Page 41 of A Laird and a Gentleman

“Nay. I believe it is nature’s way of changing the world in which we live.”

“It seems more like the earth is exploding rather than changing,” Mariam said.

With a sad smile Vivian nodded. “When this happened before, the ash came from across the sea, originating in Iceland.”

Mariam frowned. “Nature is unhappy with us, then?”

“Nature is always changing, evolving, and hoping those of us who reside in her fold will find a way to adapt.”

Mariam did not fully understand what Vivian tried to explain. “How long will the darkness last?”

“Days. If it is as it was when I was a child, the effects of this ash will be with us for years.” Vivian’s gaze shifted to the stairs, and Mariam knew she was thinking about her husband and children ensconced in the rooms above.

“Go to them,” Mariam said. “Tell them what has happened. Perhaps your husband and Alexander know something we can do.”

Vivian moved toward the stairs then stopped and turned around. The look she gave Mariam was filled with such sadness it sliced right through her. “I’m not sure there is anything we can do. If you thought influenza was misfortunate, prepare yourself for something much, much worse.”

Chapter Thirteen

In the great hall of Falkland Palace, Cameron, his prisoner, and his men stood before the king who sat in his overly large chair. The massive chamber with bright red walls had been cleared of anyone else to allow them to talk in private. After Cameron had recapped Swinton’s activities at Ravenscraig, King James’s tense gaze shifted to John Swinton. “What do you have to say in your defense, Swinton? Did you or did you not try to harm your own daughter while she was still under the guardianship of this man and after I told you to stay away from her?”

Swinton, newly released from his bindings, rubbed at his wrists as though trying to remove the stain of his capture from his flesh. “Lies! You know why I was there, Your Grace. Is it not my occupation to rid this world of all possible evil? By your own commission, you granted me that right.” Swinton’s eyes glittered brilliantly in the candlelight. “Is that not what you wish me to do?”

The king frowned. “Why would you suspect your own daughter of witchery?”

“A tale of a young woman leading animals without so much as a word or a gesture came to my attention. I knew I had to investigate, because where there are unusual events, there are usually witches. I followed the tales straight to Ravenscraig Castle, and my own daughter,” Swinton snarled. “Her mother poisoned her with her blood, and she needed to be cleansed.”

Swinton turned on Cameron with a sneer. “It’s your fault! You were too gentle with her. I tried to beat any trace of her mother out of her for years. I was succeeding until you changed her. She’s a witch, and a harlot!”

“Enough, Swinton,” the king shouted over Swinton’s rant. “I was the one who knew of your skills and needed your services elsewhere. Laird Sinclair was only a means to an end for us both.”

Cameron flattened his mouth. He did not appreciate how the king had described his role in Mariam’s care, but he had kept her safe, which had been his ultimate task when she was placed with him as his ward.

“Mariam is my daughter and I can do with her what I please,” Swinton hissed.

“I beg to disagree. Once you accepted the role as my pricker, Mariam became my responsibility, as my good wife laid out rather clearly before me. Mariam is now my concern, and no longer yours.”

Swinton’s face twisted. “Then if I am your pricker, release me and I shall resume my work here in Fife, Haddington, North Berwick, or wherever you choose to send me.”

The king sat back in his throne. A look of deep consideration creased his brow. Finally, he sighed and looked to Cameron. “I’ve become a prisoner to my own opinion. It is an unlearned man who never deviates from his position when new evidence is presented.”

“Are you speaking of the witch trials?” Cameron asked, trying to clarify the meaning behind the king’s words.

The king nodded as his gaze shifted to Swinton. “You have served me well, John Swinton, but I have decided to no longer prick those who are accused. You may remain here at court, as my guest, until I can find you new employment, but your daughter must remain in Laird Sinclair’s care until such a time that she can be settled in marriage.”

“I’ve no need of other employment. I am a gifted pricker. I’ve done so much good for you—in exposing the evil that threatens us all.”

“Be silent!” The king’s voice filled with ice.

Swinton’s eyes blazed. “I will not be silent. What will you do? Pricking is my God-given talent. I will not stop the hunting of witches until every last one has been exposed.”

With a lift of his hand, the king motioned his guards forward to restrain the wild-eyed Swinton. “Perhaps a few days in the dungeon might help you see a different future for yourself.” To the guards he said, “Take him away.”

Swinton howled his displeasure as four guards were forced to take him by the hands and feet and drag him out of the chamber.

“What will you do to him?” Cameron asked when the man’s bellows faded into silence.

The king’s face hardened. “His fate is now up to him. I do not suspect he will last long in a dungeon filled with men and women whom he has sent there by his own hand.”