*Cameron paced the length of the great hall. He’d been pacing since he’d confined Mariam to her chamber. The evening meal had been served and cleared, and even though he’d sent Mistress MacInnes up with a tray, he could not chase thoughts of his ward from his mind. He walked to the hearth, then to the tall thin windows on the long wall, to the doorway, and back all over again.
Damn the woman. Why could he not rid himself of the image of her staring at him with innocence in her eyes from the middle of her bed? He reached for his sporran and withdrew a delicate piece of white cloth, opening it as he had a dozen times already this night. The three broken pieces of the necklace she had worn every day for the past year lay nestled inside.
He’d gone back to the chapel after locking Mariam in her chamber to marvel at the miraculous change Mariam and Mistress MacInnes had accomplished. The room smelled of lemons, and every surface shone bright in the candlelight. It was then that he’d noticed three glittering white objects on the floor and had collected them, reassembling them to produce the outside swirl of the shell from Mariam’s necklace.
It was a white common whelk with reddish bands and wavy folds across its surface. The seven whorls of the spire were still intact, but the aperture was broken in half. The leather strap that she wore about her neck had broken free of the shell, and was most likely still about her neck.
Why would a shell that anyone could find along any Scottish shoreline hold such great significance to her? Mariam had never communicated the necklace’s importance, but that she wore it every day for every occasion revealed what she did not say. And he knew when he’d seen it smashed upon the flagstone that he had to find a way to repair the shell for her.
Cameron groaned when he realized where his thoughts were leading him. He had no time to placate Mariam. He was training his men for war. The tensions were building again between King James and his nemesis the Earl of Bothwell who wanted the throne. Bothwell had returned to Scotland from hiding in England to gather his supporters once more. Another attack upon the king and queen, like the one the earl had orchestrated at Falkland Palace last year, could occur at any time. Cameron and his men had to be ready for when, not if, the earl tried to capture the king again.
Abruptly, Cameron returned the cloth and shell to his sporran. He had to keep his mind focused on the defense of his king and nothing more.
“What’s got you so on edge?”
Cameron reached for his sword and fell immediately into a defensive stance.
Alexander froze. “It’s me, Cam—” He spread his hands placatingly.
Cameron startled as he recognized the man before him and returned his sword to its sheath. “My apologies, Alexander. I was lost in thought.”
“Over what?”
Cameron frowned. “I need to work the men harder. My informants sent word this morning that Bothwell was sighted in Fife. He’s up to no good, and we need to be ready.”
“Bothwell is careful. He won’t attack until he has an advantage.” Alexander raised a brow. “Are you certain your troubles do not lie closer to home? Perhaps with a fiery maid locked upstairs in her bedchamber?” When Cameron didn’t respond, Alexander added, “It’s not like you to lock away your troubles. When will you release her?”
“When I’m ready.” He met his friend’s amusement with a scowl. “Since when do you care about how I treat my women?”
Alexander’s brow rose. “And is she that . . . your woman?”
Cameron groaned. “She’s a female in my household and under my protection. Why are you pressing this? We have many more important matters with which to concern ourselves.”
“Something is different about you.” Alexander paused, then said, “I’ve never seen you this way before.”
“What way?”
“Unsettled. Uncertain.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Cameron scoffed as he turned to face the fire in the hearth, pretending to study the reddish-gold flames when all his thoughts were on the redheaded woman abovestairs. “I am as I always was.”
All seriousness now, Alexander came to join him. “Do you ever wonder if things could be different for us? If we could be more than men existing on the edge of life and death?”
Silence fell between them until Cameron sighed. “I see their faces—the children, the women of Scotland—and I know I must do my duty to keep them safe. I do not do what I do for the king. I do it for them.”
“As do I,” Alexander said. “But no one holds us to only a life as a protector. You and I can both become more.”
“Can we?” The words felt scraped from his throat. “At what cost? Their lives are in our hands. Warriors—that is what we are.”
“We can be both warrior and man. Reid, Quinn, and Lachlan are not lesser warriors now that they have wives. Why would it be any different for you or me?”
Cameron shook his head. “My mistress is the sea and my attention already fractured by my men and my ships. There is no room for anything or anyone else.”
“Ships do not keep you warm at night.”
“But the fine linens those ships bring back from the East, do.”
