Captured Heart

by Heather McCollum

  Caden’s mount surged up next to Pippen. He rode with the ease of someone raised on the back of a horse, much like herself. She narrowed her eyes and quirked the grin into a challenge.

  “Siuthad!” she yelled to Pippen, urging him to stretch his legs against the speed of Caden’s charger. Pippen flew across the wildflowers, hooves tossing chunks of soft peat behind him. Meg laughed and lay low over Pippen’s neck. She glanced to the side. Caden leaned across his charger’s mane, his eyes sparked with appreciation and suppressed laughter.

  “Slow down, lass!” he warned.

  “Ha!” She laughed and steered Pippen around the boulders out into another meadow that led to the shores of a large lake.

  “Ye’ll break yer bonny neck.”

  Meg flew past the other Macbains who’d already reached the second meadow. Pippen reached the lake in a splashing of hooves and she pulled back on his reins. She laughed and stroked her hand along his sweating neck. Her horse pranced in the shallows and then lowered his head to drink.

  Caden’s horse splashed to a halt next to her and she tried not to look at him. The world was too beautiful, the air too clear to frown with anger and justified embarrassment. Instead, she absorbed the wild glory of the landscape.

  Mountains, some low and some soaring, encircled the valley basin where they stood. Snow-tipped green pines and trees of gold, red, and orange covered the mountain slopes. If God was the artist, He’d taken vegetable dye and delicately enhanced each tree up the hillside. The sun sparkled along the choppy waves in the lake and the wind blew fresh against Meg’s skin. She breathed in a full gulp, letting it cleanse her.

  Caden maneuvered his charger next to Pippen.

  “God lives here,” she said, her words edged with whispered awe.

  Caden’s voice was also hushed. “Aye, ’tis more than just beauty in it. There’s spirit and courage and strength.” He dismounted into the knee-high water and led Pippen and his charger out to dry ground. “’Tis why men fight for her,” he said.

  “You mean fight for it,” she said and stared down into his eyes. Clear air and sunshine filled her. Alive! She was more alive here than ever before. He reached up for her and before she could react, he plucked her off Pippen and set her on the ground.

  She would have gasped but there wasn’t time. Pippen was now at her back and Caden stood tall as a mountain before her. She glanced down and then straight before her. Both positions seemed awkward. She finally tipped her head way back until her gaze met his again.

  “You mean fight for it, the land, the mountains,” Meg corrected.

  “Aye.” He stepped back and pulled Meg away from the horses. He pointed toward one mountain.

  “Druim Beinn,” he said.

  “Ridge Mountain,” Meg translated.

  “Druim Keep, my home, sits at its base.”

  “You own all this land?” she asked. “Up to that mountain?”

  Caden’s finger traced along three mountains to the east and west. “From there to there, all the way to where we stand, lass, belongs to the Macbains.”

  Meg’s eyes roamed the vastness. “And which way are the Munros?”

  When she turned to him, his face resembled stone, his eyes dark.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Much.”

  He touched her hair and the space between them seemed to dissolve as he moved closer. A shiver ran through her that had little to do with the cool wind.

  “There are things ye must be told and I will tell ye, Meg.”

  He touched her back and she instantly registered his rushing blood, his contracting biceps, and his tight muscles. The vessels in his head flexed with tension. He must have an ache in his head.

  Meg concentrated on his physical parameters instead of the way his fingers threaded down to the ends of her hair. She should move away. She should breathe. Meg drew in a breath as he cupped her cheek in a warm palm.

  “First…” he trailed off as his lips lowered.

  Good Lord, what is he doing?

  Meg’s heart pounded as his breath touched hers. His lips followed. Warm and powerful, Caden’s mouth moved gently over hers. She inhaled his piney masculine scent. Twisting bubbles tickled inside her stomach. Her head slanted on its own, unknowingly allowing the kiss to deepen. She sensed the energy filling his body, blood rushing even faster, heart thumping in rhythm with hers.

  Good Lord, what am I doing back?

