“Nessie!” Relief ran through Mariam’s blood so potently she felt weightless. “How did you know?”
“I heard you make a noise.” She let the kettle slip from her fingers to clang upon the floor. “I would never let him take you. I vowed to protect—”
“What is the meaning of this?” Cameron appeared from the great hall with a brace of candles. The golden light dispelled the darkness. His gaze shifted from the crumpled body of her father to Mariam’s bound hands, then to her face. “How did he escape?”
“My maid, Thea, released him.”
Cameron set the candelabra down. He reached for the sgian dubh he kept in his boot and quickly severed her bindings. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “Oh, Mariam. I shouldn’t have waited to take him away.”
“I am unharmed.”
“For that, I am thankful.” His voice, so warm and rich, curled around her. “I will make certain that is the last time he will ever lay a hand on you. Where is your maid now?” Cameron asked.
Mariam burrowed deeper against his chest. “I do not know. I can only imagine the kind of persuasion it must have taken to get her to do something like this.”
“I’ll have my men search the castle to find her.”
“I’m certain she is gone. Would you remain after such a betrayal?” She shivered as the night’s events finally caught up to her.
“You’re probably right, but I’ll have them search, just to be safe.” Cameron’s arms wrapped more tightly around her, holding her close. Warmth and strength seeped from his body to hers, dispelling her fear and reminding her she was safe.
But others were not. Mariam pulled back. “Orrin and Kyle are injured . . . perhaps dead. Thea drugged their food or their drink in order to reach my father.”
Indecision flared in Cameron’s eyes as his gaze shifted away from her to the man on the floor. Cameron moved away and squatted beside her father, sliding his fingers along the exposed skin of his throat. “He lives,” Cameron said flatly. “You and Mistress MacInnes go see to Orrin and Kyle while I immobilize this man once and for all. I’ll wake the others to help you and to prepare for our immediate departure.”
“You’ll leave now, while it’s still dark?” Mariam asked.
Cameron’s features set with determination. “I’ll not have this man in my castle any longer. I’ll not give him another chance to hurt you or anyone else.”
Chapter Eleven
Less than an hour later, Cameron rode away from Ravenscraig with a contingent of twelve men as the first pink streaks of dawn lightened the sky. The small caravan surrounded a wagon pulling the bound and chained John Swinton. He would be transported like a criminal to a place where all those whom he had persecuted might finally see justice served.
The journey to Falkland Palace would take them ten long hours—longer than Cameron usually liked to push the horses over the course of a day. But he had to make this trip away from the castle and Mariam as short as possible. The lowland terrain would not be difficult. To the west, east, and north stretched glens and valleys, fertile pastures, a sprinkling of lochs, and winding streams. Only when they were much closer to Falkland would they encounter any difficulty from the landscape in the Lomond Hills.
Danger would come from other sources despite the fact that he and his men were well armed. Cameron set his jaw and scoured the landscape ahead of them. The pastures they passed through were lush and green, stretching for miles, and filled with herds of cattle that ignored them as they went by. At the sight of the animals, Cameron smiled as he remembered how Mariam had gathered the sheep. If she were here now, he had no doubt the beasts would follow them all the way to Falkland Palace. His smile slipped, and an empty ache suddenly filled his chest. He hated to leave her, but he’d had no choice. Her father had seen to that. A quick glance at the wagon confirmed the man was still unconscious. If only he would remain so for their entire journey.
An hour passed before Cameron’s second in command, Keith MacFarlane, came to ride beside him. “Judging by the way you’re scouring the countryside, I’d say you’re expecting trouble.”
“You saw the villagers when they came to us. They wanted Swinton’s blood. Mariam’s maid has no doubt informed them of Swinton’s escape.” Cameron changed their course to the west, moving them to a more open, exposed area closer to the shoreline.
“So, you hear them behind us as well?” Keith asked.
“Aye,” Cameron replied. “I picked up the sound of someone following us shortly after we departed.”
Keith brought his gaze to Cameron’s. “Should we send the caravan on, while you and I loop back and see who is following?”
“I’m all but certain it is the villagers again, and I do not wish them harm. Swinton needs us here to protect him.”
Keith frowned. “You’ll protect that man after all he’s done?”
“It is up to the king, not us, to determine what to do with him.”
Keith’s brows pulled together. “If we are attacked, will you defend him with your life?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
Keith sighed and shook his head. “You are a good man, Sinclair. I’m not sure I would risk as much.”
“Then let us hope it doesn’t come to that.” Cameron pushed his horse into a faster gait, forcing the others to do the same. The sooner he returned to Mariam, the better. He still had to help her figure out her past, and possibly her future.
He had tried his damnedest to ignore the power she had over him—and he’d been successful for the better part of a year. But lately, no matter how hard he tried to remove himself from his feelings, she pulled him back. There was no other woman like her in all of Scotland. Cameron smiled wistfully at the memory of how she’d been able to put out the fire that had threatened the castle. Truly she was one of a kind.
