Captured Heart

by Heather McCollum

  “Nay, child.” Rachel shook her head and sat on of the bed. “You should know. Our powers do nothing when God has already claimed a person.” Her hands fisted in her lap. “Both were dead before they were brought to me.”

  Meg sat next to Rachel. “In battle?”

  Rachel sighed. “Two different ones, about a year apart. Alec wouldn’t allow me to come with them. Thought a battle was no place for a lady, especially his wife.” Her lips pursed tightly and she breathed in deeply through her nose. She seemed to hold the breath forever, or at least until she could speak without emotion. “He brought my sons back dead.”

  Meg laid her hand on Rachel’s and squeezed.

  Rachel turned to her. “Though, you can do plenty of good with that blue light when people still breathe.”

  The topic had turned but unease wrapped around Meg’s shoulders. “Is it safe to use?” She glanced around the empty room. “Aren’t you afraid you will be accused of being a witch?”

  “I’m already called a witch.”

  Meg swallowed past the panic itching in her throat. “Aren’t you afraid you might be killed?” People all across England were accused and killed for practicing witchcraft on much less evidence.

  “Life is different up here in the Highlands. True, unfortunate women are prosecuted and killed. But I am no outcast. I am Lady Munro, protected and loved by my husband and clan. I pray and receive forgiveness from Father Daughtry when he visits. And every day I thank God for gifting me with the ability to help others.”

  Rachel pulled both Meg’s cold hands in her own warm ones. “We have a gift, not a curse. We help people. God-fearing people.” She shook her head. “Those who call me witch maliciously are powerless to harm me.”

  Meg stared at her aunt’s strong hands. “I am an outcast. I have no husband and clan.”

  “Not yet, but one day soon, perhaps. Until then, you are under Munro protection.”

  Meg exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”

  “Now, let us have a small lesson before I leave.” Rachel turned her palm up. The blue orb started pebble small and swelled until it filled her cupped hand. “What do you do with your light?”

  “I…well, I use it as a light to see by.”

  Rachel laughed. “I suppose that can serve you, too. Any other uses?”

  “I can tell what is wrong inside a person when I touch them, but I don’t use the light for that.”

  Rachel closed her hand and the light collapsed into nothing. “Next time there is a wound, try forming the orb between your hand and it. Then envision the light traveling from your hand to the wound or ailment, flooding it with the blue light. Imagine how the skin or organ should normally function or appear. The light will follow your thoughts.”

  “Could I hurt people by accident, if I think the wrong thoughts?” How horrible, to actually do harm with her magic. That would surely send her to Hell, or at least the witch’s pyre.

  Rachel tilted her head. “The light won’t cause normal skin to turn abnormal.” She grinned mischievously. “I’ve tried, but it didn’t work.”

  Meg’s eyes widened in shock, but Rachel winked. She stood and pulled Meg back up to continue dressing. “We cannot harm people with the light. Though once you start to heal someone, be sure to finish it. Unfinished healing can hurt.”

  A knock at the door stopped further questions. Fiona peeked around the door. When she saw they were alone she stepped inside and nearly ran to Rachel. They grasped forearms and leaned into each other, their foreheads touching.

  “I hoped to catch you before you left,” Fiona said.

  Rachel ran her hand down the young woman’s dark hair. “Are you treated well here?”

  Fiona nodded. “I use the herbal lessons you taught me to help them here. Their healer died last year.”

  Meg watched the two women, who obviously knew one another well.

  “Help me finish dressing my niece,” Rachel said, switching to English. “Perhaps you can weave her beautiful hair.”

  “I would be happy to. Lady Meg, ye are quite bonny indeed.”

  “Even in my smock and stays?” Meg laughed.

  “And ye will be even more stunning in the dress I found for ye.” Fiona lifted the blue damask and velvet gown off the bed. “The gown belonged to Caden’s sister.”

  Caden had a sister? Were there any other siblings?

  “Sarah left it when she married. I took it in a bit to fit ye.” Fiona held out her hands in the approximate circumference of Meg’s waist.

  Meg studied the precise stitches. “Thank you for spending your day altering it.”

  Fiona waved her thanks away. “Let’s get it on you so we can join the evening sup below.”

