A Laird and a Gentleman Page 5

  Thea, her maid. “Why are you not in bed? The hour is late. I have no need of your services right now.”

  “I . . .” Mariam heard the maid step toward the doorway. “I forgot tae put away yer clean clothing earlier this evening. I wanted it ready fer tomorrow if ye needed it.”

  The only garment that had been out for cleaning was a lilac-colored day dress that she would hardly wear for riding in the morning.” Mariam sat up and moved her hand to her bedside table, searching for the flint and steel she could use to light the brace of candles there. Her fingers found the flint then the steel, and she flicked the two together. Before she could so much as generate a spark, Thea opened the door and fled without another word.

  Mariam returned the flint and steel to the surface of her bedside table with slightly trembling fingers. What was the matter with Thea? Her behavior over the past week had become more and more curious. From the moment Mariam had caught Thea hiding in a darkened corner of the kitchen with tears running down her cheeks, to the stony looks she had given Mariam while they set supper out for their guests this past evening, to whatever this was—because Mariam did not believe it had anything to do with her clothing.

  Still pondering that thought, Mariam lay back down and forced herself to relax. There was no point in pursuing the maid for answers tonight. But when she returned from herding the sheep tomorrow, Mariam intended to sit Thea down and force the maid to tell her the truth about her odd behavior.

  At the irony of the thought, Mariam released a groan. She herself had had nothing but odd and erratic behavior since arriving at Ravenscraig. And yet now she wanted her own maid to disclose why she was behaving in such a way.

  Despite the irony, Mariam smiled into the darkness. At least her first thought had not been about retaliation. That was a change from her behavior in the past.

  Perhaps there was hope for her to change in the next six days.

  On that thought Mariam dozed off once more. But as she did, a new dream plagued her restless mind. For hours she fought to direct her mind toward the calm and mundane, but to no avail as the new images crept past her defenses.

  There were lights in the sky. Strange, glowing lights that cut through the mist, carried forward by a mob of people who carried torches, pitchforks, scythes, and pickaxes.

  The villagers. Somehow Mariam knew they came for her.

  At the head of the mob was a man. He seemed familiar but she could not place him. She searched her memory and came up blank. He was the key to this. If only she could remember.

  On the tower beside her, Cameron watched the men and women approach.

  “Will you call your men to battle?” she asked him.

  “Not against the villagers.”

  “Will you at least call for the drawbridge to be raised and the gate closed?”

  “These are my own people. They have come to talk. I must hear them out. They would never hurt any of us who reside here, including you.”

  Then, as though in defiance of his words, one of the men touched his torch to the dry grass on the north slope of the castle. A flash of fire streaked across the field, and the nearby bushes burst into flame—fiery specters of destruction, consuming everything they touched.

  “They do not want to talk. They want to hurt me, and anyone who stands in their way! I must leave here for any of you to be safe,” Mariam heard herself cry as she turned toward the doorway that led back inside the castle. If she hurried, she could make her way to the stable, gather a horse, then pass through the open gates before the villagers arrived.

  “Stay where you are.” Cameron grabbed her hand, keeping her in place. “We will talk to them.”

  “But the flames?”

  “They are nothing to you. You could douse them if you tried.”

  How did he know? How could he know when she didn’t know if she were capable of such a feat? She couldn’t do it.

  “Mariam, do something now.”

  And if she did, then it would only confirm what they suspected—that she was a witch. Her heart thundered in her chest, pounding, hurting. She didn’t know how to stop fire. Yet everyone in the castle—those she cared about—needed her to figure it out, and quick.

  She looked up then, into Cameron’s eyes, filled with faith and understanding. Beautiful gray eyes that suddenly didn’t seem stormy. Only confident.

  And she was no longer afraid. With a thought, the flames extinguished at her will, leaving only an odd smokiness lingering in the air.

