Authors: Heather McCollum
“I don’t see yer beast nor yer bow. I would say ye are as defenseless as a bairn.”
She cocked her head to the side. “A clever woman always has a trick or two. Uncle Harold made sure of that.”
Caden stared at her for a long moment, his face growing serious. “Do ye mean the blue light? Is it also a weapon?” More than just curiosity—he should know if she could truly defend herself if needed.
Meg’s face fell, her eyes blinking toward the ground. “I…that’s not what I meant.” She met his eyes again, weighing him. “I don’t know what I can do. I know it can fix what I sense is wrong in a person.”
“Like yer aunt.”
She nodded. “Do you know that people call her a witch?”
“Aye, I do.”
“Do people call me a witch, then?”
“Nay, lass. I haven’t heard that said.”
Relief flooded her face and a measure of tension melted in Caden. “Is that what ye fear? That ye’ll be called a witch?”
She shook her head. “To fear is foolish.”
“I’ve heard yer nightmares. And fear is not foolish. Fear keeps men and women alive.”
“My mother died because she was called a witch. I’ve been taught to be as far from being a witch as possible.”
“Yet ye’re a healer.”
Meg sighed and wrapped her arms around herself. “With…talents like mine, it is almost impossible not to help someone when I know exactly what is wrong with them.”
Caden took another step toward her. “Ye didn’t heal the men on our journey with yer powers.”
“I used my powers to discover what was wrong, but I’m only now learning that the blue light can change things.”
“Rachel.”
“She told me I should try. I’ve only tried once, but it seemed to help.”
Caden stepped up close, his tunic nearly brushing her bodice. “If ye keep helping people with it, they will call ye witch.”
Her face tightened. “I know. I…I can’t just let people suffer when I can help, either.”
“The world is dangerous for a lass and even more dangerous for a witch.”
Her eyes narrowed as she stared up at him. “Don’t call me that.”
“Have ye put a spell on me?”
“I can’t do that,” she snapped. “If I could, the world wouldn’t be so dangerous for me, would it?”
Caden pried her hand from her robe and placed it flat against his heart. The contact of her skin against his burned through him. He inhaled her scent, warm woman and summer flowers. He hardened beneath the kilt. “Meg, I learned as a boy to control my mind, my will, my strength.”
She swallowed again.
“What do ye feel in me now?”
She hesitated. “I…your headache is gone. Umm…your stomach is working. Your heart is beating most rapidly.”
“As fast as yers?”
“Perhaps.”
“What else?”
“Your blood is flowing fast. Your…” She blushed deeply and her eyes dipped to his kilt and then back up to his eyes.
Caden stared down into her eyes and touched her chin. “I control everything about me. My mind, my body. When ye smile.” He rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip and it dropped open slightly, showing her teeth. He moved closer, so close that her short breaths fell against his own lips. “I am always in control, but ye, lass, are making me lose it.”
Caden’s lips touched hers with restraint. Then the softness, the sweet honeyed taste of her mouth, crashed through the walls he’d erected. He pulled her into him, encasing her in his arms against his body. If she’d have stiffened just a bit, resisted, it would have snapped him back to the familiar confines he placed on his actions, but she didn’t. Meg melted into him, her slender, softly rounded body melding into his muscle-hard chest.
His mouth slanted against hers and Meg let out a little moan. That small sound, barely audible at the back of her throat, had the effect of five cups of whisky. Her hands crept up to his neck, fingers catching in his hair. He explored her sweet rounded backside, lifting her to fit intimately against him. No resistance—nothing but warm, awakening passion. He raked a hand through her hair to cup her head.
Meg kissed him back, her hands reaching around to touch along his jaw, down along his bare chest. The kiss ended as they both sought breath against each other’s lips.
“Your heart is wild,” she murmured.
“Strong enough to withstand hours of battle or one of your kisses.” He feathered another one across her lips before lowering her. Caden still hugged her into his chest, not yet ready to release her. Hell, he’d never be ready to release her. Damn, what was he doing? She was a captive, a pawn to force peace. He was using her to save his people.
He relinquished his hold and pulled back. “Like I said, lass. ’Tis dangerous to walk the halls at night.”