  “So how do you two know each other?” Meg asked.

  Silence.

  “You are quite close.”

  Rachel and Fiona pulled the heavy gown down over Meg, and she was lost in fabric for a long moment.

  “Fiona trained under me at Munro Castle,” Rachel said. “She’s a very talented midwife.”

  “Talented as in…?” Meg asked.

  Fiona shook her head. “Not like Rachel with her gift. I just use herbs and common sense.”

  “And strength, innate intelligence, and a wonderful calm manner,” Rachel added.

  Fiona blushed.

  Rachel and Fiona each took a sleeve and pushed it up Meg’s arms to tie at her shoulders.

  “Why are you not at Munro Castle?” Meg asked. Again, silence stretched a little longer than natural in a casual conversation. What were they hiding?

  “Fiona had a disagreement with a Munro and decided to leave until tensions relaxed.” Rachel spoke quietly, her eyes meeting Fiona’s. “If you need me, Meg, or need to send a message to me, send it through Fiona. She is your link to me.”

  “I hope it won’t take long to prepare for my visit,” Meg said. “I’m anxious to see Munro Castle.”

  “Not long, but you never know. The weather turns fierce quickly here.” Rachel let out a little laugh. “You could find yourself snowed in until spring at Druim.”

  Bubbles flittered around in her stomach at the thought. Would Caden be angry to be stuck with her for so long?

  Rachel draped a velvet waistband embroidered with golden dragonflies around her waist.

  Meg ran her finger over the dragonfly pattern. “They match my…” She glanced at Fiona. “…mark.”

  “The girdle was your mother’s.”

  “Why didn’t she take it with her?”

  Rachel’s expression darkened but her thin lips continued to hold a pleasant line as if it were a familiar mask she applied without thought or effort. “Since Isabelle turned her back on her gift, the girdle just reminded her of the secret she must keep.” She frowned then. “Ironic that Boswell chose witchcraft as his weapon of murder, since Isabelle was so adamantly against using it.”

  “Why?” Meg asked. Why would her mother refuse to use such a wonderful power?

  Rachel’s eyes were sad. “I loved Isabelle, but she was not like me in the least. She preferred to follow proper protocol, didn’t like to cause any type of stir. Which makes me think that Boswell was tangled in something terrible for my sister to move against her husband in any way. Isabelle preferred to use natural means to heal, unless it was dire and then she masked her powers completely.” Rachel shook her head. “She was always hiding.”

  Fiona pulled at the heavy folds of fabric until the cascade of damask flowed perfectly over the farthingale. “Perfect length,” she murmured. “Now let’s see about yer tresses.” She ushered Meg to a chair where she combed, pulled, and wove a beautiful mass of curls.

  “Don’t bother with the hood, Fiona,” Rachel said. “I brought my pearls to weave into her hair. The color is a perfect contrast for them.”

  Meg fluctuated between embarrassment, relief, and joy while the two women praised her soft, creamy skin and luxurious locks.

  “Like a lady at court.” Fiona tickled Meg’s ear with one
last tuck of curl. “Come see yerself.” She motioned to a polished glass in the corner.

  Meg stepped before the glass and gasped at the reflection. “Are you sure that is me in there?”

  Knuckles rapped on the door and Evelyn stepped into the room. “There’s a fair amount of waiting down in the great hall, to see ye sup with us.” She stopped short. A large grin spread across her weathered face. “Well don’t ye polish up fine, lass? Right out of Stirling court.”

  Was Caden one of those waiting?

  The flutter in Meg’s chest quivered down into her stomach. “Thank you, Evelyn.”

  “I just need to put on my own jewelry,” Rachel said, her tone cold enough to make Meg turn. Tension packed into the silent room, but Meg wasn’t sure why. Fiona slipped out the door behind Evelyn without a word.

  …

  Caden sat in his father’s high-backed chair at the head of the long table. Many of the men milled about the great hall. He frowned. Although they were always welcome, most sought their own comforts after a day of work and training. Apparently they had heard Meg was well enough to dine with them. Half of them were curious about her miraculous healing and her relation to the Devil Munro. The other half just wanted to gawk with hopes of winning one of her bloody smiles. Hell, the room even smelled better since most of the men had bathed before coming.

