A Laird and a Gentleman

by Gerri Russell

  A sheet of black velvet etched with silver and gray stretched out before her—devoid of any other signs of life. Her heart wrenched. She had hoped to see Cameron and his men, heading her way. Instead, there was nothing.

  Mariam drew a wheezing breath, suddenly feeling helpless and lost. Would she ever see Cameron again? She closed her eyes and allowed herself to remember the sound of his voice and how it made her breath catch and the way her body stirred beneath his gaze. She’d spent the last two days thinking of him, imagining him beside her, longing for his touch.

  Mariam opened her eyes as a feeling of peace came over her, as if she had somehow connected to the life-force inside the man who filled her thoughts. Cameron was safe. Of that she was certain. A giddiness came over her, only to be crushed a heartbeat later with guilt. So many others would not be so fortunate if she didn’t do something fast. The ash kept falling, heavier now. Was it nature that was responsible or something else she had never considered?

  Piles of ash gathered around Mariam’s feet at least six inches in height. First to fall had been dark sand, then a finer gray layer, then an off-white layer as fine as dust. Beneath the ash, the grass had lost its brilliant green, the flowers had withered, the leaves on the trees had already started to curl and die.

  A breeze stung Mariam’s cheeks, whipping the edges of her hair about her face. Her fingers trembled as she gazed at the dark shadows of objects in the distance. She longed for one of those shapes to be Cameron, but knew it was only more ash. Once the plant life had died, the animals would be next, then humans.

  Someone had to stop the inevitable. That someone was her.

  Mariam drew a shallow breath of acrid air into her lungs. The air helped to focus her thoughts and her purpose. She had controlled the wind twice now. Could she do it again and prevent the ash from consuming all that it touched?

  Nessie had said Mariam’s mother also had such a gift. That very fact should have made her feel special. It did not. Instead, it made her feel a great sense of obligation. If she had powers, then she should use them, not as her father would, to benefit only himself. Perhaps like her mother would have, to help all those in need of whatever it was she could do to ease their suffering.

  Her own breathing sounded overly loud in her ears. What if she failed? She had no training. If only her mother were here to teach her . . . Tears came to her lashes only to be swept away by the wind. Needing comfort, she reached for the shell necklace resting between her breasts. The shell warmed beneath her touch. It calmed her as she connected with the woman who had given it to her.

  Feeling more centered, Mariam released the shell. Ravenscraig, and all those inside, would be safe from the ash. She would make certain of it. She had skills others did not. In her mind she visualized a mighty gust of wind. Then, lifting her hands, with palms out, she sent her very essence into the distance.

  A cold, thin wind grew, whistling through the trees in the distance, setting them swaying in unison as if they were dancing. Dry leaves flew up to mix with the ash in a whirlwind of rustling, bronze and gold and gray, to swirl all around her from head to toe. The air was alive and moving, sweeping out death and bringing with it a newness of life.

  Mariam stood completely still, afraid to move, to stop whatever she had created. She dug deeper inside herself, trying desperately to clear the ash away over the cliffs to settle into the waters of the Firth of Forth.

  The air began to clear, and Mariam could see the sun low on the horizon, beginning to set. But the golden rays were enough to cut through the previous darkness. There were strange sounds now, like voices coming from the distance. Then shapes. And strange glowing lights. She tried to focus on the light as the wind continued to whip past her, almost weighing her down. Her feet were now rooted in place and it felt as though she were sinking.

  The world before her shifted, danced as shadows arranged themselves in hues of gray and black before her eyes. The light was slipping away. She was losing the battle as all her energy drained from her. She’d tried so hard, but she wasn’t strong enough to battle so much destruction.

  Unable to move or give anything more, panic swelled up from inside her, pulling her into a black, whirling eddy. The world tilted and spun, became a frightening blur and she felt as though she were losing control of her mind, her body, her senses. She started to shake as she continued to sink toward the ground, surrendering to the dark void that called her.

