Captured Heart

by Heather McCollum

  Warmth slid across her shoulders, a fur. A wooden soup bowl scraped along in front of her on the rock ledge. “Cook says eat. I’ve checked it already. No mushrooms. I’m checking all yer food.”

  Caden’s voice made her stomach drop even more. Not only was she leaving behind the first taste of freedom she’d ever had. She was leaving behind…him. “Thank you,” she said.

  He leaned on the wall next to her but didn’t touch her. “Eat the soup, Meg. Ye’re going to need yer strength,” Caden continued.

  Tears stung the back of her eyes. Was he so ready to be rid of her?

  Caden brushed the snow off the ledge. “We have a good life here in the Highlands,” he said. “Raw and rugged. Nature’s battle for survival can be ugly and harsh but breathtaking, too. We don’t have a lot here, not like the English cities. We live hard, fight hard…love hard.”

  He leaned his back against the wall, and the warmth of his gaze fell on her. She sipped.

  After a long moment her eyes met his. “Thank you for the soup.” She rubbed her chin along the fur. Did he want to say something? She waited.

  “The council and I have been talking,” he said. “I…we don’t want ye to leave.”

  Her breath hitched for a moment. “You don’t?”

  “Aye. The men and I. Ye will be in danger if ye return with Boswell.”

  Her heart sunk a little when Caden said it was the council and the men who wanted her to stay, although he had included himself. “If I don’t go with him, you all and my aunt and uncle will be in danger.”

  “He can’t make ye leave, Meg. The decision is yers.”

  She shook her head. “He’s my legal guardian.”

  “What if he wasn’t?”

  “He is.”

  Caden paused and then spoke slowly. “Not if ye become a Macbain.”

  “Become a Macbain? How exactly—”

  “Marry me, Meg.”

  Her inhale stopped inside her chest as it squeezed. Was he teasing?

  Caden took her freezing fingers in his warm hands. “Wed with me and ye will be Meg Macbain with a full clan supporting ye.”

  “Wed…you?”

  Caden moved closer. His stomach gurgled, churning. Was he nervous? On the outside it didn’t show. She reminded herself to breathe.

  He bent his head and brushed the warmest kiss along her cold lips. The simple touch held such promise. His hand moved to cup the side of her head, his fingers combing back her curls. He kissed her again, slowly, as if they had all the time in the world. Perhaps they did. Perhaps she could become a Macbain, protected, maybe even loved, free from worry over using her powers.

  “I don’t need yer magic, lass, to know that I affect ye, too,” he said against her lips. “Marry me and we can explore more than just a kiss.”

  “It could put the clan in jeopardy,” she said.

  “The clan is behind me. And,” he paused as if weighing his words, “actually our union could end the feud between the Macbains and the Munros. Honor will dictate that yer uncle, Alec Munro, must end it if there is a blood tie between our clans.”

  “So there is still a feud?” So much was coming at her, it was hard to keep everything straight.

  “Aye, but the immediate benefit is that ye will be safe from yer father. Legally, anyway.”

  She pinched her lips together. “Next time there is a letter that regards me, you must let me read it before it gets destroyed. Understand?”

  He seemed to ponder her request. “Marry me, Meg, and ye will read all that I receive.”

  She sighed. She’d only known him for three weeks. He was the most handsome man she’d ever met. Honorable and strong and his kisses melted her insides. No talk of love, only of safety and alliances. Marriages were started on much less than that. Disappointment was foolish though hard to ignore.

  She smiled.

  “Yes?” he asked, his own wide grin coming to the surface.

  “Yes, Caden Macbain, I will marry you.”

  …

  Colin Macleod rode at the front of the long line of his men. He glanced over his shoulder at the heavily draped priest. “You warm enough, Father?”

  “Aye, though there’s a good amount of nip in the air,” the elderly man said, and sank farther into his cape.

  Colin breathed in the frosty evening air. The fresh bite filled his lungs, dispelling some of his worry. He hadn’t seen Rachel since Isabelle had left that horrible morning, dutifully riding home to marry her father’s choice. Colin spit on the ground. Bloody horrid choice, too. Rowland Boswell had turned out to be the devil himself. If Isabelle’s father had known the man would dispatch his dutiful daughter to the witch’s flames, perhaps he’d have recognized Colin’s claim. He rubbed a hand across his full beard. They’d been handfasted together and Colin had loved Isabelle so much that when she begged him to let her go, he did. Bloody foolish!

