Wild Highland Rose (Time Travel Trilogy, Book 2) (26 page)

"And your memory loss?"

"I don't know.  Maybe it was caused when I came here.  Maybe I was supposed to have lost all memory of before.  Hell," he raked his hands through his hair in frustration, "I don
'
t understand this any better than you.  I've just had longer to think about it."  He looked up, staring at the sky, almost as if he was pleading for answers.

She reached out and tentatively placed her hand over his.  Whoever he was, he was gentle and good.  She knew it in her heart and nothing her head had to say could completely erase the knowledge.

He turned his hand over, enveloping hers with his strong fingers.  He looked down at her, his tortured gaze holding hers.  "I do know one thing for certain."

She held her breath, waiting.

"I have to go back."

Her belly lurched and she wondered if she was going to be sick.  "Back?"

"Yes, back.  I need to find out who I am."

"Who you are?"  She couldn't seem to do anything but echo his words.

"Yes.  Marjory, don't you see, I have to know.  I can't go through life with another man's identity.  If I don
'
t face who I really am, how can I ever be anything more?"

"But you're no' Ewen.  You
'
ve just told me so. 
'
Tis possible others will accept it in time."  She spoke quickly, her words tumbling over one another, knowing full well he was talking about more than not being Ewen.  Her eyes pleaded with him.  "Maybe you can remember here."

He shook his head.  "Amnesia is a funny thing.  When it's caused by trauma, which I think mine was, then the best way to bring it back is to be stimulated by familiar things."

"And there are no familiar things here."

"Right."  He took her other hand in his.

"And when you go, you willna be coming back, will you?"

"No."

The word hung between them.  Marjory felt her heart ripping in two.  How had this man come to mean so much to her in so short a span of time?  Tears threatened, but she held them at bay.  This was not the time for weakness.  Nothing had been lost.  She
'
d lived without him before, she
'
d just have to live without him again when the time came.

Her heart rebelled at the thought, and her chest tightened in unspoken agony.

"I'm sorry
,
"
h
e whispered, his voice breaking on the words.

"I know."  And she did.  He'd not meant to hurt her.  What was happening must be as strange and frightening for him as it was for her.  More so, really.  And it certainly wasn't his fault that she had begun to open her heart to him.  Only a very young or a very foolish girl threw herself at a man.  Marjory could almost hear her mother saying those very words.  She had no one to blame but herself.

Somehow, the knowledge helped to calm her.  She closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment of regret.  Then summoning all the strength she had, she sat back, squaring her shoulders.  "When will you go?"

"Not until we deal with Torcall.  I won
'
t leave you alone with him."

"
I
'
ve handled him before.  I
'
ll handle him this time as well.
"
  Brave words, but she knew that there was no truth in them.  If Ewen disappeared, there would be hell to pay.

He reached for her hand again, his gaze steady.  His eyes Ewen
'
s, yet not. 
"
I won
'
t let you face him on your own.
"

She nodded, absurdly relieved, not so much because she feared Torcall, although she certainly did, but more because it meant that she still had time with him.  Her practical mind whispered that the longer she was with him, the harder it would be to have him go, but her heart rejoiced in the knowledge that they still had time.

"
I canna take it all in now, perhaps later when I
'
ve had the chance to chew on it a bit.
"
  She forced a smile she didn
'
t feel. 
"
Right now, if you dinna mind, I think I
'
d like to try this fishing for myself.
"

*****

With every passing minute Cameron admired Marjory more.
 
He
'
d just told her a story that would have flummoxed the best of men, even the most educated, and here she was fishing as if she didn
'
t have a care in the world.

It was an act of course.  Her way of whistling in the dark.  But he admired her nevertheless.  She was an amazing woman.  And in a different time or place, he
'
d have been the first in line to win her heart.

But he was here, now.  And the truth stood between them as surely as if it were made of stone, separating them with more than just centuries.  He sighed, wishing that things were different, accepting that they were not.

Marjory lowered her pole, studying the floor of the curach.  "Should we be having this much water in the boat?"

Lost in his melancholy thoughts, he glanced at the bottom, but dismissed it.  "It's just from the fish."

Marjory nodded, not meeting his gaze, and sat back on the bench.  "There's rain coming."  She pointed to the east at the now rapidly building thunderheads.
 
"We should be getting back."

Cameron looked up at the storm clouds.  "You
'
re right."  Grabbing an oar, he started to row, but was surprised at how much heavier the boat seemed to be.  Looking down, he realized that the floor of the curach was indeed awash with water.  It lapped at his feet.

Marjory was watching the water, too.  "There's more than before, I'd swear to it."

Crouching down in the hull, Cameron scanned for holes.  Nothing appeared to be amiss, but Marjory was right, the water level was definitely rising.  Sticking his hand into the icy water, he felt along the bottom of the boat.  The skin seemed solid enough.  Marjory turned and, following his lead, began to search the back of the curach.

With the water level still rising, Cameron sat up.  "I can
'
t find anything."

Marjory joined him on the bench.  "Nor can I.  But the water is definitely getting higher."

"Okay, hang on, we'll just have to try and make it to shore."  A crack of thunder sounded overhead.  Cameron could feel Marjory shivering next to him.  He slipped an arm around her in a brief embrace.  "We'll be all right."

He shifted and grasped the oar with both hands, paddling furiously.  The boat, having lost some of its buoyancy, responded slowly, twirling in circles rather than going forward, the tower beckoned enticingly in the distance.

