Page 10 of A Laird and a Gentleman

“Something is different about you.” Alexander paused, then said, “I’ve never seen you this way before.”

“What way?”

“Unsettled. Uncertain.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Cameron scoffed as he turned to face the fire in the hearth, pretending to study the reddish-gold flames when all his thoughts were on the redheaded woman abovestairs. “I am as I always was.”

All seriousness now, Alexander came to join him. “Do you ever wonder if things could be different for us? If we could be more than men existing on the edge of life and death?”

Silence fell between them until Cameron sighed. “I see their faces—the children, the women of Scotland—and I know I must do my duty to keep them safe. I do not do what I do for the king. I do it for them.”

“As do I,” Alexander said. “But no one holds us to only a life as a protector. You and I can both become more.”

“Can we?” The words felt scraped from his throat. “At what cost? Their lives are in our hands. Warriors—that is what we are.”

“We can be both warrior and man. Reid, Quinn, and Lachlan are not lesser warriors now that they have wives. Why would it be any different for you or me?”

Cameron shook his head. “My mistress is the sea and my attention already fractured by my men and my ships. There is no room for anything or anyone else.”

“Ships do not keep you warm at night.”

“But the fine linens those ships bring back from the East, do.”

Alexander turned back to the fire. “If that is so, then perhaps it’s time to find Mariam a husband and send her away instead of keeping her locked away. Laird Sibbald’s wife recently died. I have heard he is seeking to remarry. He is both young and wealthy, and would make Mariam a fine husband.”

Cameron closed his eyes and clenched his hands into fists. Alexander was right. Mariam would be less of a distraction if she were someone else’s problem. Having her physically away from him would give him the perspective he needed.

“I have considered such a thing before. She is of marriageable age,” he said, trying to convince himself that she had to go, even though he had promised her she could stay. It would be easy to find her a husband, then ask for the king’s blessing. Perhaps Sibbald could be the answer to his problem. Cameron knew Sibbald to be a decent man and a capable warrior.

It wouldn’t be as if he were casting Mariam out. He would see that she had a protector who could handle not only a difficult woman, but also the difficult task of protecting her. But even as he knew what must be done, a pang of jealousy kicked him in the heart. Another man would one day possess her.

Cameron ignored his own reaction. “Who else do we know who might make Mariam a worthy bridegroom? Someone who can keep her safe from both her father and his enemies?”

Before Alexander could reply, a scream tore through the stillness of the evening.

“Mariam.” Cameron met Alexander’s gaze an instant before he bolted from the chamber, leaving his brother-in-arms behind. Cameron took the steps two at a time and raced down the hallway until he came to Mariam’s chamber. He threw the bolt aside, relieved it was still in place and that no one from the castle attacked her. He burst into her chamber and came to a halt beside the bed.

The bedclothes were tangled around her, and the nightshift she wore had drifted up, exposing the pale sheen of her flesh. In the dim light he could see the long length of her bare leg, the curve of her hip, the jut of a single shoulder, and the spill of burnished hair across the pale linens. Her head thrashed back and forth as she remained in the grip of a dream. Or was it a nightmare?

He sat beside her and pulled the bed linens over her body. “Mariam. Wake up. ’Tis only a dream.”

She stopped thrashing and shifted. Moved close, tucking her head against his thigh. Only whimpers emerged from her now. Sad, frightened whimpers.

She was warm against him and despite his attempts to hold himself back, his fingers found her brow. He stroked her hair away from her face, noting how fair her flesh was against the sun and sea-weathered skin of his hand. “Mariam, wake up,” he repeated.

She stirred, murmuring. “Darkness . . . devastation. It’s as though the whole world is gone . . .” Her small, slender hand came up to gently cover his where it rested on her cheek. “Not alone this time. Not alone . . .”

Her hand tensed and her eyes flared open. Her gaze caught his for a moment before anything registered. When it did, she sat bolt upright in the bed, scrambling backward, taking the covers with her. “What are you doing here?”

“You screamed. I came to aid you. When I arrived, I found you in the clutches of a dream. Though from your descriptions, it wasn’t a pleasant dream.”

“Nay, it was not.” Vulnerability and fear lingered in her words.

“Tell me about it. Perhaps if you share your dream, it will not seem so bad.” When she hesitated, he took her hand in his, hoping it would reassure her.

She swallowed roughly, then nodded. “Snow fell from the sky, yet it wasn’t snow. The sky turned green, then purple, before everything faded to black. I couldn’t breathe . . . I couldn’t move. Death was all around me.” She pulled her hand out of his and clenched both of hers tightly in her lap. “I don’t know what it means, but it can’t be anything good.”

“It was only a dream, Mariam,” Cameron soothed. “A frightening one, but how could any of that happen? It has to be a dream.”