  Caden growled low and lifted her into the shelter of his body. Meg’s fingers moved up to the soft waves of his hair, the same waves she’d been staring at for days. Giddy excitement, mixed with something far deeper, ran through her body like a poison, spreading to the ends of every extremity. She all but clung to him as her legs wobbled like a freshly born colt. She breathed and kissed and tasted while a tingling ache grew heavy in her abdomen. What new malady was this? Madness and necessity all wrapped together.

  Pulling back, Caden rested his forehead against hers. She breathed in his essence, not wanting to let go.

  “Meg,” he said, his lips so close to hers that they brushed them in a feather-light kiss. He was talking again. She tried to pay attention. “There are things ye need to know—”

  Nickum howled. The warning snapped Meg out of her fog and into alert.

  “Nickum?” She pulled out of Caden’s arms. Something was wrong. Nickum stood at the crest of the hill near the tree line. Her wolf wouldn’t expose himself in daylight and wouldn’t call out unless under dire circumstances.

  Meg took two steps away from Caden and turned at the same time Ewan’s voice rang out through the glade.

  “Macbains! Batail!” His tone poured ice water through Meg’s flushed body.

  “Meg!” Caden shouted at the same instance she heard an arrow zing through the air. A small patch of meadow grass beside her leapt into the air as the arrow punctured the serene hillside.

  “God’s teeth!” she swore on a gasp.

  “Get down!” Caden ordered.

  Zing!

  The sharp pain ripped through Meg’s shoulder, slamming into her with enough force to yank her body to the ground. She flew off her feet and into the lake.

  Icy mountain lake water filled her mouth as she gasped, clogging her airways. Bubbles and splashing filled her ears. Red water swirled before her eyes as she blinked into the murk.

  “Nay! Meg!” Caden’s voice sounded far away even when his arms lifted her. The weight of the water in her hair pulled her head backward and the heavy clothes anchored her limbs. She couldn’t move, couldn’t open her eyes, could hardly draw a breath. Her self-defense surfaced enough to make her cough, lake water sputtering up and out. Caden turned her gently in his arms.

  “Bloody hell!” he cursed. He ran then, with her cradled against his chest.

  The jarring hurt, but she couldn’t respond above a whimper. She was too heavy, too cold. Nickum’s whine seemed near and far at the same time. Was this really happening? Please be a nightmare! Although while everything else seemed fuzzy, the pain was very real.

  Caden lowered her to the ground, the heaviness of a blanket anchoring her. “Stay with her,” he said. Nickum’s fur brushed her face. “Let no one touch her.” His warm lips touched her forehead and he was gone.

  Meg tried to open her eyes but they were too heavy. She fought for consciousness. At least her ears worked. Steel slid and clattered against steel. Men yelled curses in Gaelic, their words slurring into each other in a cacophony of anger and retaliation. A malevolent storm of human angst, hatred mixed with the desperate need to survive, judge, and execute. Hot tears leaked out of her eyes.

  “There she is,” a rough, familiar voice called. Nickum growled and moved over the top of her, his back foot against Meg’s cheek. “Cac! That wolf is guarding her.”

  Girshmel. It was Girshmel! He’d joined the enemy, whoever that was.

  “I’m not going near it,” another voice said in fast Gaelic. “That’s the largest damned wolf I’ve ever seen.�
��

  Nickum rubbed against her as he sat back on his haunches, preparing to leap. A silent scream. No, Nickum, they’ll hurt you! Run! Nickum growled and snapped, making one man yelp.

  “Bloody coward,” Girshmel snarled. “The chief will want her. She’s Meg Boswell, the Munro’s niece. Valuable and a sweet little tidbit at that.”

  “Then you get her,” the other voice said.

  “You idiot, give me your bow,” Girshmel said.

  No! Nickum, run! Her words trickled out on a whimper. Nickum stood his ground over her, growling and snapping. She heard the bowstring pluck and the arrow rip into Nickum. Nickum cried out but didn’t move, just leaned into her. She choked on a straggled breath as she detected the torn flesh and muscles with her unnatural abilities. Blood surged through her friend with energy to fight or run.

  “There now, he’s weak. See his eyes? He’s stunned. Pull the lass out by her feet,” Girshmel said. “Hurry, Macbain might come back.”

