Authors: Heather McCollum
“They may say it wasn’t them,” Ewan retorted. “Alec Munro didn’t ride with them.”
Caden’s eyebrow rose. “Did anyone see his son, Searc?”
“Nay,” Ewan answered. “Nor did I see Gormal or Phillip. But the bastards called themselves Munros.”
Caden frowned. The door flew open, hitting the wall.
“That would be because Munros were not at Loch Tuinn at noon today.” A comely lady with a long braid stalked regally into the room. She shed her outer fur-lined cape, let it fall to the floor, and moved directly to Meg.
“They called themselves Munro,” Ewan repeated.
Sharp blue eyes flashed to Caden. “Someone is tricking you, Macbain,” the woman said. She was shorter than he’d thought she’d be, but there was no missing the strength she possessed in her resolve.
“Rachel Munro has arrived,” Fiona announced as she and Hamish hefted a large kettle of water to set over the hearth.
“You mean the Witch Munro,” Rachel said softly and gave Caden a sardonic smirk before turning back to her niece. She touched Meg’s cheek with the flat of her hand and frowned. “Heat the water. Rip these rags. Mix these herbs with fresh water. Turn her on her side. I’ll brace her; you push through swift and straight, Macbain.”
Caden waited for Rachel to grasp her firmly and he held her back right where the barbed tip poked through. She seemed so fragile in his hands, so small. Rachel nodded. Bloody hell, he hated to do this!
One, two, three!
Meg screamed, even through her unconsciousness, as Caden forced the arrow through her shoulder and out the back. Blood welled up, spilling out of the holes.
“Hold her on her side! Move!” Rachel placed her hands flat against the ragged flesh on both sides. “Keep her still.” She closed her eyes, inhaled, exhaled, her cheeks puffed out with the volume of air, and then shrank with her exhale. A bright blue light glowed out from under her hands.
“What bloody witchcraft…” Ewan whispered.
Evelyn murmured and made the sign of the cross. Donald took a step backward, toward the hearth. Only Fiona seemed unimpressed by the strange process. Rachel continued to hold Meg between her hands, eyes squeezed shut. Her face pinched tight as if she struggled against a great weight.
Seconds ticked by with Caden’s heartbeats, hundreds of them. The blue glow softened against Meg’s skin, softened until it faded to nothing.
“Catch her, Macbain,” Rachel whispered and slumped into a sitting position on the side of the bed. Fiona jumped to steady Rachel while Caden lowered Meg back to the plump tick. His eyes sought out the ragged holes. Neither one bled.
“Good Holy Christ the Lord,” Evelyn said, her hand pressed against her lips. She peered close at the holes. “They are…healed.”
“Fiona,” Rachel said, her voice weak. “Pack a poultice of hedge woundwort leaves on each wound. Change the dressing once a day and it will heal completely without issue.”
Caden raised his eyes from Meg to her aunt. Rachel Munro was drained, like a wet cloth rung out until not a drop of moisture remained. Her courageous spirit was dimmed, her flashing eyes sunken.
“Ewan,” Caden said. “Help Lady Munro to the fire to sit.”
At first he thought she would argue, but then she leaned on Ewan’s arm as he helped her shuffle across the room. “I will be fit again once I rest,” she announced and accepted a cup from Fiona.
“Evelyn, have a room made ready for Lady Munro.”
“Nay, Macbain. I will remain with my niece,” she said.
The flames crackled in the hearth, throwing shadows across the stone walls of the room. No one moved. Caden nodded to Evelyn, setting everything into motion once again. He sat on the bed next to Meg. Color crept back into her face. He touched her forehead. Warm, not hot. His gaze drifted to Rachel where she sat slumped before the hearth. The witch had taken the lass’s fever, too. At what cost to her?
“She still must sleep, Macbain, for my healing to take hold.” Rachel’s words carried despite Ewan and Donald sloshing the pot of dirty water out through the door, and Evelyn and Fiona carrying blankets in and out. Evelyn’s eyes stayed on Rachel as if the woman might grow horns and a tail at any moment.
Caden brushed a finger along Meg’s cheek and then stood. He walked to the hearth, around Meg’s wounded pet. Fiona took the empty cup from Rachel.