  And now he’d meet her daughter. Would she resemble his bonny Isabelle or the bastard devil that had spawned her?

  “Druim,” Ewan called out and pointed ahead at the outline of a castle against three mountains.

  Colin’s eyes rested momentarily on the largest mountain, the farthest to the right. How much time had passed since he’d visited there? I should have stolen her away. Boswell would never have found her up in our cave.

  The Macbain riders had reached him the evening before, requesting a priest to marry Isabelle’s daughter in an attempt to save her from that very devil, Boswell. Colin would have ridden through the night, but the elderly priest would not have weathered the journey. So they’d left at dawn, riding at a comfortably brisk pace.

  “Keep watch for English,” Colin called, squinting as he scrutinized the hills and forest edge surrounding them. “Never know where the bastards might be hiding.” He caressed the hilt of his sword. The thought of running Rowland Boswell through made his palm itch in anticipation.

  “Colin Macleod of the Macleods of Lewis brings the priest, Father Daughtry,” Colin yelled up to the guard in the watchtower at the open gates of Druim. Ewan and his men rode ahead to the stables. The villagers moved in and out about their daily business with the castle. This would change if the English laid siege to Druim. Or would Isabelle’s daughter go willingly, like her mother? Damn! He swallowed hard. This time it wouldn’t matter. This wasn’t his fight.

  The guard waved them into the bailey. Colin dismounted and helped the elderly priest down. Several boys ran to walk the horses and Colin tossed them each a silver shilling. “See you walk and water them well, lads,” he said and led the way up the stone steps to the great doors.

  The guardsman had descended from the wall and opened the doors. “Colin Macleod—”

  “Brings his priest, Macbain.” Colin spied Caden Macbain standing near a long table with several other men. He recognized the council to the late chief and strode forward, meeting the gazes of the wiry old advisors before grasping Caden’s arm in greeting. “You’ve grown into your name, lad,” Colin said to Caden. “Even taller than your father.”

  “Welcome to Druim,” Caden replied and released the hold. “Ale for our guests.” Several serving lasses retreated to the kitchens. Caden indicated a backed chair for Father Daughtry. “Thank you for making the journey to Druim. We have an urgent need for a clergyman.”

  “A wedding?” Father Daughtry laughed. “For the tormented bridegroom it can seem urgent.”

  Caden raised a brow at Colin.

  “I have not gone into the particulars with the good father,” Colin supplied. Because Colin didn’t tell anyone anything unless absolutely required. And the good father tended to see wickedness behind every change in the regular running of things. The old man voiced his judgments in annoying length and detail, too.

  Caden turned back to the priest. “Father, with this union a bloody feud will end. We wish to see it happen before any more lives are lost.”

  The priest’s eyes gathered suspiciously. “Aye, then, it would seem ’tis urgent. Where
is the lass?”

  “Above.” Caden indicated the steps.

  “Have the banns been published?” Colin asked.

  “I placed them on the door of the small chapel here five days ago,” Caden said. His gaze bored into the priest. “I will swear on your bible that neither of us have been married before.”

  “There will be a fee that will be returned if what you say is true. What can you pay?”

  “Several cows are coming behind us,” Colin said. “For the celebration after the wedding.”

  Caden nodded his appreciation.

  “I pay two for the short crying of the banns,” Colin said. “A gift to then be returned to the couple.”

  Caden seemed to exhale. Colin’s small smirk wouldn’t be seen through his thick beard. The big Highland warrior actually looked nervous. And it wouldn’t be about the English, but rather one little English lass.

  “Has her family consented to her marriage?”

  “I do.” A woman’s voice cut across the room as the front doors banged open. She dusted snow off her furry coat, plucked off her hat, and walked across the room. “I, Rachel Munro, aunt to the bride, give my permission for her to wed Caden Macbain.”

