Captured Heart

by Heather McCollum

  “My letter doesn’t say anything about food.” Rachel held it out to Caden. “Where is your letter?”

  “Destroyed,” he said and read down the parchment.

  “Destroyed?” Searc questioned.

  “Better to say it never made it to my eyes than to have it sitting around.”

  Kenneth read over Caden’s shoulder. “How would Boswell know that we need food?”

  Caden’s attention moved back to Rachel. “He’s working with someone in the Highlands. Someone who gave him that information.”

  “Not us,” Rachel said. “He’d rather shoot us than talk to us.” She snatched the letter back. “And if he has that information, he probably knows that Meg is either still here or at Munro Castle.”

  “Then he is coming,” Meg said and all eyes turned to her. “For me.”

  Caden’s eyes met hers. “He can’t have ye. Ye’re mine.”

  Meg’s heart soaked up the words. She was his. He claimed her, but was it because he cared for her, or just like one of his clan, she’d become his responsibility?

  “Ye’re ours,” Kenneth and Bruce said at once and nodded to one another as if agreed.

  “No one takes a Munro,” Searc said.

  “Nor a Macleod,” Colin added.

  Meg’s stomach churned. “Then he’s coming for us.”

  …

  “Mac an donais! Ewan Brody, your blood will wash my blade if you wave that scrap before my nose again! Get the hell out of my way! Rachel Munro, where are you, wife?”

  The roar thundered through the hall as the doors blew inward with the force of the wind and words.

  “Meg, meet your uncle Alec,” Rachel said and waved her hand in the air to get her husband’s attention. He pivoted and charged toward them, much like an enraged bull. Ewan followed, squinting a newly blackening eye.

  Alec Munro reached Rachel in the space of two heartbeats and grabbed her by the shoulders. He surveyed her up and down and then stared hard into her eyes. “You well, woman?”

  “Quite well, husband,” Rachel said. “Your blood is racing too high. You need to calm down.”

  “You lied,” he said ignoring her recommendation.

  “No,” she said calmly, into the face of the storm. “I said someone needed my help and you assumed it was Magis with her cough. I just didn’t correct you.”

  Alec ran his rough hands down his face as if he wanted to pull the skin from his skull. “We’ll not discuss this before enemies,” he said. His eyes shifted to Searc. “And you?”

  “Followed her,” Searc finished.

  “On your own, without telling anyone? Foolish boy. They could have slaughtered you.”

  Caden stepped in front of Meg. “We have much to discuss.”

  “There is nothing to discuss, Macbain. My family and I are leaving, unless you want a bloody battle to occur right here at your holding where women and children roam.”

  “May I present yer niece, Munro,” Caden said and guided Meg to his side.

  “I am pleased to meet you, Uncle Alec,” she said in Gaelic.

  A small bit of bluster melted out of the man. “We will take our niece home, too, then, or are ye still trying to hold the lass as a hostage?” he said in English. Meg noticed that he watched her for a reaction. He didn’t get one.

  “She isn’t a captive, but she is staying,” Caden said evenly. “She is my wife now, which would make us…kin.”

  The whole room of Macbains held their breaths as the words sunk in. Meg’s dizziness began to return but once she remembered to breathe, the world righted itself.

  “Kin,” Alec spat. “I am yer sworn enemy, Macbain. I will never call ye kin.”

  “Husband,” Rachel said, her hand on his arm. “Meg and Caden have married. Their children will have my blood in their veins. By your honor, you must call a peace between our two families.”

  “Peace?” Alec growled.

  “Which would include the return of our herds,” Kenneth interjected.

  Alec spit on the rushes at his feet. Not a good sign. “Priest!” he yelled. “There must be a bloody priest around here to annul this ridiculous union.”

  “No priest here now,” Bruce said. “And they’ve consummated the marriage.”

  “I can attest to the bed sheets,” Ann threw in.

  Meg nearly stepped into the fire. Instead of suicide she shut her eyes.

  “And they didn’t rise until late in the morning,” Evelyn called from across the hall.

