Page 62 of Fire in his Highland Heart

“It does me good tae see ye again,” Mrs. Kinney said warmly as Arguen came in through the kitchen door with her basket.

“Aye, an’ me as well. I’m sorry I’ve been absent,” Arguen apologized sincerely. “I brought some fresh bread an’ jam. Last berries o’ the summer. I’m surprised they lasted this long.”

“Och lass, ye dote on us all.”

“I actually...I came because I need yer help,” Arguen said. She hoped her words and countenance came across as calm and collected, not worried like she felt. Of course, as usual, Mrs. Kinney seemed to see right through it.

“What’s amiss, lass?”

“I...” and Arguen explained her symptoms to the older healer, trying to keep a frantic edge out of her voice. She’d had stomach pains and eaten bad things before, leading to similar symptoms, but never had they lasted this long. That was the reason she was worried.

And suddenly, in the middle of her sentence, her stomach lurched. Without another word, she ran out the door, barely making it in time to retch on the dirt.

Mrs. Kinney followed and peered around the corner. Poor Arguen wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then sighed and slumped against the stone wall, resting a hand on her stomach as if to settle it.

When the young woman caught sight of her, she immediately scrambled up and attempted somewhat of a curtsy, but Mrs. Kinney bade her slump against the wall again.

“Ye were right tae come tae me. Ye’re clearly ill,” the older healer said, taking in the sight of Arguen’s unusually pale face, her bright blue eyes rather dull and a bit sunken.

Arguen shook her head. “I dinnae understand. I’ve had this a’fore, but not so long,” she said, shifting her eyes to the dirt.

Mrs. Kinney reached out and rested a hand on her forearm. “I dinnae wish tae frighten ye but...perhaps a mother’s eyes see better.” She watched Arguen’s eyes widen, not with surprise, but with fear. “All mothers know what this is. I had many o’ the same things wi’ me own bairn. Have ye considered that possibility?”

Arguen shook her head and tears formed in her eyes. “It cannae be. Not so soon!”

Mrs. Kinney handed her a handkerchief, which she accepted gratefully and dabbed her eyes. “Do ye ken who the father is?”

Arguen blanched and stuttered. “D...do I... Why...Mrs. Kinney, I... I’m not that kind of--”

Mrs. Kinney immediately recognized her mistake and apologized profusely. “Of course not, lass. I’m sorry tae have presumed.”

“I ken exactly who the father is. There’s only one man for me,” she said, a little solemnly and wistfully.

“And... would he right things?” Mrs. Kinney pressed. She wanted to know who it was, but she would not make the mistake of being so bold as to ask outright.

Arguen shrugged. “I... I would hope so. He is a good man. But...he works so hard. An’ he has much on his plate. I wouldnae want tae burden him with something like this.”

Mrs. Kinney rubbed a soothing, gentle hand on Arguen’s shoulder. “If he is a good lad, as ye say, and would right things, there is no reason for a bairn tae be a burden.”

“We havenae discussed it yet. I thought mayhap he might...”

She blanched again, and rushed over to the edge of the kitchen garden to vomit once more. Mrs. Kinney looked away out of dignity, but kept a soothing hand on her back for support.

When Arguen was finished, she turned around, and a pang of sympathy stabbed at Mrs. Kinney’s heart. Her face was white and gaunt, and dark circles were present under her eyes. “You poor dear. Is there any way ye can rest today?”

“Nay. I’ve much tae do at my cottage, an’ I’m sure people will come askin’ for me soon.”

“If there is anythin’ I can do to help…” Mrs. Kinney began.

Arguen nodded gratefully. “Thank ye. I thought ye of all people would be able tae help.”

“Now, it may well not be what I think. Perhaps ye just have a weak stomach and overworked yerself. In that case, let me mix ye some tea.”

Arguen knew what such symptoms meant. Not every woman had them at the start, and it could also be any number of things. Arguen hoped for a disease over her other suspicion. Only after a month or two would she be certain. Until then, she had a hefty decision to make. If she stayed here and did not go back to Bruckstone, she would be safe, but still apprehensive, always looking over her shoulder. Surely Marianne-Cataline (she still wasn’t sure what to call her) would find out her whereabouts and make her regret escaping and running away. On the other hand...clearing her name would help. As Blake had said...she was innocent. She had not intentionally poisoned Marianne (or at all—but ever since her encounter with Connie in the woods, she wondered if what she’d given her was hemlock instead of yarrow). And she did miss her brother and the few other people with whom she socialized. She had to make a decision. Did she want to hide forever, or take courage and face her fears head on? She had a day to decide. That thought only made her sicker.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Blake was restless the night before he was to ride to Bruckstone and sort out this mess. He’d told Arguen he’d come by at dawn to take her back, if she decided. Not sleeping well the night before a long journey was never good, but when did anyone ever sleep well the night before a possible life changing event?