Page 11 of Fire in his Highland Heart

“Then go an’ tell her. I’m sure she’ll be flattered.”

“I will,” James said, setting his pewter mug down. “In the meantime, try not tae look so angry, eh? Pretend tae enjoy yerself.”

“I am nothing if not truthful,” Blake said flatly.

“Ye catch more flies with honey,” James said, walking away. Blake would have retorted, but he didn’t want to shout.

He found flies to be very unpleasant.

Chapter Five

“Like this, wee bird,” Arguen’s mother cooed. She gently took the mortar and pestle out of her daughter’s hands, and proceeded to demonstrate the proper technique. “See, if ye twist yer wrist like so, it crushes easier. That way, ye have more of it for a longer time.”

After watching her mother for a few moments, Arguen tried it herself, as her mother praised on. “Ye’ll be a healer one day, mark me words.”

“Does tha’ mean I can do magic?” little Arguen asked.

“Heavens, no,” her mother said gently. “Being a healer is about usin’ yer God-given common sense, bein’ careful about yer plants, and treatin’ all livin’ things with kindness and patience.”

“That’s it?” Arguen asked curiously.

“Aye, ‘tis. Anyone who tries tae tell ye that healers work magic simply doesnae understand how tae take care of anyone but themselves.”

“Och, I dinnae wanna be like that,” little Arguen declared, crushing the thyme with a new ferocity.

“I dinnae think ye will. Ye’ve more kindness in yer wee finger than most folks dae in their entire body.”

Fat lot of good being kind was doing her now. It was July. The heather in the fields would be ready for harvesting. Under normal circumstances, Arguen would go out and gather armfuls to dry in her little healer’s chamber. Instead, she was still here, in this cell, waiting to die. She desperately wanted to bathe and change her clothes, but such things were not possible at this time. Every day was a terrible waiting game—not just for the start of the trial, but to see where Marianne’s mood led her. She really was unpredictable, which made Arguen uneasy. Would she come down here to the dungeons to slit Arguen’s throat and claim it an accident? Would she drag her up by her hair into the great hall and do it there? Or was she above all that...would she have someone else do it for her? Perhaps she might convince the cook, Mrs. Adair, to poison her food? The latter was a possibility she hadn’t considered until a few days ago, and she refused to eat anything that Douglas didn’t personally sneak her.

Deep in her heart, she knew her mother would encourage her to be an anchor, to show kindness without showing weakness, but after nearly a month in the dungeon, Arguen liked her late mother’s advice less and less.

Her reverie was interrupted when she heard footsteps on the stone stairs, fast ones, too. She stood up, assuming a defensive position, just in case such footsteps were unfriendly. Instead, Douglas rounded the corner, a smile bright on his face.

“What on God’s green earth could ye possibly be smilin’ for?” she asked, relief flooding her veins.

“I can get ye out of here,” he said breathlessly.

Arguen furrowed her brow, regarding him with a quizzical look. “How?”

“I’ve written a letter of introduction. I havenae heard from Blake, but ye can present it tae him when ye arrive. It’ll tell him all he needs tae ken.”

Her head was swimming, and she was beginning to feel a bit lightheaded at the uncertainty. “Douglas, does he ken who I am, and fer what I’m accused?”

“Aye, I’ve written it. He’s a just man. He’ll agree that ye cannae be held like this on the word of one person, and some English bitch nonetheless,” he said with a wry smile.

“Douglas, mind yer tongue! We never ken who’s listening.”

“Och, stop yer worryin’. We need tae plan yer escape.”

Arguen huffed. Douglas was so optimistic at times, she felt he was blinded by it. Sometimes, she felt it was her duty to think for the both of them. “Isnae the castle crawling wi’ people right now? How can ye be sure?”

“Aye, ‘tis. But that’s the beauty of it. Tomorrow they go out hunting. In a few days, they’ll be back wi’ their goods, and as ye ken, they’ll celebrate. Everyone will be so distracted that ye’ll be able to escape relatively unseen.”

“Relatively?” Arguen asked, her eyes widening.

“Well, there’ll always be sentries, ye ken. But I reckon they’ll be restless and willin’ tae overlook a rustlin’ noise in the grass.”

“I think yer countin’ a lo’ of things bein’ in my favor. What if the sentries are more alert? What if there’s a group of highlanders outside who think a young lass could be a bit o’ fun? What if, God ken why, Marianne is lookin’ out her window and sees me?”