  Rachel Brindle, now Munro. She had Isabelle’s coloring, though gray had crept into her fiery hair. Even though she must be over two score now, her skin still shone with vigor. This Brindle sister had thrived in the Highlands. Isabelle would have also, if she’d only given him a chance.

  Rachel bowed her head to the priest in respect. “Father.” The priest resided with each clan in the area for several months before moving on. Father Daughtry’s frown made Colin wonder what type of confessions the feisty wife of Alec Munro must have voiced. She continued. “I am the bride’s aunt by blood. I am all the family that she has here and I gladly give her to Caden Macbain in marriage.”

  “I suppose you will do.” Daughtry retained his frown. “I would wash the dust from my hands and face before we proceed.”

  Caden gave instructions to several servants to prepare rooms for Colin and Father Daughtry. The wiry council of three headed out, mumbling something about washing up.

  Rachel tilted her head at Colin and studied him. Not much passed the notice of that clever woman. “Colin Macleod. Still a hairy mountain of a man.”

  He scratched at his heavy beard. He’d planned to cut it off, starting with a fresh growth over the winter, but rushed out before the deed was done. The lilt of her voice caught at his chest. She was so much like Isabelle, but with more bite.

  “Still bonny even in yer advancing years,” Colin said with a grin.

  Rachel chuckled but then grew more serious. “I’d heard you became reclusive after Isabelle’s death.”

  “Ye mean Isabelle’s murder.”

  “Agreed.”

  Colin rubbed his face. “As reclusive as a chief of a huge clan can be.”

  “Never married?”

  Och! The woman liked to pry. “Ye still married to that boar Alec?”

  Rachel laughed. “Yes, quite married.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about yer two boys, Rachel.”

  Her happiness faded and he regretted his words. “Thank you, Colin. I still have Searc.”

  Colin glanced toward the stairs. “Does she look like Isabelle?” He should know before he saw her. Perhaps it would be better not to witness the ceremony.

  “No, although she has my sister’s eyes. Not the color, though. They’re hazel like yours.”

  “Then she takes after Boswell,” he grumbled.

  Rachel’s face pinched. “No, not at all.” She tilted her head at him like a hawk centering on a mouse.

  “God help him!” a woman screeched from above.

  “Make way!” Bruce yelled and hefted a body through the doors.

  …

  Good Lord! I’ve killed him!

  “Angus! Oh what have I done?” Meg yelled as she flew down the stairs behind Evelyn.

  “Oh my Angus!” Evelyn crooned.

  Kenneth ran inside, swearing.

  Caden left a large man covered with a beard and took Angus from Bruce’s unsteady hands. He laid him carefully on the rushes.

  “What’s happened, Hugh?” Caden followed Meg to kneel beside the fallen man.

  “I shot and…it’s all my fault,” Meg said. What have I done? The wind, it came from nowhere! Oh God, I’m so foolish! How can I help him? “Aunt Rachel! You’re here.”

  “Ye shot Angus?” Caden asked, motioning to the bow she’d flung on the floor.

  “I shot a goose, for the feast,” she said. “Aunt Rachel, you must pray over Angus.”

  “Ye shot a goose?” Caden asked as two other guards walked into the keep carrying a huge dead goose, an arrow protruding from the bird’s neck. The animal hadn’t suffered after the hit.

  “Nice shot,” the bearded man said.

  Rachel shook her head. “Angus Riley made me swear never to touch him again. I can’t help, Meg. I swore.”

  “That was years ago, decades!” Meg yelled. She placed her hands on Angus’s chest, which rose with shallow breaths, and her other hand under Angus’s balding head. When she pulled it back it was smeared with bright red blood. “There is bleeding in his brain. He must have fallen back and hit his head. Evelyn,” she called. “Find a rag.”

  Evelyn ran out of the hall, tears flooding her eyes.

  “What hit Angus?” Caden asked.

  “The goose,” Meg and Hugh said at the same time.

  “Ye shot from the walkway above?”

  “I always hit my mark,” Meg said. She sucked in a slow, bitter breath that tasted of regret. She should have waited until the bird was well past the wall. “I just thought it would be an addition to the feast. I…there was a wind…I didn’t…”

  “’Twas a strong gust the lass hadn’t counted on,” Hugh added. “Pushed the shot bird back into the bailey on the way down. Angus was near the wall.”

