Captured Heart

by Heather McCollum

  “They examine you, prick any bumps or birthmarks to see if you bleed. They dunk you in ponds or see if you burn.”

  “Meg,” Rachel whispered. “I tried to get her to come back to Scotland with me after your birth.” Her eyes filled with regret, like little pools of blue. “She was so sad there until you came into the world. Then she spent her days pouring her love into you.”

  Silence weighted the air between them while the fire crackled and spit and warmed their legs.

  “Harold kept you safe,” Rachel said, as if coming awake again. “Always liked him, and that wife of his has spirit.”

  Meg felt a stab of homesickness. “Aunt Mary is fierce. When I was a young girl and she gave me the healing journal, she said I had to learn to read so I could hear my mother’s advice on how to fix people.”

  Rachel pointed toward the book. “And you think Isabelle wrote clues in it.”

  “I’m certain.” Meg flipped the pages open. “Each of her descriptions has a little something extra and some of the descriptions are obviously not correct, like where one would find an abundance of garlic.” She pointed out discrepancies and odd sounding descriptions as she read the words. “I don’t know what it all means. ‘Find this plant in a cave, a cold cave with many paths and a warm heart in the middle.’”

  “You know Gaelic?” Rachel asked.

  “My mother asked my uncle to make sure I learned it. I think she wanted to make certain I would understand her clues.”

  “Harold speaks it as well?”

  Meg shook her head. “Whenever a Scotsman came through, Uncle Harold would ask him to give us both some instruction. Then we studied on our own. Although I’m not very fluent.”

  “Oh, I’d say you translated that quite well,” Rachel said.

  “Caden.” Meg’s voice quieted and she cleared her throat just a bit. “He translated it on the journey north.” She tipped her gaze back down to avoid her aunt’s stare. The steely look heated the crown of her head as she bent to read.

  “Was the journey north long?” Rachel asked.

  “Five nights, not counting the one Nickum saved me from a pack of wolves.”

  “Wolves?”

  “Yes, right before I ran into the skirmish and met Caden.”

  Her aunt’s eyes froze Meg’s breath. Meg tried to smile. Her cheek twitched and it came out lopsided.

  Rachel’s face softened. “He is a handsome man, Meg. Strong and most likely virile. God makes them that way here in the Highlands. When you meet my Alec you’ll see.”

  Meg shook her head. “Caden and I…there’s nothing between us.” She stared at the page, though her eyes didn’t see any of the words.

  Her aunt chuckled softly and began to hum. Together, they continued to study the journal while Meg spent the rest of the day avoiding the subject of Caden and how he meant nothing to her.

  The next morning Meg requested a bath. Lake scum and road dirt still coated her skin.

  “Ye’ve been ill, lass,” Evelyn protested.

  “I am well.” Meg moved her shoulder under the poultice wrap. “And I am desperate to smell like my old self. I even brought a bar of soap.” She pulled the lilac-scented bar from her leather bag.

  “’Tis nearly winter,” Evelyn tried once more.

  “I’ve yet to see someone die from bathing,” Rachel said as she dragged a brush through her long, gray-streaked hair.

  Evelyn murmured low and frowned. She made the sign of the cross across her chest before she left the room.

  “Did you see that?” Meg asked her aunt.

  Rachel tossed the brush on the bed and began to plait her braid once more. “They all do it here, except for your Caden.”

  “He is not my Caden.” Meg frowned and glanced at the door, then back at her aunt. “Does it bother you?”

  “There are rumors that I am a witch because of my talent to heal. Those who do not know me are frightened by the power. Their little signs give them the courage to interact with me, I suppose.” Rachel shrugged slightly.

  “Are you… I mean no disrespect, Aunt, but what you do, what you did to help me… Are you a witch?”

  Meg’s aunt finished tying a leather cord at the end of the long braid. She held her hands flat, parallel to one another, and a blue light began to glow between them. “I’ve had this power since I was a child. I had a mother who taught me how to use it. I’ve never worshipped anybody but God, our Lord and our Savior Jesus Christ, child.” Rachel held the light easily, contained between her hands. “Our power is a gift from God, as we are gifts from God.” With that she laid her hands together as if praying and the light disappeared.