  *

  The very air was alive with magic as Kendric, Niall, and Jimmy led the village men in a charge on Ravenscraig Castle. Illness had killed two villagers already, and threatened many more, bringing a renewed terror to those who already feared Mariam Swinton.

  When the sky had filled with darkness, the men of the village were determined to take matters into their own hands, without Kendric having to place such a thought in their heads. They wanted the witch.

  They wanted Mariam to use her magic to send the illness away and to heal all who suffered. And if she could not, then the witch would suffer as all their loved ones had—at the stake.

  This time, nothing could turn them away. Sinclair was gone and influenza had taken its toll on his warriors along with everyone else . . . even him.

  A wave of nausea turned Kendric’s stomach then punched it as he pushed himself forward. He might be leading the villagers to the castle, but once there, he needed the witch to restore him to health before they took her to the stake. He prayed that she could. Thea would not lie to her own brother about what the woman’s magic could do.

  Thea . . . Kendric hoped his sister had escaped influenza’s virulent hand. He’d sent her to their grandmother’s house, along the shores of Aberlady. She’d left before anyone in the village had fallen ill. Thea had to be all right. And when he was free of the illness, he would make certain she thrived despite the fact he had forced her to betrayal her mistress.

  Kendric reached up and wiped the sticky, ash-coated sweat from his brow, forcing himself to keep moving forward. They reached the approach to the drawbridge when Kendric saw a dark shape ahead. As they moved closer, he saw the faint outline of a body lying prone on the ground. As they drew closer, it appeared to be Mariam. He shuffled faster until he reached her side. She was a heap of green wool and bright red hair, with one arm pinned to her side, and the other stretched out over her head. Heart pounding, he bent down and rolled her onto her back.

  Mariam’s face was colorless. Fear lodged in his throat. Was she already dead?

  He shook Mariam as the other men gathered around him, watching. “Wake up, Witch.”

  Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. She stared at him for a long moment before recognition flared in the depths of her eyes. “Kendric?”

  Relief rushed through him. She could still heal them. “Get up. We need yer help.”

  Ash clung to her cheeks and her eyelashes as she slowly sat and looked at those gathered close. In her eyes, Kendric saw aching despair. He turned his head, ignoring the emotion. She was only trying to gain his sympathy to save her own life. He stood on shaky legs.

  “You are all ill, aren’t you?” Mariam frowned.

  The village blacksmith Angus and four other men who had been spared from the illness so far, stepped close to the witch, forming a circle around Mariam. “Use yer magic tae heal us,” he demanded.

  “Take back this plague ye have brought upon us,” Kendric added, before a rattling cough took hold.

  “I do not have that ability,” Mariam said, as she gained her feet. “But I do know who can. There is a healer inside Ravenscraig’s great hall. She has restored nearly everyone to health since she arrived. She will help you too. Come.” Mariam took a tentative step within the circle in the direction of the drawbridge. “Let me take you there.”

  The men did not move. Instead, they looked from one to the other as though deciding how to proceed. Finally, Angus narrowed his gaze. “If ye will na help us then what good are ye?”

  “I said I would help you, but not with
magic. I am not a witch.”

  Laughter broke out among the men.

  “We saw ye move the wind as we were approachin’ the castle. Ash and leaves were flyin’ every which way, all at yer command. If yer nae a witch, then what are ye, Mother Nature herself?” When Angus recovered from his merriment, he looped the rope in his hands. With a nod of his head, he signaled to the others to hold the girl.

  “Nay! I can help you,” Mariam cried as fear flashed in her eyes.

  Angus and his men ignored her pleas as he slipped the loop over her hands, yanking it tight. Kendric took out a second rope from the bag at his back and bound Mariam’s feet, forcing her off-balance. She hit the ground with a thud.

  Ash wafted in the air around her as Mariam struggled against her bonds. “This is a mistake. You must set me free. I do not want to hurt you. I can help.”

  Angus turned to Kendric. “Take those who are ill tae the castle and demand the healer help ye while the rest of us take care of the woman. Agreed?”

