Page 48 of Fire in his Highland Heart

Blake cocked his head. “Why? Did ye not like it?” he asked.

Arguen shook her head in response, silver waves obscuring her eyesight. She had no idea where her hairpins were, so she’d have to go back with her hair down. “Nay, Blake, of course I did. I really did like it. I just...” she huffed in frustration, not wanting to hurt his feelings or spurn his hospitality. “I just...I’m a stranger here. An’...I’ve a reputation tae uphold. People like me here. I’m a good healer, an’ no one calls me a witch. If they found out that I... I was…” her voice trailed off because she felt herself getting choked up.

Blake nodded quietly in understanding. “I ken what ye mean. But please...ken that I dinnae see ye that way. You mean much more tae me than ye ken.”

“Och, Blake,” she said, finally finished with lacing her stays. “Ye’re too good tae be true.”

“I mean it,” he said softly. “Come here, please,” he said, extending a hand to her. She walked over and held his hand. He kissed her knuckles and the back of her wrist. “Ye dinnae have tae leave if ye dinnae want. Ye can stay here, at the castle. Continue yer work. An’...I’d get tae see ye more often.”

“Aye, Blake. Ye make a compelling case, ye do. But...” the words were right on the tip of her tongue, but wouldn’t come out.

“What is it, my love?” he asked, reaching up with his free hand and brushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear.

“I want ye. An’ I like ye very much. Truly, I do. But...I dinnae wanna be a mistress.”

Blake chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. “I ken what ye mean. Truly, I do. Ye wouldnae have tae be a mistress. Ye could continue yer craft, live in a room here, an’ we could see each other...” he stopped speaking when he saw Arguen shaking her head.

“What yer describin’ is a kept woman,” she said, keeping her voice in hushed tones. “I dinnae want that for meself.”

“Nay, nay. I wouldnae want that for ye either. I just...I hope this wasn’t our only time together.”

The sincerity in his dark eyes was so deep and so poignant, she almost couldn’t stand it. She leaned in and kissed him deeply, opening her mouth more, so he could run his tongue along her bottom lip. When she pulled away, she saw that disappointment in his eyes again.

“This won’t be our only time, I promise. Blake, ye’re the only man for me. I just...I cannae be a mistress. I’m sorry.” She gulped, turning away to finish dressing, and realized she was holding back tears. “I promise, I’ll come back tae check on Mirellain’s health,” she said, not looking over her shoulder as she stepped into her petticoats and pinned her bodice in place on top.

When she was dressed, she turned back to look at him. He was looking at her adoringly, a look that puppies give to their mothers. “I’ll be back, ye ken,” she said to reassure him. “Dinnae ye worry.”

After that, she opened the door with a crack and left, her shoes making pleasant clicking noises down the corridor until he could hear them no longer.

Blake sighed and leaned back against the pillows. He hoped to God he hadn’t disappointed her. All he wanted was for her to be happy, but he understood all her concerns. He never wanted her to feel like she was second-best, like she needed to hide herself or be secretive about her feelings for him around others. He wanted her to be open about it, to celebrate it, even. But he didn’t want her to ever feel bad. And he didn’t want to lead Mirellain on either. The poor girl needed a mother. Arguen doted on her and cared for her, to be sure. But he didn’t want her to feel burdened by motherhood, if that was not her choice.

What in hell was he thinking? It had been one night, and already, his thoughts were racing to marriage. How ridiculous was he. If James found out, he’d never let him live it down. Blake groaned again and put his head between his knees. He knew he had deep feelings for Arguen. He wanted to protect her, love her, provide for her, and make her happy. He hadn’t felt this way in years, perhaps not even with his first wife.

Goodness, he really was a goner.

* * *

Arguen had managed to slip out of the castle unseen, despite the sun being high in the sky already. She knew it would look odd for her to be sneaking out at this time, in a gown clearly meant for something fancier. But thankfully, she made it to her own small cottage without being noticed. Once inside, she breathed a sigh of relief, and slumped against the door (at least as well as she could in her stays).

She knew she was going to be in a daze for the rest of the day, possibly even the week. Her mind kept flashing to little pieces of last night—Blake’s hand’s and lips on various parts of her body, the way his strong arms held her close to him, and that amorous look in his eyes...yes, she would be thinking about this for a while now.

Part of her had expected her first night to be at her wedding, if she ever had one. She was no prude, nor was she particularly devout, but that was what she bad begun to accept, should marriage ever be part of her path. She still didn’t know if it would be. Of course, she was fond of Blake and liked him very much. She had meant it when she told him he was the only man for her. But she wondered if he felt the same. Last night, she knew he had opened himself up to her in a way that he probably had not for years. So had she—she’d told him much about her childhood, her work at Bruckstone, and the circumstances surrounding her escape. That had been the most difficult part. Blake was now in a rather precarious place; hiding an accused witch and becoming romantically involved with her had potential for danger.

She could not let bad thoughts creep into her mind after such a wonderful night. So many things had gone wrong so far that she had to be grateful for this little slice of goodness in her life. She took another deep breath and stood up, ready to get on with her day. The first order of business was to get out of this finery and change into a more familiar jacket and simple petticoat. The second was to clean her home, and the third was to tend to her garden. She’d been home for only one day since treating Mirellain, and most of it was spent in nervousness wondering what to wear and how to act at dinner. Now, back in the comfort of her home and in clothes that befitted a healer, she was comfortable and ready to work.

* * *

Summer melted into fall in the next coming weeks. Blake held no ball or feast to mark Mabon, since there had been sickness in the castle (other children had caught scarlet fever around the same time as Mirellain), and he thought it might be in bad taste to gather the town like that. Arguen regularly visited the castle to make sure Mirellain was recovering well. Each time, Blake found an excuse to touch her or to be near her. On a few occasions, the two of them had even read to Mirellain from a play, with Arguen reading the female voices and Blake reading the male voices.

That desire did not go away. With each stolen kiss in the shadows, it grew. Every time she held Mirellain, she found herself thinking...having children of her own one day would not be so bad.

These pockets of peace were always interrupted by the thought that she would one day be discovered. Sooner or later, she figured, the guards of Bruckstone Castle would storm Ernmore Castle and find her here; and either kill her or haul her back to stand trial accused as a witch. No doubt Marianne would have poisoned the jury’s mind in her favor first. She hated that these thoughts were so prevalent in her mind, since it really was the most free she’d been in years.

She tried to relax and enjoy what she had, but all these thoughts made it difficult. If she were feeling like this, she could only imagine what Blake was feeling.

* * *

Blake had not been able to focus since that one glorious night. The day after, he had been utterly unable to focus on his work. In talking with the townspeople, he kept losing focus and having to repeat questions. When trying to write letters or record things in the ledger, he completely zoned out, letting the ink drip from the pen onto the parchment and creating large blots in place of words. James, of course, had noticed immediately and poked fun at him. Each time Blake brushed it off with a roll of his eyes or a curt word, but James was right. Blake wasn’t himself.