A Laird and a Gentleman (All the King's Men #4) - Gerri Russell Page 0,25
others saw things as you do. I’ve heard the castle residents and the villagers talk about how they suspect me of being as dangerous and depraved as my father. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and all of that.”
“You are not evil, Mariam. However, you cannot deny there is something strange happening to you. After all, you did cause the wind to rise where there had been none.”
As a sudden anxiety replaced her calm, the glow about her shimmered, faded, then vanished. “I think all of this is connected to my shell necklace and the message inside.”
He released her hand and unlatched his sporran before fumbling around inside. “This shell?” He brought forth the newly repaired white shell her mother had given her before her death.
Mariam’s heart stumbled. “You repaired it.” She accepted the shell from his hand. It was heavier than before and bore thin silver streaks at the points where it had shattered. “How did you do this?”
“With the help of the smithy. He was able to reassemble it with liquid silver, which when hardened kept all the broken pieces in their respective places.”
She offered him a grateful smile. “This means the world to me.”
“That you have worn it every day since you came into my care told me it was special.”
She offered him a grateful smile. “It was the last gift my mother gave me before she died.”
His brow creased. “How did she die? The king mentioned to me something about your mother’s death being suspicious before you came to be my ward. I gave the rumor no credence until now.”
Mariam dropped Cameron’s other hand and turned away, hiding the pain she knew was written on her face. “I was only five years old at the time, and I do not remember much about that night other than that my mother was distraught. She and my father had had an argument earlier that evening. I only heard the strained tones of their voices, but none of the words.” Mariam’s throat was tight as she continued. “My father always claimed my mother was reckless to rush from our home during a storm, that she was foolish to head toward the cliffs alone.” Mariam turned to face Cameron. “The next morning, my mother was nowhere to be found. My father’s servants recalled seeing him chasing her from the house. But he has always denied that claim.”
“I’m so sorry, Mariam. I know what a loss a mother is to a child.”
She nodded, but was capable of saying nothing more as her throat suddenly burned with unshed tears.
“How many days has it been since you received that note?”
She held up two fingers.
“Then that gives us five more days to figure this out.”
She swallowed roughly, then said, “You’re not afraid of what I might be . . . That I might be a . . . witch?”
There was no tension in Cameron’s body or face at the words. “I do not believe in witchcraft, magical powers, or witches. Nay, there is another explanation for today’s events.”
She gaped at him. “How else do you explain animals that flock to my side without a prompt of any kind, the wind that swirls at my command, or a warmth that makes a person brighten from the inside?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea, but we’ll discover the truth of the matter. But until we do, I’ll not have you calling yourself a witch. Witches are either worshipped or despised but always feared. Fear is what has driven many innocent men and women to the stake in the past few years. I will not allow that to happen to you. I’ll do everything in my power to see you do not have to suffer in such a way.”
“Then do not marry me off. Please?” She didn’t care that it sounded like she was begging him. She was.
He paused, then nodded. “You have my word. As soon as the men arrive, I shall inform them that you no longer choose to seek marriage.”
Relief coursed through her for a heartbeat until she returned her gaze to the shell in her hands. “Do you truly not believe in magic?”
“If I believed such blasphemy, the church would burn me as well as anyone else who claims such a thing exists in this world.”
Mariam wrapped her fingers about the repaired shell, feeling it warm in her hand as it had before it was damaged. “If I am not a witch or a sorceress, then what am I? For I am