Alexander turned back to the fire. “If that is so, then perhaps it’s time to find Mariam a husband and send her away instead of keeping her locked away. Laird Sibbald’s wife recently died. I have heard he is seeking to remarry. He is both young and wealthy, and would make Mariam a fine husband.”
Cameron closed his eyes and clenched his hands into fists. Alexander was right. Mariam would be less of a distraction if she were someone else’s problem. Having her physically away from him would give him the perspective he needed.
“I have considered such a thing before. She is of marriageable age,” he said, trying to convince himself that she had to go, even though he had promised her she could stay. It would be easy to find her a husband, then ask for the king’s blessing. Perhaps Sibbald could be the answer to his problem. Cameron knew Sibbald to be a decent man and a capable warrior.
It wouldn’t be as if he were casting Mariam out. He would see that she had a protector who could handle not only a difficult woman, but also the difficult task of protecting her. But even as he knew what must be done, a pang of jealousy kicked him in the heart. Another man would one day possess her.
Cameron ignored his own reaction. “Who else do we know who might make Mariam a worthy bridegroom? Someone who can keep her safe from both her father and his enemies?”
Before Alexander could reply, a scream tore through the stillness of the evening.
“Mariam.” Cameron met Alexander’s gaze an instant before he bolted from the chamber, leaving his brother-in-arms behind. Cameron took the steps two at a time and raced down the hallway until he came to Mariam’s chamber. He threw the bolt aside, relieved it was still in place and that no one from the castle attacked her. He burst into her chamber and came to a halt beside the bed.
The bedclothes were tangled around her, and the nightshift she wore had drifted up, exposing the pale sheen of her flesh. In the dim light he could see the long length of her bare leg, the curve of her hip, the jut of a single shoulder, and the spill of burnished hair across the pale linens. Her head thrashed back and forth as she remained in the grip of a dream. Or was it a nightmare?
He sat beside her and pulled the bed linens over her body. “Mariam. Wake up. ’Tis only a dream.”
She stopped thrashing and shifted. Moved close, tucking her head against his thigh. Only whimpers emerged from her now. Sad, frightened whimpers.
She was warm against him and despite his attempts to hold himself back, his fingers found her brow. He stroked her hair away from her face, noting how fair her flesh was against the sun and sea-weathered skin of his hand. “Mariam, wake up,” he repeated.
She stirred, murmuring. “Darkness . . . devastation. It’s as though the whole world is gone . . .” Her small, slender hand came up to gently cover his where it rested on her cheek. “Not alone this time. Not alone . . .”
Her hand tensed and her eyes flared open. Her gaze caught his for a moment before anything registered. When it did, she sat bolt upright in the bed, scrambling backward, taking the covers with her. “What are you doing here?”
“You screamed. I came to aid you. When I arrived, I found you in the clutches of a dream. Though from your descriptions, it wasn’t a pleasant dream.”
“Nay, it was not.” Vulnerability and fear lingered in her words.
“Tell me about it. Perhaps if you share your dream, it will not seem so bad.” When she hesitated, he took her hand in his, hoping it would reassure her.
She swallowed roughly, then nodded. “Snow fell from the sky, yet it wasn’t snow. The sky turned green, then purple, before everything faded to black. I couldn’t breathe . . . I couldn’t move. Death was all around me.” She pulled her hand out of his and clenched both of hers tightly in her lap. “I don’t know what it means, but it can’t be anything good.”
“It was only a dream, Mariam,” Cameron soothed. “A frightening one, but how could any of that happen? It has to be a dream.”
*
Cameron had said it was only a dream, but she knew it was not. She’d had experiences like this before—where she saw things—things that happened in the future. But what did all of the darkness mean? Would the sun cease to shine? If so, how?
And, more disturbing, was the thought that the parchment from her shell and the darkness were somehow linked. Would she be the one to make all this happen? A shiver racked her as she returned her gaze to Cameron’s. Should she tell him about the parchment? Or would he think she had fabricated the story in an attempt to garner his attention as she had in the past?
Cameron’s gaze narrowed on her. “Is this an attempt to forestall any further punishments, Mariam?”
Mariam frowned. In the past, she would have done just that to try to manipulate her way out of anything unpleasant. And she didn’t blame him for thinking she would do such a thing now. Instead of telling him more, she lifted her chin and said, “It doesn’t matter. As you said, it was probably just a dream.” Though she knew better, and would figure it all out on her own.