  Mariam awoke and sat bolt upright in the semi-darkness of her chamber. There were no flames, and no lingering smoke. Only the sweet scent of the pre-dawn air. And silence.

  Another dream then?

  A dream, yet not quite a dream. Mariam knew exactly what the vision meant. Everything she had just witnessed in her mind would come to pass in a day or a month or even a year. Her visions were of the future, and they always came true.

  Always.

  She would have to reveal herself, and her odd abilities to Cameron if she were to protect any of them. Fear sent a shiver down her spine. Would he believe her or, as she feared above all else, label her a witch?

  And then what? Her father had shown her the results of such an accusation.

  Death.

  Forcing herself to be calm, Mariam lay back down, willing herself to relax—

  “Bad dream?”

  Mariam startled and nearly rolled off the bed. She righted herself and looked toward the open doorway. “Mistress MacInnes, you startled me.”

  “It is time to dress if you are to meet m’laird for your outing this morning.”

  Only then did Mariam take note of the pink light streaking beneath the shutters in her chamber. “Is it that time already?” Mariam slipped from the bed.

  “I came to help you dress.”

  “You’ve been kind enough already. I do not wish to add more work to your already heavy load.”

  “I’ve been up for a few hours already. M’laird asked me to see that cold meat pies and fruit were ready for you both to break your fast before you head out this morning.” Mistress MacInnes half-walked, half-limped into the chamber with a candle in hand. She moved to the beside and lit a brace of candles Mariam had there. Instantly the room flooded with pale, golden light.

  Mistress MacInnes was dressed in her usual black gown, but instead of a veil, she had a lace cap atop her faded hair that was pulled back into a coil at her nape. Instead of turning away from the woman as she usually did, Mariam studied the woman’s abused body. Nessie’s left shoulder was hunched, and her left leg didn’t straighten fully when she walked. And without her veil to shield her face, Mariam saw for the first time the ugly, red scar that stretched from Nessie’s hairline to her jaw on the left side of her face, along with a smashed nose, and a drooping eye.

  “What happened to you?” The words escaped her lips before Mariam could pull them back.

  Instead of flinching at Mariam’s rudeness, Mistress MacInnes’s green eyes softened. “’Twas an accident many years ago that left me disfigured.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Mariam studied her friend’s solemn features, this time with new respect. The woman had suffered much in her life, and could have easily let her disfigurement keep her from living as she did now.

  “We must all learn to live with the challenges life gives us.” Mistress MacInnes shuffled to the opposite side of the bed and poured water from the pitcher into a waiting basin. She handed Mariam a cloth, indicating she should wash while Nessie prepared her clothing for the day. Mariam first washed her face, then pulled her night rail over her head and wiped the wet cloth over her skin, watching Nessie as she gathered everything Mariam would need to dress.

  With both shame and regret, Mariam realized she had never really paid much attention to the woman before her until yesterday even though they’d lived under the same roof for over a year. Mariam had treated her as no more than a shadowy figure who took care of her needs. Yet, despite her deformity, Nessie possessed
smooth skin, and a fine-boned face that equaled that of any fine-born lady. And although her hair was almost faded to white, Mariam thought it must once have been a vibrant red, almost as bright as Mariam’s own.

  When the chatelaine returned to the bedside with Mariam’s clothing, Mariam set the cleaning cloth down and took the older woman’s hands in her own. “Thank you, Nessie, for your kindness to me though I haven’t always treated you as I should.”

  Nessie flushed under the unaccustomed praise and gave Mariam’s hands a squeeze before pulling her hands away. “Shall we get you dressed so you can join m’laird?”

  Mariam slipped into the clean chemise that was offered to her.

  “You’re rounding up sheep today?” Mistress MacInnes asked as she lowered Mariam’s blue riding habit over her head and began to tighten the laces at the back. “Do you know how to herd animals?”

  As the laces tightened, Mariam emitted a sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. “Nay. But I have seen it done before. How hard can it be to ride behind the beasts and force them to go the way you want them to?”

