A Laird and a Gentleman (All the King's Men #4) - Gerri Russell Page 0,17

and the gate closed?”

“These are my own people. They have come to talk. I must hear them out. They would never hurt any of us who reside here, including you.”

Then, as though in defiance of his words, one of the men touched his torch to the dry grass on the north slope of the castle. A flash of fire streaked across the field, and the nearby bushes burst into flame—fiery specters of destruction, consuming everything they touched.

“They do not want to talk. They want to hurt me, and anyone who stands in their way! I must leave here for any of you to be safe,” Mariam heard herself cry as she turned toward the doorway that led back inside the castle. If she hurried, she could make her way to the stable, gather a horse, then pass through the open gates before the villagers arrived.

“Stay where you are.” Cameron grabbed her hand, keeping her in place. “We will talk to them.”

“But the flames?”

“They are nothing to you. You could douse them if you tried.”

How did he know? How could he know when she didn’t know if she were capable of such a feat? She couldn’t do it.

“Mariam, do something now.”

And if she did, then it would only confirm what they suspected—that she was a witch. Her heart thundered in her chest, pounding, hurting. She didn’t know how to stop fire. Yet everyone in the castle—those she cared about—needed her to figure it out, and quick.

She looked up then, into Cameron’s eyes, filled with faith and understanding. Beautiful gray eyes that suddenly didn’t seem stormy. Only confident.

And she was no longer afraid. With a thought, the flames extinguished at her will, leaving only an odd smokiness lingering in the air.

Mariam awoke and sat bolt upright in the semi-darkness of her chamber. There were no flames, and no lingering smoke. Only the sweet scent of the pre-dawn air. And silence.

Another dream then?

A dream, yet not quite a dream. Mariam knew exactly what the vision meant. Everything she had just witnessed in her mind would come to pass in a day or a month or even a year. Her visions were of the future, and they always came true.

Always.

She would have to reveal herself, and her odd abilities to Cameron if she were to protect any of them. Fear sent a shiver down her spine. Would he believe her or, as she feared above all else, label her a witch?

And then what? Her father had shown her the results of such an accusation.

Death.

Forcing herself to be calm, Mariam lay back down, willing herself to relax—

“Bad dream?”

Mariam startled and nearly rolled off the bed. She righted herself and looked toward the open doorway. “Mistress MacInnes, you startled me.”

“It is time to dress if you are to meet m’laird for your outing this morning.”

Only then did Mariam take note of the pink light streaking beneath the shutters in her chamber. “Is it that time already?” Mariam slipped from the bed.

“I came to help you dress.”

“You’ve been kind enough already. I do not wish to add more work to your already heavy load.”

“I’ve been up for a few hours already. M’laird asked me to see that cold meat pies and fruit were ready for you both to break your fast before you head out this morning.” Mistress MacInnes half-walked, half-limped into the chamber with a candle in hand. She moved to the beside and lit a brace of candles Mariam had there. Instantly the room flooded with pale, golden light.

Mistress MacInnes was dressed in her usual black gown, but instead of a veil, she had a lace cap atop her faded hair that was pulled back into a coil at her nape. Instead of turning away from the woman as she usually did, Mariam studied the woman’s abused body. Nessie’s left shoulder was hunched, and her left leg didn’t straighten fully when she walked. And without her veil to shield her face, Mariam saw for the first time the ugly, red scar that stretched from Nessie’s hairline to her jaw on the left side of her face, along with a smashed nose, and a drooping eye.

“What happened to you?” The words escaped her lips before Mariam could pull them back.

Instead of flinching at Mariam’s rudeness, Mistress MacInnes’s green eyes softened. “’Twas an accident many years ago that left me disfigured.”

“I’m so sorry.” Mariam studied her friend’s solemn features, this time with new respect. The woman had suffered much in her life, and could have easily let