Page 13 of A Laird and a Gentleman

“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.