Captured Heart (30 page)

Gilbert picked up a single leaf of parchment, loose from the others. He broke the wax seal and scanned the script.

Boswell plucked it from his fingers and read it himself. “Seems that whore hoped you’d find these,” he said and threw the letter at Meg’s face.

She grabbed it.

“She always thought of herself as more clever. Her quiet disapproval even when she pretended to be obedient.” He laughed with barely concealed insanity. He fingered through the letters. “Thought she’d stop me from proving my greatness.”

Meg leaned back against the wall out of Boswell and Gilbert’s way. She unfolded the parchment but the torchlight was too far away for her to read what it said. She ran her finger over the brittle paper.

“I love you, Mama,” she whispered just above a breath. As she spoke, the tip of her finger began to glow, just enough to light the words. Where was the magic coming from? Not from her.

Meg swallowed hard as the room turned even colder and in contrast the sweet smell of honeysuckle surrounded her. She breathed in the lush scent and read the delicate slanted script.

My Sweet Meg,

May God keep you from harm. I send these letters into hiding with my true husband, your father, Colin Macleod. The letters hold proof of Rowland Boswell’s treachery against King Henry and his chosen bride, the Catholic Queen Catherine, in his plans to assassinate his heir, the Princess Mary, and the king himself. Use these letters, your father’s support, and any weapons that you have to survive Boswell’s wickedness.

Remember that I love you, Meg.

Isabelle Macleod

The pain in Meg’s chest forced her to release her breath. Her finger traced her mother’s words as the blue light faded away.
Any weapons that you have
. The chilled air blew about the chamber and flickered the torchlight.

Gilbert eyed her from the other side of the cavern. He grinned, his lips shining wet in the fire glow. “Do ye even need Meg now that ye have the letters?”

Boswell glanced at her. “She still must be baptized by fire.”

“Och, but not before I have a bit of fun,” Gilbert drawled. “Maybe even before we leave this cozy little cave. Ye could even have a go of her, seeing as she isn’t yer daughter.”

Meg swallowed against the bile in her throat. Blessedly, Boswell didn’t seem interested in her as he pored over his old words.

“No wonder the plan didn’t work. None of my letters got through,” Boswell murmured. He held the parchment toward the flame. “Although King Henry has turned into an easy man to manipulate. Luckily, he will never know.” At the first lick of fire against the paper, the honeysuckle wind whipped about the room, bending the flame backward, away from the brittle sheet.

The coldness froze the air around them. Meg wrapped the cloak tightly around herself. “Mama,” she whispered into the breeze.

“Damn wind,” Boswell said and shoved the parchment onto the end of the torch.

Gilbert strode over to him. “Bloody hell, don’t put it out!”

Too late. The flame snuffed out, crashing down the wave of darkness.

Move… Run…
The words sang by Meg’s ears on the wind. She leapt up, her legs full of energy.

“Get her!” Boswell yelled.

“Where is she?” Gilbert’s voice filled the void as Meg skirted to the right around the edge of the cavern. She pulled her gown tight in one hand and with a push off the wall with her foot, she ran toward the spot where the tunnel had been. The wind nudged her from behind, slightly to the left, and she followed, never doubting that it led to freedom.

“Catch her!” Boswell ordered.

Meg ran through the opening into the tunnel. She stumbled into the wall at the first sharp turn, her heart hammering up her throat with each frantic breath. Cursing and stumbling sounds followed. Did she dare? Would they see? Perhaps if she kept the light low and focused toward the ground.

Meg lit a small ball of blue and held it before her stomach in an attempt to hide it. She could see the narrow tunnel and ran forward as the wind surged around her like a wave. She sprinted down the tunnel, afraid to glance behind, afraid to make the light bigger. The curses and shuffling sounds grew fainter. Perhaps she was outrunning them. The thought opened up her chest, allowing for more air.

She wasn’t sure how long they had walked in but running out, with death or worse snapping at her heels, made the tunnel seem like an endless path. Her feet pounded against the damp rock and moss until the cramp in her stomach made her stop for breath. She leaned against the rock wall, allowing her little ball of light to go out. Darkness weighed in on her, making her chest tighten with a need for sky and fresh air. She closed her eyes and imagined the open sky above, and slowly, her breathing normalized.

Once the thudding in her head quieted, the thudding on the rock bed behind her grew. Like a monster out of the dark frightening children into staying in their beds at night, the sound solidified into the thunder of footfalls.

