Captured Heart

by Heather McCollum

  “Aye, in this cold, war-loving land, God’s gift to heal is more valuable than gold,” she said.

  Caden squelched the question of Rachel’s two buried sons. “Either way, your niece is extremely valuable.”

  Rachel didn’t answer but snuggled down under the blanket next to Meg.

  More valuable than gold? Perhaps a strange birthmark and an ability to heal with magic would make his hostage even more valuable. Munro would eventually want to marry his niece off. She would have to wed someone who didn’t condemn her for this gift, if she had it.

  Caden ignored the tension in his shoulders. He needed to think of every way possible to make his bargaining chip even more important.

  Meg’s eyes remained closed, her breathing even. He closed his heavy eyes and leaned back into the hard seat where he planned to stay the night, remembering Meg’s kiss at the loch. Her softness and smell, the joy on her face.

  He rubbed at the tightness in his chest. His mind turned to explanations, words, scenarios. He’d show her the children, introduce the families she was saving. He would show her, ask her how to save them, nudge her in the direction he’d chosen. Peace.

  Caden needed peace to save his clan. He wouldn’t let her hate him. Nay, he wouldn’t let her, for he intended to kiss her again.

  Chapter Five

  15 September 1517—Honeysuckle: white, bell-shaped flowers in summer. The scent is pleasant and can be used in soaps and lotion (my favorite scent). Flowers throughout the summer months spread its sweet smell far and away. Ah, Saorsa!

  Use a decoction of the flowers to treat breathing disorders. The syrup may also be used to treat lung and spleen complaints. Use weakened syrup to treat nervous headaches. An ointment can be made with the plant and boiled animal fat to ease the burn from the sun and to rid ladies of spots.

  Meg’s eyes flickered open to a dimly lit stone wall. Heavy tapestries hung on the walls. Where was she? She inhaled swiftly. The loch! She gazed down at her shoulder where a poultice lay tied against her skin on the front and back. Tightness lightly pinched her skin.

  “Hold him,” a woman’s stern voice instructed near the fire. The sound of a body being dragged across the stone floor pushed Meg into a sitting position.

  “Nickum?” she whispered.

  Caden held her best friend against his chest. A woman with a long braid pressed her hands to the wolf’s side. He’d been shot, at the loch, standing over her. Meg’s heart raced as images and sounds flooded back. How long ago had it happened? She was about to call out when she saw a familiar blue light grow along the crack between the woman’s hands and Nickum’s fur. The same blue light that Meg could conjure.

  Caden stood solid. He didn’t jump back in surprise at the unnatural light. He peeled a poultice off higher up Nickum’s body, and the woman ran her glowing hands through Nickum’s fur.

  Meg edged over to the side of the large bed and pulled back the blankets. She’d been stripped to her thin smock. She shivered as her toes touched the rock floor.

  “Unbelievable,” she murmured at her own strength. Shot clear through, but no fever raged and her shoulder was nearly healed. Had the woman used her glowing light to heal her?

  Nickum’s legs twitched and a low growl issued from his clenched mouth.

  “Hold still, beast,” the woman growled back.

  Caden glanced toward Meg. “Meg, ye are standing?”

  “I can help,” she offered, but her voice had lost its usual strength.

  The woman’s eyes lifted briefly and returned to her current patient. “Help as you can, niece.”

  Niece? Her aunt Rachel. Meg knelt down before the warm fire and touched Nickum’s face as her wolf opened his yellow eyes. “All is well, Nickum,” she crooned and stroked the dirt-covered fur around his muzzle.

  Her aunt snorted. “I suppose that would be the most help you could give right now. Keep him calm, Meg.” She turned to her and smiled, a twinkle in her crystal blue eyes. “And it is good to see you,” she said.

  “Good to see you, too.” Meg brushed Nickum’s fur.

  Caden’s eyes sought hers. “Aye, ’tis good to see ye awake again.” His words rumbled through her. They were like warm molasses bread with melting butter.

  Meg’s stomach growled. “How long have I been asleep?”