  Ewan sauntered into the hall followed by two young widows from the village, and Donald’s sister, Ann. They giggled over something he’d said. Ewan waved him over. Maybe a soft, willing lass was what he needed to lift the heaviness in his gut. Caden strode the distance to the far wall.

  “Caden, how could you scowl in the presence of such loveliness?” Ewan spouted.

  Caden lifted one side of his mouth into a grin and perused Ann, Gwyneth, and Jonet. “And how could you three keep your last meal down with Ewan’s sticky sweet rhapsody?”

  They giggled. Ewan laughed.

  Across the room Angus broke into a fit of coughing and cursing while Bruce thumped him on the back. The council had gathered with the rest to see the witch’s niece. Were they planning how best to use Meg? Or how to abduct Rachel Munro on her way home in the morning? Caden frowned and watched the three old men until Angus’s fit passed.

  When his focus returned, Gwyneth had maneuvered herself around the other two women who now flanked Ewan. The woman wore a stifling floral scent. She twined her arm around Caden’s bicep.

  “I missed you,” she drawled, her eyes sparking with open invitation. Her lips teased upward into a sensual grin. She leaned into Caden, the tops of her breasts pushed up high above the gown’s collar. Aye, it had been a long time since Caden had bedded the willing widow. Normally the sight would twitch its way down into his groin, but instead Caden’s thoughts roamed to Meg’s creamy white shoulder that had stuck out of the wool blanket at the fire, the night he’d discovered her true identity. His pawn, his lovely playing piece, his checkmate. The heaviness in his gut twisted.

  “I think Ewan would be of lighter spirits this eve.” Caden disentangled his arm while Gwyneth pursed her lips into a tight line. “Another night.” He walked across the rushes toward a group who had hunted earlier that day. Ewan called his name half-heartedly behind him, but Caden continued on.

  “More for you, Ewan,” Caden mumbled, and joined his warriors near the fire. He stood next to Kievan next to the wall. “I hear we have venison and goose tonight, thanks to you.”

  “Ah? I mean…aye,” Kieven replied. The man turned toward Caden, but his eyes seemed stuck to some point across the hall.

  Meg must have entered the room. Foolish, muddle-headed man. Caden turned and spotted her, poised and lush in a blue court gown, the gentle sway of her hips trapping his attention as well. She gazed out at the sea of curious faces, nodding to those she knew. She leaned toward her aunt and said something as they walked to the long table.

  Meg’s glorious auburn locks were twisted with pearls. Her waist sloped in from the farthingale, and her breasts rose full with each breath. Lovely hazel eyes sparkled with sincerity and snared all notice. Color infused her creamy cheeks as she blushed.

  Caden pushed off the wall with the heel of his boot and strode across the room. Time froze, and he alone walked through the spell toward Meg. She turned in his direction and her smile faltered.

  Had someone revealed the secret? Did she already loathe him? What had Rachel discussed as they’d dressed?

  “Ye are well?” Caden asked as he stopped before her. Would she answer or glare at him?

  “Yes,” Meg replied, a gentle smile tugging at her lips.

  He released his breath and rubbed his jaw, realizing just how tense it had been. If he’d been Ewan he’d have half a dozen comments on his tongue. Instead he just stared down at her in tense silence. “The gown suits ye.”

  Rachel snorted behind her niece. “Did I mention that Highland chiefs are lacking in the fine art of compliments?” She leaned in, but Caden could still hear her words. “What they lack in words they usually make up for in action.”

  Color rushed up Meg’s open neckline and into her cheeks. Instead of turning away, she stared up into Caden’s eyes, her own sparkling with mischief and laughter. His iron will stopped him from descending upon that pink mouth and showing her exactly what type of action he had in mind.

  “Thank you,” Meg said and bowed her head. “I would also like to thank your sister for the gown. I was told it was one that she left behind and would not miss. Is she here?”

  His sister? Here? Thank the Lord, no. “Nay. Sarah lives with her husband’s family toward the sea.”

  “Near the Macleod holdings?” Rachel asked.

  “Aye.” Caden motioned for them to sit, though he didn’t take his eyes from Meg.