The sight of her hitched his breath. She was rumpled and flushed, her robe falling open to reveal sheer white fabric barely concealing the rosy tips of her nipples. Her hair had been ravished by his fingers, her lips swollen by his kisses. She stood solitary, open and vulnerable, even bewildered.
“Was this…just to prove your point?” she asked, still breathless.
He heard the hurt in her voice even though the words sounded angry. He should say yes, hurt her now, so the pain later wouldn’t be so much worse. His gut twisted into a knot like the one on a deadly swinging noose.
Caden rubbed his hand across his jaw. “Did it?”
Fury blended with hurt in her face. Tears and outrage warred in her eyes. She pivoted and started for the dark steps.
Bloody hell!
Caden grabbed her candle and charged after her. “Meg, stop.”
She halted but didn’t turn around. He spoke to the back of her head. “Perhaps I told myself it was to warn ye, perhaps it was just because I wanted to taste ye again.” He moved close enough to inhale the clean scent of her hair as he breathed. “My control dissolved at yer first touch. Yer senses revealed my response.”
Meg’s stance relaxed, but she didn’t turn around. He placed his hand on her shoulder and turned her slightly so that she could meet his gaze. “It was wrong, though. Ye are a…guest here, lass, and I took liberties.”
“Perhaps I should leave here soon, then,” she said.
The thought of her absence was like a little gnawing hole in Caden. He ignored it. “I’ll send word to the Munros.”
She took the candle from his hand. “Thank you,” she said and walked up the turning steps. He watched the lovely sway until she disappeared around a curve.
Now to figure exactly what his “word” to the Munros would be.
…
How dare she kiss him!
Firelight danced along the wall, but the spying woman stood back in the black maw of an archway. Shadows hid the hot tears pooling in her narrowed eyes.
“Little English whore,” the dark figure hissed, just a scant sound above a breath. Caden Macbain’s kiss had grabbed the woman’s heart and twisted the bruised organ until even the simple act of inhaling hurt. Meg Boswell was a witch! She’d admitted it!
She was supposed to be a captive, prisoner of the dungeons beneath Druim, friend of rats and fever down in the depths of the castle. Not a guest, and definitely not a woman deserving of Caden Macbain’s kisses. What was he thinking?
He must be spelled. That’s it. She spelled him with witchcraft!
The woman slid further into shadow as Caden walked past, back to the fire. She inhaled silently and imagined the warm masculine smell of the chief of Druim, laird of the Macbains, and possibly her future husband.
Ha! Not now!
Fury poured out with the soundless tears, coating her with armor, shielding her heart.
Not now!
If Gilbert Davidson wanted information, information that would punish Caden for his treachery, then he would have it. And if Meg happened to have an unfortunate accident while at Druim, then Caden couldn’t use her for his beloved peace and he certainly couldn’t kiss her again.
The woman’s face contorted into a mischievous grin under the mask of shadow as she watched Caden grab his sword and shirt and step out into the night. The angry tears cooled on her cheeks, drying away as a plan took root, a plan shaped by vengeance, a plan to keep the anguish away. Aye, the Highlands were dangerous. Accidents and risk abounded, especially for a weak English witch.
…
Caden and Ewan stepped out into the courtyard that sparkled with early morning frost. Warriors sparred in the field just outside the wall. Young lads with wooden swords mimicked their movements, even down to the wipe of a brow, a spit, and a curse.
“Ho!” A man on horseback rounded the corner of one cottage and slowed from a fast trot to a walk. Two of Caden’s perimeter guards flanked him. “I seek the chief, Caden Macbain.”
“I am he. Who are you?” Caden called and slid his sword free.
The man dismounted, a folded missive in his callused hand. “William Fraser, passing along a message from the court at Edinburgh.”
“Edinburgh?”
“Aye.”
“We seldom hear news from so far east.”
Caden sheathed his sword, though tension remained in his shoulders. He took the parchment. “Come inside and refresh yourself.” He signaled for the man’s horse to be taken to pasture and water. “Frasers from the south, then?”
“Aye,” the man answered on his heel.
Caden signaled his guards, who left the messenger to return to their post. Ewan followed.
“I would have you wait for a missive to your chief,” Caden said. Asking for food caught at his pride. One last glance at the lads sparring and laughing in the field pushed the words from his mouth. “We are in need of oats here and any other surplus your clan might be able to spare.”