  Rachel sat back on her heels and Caden lowered Nickum to the rug. Meg moved to run her fingers over her pet’s wounds, but grabbed air instead when Caden hoisted her up.

  “A day and a night, lass.” His words were gruff but he lowered her with tenderness back into her still-warm blankets.

  “A day?” she began and stared over the top to Nickum bent around himself licking his wounds. Meg glanced at her wrapped shoulder. “Yet I’m so well.” Her stomach growled again. “In fact, I’m ravenous and thirsty.” She turned to her aunt, who seemed to be asleep in the chair next to Nickum, and lowered her voice. “Did she…ummm…the blue light…did my aunt…?”

  “Aye,” Caden said as he tucked the blankets back up under her chin. “She prayed over ye.” The corner of his mouth turned up in a grin that looked dangerously seductive on his unshaven face. “A talent of hers and apparently one yer mother had and all the lasses in yer family.”

  Meg heard the question in that statement clearly. She blinked several times. “The light has the power to heal?”

  “With what I’ve seen last night and this morn, I agree with yer aunt.”

  “You agree with her?” What was he talking about?

  “Aye, the light is a blessing,” he said and walked toward the door. “I will have some food and drink brought up for you two.” He stared for a moment and his smile retreated, leaving frost in its place. “Ye and Lady Munro are guests here.”

  He shut the door behind him.

  “A blessing?” Meg murmured into the mound of blankets. She made a small cave underneath and produced a pea-sized orb of blue light. The glow illuminated the pitch darkness under the heavy layers. Could she heal like her aunt Rachel? Had she contained the power all along and simply never tried to use it? Aunt Mary had never mentioned an unnatural ability to heal, although she wasn’t blood related to Rachel and her mother. Uncle Harold was their brother.

  Meg heard a shuffling sound and squelched the light. Her aunt lay down next to her on the bed, her expression weeping with exhaustion.

  “The healing steals my energy,” she said, but managed to keep her eyes open as she lay on her side facing her.

  Meg pulled another throw over her aunt.

  “I’m Rachel Munro, your mother’s sister. I haven’t seen you since you were born, child.” Rachel reached out and touched her hair. “You have your mother’s reddish waves and her slender build.”

  “Thank you for healing my shoulder and helping Nickum.”

  “I understand your beast protects you. Having a protector is prudent. Smart girl.” She closed her eyes. “Let us talk more about the little light you hide when I wake from my nap.”

  Meg’s breath stilled at the casual words.

  “And child.” Rachel’s lips slurred a bit with the heaviness of exhaustion. “The Macbains seem to think we know each other well.” Her eyes caught Meg’s. “Let’s allow them to continue that thinking.”

  …

  Caden sucked in a breath for patience as he entered the hall. The three remaining elders, Ancients Kenneth, Bruce, and Angus, swore it their duty to advise the young laird on clan matters. They reminded him often that although Caden was chief, he was not much older than ten and twenty. What could he know of tradition and ancient justifications?

  The three had convened in the great hall when they’d heard of Caden’s return with The Munro’s niece. They sat before the fire of the main hall. “And the Munro Witch is here, too.” Ancient Kenneth chuckled and shook his head. “She’s a better hostage than the niece.”

  Caden watched Angus stare hard into his mug and take a swallow as Caden strode toward the back kitchens. He coughed around the ale when he sp
otted Caden and jabbed his finger in the young chief’s direction.

  “Caden,” he coughed. Bruce pounded his back but Angus pushed off his friend’s hand. “Must you pummel me every time I choke?” Angus threw his hand toward the opposite wall. “Caden’s emerged. He just walked toward the kitchens.”

  All three men pushed out of their seats and hurried across the room just as Caden returned to the hall. He stopped before them, arms crossed over his chest, frowning.

  “Now that the Munro Witch herself is here, we will use her, too,” Ancient Kenneth started without preamble. He raised his eyebrow above his missing right eye, which he squeezed shut. A Munro had plucked it out thirty-some years ago with a mace. He’d spent decades returning the favor.

  “We can keep her here, and not let her return to that devil.” Angus rubbed his whiskered jaw.

