjory.

"I told you, all we had to do was walk to the shore.

Crawl actually. We were pretty tired. There was no need for swimming. "

Torcall grunted, obviously unsatisfied with his answers. "Even if I accept your account of your landing that still doesna explain what you were doing in the curach in the first place."

"I wanted to see what it was like to be in a boat. I never even thought about the need to swim." Weak, but plausible.

But Torcall wasn't a fool. "Ewen, you canna even ford a stream without finding the narrowest place to cross. Now yer expecting me to believe that you suddenly had an urge to go out on the loch in a boat no bigger than a man?" Torcall's voice rose in frustration.

Allen had pulled out of his lethargy and was staring intently at Cameron. "Yer no' telling us the truth o' it. I tell you, Father, there's more here than he's willing to explain."