A Laird and a Gentleman Read online

  August 30th, 1592

  The laird would return to the castle at any moment. And with his arrival would come his decision about what to do with her. Over the past week Mariam had spent hours upon hours thinking about what would happen when Cameron came through the gates of Ravenscraig, and she’d come to no conclusion yet.

  She hated that she couldn’t determine what Cameron would do. He could forgive her. He could send her away. He could punish her in some way. All of the scenarios she’d run through in her head seemed equally viable. She clutched the shawl about her shoulders with trembling fingers. The afternoon air teased her hair against her cheeks and swirled about her feet as she waited with all the other castle residents in the courtyard.

  She turned her gaze upon Mistress MacInnes, the chatelaine; then to Hobbins, the steward; and next to Petunia, Thea, and Estella, three of the castle’s many maids. Giles, the stable boy, looked toward Mariam for a heartbeat, then turned away. None of them would look her in the eyes. They were all afraid of her. And who could blame them? She hadn’t gone out of her way to be particularly pleasant to any of them since she’d come to live among them.

  Just the week before Lachlan Douglas and Elizabeth Ruthven had arrived at the castle, she had locked Cameron’s guard, Ian, in the armory when all the other warriors had gone to the lists to practice. He’d had to break down the door to free himself. She’d put briars under the saddles of three of the men’s horses before they had gone hunting in the woodlands. One of the men had been thrown from his horse and had broken his arm. And she’d stolen both of Thea’s shifts and had tossed them into the garderobe.

  Mariam winced at the memory of how her maid had cried at the discovery. After apologizing, Mariam had given her maid two of her own shifts as replacements.

  No one ever retaliated against her misdeeds. No one ever called her out. But they all avoided her as they did now.

  Mariam straightened her shoulders and walked past those gathered in the courtyard. They shied away as she approached. She didn’t take their rejection personally. In fact, she was relieved by it. If they didn’t look at her, they wouldn’t see all the things she tried to hide.

  She’d come to feel somewhat at ease at Ravenscraig in spite of her own bad behavior. For the past year she’d convinced herself she’d found a safe haven at last. Yet she couldn’t afford to become complacent, drop her guard, or allow herself to be made vulnerable by the illusion of safety.

  Mariam had experienced a moment of alarm when Lachlan and Elizabeth had come to stay, however briefly. Elizabeth had looked at her as though she saw through Mariam’s disguise—as though she knew her secret. But Elizabeth had remained silent. Once Lachlan and Elizabeth had departed, Mariam had thought the fear of discovery would vanish along with them, and in a small sense it had. The castle residents continued to ignore her, for which she was grateful.

  Avoiding the bustle of the crowded courtyard, Mariam settled herself at the edge of the crowd just beyond the castle’s massive double doors opened wide in preparation for their laird’s imminent arrival. Cameron Sinclair and his men had been seen from the castle turrets, approaching from the north over an hour ago. Suddenly, the clomping of hoofbeats on the drawbridge brought Mariam’s thoughts back to the moment. All around her those gathered fell silent. She tensed her jaw, willing herself to ignore the increasing tension in her neck as Cameron came into sight.

  Seeing what no one else around her could, she noted that Cameron’s aura was a mixture of blue, red, and yellow. Blue was the sign of calm. Red was that of energy and strength. Yellow was that of knowledge and power. Cameron’s aura was usually these colors, and that brought a sense of relief that she didn’t see any dark red—the sign of anger. She’d been able to read people’s auras all her life. Her mother, who also saw what Mariam did, had taught her from the age of three what each color meant. It was a secret they had shared, and one she cherished now that her mother was gone.

  A bump against her shoulder brought Mariam’s attention back to the present. A man from the castle scurried away from her in an effort to get closer to the laird of the castle. She opened her mouth to offer a scathing retort, but snapped it closed as Cameron neared. He rode with a contingent of men, his own guardsmen, sailors, and one other she recognized from the tribunal as Alexander Ross, another of the king’s special guard.

