Not Mine to Give

by Laura Landon

  She reluctantly removed the black, red, and gold tartan Duncan had given her from across her shoulders and laid it on the ground beside the water.

  The colors of clan Ferguson.

  She stared at the plaid. These were her colors now. She had taken them freely and willingly. She rubbed her hands against her eyes. If only she had been brave enough to walk away from her Scot. Then she would not be wondering how she would get the crown out of Scotland, and to her father in England.

  Katherine unwrapped the bundle and took out the cloth and soap with which to wash, and dipped them in the stream. The freezing water made her fingers tingle and burn, but she hardly noticed. She had other more pressing problems to face. Including her first night alone with her husband.

  She looked over her shoulder. Even though Duncan was busy helping his men prepare camp, she knew he watched her every move. He issued orders, gave commands, and moved among his men with the ease and dignity of a respected laird. It was obvious that those he led held him in high regard.

  Katherine focused her gaze on the Fergusons building fires and preparing for the night. How many of them would not come back from their battle when Bolton came to get her? How many of them would die to protect her, only because she had not had the courage to follow her king’s edict and marry Bolton?

  A weight of guilt pummeled the hollow pit of her stomach. She absently washed her face and the back of her neck, then scrubbed as much of her exposed flesh as she could modestly reach. But she felt no cleaner. No matter which Ferguson’s face flashed before her, she knew their sacrifice would be greater than her own.

  She finished bathing, then took a dry cloth and rubbed her skin. She raked fingers numb from the cold through her hair before weaving it into the thick plait she wore each night. Perhaps even her Scot would sacrifice his life for her. She clamped her teeth against her bottom lip to stop its trembling. His death would leave her alone to fight not only Bolton, but the Fergusons who would blame her for their laird’s death.

  Such a thought was mind numbing. She bolted to her feet and swiftly moved toward the shelter of a thick grove of trees. She needed to be alone. She needed to be away from her husband’s watchful glare, from the cold stares of his men.

  …

  Duncan appointed six men to take the first watch, then collected some bread, cheese, and ale for his wife’s evening meal. He took extra blankets, knowing how chilled she was already, and enough wood to build a warm fire in the narrow cave where they would spend the night. He looked again at her small form kneeling by the stream and a heated warmth rushed through him.

  By the saints, she was beautiful. But what drew him to her even more than her fair features and sharp wit and keen intelligence, was her willful nature. The fiery depths of her deep azure eyes when her stubborn English pride bristled. The rigid set of her upturned nose and the lift of her proud chin when she readied herself to battle him. The tight line of her full lips when she showed her anger to him. These were all the things he’d come to admire in her. Ian had no cause to fear. She would do well among his Scots.

  Duncan breathed a sigh of satisfaction. She would do well as his wife, too. If he could teach her a modicum of obedience. If she would learn to exhibit even a small degree of acquiescence.

  He walked to the cave in the rocks and set all but the wood on the ground beside the entrance. He cast a glance in her direction. You would think she would understand why he didn’t want her to leave his sight. You would think she would appreciate that he did not want to chance that something might happen to her. Instead, she’d pounced on him as if he’d demanded the impossible.

  He cast another glance to where she still knelt beside the stream, raking her fingers through her hair. The sun just setting below the earth bathed her long, golden tresses in a myriad of fiery shades, more exquisite than anything he’d ever seen. When she tossed her hair over her shoulder and let it hang down her back, its length nearly touched the ground where she knelt.

  He felt his body grow heavy with desire. Bloody hell. With an impatient sigh, he ducked into the dark cave to start his fire, sure that his English bride would be chilled when she came back.

  It didn’t take him but a little time to light the fire and arrange the thick branches he’d left outside the cave entrance to be used for their bed. Duncan placed a warm wool blanket atop the soft pine branches and smiled at his handiwork. He stepped out of the cave, anticipating the pleased look on her face when she saw what he’d done.

  He looked up. The place where she’d been beside the stream was vacant. She was gone.

  Duncan turned his gaze, first to the water’s edge near the wall of rocks, then to the dense forest on the other side. His heart skipped a beat. If she’d gone far into the trees, she might be lost. Bolton’s men may have been in hiding, and taken her.

  Duncan’s long, purposeful strides covered the ground leading to the stream. The first wave of fear fired through his body. He successfully released it in the form of anger.

  By the saints. He’d told her to stay where he could see her. She’d deliberately disobeyed him. She’d intentionally done what she pleased.

  Duncan stopped where she’d been. His tartan lay in the grass beside the stream, along with the cloth and soap. She’d be more than chilled by now. He knew without a doubt that she’d defied his order to stay in the open to prove her independence. His anger — and fear — hitched upward another notch.

  He cast a concerned look at the setting sun. The light would not last much longer. Not long enough to search for her if she’d gone too deep into the forest. He picked up the plaid from the ground and quickened his pace.

  “Kate,” he yelled, hearing his voice echo back to him. “Kate!”

  He walked deeper through the trees, following the stream. Surely she would not have strayed from the water. He called her name again, and heard no answer. When he thought his best course may be to go back for his men to help in the search, he saw her.