  Heat splashed across Meg’s face like someone had thrown hot soup on her. She took a step closer to the hearth. Maybe if the edge of her gown caught on fire, there would be so much chaos no one would notice her death by humiliation.

  Everyone started talking at once, with Uncle Alec yelling Gaelic curse words in random eruptions of rage. Meg inhaled slowly. She didn’t hear Caden say anything, but his warm palm cupped her hand. The words came up and out of her.

  “Uncle Alec.” Meg opened her eyes.

  “Shhh!” Angus sputtered. “She’s saying something.”

  Meg bent a smile. She kept her focus on the blustering, tall, shaggy faced man. He’d be intimidating in any situation, but with barely yanked-in fury he was a monster. Caden’s hand squeezed again gently.

  “Uncle Alec, I’m sorry this has all happened, but the truth is that Caden Macbain and I are truly, before the eyes of God, married.”

  Alec seemed to suck in his fury enough to address her without shouting. “Meg, I’m afraid that yer marriage was not legal, not without yer family giving their permission.”

  “I gave her my permission,” Colin said.

  Alec’s eyes darted to Colin, then back to Meg. “I thought the Boswell devil was her father.”

  “Turns out Colin Macleod is Meg’s father,” Rachel said.

  Alec snorted and pointed a finger at Colin. “Then consider yerself an enemy of the Munros.”

  Holy Mother Mary! Instead of peace there was to be more war. Meg was about to explain that Colin hadn’t known and therefore hadn’t given his permission at the wedding when Rachel stopped everyone. “Alec, I gave my permission for them to wed.”

  “What?”

  “In fact, I orchestrated Meg’s abduction from England in hopes that she’d be a beauty like Isabelle and that Caden would fall in love with her.”

  All eyes turned to Aunt Rachel. Jaws dropped. Alec’s face twisted with shocked betrayal.

  Rachel continued. “And now they are married and we can move forward in peace.” Her mouth sat firm, but her eyes glanced down, her fingers catching at the folds of her skirts.

  Alec’s face grew red as a beet, his cheeks puffed in and out, his hands fisted against his legs. “What gives ye…” he shook his head, so overcome with fury. “What the bloody, blasted hell gives ye the right, woman, to end this glorious war…especially when I am winning!”

  Rachel didn’t even flinch. “I have one son left,” she said softly.

  “Brendon and Brandubh died as warriors,” Alec replied as if that fixed everything.

  “For what purpose?” Caden’s voice was low.

  Alec twisted around, eyes hard and damning. “They died for something greater than themselves.”

  “Ye mean the feud,” Caden pronounced calmly.

  “Aye, the feud, the cause my father taught me to continue, to uphold until justice is served.”

  “A feud that began over one woman a century ago,” Caden said. “One woman who couldn’t make up her mind over who she loved the most.” He shook his head. “And because of it how many have died?”

  “Elspet was pure, a symbol of goodness,” Alec said, throwing his hand out to the tapestry depicting the start of the war. “I fight for justice and for the glory of Munros, as my father did before me and his father before him.”

  “So ye war for one woman and for the sake of tradition.”

  “For glory,” Alec said but his voice had slid a notch.

  “Meanwhile our bigger enemy, England
, plans to rule our lands,” Caden said, his voice rising for all to hear. Meg noticed that the room had filled. A dozen Munros stood along the wall near the doors while Macbain warriors packed in with swords ready.

  Alec spit again in the rushes.

  Caden continued. “While we spend our strength and resources feuding with other Scotsmen, the English organize their armies to seize more and more of our country.”

  “The feud keeps us skilled, trained, and ready,” Alec insisted.

  “At what cost?” Caden didn’t wait for a reply. “I have no brothers left, ye have but one son. I have no uncles and a handful of cousins. What good are corpses against the English?”

  Alec puffed up his chest. “Ye still have no right to force a peace—”

  “No right?” Caden cut in. “I have no right to keep my people alive?” Caden opened his arms to indicate the men, the women who’d been helping with the meal, Bess’s boy, Peter. “Do ye look into the faces of Munro children, Alec, and think ‘Ye may die, child, because a woman died a century ago and now I want glory.’”

