Page 22 of Fire in his Highland Heart

“And... his lairdship...does he ken he’s carin’ for a straggler?”

The woman nodded. “The guards alerted him. He didnae care tae wake ye, but he promised he’d come down tae check on yer condition if ye feel well enough.” Her eyes seemed to ask that question rather than her words, and Arguen nodded slowly.

“If ‘tis nae a bother, I need him tae read this letter, and I’d feel best tae give it tae him in person, ye ken?” Arguen asked. She knew it was a large favor—having the laird of the castle come down to the servants’ chambers to read a letter from a scrawny, strange looking traveler that he did not know, but she trusted her brother’s assessment and words.

“Aye, lass. I’ll go an’ fetch him now if he isnae occupied. Ye stay here an’ rest. Dinnae try tae leave just yet,” she said with a wink.

Arguen smiled weakly at her words, but wondered if there was a double meaning behind them. Was she warning her not to try to escape? Was she a prisoner here again?

As soon as the door closed, Arguen heaved a sigh again and laid back against the pillows, closing her eyes and willing herself not to cry. She had made it this far. She had left behind her home and what little family she had left, traversed a forest and the moors, all for naught if she were simply made prisoner again. She wondered what Douglas was doing now, what Malcolm was doing, what preparations Marianne was making for a trial that would ultimately end in Arguen’s execution.

Yes, she’d had plenty of time to think while crossing the moors, and she had no doubt that Marianne had enough power to have her killed. Was it better to be killed in one’s home, or in a strange place? Arguen did not have time to ponder that, as a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Arguen said, hoping she sounded confident and formidable instead of confused and scared out of her wits.

The kind older woman entered, followed by a tall, broad-shouldered, imposing man with dark hair and eyes. His expression was unreadable, and he did not smile in greeting. Arguen gulped nervously, and pulled the quilt up higher over herself for modesty.

“So,” he said matter-of-factly, pulling up a chair and sitting an appropriate distance away from her bedside, “ye are the young lass my guards found not far from the castle.” His voice was deep and just as imposing as the rest of him. Were he not so cold-mannered, Arguen might have thought him handsome, but his presence did not put her at ease.

“Aye. I’m grateful tae yer guards. I might not have made it here without them.”

“So this was yer destination?”

Arguen nodded.

“And what business have ye at Ernmore Castle?”

Sensing an interrogation, Arguen thrust the letter toward him. “Here. ‘Tis a letter of introduction from my brother, Douglas Larimore.”

The laird raised his eyebrows. “Douglas Larimore? Of the MacRobbin Clan?”

Arguen nodded. “Aye. He told me ye were a friend.”

His voice was so even, Arguen could hardly stand it. “Douglas is a very good friend. Saved my life. I owe him a debt.”

“I think I might be yer debt,” Arguen tried to joke, but neither he nor the woman laughed. Instead, he read through the letter quickly. She was desperate to know what it said, but opening the letter of introduction violated trust.

“Douglas says yer in trouble at Bruckstone Castle. Doesnae say why. Care tae explain?” he asked, looking at her with such authority she was sure she would melt into a puddle under his gaze.

“I think ‘tis better for both of us if ye ken less,” she said. Of course she wanted to tell the truth, but it was highly unlikely this intimidating man would take kindly to harboring an accused witch.

He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. “Yer no traitor, are ye?”

Arguen hesitated. She wasn’t sure if Marianne would call her a traitor, but by official definition, she was not.

“No,” she answered.

“Nor treasonous?”

Now it was her turn to sigh deeply. “Yer lairdship, I am loyal tae my craft and want tae help those in need. If that is a crime, so be it. But ye owe my brother a debt, and he’s collecting it now.”

She thought she saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes, but it passed, and was quickly back to that cold gaze.

“Very well. Pray tell, what is yer craft?”

“I’m a healer, sir.”

He nodded as if he were processing strategic information. “We have need of another healer. Mrs. Kinney here is far too busy wi’ everythin. Ye can help her. In the meantime, I’ll write tae Douglas and tell him yer here.”