Page 13 of Fire in his Highland Heart

“I’m sorry tae say I havenae kept proper house,” she said sheepishly.

Malcolm chuckled softly. “Ye brighten any room yer in,” he said, stepping closer and closing the gap between them.

“Silver hair tends tae do that.”

“Ye ken what I mean.”

A rueful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I doubt many in Bruckstone Castle share yer sentiments.”

“They dinnae ken ye like I do.” His voice was softer now, his hazel eyes sincere. He reached through the bars and held her hand. “Arguen, I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love ye,” he said.

Arguen looked at him pitifully. “Please, Malcolm. Dinnae do this tae me now. I cannae leave like this. Ye ken we wouldn’t work.”

“Aye, so ye’ve said. But...If I hadnae told ye now, I’d never forgive meself. What yer about tae do is dangerous, but necessary. If I never see ye again...” his voice trailed off momentarily, “Just thought ye needed tae hear it. I dinnae ken this Blake character, but if he’s unkind tae ye, I want ye to remember words from someone who loved ye.”

Arguen’s blue eyes welled up with tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. “Malcolm...” she began, but he shushed her before she could go on. There were footsteps above them, too close for his liking, so he let go of her hand abruptly.

“I should go,” he whispered. He made his way to an alternate staircase, but before going up, he looked back at her. “Dinnae forget me, Arguen,” he pleaded.

“I willnae forget ye, Malcolm,” she said tenderly. He gave one last longing look, then left.

She had never loved Malcolm, not as he loved her. He was a bosom friend though, and she hated to leave him behind. Now her heart was even heavier, and she wondered how much more she could bear. And she had a feeling she was going to find out.

It was well after sunset when Douglas arrived in the dungeons, rucksack and keys in hand. He looked gaunt and haggard, more like a shell rather than his usual carefree and jovial self.

Douglas put the rucksack down on a dry spot of the floor while he unlocked the cell. “We have tae be quick about this. Laird Morgan isnae drinkin’ as fast, and his wits are still about him.” When the cell was unlocked, he grabbed her hand as she grabbed the rucksack. She didn’t question him when he beckoned her to follow him into what looked like a cellar door down the corridor, although in her right mind, she would have called him mad.

She had never even known this was here, in all her years at Bruckstone Castle. Even when she and Malcolm and Douglas had played as children, she’d never ventured down into the dungeons with them. And for good reason, she surmised—it was dark, and each noise echoed off the wall in eerie ways.

“How long’ve ye ken about this?” she whispered, fearing that if she spoke too loudly, her voice would echo all the way through the tunnel and back to the dungeons, where the next unlucky guard would have to inform the laird that she was missing.

“Years. A bit after ye were born, methinks,” Douglas said wryly.

At long last, they reached the end of the tunnel. Arguen held the lantern up while Douglas unlatched what seemed to be a trap door. She looked around the small chamber, which was more like a closet. A few dusty glass bottles, some full of what she could only guess was booze, and some empty, lay discarded on the stone floor. A barrel stood against the wall, one of the rings rather rusted. The wood was old and splitting. She wondered how long these things had been here, and for what purpose this tunnel had been used in the past.

Finally, Douglas opened the door and threw it open. Arguen couldn’t help letting out a deep gasp. It had been a month since she saw the night sky in all its glory. Now the sight of the inky black sky dotted with white and silver stars took her very breath away.

Douglas smiled softly. “I ken ye missed the stars.”

“Aye,” she said dreamily, still looking up at the sky, “they make bonnie companions.”

He let her look at the stars for a moment longer, then pulled the rotting barrel underneath the aperture.

“I havenae found time tae put a ladder here yet, so the barrel will have tae do,” he explained.

Arguen was going to question its safety, but the entire endeavor was dangerous. Climbing on a rotten barrel to get out of a secret tunnel was the absolute least of her worries.

Douglas continued talking as he climbed up. “I’ll go up first so I can pull ye up. Fasten yer cloak and hood first—yer hair shines. Someone’ll see ye.”

Arguen didn’t need to be told twice. Her cap was long gone, leaving her silvery hair uncovered. After a while, the pins in her hair began to hurt, so she’d taken them out and stuffed them in her stays. Using a torn-off piece of her petticoat, she pulled her hair back and covered it. Douglas had been thoughtful enough to include her good cloak in the rucksack, which helped to warm her and further ensconce her in the darkness.

Douglas went up first with what seemed like no effort, and hoisted her up with a strong arm afterward.

Finally, she was free.

All she wanted to do was sink to the earth, feel the grass and dirt in her hands, and be at peace, but she had to move quickly—both for her and her brother’s sake. The tunnel put them out at the stables, which no one was guarding. Sentries were picketed along various points of the castle, but none were so far out here. Arguen could see the lanterns and candles in the windows in the distance—soft orange glows amongst the stone. They were too far away to hear the din of the party, and for whatever reason, that fact made Arguen a little sad. Bruckstone Castle was her home. Over the years, she had grown to love the staff, guards, and clan members who didn’t treat her like an outsider because of her appearance. She’d attended parties, weddings, funerals, and feasts of various kinds, and healed more sickness and injuries than she could count. The whole of her life had passed here so far. Who was to say if she’d ever see it again?

She heaved a deep sigh. “I should go. I dinnae want ye tae get intae trouble.”