  With one last look at Mariam, Kendric shuffled toward the castle. One of them would die this night. He prayed it was her.

  *

  Cameron and his men came upon Ravenscraig village a mile from the castle. The settlement was eerily quiet as they passed through the empty streets. Further into town, they came across the bodies of two men. Cameron and his men stopped beside them. “What has happened here?” he asked, inspecting the men for wounds of any kind and finding none.

  “Not a battle, or there would be others,” Keith said as he too inspected the scene. “And they have no weapons.”

  “Illness then,” Cameron said, staring stonily into the still-murky distance. Were Mariam and the others safe from whatever this was? Before he could continue on, he and his men had an obligation here.

  “Tie the horses and spread out through the village. If there are others here, encourage them to come with us back to the castle. We can help them there.”

  Ravenscraig. His home. His haven. Instead of comfort, an odd tingling crept across the back of his neck, as if warning him that something terrible was about to happen. Pushing the sensation aside, Cameron helped his men round up nearly forty women and children who appeared to be suffering from some sort of illness. It didn’t matter: they would have to bring those who remained to the castle anyway. Perhaps they could be isolated there to contain the spread of the disease.

  “Where have all the men gone?” Cameron asked an older woman, even though he already knew the answer.

  He waited for a reply after a fit of coughing seized her. Weak from her effort to breathe, the woman turned her glassy, watery eyes to his. “Tae get . . . the witch. She’s responsible fer . . . this illness and the darkness. She’s just like her pa. Filled with evil. Somethin’ must be done . . . tae stop her. Burnin’ is the answer.”

  Without further comment, Cameron and his men unhitched the horses and led the others toward the castle. As they went, a wind came out of nowhere, swirling about them, clearing the air. Ahead, Cameron could see the castle walls. The closer they came to the drawbridge and the outer bailey, the tauter his nerves became. His instincts warned of danger.

  He drew his sword and charged forward, leaving the villagers behind. His men did the same. He burst into the outer bailey. His heart stilled, and his fists tightened on the hilt of his sword. There was only silence. “Mariam!” Cameron’s shout echoed through the palpable silence.

  Leaving his horse behind, Cameron raced forward, to the inner bailey, once again shouting Mariam’s name. Just then, a red-haired woman appeared at the castle doors. Not Mariam, but Vivian Douglas.

  “She’s not here.” Lines of worry tugged at the corners of Vivian’s mouth. “I went to check on her, after she’d been gone a while.” At Cameron’s unspoken question she added, “She’d gone outside to try and clear the air.” Vivian’s gaze dropped to her feet. “The village men took her.”

  A cold sickness clenched Cameron’s stomach. “Did my men go after her?”

  “They are all too sick.” Vivian’s face fell. “As soon as you left, influenza hit us hard.”

  Cameron’s thoughts flashed back to the two dead men they had seen in the village, and all the women and children who suffered now. “There are more who are sick. We brought them with us. Are there any who can help you get them settled somewhere safe?”

  “There is nowhere safe,” Vivian replied sadly. “Everyone has been affected except me, Alexander, my husband Quinn, and our twins. They have kept to themselves upstairs.”

  “Praise heaven for that small mercy.” Cameron turned around as the villagers, escorted by his men, joined them in the courtyard. “Conall, Michael, and Jamie,” Cameron addressed his three youngest, and most likely his healthiest, warriors. “Stay here and help Vivian care for these villagers. See they are settled and that she has the supplies she needs.” He turned back to Vivian. “Which way did they take Mariam? The rest of us are going after her.”

  “Not without me you aren’t.” Alexander appeared behind Vivian. “I’ve had enough of playing it safe.”

  “Thank you, Alexander, for not only bringing the Douglases here to help, but for your expertise now.” Alexander was one of the best trackers among the Magnificent Seven. His skills would be essential to them finding Mariam. “They will kill her even though she had nothing to do with this ash.” Cameron balled his fists, fighting back the fury that coiled inside, vibrating with intensity. “Their superstitions are replacing logic, and they want someone to blame.”