“Fiona,” Caden said. “Can you make some of your poultice for Meg’s beast?”
Rachel’s eyes flickered open and her head came up to stare at the animal as if she hadn’t noticed his massive presence before.
The maid’s large eyes showed a healthy amount of fear.
“Donald and I will put it on the beast. I would not have Meg wake to find her beloved friend dead after he stood his ground over her.” Caden’s gaze connected with Rachel’s. “He saved her life while we fought off…whoever ambushed us.”
Rachel’s eyes softened as if she understood that it had taken him much to recognize the possibility of trickery in the attack.
“Did you already remove the tips?” Rachel asked.
Caden nodded. “He lost a lot of blood.”
“Fiona,” Rachel said. “Mix some feverfew with the same poultice you will make for Meg.” She paused and closed her eyes, head falling against the straight back of the chair. “Once I’m rested, I will
pray
,” she said, “over the beast as well.”
“Pray?” Evelyn said low, and shook her head as she headed out the door.
“Yes, pray.” Rachel opened her pale blue eyes. She leaned forward and caught Caden’s hand to leverage into a standing position. “My gift is from God,” she said as they stepped toward the bed. “I am no Lucifer-worshipping witch, Macbain.”
Caden tipped his head briefly, and she relaxed into his arm. He helped Rachel down. Side by side with her niece, there were few traits showing their blood connection. Only their build and long slender fingers were similar.
“Is this gift passed on through generations?” He placed a blanket over the woman.
“Yes.” Rachel turned toward Meg. “Sometimes to our detriment.” She closed her eyes and began to breathe in a slow steady rhythm, falling instantly asleep.
Caden moved around the bed to sit in a chair near Meg. Long lashes lay like fans against soft skin; light freckles sprinkled across the gentle slope of her nose. Her eyes moved behind the lids following her dreams.
Meg’s pink lips parted on an exhale. “Caden…”
Caden leaned over the bed. “Ye’re safe, Meg,” he whispered.
A quick glance showed that the room lay empty as Fiona had gone to the kitchens to prepare the poultices.
“Caden,” Meg murmured.
He ran his thumb across one smooth cheek, down to her jaw near her ear, then followed the soft lines of her neck. “Sleep, lass. Ye’re safe and well.” The same words he’d used each night while she battled her dream demons.
Meg released a sigh and surrendered to a deeper slumber. Caden sat back on the rickety chair.
“Interesting,” Rachel said from her side of the bed. Her eyes flicked open. “She calls for her captor in her dreams?”
“She doesn’t know that she is a captive,” Caden said, his words gruff but without remorse. “She believes that fate brought her an escort to you. She runs from some man, I think her father.” Rachel frowned and Caden continued. “In all truth she would have died on her way here alone, if I hadn’t run into her.”
“She has not had an easy time avoiding death while in your care, either, Macbain.” Wise eyes assessed him sideways. Rachel pushed up on her elbow.
“I ask you not to tell her,” Caden said. “If she thinks she’s a guest—”
“So Meg is a hostage?” Rachel asked.
Caden paused. He inhaled slowly to help the twist in his stomach that he ignored. Just because his plan had deviated from the original one, he wouldn’t give it up. Bargaining for peace was his best chance at saving his people.
“Aye. Your niece is the only thing I have left to bargain with. I will release her to the Munros when your husband agrees to a peace between us.”
“You also have me now,” Rachel said.
“I gave my word that you could go.” Caden’s jaw hardened. He wouldn’t break his promise.
“Even when your larders are empty and your cattle have been raided away?”
“I do not go back on my word,” he all but growled.
A softness tugged at the corner’s of her mouth. “So I told Alec. Very well. You be the one to tell her.”
Simple words, but powerful. The tightness in his chest relaxed. The news must come from him. He owed Meg that much for using her need for escape as an easy way to ensure her cooperation.
“Why do you think it’s her father who chases her?” Rachel asked.
He leaned back. “She mentioned that her mother was killed.” He’d leave out the fact that a lot of what he’d learned had been from Meg’s nighttime talking. “That a man had accused her of being a witch and had taken her away to be burned. She fears this man would legally be able to take her. She never mentioned a father.” He rubbed at the tension above his eyes. “Who else would it be?”