  “I promised the woman unheeded passage before she came,” Caden answered in even measure, despite clenching his fists. He could walk away, ignore them. He was The Macbain, after all.

  “Now why did you go promising a thing like that, man?” Bruce yelled from over the rim of his tankard. He’d been the best friend of Caden’s father and could bellow just as loud.

  Caden frowned at them in silence. Inside, he counted to ten in Latin.

  “We are your council, Caden,” Ancient Kenneth reminded him. “We should know your rationale.”

  “I didn’t have time to bicker over details when the lass lay up there dying, so I promised it, and I would do it again. Rachel Munro saved Meg, and without the English girl we’d have nothing to bargain with.” Bloody hell! He protected what was his. He wouldn’t allow Meg to die.

  “Aye, but to have the witch herself, now that would get Alec Munro over here quick,” Bruce said, as he pulled on his gray-streaked beard. “I’m surprised that we haven’t seen his ugly face yet.”

  “Rachel must have lied to him about her whereabouts. That devil would not have let her come here in the middle of the night,” Angus answered.

  All three old men nodded in unison.

  Caden regarded them as they washed down several more swigs of ale. He waited. The three old warriors knew well that their chief could just walk past them without a word. Yet he never had. He’d always shown them respect, even if he didn’t follow all their commands. Which was just, because Caden was The Macbain, not they. He listened to their commands, but only issued his own. They respected him even if he was hellbent on peace.

  Bruce’s belch echoed in the empty hall.

  Kenneth set down his ale and wiped the thick scruff around his mouth with his sleeve. “So when do you plan on telling the English lass that she’s our prisoner?” His thick brow quirked slightly with a more personal question. “I hear she’s quite bonny. Your men seem foolish over her.” Kenneth had been Caden’s father’s second in command, and his cleverness uncovered all unspoken truths.

  Angus snorted and coughed. “Foolish youth.”

  “I will tell her soon,” Caden answered. “For now I need her cooperation, so no one is to treat her with anything but hospitality. For now she is a guest here at Druim, and so is Lady Munro.” He bowed slightly to the three warriors. “I must check on my men and their families.”

  Caden jogged down the steps and into the courtyard where his soldiers drilled. Caden wanted to drill with them, for it was easier than his intended course. He raised his hand as they hailed him. “Later,” he promised, and strode through the open gate of the bailey and down the short lane into the village.

  He knocked on the cottage closest to the keep. Bess Tammin stood at the door with her six-year-old son clinging to her skirts. She was a comely young widow who had lost her husband last year in a vicious raid with the Davidsons. Caden tipped his head to her and grinned at the boy.

  “Chief Macbain.” She stepped aside to allow him to enter. “Would you care for some ale or something hot, perhaps?”

  “I came to see if you were faring well, Bess, and Peter here.” Caden stooped to pull the boy’s hand so that he stepped away from his mama. “Seems you’re getting big and strong,” he said, despite the lad’s thin arms. How much thinner would he get this winter if his plan for peace didn’t work?

  Peter beamed up at Caden. “I can start training with the wooden swords in the spring,” he said, pride puffing up his small body.

  Caden studied him. “I can see a fierce warrior in you, Peter. I’ll be happy to add you to the ranks.” He tussled the boy’s shaggy head. He watched Bess, his face growing serious, though he kept a light tone. “You have enough food?”

  “We make do.” She reached out to touch Caden’s arm. “I hear you’ve returned with the Munro niece.” Hope lurked in her eyes as she pulled Peter back against her side.

  “Aye.”

  She rubbed her son’s arm. “Your plan will work, then. We can use her to bargain for our grain and cattle back?”

  Caden’s stomach clenched in the same tight ball he’d held inside since the mysterious fire that burned their fields. “I will find food for the winter.”

  She smoothed Peter’s hair. “I know you will.”

  Caden tipped his head to Bess and held his fist to his heart to Peter, who imitated the fierce pledge.

  Nine more homes to visit. He breathed deep to lessen the tightness in his middle and strode to the next door.

