Authors: Heather McCollum
…
As soon as Caden loosed the dagger, he bit down on a second one and swung across the chasm. Even though his leg caught the edge of the gushing water, his momentum carried him into the cave entrance. He landed solid and grabbed the dagger from his mouth. “Meg!”
“Caden!” she screamed as Boswell thrust her body before him like a shield. Gilbert Davidson twitched in a pile on the ground, blood gushing around the blade lodged through his neck.
“Let her go,” Caden demanded as he held the weapon poised.
Bloody hell!
Her face seemed bruised! Was she hurt? Was the bairn? For a moment he couldn’t breathe.
Boswell jammed the razor sharp edge of a knife under Meg’s chin, his other arm wrapped around her chest. Caden’s control nearly snapped at the thin line of blood on Meg’s soft white skin where the blade touched. The only thing that kept him in check was the strength in her eyes as she stared at him. There was no fear, no grimace of pain, only relief and trust. As if she knew he would save her even with a madman’s blade scraping her throat.
“You’re alive,” she breathed.
“Yes,” Boswell said, his voice annoyed. “How is that possible? I saw the hit you took.”
“Meg’s not the only healer in these Highlands,” Caden answered as his mind sifted through scenarios.
“Satan’s work,” Boswell said, his eyes wild.
Colin and Alec swung across behind him, cursing as they slipped on the granite.
“Watch out!” Ewan called as he also landed.
“Enough or she dies now!” Boswell yelled.
“No more men,” Caden called above the roar of water, though his eyes remained on the knife. To Boswell he said, “Release her.”
“Why would I do such a thing?”
When Caden had been so close to death, bleeding there cold and blind, he’d made a choice. He’d chosen what he valued most, whom he loved more than life. Meg.
“If ye release her, I will grant ye safe passage off my land, ye and yer letters,” he said, indicating the bundle of papers at Meg’s feet. “I swear it before these men, on my honor.”
“Nay, Caden!” Colin yelled. “He will destroy the letters and bring King Henry’s troops down on us.”
A wind whipped around them, swirling a chill so powerful it brought bumps up on Caden’s arms. Winter’s breath, but strangely it smelled of summer flowers.
“I will avenge Isabelle,” Colin swore, and pulled back his arm.
Meg shut her eyes as the knife cut against her skin.
Caden held up his hand. “By killing her daughter? Nay! Colin, stand down!”
“That’s right,” Boswell said, triumph lacing his words, though his eyes remained unnaturally wide. One of them twitched. His hand relaxed against Meg’s neck and Caden breathed once more. “Stand down. Let me leave here.”
“Release her and ye can leave,” Caden said.
Boswell shook his head. “I take her with me.”
Steely anger roiled up inside Caden. He swallowed to control his tongue, control his blade.
“You may swear that I have safe passage, but the others do not,” Boswell said.
“Do ye really think ye’ll live long with Meg with ye?” Ewan said. “Her beast waits for ye now.”
Boswell’s eyes flitted to the waterfall where Caden knew Nickum paced.
“Even if Caden let her go with ye, the beast would not,” Ewan said.
“And I will not let her go with ye,” Caden said slowly. “That is the bargain. Ye let her go and I let ye go.”
Boswell narrowed his eyes. “You would really bring war with England down on your clan, on all your clans, because of one woman?”
After years of questioning the logic in a feud that had begun over one woman, Caden’s choice was made. Life was not black and white, wrong and right. There were circumstances that colored the world and the wisdom of man. For once, Caden thought of saving one, not of saving the most.
“I said,” Caden repeated, “Meg stays.”
She carried his unborn child, and she carried his very heart inside her.
Boswell’s triumphant face dissolved.
Bloody hell!
The man was realizing that there was very little possibility of his survival.
“I have friends,” Boswell said, his arms tightening around Meg. “They know if I do not return that you are to blame. King Henry will send his troops to avenge me.”
Sweat dotted his forehead, his hand holding the knife trembled enough to scrape Meg’s skin.
Bloody damn hell!
Caden knew that face, the face of a desperate man who would take everyone with him to the grave if he could.
“Boswell, drop the knife,” Caden said slowly. Could he reach Meg before the knife sliced her throat open? Could he get her to Rachel before her life’s blood drained out completely?
Meg opened her eyes. She pursed her lips tightly, her forehead furrowed. Her eyes held guilt and resolve as they stared into Caden’s.
“God’s teeth,” Ewan murmured.
