Page 59 of Fire in his Highland Heart

She was gathering yarrow in the woods. It was a fine, fall day, and she was by herself. There was a crisp twinge in the air, one that Arguen found comfortable. She’d always liked autumn for this reason. It was cool, to be sure, but to her, it felt like new beginnings. It was an easy day, gathering yarrow, an important root. Now she knew how to tell them apart. Suddenly, she heard a stick crack in the woods behind her. She looked back with a start, but neither saw nor heard anything again. Still, for safety, she moved a little farther away. She continued picking her yarrow when she heard a familiar voice behind her, one that she had not heard in months.

“Ye still ken how tae tell the difference between hemlock an’ yarrow, do ye not?” Arguen whirled around to see Connie, the old woman from the forest in her journey to Ernmore Castle.

“Christ on a pony, ye scared the livin’ daylights out of me,” Arguen exclaimed.

“I believe the Christ rode a donkey, did he not?” Connie asked, a twinkle in her wily eye.

Arguen began to stutter an apology, but Connie waved it off. “How does the laird fair?” she asked.

The young healer cocked her head. Why would she ask this? She was wise, and seemed to know a lot more than she let on. Surely, she already knew what was happening.

“His wife is alive,” Arguen found herself blurting.

“Aye,” Connie said, as if she were merely listening to someone tell her a recipe, not the biggest news of one’s life.

“She’s alive and he didnae tell me,” Arguen clarified.

“Did ye ever think it might be for yer protection?” Connie asked, plucking the petals off a yarrow bloom she’d picked up.

“How would that help?”

“Ye ken what the English mistress is capable of. Perhaps he lied tae protect ye from her, should she ever find out where ye are.”

Arguen brushed a finger against a yarrow blossom of her own. “I sp’ose.”

“Would ye have reacted any differently if he’d told ye earlier on?” continued the old woman.

The young healer shrugged. “I sp’ose I might not have fallen for him like I did.”

“Mayhap if ye kent that earlier, such knowledge would have gotten in the way o’ yer destiny,” Connie pressed.

Arguen wrinkled her nose in confusion. “My destiny? What do ye mean by this?”

Connie smiled warmly, but Arguen couldn’t help feeling there was a mysterious, knowing edge to her smile. It was like she knew everything that was going to happen, but could not, or did not, want to reveal it. “Just be sure ye judge someone’s character right. Ye cannae let yer feelings blind ye.”

“He lied to me,” Arguen said bluntly.

“Aye, dinnae we all? Did ye not lie about yer intentions when ye first arrived?”

That stopped Arguen short, and she could feel her face burn with embarrassment. Technically, she had never lied about why she was at Ernmore Castle, but she hadn’t revealed the whole truth until much later.

“Just be sure ye ken who the real snakes are,” Connie said, a look of mischief in her eye.

Suddenly, Arguen felt the yarrow grow limp and slimy in her hand. She could have sworn it wasn’t wilted when she picked it. When she looked down, she saw she was holding a garden snake instead of yarrow, and dropped it with a yelp.

When she looked back up, Connie was gone.

Arguen awoke with a start, a thin sheen of sweat coating her body under the shift, despite the cool weather outside. The dream had certainly gotten to her. She hadn’t felt so seen since the dream with her mother as a bear.

She hauled herself up halfway and rested her head between her knees, still feeling nauseous. As far as she could tell, it was just before dawn. Evidently, she hadn’t slept that long, or that well. And in the dream, she supposed Connie was right. Blake had lied to her, true, but had he done it to hurt her? He was not a malicious man by nature, and certainly not the plotting, scheming type. And truly, he did have a lot to consider. He had a child to protect and people to lead. Falling in love with the strange healer who appeared half-dead on his doorstep one day was perhaps not on his agenda. He had just been keeping the status quo, she realized.

Her head was swimming. She had to get downstairs to get some water and put something in her stomach. Perhaps she had been too hasty in praising the castle cook last night. No matter. Some bread and water and light housework would keep her mind occupied and her hands sharp. She did her best thinking when doing mindless work, and Lord knew she needed to do a lot of that this morning.

* * *

Blake had not had a restful night, either. In fact, he doubted he’d slept even a wink. He was absolutely irate that Cataline was living so close to them under another identity. What the hell could she possibly mean by this? They had lived in relative bliss their first two years of marriage, save for the times she lost a child in the early stages. She flew into a rage after that, becoming moody and often downright cruel. At first, he could not blame her. It must have been heartbreaking to think that you had a child, a new life, growing inside of you, and then have it ripped away by God, nature, the universe, whatever.

But then she became pregnant with Mirellain, and she seemed alright. She glowed as her belly grew, and Blake had thought that finally, she could be happy. But then Mirellain was born, and that happiness disappeared for whatever reason. Cataline fretted over her looks. Was she still pretty? Did Blake still find her attractive? Did her figure still please him? Of course, he answered yes to all of this, believing himself to be in love with her, despite her moods and coldness.