Page 21 of Fire in his Highland Heart

Arguen nodded sincerely, then left.

Fate be damned.

Chapter Eight

The young woman in Connie’s cottage had not been wrong about the moors. Nearly nine days into her travels now, Arguen wondered if any of this was worth it. The forest, for all its mystery, had been so much more pleasant. Even staying in the cell, there was a level of certainty. Back then, she could count on regular food and visits from her brother. Now, out in the vastness of the rocks and the heather with nary a tree in sight, and completely out of all food and supplies, she thought herself more crow food than human woman.

She’d fallen on a slippery rock earlier that week during the rain and twisted her ankle. That made walking difficult, to be sure, but there was also an angry red gash on her calf. This had forced her to stop and clean it out in a small stream several miles later. After doing the best she could with whatever little herbs she had, she tore off a strip of her under petticoat and tied it tight. It had since bled through more than twice, and Arguen had to stop frequently in order to change it. There wasn’t much under petticoat left. But it had been nine days since she left the widow’s cottage. If she had been following Douglas’s map correctly, which she was sure she had done, she should happen upon Ernmore Castle sometime today. All she wanted was to rest. Her face felt hot, despite the cool, constant rain and the winds that swept over the moors. Perhaps she was developing a fever. Such cuts could do that sometimes, if not properly treated. What if she’d poisoned herself, she wondered? What if Connie had given her hemlock instead of yarrow? Arguen would have panicked at the thought, but she was too weary in both mind and body. As soon as she found a nice patch of heather, perhaps close to a stream, she would rest. One more rest couldn’t hurt.

After a few more miles, she found such a spot. She laid on her side—for kneeling put pressure on her calf—and scooped the cold water into her mouth. That was the one good thing about the moors—little streams dotted the brush and heather. Hunger had left her long ago. It had pinched her stomach the first few days, but now it just felt numb. Arguen could ignore that—she simply wanted rest. When she was finished drinking, she put her rucksack under her head and fell fast asleep.

“D’ye ken the lass?” a voice sounded, but it was muffled, as if Arguen were underwater. Then she felt a gentle, lumbering motion at her lower back, and the head of a horse jerked in front of her. She was fading in and out of consciousness, to be sure, and had not the strength to realize what was happening.

Another voice sounded, different from the first one, but still as if it were underwater. Then all went black again.

* * *

Arguen opened her eyes slowly. They flickered open and closed several times as they adjusted to the light. Her entire body ached fiercely. When she tried to sit up, a gentle hand pushed her back down.

“Och, gentle now, lass. Ye’ve had quite the time of it.”

Arguen blinked slowly. It was an older woman with a kind smile and a red face, a cap pinned close to her head. For a moment, Arguen wondered whether she were back in Connie’s cottage. Maybe the old widow had followed her through the moors and taken her back. But as Arguen looked around, she realized this was not Connie’s cottage. Instead, she seemed to be in a small, plain bedchamber. There were no features to distinguish the room, for it was furnished in a rather Spartan manner. She would have liked to leap out of bed with her knife and question the woman, but her body still ached. Instead, she laid back against the pillows and took a deep breath.

“Where am I?”

The woman smiled. “Yer in a servant’s bedroom in Ernmore Castle.”

Arguen was glad she was laying down, for her head began to spin.

“I’m...at the castle? But how?”

The woman rubbed her arm soothingly. It was then Arguen realized she was only in her shift under the covers. When had she undressed herself? And how had she gotten in?

“Some of his lairdship’s guards were out patrolling the lands close tae the castle. They found ye crumpled in a heap by the stream and brought ye back here tae heal properly.”

Suddenly, Arguen remembered the gash in her leg, and her eyes drifted down to her left calf. The woman’s gaze followed hers. “Ah, aye. I cleaned it up a fair bit, put a good poultice on it, and wrapped it again. Yer poor petticoats were in tatters, no doubt from yer bandages. ‘Tis a blessing ye wrapped it so. If ye hadnae treated it first, ‘tis likely I would have called the surgeon tae...” the woman’s voice trailed off, but Arguen understood well enough.

“So...ye undressed me and treated me?” Arguen asked.

“Aye. As I said, yer petticoats were in tatters, and yer jacket and stays were no better. I sent them out tae wash, but in the meantime, there’s clothes for ye in that trunk,” she explained, nodding her head toward the trunk at the end of the bed. Arguen was about to lay back and be comfortable again, but she looked with wide eyes at the woman.

“My things...my rucksack...” she asked, beginning to panic. Douglas’s letter of introduction was in her rucksack. If it fell out, or if one of the guards or this woman took it, she might be thrown in the dungeons again. Hopefully, these people were more courteous than that. So far, they’d been kind enough to care for her injuries, but she was still suspicious.

“’Tis in the trunk. What d’ye need, lass?” the woman asked. She suddenly looked more concerned.

“My...I need...there was a letter...” she couldn’t get out a full sentence, her thoughts were so scrambled.

“I’ll fetch it for ye, lass. No need tae worry.” The woman rose and made her way to the foot of her bed, taking out the rucksack. The sight of the grubby little thing filled Arguen with such relief. The woman handed it to her, and Arguen had to restrain herself to keep from snatching it away. As soon as it was in her lap, she rifled through its contents until she located the letter, seal still unbroken. A deep sigh escaped her body, and she felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted off her chest.

“I was worried,” she said feebly.

The woman raised an eyebrow in amusement. “I can see that.”

“How long have I been here?” Arguen asked, still clutching the letter in her hands.

“Not long, two days. Ye slept a good bit. This is the first I’ve seen ye awake an’ heard yer voice.”

Arguen nodded. She wasn’t sure of this woman’s relationship to his lairdship, but she needed to find out for certain if she was safe at Ernmore Castle.