Meg’s entire body pulsed with a brilliant blue light. Boswell’s face pinched in agony, his eyes clenched shut. Caden lunged for the knife, grabbed the handle, and threw it into the rushing waterfall. He yanked Meg into his arms. Boswell crumpled to the ground, grabbing his chest. He convulsed. Colin raised his dagger to throw.
“No!” Meg yelled. “Let nothing mark his body.” She watched the writhing man. “Rowland Boswell died of natural causes today, from his exertions climbing this mountain to find his letters, letters my mother intercepted to keep the royal family safe.” She focused for a moment on Colin. “Isabelle’s name will be cleansed and Boswell’s body will be treated like that of a traitor.”
Boswell groaned with a shrill cry of pain. He struggled through several stuttered breaths and stopped. The crushing moan of the waterfall filled Caden’s ears as the sweet smelling winter air swirled around. Colin picked up the packet of letters.
“Will Henry believe the letters are real?” Alec asked.
“Either way, Boswell is dead,” Meg said. “And not by a Scotsman’s sword.”
Her words were strong, yet Caden could see her shake. He wrapped her in his arms, infusing her with his body heat. “As she says,” he commanded.
Ewan knelt beside the prostrate man. “He’s dead.” His gaze went to Meg. She nestled her face into Caden’s chest.
The ferocious winter air gentled to a breeze, scattering dry leaves and forming a funnel that rose. Colin inhaled and tucked the letters into the leather pouch tied at his waist. The small funnel of debris shot through the waterfall, dispersing. They all stood numb.
“Isabelle can rest,” Colin murmured.
…
Meg dropped to her knees when she stepped off the log. Nickum pushed his head through the circle of her arms. She hugged him, hiding her tears in his thick coat. He let out a whine and licked the salty tears from her cheek.
“I am sound.”
Not far off, away from the Munro and Macbain warriors, was Nickum’s friend. Meg’s faithful beast turned to sit next to her, his eyes on the female wolf. With timid determination the smaller animal sidled toward Meg, who remained on her knees.
“Have you found a mate, too?” Meg whispered in the hush surrounding them. The female wolf came to Nickum. Meg still held onto his coat, but furtively slid her fingers under to graze the female’s foot.
Healthy and pregnant with three cubs. She ran her hand down Nickum’s side as she stood. The female wolf trotted off back toward the woods. Nickum’s gaze followed her but then turned back to Meg.
“Go,” Meg said and smiled. “You have a family starting, too, now.” She gave her protector and friend a little push. “I’ll always be here if you need me.”
New tears wet Meg’s eyes as exhaustion and pain from her ordeal weighed heavy on her. She began to crumble back to the slushy mud, but Caden’s arms caught her. He swung her up and she rested her head on his chest.
“Time to go home, love,” he whispered.
The party rode across the field of broken, churned snow, under sharp moonlight. The horse surged under Meg as she rested her face against Caden’s strong heartbeat. Strong, solid, not dead.
Thank you, God
. No matter what came to pass after healing Boswell to death, Meg would never despise her magic. The healing power within her family had kept her love alive.
Meg closed her eyes against the glare of moon on the snow. Caden held her ensconced in his warmth, giving, sharing. He stroked down her hair just before he draped a woolen plaid over her head to block the wind. His blood surged, his muscles strong. His body engulfed her with his own as if he could tuck her inside. He didn’t seem afraid of her touch even after he’d witnessed the worst of her magic, the worst of who she was, a witch. Hot tears slipped in silence from her shut eyes. Nay, she would never despise her magic. Not as long as Caden lived.
The warhorse slowed. They must have reached the edge of the village. No sound permeated the wool over her head. The village must be asleep.
Darkness enveloped the landscape, but the village of Druim was alive with torchlight. Her breath caught at the brilliant sight. Along the pebbled, snaking road people lined both sides, Macbains, torches high, a river of fire to mark their way to the open gates.
Shadows and light played across their faces. The edge of terror bit on the lining of her stomach. Were they waiting to drag her away? The flames danced in the night breeze, and for an instant she thought she saw the woman of her nightmares writhing in one. She gasped.
Caden’s arms tightened around her and she forced herself to tamp down the rising dread. They knew. Somehow they all knew that she’d killed a man.
His warm breath touched the ridge of her ear. “They could not be to bed without knowing ye were safe, love.”
Meg peered up at him. “Do they know what I’ve done?”
