She created a pea-sized ball of light to illuminate the path before her feet and sprinted ahead, no longer concerned what her toes hit as she ran.
Her footfalls resounded in the tunnel.
For several minutes Meg ran, pushing past the stitch in her side, until the sound of Boswell’s heavy breathing faded. She forced full breaths through her nose, along with a small channeling of magic and the stitch in her muscles dissolved. She saw the quick turn at the last moment and ran around the corner. Right into a solid wall…of muscle.
Breath slammed out of her. Meg could hardly squeak the scream in her throat as Gilbert’s fingers bit into her upper arms.
“Did ye really think ye’d get away?” He laughed and half-dragged her forward, around the sharp bend, until the filtered light through the waterfall filled the cave entrance. “Must have bloody run right past ye.”
He released her. Meg blinked long at the pain in her eyes from being so long in total darkness. The rushing sound of water filled her ears. The cold spray whipped inward with the wind, the faint smell of honeysuckle lost in the droplets.
I’m sorry, Mama. Meg fought to hold in tears. She wouldn’t let them see her despair. Boswell half jogged and half walked around the corner, holding his side with one hand and the packet of letters with the other.
Meg breathed deeply and tried to focus, but the absolute impossibility of escaping them beat at her hope. What could she do? What weapons did she still have?
She stood tall. “I command you to release me,” she said in her loudest, non-frantic voice. She raised her hands and formed the blue glowing ball. Both men froze for several heartbeats, their eyes round. Gilbert made the sign of the cross. Meg pulled her hands further apart, increasing the size of the ball until it was several feet across. The varying hues of blue swirled within the light.
Power…magic power. This was who she was. There was no denying it. She had a gift, a gift from God. Was it also a weapon?
“Lower the bridge across the gap and release me or I will use my power to kill you,” she said succinctly.
Boswell stared at the ball, then at her face. If she wasn’t in such dire circumstances, Meg would have laughed at his shock. “You are a witch,” he said.
She gave him her best yes-and-I’m-going-to-kill-you expression. “So do what I say or I will use my magic against you.”
Boswell’s eyes narrowed. “If you were powerful enough to harm us, why wait until now?”
Gilbert seemed to shake off his surprise. “Gwyneth said ye could make some sort of glowing ball, but that it didn’t do much except possibly heal people.” He walked up to her and grabbed her wrists. Meg’s concentration and the ball evaporated. “Unless ye can heal me to death, I’m not worried.”
She swallowed the bitterness of fear and fury. If she lost herself to either emotion she’d lose her wits and she desperately needed them. “You’d be surprised what I can do,” she replied with icy calm.
Gilbert moved closer until she could smell his dank breath, but she wouldn’t back away. “I think it’s just about time for me to find out all yer luscious body can do,” he said, and grabbed a clump of her hair. He yanked her toward him, his lips bruising hers in a brutal kiss. Meg’s hands were free as he forced her head to turn with his. She reached up and impaled the sides of his face with her nails, scraping and tearing the flesh.
Gilbert reared back with a growl. “Ye little hellion!” He touched the side of his cheek that had trails of freshly beaded blood. His eyes narrowed. “So ye like it rough.” He spun Meg around to face the granite wall.
“Hurry,” Boswell said. “I want to be at your holding before nightfall. If that wolf’s still out there, you will want the light to see him.”
“There’s plenty of time to play, Boswell,” Gilbert gritted out. He smashed Meg against the wall. The chill spray of water hit her legs as Gilbert threw up her skirts. She gasped as his knee went between her legs.
Oh God, no! Meg squeezed her legs shut and concentrated on the precious life she protected inside.
Gilbert leaned in to her ear. “Now we’ll see just how tough ye—”
His sentence cut off to a yelp and a gurgle. As his hands fell away, Meg twisted and threw herself back against the rock.
…
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 here
tical 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 release 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.”
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