  Caden counted down each one, answering the same questions and promising food to each troubled face. Ten homes in all. Ten each day. That was his routine. So unlike his sire, who had holed up in the keep, planning sweet revenge and victory no matter what the cost. Caden wanted something different; he wanted peace because peace meant food. Without it, many of his people wouldn’t survive the winter. The Munros had raided most of their cattle the night the fall harvest had been burned. Even though they didn’t take credit for it, the council was convinced it was their most hated enemy’s work.

  He knocked on the last door. Hugh Loman answered.

  “Get back in here, Hugh,” his wife’s voice called.

  Hugh’s eyes pleaded with Caden. “She’s driving me to bedlam,” he said and then grinned.

  “Hello, Caden.” Elizabeth Loman came to the door, their infant son swaddled against her chest. “Hugh’s not fit enough to come back to train,” she said, placing her hand on Hugh’s forehead.

  “There’s no fever, woman,” Hugh said, and ducked. “Meg took care of it on the way home.”

  “That she did,” Elizabeth said, her eyes growing wet. “Thank God for her, then,” she added, and turned toward Caden. “Is the lass well? I would like to pay my respects before you trade her off to those devils.”

  Worry, gratitude, determination with a bit of fury all flew across Elizabeth Loman’s face.

  “She is well,” Caden answered.

  “I will use some of our ration to make her my special bread,” she said. “She deserves more, seeing how she took care of my Hugh.”

  “Come to the keep,” Caden said. “Tell Evelyn I want you to have enough grain for your bread.”

  “We have enough, Caden,” Hugh said, but Caden knew just how little they had. With a new bairn, Elizabeth needed all the food she had for her family.

  “I understand, Hugh,” Caden said. “Tell Evelyn. We have enough.”

  Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes before withdrawing back into the cozy home.

  “She weeps at everything,” Hugh said to Caden and stepped outside with him. “She’s up most the night.”

  “He’s healthy, the bairn?”

  “Aye and quite hungry.” Hugh’s laugh turned sour. “I didn’t mean that we don’t have enough, Caden. ’Twas a joke about bairns.”

  “I will trade Meg to her uncle soon,” Caden said. “Then there will be enough.”

  “I’ve never doubted that you’d find a way,” Hugh said.

  Caden strode back toward the bailey. Ten houses finished for another day. When his fury welled inside him, demanding an attack based wholly on revenge, he’d remember the faces of
the wives and children. When Meg stared at him with those big trusting eyes and he thought for a moment about keeping her, he’d remember his people. They made him accountable, made him who he was. His people made him The Macbain.

  …

  “Here it is,” Meg said. She pulled the heavy key from her leather bag and handed it to Rachel. They sat in two wooden chairs close to the dancing flames of the hearth in their room. They sat completely alone since Nickum had begged to escape.

  “Isabelle left you this?” Rachel ran a finger over the iron scrollwork in the handle of the key.

  “Yes. The pattern is not really a pattern at all.”

  “’Tis odd,” Rachel said. “My sister liked to leave clues and guesses about. She liked games when she was a girl.” She focused back on the key. “A chest to unlock, perhaps.”

  “I think she secreted the proof away that she mentioned in her letter.” Meg pointed to the parchment lying open on Rachel’s lap.

  “Why did your uncle give you your mother’s letter now?”

  “Really, it was Aunt Mary, although Uncle Harold didn’t stop her.” Meg fiddled with the edge of the woolen throw over her lap. “It was right after the anniversary of my birth and Uncle Harold received a letter from my father saying he was coming to claim me. That it was past time I was married. He wrote he had a match in mind but wanted to ascertain that I was free of witchcraft first. That was when Aunt Mary said that one of my mother’s patients had brought the letter with the journal and key after I’d come to live there. They didn’t want to frighten me with the letter, so they held it back until now.”

  Rachel squeezed Meg’s hand. There was gentle strength in her grasp, warm and full of power. “So you ran away.”

  Meg looked down at her lap. “Do you know how they test for witchcraft?”

  “Torture, for the most part.”