  “My mother—”

  “Also had this gift, though she rarely showed it. I remember that after you were born, your skin was very yellow. Your mother held you in her arms and I saw the blue light wrap around you. And then you were all pink and healthy and Isabelle was exhausted.” Rachel tipped her head. “Aye, my sister knew how to use her gift, but she was very careful not to let anyone see.”

  “Maybe my father saw.”

  “Never.” Rachel placed hands on Meg’s upper arms, forcing her to see the truth in her stare. “Rowland Boswell lied, Meg. Lied to ensure your mother would never be heard.” She lowered her voice. “You also have your mother’s power, though I suspect you don’t know anything about using it.”

  Meg remained still.

  “You aren’t evil, child. Special, yes, but not a witch. Not evil.” Rachel smiled then, as if her words solved everything.

  Could her blue light and the ability to assess people’s illnesses and hurts be a gift and not a curse?

  “Aunt Mary taught me how to use plants to heal, but if I could do more… Could you…?” Meg pursed her lips for a second. “Would you teach me? How to use this…gift to help people?”

  Rachel’s happiness engulfed her whole face, making the years wash away and a radiant woman stand before Meg. “I’ve always wanted a daughter to teach.” She nodded, her eyes shiny pools of restrained joy. “Aye, I will teach you how to use your talents to heal.”

  Evelyn pushed into the room and waved in two men carrying buckets of water. They placed the iron buckets against the fire to warm.

  Donald came behind them with a bathing tub and set it on the floor near the hearth. He grinned at Meg. “Ye look fit,” he said, but it came out like a question.

  “Fit and better smelling after this bath,” Meg said. “Thank you all for bringing it up.” Her gratitude included all the men who flushed and bowed before leaving.

  “Donald,” she called as he left the room.

  The man poked his head back in around the corner, his brows raised. “Aye?”

  “Hugh—how is his arm?”

  “Well, I believe,” Donald said. “Haven’t heard otherwise.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and Donald disappeared. She turned to her aunt. “The man’s arm was completely severed during the skirmish. I took care of him with herbs and clean wrappings along the trip back. I should check on him.”

  “Ye’re hurt,” Evelyn said as she coaxed the fire into a blaze and stirred the warming water. She stood and wiped hands on her apron. “I’ll return with several bathing sheets.” She shook her head. “Taking a bath in the autumn and wounded,” she muttered as she strode out the door.

  Rachel shooed Meg toward a chair and took up a brush. Rachel ran it down the length of her wavy tresses.

  Meg moved her shoulder under the poultice. “I’m not very wounded.”

  After Donald returned to fill the tub and left the room again, Rachel helped Meg undress. Her eyes skimmed Meg’s stomach, stopping on the birthmark at her navel.

  “The dragonfly. I wondered where you had it hidden. Your mother’s was on the bottom of her foot. All the women of our line have one.” Rachel slid back her sleeve to reveal her own small brown birthmark. “The mark shows we are…special.”

  Special, as in being more than human? As in being a true witch? Meg shivered at
the implication and stepped into the warm water. Her aunt certainly didn’t seem like an evil witch. She used her powers to help people. There was no darkness in that. Maybe her strange power was something other than a curse to be hidden.

  Rachel unwrapped the poultice from Meg’s shoulder.

  “This will mark me also,” Meg said, in awe of the healed hole over the spot where her shoulder connected to her chest. White puckered skin covered a hole, the size of an arrow shaft. She ran fingers gingerly across her shoulder to touch the other puncture mark on her back.

  “The scars will fade in time.” Rachel helped Meg lower into the water. The heat infused her muscles, coaxing them to relax in a warm embrace.

  Evelyn walked in carrying a stack of cloth as Meg leaned her head on the lip of the high-backed tub.

  Meg moved her shoulder around. “A miracle,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye, Meg noticed Evelyn move her fingers across her chest and kiss her cross.

  “A miracle from God,” Rachel added with a wink.

