Captured Heart Read Free

boulder raised over his head to strike him. Good God! Meg raised her bow, the arrow nocked.
    “ Stad! Stop!” she yelled. “Watch out!” Panic surged through her.
    The Scotsman turned at the same time she fired. The arrow hit its mark in the flesh of the English soldier’s upper arm. The force threw the Englishman backward, the boulder tumbling out of his grasp. The granite grazed the edge of the Scottish warrior’s head, and he dropped to the ground.
    Meg’s hand flew to cover her mouth. The Englishman grabbed his arm where her arrow stuck out and took a step toward her.
    “Hanover!” another Englishman yelled from the other side of the field. The injured man glared at her as he held his bleeding shoulder but retreated back across the meadow.
    Meg touched the fallen warrior’s chest, searching him for injury. The warrior would have an ache in his head from the mild swelling she sensed and a new scar, but he would live.
    Thank you, Lord . Since when had she decided to side with the Scottish? Perhaps it was because of the valiant stories she’d heard growing up or because she was headed to her Aunt Rachel in Scotland, away from an English father. Or perhaps it was the strong jawline and wavy brown hair of the Scottish warrior.
    Foolish! She sprinted back through the woods, desperate to get out of there before he awoke. She jerked to a stop. Ugh! She still had to retrieve Pippen! She huffed and continued her jog. Later. It was too dangerous right now with the English out there and the Scotsman waking soon. She dove into the cave and tripped over Nickum.
    She groaned softly. “I’ve endured a beating.” She crawled to the back of the cave, threw her cloak around her shoulders, and lowered herself onto the ground.
    As her body began to calm, the weight of exhaustion pulled at her worn muscles. She would just rest awhile. And pray. She pulled the leather bag of medicines and her mother’s last effects toward her without letting go of Nickum, then pushed her hand inside and sifted through the small clay jars, past the healing journal and grasped onto cold hard iron. Meg pulled her mother’s key out and hugged it against her heart. Somehow the familiar weight of it grounded her.
    What am I going to do? Warriors out there. Boswell following me. I’m practically lost. With no mount . Meg ran her fingers through Nickum’s fur and held tight to the heavy key. She would rest, rest, and pray until she knew the men outside had left. Then she’d figure something out. She would survive, just like Uncle Harold had taught her. “Dear God, guide us to safety,” she whispered. “Guide us to safety and to the truth.”

Chapter Two
    9 June 1517—Figwort: shrub that grows as tall as a Scotsman, oval leaves, and small reddish-brown flowers during summer.Decoction to treat swellings, sprains, redness, putrid wounds, diseased parts, sores, and flesh rot. Crush fresh leaves into an ointment, with the cridhe of a stone.
    Caden Macbain, chief of Clan Macbain, punched his way through the muck of darkness that strapped him down. The brittle lightning that arced through his head reassured him that he was indeed alive. As he opened his eyes, Ewan Brody’s grim face split into a grin. Caden’s friend and second in command grabbed his hand. Ewan’s strength could carry Caden’s large frame, but Caden shook him off. He’d stand on his own. Caden swore beneath his breath and touched the side of his head. His own blood stuck to his fingers.
    “Bloody hell.”
    “Good to see you rise, Caden.” Ewan studied him with an irritating grin. “I’d hate to have to tell your sister that an Englishman killed you with a pebble.”
    Caden frowned and pinched the pain that had settled between his eyes at the top of his nose. “’Twas a bit more than a pebble.” He surveyed the meadow. “The battle is finished?”
    “Aye, you slept through the last of it.” Ewan pushed the small boulder with his boot. “You’re lucky the English have