“Aye,” she replied. For perhaps the first time ever, she allowed herself to ponder whatever it was inside her, and she found nothing to indicate it was evil. She felt warmth, like that of the sun, surrounding them both. The air filled with an overwhelming scent of roses.
“What has caused such a thing?”
“I’m not quite certain, but I think it is magic.”
“Magic, nay. But something. Have you any idea what is happening to you?”
“I have no idea. But the other day when you sent me to clean the lady’s chapel, I fell and broke the shell on my necklace.”
“How does the necklace relate to what is happening to you now?”
“Inside the shell was a message from my mother, written on a piece of parchment. It said, ‘On the seventh day from the opening of the shell, you will come into your own.’”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea, but I had feared it was something horrible, given who my father is.”
His gaze narrowed. “You are not your father, Mariam.”
“Thank you for saying that. I only wish others saw things as you do. I’ve heard the castle residents and the villagers talk about how they suspect me of being as dangerous and depraved as my father. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and all of that.”
“You are not evil, Mariam. However, you cannot deny there is something strange happening to you. After all, you did cause the wind to rise where there had been none.”
As a sudden anxiety replaced her calm, the glow about her shimmered, faded, then vanished. “I think all of this is connected to my shell necklace and the message inside.”
He released her hand and unlatched his sporran before fumbling around inside. “This shell?” He brought forth the newly repaired white shell her mother had given her before her death.
Mariam’s heart stumbled. “You repaired it.” She accepted the shell from his hand. It was heavier than before and bore thin silver streaks at the points where it had shattered. “How did you do this?”
“With the help of the smithy. He was able to reassemble it with liquid silver, which when hardened kept all the broken pieces in their respective places.”
She offered him a grateful smile. “This means the world to me.”
“That you have worn it every day since you came into my care told me it was special.”
She offered him a grateful smile. “It was the last gift my mother gave me before she died.”
His brow creased. “How did she die? The king mentioned to me something about your mother’s death being suspicious before you came to be my ward. I gave the rumor no credence until now.”
Mariam dropped Cameron’s other hand and turned away, hiding the pain she knew was written on her face. “I was only five years old at the time, and I do not remember much about that night other than that my mother was distraught. She and my father had had an argument earlier that evening. I only heard the strained tones of their voices, but none of the words.” Mariam’s throat was tight as she continued. “My father always claimed my mother was reckless to rush from our home during a storm, that she was foolish to head toward the cliffs alone.” Mariam turned to face Cameron. “The next morning, my mother was nowhere to be found. My father’s servants recalled seeing him chasing her from the house. But he has always denied that claim.”
“I’m so sorry, Mariam. I know what a loss a mother is to a child.”
She nodded, but was capable of saying nothing more as her throat suddenly burned with unshed tears.
“How many days has it been since you received that note?”
She held up two fingers.
“Then that gives us five more days to figure this out.”
She swallowed roughly, then said, “You’re not afraid of what I might be . . . That I might be a . . . witch?”
There was no tension in Cameron’s body or face at the words. “I do not believe in witchcraft, magical powers, or witches. Nay, there is another explanation for today’s events.”
She gaped at him. “How else do you explain animals that flock to my side without a prompt of any kind, the wind that swirls at my command, or a warmth that makes a person brighten from the inside?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea, but we’ll discover the truth of the matter. But until we do, I’ll not have you calling yourself a witch. Witches are either worshipped or despised but always feared. Fear is what has driven many innocent men and women to the stake in the past few years. I will not allow that to happen to you. I’ll do everything in my power to see you do not have to suffer in such a way.”
“Then do not marry me off. Please?” She didn’t care that it sounded like she was begging him. She was.
He paused, then nodded. “You have my word. As soon as the men arrive, I shall inform them that you no longer choose to seek marriage.”
Relief coursed through her for a heartbeat until she returned her gaze to the shell in her hands. “Do you truly not believe in magic?”
“If I believed such blasphemy, the church would burn me as well as anyone else who claims such a thing exists in this world.”
Mariam wrapped her fingers about the repaired shell, feeling it warm in her hand as it had before it was damaged. “If I am not a witch or a sorceress, then what am I? For I am not as other women.”
“Aye,” Cameron said softly. “You are not. But your mother left you a clue as to who you are. In order to find the answers we seek within the next five days, we will need to search for someone who remembers your mother. Perhaps we could learn something from them.”
Mariam smiled. “Then we won’t have to go far.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Mistress MacInnes told me the other night she once knew my mother.”
His gaze intensified on her. “Then let’s go find the woman and ask her a few questions.”
Mariam inhaled sharply, and instinctively she tensed. She always felt as if he were physically touching her when he looked at her in that way. The sensation of liquid heat moved through her limbs. As much as she tried to deny it, she had always been more in tune with Cameron and his moods than any other man. She sensed his eagerness to help and protect her. But was that enough?
