A Laird and a Gentleman

by Gerri Russell

  The chamber and the castle emptied as they each returned to their homes. It was only when the chamber had nearly emptied that Mariam noticed a man wearing a hooded cloak standing near one of the tall thin windows. When the last villager had left, the unknown visitor came forward. As he did, an icy chill shuddered through her. She knew that walk, that silhouette.

  The man lowered his hood and faced her. He was unchanged since she’d seen him last—dressed in a mud-colored monk’s robe, complete with a rope belt tied about his ample belly. His hair was a dull red and streaked with white. His lips hard, and his dark eyes bored into her own. “Father. Why are you here? The king told you to have no further contact with me.”

  Beside her, Cameron tensed and his hand drifted toward his sword, but he did not draw. Instead, he remained still, watchful.

  “Did you do it?” her father asked, his voice harsh.

  “Did I do what?” Mariam asked, unable to keep her fear from showing in her voice. Her father’s arrival here could only mean one thing. Somehow the tale of what she had done this morning when herding the animals had reached him.

  John Swinton stepped closer and put a heavy hand on her arm. A surge of revulsion turned her stomach, but she did not pull away. That would anger him more. It had been a long time since he’d struck her, and she doubted he would do so in front of Cameron, but she had also learned early in life never to underestimate her father’s ability for cruelty.

  “I’ve heard rumors about you.” His grip tightened on her arm. “Rumors that you have been wicked, using witchcraft to charm animals into submission.”

  Beside her, Cameron stood with his legs slightly apart, hands on his hips, making him appear both threatening and much larger than her father. “Sir, I would ask that you unhand my ward.”

  “She is my daughter, and I shall do as I please.” Instead of releasing her, her father jerked her to her feet. John Swinton’s eyes glittered more wildly than she’d ever seen them before. “Is it true? Are you filled with sin and evil that needs to be purged?”

  Mariam’s stomach pitched. In the year since she’d seen him, her father’s fanatical zeal for rooting out witches had definitely deepened. Even her relationship with her father would not protect her from him. And she’d deluded herself into thinking she was beyond his reach here at Ravenscraig and under Cameron’s care.

  “I shall know the truth, Daughter. Are ye a witch?”

  Just as the words left his mouth, twenty of Cameron’s men flooded the chamber. They paused at the word ‘witch.’

  “I am no witch. You better than anyone else should know that.” Despite her fear, she held her ground as her father reached for the leather sheath attached to his belt from which he withdrew a long, cylindrical, brass needle that tapered to a fine point. The violence in her father’s gaze told her one thing—he meant to harm her as he had harmed so many others suspected of witchcraft before her.

  In a blur of motion, Cameron spun Mariam away from her father with such force that she stumbled then caught herself just as Cameron drew his sword.

  Her father’s face hardened as he lunged at Cameron with his dagger-like weapon.

  The seasoned warrior feinted to the right, easily avoiding the blow. “Go back to Haddington. You do not belong here.”

  Swinton bared his teeth in a snarl as he slashed at Cameron with his lethal needle. “Not until I take back what is mine.”

  “Stand down, Swinton. You have no further obligation to your daughter nor she to you. I’ll never let you harm her.”

  His face hard, his eyes catching the light from the windows and smoldering like embers in a fire, Swinton lunged with a slash of his needle.

  Without much effort, Cameron blocked the attack, then his blade sliced the flesh on Swinton’s temple just above his ear. A dark ribbon of blood spilled from the wound, running down the side of his bearded face that disappeared into the dark robe covering his body. “Do you yield?”

  “Never to one who harbors witches.”

  Cameron shook his head. He met her father’s next forceful blow with his sword, capturing the older man’s hand more than his weapon and turning his appendage once, then twice, causing Swinton to gasp with pain. His wrist rolled, forcing the long needle from his hand. The torture device landed with a clang against the stone floor.

  The instant Swinton was subdued, Cameron’s men rushed forward. They caught him by the arms to restrain him. But Swinton struggled against their grasp. “We are not done here!” he growled.

  “Aye. We are.” Cameron sheathed his sword. His face remained impassive except for a tiny vein that throbbed to life in his temple. “Because you are Mariam’s father, I shall let this indiscretion pass. If you ever challenge me again in my own home, I will not be so kind.”

  “The king will hear about this.” Swinton pressed his lips into a thin white line as he stared at Cameron.

  Only the square ridge of Cameron’s jaw betrayed the control it took to keep his anger in check. “Aye, he will. I intend to send word to him myself. In the meanwhile, you will stay here as not necessarily a prisoner, but not quite a guest either.” Cameron addressed four of his men. “Take him to the green chamber at the top of the castle. Two of you remain outside the door. We will have a rotating watch while Swinton is here.”

  Leaving the dais, Cameron retrieved the pricker’s needle from where it had fallen and handed it to one of his guardsmen. “Lock this away in the armory.” When her father was escorted away, Cameron returned to Mariam’s side. “Are you unharmed?” he asked, his tone solemn, as his hand slipped beneath her elbow.

