Page 35 of Fire in his Highland Heart

He thought knocking might disturb her efforts, so he cracked the door open quietly, opening it slowly. What he saw melted his heart. Beside his daughter’s bed, Arguen lay on the floor, a semi-wet rag in her hand. She must have fallen asleep with the rag on Mirellain’s forehead. And his daughter seemed improved. In the half moonlight, he could still see her rash, and he could hear her breathing was still labored, but it seemed as if she had improved. Blake felt bad that Arguen had fallen asleep on the stone cold floor. How stupid of him—he should have at least provided a mattress or a pallet of some kind. He also knew this was not her only appointment in the past few days. James had told him that he’d caught Arguen on her way back from town after delivering a child for Mrs. Jenkins, which she had stayed up a day and a night for. She’d stayed up nearly all night with Mirellain too. The poor girl must have been exhausted to the bone. Blake’s protective instincts kicked in at that moment, and he walked quietly across the floor to where Arguen lay. He picked her up in his arms, as if she were no more than a dried leaf, and carried her downstairs, to that vacant room she had occupied upon arrival. He laid her on the bed and covered her with the quilt. She stirred then, and Blake froze, afraid he’d woken her. But she simply stretched and went limp again, the moon shining on her face through the window.

If she wereawake, Blake might have chosen this opportunity to kiss her. He’d been thinking all day about their earlier interaction when she’d grabbed his collar to give him a command. Her lips, pink, rosebud lips, had been right there, so enchanting. He knew she’d felt it too, but the time wasn’t right. And it wasn’t right now, because she was asleep and clearly exhausted. Instead, he had to be content with grazing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Such soft skin she had. She stirred again, and he yanked his hand away in embarrassment. No, it was unlikely she would ever kiss him, or even think about him in the way he thought about her. He’d have to be content with admiring her from afar, perhaps forever, at this point. With one last longing look, he left her to sleep, and hopefully, rather selfishly he thought, to dream.

* * *

Arguen awoke with a start the next morning, confused as to her surroundings. She was sure she had fallen asleep on the stone floor next to Mirellain’s bed, so why was she here, in the room she’d been brought to when she first arrived at the castle?

Maybe everything had been a dream. Perhaps she had been out for much longer than she thought, and she’d dreamt the past couple months at the castle. It had all felt so real though…

When she pushed the quilt off, she was still fully dressed. There was still blood on her outer petticoat from delivering the Jenkins baby. Arguen shook her head. Someone must have taken her down here to rest. She scrambled out of bed, suddenly realizing that her hair was loose. Silver strands framed her face and blocked her vision. In the last three days, something must have happened to her cap. But there were more important things to tend to in that moment. Mirellain was upstairs, possibly dying of a fever, and she was down here worrying about a cap. She adjusted her stays frantically and pulled up her skirts to readjust her stockings. Sometime during the night, her garters had come loose, leaving her stockings to fall down to her ankles.

There was a knock on the door, and without thinking, Arguen bade the person to enter. The knob turned, and there stood Blake, in all his imposing stature. When he saw her skirts up over her knees and her bare legs exposed, he blushed, cleared his throat, and turned his back. Arguen was sure she was as red as a summer berry herself.

“Laird Blake,” she managed as she hastily pulled up the stockings and tied the ribbon above her knee, “how can I help? I was just on my way upstairs tae tend tae Mirellain,” she said, pushing her skirts back down when she was finished.

Blake turned around at just the right time. “I… um...I apologize, firstly. I shouldn’t have opened the door so quickly,” he said sheepishly.

“A small mistake. I thought ye might be Mrs. Kinney or Patsy.”

“Nay, just I. Um...I came tae see if ye were well.” His dark eyes bore into hers without coldness, something she wasn’t quite used to seeing yet.

“Aye. All is well wi’ me. Can ye take me tae Mirellain? I dinnae ken how I got here last night,” she said, a little embarrassed. It wasn’t like she’d been in the castle enough to know it like the back of her hand.