He cared for her. Probably more than a guardian should care about his ward. Her guardianship was another topic he intended to discuss with the king. He could keep Mariam safe from attackers, but how much longer could he keep her safe from himself? He and Alexander had talked not too long ago about how Quinn, Reid, and Lachlan Douglas had married and were still able to serve the king as members of his special guard. The seven of them took turns attending the king personally, and all lived within several hours of Falkland Palace. They could form a battalion with their own guardsmen within a few hours, if needed to support the king and queen.
That was their call to service, but could they also have a life apart from protecting the royals? Could they have more of a life outside of what the king demanded?
In that moment, Cameron had never wanted anything more. He had never seen Mariam as an “evil” Swinton as many of his own people did. For all of last year, he had only ever looked upon her as a woman in need of guidance and protection. But now he wanted something more—something far more intimate. He wanted a relationship with her not as a guardian and a ward, but as a husband and wife.
Cameron clenched the reins in his hands. At Bucephalus’s irritated whicker, Cameron relaxed his grip. He didn’t know when or how it had happened, but over the past few days he had let his defenses down and had let Mariam fill the emptiness he never realized was inside him.
The sudden sound of hoofbeats broke him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see four riders and eight men on foot coming toward them. Cameron pulled his horse to a stop. They carried no swords, only scythes and axes. They were still worthy weapons if this came to a battle.
Beside him, Keith drew his sword, followed by the others in the caravan.
“Surround the wagon,” Cameron ordered. From behind he could also hear the thundering of hoofbeats. He turned to see six more horsemen, equipped with similar weapons. He did not pull his sword. He would listen to them first, and try to reason with them before this ever became a battle, which the villagers could not win.
Cameron had faced worse odds in battles past, and had spilled his share of blood. Those battles had been against enemies of
the crown, and of Scotland, not his own people. Diplomacy was the only answer here.
The challengers stopped both ahead of and behind the caravan. As soon as they did, another horseman appeared from the group to the south. This man’s clothing was finer than the rest and he had a sword strapped to his side. The man removed his hat and offered Cameron the first sight of his face: he was none other than Peter Mason.
“What is the meaning of this, Mason?” Cameron asked, waiting calmly for the man to make his next move.
“These gentlemen have some unfinished business with the man you are transporting.”
Cameron narrowed his gaze. “Why are you here? It’s not as if you support their cause.”
“I’m an opportunist. Your men cannot guard Swinton and their leader at the same time,” Mason said, a taunting smile curving his lips. “A skirmish will be the perfect cover-up for what I intend to do to you.”
“Why?” Cameron asked.
“Because I find I want more compensation for the loss of Mariam than you were willing to provide.” His features tightened. “I saw the way you looked at her last night. You sent Sibbald and me away so that you could have the woman for yourself.”
“I sent you away because the woman in question decided she didn’t want to marry yet.”
Mason laughed. “Who said anything about marriage? I have other plans for the girl if what these men say is true. I do find it rather amusing that the witch pricker’s daughter turned out to be a witch.”
Cameron wasn’t going to argue with the man about Mariam’s abilities. He kept his expression neutral. “You think killing me will get you what you want?”
A flicker of anticipation lit Mason’s face. “Aye.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to bargain with me? I am on my way to see the king. Once I tell him what you attempted here against a ward of the crown, your life will alter, and not for the better.”
A cold, hard edge crept into Mason’s voice. “You’ll never get that chance to see the king.” He drew his sword and charged forward on his horse.
The moment Mason engaged, the others advanced on the men surrounding the wagon. Cameron wasn’t concerned about his men’s ability to protect their prisoner. They were highly trained, and he knew they would do their best to safeguard Swinton without harming those who attacked—those who were his own people. Cameron, however, had no idea of Mason’s skills. He’d learned many battles ago never to underestimate an opponent.
He drew his sword and focused all his attention on the man who charged. Cameron’s horse held steady though he could feel Bucephalus’s muscles flex and bunch beneath him. They’d been through many battles together.
As Mason’s blade came down, the clangor of steel rang in the air. Cameron easily blocked the strike and pushed his own blade forward, unseating his attacker from his horse. Cameron’s easy victory proved the man had very little skill with a blade.
A grunt followed by a howl of fury punctuated the air. Mason staggered to his feet.
Cameron slid from his horse and moved to Mason’s side. “We could end this now before you get hurt.”
Mason surged forward once more with an indecipherable curse. Cameron thrust forward, upward, sideways, easily blocking every blow.
His face red with fury, Mason heaved his weapon over his head and charged like a raging bull. But Cameron easily spun away as the force of the man’s blow came down to plow into the earth at his feet instead.
Cameron brought his boot down against the back of Mason’s leg and sent him falling face down in the dirt. His sword flew several feet away. While Mason struggled to right himself, Cameron retrieved the weapon. When they were face-to-face again, they stared at each other. Finally, Cameron spoke, “This ends now. I have no wish to kill you, but I will if you do not stand down.”
Mason’s chest heaved with repressed emotion. “I need a wife.”
