Page 5 of Fire in his Highland Heart

Marianne simply laid there, looking at the ceiling. Arguen looked over at the maid, whose bewildered expression matched her own.

“Yer ladyship? I need tae heal ye,” Arguen coaxed.

Marianne let out a low chuckle, one that sent unpleasant shivers up Arguen’s spine. “Careful what you wish for,” she said icily. “You said that to me earlier this evening. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say it was a curse.”

Arguen gritted her teeth. She was treading dangerous waters here. She suspected this might happen, but she couldn’t let Marianne see her trepidation or annoyance. “Sweet one, I told ye. Some things are beyond the power of a healer. I am deeply sorry for yer loss, but right now, I need tae make sure yer body is taken care of.”

“I never wish for you to touch me again,” Marianne snarled.

Arguen froze on the spot, unsure of what to do. Marianne was her patient, but also acting mistress of the house and Lady of Bruckstone Castle, if proper titles were in order.

“Mistress…” Arguen began again, desperate to make Marianne see reason, but the lady wouldn’t have it.

“My maid will tend to me,” she said in that hollow voice, and turned her head so she was staring at the ceiling again.

Arguen looked over at the maid, who looked frightened as ever, but nodded silently and gestured to the table by the bed. The healer left the tea and poultice there, then gathered up her items strewn about the hearth. When that was clean, she left without a word.

Malcolm and Douglas were waiting in the corridor beyond the chamber. Both looked at her with pleading eyes.

“My wife?” Malcolm asked, looking more like a frightened little boy than the battle-hardened son of a powerful laird.

Arguen heaved a deep sigh, trying hard as she could to hold back tears of her own. “Yer wife is alive. Her maid is tendin’ tae her now. But…” her voice trailed off, unsure of how to break the news to him.

Malcolm’s hazel eyes searched her face. “But…” he prompted.

Douglas seemed to understand, and put a friendly, comforting arm around Malcolm’s shoulders.

“Ye’ll no have a bairn this autumn.”

Malcolm clenched his jaw and nodded. “Can I see her?” he asked, his voice even.

Arguen shrugged. “I’m sure ye can, but whether or not she wants tae see anyone is up tae her.”

Malcolm’s tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip in nervous anticipation. Douglas clapped him on the back, and Malcolm gave them both a doleful look as he walked away.

Arguen and Douglas walked back to the maids’ chambers together. “What happened?” her brother asked.

Arguen shook her head. “Marianne lost the babe. I dinnae ken how. I did all I could.” She related the story to her brother, wiping away stray tears as they walked quickly through the winding corridors of Bruckstone Castle.

“Wasnae yer fault,” Douglas assured her.

“I doubt she’ll see it that way,” Arguen said glumly.

“Ye dinnae ken that. Get some sleep. We’ll reckon wi’ it in the morn.” Douglas tried to hug his sister, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“Nae, Douglas. I’ll just cry more.”

Her brother nodded, gave her a pitiful look, and bade her goodnight once more.

When Arguen was back in her shared chamber, Fiona was fast asleep. As far as Arguen could tell, dawn would be breaking in an hour or so. She set her basket on the windowsill, threw her robe to the floor, and drifted off to sleep without so much as a second thought.

Chapter Two

Dawn’s rosy fingers crept across the sky not long after Arguen had fallen asleep. But no one came to wake her, not even Fiona. It wasn’t until well into the morning that Arguen finally awoke on her own. Birds were chirping outside of her window, and she could smell bread baking from the kitchens nearby. One would hardly know something terrible had transpired in the castle the night before. She rose, stiffly, and began to dress herself. She’d learned to tie her own stays long ago and could make quick work of it now. Her under-petticoat followed with her pocket, then her dark green overskirt and blue jacket. She braided her long, silvery hair on the side and twisted it into a bun, pinning it in place before placing her cap over it, for modesty, and so no one could see her hair and judge her for it.

She was ready to start her day of gathering various plants and herbs in the meadow and forest when a knock sounded at her door. When she opened it, she was surprised to see Douglas standing there, haggard, a forlorn look on his face.

“Douglas, what be the matter?” she asked, genuinely concerned for his health. “D’ye need a poultice? Ye look pale.”