Page 2 of Fire in his Highland Heart

“You must be pleased to have your brother back home.”

“Aye, I am. Douglas is all the family I have since the incident.”

“I am so very sorry for your loss. Please accept my condolences,” Marianne said. It sounded almost sincere, and Arguen was genuinely surprised, though she tried not to show it.

“I thank ye, mistress. I do miss them terribly.”

“Can you not count Malcolm and I as family now?”

Hearing his name from her mouth like that--simpering, dripping with poison--made Arguen’s blood boil, but she had to stay her temper. Where else would she go if she could not stay here at Bruckstone Castle?

“Aye, mistress. I can do that.”

Marianne nodded and set the mug on the table beside the bed. “Thank you for your assistance tonight. May I call on your services again, should I need them?”

Arguen nodded as she gathered up her herbs and vials by the hearth. “Of course. As I told ye earlier, healers help all. No matter who they be.”

Lady Marianne gave one last thank you before dismissing Arguen, who was grateful to be gone. When Malcolm had married her, everything at Bruckstone Castle had changed. It was as if a draft of cold air had crept into the castle and never left. All the laird’s guards seemed to be walking on eggshells, not to mention the various servants, even the tenants on nearby land. Lady Marianne had made it known that she was the new authority and would not be questioned. A fine thing, to be sure, since Malcolm’s father was still technically the laird of Bruckstone, but even he would not dare defy Marianne.

English bastards, Arguen thought to herself. As long as she never said it aloud, she could think whatever she pleased, could she not? She was so busy in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice Malcolm until she nearly ran into him head-on.

“Ye best watch yer step, Miss. If ye keep yer head in the clouds, ye’ll float away,” he offered. Even he had changed. Once merry and witty, he now seemed a shell of his former self. The wit in his words was hollow.

“Och, no chance. I prefer the view from above.”

“Careful. Ye sound a heretic.”

“Malcolm, no one’s a Catholic anymore,” she jested, though rather unsure whether he was teasing or not..

“I ken, I try to poke fun. My wife, is she…” his voice trailed off, his hazel eyes wide and full of hope. Hope for her life or her death? Arguen secretly wondered.

“Too early for the babe. ‘Tis likely she felt the quickening. Both she and midwife Joan say ‘tis too early.”

Malcolm nodded, his face unreadable. Arguen supposed the son of a laird needed to be that way--stoic and unbothered. Neither quickness to anger nor slowness to action were desirable traits for a future laird. He seemed to know the responsibility he carried.

“Braw, that’s very fine. The Lord did say be fruitful and multiply.”

At the mention of such intimacy, Arguen blushed and tried to change the conversation. “I think these next months will be quick, and ye’ll have a bonnie little bairn soon enough.”

“Aye, thanks tae ye and midwife Joan. I dinnae ken what we’d do without ye.”

“Och, ye’d get on. There’ll always be healers.”

“But none such as ye,” Malcolm added, looking sincerely at her, holding her gaze for longer than was comfortable.

Arguen cleared her throat and took a half step back. “I oughtta be goin. And yer wife’ll want tae see ye.”

“Aye. I bid ye good night then.”

Arguen nodded and curtsied before scurrying away to the chamber that she shared with one of the maids. That had been another provision when Marianne took control. One look at Arguen’s silver hair and curious blue eyes made the new mistress decide the healer could not be trusted, and she made up some story about how Arguen’s chamber needed to be converted to a proper withdrawing room.

But she couldn’t complain. If she was to properly honor her mother’s memory, she could not soil it by slandering the future mistress of the castle.

The other maids were not yet back from the party, from the looks of it. Arguen sighed and put her basket with herbs and vials in the trunk at the foot of the bed before undressing herself and taking down her hair. Long ago, she’d learned to twist it up into a bun to avoid the suspicious looks she received from other people. But she couldn’t blame them. A child with silvery hair was a rarity indeed, and many wondered if perhaps she was not of this world. Stories of the fair folk, curious sightings at the abandoned kirk, and heavy fog rolling in from the sea made for fantastical stories around the fire at night. Arguen was no fae or witch. Her blue eyes came from her mother, and although she didn’t know where the silver hair came from, she knew it had to be ancestral. Within minutes of her head hitting the pillow, she was asleep, too tired even for dreams.

* * *

It wasn’t the thunderclap or the bolt of lightning right outside Arguen’s window that woke her, although it certainly helped. No--the entirety of Bruckstone Castle awoke to blood-curdling shrieks coming from one of the towers. The chambermaid with whom she shared the room, Fiona, looked at Arguen with sheer panic.