Page 17 of Fire in his Highland Heart

All of this, she considered as she trudged along the brush, and she quickly realized she was actually growing tired. Her feet felt heavy in her boots, and the sun was so bright...maybe a quick meal and a lie down weren’t such bad things after all. She strayed from the main road, deeper into the forest. It wasn’t a smart idea, but it was the one she had. On sleep deprivation, one could excuse all manner of behaviors.

After a short walk, she found a glade in the midst of the forest with a stream flowing through it. Without a second thought, she dropped the rucksack and sank to her knees, cupping her hands in the cool water and splashing it on her face. Then she gathered the water in her hands like a little bowl and drank like she’d never had water before. When she was finally satisfied, she sat back on her heels and surveyed her surroundings. It was peaceful and quiet. Birds chirped cheerily, and the sound of the water running gently over the stones in the stream was very pleasant. She felt tired. It was like a weariness settled over her bones and refused to leave. But sleeping out in the open was not a smart thing. She reluctantly took her rucksack under a nearby tree and fell fast asleep. No dreams this time, only a deep sleep, total blackness behind her eyelids.

* * *

Arguen awoke with a start. The sun was lower in the sky now, meaning she’d slept for hours—longer than she’d wanted. If she wanted to get any closer to Ernmore Castle, she’d have to run like she did before.

As she tied her rucksack about her body, she heard a stick crack in the woods. Freezing where she was, she squinted and surveyed her surroundings once more. She couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Something was definitely wrong. Maybe someone from the castle had followed her here. Her heart sank at the thought. Of course, escaping so easily was too good to be true.

Still uneasy, she hurried along to the edge of the forest where she could peer at the main road to make sure she was on the right path. After a few more minutes of walking quickly, as if this uneasy feeling were a person or a creature she could evade, she stopped to take a breath and steady herself. It would do no good to push herself on like this. Although she needed to make it to Ernmore Castle in as little time as possible, she also knew that without taking small breaks to assess where she was, she might fall victim to delirium and never make it to her destination. She’d grown up hearing the stories of robbers, wild beasts, and even the fae preying upon unsuspecting souls. Some small part of her hoped if she came across any, they would take one look at her silver hair and bright eyes, decide she was not of this world, and leave her alone. Did such thoughts make her a witch? No, of course not. She hadn’t quite forsaken God yet.

Arguen was about to start moving once more when she saw clusters of yarrow growing haphazardly in different spots under the line of trees that separated the forest from the main road. As a healer, she was never immune to the charms of an herb. In being locked in a cell below the earth for over a month, she felt some sense of relief at being able to kneel in the dirt for a moment and collect plants. And yarrow was always good to have on hand simply for its versatility in healing properties. Arguen might have continued gathering the plants in peace, save for the rustle of leaves and the voice behind her.

“I’d nae pick the wee things if I were ye,” it said, the tone wary.

Arguen froze for a moment. She didn’t recognize this voice, but it also sounded vaguely like a threat. Her knife—that’s what she needed. Douglas had taught her how to use it for defense. But where was it?

Arguen scrambled up, grabbing a rather puny stick nearby in hopes of some defense. What she saw surprised her. It was an older woman, dressed shabbily in clothes that had obviously seen better days, holding a basket on her arm. She didn’t look like a threat, with her twinkling eyes and wrinkled countenance. Still, it was better to be prepared.

“What do ye want? I’ve nae money,” she said curtly.

The old woman chuckled. “Nae, wee lass. I simply want tae tell ye not tae pick those herbs.”

“Why not? ‘Tis someone else’s yarrow?” Arguen asked, still not lowering her guard. She gripped the stick tight in her hands, ready to swing if the need arose.

“Nae, lass. ‘Tisnae yarrow. Hemlock. Unless ye fancy meetin’ yer end like Socrates, ye dinnae want that.”

Several things ran through Arugen’s mind at once. Firstly, could this woman’s advice be trusted? Secondly, who was Socrates and why should she care about him? Thirdly...if this woman spoke the truth...could Arugen have mistaken hemlock for yarrow that one fateful night? At all of this, she felt bile rise in her throat, as if wanting to expel all these whirling thoughts. Instead, she found the courage to speak.

“Hemlock? ‘Tis poison?” she asked.

“Aye,” said the woman, “but they look similar. Here, see,” she pulled yarrow out of her basket and showed Arguen. The young woman approached the older woman like a deer going to eat from a human’s hand—slow, suspicious, but curious.

“Yarrow has bigger flowers an’ more leaves, but ‘tis wee when compared tae hemlock. Now, look what ye have there,” the old woman gestured to the plants in Arguen’s hand, “that one has purple spots on the stems, and none o’ that fuzz that yarrow does.”

Arguen nodded slowly, noting the differences. How silly could she have been? An experienced healer such as herself should have known these roadside plants were not yarrow, even if she could not identify hemlock.

“How did ye find this tae be true?” Arguen asked out of curiosity.

The old woman smiled kindly. “A lifetime o’ experience, lass. And readin’ the wisdom of the ancients. They kent more than for what we give ‘em credit.”

Arguen nodded in understanding. Everything she knew about healing came from her mother—she hadn’t exactly had unfettered access to the books in the library of Bruckstone Castle. Besides, there had always been too much going on to have time for such idleness. But before she could grow too comfortable with this woman, she put her guard up again.

“Did ye...follow me here? Was that ye...in the glen when I heard that noise?”

The older woman sighed. “Aye, lass. I saw ye layin’ on the ground an’ when I was gatherin’ herbs and thought ye might be ill.”

Relief crashed over Arguen like a gentle wave. “Braw, I thought ye meant tae kill me,” she said.

“Nae. An’ I followed ye here tae make sure ye didnae faint dead away. What’s a young lass doin’ so far in the woods?” she asked. Those twinkling eyes were genuinely curious. Arguen wondered if they could see right through her.

“Travelin’. Thought a lonesome lass on the main road might draw unwanted attention.”

The woman sighed. “I ken what ye mean. The townsfolk here call me a witch, so I do me best tae stay hidden.”

This encounter was eerie for Arguen. Perhaps this woman really could see right through her, or into her soul.

“Why do they call ye a witch?” she asked.