Page 31 of A Laird and a Gentleman

At the question, panic stamped on the girl’s delicate features. “Ye ken how curious I am. ’Twas nothin’ but my own need tae ken everythin’ that’s goin’ on at the castle that brought me outdoors this morn. And I didn’t just follow ye. I also tailed Mistress MacInnes as she went tae talk with cook about yer breakfast, and I hid in the hallway outside the armory when the guardsman Ian talked with the men about the villagers.”

“Your own brother was among those villagers.”

Thea wrapped her arms around her middle as if she were trying to console herself. “’Twas why I hid outside the doorway. If the guardsmen had moved tae attack, I would’ve made a case against doin’ so. I already lost my ma, I did nae want tae lose my brother too.” Remorse filled Thea’s eyes. “I’ll try harder in the future to curb my curiosity, milady.”

Mariam was slightly comforted by the girl’s sincere tone, even though something still seemed a little off with the young woman. She had explained her presence on the hillside this morning, and she had declared her loyalty. What more proof did Mariam need? After all, she knew what it felt like to have her own motives questioned. “I believe you are telling me the truth. Let us put this behind us then. Shall we?” Mariam stepped past the girl to the bedside and loosened the lacings of her bodice before pulling her day dress over her head and setting it atop the coverlet.

“Aye, milady.” With an audible sigh, the maid moved toward a tall wardrobe on the wall opposite the door and swung the doors wide. “Tae be honest, when I started servin’ ye a year ago, ’twas difficult—ye being a Swinton and all. But ye were nothin’ like I expected.” Though the young maid’s motions were stilted, her tone had lightened. “Then on last Boxing Day, when ye not only gave me coins, but also a beautiful length of lace, I knew the truth about ye.”

“What truth is that?” Mariam asked, almost fearful of the answer.

She offered Mariam a smile that wasn’t reflected in her eyes. “Ye have a kind heart, though ye try nae tae show it.”

“You’re very perceptive, Thea,” Mariam said, still trying to come to terms with Thea’s odd behavior, until she finally decided she was placing her own anxiety upon the girl. Instead, Mariam turned her thoughts toward the night ahead as she waited by the bedside in her chemise. Tonight’s banquet would be an intimate affair with only she, Cameron, Peter Mason, and David Sibbald sitting at the high table while Cameron’s men ate at the tables below.

“Which dress would ye like tae wear?” Thea asked as she thumbed through Mariam’s dresses.

“The green.”

Thea frowned. “Green is yer best color, but ’twould be unwise tae wear yer green gown tonight.” She turned back to the wardrobe and withdrew a sapphire-blue damask gown. “This’ll look lovely on ye, yet make ye look cool and aloof. We don’t want these men tae fall in love with ye now, do we?”

Mariam couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Nay, we do not want any declarations for my hand tonight.”

At her side, the maid’s gaze dropped to Mariam’s throat. “Whatever has happened to yer neck?”

“’Tis nothing.”

Thea’s eyes widened. “Doesn’t look like nothin’.” She pressed her lips together. “Let me put some rosemary oil on it tae reduce the swelling, if I may.”

“That would be most welcome, Thea.” The maid grabbed a vial from a shelf near the wardrobe then deftly applied the soothing oil. Instantly, the burning sensation eased.

Once done, Thea continued her task of dressing her mistress, slipping the sapphire gown over Mariam’s head. Then, instructing her mistress to take a seat at the dressing table, Thea worked quickly to shape Mariam’s red hair into an artful presentation.

When she was done, Thea stepped back, inspecting her work. “It needs one thing more,” she said, moving to the storage trunk where Mariam kept several lengths of ribbon. The maid returned with a dark blue and lacy ribbon and tied it about Mariam’s neck, over the redness there. Once again she stepped back, inspecting her work, this time with a satisfied smile. “Ye look very nice, my lady, but just short of enchanting.”

Mariam brought her fingers up to touch the lace at her neck. Thea was wise to conceal the mark from Cameron and everyone else. “Thank you, Thea. I know I don’t say that enough. You are quite skilled and I do appreciate your efforts on my behalf.”

The maid’s face paled and her gaze dropped to the floor. “Yer welcome.”

Mariam stood, then smoothed her hands over the silky fabric of her gown. “I suppose I cannot put this off any longer.” Gathering her nerve, she left the room and headed down the stairs to the great hall.

Chapter Nine

A cacophony of sound greeted Mariam as she stepped into the chamber, followed by the scent of roasted mutton and onions. She paused a moment, fortifying herself for the night ahead when the noise in the room suddenly died and all eyes fastened on her. Cameron stood as she entered, along with the two men at his side. On legs that trembled ever so slightly, Mariam made her way forward.

Cameron looked every bit the lord of the castle tonight, dressed as he was in a tartan of green, red, blue, black, and white with a snowy-white shirt beneath. The Sinclair plaid. He looked every inch the Scotsman—sleek, masculine, and elegant. “You look lovely,” he said, as his gaze moved over her from head to toe before lingering briefly on her neck, then moving down to the rise of her breasts as they pressed against her low-cut bodice. Appreciation shone in his eyes.

Her flesh tingled beneath his gaze and heat moved through her in mindless, melting circles that only intensified as he took her by the arm, leading her forward. As they passed the lower tables where his men sat, a low-level murmur replaced the silence.

At the high table, Cameron motioned to the chair beside him. When she was seated, the others took their seats. “I have already informed our guests of your decision not to marry anytime soon,” he stated in a smooth, unhurried voice.

She forced a calm smile as her gaze met that of Peter Mason. He was younger than she’d expected. Perhaps a score and five. He was tall and lean. His shoulders were broad and straight. His mouth might be made for kindness, but his eyes were filled with anger. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for coming all this way only to be told he had come in vain. “I am truly sorry you traveled all this way under a misapprehension.”

Peter Mason lifted his tankard of ale and drank deeply. Setting his wooden mug on the table once again, he leaned back, appraising her. “Laird Sinclair has compensated us with game from his woodlands. Until I set eyes upon you, I deemed it was enough. Now I am not so certain.”

“You’re mad, Mason,” David Sibbald argued. “Laird Sinclair was more than generous. He gave us enough meat to see us through the months ahead.”

David was older than Peter by at least another score. His eyes were a deep brown that should have lent some color to his face beneath his graying hair and brows. Instead, he looked tired and worn. He sported a pointed beard that was also threaded with gray. A fleeting emotion, both subtle and reserved, flickered in his eyes as he said, “Lady Mariam, ’tis a pleasure to meet you. Pay no heed to Mason. From our hunting this afternoon I can tell the young buck is the competitive sort. He’s more upset that he didn’t win your hand than he is about not marrying you.”