Page 28 of Fire in his Highland Heart

What a relief it was, what an odd phenomenon. She danced with James once more, and with several other men, both young and old. Only when her leg began to hurt did she have to beg to sit down, have a glass of wine, and watch the merriment. As she sat at a bench between two women James had introduced her to earlier, she found her feet swinging off the ground in tune with the music. It was so absolutely freeing, and all dark thoughts about the trial, the cell, Bruckstone Castle, and her escape were soon forgotten.

She did, however, wonder why Blake did not dance. He socialized a little, from what she could tell, but very little, and he did not dance once. Why, then, did he host these things if he did not partake? Very odd indeed. Arguen glanced over at him, catching his eye. The laird fixed her with a stern gaze for several seconds, then looked away.

Oh goodness, she thought. What have I done now?

* * *

Laird Blake watched the party from his usual place at the table. He never danced, of course. And townswomen kept pushing their eligible (and sometimes even not so eligible) daughters at him in stiff introductions. Every time, he wished James might be there to make things less awkward, but it seemed he was preoccupied with the new healer.

And for whatever reason, Blake had trouble taking his eyes off her.

The silver hair was odd, yes. He didn’t remember Douglas having such fair hair, but then again, it had been a couple years since they’d seen each other. Perhaps there was more family resemblance rather than hereditary abnormality.

What’s more, Blake found Arguen pretty, at least enough to be intrigued. He watched as she smiled and laughed with other guests. A kinder face, he had not seen before. But every time she was left alone, she seemed to be deep in her thoughts. Even from his far away vantage point at the high table, he could see that there was a great sadness in those shockingly blue eyes. He wondered if she would ever tell him what it was. He’d even considered asking her to dance, simply to be polite, but he could not throw that in the faces of the other women here. He’d already declined so many offers, it would be unseemly to suddenly seek out one woman and ask for a dance.

Perhaps when Mabon rolled around the next month, he would be more courageous. But it was a big perhaps.

Chapter Eleven

Arguen awoke in her cottage the next morning with a headache, one she hadn’t had for quite some time. She groaned and winced as she sat up.

“Jesus, give me strength,” she mumbled, as she drew up her knees to rest her chin on them.

Maybe she’d made a bit too much merriment at the ball last night. She thought she’d done rather well, but perhaps her tolerance was different now because she hadn’t enjoyed herself that much in so long.

Water. That’s what she needed. Water and maybe something to eat, even though the idea of food turned her stomach. She rolled over out of the small bed she’d made in the loft, not even bothering to dress herself just yet. How refreshing that was, too—to have her own space where she didn’t immediately have to dress herself out of modesty. Back at Bruckstone, she’d shared a room with Fiona, and it had become a habit for Arguen to dress immediately upon waking.

It was so quiet she hardly knew what to do with herself. Even when she was recovering in a small room in Ernmore Castle, she could hear the bustling of the kitchens and the chatter of servants in the corridors outside the room. Here, in this small two room cottage, all she could hear were birds chirping to signal the morning. She looked around the kitchen as she rubbed her eyes groggily. Food. That’s what she needed. Mrs. Kinney had left bread in one of the cupboards when she’d brought some supplies over the previous day to help her get started. Arguen helped herself to a hunk of bread and a cup of water from the pitcher on the windowsill, and sat in one of the small chairs. She knew she had told many partygoers last night that she was a healer, should anyone need her services. At the time people had seemed receptive, but perhaps the drink had altered her memory. What if no one came? How was she to keep herself occupied in this cottage?

She pondered various ideas as she munched slowly on the bread to keep last night’s delicacies from coming back up. The very least she could do was keep house. The cottage itself did need a fair bit of cleaning—she could see dust gathering on the furniture, and the herb garden outside was in desperate need of attention. Shortly after breaking her fast, and feeling strong enough in her stomach, she dressed herself in a simple dark green jacket and grey petticoats. This time, she wore a cap to keep her hair out of her face as she worked. It felt odd, putting the cap back on, as she’d been without one for months. But now she could do it without a sense of shame. The cap was there to keep her hair clean and out of her face as she worked—it was no longer a way for her to hide her silver hair from the eyes of others. The positive experience at the ball last night had taught her that it was nothing to be ashamed of. Mrs. Kinney’s words also stuck in her head: as long as she treated it like it was something to be ashamed of, people would treat her with pity and suspicion. Now she was determined to change her fate and the world’s perception of her.

By late afternoon, Arguen had managed to do quite a lot. The house was clean. She’d discovered that there was a well behind the cottage from which she could draw water, the plants were taken care of, and she’d made a loaf of bread and some stew. All in all, a good day’s work. That was until there was a frantic knock at her door. Seeing as she really didn’t know anyone in the town, she was curious. When she opened it, a little boy, perhaps no more than eight, stood on the doorstep, big eyes shining up at her with hope.

“Please, mistress, me ma says yer a healer an’ we need help.”

There hadn’t been many children at the ball last night, so she wondered to whom this child belonged. “Aye, lad. What’s the ailment?”

“Me ma, she’s with child. She has these pains in her belly, ye see, an’ today she says she cannae bear it. Can ye help her?”

Arguen’s heart thudded in her chest. Another mother with pains before a birth? Had fate resorted to playing cruel tricks on her now that she had escaped captivity at Bruckstone? She hoped whatever it was, it would not turn out like the last time. Where would she go if Ernmore Castle was no longer safe?

She swallowed her nerves for the little boy standing in front of her. “Let me get some things, then ye can take me tae her, a’right?”

The boy nodded, and Arguen began to gather what herbs she thought might be useful—peppermint, chamomile, and Mrs. Kinney had even given her some ginger and licorice root. She wasn’t quite ready to touch yarrow again, at least not for a while. When her bag of herbs, rags, vials, and other healing accoutrements was packed, the boy led her into the heart of the village. Arguen would have liked to stop at the stalls in the market or amble around the town to see what it was like, but of course, this was a pressing matter.

The house was down a mean little alley sandwiched between a tavern and a blacksmithing shop, but it looked clean despite its loud and frequent neighbors.

A woman, who could not have been more than ten years older than Arguen, was seated in a chair by the hearth. Her chestnut hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, and she grimaced in pain. For a moment, Arugen’s mind flashed back to Marianne’s blonde hair stuck to her forehead like that. Her heart began to pitter-patter quickly. What if she’d lost her touch? What if her attempt with Marianne had signaled the end of her time as a healer? What else was there for her to do, if not heal?

But through all of this, she had to conceal with a self-assured look, as there was nothing more alarming than an unkempt and frazzled healer. “How can I help?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded calm and sincere.

“Och, ‘tis well yer here,” the woman said, grunting in pain and rubbing her swollen belly. She was clearly far along, being quite round. She could not lace her stays past her chest any more; she was so large. “I have cramps. They hit me hard and I cannae predict them. I have tae sit an’ rest ‘afore I can get back up and work.”

“How long has this been happenin’?” Arguen asked.

“A few days now. I cannae do the work I need tae do tae provide for my others,” the woman said, gesturing to the little boy and a toddler, playing in the corner with what looked like tin soldiers.

“Well, Mrs...” Arguen’s voice trailed off. She didn’t even know this woman’s name!