  “Nay…I…” Alec frowned.

  “I married to save my people,” Caden said.

  Meg stood numb at his words. Could the people in the room see her die inside a little?

  “Sacrifice by one to save many makes sense. Sacrificing many to vindicate one is foolish. Sacrificing many to build up one’s glory…is tyranny.”

  The room rippled with hushed agreement; angry and inflamed Macbains hung on every one of Caden’s words. Meg’s flush rose high into her face, but no one watched her, no one except Bess Tammin, who sent her a small grimace of pity where she stood with Peter.

  Alec Munro indicated the awe-like trance of the Macbain people. “And if I refuse your threat of peace, I come across as a callous murderer of children.”

  “That,” Caden agreed. “And ye and yer son will be sleeping for some time in my cold, rat-infested dungeon, since my men stand ready around yer forces outside. Rachel can go.”

  One of the elders grumbled. A cough barked softly into someone’s fist. Somewhere in the filled hall a baby began to cry and was hastily taken away. Everyone seemed to hold their breath. Meg certainly did.

  “Peace or tyranny, Munro?” Caden said.

  “Shut yer mouth, Macbain,” Alec answered. He stared hard at Rachel and scrubbed a hand through his tousled hair. “And ye want this peace so bad ye planned behind my back, woman?”

  “I had no other way to salvage my only son. A mother will sacrifice just about anything to save her child.”

  “I should have let ye on the battlefield with us,” he grumbled. “You’d have made us invincible and ye wouldn’t have meddled.” Alec seemed to age now that his bluster had seeped out, deflating him.

  “I’m sure I would have meddled.” Rachel stepped over to Alec’s side.

  “Aye, woman, ye would have. God’s teeth,” Alec swore. He placed his heavy hands on Rachel’s shoulders. “Peace? I can barely stomach the word.”

  “How about alliance then?” Caden offered. “A united Highlands against the English, who try to take what is ours.”

  “And any other fool Scots who take up with them,” Alec added.

  “So…dungeons and tyranny, or an alliance over a drink of whisky?” Caden asked.

  Alec rubbed his mouth through his thick beard. His face was granite, chiseled into a stubborn line fed by generations of self-righteous hatred. He had to know that everyone hung on his every breath as he drew each one out, weighing his options and Caden’s words. He must see the logic in them.

  Alec finally locked eyes with Caden. “Let’s start with a drink and we’ll go from there, Macbain.”

  The room erupted in cheers.

  “We can discuss the return of our herds,” Caden said. He released her hand and walked over to Alec, indicating the long table beyond. He never turned around.

  Meg stood there with Colin at her side as everyone moved toward the table. Swarms of smiling people moved through the hall, which was thick with excitement and relief. Peace was being forged. Important details and oaths would ensue.

  Much more important than one single woman, already forgotten. She was just a tool that helped bring it about.

  The future glowed with the bright hope of peace and security for the Macbains. And she was now one of them. Why then did she want to weep?

  Chapter Eleven

  11 February 1518—Brooklime/Water Pimpernel: blue or pink flowers in early summer. Bruised leaves on burns, swelling, or gout. A brew of leaves and flowers nourishing but bitter. Sweeten with honey.

  Found in shallow fresh water streams and rivers fed by walls of water, which slow and freeze in the coldest months, protecting everything behind it.

  Caden stood and glanced around at the happiness bubbling around him. The Munro warriors had been allowed inside, depleted of their weapons. People slapped each other on the backs. Whisky and ale flowed freely and food from the interrupted wedding feast was being brought out to share. His people would eat tonight without worry that this might be their last full meal.

  Caden’s gaze swung out at the crowd of people and frowned. There was one face missing.

  He took a swallow from the wooden quaich and handed it to Alec. Alec took the cup, swore softly, and tipped it back, whisky flowing into his mouth. A loud cheer rose around the table as the peace treaty was ceremonially sealed.

  “Sit down, Caden,” Alec said, handing him the quaich. “We have much to figure out between us and I need more whisky to do that.”