  Nessie laughed. The sound held only joy and no ridicule. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, especially with m’laird to help you.” When the laces had been tied, Nessie helped Mariam into a matching woolen jacket before placing a hat upon her head. “There, now you are ready to meet the day. Shall we?” Nessie motioned toward the door.

  Again, Mariam nodded. It was time for her to prove to Cameron she was indeed sorry for her behavior at the trial of Lachlan Douglas, and that there was some worth to her yet.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Mistress MacInnes left Mariam to attend to her own duties. She hadn’t taken two steps toward the great hall before Hobbins, the steward, came forward from that chamber. He was a slender man, with wayward wisps of gray hair and a sparse mustache. “M’laird waits for you outside.”

  With a nod, Mariam made her way to the inner courtyard. Dawn was beginning to lift, giving shape and substance to the gray walls of the castle. Clouds of mist were all that remained of the overnight rain. Even so, the excess moisture dripped onto the gravel in a steady drizzle to create puddles everywhere. The wet-cold seemed to seep right through her woolen riding habit as she approached the lone figure waiting for her.

  Cameron was dressed in a belted plaid kilt. He was well armed with a saber in a sheath at his side, a horn-handled dagger belted to his waist, and a basket-hilt broadsword strapped onto his saddle.

  “We are herding sheep, not going to war,” Mariam commented as she stopped beside him.

  “It’s best to be prepared for anything in these uncertain times,” he replied as he swung up onto his horse, then waved his hand toward the chestnut mare she usually rode beside him.

  Did he know something she did not? Was that why he had prepared himself for battle? She studied his features, searching for a sign as a sudden sense of unease came over her. Was it the dream she’d had last night, or something else that suddenly set her on edge?

  “Shall we get started?” Cameron asked interrupting her thoughts.

  Mariam frowned. “Mistress MacInnes had said you wanted a light breakfast before we left.”

  He patted the saddlebag on his right. “I thought we would enjoy a repast along the way since the animals are in a field some distance from here. It may take us some time to get there.”

  Mariam walked to her horse and gently stroked its muzzle. “Shouldn’t we wait until the mist lifts?”

  A faint smile touched Cameron’s lips. “You’ve been riding these fields for the past year. Are you suddenly frightened you’ll get lost?”

  “I’m not frightened. I was trying to be practical.”

  He chuckled. “When have you ever been practical? Mount, and let’s be on our way.”

  Mariam glared at Cameron as she swung up onto the horse’s back with ease. If he wanted to take the risk, who was she to stop him? “You go on ahead. I shall follow you.”

  His brows rose in surprise. “The trail is wide enough for two.”

  If she rode beside him, then he would know she searched for whatever it was that had caused her unease upon entering the courtyard. “I fear I won’t be good company this morning. I’m still tired and somewhat fuzzy.”

  “Did you not sleep well?”

  For a moment she considered telling him about the second dream she’d had, then changed her mind. Would he even believe her if she told him that what she saw usually came true? Finally, she responded, “Nay. I had too many things on my mind.”

  His expression softened. “You need not worry about today. That you are attempting to do something for others is proof enough you can change.”

  Mariam stared at him, totally at a loss for words. She had not expected him to forgive her so easily.

  He laughed softly at the stunned look on her face. “Come, let’s get started. And if you won’t ride beside me, then at least keep close.”

  “I will.”

  He kicked his horse into a trot. They traveled in silence as the early morning sun rose higher in the sky, bathing the fields in light and turning the grass emerald. The sea of green stretched out before them in endless waves. They’d eaten their breakfast as they rode.

  “We are about halfway there,” Cameron said, breaking the stillness as he brought his horse alongside hers.

  “Why do you keep the sheep so far from the castle?” she asked, truly curious.

  “The fields in close were being overgrazed so we moved them to a place farther out that had been ignored for an entire season.”