The man’s face pinched in confusion. “I will let my chief know of your need.”
Caden unrolled the parchment and scanned down the formal, flowing script. He signaled Jonet, who was cleaning up from the morning meal, to take the messenger to the kitchens for some food.
When the man left the hall, Caden tossed the parchment to Ewan. The three council members walked over.
“Bloody hell!” Caden cursed. “Lies.”
Ewan read the missive that still held the broken wax seal of James V of Scotland on one edge. His brow furrowed. “Since when are you helping King Henry spread his Protestant reformation up here in the Highlands?”
“Lies,” Caden repeated, his mind searching. Had someone reported that he’d recently visited England? Did they say he was helping Protestants? There was no mention of kidnapping. He thought of Meg and their kiss the night before. He shouldn’t have lost control.
Bloody hell!
“Munro?” Ewan asked. “The missive doesn’t say who’s accused you.”
“Bloody bastard,” Angus cursed.
Kenneth leaned into Ewan’s shoulder and read out loud for the other two elders. “Caden Macbain is to cease his heretical and traitorous views and actions immediately or the full weight of the Scottish crown will fall upon him and his clan.”
“
Cac
,” Bruce swore and stifled a burp. “I say we raid Munro tonight. Storm the castle, too!”
Caden sat, his mind folding around this new information. Did it make sense for Munro to involve the crown to save his niece? There hadn’t been time for the old man to send a complaint to King James since Meg’s arrival. Could this have been a plan of his from before? Perhaps that was why he delayed in sending a reply concerning Meg. Or was there someone else plotting against the Macbains, as Rachel Munro had suggested?
He turned to Ewan. “Compose a response that refutes the charges and asks who is spreading such damning lies.”
Caden slammed his fist into his other hand. If the world demanded war, then so be it. “No word from Munro by the festival and we ride the following night,” he said striding toward the door. “Prepare a plan of attack.”
…
“I’m desperately in need of some herbs,” Meg said to Donald, and shook a little vial that only contained the dust of comfrey. “I need to find some before the winter covers us over.” This was true, but she also just wanted to get away for a while. She needed to sort out what had happened last night, how she could have lost control with Caden.
“I don’t think Caden would like ye to venture out of the village,” Donald warned, his eyes uneasy.
“You’ll be with me and we will stay at the edge of the forest on Macbain land. Fiona said the forest grows an abundance of garlic bulbs, feverfew, and Devil’s bit. Although it’s late in the season, I’d like to see if I can find any. And mushrooms for the festival. I know which ones are safe.”
“Ye are safer here.” He crossed arms, his gaze roaming the bailey.
Hmmm, creativity was needed to sway the man. Just an exaggeration, not a full-out lie. She sighed. “Gellis has that ear ache.” She shook her head and ignored her guilty flush. “And Ann, well…”
His gaze came around. “Something ails Ann?”
She scuffed the heel of her boot in the pebbly dirt. Ann had an irregular menstrual cycle, and Meg could tell from a touch that she was fine, but the feverfew could help bring on Ann’s flux when it was late. She hated to worry Donald, but she was so cooped up in the castle and did need the herbs. A ride out was worth the price of a little exaggeration. “I shouldn’t really say.” She worked concern into her eyes. “’Tis a womanly issue.”
“A womanly issue,” Donald repeated and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing along his throat.
“Aye, and Fiona and I are completely out of feverfew.”
He huffed long and ushered Meg toward the stables. “I suppose we can just ride to the edge and peek into the forest to see if ye see this plant.”
Pippen stretched his legs as they flew across the moor toward the soaring trees. The cold sting of winter air melted under the strength of the sunrays shining down on Meg’s face. The leaves had changed color and most had dropped to the ground.
“Slow down,” Donald called from behind as they neared the forest edge.
Meg circled Pippen in a wide ring. She ran her gloved hand down his neck and leaned in. “I know.” She hugged the horse and scratched him between the ears. She stopped Pippen just inside the tree line and dismounted. “Free to run a bit. This time without wolves biting at your hooves.”
Donald followed suit.
She unfolded a clean cloth and gathered small chanterelle mushrooms hidden amongst the moss. A little further in, she spotted the creamy white cap of the hedgehog mushroom. She ran ahead to dig it up and heard Donald mumbling behind her.