Caden’s brow furrowed.
“Do they know I’ve…killed?”
“They don’t know anything except that we are home.”
Meg inhaled and bobbed her head. The fires weren’t to burn her, at least not yet. Caden’s horse halted in the bailey and she turned to the steps where Father Daughtry and Donald stood. Donald hopped down the steps and ran to hold the horse’s bridle.
He beamed up at her. “Ye saved us, Meg, truly.”
She sniffed at her tears. Donald helped lower her down. What could she say?
“I laid right there with Father Daughtry until they left. I was able to warn the castle. Everyone was in the walls when the Davidsons attacked.” He shook his head in awe. “Ye saved all of us.”
“Jonet?” she asked.
“She’s well, but resting after her run home.”
Meg couldn’t help the tears now. Donald frowned slightly and turned to Caden, who had dismounted behind her.
“She’s exhausted,” Caden said and took Meg’s arm. She was barely aware of the warriors and Aunt Rachel dismounting behind her. Aunt Mary and Uncle Harold ran down the steps to hug her. Uncle Harold slapped Caden on the back.
Caden paused when Hugh approached. He grasped the man’s one good forearm. “You fought them off, outnumbered. I’m sorry to have missed it.”
Hugh grinned. “Aye, you missed the fun,” he answered. “I’m pretty good with the stationary crossbow.”
Meg heard the conversation but her eyes fastened on the priest who stood at the top of the steps holding his torch. She could imagine him lowering it to a witch’s pyre. She released her breath when she saw the approval beaming in his face.
“Let us discuss the details after I get Meg to bed,” Caden said and helped her up the steps.
Her eyes remained on Father Daughtry. He waited until she reached the top.
“Meg Macbain,” the priest intoned, halting Caden’s push. “No heretical witch could have saved a man of God. Ye have a most holy gift from our good Lord. I thank ye for using it today.”
She was able to inhale, but her legs wobbled. He didn’t know yet. None of them knew.
“Help me, Caden,” she whispered and he reached under her legs to lift her up.
Words floated to her on an undercurrent of concern as Caden strode through the hall and up the stairs with her. They didn’t know. They thought all she could do was save, but they were wrong.
Meg Macbain was a witch who could kill.
Chapter Fifteen
5 September 1518—Caraway: furrowed branching stem. Feathery leaves with stems that end in clusters of tiny white flowers in summer. The seeds are long, ribbed, and brownish.
Aids digestion. Crush seeds to releas
e the potent flavor in foods. Mix in wine to dissolve gas in the stomach and intestines.
Caraway will prevent the theft of anything or anyone. Feed it to your animals to keep them from straying. Feed them to your lover to keep them always close to your heart. I was fed caraway once. My heart will never stray. I will find my way home again.
Fire licked up her legs, peeling the flesh from her bone. Meg screamed against the agony and kicked wildly. “No!”
She sat upright, her feet tangled in the linens. Caden grabbed her and pulled her into his naked chest. She blinked, the panic of the nightmare strumming through her.
“’Twas just a dream,” he soothed and brushed hair back from her face as she tried to control her trembling. She blinked against the light filtering in from the windowpanes. He rocked her in his lap until her breathing slowed.
Just a dream, a terrible dream.
Concern etched deeply along Caden’s face. “Ye’re shaking.”
Her heartbeat slowed and she wiped her hands down her cheeks. “Just a nightmare,” she murmured, and glanced at her arms. There should have been bruises and scratches along her skin. Her fingers touched her face, remembering Gilbert’s violence.
“Rachel healed them last night,” Caden said, his jaw tense. He gingerly kissed the spot under her eye. “She said the bairn was healthy.”
He gaze traveled to the small dark chasm still separating their bodies. Even though his words had been a statement, his eyes held the question.
She assessed the little one’s health. Relief melted away the last of her trembling. “And without a care of what’s going on out here in the world,” she said.
“You’re here late,” she said and instantly searched for illness in Caden’s body. Everything seemed normal, including the healthy erection hidden below the covers. She blushed. “You’re still in bed.”
He ran his hand along her hair, pushing it back from her cheeks. “Yesterday we nearly lost each other.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, the memories of their ordeal washing through her. When Caden’s lips brushed her forehead, she opened them again. “I wanted to be here when ye woke.”
He kissed her leisurely but pulled back, a hint of merriment in his eyes. “And as much as I’d like to keep us here for another hour or two,” his gaze raked down Meg, causing her passion to surge, “we’re expected below.”