Rachel’s lips pinched. “So the bastard has realized his jeopardy.”
“What’s his name?” He would have a name for the one who tortured Meg in her dreams?
“Rowland Boswell. He’s got some title in England, but it doesn’t mean anything except that he can play court games. Isabelle, Meg’s mother—my sister—discovered his treasonous plans. She thought that if her husband was caught, her daughter would lose everything. Colin Macleod tried to rescue her but she wouldn’t leave. Knew she was close to ruining Rowland’s plans for good. I don’t think my sister knew just how far Rowland would go to punish her.”
“So the marriage wasn’t one of love?” he asked.
Rachel snorted and swore under her breath. “My sister was…dutiful. When my father demanded she return to England and marry, she protested once, but when Father threatened to take his revenge on the Macleods, she returned.”
“You were more fortunate.”
“Father did not approve of my praying and how I wouldn’t hide it. When he heard Alec wanted to marry me despite my talents, he blessed the union.”
“Isabelle had similar talents?”
“Aye, though only I knew. She hid them completely. Boswell created those charges of witchcraft. They were lies.”
They sat in silence. Caden watched Meg breathe.
“Could Meg have your talent?”
When she didn’t answer, his gaze raised to her. A smile haunted her lips. “As far back as I’ve been able to trace, every woman in my line has.” Rachel pulled back the sleeve of her kirtle. A brown shape lay against her skin. She held it up so that the light of the fire caught it, revealing a large birthmark.
“The mark of the dragonfly,” she said. “My mother had one on her leg, her sister on her hip, their mother on the bottom of her foot. Isabelle’s was also on her foot.” She lowered her arm. “We’re fabled to have stemmed from a great healing witch in the tenth century, from somewhere in Denmark.”
Maybe Meg didn’t have one. Perhaps the lass was without this power. He’d watched her carefully with his men and had never seen a blue light. None of their wounds had healed quickly like Meg’s had. “I haven’t seen a dragonfly on her.”
“Have you seen her naked?”
“Nay,” he snapped, but then smoothed the edge from his voice. “There’s been no mark on those areas exposed. And she healed my men with constant care, not magic.”
Rachel shrugged and relaxed back down into the hay-filled tick. “How unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate?”
“Death stalks all of us, Macbain. Talents such as mine fend it off for a time.”
He’d never thought of it that way. His whole life he’d heard stories of the Munro Witch, how she healed with dark magic and that her soul would pay the price. Yet he saw no evidence of demonic presence or a dark nature. She didn’t pray to Satan or require a payment for her dark arts. Would he have paid it if she had?
“Aye, in this cold, war-loving land, God’s gift to heal is more valuable than gold,” she said.
Caden squelched the question of Rachel’s two buried sons. “Either way, your niece is extremely valuable.”
Rachel didn’t answer but snuggled down under the blanket next to Meg.
More valuable than gold? Perhaps a strange birthmark and an ability to heal with magic would make his hostage even more valuable. Munro would eventually want to marry his niece off. She would have to wed someone who didn’t condemn her for this gift, if she had it.
Caden ignored the tension in his shoulders. He needed to think of every way possible to make his bargaining chip even more important.
Meg’s eyes remained closed, her breathing even. He closed his heavy eyes and leaned back into the hard seat where he planned to stay the night, remembering Meg’s kiss at the loch. Her softness and smell, the joy on her face.
He rubbed at the tightness in his chest. His mind turned to explanations, words, scenarios. He’d show her the children, introduce the families she was saving. He would show her, ask her how to save them, nudge her in the direction he’d chosen. Peace.
Caden needed peace to save his clan. He wouldn’t let her hate him. Nay, he wouldn’t let her, for he intended to kiss her again.
Chapter Five
15 September 1517—Honeysuckle: white, bell-shaped flowers in summer. The scent is pleasant and can be used in soaps and lotion (my favorite scent). Flowers throughout the summer months spread its sweet smell far and away. Ah, Saorsa!
Use a decoction of the flowers to treat breathing disorders. The syrup may also be used to treat lung and spleen complaints. Use weakened syrup to treat nervous headaches. An ointment can be made with the plant and boiled animal fat to ease the burn from the sun and to rid ladies of spots.
