Page 57 of Fire in his Highland Heart

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Blake paced back and forth anxiously in the library. James had been gone for a week now, and he was beginning to grow unsettled. What if he’d said something foolish, and he’d ended up prisoner at Bruckstone? He couldn’t imagine James would be that dense, but there was no telling what he would do if given enough ale.

“Blake, stop yer pacin’. Yer givin’ us a fright,” Arguen pleaded. She had visited earlier that day to check on Mirellain, who insisted the angel play dolls with her. The entire time, however, Blake could not sit still, and the scowl on his face seemed to grow darker with every passing hour.

“I ken, I’m sorry. James should be back soon,” he answered shortly.

“I’m sure James is well. He can handle himself. He’s not yer right hand man for nothin’,” Arguen tried to soothe him.

“I dinnae think I can rest easy ‘til he’s back.”

Arguen cocked her head. Mirellain had occupied herself now by trying different outfits on the dolls, so Arguen was not wanted.

“It sounds like yer expectin’ bad news.”

Blake shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, but Arguen could see the tension in his shoulders. If Mirellain were not present, she would love nothing more than to have him sit down so she could rub his shoulders and try to get him to relax. Such behavior might not be appropriate in the presence of a child, especially since either of them might desire to take the touches further.

“I dinnae ken if it will be bad or good until he arrives.”

Arguen nodded. She knew what it was like to wait, for either good or bad. It made one’s nerves impossible to control.

Later that evening, Blake had dinner brought to the library for the three of them. It was not as sumptuous as last time, but this also was not a special occasion. Part of the crops had been harvested, so they enjoyed a good stew with flavorful bannocks. As much as Arguen missed Bruckstone Castle sometimes, she could not deny that the head cook here was far better than Mrs. Adair. Even the simplest of meals in the castle was delicious.

After they had eaten dinner, James still had not arrived. It began to storm, nothing terribly serious, but thunder rumbled and lightning flashed outside the window as rain splashed against the glass. Arguen suggested reading a story to Mirellain until it was time for her to go to bed, and Blake reluctantly agreed. However, she could still tell that he was uneasy. His mind was distracted, and his voices for different characters were just not as good as usual. Even Mirellain critiqued him on it. He gave the driest of smiles in return. The child would not understand, of course, but Arguen could see that his anxiety was now manifesting into annoyance. What news could James possibly be bringing that would make Blake so rattled?

As the night drew on and the storm with it, Mirellain finally decided she was sleepy enough. She insisted the angel put her to bed, which Blake allowed. Arguen tucked the child into bed and said her prayers with her before going back to the library.

When she re-entered, Blake was slumped in one of the chairs by the hearth, staring into the flames as if trying to decipher a message in them.

“I wish I kent what tae say tae relieve ye,” Arguen said earnestly.

Blake nodded, almost as if he barely heard her, and reached out to take her hand. He said nothing, only held it as they sat across from each other by the hearth.

They passed perhaps another hour like that, silent, sitting by the fire. It must have helped Blake to know she was there, for he did not let go of her hand the entire time.

Suddenly, with great dramatics, James burst into the door, soaked to the bone with a wild look on his face. He did not wait for an introduction, nor to be received, and he wasted no breath in delivering his news.

“She’s at Bruckstone Castle,” he blurted out.

Blake’s worried expression morphed into one of his infamous scowls. “Am I thinkin’ of the right person?”

James nodded vigorously, his blond head spraying water droplets all over the library. “Aye. Cataline is there, at Bruckstone. Married tae Malcolm Morgan, as we live an’ breathe.”

Blake dropped Arguen’s hand and stood up.

He paced back and forth, running a hand through his dark hair. Arguen couldn’t wrap her head around it. Who was Cataline? As far as she knew, Malcolm was married to Marianne... Whatever this was, Arguen had never seen him so full of fury about something. It was like staring into the face of a snarling bull ready to charge.

“You’re absolutely certain?” Blake asked, his voice stony. It was frightening to Arguen, and for a moment, she was a little stunned by the harshness of his eyes and the sharp, whip-like edge in his tone.

“Aye. Douglas told me Malcolm married a cold Englishwoman near three an’ a half years ago. I thought the timeline was coincidental, of course. An’, ye ken, I think all Englishwomen are frigid. But…I saw her. With me own eyes. I wasnae drinkin’; my mind was clear. Now, I did see her through a keyhole because I had tae hide, but I swear tae Christ Almighty it was her. I reckon I’d ken that voice anywhere.”

Blake’s fists clenched and unclenched as James told him this story. “So, she left. Didnae have the decency tae go back tae her own country. Instead, she was a mere three days’ ride away this whole time? Is she taunting us?” Blake asked. Very soon, his voice would rival the thunderclaps outside.

James shook his head again. “I dinnae ken if she meant tae taunt us. But I swear tae it, she’s married to Malcolm Morgan. His father, the laird, is nearly at his end, an’ Cataline was angry at him.”

“She wasn’t pleasant in the end,” Blake remarked bitterly.

“Aye. She said...” James gulped and looked at Arguen. She could not tell if it was fear or pity in his eyes, but she did not like the look. “She thinks Arguen killed her bairn.”