Page 16 of Fire in his Highland Heart

“Enough!” she snapped. “If you refuse to take action, then I will. Robert, arrest Douglas. I am sure he is the one who broke the witch free.”

Robert looked nervously at Marianne, then Malcolm, then Marianne again, as if unsure to whom he should really listen. Marianne did make for a more frightening sight, with her red face and eyes narrowed into slits.

“Belay that, Robert. We cannae arrest someone without proof.”

“Do you not find it suspicious?” she hissed.

“I think we should take some time tae clear our heads and do some questioning first. Robert, ask the magistrate tae come up here and tell him we need his legal advice.”

Marianne rolled her eyes as Robert bowed and left the chamber. “Malcolm, you are a fool. It had to be her brother. Douglas is behind this, I know it.”

“Marianne, ye ken naethin. Ye simply have a feelin’, and yer flyin’ intae a rage. ‘Tis no help tae anyone,” he said in the most rational, soothing voice he could muster. But truly, his insides were all in turmoil. He had a feeling his wife was as much capable of physical violence as she was of verbal violence, and he had no great desire to witness it.

“Well, who else could it have possibly been? They were extremely close.”

“Och, I ken ye’ll hate tae hear it, but Arguen did have friends here. She healed many of us in this castle. I’m sure there were a fair number who took pity on her.”

“Stop speaking in this manner. Soon enough you’ll make me think you did it.”

The magistrate was easily fetched, and not an imposing man. Small of stature and with a delicate accent, he did not seem to convey law, order, and authority in his person. But Malcolm knew better than to judge a book by its cover, and he’d always had a knack for seeing someone’s true character.

“Ye’re right, Master Malcolm,” said the magistrate in a voice that reminded him of an air blowing through a thin reed, “Mistress Marianne, we cannae arrest Douglas without some sort o’ proof. A mere feelin’ cannae be enough.”

“Oh, but Mr. Murray, do you not think it seems probable?”

The magistrate sighed. “I willnae make judgment until I have facts. I am truly sorry to ruffle yer feathers,” he said, peering at her over the tops of his crescent moon spectacles.

Malcolm had to stifle an urge to snicker. He could tell that Mr. Murray had no time for any of Marianne’s wild theories.

“So you won’t arrest anyone?” Marianne asked, bewildered and visibly disappointed.

“Nay. But I will ask tae question every member o’ the household. ‘Twill take all day, but afterward, we can formulate some theories and organize a search party.”

“Questioning? All day? That means she is a day ahead of us, perhaps a day and a night!”

“Aye, so it does,” Mr. Murray answered evenly, “but think, Mistress. A young woman, in the forest on her own, cannae get far. A well-rested an’ prepared search party of several members on horseback will cover much more ground much faster. They should be able tae find her quickly. And if not, we can certainly put out word that there is a fugitive missing from justice. A twenty pound reward will do nicely if they bring her back.”

“Alive OR dead,” Marianne tried to assert. Malcolm was honestly shocked at his wife’s words.

“Nay, Marianne! Alive only. If we find her, she is entitled tae a fair trial. Isnae that right, Mr. Murray?”

“Indeed. She is no murderer or adulterer, and even so, is entitled to all the rights of law.”

“But. She. Is. A. Witch,” Marianne insisted, each word staccato. “She killed my unborn babe.”

“I understand yer frustration, Mistress, I do. But yer angry, and lookin’ fer someone tae blame. Arguen may or may not be that person, hence the trial.”

Marianne still pouted, but she knew she wasn’t going to get her way with this one. Malcolm, on the other hand, gripped the arm of his chair so hard that his knuckles turned white. He thought a night and a day would be enough to get Arguen away from the castle quickly. If what Mr. Murray said was true, he might not have done anything to help her after all.

“Husband, are you well?” she asked, her tone back to her usual shrill one. She looked him up and down, her gaze resting on his hand, white-knuckling the chair.

Malcolm shook his head. “Nay. I think ‘tis still the whisky headache,” he feigned and excused himself for some fresh air.

Once outside on the balcony, he was able to breathe deeply. Was it just him, or was the air in the castle stifling? At least his wife believed the whisky headache lie. He said one more prayer to whoever in the heavens was listening that Arguen was safe and well on her way to shelter.

Arguen walked hurriedly in the brush. The sun was high in the sky now, and there was no doubt that the castle had been alerted to her absence. She didn’t even feel tired, despite having been awake for the entire night and the entire day before, due to nerves. All she could think about was putting distance between her and Bruckstone Castle. She ended up having to walk a good portion of the night, since the darkness rather obscured her eyesight. The stars, which had been so bright outside the stables, were obscured by the thickness of the foliage high up in the trees. At the first sign of light, however, she tied her skirt in a knot above her knees and ran as fast as she could. It might have been easier in men’s clothing since skirts did not obstruct their movement, but apparently, Douglas hadn’t thought of that. No matter—she wasn’t in a place where she felt safe enough to change. She worried for herself, yes, but also for her brother and for Malcolm.

Malcolm. She didn’t love him, not deeply and truly like a proper romance, but she had always been fond of him and found his presence comforting. Had he asked her to marry him, she would have accepted, and she knew she would have been content. It was unlikely she’d receive many other offers as it was. But his father had other ideas at the time. Some sort of alliance with the English nobility was supposed to strengthen their clan. And Malcolm, the dutiful young man that he was, did as his father bid. So pious, so dutiful. What a pleasant life they might have lived. It meant a lot for Malcolm to admit his feelings like he did. It broke her heart having to leave him. Although, nothing would have ever come of it had she stayed. In fact, he probably would have kept such feelings bottled inside forever—her imprisonment and escape was the boiling point.