Page 4 of A Laird and a Gentleman

Suddenly fearful of what was to come, Mariam clutched her palms and turned away from the crowd, heading for the open gates. Perhaps it was best if she ran away from the coming confrontation, at least for a little while.

“Mariam.” Cameron’s voice rose above the crowd.

She froze, then slowly turned to face her guardian. Would he force her to leave here and now in front of everyone? Mariam shivered at the thought.

“You will see to our guests.” His words were spoken politely, but they were a command not a request.

Grateful he had not spurned her in front of the entire castle, and knowing she could not refuse, Mariam headed for the men who had dismounted. “Of course.” She forced the response past the lump of fear in her throat. “This way, gentlemen, if you would like refreshments before supper.”

“I’ll see to the horses then join you.” She heard Cameron’s voice over the chitter of excited voices in the courtyard. “And, Mariam, we will discuss your future very soon.” At the words, those who remained in the courtyard turned to stare at her with suspicion before once again looking away.

Mariam tucked her head into her shoulder as she hurried inside, giving herself no time to react. And still, her mind wandered to the man who held her life in his hands as she led their guests into the great hall. She waved them toward a table on the right side of the chamber. “Help yourselves to a light repast prepared by our cook. Laird Sinclair will join you shortly.”

Over the past year, Cameron had treated her as no one else in her life ever had. He did not look at her with fear or suspicion, nor did he appraise her with a lurid eye, gauging what he could take from her. Nay, his eyes were watchful, but always kind. He had treated her with consideration, despite her own poor behavior. And when he spoke to her, he did not speak around her, or over her. Conversations with him were a give and take. He asked her what she thought, and replied to her questions with honest and thoughtful answers such that she had never been given before.

Slowly her fear faded as she gazed about the busy chamber at the men who drank and talked among themselves. She’d enjoyed being the lady of the castle for the year she’d been here. Would all that come to an end now that she had acted against Cameron’s wishes? Sweet heavens, why had she kept silent when she could have cleared Lachlan Douglas with a simple statement of truth?

A chill slithered down her spine. Because she was the daughter of an evil man. Evil blood ran in her veins. Mariam’s knees weakened and she staggered, stumbled, then felt a hand grasp her arm to steady her.

She knew that touch, and the soft scent of the wind and the sea that accompanied it. Cameron. “You should be repulsed by the very sight of me.”

When their eyes met, he did not look at her with cordiality as he had in the past. Nay, this time his gaze brought a flush to her cheeks and sent that evil blood of hers racing through her limbs as it never had before. She swallowed and drew a shaky breath, then stepped back, forcing him to release her arm.

“Nothing about you repulses me, Mariam. It never has,” he said with an odd intensity to his voice and a strange look in his eyes—one she’d never seen before. As laird of the castle, the man before her held enormous power, and she suddenly couldn’t guess at his feelings.

Nervously, she clutched the shell necklace around her neck for support. The shell warmed in her hand as she stared at the man before her. She knew he wanted an apology for how she had acted at the tribunal. But she remained as silent as she had there. Only the distant conversation of his guests could be heard in the heavy silence.

She was about to speak when he said, “I will not send you away.” His words were flat, devoid of either anger or comfort.

Mariam’s heart lurched with relief. “I am grateful.”

“You may not be so grateful when I tell you what your silence has cost you.”

Mariam straightened. She was entirely at his mercy if she wanted to remain at Ravenscraig, but she still had a small amount of pride she refused to surrender. “What penance would you have me do?”

“For the moment, you will tend our guests. On the morrow they will depart on one of my ships for Spain with very valuable cargo. There will be much risk to them during their journey. For tonight, I’d like them to forget all except contentment.”

Mariam gaped at him. “You’ll make me stew over what tomorrow will bring?”

“I said I would not cast you out. That should be comforting enough.”

Mariam looked away. “I should have expected that you would serve me back what I have given to others. I deserve as much.”

Cameron grasped her chin and pulled her gaze back to his. “Nay, you do not.” A torrent of wild emotions shadowed his lean and elegant features—anger, disappointment, then pity.

His anger she had prepared herself for, but pity . . . that emotion took her completely off guard. No one had ever cared enough about her to pity her before. Her throat tightened.

“No one deserves either mental or physical torture, but I want you to experience just a hint of the distress you put Lachlan through,” Cameron continued. “I want you to think about what you did to him so you will never do such a thing again. Understood?”

She knew exactly what such torment was like. Had he forgotten who her father was? Instead of arguing, Mariam nodded, then before she could catch her response, hot tears sprang to her eyes. As quickly as they came, she forced the tears deep into the recesses of her soul where her father had driven them years ago.

Mariam Swinton never cried.

She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Nay, Mariam Swinton never gave in. She might be mean, and self-serving, but she never, ever cried.

*

Cameron found himself experiencing a multitude of wild emotions that brought down his usual defenses. He’d only been away for a week, yet in that time the woman before him had greatly altered.