Meg’s eyes flickered open to a dimly lit stone wall. Heavy tapestries hung on the walls. Where was she? She inhaled swiftly. The loch! She gazed down at her shoulder where a poultice lay tied against her skin on the front and back. Tightness lightly pinched her skin.
“Hold him,” a woman’s stern voice instructed near the fire. The sound of a body being dragged across the stone floor pushed Meg into a sitting position.
“Nickum?” she whispered.
Caden held her best friend against his chest. A woman with a long braid pressed her hands to the wolf’s side. He’d been shot, at the loch, standing over her. Meg’s heart raced as images and sounds flooded back. How long ago had it happened? She was about to call out when she saw a familiar blue light grow along the crack between the woman’s hands and Nickum’s fur. The same blue light that Meg could conjure.
Caden stood solid. He didn’t jump back in surprise at the unnatural light. He peeled a poultice off higher up Nickum’s body, and the woman ran her glowing hands through Nickum’s fur.
Meg edged over to the side of the large bed and pulled back the blankets. She’d been stripped to her thin smock. She shivered as her toes touched the rock floor.
“Unbelievable,” she murmured at her own strength. Shot clear through, but no fever raged and her shoulder was nearly healed. Had the woman used her glowing light to heal her?
Nickum’s legs twitched and a low growl issued from his clenched mouth.
“Hold still, beast,” the woman growled back.
Caden glanced toward Meg. “Meg, ye are standing?”
“I can help,” she offered, but her voice had lost its usual strength.
The woman’s eyes lifted briefly and returned to her current patient. “Help as you can, niece.”
Niece?
Her aunt Rachel. Meg knelt down before the warm fire and touched Nickum’s face as her wolf opened his yellow eyes. “All is well, Nickum,” she crooned and stroked the dirt-covered fur around his muzzle.
Her aunt snorted. “I suppose that would be the most help you could give right now. Keep him calm, Meg.” She turned to her and smiled, a twinkle in her crystal blue eyes. “And it is good to see you,” she said.
“Good to see you, too.” Meg brushed Nickum’s fur.
Caden’s eyes sought hers. “Aye, ’tis good to see ye awake again.” His words rumbled through her. They were like warm molasses bread with melting butter.
Meg’s stomach growled. “How long have I been asleep?”
Rachel sat back on her heels and Caden lowered Nickum to the rug. Meg moved to run her fingers over her pet’s wounds, but grabbed air instead when Caden hoisted her up.
“A day and a night, lass.” His words were gruff but he lowered her with tenderness back into her still-warm blankets.
“A day?” she began and stared over the top to Nickum bent around himself licking his wounds. Meg glanced at her wrapped shoulder. “Yet I’m so well.” Her stomach growled again. “In fact, I’m ravenous and thirsty.” She turned to her aunt, who seemed to be asleep in the chair next to Nickum, and lowered her voice. “Did she…ummm…the blue light…did my aunt…?”
“Aye,” Caden said as he tucked the blankets back up under her chin. “She
prayed
over ye.” The corner of his mouth turned up in a grin that looked dangerously seductive on his unshaven face. “A talent of hers and apparently one yer mother had and all the lasses in yer family.”
Meg heard the question in that statement clearly. She blinked several times. “The light has the power to heal?”
“With what I’ve seen last night and this morn, I agree with yer aunt.”
“You agree with her?” What was he talking about?
“Aye, the light is a blessing,” he said and walked toward the door. “I will have some food and drink brought up for you two.” He stared for a moment and his smile retreated, leaving frost in its place. “Ye and Lady Munro are guests here.”
He shut the door behind him.
“A blessing?” Meg murmured into the mound of blankets. She made a small cave underneath and produced a pea-sized orb of blue light. The glow illuminated the pitch darkness under the heavy layers. Could she heal like her aunt Rachel? Had she contained the power all along and simply never tried to use it? Aunt Mary had never mentioned an unnatural ability to heal, although she wasn’t blood related to Rachel and her mother. Uncle Harold was their brother.
