Page 39 of Wild Highland Rose (Time After Time #4)

Marjory smiled at Aimil, trying to listen to what the woman was saying. This was supposed to be a celebration, but she didn't feel particularly festive.

"Are ye going to send word to yer grandfather?"

Marjory focused on the words. "If need be."

"If need be? I dinna ken. What are ye waiting for? A direct attack by Torcall?" The old woman frowned at her.

"Aimil, I'd like nothing better than to see Torcall Cameron brought to his knees, but for now he has gone, and I canna bother my grandfather with my fears. I'll send word to him when the time is right, and no' before."

"I dinna believe we've seen the last o' Torcall Cameron. 'Tis a trick o' some kind hatched up between the mon and his son." She tilted her head toward Cameron, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I told ye before that a cat canna change his ways."

Marjory swallowed a sigh. "There is no plot between them. Of that I'm certain."

Aimil stabbed viciously into a chunk of meat. "Well, if ye ask me yer dancing with the devil, and there's no way ye can win. A Cameron is ne'er to be trusted. And believe me, I know that better than most."

Marjory tilted her head, studying the woman. "Yer speaking o' my parents murder."

"Among other things." Aimil said, her face closed, memories reflected in her eyes. "The important thing is that ye mustn't trust a Cameron. No matter how comely of face. And I'd be watching my back if I were you. I tell ye the mon will be back."

Marjory nodded, sipping absently from her goblet. There was truth in Aimil's words, no matter how enigmatic. Once Cameron was gone, it was only a matter of time until Torcall discovered it. And when he did…she shuddered involuntarily…when he did, there would be hell to pay.

"Are you all right?"

She felt Cameron's words, warm against her ear, almost before she heard them. "I'm fine." She flashed him a smile, hoping that it looked sincere.

"Look," he screwed up his mouth, a look of regret on his face, "I'm sorry if I was out of line before. I just want you to be happy." He reminded her of a puppy, scolded for something it didn't understand, but still honestly repentant.

"I know." She patted his hand. "Perhaps we should call a truce. Just for tonight." She smiled and raised her cup in tribute.

Deliberately, he took it from her and took a sip.

She felt the embers inside her stir and begin to glow.

Slowly, she reached for the cup, taking it from him and sipping slowly, her lips touching the exact spot where his had, her eyes never leaving his.

She'd never thought drinking could be so provocative.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of color. Aida. Marjory's high spirits plummeted. The woman was sitting at a table in the far corner of the hall, surrounded by men vying for her attention. Marjory knew that they didn't stand a chance. Aida Macvail had eyes for only one man.

She drained the goblet with a long swallow, reaching for the pitcher to fill it again.

Cameron took the cup from her. "Easy, princess. Don't let her get to you." He covered her hand with his. "Remember this afternoon."

"Aye, that I do." She felt her spirits buoy a little at the thought of Aida's ousting from Cameron's chamber. Aida looked in their direction, her pouty lips drawing into a beguiling smile when she realized Cameron was looking at her. She might as well have been calling his name out loud.

"Well, what do you say we continue the show?" He raised Marjory's hand to his mouth, his tongue tracing a slow possessive path along her palm.

Aida's smile faded and her eyes narrowed. In an instant, anger marred her features, making her beauty seem only an illusion. Marjory tightened her hand on Cameron's. Aida's gaze shifted, her narrowed eyes meeting Marjory's.

The smile remained in place, but there was nothing resembling cordiality in her gaze. If a look could be a weapon, Marjory knew she would have been mortally injured.

"Look at me." Cameron whispered, his lips still caressing her skin.

With an icy smile in Aida's direction, she tipped her head in acknowledgment of the other woman, and then, turned her attention back to the warmth of Cameron's touch.

Cameron squeezed her hand and released it.

"That's my girl. Just ignore her. Tomorrow she'll be gone.

" He poured her some more wine, holding out the goblet when it was full.

Marjory took it, her gaze straying back to the table in the corner.

She'd be more than glad to see the backside of Aida Macvail.

Cameron rubbed his temples, wondering if this party was ever going to end. He'd eaten until he thought he might explode. He looked around the room. No one seemed even remotely interested in winding things down.

Marjory was sitting back with her eyes closed, looking as tired as he felt. Fingal was still eating as if there were no tomorrow. A ruddy-faced young man was talking with Grania. Cameron had overheard something about love potions and knew he didn't want to hear any more.

First thing in the morning, he intended to get to the bottom of Grania Macpherson's stories.

A man, seated at the table directly in front of the dais, belched loudly and leaned back, lighting some kind of pipe with a rush from the floor. Yet, another example of the sterling quality of fifteenth century hygiene. He smiled, wondering who had died and made him the king of clean.

Aimil was refilling the wine pitchers at their table. He wouldn't have put it past her to add a little something extra to his. Arsenic perhaps? Thank goodness it was a community pitcher. The woman certainly wasn't overly fond of him.

Hell, who was he kidding, she despised him. A stray thought caught in his tired mind, its exact significance alluding him. He dismissed it. The events of the past few days were catching up with him. He stifled a yawn.

"Fingal. Fingal!" Aimil's cry rang out through the great hall, the terror in it instantly stilling the festivities. "Someone help him please."