Page 1 of Fire in his Highland Heart

Chapter One

Mid-June, 1623

At least the dungeons were peaceful. Cold, and a bit damp, to be sure, but quiet. Here, Arguen had endless time to think, with no one to interrupt her. Down in this dark, deep cell, no one glanced at her and shuddered, hurrying along the corridor to get away from her. Even the dungeon rats were kinder than the humans.

Arguen turned her head to let whatever little sliver of sunlight there was shine on her face through the aperture in the stone. From what she could tell, it was a lovely day out, with no sign of rain--quite the change for a Scottish midsummer. She closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to be out, to feel the wind on her face, rippling her petticoat as she looked out across the sea. If Arguen was anything, she was patient, and she would bide her time. Douglas had promised to free her, after all. And then she could stand at the edge of the sea for as long as she wanted.

* * *

Late May, 1623

Arguen hurried along the dimly lit corridor to Lady Marianne’s chambers. The poor woman had been complaining of pains for some time, but as she had just begun increasing, it could not possibly be time for her to give birth. Arguen had assisted with enough births to know when the time was right. The basket of herbs and vials bumped against her hip as she walked briskly, weaving through the stone corridors until she reached her destination. The walk had been strangely quiet--it seemed most people were still downstairs enjoying the festivities. For that, she was thankful. These Highland men could get crude and handsy with enough drink, and a young, unmarried woman such as herself could be a prime target.

Lady Marianne bade her to enter as soon as she knocked, and Arguen was surprised to see her in such a state of undress and disarray. Marianne’s golden hair was loose with no cap to cover it, and sweat plastered small strands to her forehead. She had evidently attempted to remove her own bodice and overskirt, as both hung unlaced on her small frame. Her green eyes were wild with fright, glistening with unshed tears, and her delicate hands clasped and unclasped her shift.

“I thought perhaps it was time. I felt such a pain, and I was told the midwife is assisting someone else.” Her usually even, authoritative English voice was fragile, reminding Arguen of a piece of fabric fraying at the edges. For a moment, Arguen felt sympathy for Marianne. The lady of the castle was clearly upset and frightened, desperate enough to call upon the healer she so despised.

“Nae, lady. Ye said it yersel--too early for the bairn to arrive. ‘Tis likely the quickening. Rest and a good hot tea should do it,” Arguen answered as evenly as she could. Though Lady Marianne had made known her dislike for Arguen, the healer knew it was best to work hard with her head down. That was the best way to honor her mother--work hard and share her gifts with those who needed help.

“How can I rest? The babe is coming; I know it!”

“M’lady, ‘tis impossible. Let me help ye undress and lay down.”

Marianne said nothing, but nodded, allowing Arguen to help her unlace the rest of her bodice and overskirt. The lady of the house laid down on the imposing four poster bed, propped up against the pillows, and rubbed her growing belly. Arguen busied herself with her ingredients. Soon the pot hanging above the fire in the hearth would be boiling, and the remedy to soothe the lady’s discomfort would be ready. Arguen was silent as she worked, adding the herbs--mainly peppermint to ease the pain and chamomile to aid sleep--as Marianne occasionally groaned from her place on the bed.

“Arguen, I’m deeply sorry,” the lady said after a few moments.

The healer halfway turned from her place at the hearth to address the lady. “I beg your pardon, mistress?”

Marianne heaved a deep sigh, rubbing a hand over her stomach. “I know that I have treated you abysmally. I could have been kinder to you, and now that you offer me help, I…” her voice faltered as she winced, “I see I was wrong. You are very gracious to assist me now.”

Arguen stirred the boiling water and herbs thoughtfully. “Nae, lady. Yer the new mistress of the castle. Cannae be easy tae travel from yer home and marry someone ye barely ken. Besides, ‘tis a healer’s duty. We help all, no matter who they be.”

“A noble calling indeed,” whispered Marianne.

A few more relatively silent minutes passed, the only sound being the crackling of the fire and the muffled voices from deep down in the great hall. After a great whine from Marianne, Arguen strained the water and herbs and poured it into a tankard.

“Here, drink this. It should help ease the pain so ye can sleep. Both ye an’ the bairn will be grateful,” Arguen said, gently holding Marianne up off the pillows so she could drink properly.

After a few timid sips, Marianne groaned. “I want this babe out.”

“Careful what ye wish for,” Arguen advised. “Fate has a funny way o’ twistin’ things.”

“Is that a threat, Arguen?” There was a playful lilt to her tone, but as Arguen looked up, she saw that the usual cold edge in Marianne’s eyes had returned.

Arguen gave a half-feigned soft laugh. “Nay. Willnae do good. ‘Tis a mere observation.”

“A wise one.”

“Well, when ye’re born wi’ silver hair, ye’re just that much wiser.”

Marianne snickered at that, but pain flashed across her face, quickly chasing away any amusement. Arguen bade her drink the rest of the tea, and cleaned up around the chamber while she did so.

“Oh, dear, you musn’t trouble yourself,” Marianne urged between sips, “Do we not have chamber maids for that purpose?”

Arguen gave a wry smile as she folded Marianne’s overskirt and placed it in the trunk at the foot of the bed. “Aye, we do, but ‘tis a night of merriment. I think all maids will be movin’ slowly come morning.”

Marianne smiled and looked into her cup. Was that amusement Arguen saw? Arguen had managed to melt the lady’s heart enough to crack a smile?