  “I will have to thank her when we meet,” she said, and pulled her dress around to perch on the bench. He sat on her left side. The hum of voices rose again as warriors took seats. Ewan sat across from Meg with Jonet and Ann on either side. Gwyneth sat farther down next to Hamish.

  “Sweet Diana,” Ewan said, leaning forward on his elbows as if he spoke conspiratorially. “Do not venture into London. I hear that England’s King Henry snaps up pretty young wives before they can rise from their curtsey.”

  When Meg laughed, Jonet frowned and Ann’s eyes narrowed. Although Jonet practically fought off marriage offers and Donald’s sister was a bonny maid nearing the age to marry, the two lasses acted like jealous harlots defending their territory.

  “There are some Highlanders who use pretty phrases,” Meg said quietly to her aunt. “Perhaps that’s why he’s the only man present with a lovely lady on each arm.”

  Caden watched the two women across the table from him. Word had spread that Meg was to be treated like a guest, but had everyone heard his command to hide her true status?

  “I am Meg Boswell,” she said, gifting the two women with a sincere smile.

  Ann and Jonet glanced at one another and grinned back hesitantly.

  “I am Ann Black and this is Jonet Montgomery.”

  “Are you both Macbains, living here?”

  “Aye, we live in the village,” Jonet answered. “Ann is Donald’s sister and I live under the protection of The Macbain, as my husband was taken in battle.” Jonet regarded Rachel with cold eyes.

  “Donald mentioned you on the journey,” Meg said to Ann. “I can tell he cares for you deeply.”

  Ann blushed and glanced down. “He is a good brother.”

  Meg turned her gaze on Jonet. “I am so sorry for your loss,” she said. “Living alone must be hard. You must be a very strong woman.”

  Jonet tipped her head. “I have managed.”

  “You two are very fortunate to have one another, to have friends.” Meg tasted the roast goose as she looked between the women.

  Caden watched her delicate fingers pull some of the meat. So slender and dainty, yet he’d seen those same fingers probe bleeding wounds, too.

  “I’ve never had a friend,”
Meg said as if just stating a fact. The only reaction she showed was a slight furrow in her brow. She’d been lonely. No wonder she’d befriended the wolf.

  “No friends?” Ewan asked.

  Meg shook her head. “I lived on a secluded farm with my aunt and uncle in England. Of course, Nickum is my friend.”

  “Nickum?” Ann asked.

  “My wolf.”

  Jonet glanced nervously at Ann. “I heard the beastie’s been walking the village at night.”

  “There’s nothing to fear from Nickum,” Meg added anxiously. “He hunts then.”

  Jonet’s eyes grew round.

  “Not people,” Meg added. “Only other animals. Rabbits and such. He likes to keep guard, too.”

  Jonet and Ann bobbed their heads slowly.

  Meg asked the ladies about their skills and lives in the village. She seemed to really be interested in them. Was she trying to win them over, befriend them as allies in this war? That didn’t make sense since she knew nothing of this war, yet. Or so he hoped.

  Ann and Jonet talked more and more. What was it about Meg that calmed people, almost lulled them into liking her? Her voice ebbed and flowed in the conversation. The cadence and pitch moved like a song. Caden warmed, his shoulders relaxing. He laughed out loud at one of her quips about the stench of warriors.

  Meg turned to him, as did most of the table. “’Tis true, Caden,” she said and his breath caught at the sound of his name in her lush little mouth. The ladies laughed, but Meg didn’t. Her hand on Caden’s arm clenched tightly.

  “I…I forgot,” she stammered out.

  “She’s pale.” Ann filled Meg’s wine cup. “Drink.”

  Caden placed his hand over hers. “What did ye forget, lass?”

  “The attack at the loch,” she said, frowning. “Girshmel was there, when I laid against the tree. He’s the one who ordered the other man to shoot Nickum.”

  “Girshmel?” Ewan asked. “Ye’re sure? Ye were unconscious.”

  Meg shook her head. “I could hear. He said…” Her brow furrowed. The entire table hushed, hanging on her words. “He knew who I was, my full name, and that I was The Munro’s niece. That’s what he called me,” she said. “That I was valuable and that his chief would want me.”