Page 41 of Fire in his Highland Heart

Blake tried to make his face and his words as even as possible. “I wanted her tae check on Mirellain’s progress.”

James raised an unamused, suspicious eyebrow. “Mirellain is in the garden. I didnae see the two o’ ye come out of here tae check on her.”

A clumsy blunder indeed, and Blake tried to salvage it. “Just a quick talk about how Mirellain’s adjusting after the illness, nothing more.”

“I didnae hear much talkin’,” James quipped, eyebrow still raised.

Blake sighed deeply and sat at his desk. “James, ye cannae be listenin’ at the door all the time.”

“Och, but if there’s treason or someone makes a threat against ye, how am I tae burst in an’ rescue ye if I dinnae ken what’s happening?”

Blake regarded him with the driest, most annoyed of looks. “I highly doubt the small silver haired healer would make an attempt on my life.”

James shrugged. “She could poison ye.”

Now it was Blake’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “She just tended faithfully tae my daughter for ten days. I highly doubt she’d come up here tae poison me.”

“I ken, she’s a good lass.” He waited to see Blake’s reaction, but got nothing from him. “But just tae be clear, ye do fancy her?”

Blake exhaled deeply through his nose. “Aye. I fancy her. I find her eyes and hair exquisite, and her wit and compassion very charming. Is that what ye wanted tae hear?”

“I kent it! I kent it all along. That first ball for Lughnasadh? Ye couldn’t take yer eyes off her, and ye looked as if ye might breathe fire at any man who dared dance with her.”

Blake huffed and looked up at the ceiling, as if such a motion would help him concede his feelings more gracefully. “Aye, but ye ken how I am. I couldnae ask her tae dance when I refused everyone else. It just isn’t done like that.”

James smiled. “I ken. But now, ye can make a move, aye? ‘Twould only be natural. She did nurse yer daughter back to health. An’ I hear she never takes payment from the townspeople when she heals them. Did ye ken that?”

Blake blinked in disbelief. Of course it didn’t surprise him, knowing what kind of person Arguen was, but no one had ever mentioned it to him before. Now he felt like he owed her even more than a simple library dinner. “Nay, no one told me. I wonder why,” he mused.

“Well. I’m sure ye have plenty o’ time tae ask her.”

Blake nodded. Yes, if dinner went well, he hoped he could learn much more about her—not just her likes and dislikes, but her hopes, dreams, fears, and regrets, if she had any. He wanted to know her as a person, wholly, not just in a superficial or carnal manner. Although, the latter did sound rather tempting, especially if the rest of her was as nice as her legs. He had tried not to think about that incident where he had walked in on her dressing, but it was burned into his mind.

“Aye, aye, I will,” he said weakly.

With that, James left the study, no doubt to go bother someone else.

Goodness, he really was far gone. He thought about Arguen at the most inopportune times, even finding his mind elsewhere when reading to his daughter. Speaking of Mirellain, he looked out the window again upon hearing her laughter.

His daughter was right, Arguen truly was an angel.

Chapter Fifteen

What in God’s name was one supposed to wear to a private dinner with the laird of the castle? Arguen’s mind shouted at her.

She’d hardly been able to focus on her regular chores today. A few people from the town had visited, asking help for simple things—a headache here, a toothache there—and she’d been able to help them all. But it was slow going, and she had misplaced her things a few times, thinking of Blake’s eyes and the way his strong arms had held her when they kissed... Each time, it was as if her head were in the clouds. Her patients had to call her back to the earth, so to speak. Even while working in her garden, she wasn’t as careful as usual. A few times, she’d nearly pulled valuable herbs thinking they were weeds. It was silly of her, and she silently berated herself each time.

When the afternoon began to melt into the evening, she scrubbed her hands, face, and arms with soap and water from the basin she kept on a small table next to her bed. Mrs. Kinney had been generous enough to leave some of the skirts, bodices, and gowns she’d brought, so Arguen had more than one change of clothes. Being a healer could be gruesome and dirty work—one never knew what manner of bodily fluid or grime one might find splattered on an apron or jacket. And as Arguen always kept in her mind—there was nothing more alarming than an unkempt healer.

But tonight, she was not going to Ernmore Castle to be a healer. Still, she wondered what would be appropriate. Mrs. Kinney had gently folded all the clothing and placed it in the trunk with sprigs of dried lavender to freshen them up. Surely, it would not do to wear a plain wool jacket and petticoat, but she also could not wear such a fine gown as she did at the feast for Lughnasadh. If someone were to see her, they would surely say something or grow suspicious. After some digging and matching different things together, she settled on a dark green damask gown and bodice. The puffed sleeves and low neckline were not usually to her taste, but it was a fine ensemble indeed. Though she felt at home here, it was entirely possible that all this might be ripped away if Marianne found out where she had taken refuge. She was constantly convincing herself to enjoy things, whether that was having friendly conversations with the townspeople, gossiping in the castle kitchens with the cooks and maids, eating fine foods, or even basking in the pleasant gaze of Blake.

After dressing herself, she was able to set her hair in a rather simple fashion. It was not naturally curly, which she often wished. To make herself more presentable, she’d tied rags in her hair and held them under her cap and a hat all day. When she untied each rag, she was pleasantly surprised to see her silver locks tumbling down in soft, generous silver curls. She formed those into a sort of loose bun on top of her head, letting one strand of curls drape delicately down her neck and collarbone. As she looked in the small mirror that sat on the wooden table in the spare room that she sometimes used for her patients, she wasn’t sure she recognized the look in her bright blue eyes. Who was this wise, sorrowful woman? She did not see a frightened girl looking back at her anymore. And suddenly, she wished her mother were here to see her. Not in a dream, not in her thoughts, but in person, to guide her, comfort her, and be a companion Arguen knew she could trust. All she could do now was remember as much of her mother as she could. Those words from her dream echoed in her mind: “the night ‘tis darkest just ‘afore dawn, but the dawn is a’comin.”

As Arguen looked at herself in the mirror, she realized that perhaps the dawn really was coming. Surely, this private dinner with Blake would usher in the sunshine she so desperately needed.

* * *

Blake himself had been rather distracted the whole day as well. In trying to write letters and keep ledgers, he had clumsily spilled his inkwell all over the parchment and had to start all over again. James had even told him that his face was relaxed, not the usual steely mask he used with nearly everyone else.