Page 25 of Fire in his Highland Heart

“Sweet child,” Mrs. Kinney said, patting her hand. She took a deep breath as if to clear the doleful energy from the air, and stood up. “We ought tae find ye somethin tae wear to the ball, should we not?”

For the next hour or so, Mrs. Kinney helped Arguen in and out of different skirts, bodices, and gowns. In each one, Arguen felt overdressed, ridiculous, and not herself. Mrs. Kinney, of course, oohed and aahed over each one. Arguen didn’t feel right until she tried on the very last one, and suddenly, she felt...beautiful wasn’t the right word. Lovely? That would have to do for the moment.

It was a soft blue, nearly light enough to match her eyes, with a simple cream colored under-petticoat, light blue overskirt, and bodice to match. At the neck, which was cut rather low, there was a silver brooch in the shape of a dove. She opted not to wear the collar with it, as the enormous lace and wire contraption made her feel rather like a wild turkey bearing all its feathers. There were even shoes—small, cream colored things with silver buckles and a slight heel. Arguen imagined the timid tapping sound it would make on a stone floor.

“Oh, Arguen,” Mrs. Kinney breathed, “Yer a true vision. Ye should never wear any color but this.”

“’Tis impractical for healin’, is it not?”

“Aye, but let yerself enjoy impracticality from time tae time. It keeps ye young.”

“’Tisnae too much?”

Mrs. Kinney shook her head slowly. “Nay, lass. In fact I guarantee Laird Blake will have eyes for ye an’ ye only.”

Arguen rolled her eyes, not even bothering to resist the urge. “I care not for him. Am I grateful for what he’s given tae me by lettin’ me stay? Aye. An’ I ken he’s a friend of Douglas, though I cannae for the life o’ me see why. Douglas is a jolly thing. Likes tae laugh, tae make mischief, ye see. But I dinnae see that in Laird Blake.”

Mrs. Kinney smiled in understanding. “Aye, but dinnae opposites attract?”

“Mayhap. I just...felt uneasy in his presence. I just... I feel cold when Laird Blake is around.”

“Everyone has their own demons tae fight,” she reminded her. “But c’mon. I can help ye style yer hair, then we should go back tae the castle.”

“Are ye goin’ tae the ball? Shouldnae we get ye dressed, as well?”

“Aye, for a bit, but I have tae stay alert. In case someone has too much merriment and needs a healer.”

Arguen understood completely. She’d attended her fair share of parties at Bruckstone Castle where someone needed a cure for nausea, whisky headaches, or even bruises or broken bones from drunken dares.

“If ye need assistance, I’m glad tae help,” she offered. But Mrs. Kinney saw right through it.

“Nay, lass. Ye need tae attend the ball. ‘Tis proper an’ right o’ ye tae go. ‘Twould be rude to decline yer first invitation. An’ it’ll be good for ye tae meet the town. God only kens how long ye’ll be here, eh?”

Mrs. Kinney was right, of course. It didn’t calm Arguen’s nerves though. She had already gotten looks and whispers when she went into the kitchen. Who was to say things would be any better at the ball? She didn’t want to be an object of wonder or pity. She had never enjoyed the mystery ascribed to her due to her appearance. As far as she saw it, there wasn’t much to her—healer, daughter, sister, friend. She just happened to have silver hair and bright blue eyes.

“Ye dinnae have tae dance if it displeases ye. Ye can always say ye’d rather rest yer leg after the injury. No one’ll think twice,” Mrs. Kinney offered, sensing dancing might be the issue, as it often was for many young women.

“Nay, not at all. I love a dance. ‘Tis just...the people,” Arguen said hesitantly.

Mrs. Kinney’s eyes were kind and brimming with compassion. “If ye approach the situation with grace and confidence, ye willnae let their looks get tae ye.”

“I’m afeared both o’ those are in rather short supply,” Arguen answered dolefully.

Mrs. Kinney tsked. “So be it. In that case, there’s always liquid courage of some sort.”

For her own sake, Arguen hoped Mrs. Kinney was right.

Chapter Ten

“Why do I even host these damned things?” Blake asked, frustrated, as he tried to button the top of his doublet himself. “It drains our coffers,” he mumbled, as James rolled his eyes and got up to help him with the buttons.

“Ye’ve had a good year. Crops came in, taxes are paid, business is boomin’. A few parties over the summer cannae hurt,” James said.

Blake snorted in disgust when James finished the buttons. Normally, a valet might have done it for him, but Blake had given him the evening off to prepare for the ball with his family.

“An’ when we hit winter and there’s naethin’ left? What then?” Blake asked solemnly.

“That willnae be. Ye looked over the numbers all week. ‘Twill be a good year.”