“Um, aye,” Blake said, reaching up and awkwardly running a hand through his dark locks. “That was uh...’twas me. I came in last night tae see if Mirellain was well, an’ I saw ye sleepin’ on the floor, an’ I thought...well, that doesnae look comfortable. An’ I kent ye’d just delivered a babe, so...I brought ye down here tae sleep.”

Arguen blinked in confusion. This was perhaps the most he’d ever spoken to her. And what’s more, he was visibly nervous. Nervous! Of her! He was the laird of the castle, a warrior, a father; and a small healer with silver hair was rendering him nervous. She wasn’t sure whether or not to be satisfied. Then she had a mental picture of Blake carrying her down the stairs in what she imagined were strong arms, hidden under the brocade of that doublet.

Now it was her turn to gulp nervously. “That’s...that’s kind o’ ye, thanks very much.”

Blake nodded. “I checked on Mirellain this morn. She’s askin for ye. Still she’s ill, but she seems tae think ye helped her. She uh...” his cheeks reddened again, and apparently he was embarrassed about his next words, “she thinks ye might be an angel.”

Arguen smiled graciously, but could not control the blush that crept up her neck and bloomed in her cheeks. “She is a sweet lass. Can ye take me tae her? I dinnae ken me way ‘round yet,” she asked. Blake nodded, and the walk to Mirellain’s room was silent. Neither of them knew what to say to each other now that they were being civil. It was such a change from the past few weeks, when he would gaze sternly at her and brush her off so coldly.

When they reached Mirellain’s room, Patsy was tending the fire, and wished a good morning to the both of them. It was clear that the child’s condition had not vastly improved, but she seemed to be breathing better. As soon as she saw Arguen standing with her father, she gasped.

“Papa, ‘tis the angel,” she said in a sweet, small voice.

Blake looked down at Arguen as if to say, I told you so.

The two of them walked to her bedside and knelt. “Mirellain, this woman is called Arguen. She is a healer, and she is here tae help ye.”

“Arguen...” the child repeated, as if tasting the name on her tongue. “Arguen, the angel,” she said again.

Arguen chuckled softly. “I’m no angel, lass. ‘Tis like yer father said. I’m a healer, an’ I’m here tae make ye better if I can. Are ye ready?” she asked in the tenderest voice she could muster. She had never been especially good with children, but she had healed plenty in her time. All children were precious, of course, but in this moment, none were more precious and in need of saving than Mirellain.

With Blake’s silent blessing, she got to work, following the same routine as the day before: astragalus root tea and a gargle of vinegar and honey, with a daily bath to help cool her down before she went back into bed.

Later that afternoon, Mirellain asked for a story. Patsy had gone to finish some other chores, so this was entirely on Arguen. She had never thought of herself as a good storyteller, but the child insisted.

What in God’s name do I tell her? Arguen thought. The child lived in a castle and was the daughter of a laird; being a princess in a castle would not likely be of interest. What could she possibly...and then it came to her. Perhaps she could adjust the story of her dream from months earlier, the one where her mother appeared to her in the form of a bear. Talking animals were always a safe subject for children, were they not?

“Well...a’right. Once upon a time...”

And Arguen embellished the dream as much as she could. Instead of being a lost girl running from her fate in the woods, she was a powerful warrior queen who led an army of talking animals against the most evil forces in the land. These forces, of course, were defeated by the warrior queen and her talking animal army.

At the close of the story, Mirellain looked blankly at her. Arguen was alarmed, thinking the fever had taken a turn for the worse, and held a hand to the child’s hot forehead. “Mirellain, are ye well? I mean, aside from the fever. D’ye feel worse?” She was beginning to panic.

Mirellain heaved a deep sigh, or at least, as deep as she could with a swollen throat and cough. “I didnae wike the story,” she said in her small voice.