Page 29 of Fire in his Highland Heart

“Jenkins,” the woman answered.

“Mrs. Jenkins,” Arguen began, “Can it be possible yer goin intae labor? Perhaps the babe is tellin ye ‘tis time tae be out?”

Mrs. Jenkins shook her head. “Och, no. ‘Tis not long enough in time for that.”

Arugen couldn’t help but look skeptically at the woman’s stomach. She was no midwife, and had not assisted in many births, but she had a feeling it was time.

“I see yer no sure about it,” Mrs. Jenkins said, still rubbing her belly. “I tell ye, ‘tis not been enough time, though I do look like a cow. But ye ken, I tied a ribbon through a ring and held it over me. Twins, I tell ye,” she said, her face shining.

Arguen had heard of this superstition before. Tying a string or ribbon around a ring and holding it over a woman’s belly when she was with child was a way to tell whether the child would be a boy or a girl depending on which way the ring swung. In her limited experience, it was rather a half chance, but she wasn’t about to tell Mrs. Jenkins that.

“Sure. I can give ye somethin’ tae ease the pain, but if this continues two days after, even wi’ my herbs, ye send for the midwife, aye?” Arguen wanted to send for a midwife at that very moment, but Mrs. Jenkins didn’t seem concerned enough for that. So, Arguen taught her some deep breathing techniques to manage pain, and gave her some ginger and peppermint tea to soothe the cramps. When all was said and done, Mrs. Jenkins rose and shuffled through the small tin box atop the fireplace.

“I do thank ye, lass. What do I owe ye?”

Arguen was genuinely stunned. She’d been paid in goods and such on occasion back at Bruckstone, but she never charged a fee, always citing herself lucky that she was still able to live in the castle with her parents gone.

“Nay, Mrs. Jenkins. Ye owe me naught. All healing should be a kindness,” she implored.

Mrs. Jenkins put the coins back in the box, and her eyes seemed to brim with tears. “God bless ye, lass. Ye’ve a generous heart.”

Arguen wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she smiled and nodded. Once everything was in order, she left in high spirits. On the way back to her cottage, she decided to take a detour through the town. It was a sweet little place, with shops of varying kinds, and a large, well-kept town square, where she imagined market days might take place. As it was the day after a ball, however, it seemed rather empty. People milled about from shop to shop, and groups of adolescents and children played together, running about and laughing in delight.

She thought about going into the apothecary shop just to see what supplies they had available, when she saw Laird Blake step out of the shop next to it. He was dressed rather casually, in a dark doublet, breeches, and riding boots, much different than the blue velvet material he’d sported at the ball last night. Arguen had a feeling he was more comfortable presenting himself in a more casual light, although his actions may not have shown it. He caught her eye across the square, but said nothing. All she received was a cold look, his dark eyes holding her blue ones in a steely gaze, before he looked away and went about his business.

Why couldn’t he speak to her? What could possibly be preventing him from showing hospitality? Yes, he had arranged for her to live in a cottage not far from the castle, but that was all. He’d spoken very little to her upon her arrival or at the ball. No one else seemed to have a problem with her. The townspeople had been welcoming at the ball, and Mrs. Jenkins seemed satisfied with her services.

So why did Laird Blake hold her at a distance like this?

* * *

Mirellain laughed cheerily as her father scooped her up and sat her on his knee. “Ye’re a little nuisance, ye ken?” he quipped. His daughter had been running around his study for the past half hour, hiding behind various pieces of furniture, and jumping out in attempts to scare him. He’d played along for the first bit, pretending to be scared, pretending to try to find her, but he really needed to get some work done.

“Nay, Papa!” she cried. He blew a raspberry on her cheek, and she squealed.

“Aye, wee one. Papa has tae work. Can ye play with yer dolls for a bit?” he asked, holding her as tight as he could without hurting her, for she was now trying to climb over the back of his chair.

“Can ye play wif me?” she asked, climbing back down to sit on his knee and look up at him with her large dark eyes.

Blake shook his head. “Nay, Mirellain. I have tae work. Mayhap we can see if Nurse Patsy wants tae play?”

Mirellain frowned, her golden curls shaking with toddler anger. “I dinnae want Patsy.”

Blake looked down at her with a pout of his own. “Why dinnae ye want Nurse Patsy?”

“She’s not good at dolls,” she said.

Blake was ever so enthralled by the things his daughter found important. She could be very picky when in a mood, and now seemed like that time.

“I have tae work,” he said again. “What if ye play wi’ yer friends, and Nurse Patsy watches ye in the garden?”

Mirellain considered this for a moment. Blake felt as if he could see the gears turning in her head. Such deliberation indeed. Finally, she nodded in agreement. He sent for the nurse, who rounded up other children in the castle, and soon, they were running amok in the garden underneath the study window.

Just as he was about to settle in and work the rest of the afternoon, James barged in. Blake openly rolled his eyes.

“Och, what’s that for, then?” James asked, slumping into one of the chairs across from Blake’s desk, sitting in it so that his back was against one arm and his legs hung over the other.

Blake regarded him with derision. “I was just about tae start workin’ again.”