He nodded, then stood beside the bed. “Have you given any further thought as to how you can make reparations for not following my orders?”
“I have.”
“Then what is to be your punishment?”
“With the business of preparing for Lachlan’s trial, and with many of the staff here at Ravenscraig being sent to assist Lachlan and Elizabeth for their journey overseas, the late summer shearing of the sheep has been overlooked.”
Cameron frowned. “You want to shear the sheep?”
“Nay. I wouldn’t know a sheep’s head from its tail when shearing. But I am quite good with animals, so I thought perhaps I could round up the sheep and bring them to the pens in the outer bailey for shearing.”
“You are an excellent rider; I’ll give you that. And you are very good with animals—almost better with them than humans, I’d say.”
“Aye, then?”
After a long moment, he nodded. “Aye. In the morning, see that you are dressed appropriately for riding, then you and I will both round up the sheep. Agreed?”
“That hardly seems fair to make you help me when this is after all my punishment.”
“I will be there to make certain you do this task by yourself. Do you agree to my terms?”
She nodded, suddenly filled with a hint of excitement. He was correct in saying she was better with animals than people. Finally here was something that she had every confidence she could do, and do well. “Until tomorrow then.”
He nodded and headed out the door, closing it without sliding the bolt home to lock her in.
Tomorrow she would fulfill her punishment for Cameron but she would also prove she would not become like her father in seven days’ time. She could learn to control her emotions and in turn the reactions her emotions caused. She would have a life like any other female in Scotland—even though she had absolutely no idea what a woman’s life was truly like because she’d had little contact with women over the years since her own mother died.
Perhaps Mistress MacInnes—Nessie—would teach her, though Mariam doubted the older woman had had a normal upbringing either. A disfigured woman would be treated about as well as the daughter of a torturous murderer. The thought brought a wry smile. Was that why Nessie had befriended her? Because the two of them were more alike than perhaps either of them cared to admit?
It didn’t matter why. She had one friend, and maybe if all went well tomorrow, she might have another.
At the thought she suddenly went cold. What was she doing? She knew better than to encourage a connection between herself and anything or anyone else. Her only friends had ever been animals, and even then, her father had taken those from her.
“You think you deserve a friend? Why? You aren’t much of a daughter. You’ve done nothing right over the years, and you’ve amounted to even less. You are nothing . . . less than nothing . . . You deserve to be alone in this life, Mariam, with no one to care for you and definitely no one to love. For who could ever love you?”
He held up the rat she’d rescued from the cold. The animal had been her friend for over a week, but she’d yet to name him . . . because she’d known this moment would come.
When her father withdrew his pricker’s needle from the pouch at his belt, her breath caught. When he thrust the needle through her pet’s heart, her world shattered once again.
At the memory, a familiar ache settled in Mariam’s stomach. For years she’d allowed the childhood pain he’d inflicted upon her to keep her isolated and alone. But she didn’t want to be alone anymore. She’d lived in fear of being called back home at a moment’s notice for the past year. But she’d also discovered new freedoms she’d never expected.
And her father was nowhere near her. So why did she allow the past to haunt her so?
In defiance, she straightened. She wasn’t a hopeless excuse for a daughter, and she certainly wasn’t nothing as her father had always claimed. Had it not been her own skills that had brought a favorable outcome for Lachlan at his trial?
It was a small success, but it was something she could cling to until she had another success and another after that. If she only had seven days to prove she could be everything her father was not, then she would move heaven and earth to make certain that happened.
All the years of fighting her father before this were proof that she had what it took to succeed.
*
When Mariam was settled, Cameron went to find Alexander. He needed a favor. And while he gave no credence to his ward’s dreams, her crying out in the night had made him realize she needed something he could not give her—the comfort of another woman who was much like herself.
He did not believe she was magical in any way, and yet he would be the first to acknowledge she was unique. Much like another woman he knew: Vivian, the healer, who had married his brother-in-arms Quinn Douglas.
He would ask Alexander to leave for Kinmount House in Dumfriesshire in the morning and bring Quinn, Vivian, and their twins to Ravenscraig. Perhaps Vivian could help him convince Mariam that marriage was what was best for her, as well as give the girl advice on how to fit in with the others in his castle at a time when being different in any way was more than dangerous. It was deadly.