A drop of rain landed on his forehead with a splat, and then another. The boat was about a third of the way full now, almost impossible to control.  The rain had strengthened, coming in a steady, icy downpour.  The only thing colder than the rain was the lake water rushing over their feet.  Cameron wondered, briefly, how long it took to get hypothermia in the icy waters of a Scottish loch.

He turned to Marjory.  Her hair was plastered around her face and rivulets of rain ran down her neck.  She gave him a weak smile.  "Is this part of fishing, then?"  Cameron grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze.  Any other girl, in any century, would be screaming or complaining, but not Marjory.

He looked toward the tower, it was partially obliterated by the rain, but he could see enough to know that they had no chance of making it back in the boat.  The opposite shore was much closer, but still too far for him to manage the already listing curach.

"Marjory."  He lifted her chin with a finger, his eyes meeting hers.  "It's time to abandon ship.  We'll have to swim for the shore."  There was a flash of lightning, followed quickly by the loud rumble of thunder.  Not even time for one, one hundred.  The storm was upon them.

"Ewen?"  Her voice was tiny, almost lost in the force of the storm.  He looked down at her, his heart constricting at the fear he saw.  "I canna do this."

"Sure you can.  I'll help you.  There's no other choice."  He was already unbuckling the belt at her waist.  The weight of her skirts alone would carry her straight to the bottom.  The belt dropped and the plaid of her skirt unwound falling to the floor of the boat.  She stood there in her linen shift looking small and fragile.  He took her hand in his.  "There's nothing to be afraid of."  He tried to smile reassuringly.

The water in the boat was almost to the halfway mark.  The front was already tipping forward.  Marjory placed her hand in his, looking up at him, her gaze steady.  What had ever made him think this woman fragile?

"Cameron, you dinna understand what I'm trying to tell you."  She bit her lower lip and then released it.  "I canna do this because I canna swim."

"All right then, I'll just have to swim for both of us."

Marjory's eyes widened for an instant, but she didn't say anything.  Water sloshed around their legs.  The boat was sinking fast.  Cameron looked down at his plaid.  There simply wasn't time to remove it.  He'd just have to drag its sodden weight along with them.  He released the pin at his shoulder and secured the loose end around his waist.  At least that would leave his arm free.  The wind immediately bit through his shirt.  He shivered with cold and anticipation.

"Wait.  My sporran."  Marjory reached for the soggy mass of wool that had been her skirt.

"Forget it, Marjory, there isn't time."  The boat rocked violently, throwing Marjory against him.  His arm went around her as he fought for balance, gripping the side of the curach with his free hand.  The boat steadied.  Marjory bent down again, frantically searching for the pouch.

"My
sgian dubh
.  I canna lose it.  'Tis in the sporran."

Cameron reached past her, grabbing the wet wool.  With a shake, the sporran fell free, and Marjory quickly secured it around her waist.

Cameron grabbed her hands and bent close so that he could be heard over the howling wind.  "Here's what we're going to do.  We're going to stand up on the seat, and when I count to three, we're going to take a deep breath and jump over the side into the water."  She swallowed and bit her lower lip.  "You'll be all right.  I'm going to hold your hand."  He lifted their joined left hands to demonstrate.  "Whatever you do, don
'
t let go.  All right?"

She nodded and squeezed.  He helped her onto the bench.  The boat tipped drunkenly and then righted itself.  He pushed his rain-soaked hair out of his face and stepped up onto the seat.  The boat lurched.

"One…two…"  He met Marjory's gaze and tightened his grip on her hand.  "Three."

The murky water closed over their heads.  The noise from the storm was momentarily blocked and the silence was almost peaceful.  The cold invaded his body, wrapping around him like a vise.  With a conscious effort, he forced his body to move, kicking furiously as he pulled them back to the surface.  Marjory was dead weight and it took all of his strength to pull her with him.  His head broke the surface only to be pounded with rain.  He gasped for breath.  Marjory surfaced beside him, coughing and sputtering.  He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, treading water to keep them afloat.

"You okay?"  She jerked her head in answer, her eyes wild with fear.
 
"I'm going to put my arm around your neck."  He was yelling so that he could be heard.  "Try not to fight me.  Just let yourself float.  Breathe through your nose and keep your mouth closed."  She nodded.  He leaned closer and kissed her quickly on the lips.  "Here we go."

Shifting his arm so that it circled her neck, he struck out for the shore.  The icy water sapped his strength.  He knew time was running out.  They had to make the shore.  He looked down at Marjory.  She was sputtering, but otherwise okay.  He kicked furiously, trying to make headway in the churning water.

Time passed slowly.  It seemed that he had been swimming forever.  His legs were numb.  He could only hope that he was actually still kicking.  Marjory had closed her eyes.  He prayed that she was still breathing.  He was afraid if he stopped to check, he would never be able to start again.

His arm moved through the water like an automaton, pushing the cold, dark water out of the way.  Stroke, stroke, stroke…his brain sang a litany.  Somewhere deep inside his mind, he heard another refrain. 
Whoosh beep beep…whoosh beep beep
.

No
. His mind fought against the sound.  Not now.  He had to get Marjory safely to shore.

His knee scraped against something.  He jerked back to full consciousness.  A rock.  He'd bumped a rock.  They'd reached the shore.  Swinging Marjory into both arms, he willed his legs to function.  His weary limbs struggled to obey his brain's command.  Red-hot pain jolted up through his feet, racing along the nerve endings in his legs.