  Cameron looked at the weary faces of his men gathered around him. “If any of you would rather stay behind, I would understand.”

  “Not a one of us will abandon you, my laird. We’ve faced worse than this before,” Keith said from beside Cameron. “Though we’ll need fresh horses.”

  At Cameron’s nod, several men hurried off in the direction of the stables. Keith was right. In battle they had faced much worse. But the villagers had a lead on them, and they still had no idea what direction they had taken Mariam. His gaze shifted to Alexander, who studied the ground intently. “There’s no trail here. They must have taken her from outside the castle. I’ll go ahead of you and take a look.”

  Cameron waited for his men to return with fresh horses. When they were all mounted, he signaled for them to ride out as he guided Alexander’s horse behind his.

  Over the drawbridge, they met a smiling Alexander. “They left us a trail in the ash.”

  In the next moment, the wind kicked up and Cameron saw the trail Alexander had identified slowly vanish. “We have to hurry before all traces of her are gone.” An overwhelming sense of urgency spurred Cameron to put his horse into a gallop with his men at his horse’s heels.

  He had to find Mariam before all traces of her whereabouts disappeared. Before it was too late.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sitting atop a horse with Angus’s muscular arms trapping her against his big body, Mariam was more frightened than she’d ever been. The men were heading to the forest where they would burn her. Her mind raced and her heart beat wildly in her chest. Was there any way out of this situation? Tied at the hands and feet, she was not only unable to use her powers, she could not run even if she found a way to free herself. Still, she had to try.

  Mariam twisted and writhed against the grip that held her, to no avail. Those who had seized her were moving quickly. The shiver of apprehension that coursed through her did not go unnoticed by her captor. He laughed, the sound grating.

  “Scared, are ye?” Angus said as he brought his horse to a stop. A moment later she was pulled to the ground. Mariam drew a shallow breath, expecting ash, but found little grittiness in the air. Had her efforts succeeded? Had she managed to force the ash-filled air toward the sea before she had lost all her strength? She cast her gaze to the ground on which she sat. Piles of ash still swirled about, but there was less of it than before.

  “Some of ye start choppin’ down the trees. The rest of ye gather kindlin’ and mo
ss,” Angus shouted to the other four men.

  Her heartbeat thundered in her ears and the taste of fear was sharp and bitter on her tongue. “Angus, you don’t want to burn me. I am not responsible for the darkness or the sickness. I can help you if you’ll only release me.”

  “Help us?” His grin was a dark slash across his face. “Yer a witch. We all saw what ye did with the wind. Ye were bringin’ more ash tae bury us.”

  She wriggled against her restraints. “I was trying to help. I can help you still. But you have to release me.”

  “Yer a witch, and ye need tae be destroyed if any of us are tae be safe.”

  Mariam cast a furtive glance at the bonds around her hands and feet. The bonds were tight, too tight to release on her own. Could she gather enough magic with her hands this way to help herself? Not one of the village men would help her. The fear of witches grew greater every day, thanks in part to her own father. When one was caught and tortured, he or she would name all the others who made up their coven, real or imagined, just to make the torture stop.

  Nobody cared what happened to a witch.

  Mariam still couldn’t understand how any of this was happening to her. It was hard enough to accept that magic actually existed in this world, let alone that she possessed such power. These men knew some of what she was capable of, and they would burn her, destroy her, before anyone even knew she was missing.

  Mariam turned toward the men in the woods. They had felled several trees and were now arranging them into a pyre. She struggled against her restraints, trying desperately to loosen them. If she could at least turn her palms up she might be able to use her magic. She tried to work her hands free, but to no avail.

  “Hurry, men. We need tae do this quickly,” Angus said to the others before turning to her. His gaze met hers and she saw not just fear but also hatred in his eyes.

  Fear clawed at her chest as she looked into his eyes, and saw her own death written there. Tears fell from her eyes as her thoughts turned to the one man who had never looked at her in that way no matter what she had done.