  Meg closed her eyes, giving into the languid pleasure of the warm water. “Ahh,” she sighed. “Never underestimate the healing power of cleanliness.”

  …

  Caden pushed through the double oak doors into the keep. He shook his head, dotting water droplets against the stone wall of the entry chamber. After an hour of training his men in the autumn heat, the frigid water of the loch had cooled the familiar fire in his limbs. If only it had cooled the fire in his loins that reignited each time he thought about Meg. He frowned and strode into the great hall.

  One woman sat before the fire, her fingers toying with the ebony queen on his father’s old chess game. Several of the kitchen servants peeked out from the back entry.

  Caden walked to the hearth, where Rachel Munro stared up at the tapestry above the granite mantel and tapped the playing piece back in place.

  “Ironic,” she said. “The woman who started this bloody feud generations ago had Meg’s coloring. Auburn hair. Even greenish eyes.”

  Caden glanced at the woven images of the tapestry he’d memorized as a child sitting beside his father while he and the council planned raids and victories against the Munros.

  Rachel’s pensive gaze moved to Caden. In the firelight, her eyes sparked. “And now a woman will end it.”

  He held his frown. Did Rachel Munro want the feud to end? Did she resign herself to the fact that her niece was worth more than stubborn pride and vengeance?

  “Alec Munro will agree to a peace for her?” he asked.

  Her eyebrows rose with the hint of a shrug. “My husband is not the agreeing type.”

  The knot tightened in his gut but he kept the practiced mask of indifference. “He will agree to return our cattle he reived and give us half his harvest for burning ours.”

  Rachel’s lips thinned. Her voice was low but strong. “Munros had nothing to do with the burning of your fields.”

  He watched her steely eyes until she blinked, but she didn’t turn away. “Our cattle were seen being driven away by Munros.”

  “Reiving cattle and burning fields are very different offenses.”

  Caden continued to pierce her with his gaze. Even in her seated position, Rachel Munro held her ground as firmly as if she were an armed warrior.

  “Offenses meant to starve a clan into submission,” he said low, the beast of fury held in check only by his growing respect for the woman’s courage.

  She huffed and turned her eyes to the fire with indignant stubbornness. She was a good match for Alec Munro. “Meg is well. I must return to Munro Keep on the morn.”

  “Without your niece.”

  She flipped her hand in the air as if his statement was foolish. “Of course.”

  Caden looked quickly about the room to make certain Meg was still above. “You will tell Alec that I desire peace. I will return his dear niece alive and a maiden.” Rachel’s snort interrupted him, but he continued. “When our cattle are brought back with a wagon of grain.”

  Her attention returned to him. The anger had left replaced by something that resembled weariness. “And is my sister’s daughter important enough to Alec to cause him to break his oath to see the Macbains punished—?”

  “Punished for a dispute over one woman that happened nearly a century ago.”

  “Alec was raised with the tradition of hate.” She shook her head and picked the white queen up. “I think he’s actually frustrated with your sudden weakness,” she said lowly. “There is no glory in beating a starving dog.”

  Caden breathed deeply through his nose to stop the anger from erupting. He brought forth the faces of the children he’d visited earlier in the day. Their faces kept him sensible. No, he’d never grovel, but he’d never give up, either, nor give into a moment of fury when so much was at stake.

  “Meg is important to The Munro,” Caden said, his teeth clenched. “We have it from a very good source that he dotes on his niece.”

  “What source?” Rachel snapped.

  His anger relaxed a small measure. “Someone who is intimately aware of your family.”

  “Fiona,” she murmured and leaned back in the chair. “Should have dragged her back.”

  “A shame you threw her to the wolves, Rachel,” he said. “She still seems to care for you, the way she tended you the other day.” The timid healer had begged for shelter and protection months ago when she’d fled the Munros. Fiona had sworn her allegiance to Caden quickly, but with tears in her eyes.

  “Care for me,” she said, a subtle sneer to her tone. “If she’d truly cared for me she wouldn’t have lured my son to her bed.”