His station as a laird would not protect either of them from accusations of witchcraft or eventual punishment. They had seen that firsthand with both her father’s ability to prick whomever he liked if they were suspected of witchcraft, and by Lachlan Douglas’s recent trial.
But it wasn’t only Lachlan’s trial that sent a shiver down her spine. There had been many trials over the past two years. And those who were accused were not the only ones put to death. Often those who defended a person suspected of witchcraft might also be swept up in the madness and be accused of sorcery themselves. “Would you risk being called a sorcerer yourself for helping me? We both saw the abuse Lachlan suffered because of my lies.”
Cameron looked away. “Aye, Lachlan suffered most horribly. A part of me is still angry that you did not step forward before he was taken into custody and tortured, but another part of me understands the pressure your father exerted over you, and the past example he set.” Cameron pushed his hand through his hair before bringing his gaze back to hers. “Lachlan survived your father’s abuse. You survived your father’s influence over you. And you and I will survive whatever it is that is altering you now.”
The trust filling his eyes sliced through her heart, weighing her down. She didn’t deserve such faith. “How can we know what is happening to me is good?” she asked hoarsely. Cameron had seen all of her rough edges over the past year. And still he wanted to help.
“Because in the past few days, you’ve proven to me you are changing for the better, that you are starting to think about how your actions affect others.”
Mariam clutched at her skirt, feeling the textured roughness of the damask between her fingers, and swallowed. “And that is evidence enough for you to let go of your anger and risk yo
ur own welfare for me?”
“You are my ward.”
“That is not enough of a reason to put your own life on the line.”
“I know what is at stake.” Cameron took a deep breath. “You matter to me, and not because you are my ward.” He took her hand in his and brought it to his mouth, grazing her knuckles with his lips—a light touch that made her slightly dizzy.
Mariam stared at him, unable to tear her gaze away. “And you matter to me, and not because you are my guardian.”
He smiled as he wrapped his hand around hers. “Shall we get started then?”
A warm, tingling web spun through her as she smiled back, resigned to whatever fate had in store for the two of them. “As you wish.”
Chapter Six
Mariam followed Cameron into the great hall where they found Mistress MacInnes directing the servants and housemaids as they set about performing their daily chores. They waited until the chatelaine had finished before approaching. “Might we talk with you, my good woman?” Cameron asked.
Mistress MacInnes paled. “Is there something amiss, m’laird? I would be happy to rectify anything that does not please you.”
“’Tis nothing like that,” he assured the woman, indicating they should make their way to the seats by the hearth. “We seek information about Mariam’s mother. I’m told you knew her once.”
At the mention of Mariam’s mother, the older woman stumbled. “That was long ago, and age has a cruel way of taking the good thoughts along with the bad from one’s memory.”
Cameron stepped close and placed his hand beneath Mistress MacInnes’s arm, guiding her into one of the larger and more comfortable seats. “Anything you can remember would be very helpful.” Once the woman was settled, Cameron motioned for Mariam to take the other large chair while he pulled up a bench and settled himself before the two women. The great hall cleared, leaving the three of them in private to talk.
Mistress MacInnes’s brow knotted in thought. “Can you be more specific?”
Cameron turned to Mariam. “What would you like to know about your mother?”
“The stories my father tells of her are not at all favorable. I don’t remember much about her, but what I do remember was her goodness.” Mariam shrugged. “It’s more a feeling than an actual memory.”
Nessie’s eyes twinkled as she smiled. “She loved you, Mariam, with all her heart and tried to keep you safe from those who would harm you.”
Without saying the words, she knew Nessie meant Mariam’s father. She was not here to talk about the man she knew, only the mother she did not.
“What was your relationship with my mother?” Mariam was conscious of a new element of wariness as Nessie shifted in her chair.
“I was her closest confidante.”
Nessie hadn’t really answered her question, but Mariam moved on, desperate to know more about what was happening to her. Mariam opened her palm to reveal the newly repaired necklace. “Then perhaps you know more about this shell than you let on the other day. How did you know there was a message inside?”
Nessie’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully on Mariam’s face. “I watched her place it there.”
Mariam’s stomach tightened. “Why? What does it all mean? You saw the words she wrote. Why would she leave behind so cryptic a message about what could happen to me in seven days?”
Nessie’s expression shuttered. “I believe the message has something to do with her past and your future.”
The woman’s half answers were starting to frustrate Mariam. “I need to know more if I am ever to solve this riddle in time. Because something very odd is happening to me. Please, Nessie, tell me anything that might help me.”
“Your mother made her words cryptic because she believed you would figure them out.”
Mariam smiled faintly. “I’m honored she had such confidence in me, but I don’t feel the same way.” She paused as she brought her gaze to meet the older woman’s. “Did my mother have unusual talents?”
Mistress MacInnes frowned. “Such as?”
Mariam hesitated. If she showed Nessie that part of herself, would the woman understand and keep her secret, or would she run to the closest magistrate and declare her a witch? She had to decide between gaining more information or giving in to her fears. She thought of her mother, of all she had sacrificed for Mariam, and she made her decision.