  Cameron brought his big black warhorse, Bucephalus, to a stop some distance from her, and still his gaze found hers among the crowd. Her demons stared at her from the depths of those dark eyes, demanding to know, even after all the time they’d been apart, why she’d accused an innocent man of witchcraft.

  Mariam waited for him to look away. When he finally did, her body sagged and she closed her eyes, trying desperately to still her fears. She could always do as she’d done before and make light of the events, hoping Cameron would turn a blind eye to her behavior as he had in the past, or she could beg for mercy and admit she had wronged an innocent man.

  Or, she paused as a third option occurred to her. She could tell Cameron the truth about what she suspected she was, and what her father would do to her if he found out.

  For an instant, a spark of hope filled her. Could she, after so many years of hiding, finally share her secret with someone? Mariam felt an overwhelming desire to have another human being know her fully, to have another understand. Yet, with her next heartbeat that excitement vanished and she opened her eyes.

  There was too much fear, too much risk, too much at stake for anyone to know her secret. Her only option was to remain silent and pray Cameron wouldn’t force her out of his castle. It would be her worst nightmare come true once again—being left alone with no one between herself and her father.

  It had happened before. One day she’d had a doting mother. The next day, she did not. No explanation was ever offered, but Mariam had heard her parents’ arguments as she lay in bed each night. Had her mother left of her own volition? Or had her father pushed her away? Those two questions had haunted Mariam throughout her childhood. It wasn’t until years later that she’d heard rumors about her father’s role in her mother’s disappearance—that he had pushed her from the cliff near their home and onto the rocks below.

  Mariam had always assumed she had been the source of conflict between her parents, and that ultimately, she had been the one who had caused her mother’s death. And that she was more like her father than she cared to admit. Cameron had seen that side of her as well, over the past year, and in the tribunal chamber.

  Suddenly fearful of what was to come, Mariam clutched her palms and turned away from the crowd, heading for the open gates. Perhaps it was best if she ran away from the coming confrontation, at least for a little while.

  “Mariam.” Cameron’s voice rose above the crowd.

  She froze, then slowly turned to face her guardian. Would he force her to leave here and now in front of everyone? Mariam shivered at the thought.

  “You will see to our guests.” His words were spoken politely, but they were a command not a request.

  Grateful he had not spurned her in front of the entire castle, and knowing she could not refuse, Mariam headed for the men who had dismounted. “Of course.” She forced the response past the lump of fear in her throat. “This way, gentlemen, if you would like refreshments before supper.”

  “I’ll see to the horses then join you.” She heard Cameron’s voice over the chitter of excited voices in the courtyard. “And, Mariam, we will discuss your future very soon.” At the words, those who remained in the courtyard turned to stare at her with suspicion before once again looking away.

  Mariam tucked her head into her shoulder as she hurried inside, giving herself no time to react. And still, her mind wandered to the man who held her life in his hands as she led their guests into the great hall. She waved them toward a table on the right side of the chamber. “Help yourselves to a light repast prepared by our cook. Laird Sinclair will join you shortly.”

  Over the past year, Camer
on had treated her as no one else in her life ever had. He did not look at her with fear or suspicion, nor did he appraise her with a lurid eye, gauging what he could take from her. Nay, his eyes were watchful, but always kind. He had treated her with consideration, despite her own poor behavior. And when he spoke to her, he did not speak around her, or over her. Conversations with him were a give and take. He asked her what she thought, and replied to her questions with honest and thoughtful answers such that she had never been given before.

  Slowly her fear faded as she gazed about the busy chamber at the men who drank and talked among themselves. She’d enjoyed being the lady of the castle for the year she’d been here. Would all that come to an end now that she had acted against Cameron’s wishes? Sweet heavens, why had she kept silent when she could have cleared Lachlan Douglas with a simple statement of truth?

  A chill slithered down her spine. Because she was the daughter of an evil man. Evil blood ran in her veins. Mariam’s knees weakened and she staggered, stumbled, then felt a hand grasp her arm to steady her.