Meg heard a shuffling sound and squelched the light. Her aunt lay down next to her on the bed, her expression weeping with exhaustion.
“The healing steals my energy,” she said, but managed to keep her eyes open as she lay on her side facing her.
Meg pulled another throw over her aunt.
“I’m Rachel Munro, your mother’s sister. I haven’t seen you since you were born, child.” Rachel reached out and touched her hair. “You have your mother’s reddish waves and her slender build.”
“Thank you for healing my shoulder and helping Nickum.”
“I understand your beast protects you. Having a protector is prudent. Smart girl.” She closed her eyes. “Let us talk more about the little light you hide when I wake from my nap.”
Meg’s breath stilled at the casual words.
“And child.” Rachel’s lips slurred a bit with the heaviness of exhaustion. “The Macbains seem to think we know each other well.” Her eyes caught Meg’s. “Let’s allow them to continue that thinking.”
…
Caden sucked in a breath for patience as he entered the hall. The three remaining elders, Ancients Kenneth, Bruce, and Angus, swore it their duty to advise the young laird on clan matters. They reminded him often that although Caden was chief, he was not much older than ten and twenty. What could he know of tradition and ancient justifications?
The three had convened in the great hall when they’d heard of Caden’s return with The Munro’s niece. They sat before the fire of the main hall. “And the Munro Witch is here, too.” Ancient Kenneth chuckled and shook his head. “She’s a better hostage than the niece.”
Caden watched Angus stare hard into his mug and take a swallow as Caden strode toward the back kitchens. He coughed around the ale when he spotted Caden and jabbed his finger in the young chief’s direction.
“Caden,” he coughed. Bruce pounded his back but Angus pushed off his friend’s hand. “Must you pummel me every time I choke?” Angus threw his hand toward the opposite wall. “Caden’s emerged. He just walked toward the kitchens.”
All three men pushed out of their seats and hurried across the room just as Caden returned to the hall. He stopped before them, arms crossed over his chest, frowning.
“Now that the Munro Witch herself is here, we will use her, too,” Ancient Kenneth started without preamble. He raised his eyebrow above his missing right eye, which he squeezed shut. A Munro had plucked it out thirty-some years ago with a mace. He’d spent decades returning the favor.
“We can keep her here, and not let her return to that devil.” Angus rubbed his whiskered jaw.
“I promised the woman unheeded passage before she came,” Caden answered in even measure, despite clenching his fists. He could walk away, ignore them. He was The Macbain, after all.
“Now why did you go promising a thing like that, man?” Bruce yelled from over the rim of his tankard. He’d been the best friend of Caden’s father and could bellow just as loud.
Caden frowned at them in silence. Inside, he counted to ten in Latin.
“We are your council, Caden,” Ancient Kenneth reminded him. “We should know your rationale.”
“I didn’t have time to bicker over details when the lass lay up there dying, so I promised it, and I would do it again. Rachel Munro saved Meg, and without the English girl we’d have nothing to bargain with.” Bloody hell! He protected what was his. He wouldn’t allow Meg to die.
“Aye, but to have the witch herself, now that would get Alec Munro over here quick,” Bruce said, as he pulled on his gray-streaked beard. “I’m surprised that we haven’t seen his ugly face yet.”
“Rachel must have lied to him about her whereabouts. That devil would not have let her come here in the middle of the night,” Angus answered.
All three old men nodded in unison.
Caden regarded them as they washed down several more swigs of ale. He waited. The three old warriors knew well that their chief could just walk past them without a word. Yet he never had. He’d always shown them respect, even if he didn’t follow all their commands. Which was just, because Caden was The Macbain, not they. He listened to their commands, but only issued his own. They respected him even if he was hellbent on peace.
Bruce’s belch echoed in the empty hall.
Kenneth set down his ale and wiped the thick scruff around his mouth with his sleeve. “So when do you plan on telling the English lass that she’s our prisoner?” His thick brow quirked slightly with a more personal question. “I hear she’s quite bonny. Your men seem foolish over her.” Kenneth had been Caden’s father’s second in command, and his cleverness uncovered all unspoken truths.
Angus snorted and coughed. “Foolish youth.”
