A Laird and a Gentleman (All the King's Men #4) - Gerri Russell Page 0,41

in his eyes.

Her flesh tingled beneath his gaze and heat moved through her in mindless, melting circles that only intensified as he took her by the arm, leading her forward. As they passed the lower tables where his men sat, a low-level murmur replaced the silence.

At the high table, Cameron motioned to the chair beside him. When she was seated, the others took their seats. “I have already informed our guests of your decision not to marry anytime soon,” he stated in a smooth, unhurried voice.

She forced a calm smile as her gaze met that of Peter Mason. He was younger than she’d expected. Perhaps a score and five. He was tall and lean. His shoulders were broad and straight. His mouth might be made for kindness, but his eyes were filled with anger. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for coming all this way only to be told he had come in vain. “I am truly sorry you traveled all this way under a misapprehension.”

Peter Mason lifted his tankard of ale and drank deeply. Setting his wooden mug on the table once again, he leaned back, appraising her. “Laird Sinclair has compensated us with game from his woodlands. Until I set eyes upon you, I deemed it was enough. Now I am not so certain.”

“You’re mad, Mason,” David Sibbald argued. “Laird Sinclair was more than generous. He gave us enough meat to see us through the months ahead.”

David was older than Peter by at least another score. His eyes were a deep brown that should have lent some color to his face beneath his graying hair and brows. Instead, he looked tired and worn. He sported a pointed beard that was also threaded with gray. A fleeting emotion, both subtle and reserved, flickered in his eyes as he said, “Lady Mariam, ’tis a pleasure to meet you. Pay no heed to Mason. From our hunting this afternoon I can tell the young buck is the competitive sort. He’s more upset that he didn’t win your hand than he is about not marrying you.”

“Gentlemen,” Cameron interjected, his gaze watchful. “Any disillusionment you feel should be directed at me, not the lady. I mistakenly brought you here. If you require further compensation for the inconvenience, I would be happy to discuss such with you in private. For now, let us enjoy this delicious meal. Agreed?”

Both men nodded. If it were possible, David’s features grew even more pasty, while Peter’s expression became neutral, as though he were still deciding whether to push for more or be happy with what he had been offered.

Mariam was simply relieved as the conversation shifted away from her. For the remainder of the evening she listened to the men talk of politics, the world, and local events. If she had any opinions, she kept them to herself. The only thing she longed for was that the evening would come to an end. Once it did, she would politely bid the gentlemen farewell and be thankful Cameron had allowed her to slip away from marriage to either of these men.

If she were to agree to marry, it would be to someone like—she blocked the thought before it could fully form. Of its own volition, her gaze sought out Cameron’s. His was a face she thought she knew well, until just two days ago when she had noticed the flecks of gold in his gray eyes. When she realized she was staring, she averted her gaze. She lifted her goblet to her lips and drank deeply until she became aware she was not the only one who had been staring. David’s appraising gaze moved over her, as though assessing who and what she was. Had he heard the rumors as well?

“A quiet meal in the country must not be very stimulating for a woman such as yourself,” David said to Mariam. “I heard you spent some time at King James’s court not long ago? Tell me, what was it like?”

She had spent three days at Falkland Palace after she left her father’s house in North Berwick and before she’d traveled to Ravenscraig as Cameron’s ward. The queen had been responsible for her coming under Cameron’s protection after the king brought her father into the witch trials as his pricker. In those three days at Falkland, she’d never left her chamber. Not once. But that was not what the man wanted to hear.

“Laird Sinclair has had much more experience at court than I. I must admit, I prefer the solitude