  Caden took the cup. “No more until we’ve agreed on the details, else you won’t remember them.” His gut gripped tight as he frowned. “Where is Meg?”

  Rachel pointed to the hearth. “I thought she walked with us.”

  Colin sat down at the table. His eyes locked on Caden’s with a hint of disapproval. “She retired to her rooms.”

  Alec bit into a drumstick. “Sit, Caden. Celebrate your peace. You’ve been fighting for it your whole life.”

  That he had. Since as long as he could remember, Caden had always questioned the reason for the feud. Long ago as he’d sat on his father’s hairy knee and learned the legend, he’d frustrated his father into shouting with his “why” questions.

  Caden slowly sat back down to enjoy the feast, although the joy around him seemed dull without her. “She should be here.”

  “Let her rest.” Alec nudged Phillip next to him. “We will discuss your food shortage,” he said, handing Caden another drumstick. “I won’t have my niece going hungry this winter.”

  Caden had been waiting to negotiate this topic since he first concocted the plan to steal a country lass from England. Things had worked out so differently than he’d planned. The outcome for his people, though, was the same. For the hundredth time he forced his focus away from his bride and back to his people.

  “You have my cattle and sheep, Munro.”

  Alec laughed. “That I do, Macbain. How about I return half to you?”

  Caden studied the old wolf. This would be enjoyable. “How about I allow half of you to return home?”

  …

  Caden walked up the dark stairs, leaving the hushed laughter behind. His room was dark, untouched, empty.

  “Where are you, lass?” The hollow emptiness of the room mimicked the ache in his chest. He’d held it at bay for the last hour as he worked out the details of the peace with Alec. The only thing they hadn’t agreed upon was the recompense for the burnt harvest because Alec still refused to admit that he’d had a part in it.

  Caden leapt up the steps leading to the roof two at a time and pushed into the gusty night chill. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath until he released it with the sight of her.

  Meg stared out at the night, her face braced into the wind. He walked up behind her and pulled her against his chest. “We started the day here and now we’re ending it here.”

  She stood frozen in his arms. “Yes.” She didn’t turn to him, j
ust stood like a fragile statue wrapped in fur and fine wool.

  Caden rested his chin on her head. “The peace is settled.”

  “Good.”

  “I was just a lad when I swore I’d bring peace.”

  “A worthy goal. You must be very happy.”

  Happy? He should be uproariously out-of-control happy. How many nights had he dreamed of this day? How many times had he vowed to the frozen ground over his brothers’ graves that he’d end it? Hundreds.

  Caden turned Meg in his arms so that she stared at his chest. He lifted her chin with his finger. “Do I look happy?”

  She blinked. “It’s dark.”

  “Do I sound happy?”

  “Perhaps you should return to the celebration. Happiness is lacking up here.”

  “Why aren’t ye down at the celebration?”

  “I was tired.” She pulled her chin from his grasp, but he wouldn’t let her turn away.

  She was tired? Yet he found her up here and not in bed. Pointing out that fact would only irritate her more.

  “My people won’t starve this winter.” Caden peered out above Meg’s head. “The peace that I’ve spent my whole life envisioning has just become reality, yet…” He stared back down. “Yet it wasn’t right.”

  Meg’s gaze tipped up, and the filtered moonlight reflected in her eyes. “Wasn’t…right?”

  “Nay, ye were not there to celebrate it.”

  “I didn’t think you noticed.” Meg’s voice was strong, without self-pity, but he heard a small hitch in her words that gave her away.

  “I noticed.” He touched her hair as it flew this way and that with the shifting breeze.

  He should say more, but what? How could he explain something he didn’t even understand himself? When he’d realized she had left the hall, it had been near to impossible not to follow. Only the constant reminders of his duty to finalize the peace had kept him below for the longest hour of his life. This steadfast desire to see her happy, too, didn’t make sense.

  He ran a thumb over her cheek. “Ye are the woman who made the peace possible.”

  “We both sacrificed to make this happen.”

  Sacrifice? Is that how she saw it? He frowned.

  “For I won’t put up with mistresses,” she continued. “You agreed to marry me to forge your peace. Now you’re stuck with me.”