“I will tell her soon,” Caden answered. “For now I need her cooperation, so no one is to treat her with anything but hospitality. For now she is a guest here at Druim, and so is Lady Munro.” He bowed slightly to the three warriors. “I must check on my men and their families.”
Caden jogged down the steps and into the courtyard where his soldiers drilled. Caden wanted to drill with them, for it was easier than his intended course. He raised his hand as they hailed him. “Later,” he promised, and strode through the open gate of the bailey and down the short lane into the village.
He knocked on the cottage closest to the keep. Bess Tammin stood at the door with her six-year-old son clinging to her skirts. She was a comely young widow who had lost her husband last year in a vicious raid with the Davidsons. Caden tipped his head to her and grinned at the boy.
“Chief Macbain.” She stepped aside to allow him to enter. “Would you care for some ale or something hot, perhaps?”
“I came to see if you were faring well, Bess, and Peter here.” Caden stooped to pull the boy’s hand so that he stepped away from his mama. “Seems you’re getting big and strong,” he said, despite the lad’s thin arms. How much thinner would he get this winter if his plan for peace didn’t work?
Peter beamed up at Caden. “I can start training with the wooden swords in the spring,” he said, pride puffing up his small body.
Caden studied him. “I can see a fierce warrior in you, Peter. I’ll be happy to add you to the ranks.” He tussled the boy’s shaggy head. He watched Bess, his face growing serious, though he kept a light tone. “You have enough food?”
“We make do.” She reached out to touch Caden’s arm. “I hear you’ve returned with the Munro niece.” Hope lurked in her eyes as she pulled Peter back against her side.
“Aye.”
She rubbed her son’s arm. “Your plan will work, then. We can use her to bargain for our grain and cattle back?”
Caden’s stomach clenched in the same tight ball he’d held inside since the mysterious fire that burned their fields. “I will find food for the winter.”
She smoothed Peter’s hair. “I know you will.”
Caden tipped his head to Bess and held his fist to his heart to Peter, who imitated the fierce pledge.
Nine more homes to visit. He breathed deep to lessen the tightness in his middle and strode to the next door.
Caden counted down each one, answering the same questions and promising food to each troubled face. Ten homes in all. Ten each day. That was his routine. So unlike his sire, who had holed up in the keep, planning sweet revenge and victory no matter what the cost. Caden wanted something different; he wanted peace because peace meant food. Without it, many of his people wouldn’t survive the winter. The Munros had raided most of their cattle the night the fall harvest had been burned. Even though they didn’t take credit for it, the council was convinced it was their most hated enemy’s work.
He knocked on the last door. Hugh Loman answered.
“Get back in here, Hugh,” his wife’s voice called.
Hugh’s eyes pleaded with Caden. “She’s driving me to bedlam,” he said and then grinned.
“Hello, Caden.” Elizabeth Loman came to the door, their infant son swaddled against her chest. “Hugh’s not fit enough to come back to train,” she said, placing her hand on Hugh’s forehead.
“There’s no fever, woman,” Hugh said, and ducked. “Meg took care of it on the way home.”
“That she did,” Elizabeth said, her eyes growing wet. “Thank God for her, then,” she added, and turned toward Caden. “Is the lass well? I would like to pay my respects before you trade her off to those devils.”
Worry, gratitude, determination with a bit of fury all flew across Elizabeth Loman’s face.
“She is well,” Caden answered.
“I will use some of our ration to make her my special bread,” she said. “She deserves more, seeing how she took care of my Hugh.”
“Come to the keep,” Caden said. “Tell Evelyn I want you to have enough grain for your bread.”
“We have enough, Caden,” Hugh said, but Caden knew just how little they had. With a new bairn, Elizabeth needed all the food she had for her family.
“I understand, Hugh,” Caden said. “Tell Evelyn. We have enough.”
Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes before withdrawing back into the cozy home.
“She weeps at everything,” Hugh said to Caden and stepped outside with him. “She’s up most the night.”
“He’s healthy, the bairn?”
“Aye and quite hungry.” Hugh’s laugh turned sour. “I didn’t mean that we don’t have enough, Caden. ’Twas a joke about bairns.”
“I will trade Meg to her uncle soon,” Caden said. “Then there will be enough.”