Page 37 of Fire in his Highland Heart

“Aye, she does love the poet. Dinnae ken why. Cannae tell ye. I do think she’s much brighter than most lasses her age.”

Arguen nodded. “Well...I should get back tae her. Sickness doesnae rest,” she said.

Blake licked his bottom lip. “Aye. Ye should,” he said. There it was again—that flicker from her lips to her eyes and back to her lips again. She could have sworn he began to lean in, but she cleared her throat and sidestepped him.

“Thank ye, for the book. I hope it brings her comfort.”

Blake heaved a sigh. “Aye. And... yer welcome back in here anytime. ‘Tis one o’ the only quiet places in the castle.”

Arguen nodded and gave a small smile before she left, her still bloodied petticoats whirling about her. Goodness, what a mess. What did Blake mean by that look? Surely...he could not be attracted to her. No one ever was. No one wanted to be seen with a girl who looked like a witch or a fae, let alone kiss one. No, she convinced herself her mind was playing tricks on her. A tall, strong, handsome man like that could never like her in that way.

Before she went into Mirellain’s room, she exhaled a short breath and opened the door. Thankfully, Patsy was back, tending the fire for the child’s afternoon astragalus tea.

“Thank ye, Patsy. ‘Tis a big help,” she said. Patsy thanked her as she hung the kettle on the hook.

Mirellain’s face brightened when she saw that Arguen was holding a book. “A story!” she shouted.

Arguen smiled and set the book down on the small table next to the bed. “Ye seem tae be in better spirits.”

Mirellain smiled. “The angel is reading me a story,” she said.

Her soft, small voice melted Arguen’s heart. No child had ever called her an angel or treated her like this. Most were afraid she was a fae and would switch them out with a changeling. Angel was a much nicer change.

Before she read to her, she had her drink a cup of the astragalus tea and and gargle the honey vinegar mixture after. Mirellain did not struggle this time as she had done the day before, and Arguen was pleased at her progress. After the tea, the mixture, and a quick bath from Patsy, Mirellain was tucked back into bed, and the two of them settled in for some quality story time.

Once again, Arguen did not notice the footfalls outside the door or the creaking of it opening slightly. Neither did Mirellain, apparently, as Arguen read to her as different characters in different voices.

Blake leaned against the doorway, watching the silver haired woman read to his young daughter at her bedside. The sight was incredibly endearing to him. And Mirellain, stubborn and picky as she was, seemed to be enjoying it immensely. Even Patsy, whom he had thought hard to please, seemed to be entertained. None of them noticed Blake in the doorway until he opened the door wider and cleared his throat.

Arguen stopped reading when the child croaked out for her Papa. Her face reddening on instinct, she marked the page with the string on the spine and snapped it shut.

“How do ye feel, sweet thing?” he asked, sitting next to Mirellain on the smaller bed and reaching out to feel her cheek with the back of his hand. “Still warm, I see.”

Mirellain nodded and coughed. “Aye, but the angel is reading.”

Blake smiled softly. “I see that. Ye like the story?”

His daughter said yes as enthusiastically as she could, and babbled on about how the angel could read in different funny voices. Blake looked across at Arguen, who briefly met his eyes. “Perhaps when yer better, she can read tae all of us.”

He knew he was putting her on the spot, and she looked at him with wide, desperate eyes, as if to tell him he was absolutely mad. The sight of those eyes and that slightly crazed look in them almost made him chuckle, but he held it together.

“Mirellain is simply polite. I am no good reader, but she is a good listener,” she said, trying to deflect such comments.

“I’m sure the former isnae true. Ye’ve a lovely voice,” he said.

Arguen wasn’t sure how to handle the compliment, so she cleared her throat and suggested they carry on with the treatment so they could finish the story that evening. Blake smiled, sensing that his presence was somewhat of a distraction, and graciously left after kissing his daughter on the cheek.

His presence was so unnerving to her, but not in the way it used to be. Before, chills ran up and down her spine whenever he regarded her. Now, that feeling was different. She automatically blushed, which she hated. With her fair skin, it was always incredibly obvious. Then there were the flutters in her stomach. She knew what those feelings were, what they could signify, but she did her best to quell them. Like she’d told herself, Blake was a laird and she was a healer, an odd-looking one at that. No one like him would ever want her.

That’s what she convinced herself.

Chapter Fourteen

The next week and a half or so was a blur of much the same. Arguen and Patsy had their daily routine of tea, the gargle, a wash, some reading, and doing that all over again from Mirellain’s waking to her sleeping for the night. Arguen had been to the library a few more times since treating Mirellain, as she had found it to be her favorite place. It was calming, with an air of mystery, which she liked. She could never stay long, however, since she knew she had a duty to Mirellain and Blake.

Blake had even visited her a few times in the library, to offer advice about what to read to Mirellain. He never overstepped his boundaries, never made her feel unsafe, but she noticed that with each visit, he made some excuse to touch her, to reach above her, or to stand close to her. She had tried convincing herself it was because he was a laird, naturally dominant by nature, but she was also beginning to run out of excuses. She could not keep her mind running like this much longer. For the time being, at least, she was able to brush it under the rug, so to speak. Mirellain’s health was the number one priority, and she was determined not to let mere stomach flutters and furtive looks get in the way of that.

On the afternoon of the tenth day, Mirellain broke out into a cold sweat. Arguen and Patsy were overjoyed and actually whooped in happiness. The child herself was merry indeed. Though still weakened by the sickness and in need of rest, she looked much better. Gone was the rash, the red sore throat, and the fever. The tedious drinking of tea, gargling, sweating, and bathing had done it.