Page 19 of Fire in his Highland Heart

“Mirellain is my child, and I find no shame in carin’ for her,” he answered resolutely.

Nurse Patsy looked cross at this but consented, and Mirellain waddled across the floor as fast as her chubby little legs would allow. When she reached his chair, he scooped her up and peppered her face with kisses while she squealed with delight.

“Is Papa sad?” she asked again when he settled her.

“Nay, wee thing. Just thinkin’,” he said, watching her little hand wrap around two of his fingers.

“About Mama?”

Blake looked down at Mirellain. For a four-year-old, she was quite perceptive to other people’s emotions and moods.

“Aye, and other things.”

“Is Nurse Patsy my mama?” she asked inquisitively, her little brow furrowed.

“Och, nay. Nurse Patsy just takes care of ye.”

“I miss Mama,” Mirellain said softly.

This was a sentiment she expressed often, and Blake wondered how much of her mother she really remembered. “I ken, sweet one. So do I. But Mama or no, Nurse Patsy is right. Ye ought tae be sleeping.”

“But a nightmare will get me,” she said, her bottom lip quivering again.

Blake pressed a gentle kiss to his daughter’s forehead. “Nay, not taenight. I’ll tuck ye in and pray wi’ ye,” he said. With that, he rose, carrying her upstairs to Nurse Patsy’s room, where her little bed was. The nurse slept in the same room to tend to Mirellain’s needs, should any arise. Right now, said nurse was sleeping peacefully on her bed by the window.

Blake set Mirellain down in her bed and tucked the quilt around her. When she was comfortable, he knelt beside her bed to model prayer. Mirellain folded her little hands, knowing what was coming.

“Now I lay me down to sleep,” he said evenly, and she repeated after him. “I pray the Lord my soul tae keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul tae take. Angels watch me through the night and wake me with the morning light,” he continued, with Mirellain repeating as best she could, line after line.

He rose and kissed her forehead again. “Sleep well, my child,” he whispered.

She bid him a good night in that soft, sweet voice, and within minutes, she was asleep.

Blake closed the door softly behind him. Perhaps it was time to consider remarrying after all.

* * *

Arguen slept later than normal, and was surprised to see the sun peeking up over the horizon through the window when she woke.

The window...of a house. Whose house? Surely, she wasn’t…

Then she remembered. The wise old woman had given her shelter for the night, and it seemed she was already busy. She yawned and dressed herself, throwing her cloak over her shoulders before she gingerly climbed down the ladder from the loft.

A pleasant-looking young woman holding an infant smiled at her. “Connie, I didnae ken ye had help now,” she remarked.

Arguen smiled back. This young woman didn’t seem bothered by her unusual hair and eyes, something many people usually recoiled at.

“Not for long. Arguen here is a traveler.”

“Where to?”

Arguen gulped. Was it...safe of her to reveal her destination or her travel plans? Suddenly something Douglas had told her stuck in her mind: When tellin’ a falsehood, use as much truth as possible. Makes the lie easier.

“Ernmore Castle. Um...is it far from here?”

“Ye’ve a good week of travel ahead. Ye’ll need supplies,” the old woman, Connie, said.

The younger woman agreed. “Aye, and ye’ll have tae cross the moors. ‘Tis no small feat.”