  Apparently Rachel wasn’t done mothering her thirteen-year-old son. That was none of Caden’s concern. “You will leave here on the morn and tell Alec that he can have his lovely niece back when the cattle and grain wagon arrive.”

  Rachel continued to lean back in the chair. She held the white queen up before the flames as if studying her delicate features. “She is lovely, isn’t she?”

  Caden ignored her question. “You will tell Meg that you wish her to stay here until you’ve made her room ready.”

  “You’ve kissed her,” she said.

  His gaze snapped to the woman.

  “Munros were at Loch Tuinn,” he said in answer. How else would she know about the kiss he’d given Meg before she was shot? “They saw the kiss and reported back to you.”

  Rachel shook her head, but her grin stayed on her lips. “Every time Meg says your name, her voice lowers as if the very thought of you warms her.”

  Caden watched her, not sure what to say. Was she purposely diverting him? His mind skipped back to his previous instructions. “Then you will convince your husband to accept my terms if either of you want to see Meg again.”

  Was it a bluff? No, definitely not. If they didn’t agree, he’d keep Meg. His hard eyes reflected the promise enough to sour Rachel’s foolish grin. She made a little huffing sound.

  “Now why would I lie to my dear niece? Telling her to stay here while I make Munro Castle ready for her? To make it easier for you? So you won’t have to guard her?”

  Caden spoke slowly, relishing the upper hand he once again held. “Nay. To make it easier for her,” he said. “Right now your niece is happy. She has freedom here, and safety. If you tell her she’s really a prisoner, a pawn in this bloody feud, you’ll strip that from her, making this place of sanctuary into a hell. A hell that could go on for weeks if you cannot quickly convince Alec to take my terms.”

  He bent forward so that his hands rested on the arms of Rachel’s chair. The strong woman refused to retreat from his stare. “Do you really want that for your dear niece?”

  Her hand rubbed across her mouth as if she tried to rub away a bitter taste on her lips. “I suppose that’s check,” she said and set the queen before the ebony king.

  “Checkmate.” He tipped the king into the queen, knocking it over and drawing a slim smile from the woman.

  “I don�
��t call checkmate until my king is dead.” She indicated the white king on the other side of the board.

  “He’s cornered,” he said low and straightened, giving her space.

  “Cornered for the moment, but not dead.” Rachel stood. “If you’ll excuse me I’ll see to helping my niece dress for the evening meal. I’ll let her know that I will be leaving,” she said, “to ready her rooms.”

  He watched Rachel climb the steps until she was out of sight. “Checkmate,” Caden said as he turned to the flames, his frown the only evidence of the subtle twisting in his gut.

  Chapter Six

  24 October 1517—St. John’s Wort: yellow flowers with five petals in summer, stands straight and sturdy. Grows well where the mist of mountain springs and rushing waterfalls can quench its thirst.

  Ointment for hard growths, bleeding under the skin, wounds, and insect bites. A mild decoction to prevent bladder leaks. Decoction to treat lung complaints and worms of the body. Be aware that strong potion may cause skin burns.

  “A banquet for me?” Meg asked as her aunt lifted a thin smock to fall over Meg’s head to her ankles.

  “To welcome you and introduce you to all of the Munros.” Rachel pushed Meg’s canvas stays down around her waist, then turned her away so she could pull the strings to tighten the corset, displaying Meg’s waist.

  “I don’t need anything so elaborate,” Meg, said frowning. “I just want to meet Uncle Alec and my cousins.” She would bring up her request to stay once she was with the Munros. Her aunt must realize she had nowhere else to go. Perhaps once on Munro land, Rachel would suggest a small cottage where Meg could set up a new home.

  Rachel’s fingers froze in the laces. “You only have one cousin,” she said, and then continued to tie.

  “Oh, Uncle Harold said—”

  “My brother does not know that my two sons were killed. Only Searc remains.” Rachel turned back to the bed to pick up the loaned farthingale.

  Meg stepped into it and her aunt brought it up around her waist. “I’m so sorry, Aunt,” she said. “You couldn’t save them with the blue light?”

  Moisture glossed Rachel’s eyes.

  “Forgive me,” Meg said. “I shouldn’t have asked.