Page 3 of Fire in his Highland Heart

“What d’ye think that is?” she asked, her voice small.

Every nerve in Arguen’s body was alert, and a sinister chill crept up her spine. “Lady Marianne,” she answered automatically.

Just then, a heavy knock sounded at the door, but the person on the other side didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, Douglas burst in, his face drawn and paler than normal.

Fiona yelped at the sudden entrance and covered herself with her quilt, but Douglas and Arguen paid her no mind.

“Douglas, what be the meanin’ o’ this?” Arguen asked.

Douglas swallowed nervously. “‘Tis Lady Marianne. She’s in a bad way and the midwife is still gone.”

Arguen felt her heart race. She hadn’t given anything bad to Marianne--peppermint and chamomile were completely harmless. Had she mixed up the herbs by accident? She shuddered. That wasn’t like her. She’d always been able to keep a cool head and treat her patients accordingly.

“She needs yer help,” Douglas continued.

Arguen shook her head. “I’m no midwife, Douglas.”

“Och, it doesnae matter. She thinks it’s time, and she needs help.”

Arguen took a deep breath and threw on her robe and slippers before hastily packing her basket with the supplies. Douglas led her through the winding corridors of the castle with his lantern. Castle residents opened their chamber doors and looked out, confused, whispering to one another at the strange shrieking noises. Arguen was mostly able to ignore them. She needed to focus on the task at hand, and figure out how to help the mistress.

When they arrived at Lady Marianne’s chamber, Malcolm was outside, his chestnut hair strewn about wildly as he paced, wringing his hands. “Thank heavens ye’re here. Marianne thinks ‘tis time.”

Arguen opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by another shriek beyond the door.

“Malcolm, we both ken ‘tis impossible,” she said as gently as she could.

Malcolm ran a hand through his hair and huffed. “Och, I ken. But she’s convinced.”

“Can ye do naething ta help?” Douglas asked.

Arguen’s jaw tightened involuntarily. “I’ll do me best. I promise naething.”

That was confirmation enough for Malcolm, who opened the door to the horrific sight that was Lady Marianne and her bewildered lady’s maid.

“I tried to help her, miss! She complains of pains in the belly and says she thinks the babe is coming. I was not entirely sure what to do!” Marianne’s English lady’s maid said. The poor girl’s eyes were wide like a wild animal’s. Her ladyship writhed on the bed, holding both hands on her stomach, gritting her teeth as if to keep the pain at bay.

Arguen was rather afraid herself. She’d seen this sort of ailment before, and she knew what came next...it was a stillbirth, only so much earlier than most, and the babe would be much smaller. Sometimes, it would not even resemble a babe. Marianne had just started showing, so Arguen wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. But she couldn’t let that be known. There is naething more alarming than an unkempt healer, her mother would have said. And that was true. Even if she had no control over a situation, she had to feign it, for the sake of her patients.

Arguen took a deep breath, mustering as much confidence as she could. If there was one thing she was good at, it was feigning coolness under pressure with no real basis. “Boil some water on the hearth. Fetch me fresh linens, quick as ye can. An’ remain calm. We dinnae ken what’s amiss, but we cannae lose our heads,” Arguen said to the English maid, who nodded and skittered away. Douglas and Malcolm left as well, perhaps thinking it was best to leave the healer to her work. Arguen approached Marianne’s bed, steeling herself for whatever it was she was about to see.

Instead, Marianne snarled and grasped Arguen by the front of her shift. Her grip was surprisingly strong for a woman in distress, and it threw the healer off balance. “What did you give me?” the lady hissed.

“Peppermint to soothe an’ chamomile to help ye sleep,” Arguen answered as calmly as she could manage, holding up her hands in surrender.

“Do I look to be asleep?” Marianne snarled again, letting go and falling back against the pillows when a particularly terrible cramp hit her.

“Nae, mistress. But I think what is happenin’ to ye is beyond the power of a healer,” she offered.

Marianne glared daggers at Arguen. Usually those emerald green eyes were stony and rather cold, but tonight they simmered with molten anger. The lady gritted her teeth to deal with her pain, but all Arguen could picture was a wild animal caught in a snare, gnashing its teeth.

“So you knew this would happen?” Marianne asked, though it sounded more rhetorical.

Arguen shook her head vigorously. “Nae. I thought it might be the quickening. Many women feel such pains at this time, but yers are too severe for something as simple as that.”

Marianne groaned again and threw off the quilt covering her body. Arguen tried not to audibly gasp when she saw the linens and Marianne’s mess of a shift. Blood stained the white linens like a cardinal in the snow. The red was so stark against the white that Arguen had trouble focusing on anything else for a few seconds. What was more; the blood seemed to have come from Marianne’s most intimate parts.

“Move. I have to piss,” Marianne snarled. Arguen snapped into action at that moment, and took the chamber pot out from under the bed so the lady could easily access it.