  She stole a glance at him. What thoughts went on behind those impenetrable, unreadable, intelligent eyes of his? Had he ever let anyone close enough to be able to guess at his thoughts or understand his moods? Had anyone ever wanted to understand him? Each time she thought she understood some facet of his personality, he surprised her. In just the past few days, he’d been harsh with her, but also forgiving. “You know about politics at court, farming, sailing, trade, and war. What an interesting man you are, Cameron Sinclair.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I will take that as a compliment.”

  Mariam felt his eyes upon her and quickly shifted her gaze back to the vista before them, not really seeing the craggy mountains in the distance, the glistening waters of the Firth of Forth, or the beauty of the sun as it climbed higher in the sky.

  She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. Cameron Sinclair was a man who was full of contrast and surprises. The thought had barely formed when another sensation sent a chill chasing down her neck. Danger?

  She frantically searched the area on either side of the trail, but it was all open field with the occasional shrub here or there, and pockets of mist that remained, but nothing so dense an enemy could take advantage of for shelter. Even so, her hands tightened on the reins. Perhaps it was only her imagination. Perhaps her fears were playing tricks on her.

  But she couldn’t shake the feeling. Someone was there. She was certain of a presence as much as she was of Cameron on the trail ahead of her. Her palms grew clammy. Why did Cameron not sense the danger she did? He was a warrior with finely tuned instincts, yet he seemed totally unaware. What could she say to him that might alert him to possible danger, and would he believe her anyway? She could not prove someone was there.

  Instead of saying anything, she brought her horse up beside his. “Our pace is too slow. Come on.” She brought her hand down firmly on his horse’s hindquarter, plunging the animal forward.

  Cameron cast her a startled glance as his horse snorted and broke into a gallop. “What are you about?”

  “’Tis nothing,” she said, following beside him as they flew over the open terrain. With each mile, that sense of being watched faded, then disappeared as their destination appeared before them. In the distance, she could see a multitude of white sheep grazing against a palette of green. At the sound of the horses approaching, the sheep stopped and turned their way, their ears rotated forward
to catch sound.

  At the rise of a hill, she stopped. Cameron did the same. His demeanor was grim as he asked, “What is bothering you?”

  “Why would you ask me that?” She kept her words light, but her chest tightened.

  “You’re frightened. I can tell by the stiffness of your shoulders and the paleness of your cheeks.”

  “What do I have to fear with you beside me, armed as you are?”

  His frown deepened. “I am uncertain. But there is something.”

  “I had a dream last night and that has my thoughts a bit askew.”

  “Was it different than the one you had previously?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “They were both just dreams, nothing more.”

  “For most people, aye. But—” She paused, suddenly fearful.

  “Go on. Nothing you could say would surprise me.”

  “Not even if I told you that my dreams usually come true?”

  He frowned. “Your dreams come true?”

  “Always.”

  He gave her a long look before he said, “Describe the one you had last night to me.”

  “Well . . .” Mariam paused as a flutter of discomfort went through her.

  “You can tell me anything.”

  Mariam pushed away her unease and forced the words out. “I dreamt the villagers approached the castle with weapons and torches. I begged you to close the gates. But you wouldn’t. You wanted to talk with them. But they didn’t want to talk. They wanted retaliation against me for all the horrible things my father has done to their loved ones.”

  “Hmmm. Did they capture you?”

  “Nay, but they did set the grass on the north side of the castle on fire.”

  “Was anyone harmed?”

  Her discomfort returned, stronger than before. “Not that I saw. I woke before anything horrible happened.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

  “If you were not captured and if no one was hurt, then it couldn’t have been that terrible of a dream.” He edged his horse closer, and his voice deepened. “After all, it was only a dream.”

  She tried to swallow, but she couldn’t. Her mouth was too dry. He didn’t believe her, but she was spared any further conversation as the soft bleating of sheep came from the distance. The flock hurried forward, running and jumping over each other in an effort to get closer.