Mariam closed her eyes and tried once again to summon the warmth that had engulfed her in the garden. The room suddenly became preternaturally still as a force inside her surged through her body. She opened her eyes and felt a wind begin to stir about her feet, gaining strength until it swirled around the entire great hall. The tapestries on the walls flapped, the dishes on the sideboards rattled, and the fire in the hearth extinguished as the warmth inside her increased. Then as suddenly as the power had come, it faded, leaving her spent and weak. Mariam slumped in the chair and once again sought out Nessie’s gaze.
It was not fear, but pride that reflected in the woman’s tired, aging eyes. She took Mariam’s hands in her own and said, “You, my dear, are exactly like your mother.”
Cameron stood and came to stand beside Mariam. An odd air of protectiveness charged his movements as he placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Is this what my mother meant when she said I would ‘come into my own’?”
Nessie’s expression softened. “Nay. I believe there is more. Now that I know you have her abilities, there is more I can tell you.”
Mariam held her breath.
“Your mother was born Moira Llyr. Her ancestral home was the Isle of May located in the north of the outer Firth of Forth. In years past, the isle was a common place for the Scottish people to travel for public devotion to the saints. But after the Scottish Reformation took hold, the Protestant bishop of St. Andrews decided to sell the isle into private ownership. When the new owner took possession, he forced your mother and her family to find refuge on the mainland in North Berwick.”
“Who bought the isle?”
“Your father.”
Mariam’s stomach fell. “Why would he want the isle?”
Nessie’s brows drew together. “He did not want the isle, but desired the power that came from it after he had a chance meeting with your mother when she left her protected home to explore the world beyond.”
“She was curious.”
Nessie nodded. “But that curiosity cost her everything.”
“Then my father did not allow my mother or her family to return to the isle?”
Nessie shook her head. “In an effort to keep your mother with him, and control every aspect of her life, he forbade them all from ever going back. He allowed the isle to fall into ruin. It is mostly occupied by seals and birds to this day as far as anyone can tell.”
“Did my father know about my mother’s m—” Mariam looked up at Cameron for a heartbeat before continuing. “Her abilities?”
“I cannot say for certain, but I do believe he suspected something was different about both her and her mother.”
“My grandmother had abilities as well?” Mariam asked, surprised.
Mistress MacInnes nodded. “I believe all the women in your mother’s line had abilities some might call magic.”
More excited than she dared let on, Mariam turned toward Cameron. “If that is so, then the answers we seek are on the Isle of May.”
He frowned. “What makes you say that?”
“It is where they’re all from.” She locked her gaze on his, unblinking, unafraid. “What better place to start our search for answers than to go back to the beginning?”
Cameron’s eyes lit with admiration. “Sounds like a sensible plan. I have the means to get us there on one of my smaller ships. I can have everything ready in a couple of days.”
“A couple of days?”
“I’ll need to gather a crew since the last of my men sailed out yesterday on The Sarpedon. And we’ll need supplies since we must assume nothing will be available to us
on the isle.”
Disappointment went through Mariam at the realization she had no choice but to wait. Cameron was being generous to offer a ship and a crew. Once they had the means to travel, it would take less than a day to sail there, she reasoned as she nodded her agreement.
“Until then—”
The doors of the great hall flew open and thudded against the walls on either side. “Laird Sinclair!” Ian Griffin, the captain of his guard, rushed forward. “My apologies for the interruption, but we have a situation.” The warrior’s presence filled the chamber. Concern was etched into the lines of his face.
Cameron stood. “What is it?”
“The villagers are approaching the castle, m’laird. But this is no social call. They’re armed with torches and weapons. And they’re chanting ‘give us the witch.’”
Mariam’s heart jumped to her throat. Her dream.
Cameron’s hand gently touched her arm.
Ian continued, “The men are preparing for battle, and we’ve closed the gates against them. We are waiting to engage until we have your approval.”
“We will not engage the villagers,” Cameron announced, his voice firm. “Open the gates. Let them in. I’ll not fight my own people.”
Mariam’s eyes widened in horror. “Nay!” she whispered.
“Aye.” Ian nodded grimly as he moved away.
Mariam sprang to her feet and followed. “Cameron, please take heed. Remember I told you they would come. This will not end well.”
He turned. “I was wrong not to believe that you had dreamed this before, but you said it yourself, no one was harmed in your dream. I must talk to them first before we take any more aggressive action. These are my people. They will listen to what I have to say.”
Mariam watched him walk away as any excitement she’d felt moments before faded. She clutched the fabric of her gown in her hands. Fear gnawed at her stomach.
“I haven’t known m’laird for very long, but I can tell from what I’ve seen, he knows what he’s doing,” Mistress MacInnes said as she came to stand beside Mariam. “He won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Mariam turned toward Nessie but averted her face, allowing the bright fall of her hair to conceal her distress. “The villagers, and so many others, can hurt me in ways he could never protect me from.”
A Laird and a Gentleman Page 7