  “He cannot hurt me any more than he already has.”

  Cameron’s brow furled. “He has hurt you before?”

  Mariam shrugged. “I do not want to talk about my past with my father.” She looked away to the five guardsmen who remained in the great hall with them. “Your men are very protective of you.”

  “And I of them. We have been through much together over the years. I would lay down my life for those whom I care for.”

  Something in his voice suggested his comment was not directed entirely toward his men. She had not realized she’d moved closer to his side, or that his arm no longer cradled her elbow but was curved around the indent of her waist.

  A sudden awkward silence fell between them, sending a shiver racing over her flesh. With her next heartbeat, she stepped back, forcing him to release her. “What do we do about my father?”

  He brought his hand to her cheek. She held her breath, willing him to stop. He did not. He brushed his thumb along her jaw in a slow, gentle caress. “We will hold him here until I can send word to King James. Swinton is the king’s agent. The king must decide how we proceed.”

  Mariam tensed. “You’ll leave King James to decide if my father’s claim of witchcraft against me is true or not? Judging by Lachlan Douglas’s trial, the outcome will most likely be disastrous for me.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Mariam shuddered. “How will you protect me? If one of the king’s own men can be accused of witchcraft, how are any of us safe?”

  “The king is not an unreasonable monster. I believe Lachlan’s trial showed him this fault in his own thinking. The king is a learned man.” With exquisite tenderness, he trailed his thumb down the line of her neck. “Logic will ultimately prevail in these matters.”

  With his fingers at her neck it was difficult to breathe, to think. She stepped back further, forcing him to drop his hand. “When has logic ever triumphed in a situation such as this? You heard how many of your own people were killed today as they were swept up in the insanity the king has set into motion. Besides compensating your people for their loss, what else will you do about the situation?”

  Cameron frowned as he settled his hands at his side. “I will not go to war against a man I have sworn to protect.”

  “I am not asking you to, only that you find some way to dissuade the king from allowing my father to find fault in
people who are guilty of nothing.”

  “You believe if your father were not involved in the witch trials there would be far fewer convictions?”

  She nodded, unable to find the words to adequately convey the terror that shivered through her. The king was the one who gave her father the power over all his subjects to decide who was guilty or innocent. From her own experience and from her father’s record so far in the Berwick witch trials, no one was safe. The king had given her father full authority to extract confessions of guilt from anyone who came before him. Only one person had escaped being put to death so far. “You only see the best in people. My father deserves no such consideration.”

  “I am no friend of your father’s. Give me a reason to dispense my own form of justice here at Ravenscraig, Mariam. Give me one reason not to send word to the king and I will take care of this here and now.”

  Mariam wrapped her arms around her waist, trying to keep herself from trembling. Cameron was asking her to decide her father’s fate. If she told Cameron even one-tenth of what her father had done to her over the years, the laird would put the witch pricker to death, she had no doubt. Then his death would be on her—she would have caused it—confirming she was every bit as evil as her father.

  Cameron watched her with gentle understanding. “Give me a reason to end this here and now. Or, if you cannot, then I must proceed with my own plans for your father.”

  She straightened, knowing what choice she had to make in order to keep from becoming like the man she feared. “Do what you must, for I cannot judge my father as he judges everyone else. I will not become like him.”

  Cameron came forward and pried her hands away from her waist, taking them in his own. “You are nothing like your father, and you will never be. The course of your life is not predetermined no matter what the note in your shell said. You make your own destiny, just as I make mine. The choice is ours.” He looked deeply into her eyes. “I have seen evil. I have fought evil. But when I look at you, I see only goodness. I wish you could see what I see, but you will have to discover that truth for yourself.”

  She heard not just his words but also the emotion behind them. “Why do you care so much about what happens to me?”

  “You are my ward, and I . . . we are friends.” Raising her hand, Cameron placed a kiss on her fingers.

  His lips lingered upon her skin, sending warm ripples of sensation up her limb.

  “Cameron—”

  Thea and Mistress MacInnes entered the great hall just then. Cameron dropped her fingers, leaving a chill at his absence. However, his dark eyes did not waver from her own. “Promise to consider what I said.”

  “I promise.”

  He nodded then shifted his gaze to the women who were starting preparations for the evening meal. “I must leave you for a time. I must first check on your father, then write to the king.”

  Suddenly her body ached and her head drummed with a vengeance at the mention of the man who had sired her. “I should go see my father.”

  “You have no obligation to do so.”

  If her father was released and she did not go to see him and at least see to his comfort, he would take her neglect out on her in the most physical of ways. “My father will see that differently.”

  Cameron reluctantly nodded. “I will leave that to you, but ask that you do not go alone. When you are ready, bring either myself or my guardsman Ian with you.”

  She shouldn’t need a chaperone to see her own father, and yet she knew it would be for the best if she did. There was too much past between them—so much pain and too many memories. She had hoped by coming here she would leave all of that behind her. She had not. Her father, whether she wanted it or not, would always be a part of her life. And with as much power as the king had given him over the fate of those caught in the snare of the witch trials, she had to at least appear obedient to her father. Besides, what could he do to her in a castle filled with protectors? Cameron’s defense of her earlier had proven she was safe at least when he was near.