And then to die with his words.
Meg swallowed past the fear that sat in her throat. Had Colin, Alec, or Ewan spread the word of how Boswell died? “I…killed a man yesterday…with my magic. I…I am a w—”
“Warrior,” Caden finished her sentence. “Ye defended yerself, our bairn.” His hand dipped beneath the covers to stroke her stomach. He halted over the dragonfly birthmark. “Ye used yer weapon to defend our clan, clan Munro, and clan Macleod.”
He was being so understanding, but she had to make him recognize what had happened, what could happen again.
“I can’t normally do that.” She glanced down as the smooth blanket and back up. “Boswell had a blood clot in his leg. I used my healing ability to break it up a little so it would flow through his blood. I knew it would clog his lungs and heart, and go in his brain.”
Meg let out a slow breath and spoke in a whisper. “People will think that if I touch them…if I’m angry with them…that I could kill them.” She stared into Caden’s eyes. “What if I do, by accident? I could have killed Angus when I healed him and…”
“Shhh.” He kissed her tenderly. “Rachel will help ye master yer gift.” He gave a brief shake of his head. “I am not afraid of yer touch,” he said placing her palm on his chest.
“The others.”
“Meg,” he said. “I have a sword. I carry it everywhere.” He indicated the sword in its scabbard on the chest beside the bed. “My weapon is lethal. Are ye afraid to touch me when I wear it?”
“It’s not the same.”
“Nay? The only difference between yer power and mine is that I’m trained on how to use it and how to not accidentally use it.” He ran his fingers through hers and folded them in his fist. “Rachel will work with ye until ye grow accustomed to using yer gift.”
He held her against him as he rolled, pinning her into the soft tick. His brow furrowed and he cupped Meg’s head in both hands.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Yesterday I almost lost ye without telling ye…” His hand trailed away down the side of the bed. He pulled a thin strip of plaid from the edge and caught her hand in his own.
“The priest may have bound us legally, but the ceremony was really to end the feud.”
Meg held her breath, not sure what to say.
“So today,” Caden said. “Today I pledge to ye, Meg…my life,” he wrapped the cloth around their joined hands, “my love,” he wound it a second time, “and my soul.” Three loops that held their hands tightly together.
She couldn’t stop a little tear from slipping past her lashes.
His breath brushed her lips as he neared. “’Tis true I captured ye, but och lass, ye captured me right back.
Tha gaol agam ort
. I love ye.”
Meg melted inside. Currents of joy surrounded her heart and pushed up into her eyes. “And I pledge to you, Caden Macbain, my life, my love, and my soul.” She squeezed his hand still intertwined in the cloth. “I love you.”
…
Meg rested her hand on Caden’s arm as they descended the stairs, even though she would have rather clutched it. By now everyone would know what had transpired at the cave.
A warrior, I am a warrior
.
She stalled on the steps. “Where is Gwyneth? Bess?”
Caden glanced down at her. “Locked where they locked ye, in the dungeon.”
She shivered, remembering the dank, dark place. They had tried to kill her, but the memory of the place haunted her.
Caden touched her cheek. “They’ve been given basic needs, warmth, food, water. I’ll let them worry for a few days before dealing with them.”
“I think it was Gwyneth’s plan. Bess seemed…scared, like she’d been convinced to act.”
“I believe so, too. Gwyneth will be going to Edinburgh.”
“Edinburgh?”
“Aye, the good father has volunteered to journey there to give a true account of the Davidsons’ misdeeds in helping the English and their lies about me. Gwyneth will be tried for her part in this misadventure.”
“What’s happening at the Davidsons?” she asked, even though Caden took another step down, pulling her with him.
“They should be locked in battle over who will lead now that Gilbert is dead. And by the time they have their leadership in place, they’ll have to deal with King James and King Henry.” Caden brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them. “Ewan will be transporting Boswell’s untouched body to Henry with the letters and a full account of how Gilbert Davidson assisted him in trying to hide his treasonous ways.”
A low murmur rumbled from the great hall as if it held a crowd. Without the sounds of minstrels playing, the rumble sounded like a mob. Meg swallowed hard and stopped just before they entered the room. Caden placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed. His love could protect her from their brutality, but it couldn’t protect her from their mistrust and hatred.
His warm palm sat on her lower back, gently but firmly pushing her out of the dark corridor and into the mouth of the great hall.