  “Meg,” Caden said. “We only shoot from the walkway when the enemy is attempting to scale the walls.”

  She breathed deeply, her eyes glistening as they pleaded with Rachel. “He’ll die.”

  The whole room watched Rachel expectantly. “You harmed him. You heal him.”

  “I…I’m not sure,” Meg whispered.

  Evelyn ran back in, her face and eyes red. A priest followed, a piece of cold chicken in his hand.

  “What’s happened?” the priest asked, shoved the meat in his mouth and grabbed his cross. “Are ye in need of last rites?”

  “Nay!” Evelyn yelled and lowered haltingly to her knees.

  Meg pushed the rags under Angus’s head.

  Evelyn crumpled over the fallen elder and brushed the hair from his face. “Oh Gus, you have to wake up,” she crooned. She turned to Meg and switched to English. “I’ve heard what ye did for Elizabeth Loman.” The old woman touched Meg’s hand on top of Angus’s chest. “Please try.”

  Meg exhaled long and glanced at Rachel. “I will…try.”

  “Try what?” the priest asked.

  No one answered. Meg glanced around the room. “Caden?” she asked, her eyes resting on the bearded stranger.

  “Colin Macleod,” Caden answered. “He brought Father Daughtry for the wedding.”

  Caden gave a slight glance toward Ewan.

  “Come, Father.” Ewan took the man’s arm and tugged him away from the scene. “I will show you where you can unpack your robes in case Angus needs those last rites.”

  Meg studied the stranger. Something was familiar about him but it was hard to tell with so much facial hair. Would he run screaming if he saw her heal Angus?

  “I was…a friend of yer mama’s,” he said in English, his voice gruff.

  Caden’s hand squeezed her shoulder. Was he waiting for her to throw the man out?

  “Isabelle was quite a good shot, too,” the man said.

  So Colin knew her mother well enough to know she could shoot, something Meg didn’t even know. She’d quest
ion him later. Right now she had to use all her concentration on fixing this terrible wrong that was all her fault.

  Meg turned back to Angus. She had to do this, must do it, and with a blasted audience. Good God, help me help him…please!

  Meg shifted and Caden moved with her, never colliding but working in concert as they arranged Angus out flat and cradled his head on a pillow of rags. He never said anything but his presence calmed her, strengthened her.

  “Evelyn, keep his head steady,” Meg instructed, her voice stronger. She laid her palms back on Angus’s chest. “Some of the bleeding has stopped,” she said to Rachel, who had moved closer.

  “Stop the rest, imagine it as normal tissue,” Rachel instructed.

  Meg closed her eyes and explored the tissue in the brain with her powers.

  Evelyn began to pray out loud as if what she saw terrified her, but she didn’t move away.

  “That’s good to pray, Evelyn. God’s work here needs everyone’s prayers,” Rachel offered.

  Meg kept her eyes closed and imagined her magic warming through to her hurt friend. The convoluted folds of white tissue stitched together, the bleeding absorbing into the surrounding tissue. “The bleeding is stopped.” She sighed, relief evident along her tight mouth.

  She laid her hands back on the old man’s chest as he stirred.

  Evelyn gasped and leaned down to kiss Angus’s forehead.

  “What hit me?” Angus asked. “A damn English boulder?”

  “A goose,” Bruce said, leaning over his friend.

  “A bloody what?” Angus tried to sit up and grabbed his chest, groaning.

  “What is it, Gus?” Evelyn asked.

  The pain-filled groan cut through Meg. Now what? She placed her hands on Angus’s shoulder. Good God! “Bits of the clot that began to form are broken loose. They’re sliding through his veins.”

  “Dissolve them,” Rachel said, so close she nearly fell on top of the man. “Imagine them gone, faded into normal blood. Quickly.”

  The blue light leapt out of Meg’s hands before she could even drop them back on Angus’s chest.

  Caden was at her side, lowering the groaning man to the floor. He slid his hand down her back. Now he would know just how unnatural she was. “Ye can do it, Meg.”