  “While I am gone, would you help Mistress MacInnes in her preparations for this evening? We have two special guests tonight who might be very frustrated when they learn their marital aspirations will come to naught.”

  “You promise to keep your word?” she asked in a hopeful voice.

  “I will never break a promise to you, Mariam.”

  An emotion so big, it took her off guard filled Mariam. Not only had he listened to her plea, but he would respect her wishes as well. No other man had ever done that for her. Joy, pleasure, triumph burst inside as she stepped forward, rose up on her toes, and kissed Cameron’s lips before she realized what she was doing. Instantly heat warmed her cheeks. She stepped back. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t thinking—”

  His gaze moved to her lips. “Even though I know I should not, I want to kiss you in return.”

  She moved farther away. “That would not be wise.”

  “Nay,” he replied. “The longer I am in your presence, the harder it is to rely on logic and discipline.”

  His words set off a wistful yearning inside her. She was tempted to close the distance between them again, to pull him close once more. But neither of them could afford to lose themselves in such a way. She was his ward. He was her guardian. At the reminder, she straightened. “I should help the others.”

  He frowned. “It seems we both have responsibilities we must attend to. Until this evening then.”

  A warm glow moved through her at his reluctance to leave her. “Aye, until then.”

  *

  Outside the door of the great hall, Cameron clenched his hands at his sides and forced a slow, even breath through his teeth. With everything inside him, he fought the need to go back inside the great hall. He wanted nothing more than to sweep Mariam off her feet and take her somewhere where they could both indulge in whatever this was between them.

  Mariam was a different sort of woman. She was beautiful and accomplished as so many others of her station were. Yet she also possessed an intelligence learned through the events of her life, not from any book. She did not behave with tranquil submissiveness as women were often taught. He liked that about her. He also appreciated the rebellious gleam he saw in her eyes at times, and the conspiratorial flash of a smile that appeared when the two of them found the same thing humorous.

  Cameron flexed his hands, but it did nothing to release the tension in his body. When she’d kissed him, his initial response had been an overwhelming desire to pull her to him and continue to explore her lips. But he could not lose himself to his desire, no matter how desperately he might want to. Such folly would not only throw him off guard, it would also be dangerous in the situation they now found themselves.

  He had appeased some of the villagers for now with his offer of restitution. Others, though satisfied with the compensation they’d received, wanted blood for blood. They’d come seeking Mariam to assuage that need. Now that John Swinton resided in his castle, it was only a matter of time before the villagers regrouped and attacked once more.

  As much as he wanted to go to the Isle of May with Mariam immediately to discover her unknown past, he had a far more urgent need to remove Swinton as far away from her and his people as possible. He had no choice but to delay their intended voyage a few days. And instead of writing to the king about how to proceed, he would take Swinton with him to Falkland Palace and talk with King James in person.

  Cameron’s mouth flattened. Mariam would not be pleased with his decision to put off their travel, but he would have to find a way to convince her it was for the best.

  Chapter Eight

  After the great hall was prepared for the evening meal, Mariam could no longer avoid the one task she’d been fearing more than any other: seeing her father. The last year had allowed her to set aside much of her past. But that all came rushing back the moment she’d come face-to-face with him again.

  She could no longer pretend she was not the daught
er of an evil man. All those gathered in the great hall earlier—who’d had loved ones pricked, tortured, and killed by her father—brought that truth home.

  Even so, her time with Cameron and at Ravenscraig had also shown her that she was not weak. Distance had provided her time to heal, and to see herself in a different light. Nessie had also helped her realize she might be her father’s daughter, but she was also her mother’s. She chose to believe her mother was filled with enough goodness to balance out the bad she might have inherited from her father. That thought gave her the courage to walk up the stairs to the third floor of the castle and down the hallway to the room her father occupied as Cameron’s “guest.”

  At the doorway she addressed the two guardsmen. “I wish to see my father.”

  The blond-haired guard she’d come to know as Orrin frowned. “M’laird said not to let you see the man alone.”

  “There are things I need to discuss with him in private—as a daughter to a father. Besides, I will not be alone. You’ll both be right outside the door. Keep the door ajar if you must. A few moments are all I ask.”

  The younger guard, Kyle, stepped closer. “What if he—”

  “He will not harm me. I am, after all, his only child.”

  Orrin’s brows knotted. “We should check with m’laird first.”

  Without waiting for permission or a response, Mariam pushed the latch and opened the door. Drawing upon every scrap of fortitude she possessed, she stepped into the chamber. Despite her attempt to control her emotions, her fingers shook and her heart raced.

  “Have you come to set me free or have you come to gloat?” He sat in a chair near the small hearth. At her entrance he stood, and with measured, heavy footsteps approached. Deep lines fanned from his dark eyes—eyes that bored into her own.