  Nickum didn’t growl. He didn’t do anything when rough hands grasped her ankles. Oh, Nickum. What have they done? The man pulled. She focused on her leg muscles to kick at the man, but blood was flowing out of her too fast to give her muscles the energy they needed to fight. Oh, God, she was losing too much blood!

  Nickum’s muscles contracted, and he sprang away. The man dropped her ankles. She tried to block out the sound of teeth and ripping flesh. She tried to roll, pull herself away from the carnage, but her blood-starved body wouldn’t cooperate. Fresh tears leaked from her closed eyes.

  “Shite!” Girshmel yelled over the gurgling sound of blood and screams. She heard him fire another arrow. Nickum’s cry rent the air. Meg couldn’t even flinch, let alone try to help her friend.

  “Damn, he’s coming!” Girshmel poured out a string of obscenities, and she heard his feet pound away. The other man’s screams died with his breath and Nickum’s bulk collapsed beside her leg. Meg lay there trapped in agony, unable to move. The numbness that blanketed her body moved higher until she could barely contain the glimmer of consciousness. Perhaps it would be better to surrender.

  “Meg,” a faint whisper of a voice called to her, urgent, full of fury and something more, desperation perhaps. “Meg!”

  Caden. She sighed inside the tiny wisp of conscious thought still aflame. Caden had returned. With the sound of his voice, she gave into the blackness.

  …

  Rachel Munro sat before the fire in the great hall stitching a shirt for her husband. The flames crackled and she warmed with contentment. She barely remembered her life in England, growing up as a merchant’s daughter with her sister, Isabelle, and brother, Harold. She’d married Alec Munro, the new chief of the Munros, soon after Alec’s father died. The old Munro had been business partners with Rachel’s father, and she had convinced her father to bring her along on one of his trips to the fabled Highlands. She’d never left since, except once when her sister had given birth down in England.

  Rachel loved the Highlands, the rugged beauty, the solid, simple life. She’d fit in easily with these passionate people. And of all the passionate people that she fit with, Alec Munro was definitely the one who kept her on her toes, even today after all these years.

  She watched him play a game of chess with his old friend, Phillip, at the long table across the hall.

  Alec slammed his hand down on the oak planks, making the wooden pieces jump and Phillip curse. Her husband was full of bluster, pride, and passion. A true Highlander. She loved him fiercely. Thank the good Lord she hadn’t returned to England like her father had wanted, like he’d made Isabelle do. She doubted that Alec would have let her go, but if she had, she’d probably ended up wed to an English dandy or worse, a monster like the man her sister wed.

  Rowland Boswell was elegant with a courtier’s handsome façade, but he was also demanding, cruel, and suspicious. If only their father had known what an atrocious match he’d forced on Isabelle. That his choice in suitors would ultimately lead to his gentle daughter’s death. And if Rachel couldn’t get Isabelle’s daughter out of England, the same could very well befall the child.

  Rachel frowned and stared down at her finger where a tiny bead of blood swelled up from a pinprick. Even thinking of the dreadful man was dangerous. She closed her eyes and formed a pea-sized blue glowing orb between her other thumb and forefinger. She passed the lighted sphere over the minute hole and sealed the skin.

  “Devil of a man,” she cursed, and snuffed the light.

  “Talking to yourself, wife?” Alec asked, and peered down over her head.

  Rachel tilted back. “Just pondering how I can get you to brave English soil to rescue my niece.”

  Alec huffed and pulled on his wiry beard. He scraped the second chair along the stone floor to face the fire and flopped into it. “We’ve been through this, Rachel.”

  They had, many times. Around and around, Rachel knew all the arguments against it.

  “I’ve been forbidden to set foot on English soil, Rachel. That weasel of a man got a bloody royal decree.”

  She poked the needle through the linen. “Bloody royal decree. I know.”

  “I don’t fear for my life,” he defended.

  She didn’t look up, but reached out and patted his arm. “Of course I don’t want you to die, husband, but no Englishman could best you.”

  “I’d forfeit my lands. You and Searc would be landless, homeless.” He stared into the crackling fire. “Is one girl worth the lives of the whole clan?”