Meg shrank back against the wall and crouched. Better than outrunning them, let them pass. Her eyes stared out at the darkness as if she might see the monster coming. Her ears focused on the thuds, just one pair. Gilbert? Boswell probably scurried behind like a rat along the wall.

Along the wall! Which wall would Gilbert follow with his hand so he could maneuver through the dark? Meg stood. Should she move to the center of the tunnel and hope he followed close to the wall? Her ears trained on the sound as it increased. The tunnel wasn’t wide enough. If she stood in the middle, he’d hit her. Which wall would he follow?

His dominant hand would make sense. The rapid sound echoed. He was almost upon her. Right side. He’d be following the right side. Her heart leapt at the sound pounding toward her. In a silent leap born on hope, she threw herself through the black width against the left wall, and crouched.

“Damn dark. Bloody damned witch. Used her black magic to blow the light away.” Gilbert’s curses panted out on each hard exhale as he thudded past. She winced as the edge of his short coat brushed her head, but he didn’t stop. She held her breath for long seconds before she dared to exhale. Now what? One had passed and the other crept stealthily behind somewhere. She stilled her breathing and listened to the darkness. No wind, no movement, just her own heartbeat and shallow breaths.

She stood noiselessly and leaned into the jagged wall. She didn’t dare illuminate the passage and she didn’t dare stumble along making tripping noises. The darkness began to close in on her again and Meg squeezed her eyes shut. Her mind drifted to the blue sky and to Caden.

Please be alive
, she pleaded with such intensity that stars sparked behind her eyelids.
Find me!
Meg’s hand moved to her belly.
Find us!
She yelled in her head so loudly that she thought she heard a sound.

Her eyes snapped open, the blinding dark mocking her. A voice. She shrank in on herself again, pulling her skirts close, crouching down. Boswell’s voice.

“Do you think you can hide from me?” The words came faint from back down the tunnel’s throat, like bile rising up from a dank belly. As the voice grew in volume, Meg could distinguish more and more of his calm, precise words, words without exhale. He was walking toward her, slowly searching the corridor. “I will not miss you, Meg.” He kicked a loose pebble with his step. She couldn’t hear his footfalls, not like Gilbert. His words stopped as if he listened.

“You may not know this but I have an uncanny sense of smell,” he continued. “Your mother smelled of flowers. A shame she had to die. She had the loveliest breasts.” His laughter crept along Meg’s spine, pushing her slowly away from the wall. She grazed the solid rock with her fingertips as she walked, gingerly, picking her feet up high and setting them down without sound. If she continued to walk ahead of him, perhaps he wouldn’t find her.

“And I know what you smell like. You smell of that Highlander. However, right now you stink of…fear.” He paused to listen.

Meg halted her step until he began to speak again.

“I’m right behind you, Meg,” he said, his voice louder.

Her heart raced until she thought she might faint. Would his long cold fingers suddenly touch her hair, wrap around her neck? She held her skirts and walked on, concentrating on even breaths.

“You are making me angry, girl, with this hiding. I know you are out there,” he said, his voice quieter now. “If you make me too angry, Meg, I will lose my patience and kill you here, in this black hole where no one will find you. Perhaps I will just throw you down that perilous drop. You can land on that broken Scot at the bottom. Of course, Gilbert will insist on fucking you first.” He laughed. “I’ve thought of you so long as my daughter that the thought of raping you myself turns my stomach.”

Although he had the stomach to throw her into a black hole to her death.

Meg listened to his words fade and grow as she walked. She tried to block their meaning. Twice she plugged her ears with her fingers, but pulled them back out. Hearing was the only sense that told her his distance.

“I’m closing in on you now,” his words came with a puff of exertion. He inhaled dramatically. “I think I just caught a whiff of your terror.”

Her eyes widened. He’d started to walk faster. She kept her feet high as she walked but increased her pace.

“There really is no place for you to go. Gilbert will be waiting for you at the mouth of the cave or I will find you along this tunnel. Either way, I will have you.”

Panic skittered between her shoulder blades, down to her wildly beating heart. Run…she had to run! The thought of his hands grabbing her from behind in the dark was overwhelming. Meg couldn’t pull in a full breath of air. Her mind tumbled and the corridor seemed to close in. She had to take control, if not of the situation, then at least of herself.

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.