Forget Me Not, My Scottish Love by Allie Palomino

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“Where is my son?” she whimpered.  Abby grasped Cameron’s forearm from where he stood a couple of paces in front of her.  She looked at him curiously.

Cameron looked at Diane, dumbfounded.  His gaze slid to Aidan and Keith who wore the same shock on their faces as he imagined he wore on his.  He couldn’t speak.

“Lady Haynsworth, we doona understand.  We saw Abigail murdered that day…on the battlefield.  Cameron refused to believe her dead, although we knew- or thought we knew.  Aidan and I…we saw…” Keith said, his voice trailing off.  “And then today, to hear that she threw herself from a window…”

“We fabricated it all.  He was going to marry her off again, to use her as a pawn in his quest for power, money, and influence.  Mills approached me, and informed me of everything that had come to pass.  Before then, I had believed ye dead, Cameron.”

Diane looked to Cameron’s warriors surrounding them.  They were all speechless and some had even blanched. 

“She isn’t dead,” she repeated, as if they hadn’t heard her and didn’t recognize Abby standing before them.

“We saw what looked like a sword pierce her,” Keith stammered.

Diane shook her head.  “‘Twas my husband’s man who saw her and thought to end his troubles with Abigail,” she said bitterly.  “The men who returned Abigail that night explained that she had been injured by a shallow sword wound, though she still bears the scar.  It was hardly shallow.”

Cameron looked at Abby who was curiously starring up at him.  Her eyes showed a mixture of confusion and recognition.  She reached her hand out to touch his beard and his stomach flipped.

She didn’t recognize him because of his damned beard.

When she touched his beard again, she gave a strangled cry and jumped back, clutching the doll closely.  Her eyes were sad and frightened.

“Abby?” he asked hoarsely, scarcely believing that his wish for her to return from death had actually come true. 

At that moment, he didn’t breathe, move, or blink.  He drank in the sight of her.  Her hair was still the beautiful blond he knew, and her eyes remained the vibrant green he remembered.  Her skin was flawless, creamy, and velvety.  She looked hale despite her disheveled appearance.

“Do not be offended, Cameron,” Diane said, standing next to her daughter and placing a comforting arm around her shoulders.  “The night she witnessed your death, at least from what we’ve been able to surmise, was the night her memories tumbled forth from the ambush with Elliot.  We were told that her mind had broken permanently, Cameron.  I’m sorry.  It doesn’t seem as if she’ll regain her mind.  She cries for her son and nothing else,” Diane said sadly.

“Trystan,” Cameron whispered.

“What?” Diane asked, confused.

“Our son,” he said louder, looking at Abby.  “Our son’s name is Trystan.”

Abby had been playing with the doll but at Cameron’s loud proclamation of their son’s name, Abby’s face grew horrified.

“My son,” she cried in anguish.  She looked down at her doll mournfully and looked at Cameron.  At once, her expression was hopeful.  “Do you know him?” she asked.  “Trystan, yes, that’s his name.  Do you know him?  Where is he?”

Cameron reached out to cup her face but she quickly stepped back.

“Aye.  I know where yer son is, Abigail,” he said, troubled by the thought that she was lost to him, perhaps forever.

“Take me to him,” she said beseechingly.  “We must hurry.  My father wants him dead!”

“I will take ye.  Yer father will not hurt him,” Cameron said slowly.

“Yes he will!  He killed my husband!  He will kill my son,” she wept, stomping her foot on the ground.

“I am yer husband, Abigail,” he said, reaching his hand out to her.

She snapped back and stared at him angrily.  “Nay.  You’re not!  My husband was good and pure.  And my son, so like him.  My father hates them, hates me!  He’ll take my son, too,” she said in a conspiratorial tone.

“Give me my mount!” Cameron bellowed.  Looking at Diane, he asked, “Will ye come with us?”

Diane smiled.  “Aye, Cameron.  I am humbled that you afford me that privilege.  My place is with Abigail, now.  My other children are happy and want nothing more to do with me.”

Cameron studied her for a moment and nodded.

“Abigail?” she said, and Abby looked at her.  “This man will take us to Trystan,” she explained.  “You must ride with him.  He shall keep us safe from others, and safe from your father.  Do you understand?”

Abby gave another uncertain glance at Cameron and nodded.  She gripped her doll closer.

Relieved, Cameron helped Diane onto her mount.  He turned to Abby and lifted her cautiously and delicately onto his horse.  Having settled her, he mounted behind her.

Cameron looked at Mills.

“I thank ye, Mills, for all that ye’ve done to help my cause and my wife.  I owe a debt to ye.”

Mills shook his head.  “Nay, Laird.  I owed ye.  It is settled now.”

Cameron nodded, and turned to his men.  Abby gripped his thigh out of fear when the horse moved faster than she was used to.  He looked down at her.  Slowly, he tipped her face up to his with a gentle finger.  His yearning gaze met her distrustful one.

“Ye are safe with me, Abby.  I will never allow anything to hurt ye again.”

Her gaze lingered on his for a moment before she broke contact. 

Cameron looked up at his men.

“We will not stop for a respite.  On we march, until we reach the holding!” Cameron bellowed the command.  Abby jumped and Cameron automatically placed his arms around her waist as he used to.  She looked back up at him, curiously, but didn’t try to fidget out of his grasp.

As they rode, Cameron reveled in the feel of her soft body against his.  It was a pleasure he thought he’d never savor again.  If this was a dream, it seemed real, and he didn’t want to wake.  He felt his aching heart mend again.  His injured soul drank the nectar of hers, repairing itself.  Even if she remained forever in her broken-mind state, he would love her and cherish her forever.

Quickly they made their way home, and to the son they both loved and missed.