  She knew that touch, and the soft scent of the wind and the sea that accompanied it. Cameron. “You should be repulsed by the very sight of me.”

  When their eyes met, he did not look at her with cordiality as he had in the past. Nay, this time his gaze brought a flush to her cheeks and sent that evil blood of hers racing through her limbs as it never had before. She swallowed and drew a shaky breath, then stepped back, forcing him to release her arm.

  “Nothing about you repulses me, Mariam. It never has,” he said with an odd intensity to his voice and a strange look in his eyes—one she’d never seen before. As laird of the castle, the man before her held enormous power, and she suddenly couldn’t guess at his feelings.

  Nervously, she clutched the shell necklace around her neck for support. The shell warmed in her hand as she stared at the man before her. She knew he wanted an apology for how she had acted at the tribunal. But she remained as silent as she had there. Only the distant conversation of his guests could be heard in the heavy silence.

  She was about to speak when he said, “I will not send you away.” His words were flat, devoid of either anger or comfort.

  Mariam’s heart lurched with relief. “I am grateful.”

  “You may not be so grateful when I tell you what your silence has cost you.”

  Mariam straightened. She was entirely at his mercy if she wanted to remain at Ravenscraig, but she still had a small amount of pride she refused to surrender. “What penance would you have me do?”

  “For the moment, you will tend our guests. On the morrow they will depart on one of my ships for Spain with very valuable cargo. There will be much risk to them during their journey. For tonight, I’d like them to forget all except contentment.”

  Mariam gaped at him. “You’ll make me stew over what tomorrow will bring?”

  “I said I would not cast you out. That should be comforting enough.”

  Mariam looked away. “I should have expected that you would serve me back what I have given to others. I deserve as much.”

  Cameron grasped her chin and pulled her gaze back to his. “Nay, you do not.” A torrent of wild emotions shadowed his lean and elegant features—anger, disappointment, then pity.

  His anger she had prepared herself for, but pity . . . that emotion took her completely off guard. No one had ever cared enough about her to pity her before. Her throat tightened.

  “No one deserves either mental or physical torture, but I want you to experience just a hint of the distress you put Lachlan through,” Cameron continued. “I want you to think about what you did to him so you will never do such a thing again. Understood?”

  She knew exactly what such torment was like. Had he forgotten who her father was? Instead of arguing, Mariam nodded, then before she could catch her response, hot tears sprang to her eyes. As quickly as they came, she forced the tears deep into the recesses of her soul where her father had driven them years ago.

  Mariam Swinton never cried.

  She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Nay, Mariam Swinton never gave in. She might be mean, and self-serving, but she never, ever cried.

  *

  Cameron found himself experiencing a multitude of wild emotions that brought down his usual defenses. He’d only been away for a week, yet in that time the woman before him had greatly altered.

  She had always been a ravishing creature, but one he’d always kept at a distance. Yet, the difficulties of the last week had somehow refined her otherworldly features even more—her high cheekbones, the angular jut of her jaw, her smooth and fair skin with a smattering of freckles across her nose, her luminous, green eyes. Her mouth was full and soft, and her glorious red hair fell unrestrained, against all dictates, across her shoulders and down her back.

  Had the burden placed upon her during Lachlan’s trial transformed her, like a precious gem, from one state to another? He ran his thumb over the edge of her jaw. It would be so easy to lose himself in her eyes.

  A shudder trembled through her.

  He abruptly released Mariam’s chin. Mercy’s sake, what was wrong with him? Mariam was his ward. She’d been placed in his care . . . for him to protect. Over the past year he’d had to work at keeping his attraction to her in check, and for the most part he had succeeded. But in this moment, all of his willpower seemed to vanish. Protecting her was the last thing on his mind. He wanted to throttle her. He wanted to kiss her. And so much more. “I apologize. I did not mean to—”

  “You didn’t,” she broke in. “What would you have me do with your guests? Entertain them with a song?”

