Page 55 of Fire in his Highland Heart

“Aye. Forgive my French, but I cannae imagine ‘tis very warm in that bedchamber.”

All of this...the Englishness, the coldness...the demanding nature...sounded eerily like Blake’s former wife. “Does she happen tae be fair-haired an’ green-eyed?” James asked. He knew he was digging in probably too deep, but he simply had to know.

Douglas cocked his head. “Aye...how did ye…”

James put the pieces together in his mind. “Wild guess. I kent someone like her once. Possibly even her.”

“Ye think it spells trouble?” Douglas asked.

“We’ll see about it. For now, we’ve got tae celebrate what we can, eh? Ye’re welcome at Ernmore tae see yer sister an’ Blake.”

“Believe me, James, I’d go if I could. Right now, I have tae stay here. Laird Morgan’s on his last leg, an’ if he passes...I need tae be there.”

James understood perfectly. Being Chief of the laird’s guard was no small task, requiring loyalty of the highest degree. If Douglas were to leave now without explanation (he couldn’t very well explain that he was leaving to see his fugitive, accused witch sister off to her wedding without sounding treasonous), it could spell immense trouble.

“An’...I cannae help but think,” Douglas continued, a touch of sorrow coloring his voice, “that if she were here, she’d be able to help the laird feel better in this time.”

James nodded. In addition to being a healer, Blake had told him that Arguen had an excellent bedside manner that he’d witnessed with Mirellain.

“I ken it must be hard. Truly, I do. But ye’ve got tae stay strong. And now, ye ken she’s safe an’ well at Ernmore.”

Douglas nodded dolefully. “Aye. Silver lining, I suppose.”

James took a swig of his ale. “Quite literally.”

The two of them snickered. “Let’s drink and reminisce, aye?” James offered. Douglas heartily agreed, needing something to lift his spirits, and they talked of old times well into the evening. When the afternoon crowd faded out and the evening crowd swept in and began to grow drunk, they decided they’d been there long enough.

“I should be gettin’ back to Ernmore as soon as I can,” James said on the short walk back to the castle.

“Rest here first, eh? I’m sure ye an’ yer horse could use a good night’s shut eye.”

“I dinnae want tae be a bother,” James insisted. If the blonde woman he’d seen in the tower was who he thought it was, he would be in a world of trouble.

“Nonsense. I ken there’s room in some of the quarters by the kitchens. Ye’ll be out of sight there if ye wish.”

Douglas seemed determined to make him stay, and James was tired, after all. It was probably a wise choice. And... if time and circumstances permitted, he could do some investigation of his own.

“I thank ye kindly, Douglas. I sp’ose ye’re right.” James accepted.

“’Tis not often I’m wrong,” he said with a wink.

James smiled faintly at the joke, but thoughts whirled in his mind, about Blake’s former wife, the near four year gap, and the doom over Bruckstone Castle. There was only one person capable of that, and he was determined to put proof to his suspicions.

Chapter Nineteen

It was a quiet night at Bruckstone Castle. If the mood was sour outside the castle, it was absolutely rotten within. Everyone seemed to be functioning at half their regular capacity. He recognized a few of the guards and was able to strike up conversation with them, but none lasted very long, and they weren’t very enthusiastic. At least he had a place to lay his head tonight. A bed, even if it was no more than a cot in a room no larger than a closet, was much more comfortable than tree roots and dirt. It was in a spare room that had once served as another guard’s quarters, so he was on a floor rather close to Laird Morgan’s bedchambers. The guards had to be ready to defend him at any time. James would have been happier to stay more out of sight—even sleep in a haystack in the stables—but the promise of food and a pillow were too great.

He took a few items from the kitchen for his supper and for the journey back. No one seemed to notice; they were all too busy looking miserable anyhow. On his way back to the closet of a room, he heard a cool, shrill voice around the corner. It sent those unpleasant chills up his spine.

“I simply do not understand what could be taking so long. How can a group of men on horseback lose sight of a young woman, looking the way she does, on foot? Really, Malcolm, you ought to consider new guards. I believe yours are defective,” said the voice.

James’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach like a rock. It could not possibly be her…

The footfalls were getting closer and closer, two sets of them. The English woman’s voice, and Malcolm, no doubt. James panicked for a moment. He was in the corridor with a small rucksack of food and nowhere to hide. It was risky to hide in one of the rooms on this floor when he didn’t know what was behind the door. But that unmistakable English voice and the footfalls were getting closer and closer. He couldn’t risk it anymore. He ducked into a side room, which, thankfully, was unlocked and seemed unoccupied upon entry. To confirm his suspicions, however, he knelt before the keyhole to make sure he could see. If he hadn’t been kneeling, he might have keeled over, even though he had a feeling he knew who it was.

The voice belonged to none other than Cataline, Blake’s former wife. Such a revelation shook James to his core. Three years ago, Cataline had left Blake, in the dead of night, without so much as a warning. The only thing she’d left behind was a letter explaining that she did not plan to return. Of course, this came as a shock to Blake as well as a total embarrassment. He and James concocted the story that she had been murdered on the moors by brigands when she was out picking heather with her maids. They even held a good Protestant funeral for her. Only Blake and James knew the truth. Not even Mirellain knew what truly happened to her mother.

The fact that Cataline was here at Bruckstone, walking as if she owned it, with Malcolm in tow, was exceedingly unnerving to him. When Douglas had spoken of a cold, controlling Englishwoman with blonde hair, James had a feeling it might be Cataline, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Now that he was seeing it with his own eyes, he had trouble believing it himself.