  Rachel watched her minute stitches. “You risk our clan every time you refuse a truce with the Macbains.” Her words were feather soft, floating on a whisper, because they didn’t need to be any louder.

  Alec’s fist slammed onto the wooden arm of the chair. She had held her needle still with her words so as not to jab herself again. She rarely jumped anymore, but it was good to be prudent, nonetheless.

  “Why do I bother to come sit with you, woman, when you plague me so?”

  Rachel watched him from the corner of her eyes. “Because you love me, you stubborn old mountain of a man.”

  He turned his head from the fire. His eyes sought hers and she swallowed against the increased pace of her heart. The silent promise reminded her of long ago days when he would chase her through the wildflowers across the moors. Alec stood and leaned in front of her, his hands braced on each of the wooden arms. She tilted back, no longer able to see her work, and returned his stare.

  “Aye, that I do,” he said low and leaned forward, kissing her lips gently. The gesture was so sweet that Rachel yelped when he shoved his arm under her legs and lifted her. His unfinished shirt slid from her lap to the rushes.

  “Alec! What are you about?” she called as he strode with her across the main hall. He leered at her and she couldn’t stop a giggle from erupting.

  “I think I’m about to remind you, lass, just what a randy old mountain man you’re strapped to.”

  She laughed and clung to his neck.

  The towering double doors to the keep banged open with a gust of autumn-chilled wind. Alec planted his feet and turned.

  “Geoffrey,” Alec said, and let Rachel slide to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

  Geoffrey was a Munro who had been living with the Macbains, covertly keeping an eye on the Munro’s most dangerous enemy.

  “Caden Macbain,” he breathed in large gulps of air, as if he’d run the whole way from Druim Keep.

  Rachel placed her hands on him. His heart rate was too high, but he was young and could handle the exertion.

  “Caden Macbain asks for you to come,” he said and handed Rachel a rolled parchment with a bit of grime-splattered plaid tied to it before resting his hands on his knees.

  “I’m not bloody likely to walk into that death trap.” Alec swore and tried to grab the letter, but Rachel was too quick.

  Geoffrey straightened. “Not you,” he said, finding his breath. “Lady Munro.”

  “Mac an donais!” Alec s
wore. “And neither is my wife. Has the Macbain hit that thick head of his?”

  Rachel scanned the parchment. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes narrowed, and she turned to Alec. She held out the bloodied rag.

  “Did you send men to attack the Macbains at Loch Tuinn this noon time?” she asked.

  Alec grabbed the scrap of material. “Lies,” he grumbled. “As if I can tell this is Munro blood. Phillip!” he yelled, though the man was right there. “Did you send out men to Loch Tuinn?”

  “Nay,” his second in command answered. “We trained in hand to hand all morn and worked the rest of the day to fortify the north wall.”

  The knot in Rachel’s stomach loosened, but she frowned all the more. She handed her husband the parchment. “Margaret,” she called.

  A young woman came running in from the back storage rooms.

  “Come with me, girl. I need to pack my things.” She turned to Geoffrey. “Wait for me.”

  He nodded while Alec shook his head.

  “You are not going, Rachel,” Alec said firmly. Her husband was the most stubborn man she’d ever met, but she was his match.

  Rachel turned back to him slowly. She indicated the letter. “The Macbain has brought Isabelle’s daughter here and she’s been shot at the loch, by who we don’t know. Meg may die without me.” She shook her head, never breaking contact with his eyes so that he could read her unmoving sincerity. “I won’t allow Isabelle’s daughter to also be murdered. I’m going.”

  Alec took a step toward her. “He thinks we attacked them. He’ll keep you as hostage, woman.”

  “He pledges that he will not keep me if I help Meg. You read it.”

  Alec dropped the parchment to the floor. “A Macbain won’t keep his word.”

  “His father may not have, but we’ve heard that Caden is different.”

  “Nay!” Alec yelled, his face turning bright red. “He’s still a bloody Macbain, without honor. I will not let my wife just walk into his trap. This is all a lie!”

  “Geoffrey,” she said calmly, though she held her husband’s burning gaze. “Did you see an injured woman brought into Druim Keep this day?”