“This is not the best way to go about obtaining one.” As the two men talked, the battle beyond died down as the villagers clutched their wounds and fled on foot and with their horses. Only his own warriors, and Cameron and Mason, remained. The battle must have awakened Swinton because he sat up in the wagon, eyes wide, cursing profoundly at his mistreatment.
Cameron pressed his lips together. What remained of the journey would not be as peaceful now that the man had regained his senses. Turning back to Mason he said, “Why did you do it?”
Mason heaved a ragged breath. “I had such high hopes for my own future when you invited me to woo Lady Mariam. My father’s passing has left me with a huge estate, one that I am managing poorly. The fields and cattle are thriving. Though with my father’s death, he’d given retainers to many of his older staff and they left without finding replacements. The household has turned into chaos, and is in desperate need of a feminine hand.” He looked down at his scraped and dirty hands. “I feel as though I am drowning every day in responsibility that I cannot handle alone.” He looked up again. A weary, almost helpless expression drained his face of color. “A part of me dies every day as a result.”
Cameron sheathed his sword and tucked Mason’s into his belt as he strode forward. He stopped before him and reached out, grasping Mason by the upper arms. “I apologize if you feel I have deceived you in any way with regards to Mariam’s availability. If you are in such desperate need of a wife, then come with us to Falkland Palace and I will petition the king on your behalf.”
The tension between the two men drained away as Mason’s cheeks flamed. “You would do that for me . . . after I . . . I’m so sorry.”
Cameron dropped his hands and stepped back. “Let us put this behind us. Though if you don’t mind, I will keep a hold on your sword until we arrive at our destination.”
Mason’s cheeks brightened to a deep red. “Aye. I should have known better than to attack a seasoned warrior, and one of the king’s own men.”
Cameron smiled. “I understand more than you know. Where women are concerned, men seem to throw logic into the wind.”
Chapter Twelve
Illness wasn’t coming to Ravenscraig. It was already there. Mariam’s dream had been right once again, no matter how much she prayed she’d be wrong this one time. Cameron had been gone for one day when signs of influenza started appearing in both the elderly and the young inhabitants of the castle, including someone who’d become very dear to her.
Mariam sat at Nessie’s bedside, cooling the older woman’s feverish forehead with a cool cloth. This morning, twelve others had started showing symptoms of an illness with fever and chills, aches and pains, weakness and fatigue. But by the late afternoon that number had swelled to thirty-two.
Hoping to keep those who were sick isolated from the healthy, Mariam had set up the great hall as a sickroom. Anyone else who started showing symptoms was to be placed on a pallet. Her remaining maids Petunia and Estella had bravely volunteered to keep watch over the patients while trying to keep their heads cool with damp cloths.
At the thought of what would eventually happen to those who had fallen ill, fear lodged in Mariam’s throat like a lump. Influenza was as deadly as it was swift. With an effort, she forced the thought aside. She would do anything to reverse the effect, if only she knew how.
Nessie lay against the bed linens in her chamber upstairs, pale and limp. Her breathing was ragged and her lips parched. Mariam might not know what else to do, but she could at least give the older woman some water to help bring her fever down. She poured water from a pitcher into a pewter mug and, careful not to move Nessie too harshly, raised her head slightly and put the mug to the woman’s lips. It took a while for Nessie to realize the water was there before her lips parted and she took a small sip. “That’s it, try a bit more,” Mariam encouraged.
When Nessie had taken several sips, a low, pained groan issued from her. Her eyes cracked open and she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the candlelight.
After resettling her on the pillow, Mariam looked in Nessie’s face and saw her own deep-sea
ted despair mirrored back at her. “I don’t know how to help you—or any of the others. Do you know of a way? I’ve heard of influenza and its deadly spread before, but never experienced it myself. I need help.”
Nessie’s mouth opened slightly but nothing came out. Still, Mariam could make out the formation of the words ‘your magic.’
“My magic?” she echoed aloud.
Nessie nodded.
Panic clutched Mariam’s heart. She straightened, fighting the emotion. She had to stay strong. She must keep her head. Nessie’s recovery and that of so many others depended on it. “I don’t know how to channel whatever this is I have. All I have been able to accomplish is to unleash wind and make it rain.”
Nessie nodded again. “Fresh . . . air.”
Mariam sprang to her feet and went to open the shutters, allowing the late afternoon air to swirl about the chamber. Instantly the sweet smell of heather permeated the room, lifting Mariam’s spirits.
On the bed, Nessie struggled to sit up. “More. Use . . . your . . . gift.”
A stab of fear traveled the length of Mariam’s spine.
“Try . . .”
Mariam stood beside the window. Not really knowing what to do, she closed her eyes. In her mind, she implored the air outside to gather and swirl. She summoned the air to come through the window and circle the chamber. Suddenly Mariam’s whole body felt as though it was infused with strength and power.
As if on command, the wind rushed in. The bed drapes fluttered and the picture of a Scottish landscape rattled its frame against the wall behind it. Nessie’s hair lifted, streaking out behind her as the wind passed her by. Then as quickly as it came, it left.
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