  He frowned. “Nothing so flamboyant as that. These are simple men. I would ask that you help Mistress MacInnes set out the evening meal and then make certain there is plenty of bedding for the sailors in the great hall after their meal.”

  A flash of temper flared in her eyes before she turned abruptly away to do as he’d asked. He watched her go—something he found himself doing far more frequently in the past few months than was advisable, or so his conscience warned him. He had pondered the question about what to do with her for the past week. He did not want to send her back to her father. That much he knew. But having her near every day was starting to wear his resistance down. And marrying her off to someone else brought a knot to his gut. He pursed his lips in thought as she moved across the chamber to Mistress MacInnes’s side.

  Mariam looked back at him then, and in her expression, Cameron saw a flash of something that looked like sadness—or uncertainty—and then it was gone. She turned back around, twisting her fingers together.

  Her submissive pose struck a chord in him. She appeared unsettled, and that surprised him. Mariam was always the one unsettling everyone else. He could honestly say Mariam seemed more vulnerable and alone than she had before the trial. He frowned. She was the most intriguing woman he’d ever met and the most frustrating.

  Cameron pressed his lips together as a hunched and heavily veiled Mistress MacInnes approached, the keys at her waist jingling with every step. The lines around the older woman’s green eyes had deepened, hinting at her worry.

  “M’laird, the sailors are growing restless. Might I serve supper so they can settle for the night? We simply need you to give the word.”

  Cameron looked about the chamber, strewn with men in rough-cut clothing, chattering with excitement about their voyage ahead. Cameron had promised them twice the usual pay, and their hurry to leave the castle and get underway vibrated in the air.

  “Go ahead and serve. I shall see to the men.” Cameron made his way to the head table and took a long sip of wine from the goblet before him. Captain Alwyn took the seat beside him. “Your ward, Mariam Swinton, is a fine-looking woman. Is she yours?” The captain’s weathered features filled with a mixture of longing and jealousy.

  Cameron’s gaze sought out Mariam as she made her way down the long tables, pouring wine into each of the sailor’s goblets, making ple
asant conversation as she went. “Aye. She’s mine.” It didn’t matter that his words were a lie. As long as he remembered that lie in the morning.

  Chapter Two

  The next morning, Cameron waited impatiently for Mariam to appear. He’d asked Mistress MacInnes to escort the young woman to the great hall after she had failed to show up at the morning meal. He sat before the hearth with his brother-in-arms, Alexander, staring at the gray and white ashes from last night’s fire.

  “Am I doing the right thing?” Cameron asked. “Mariam is a woman of some status. If I force humility on her, does that make me any better than her father who tortures others for his own pleasure?”

  Alexander scoffed. “The fact you are contemplating your actions reveals a drastic difference to the man in question. Otherwise, you are doing what needs to be done. Mariam deserves a hard lesson after what she put Lachlan through. As her guardian, you are the one who must provide her with that learning and hopefully resulting growth.”

  Their conversation ceased when the door opened and Mariam stepped into the chamber, followed closely by Mistress MacInnes. The older woman had arrived at the castle to replace the prior chatelaine who had left Cameron’s service abruptly after Mariam came to live there. Cameron had never fully understood the previous chatelaine’s reason for leaving, but he hadn’t given it much thought since Mistress MacInnes had stepped into the role with ease, even going so far as to have some sort of calming influence over his ward. Mariam had not come down at his command, but had easily complied when Mistress MacInnes had been sent to retrieve her. Curious.

  Cameron stood as Mariam approached the hearth. She had dressed in a velvet gown in a rich shade of brown. The line of the gown was straight and graceful from its tight sleeves, tight waist and plunging neckline. The effect was more striking than he cared to admit, bringing out the golden glow in her skin and highlighting the richness of her red hair.

  She walked slowly toward where he and Alexander stood. Her every movement was filled with grace, yet there was a hint of distress in her eyes.