The room hushed.
Jonet stood at the table with Kenneth and Ann. Meg couldn’t quite draw in a breath, but then Jonet turned to her and a huge smile broke the worry in her features.
“Meg!” she yelled and flew across the room. She threw her arms around her and squeezed. “Ye saved me,” she whispered fervently in Meg’s ear. “Ye saved me.” She pulled back, tears and joy in her face. “Ye risked everything to save me and the clan.”
A nervous laugh escaped Meg. “And you saved me from that gag. I’m so glad you made it home.”
Jonet laughed despite her own tears. “I’ve never run so hard.”
She glanced down at Jonet’s hand wrapped so tightly with her own. There was not even a hint of concern in the woman’s grip, only happiness and relief.
She gazed out at a multitude of Macbain faces, eyes curious, stances waiting. Donald waved from the back of the room, a large grin across his thin face. They knew she killed a man, didn’t they?
Caden propelled her over to the table where they’d sat at their wedding celebration. “Do they…Caden, do they know—?”
“They know, love,” he said. “Can’t keep something as huge as ye saving us from Boswell a secret.”
Father Daughtry talked with some Macbains near the fire. He beamed at her proudly and thumped his chest, making the wooden cross jump on the vestments, as if to confirm that he was fit and hardy again.
Meg and Caden sat and everyone turned toward them. They waited, with only a hum of murmurs.
Donald poked his head out into the entry and then Hugh strode in, carrying a sword held point high. Torchlight flickered along its shiny blade. Hamish, Sean, Eòin, and a line of Macbain warriors followed in two rows. Donald joined at one end, his sword high like the rest. Hugh halted before Caden and Meg.
Caden stood while she just stared. His finger under her chin made her shut her gaping mouth as he helped her stand next to him.
“Hugh Loman, Master Watchman, what are you about today?” Caden asked in Gaelic, but the calm flow of his blood and the relaxed state of his muscles told Meg that Caden wasn’t surprised by the show.
“Hail Caden, the Macbain of Druim,” Hugh said in Gaelic, his voice booming in the still room. His eyes shifted to Meg. “Hail Meg, Lady of Druim,” he said in English.
Meg bowed her head acknowledging the address. Hugh regarded at her with a serious expression. “We of Druim hail ye and pledge to ye.”
At that, all the warriors in the two lines went down on one knee.
Meg’s stomach sat in a tight ball as she held her breath.
Hugh lowered his voice. “We were remiss in not swearing our fidelity to the new Lady of Druim, and so we do it now.” In unison they lowered their swords and their heads. “We, the warriors of Druim, pledge our lives to the protection of Lady Meg as we protect The Macbain and his people.”
A cheer rose up in the room, filling the stone rafters with a glorious echo of acceptance.
Meg’s breath shook as she inhaled. “
Mòran taing.
Many thanks,” she said as the cheers subsided and the warriors stood.
“Lady Meg.” Hugh laid the shined blade of the sword across his stump. “We also gift ye with this fine blade.”
Meg’s gaze ran across the lovely vines and flowers etched into the steel. The weapon was more slender and shorter than the swords the other warriors held. In the hilt sat a blue sapphire, as blue as the ball of light she could conjure.
“If ye are able to defend us all from the English,” Hugh said, “ye deserve yer own sword.”
A quick inhale escaped Meg’s lips as shock turned to joy. Hugh placed the amazingly light sword in her hands, and Donald raised his high.
“To Warrior Meg, defender of Druim!” Donald yelled.
“To Warrior Meg, defender of Clan Macbain!” Angus yelled.
“To Warrior Meg, defender of Clan Macleod!” her father’s gruff voice boomed from the back of the room.
“To Warrior Meg, defender of Clan Munro!” Aunt Rachel yelled from her place next to Uncle Alec, who raised his own sword in salute.
“To Warrior Meg! Lady of Druim!” Hugh boomed as a cheer rose up like a cresting wave, stealing Meg’s breath.
Caden’s lips were warm as they moved against the edge of Meg’s ear. “See, they love ye, too.”
She turned her eyes to him and smiled. Caden took her sword and laid it carefully on the table, turned back to her, and pulled her into his arms. His lips settled over hers in a long leisurely kiss as the cheers swelled around them. Meg was engulfed with elation and acceptance.
The last thought she had before she surrendered to Caden’s kiss rushed through her on a wave of joy. She was loved, loved for whom she actually was. She was truly blessed.