  A strange emotion raged through him, whether anger or relief he did not stop to evaluate. He preferred not to know. He walked over to her, debating whether he wanted to hold her, or shake her. He muttered a curse, and clamped his hands behind his back to keep from doing either.

  …

  Katherine sat huddled beneath a huge pine tree, her legs tucked close to her chest, her cheek resting on her knees. She’d often escaped to a similar place near her home in England when she needed to think, when she longed for someplace quiet and peaceful, where the problems before her didn’t seem quite so monumental. Where the beauty around her didn’t make her feel so alone.

  She tightened her arms around her knees and squeezed her eyes shut. She was married to the Scot not even half a day and already she’d shown him the defiant side to her nature. Already, she’d given him reason to regret taking her as his wife.

  Her father had told her over and over that she was too strong willed and rebellious. He’d tried to break her of her curse, but no matter what he’d done, it had not helped. Her independent nature ruled her actions at every turn. No doubt, her husband would try to cure such willful disobedience too.

  She shuddered at the thought, at what means her husband would use to teach her submission. She knew, however, that she would soon find out.

  She didn’t know exactly how long he’d stood beside her, his towering shadow a consuming blanket of darkness, but it must have been more than just a little while.

  She knew, without looking, that he was furious with her. She could feel his anger. He stood with his legs braced far apart, with his hands clasped behind his back, and his shoulders stretched to an unbelievable width. She tilted her gaze upward, looking at the stern expression on his face, confirming the anger she’d only felt — until now.

  He impaled her with an icy glare. “Did you na hear me ask you to stay in the open, wife?”

  The hard, unyielding tone to his voice sent a shiver of warning down her spine. “Yes, but I needed my privacy, my lord.” She lifted
her chin in defiance. “And your command did not come out as a request.”

  “You would have followed it if I had requested you to do so?”

  She shook her head. “I could not. I told you so.”

  His hands fisted at his side. “You are sorely testing me, woman,” he said through clenched teeth. “I am na used to having my orders disobeyed.”

  “I know.” Katherine sat straight and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I’ve never been good at following orders. My father would be the first to tell you so.”

  She heard the hiss of his breath. For some reason, she felt the need to defend herself. “I needed to be by myself,” she announced, hoping her chattering teeth hadn’t affected the impact of her words. She rubbed her arms again to warm her flesh.

  He didn’t answer. He only lifted his eyes heavenward as if the patience he needed to understand her was hidden somewhere in the clouds. “Here,” he said, handing her the Ferguson tartan she’d left beside the stream. “Put this around you before you freeze to death and I have only a frozen corpse to take home with me. In time, you will come to enjoy our cool, crisp evenings.”

  She put the warm woolen rectangle around her shoulders. “Your evenings are not cool, my lord. They’re freezing.” She tried hard to keep her teeth from chattering.

  “You have na seen freezing yet, Kate.”

  “I cannot wait,” she muttered beneath her breath.

  She ignored his whispered oath and pulled the soft wool fabric closer.

  “Have you had enough privacy, milady, or do you wish to shiver on the cold ground a while longer?”

  She looked up at him, his arm already extended as if giving her no choice but to come with him. She hesitated, then reached for his hand, letting him help her to her feet.

  “I’ve prepared a pleasant spot with a warm fire and our food already waiting,” he said as he led her back through the trees to the place near the stream where the rocks spiked far above them.

  Katherine walked at his side, huddling into the soft wool in an effort to ward off the chill. It was truly a beautiful place. Trees towered on one side, a stream bubbled past them on the other, and a wall of stone created a fortress on a third. There was no way Bolton, or any intruders, could encroach without being heard or seen. It was no wonder he had chosen it.

  They walked along the wall of rocks, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back, sending heated pulses from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She loved the feel of him against her, had from the first time she’d gone to him in the dungeon.

  Suddenly, they came to a small opening in the rocks and he urged her ahead of him. Before she could stop her forward movement, he ushered her through the entrance, into a small, narrow room in a dark cave, where they were to spend the night.

  Even though a warm, inviting fire blazed before them, there was not enough light for her to see, nor enough room for her to breathe. If the cave had been ten times wider, there still would not have been enough room for her to breathe. From little on, she had not been able to abide such small spaces.

  She gasped for air, her chest heaving as it struggled to get the air it needed. Out. She needed to escape the small confines of the cave.

  She pushed at the hands that held her, clawing until he freed her, then rushed out of the opening and fell to her knees with relief. Her body, which had been so cold only minutes before, now burned with fire. She wiped at the perspiration on her forehead, then wrapped her arms around her middle and rocked back and forth to ease her trembling.

  “What is it, Kate?”

  She heard him ask the question, but couldn’t make her mouth form the words to answer. How could she explain such a weakness? Saints preserve her. She had prayed he would never find out.

  Now he would not want her for sure.

  “What’s wrong, wife?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I can see it’s nothing.”

  He stood before her with his arms crossed over his chest as if he needed to hold them down so they would not strike out at something. She saw his stance out of the corner of her eye and breathed a shuddering sigh. She felt weak, lacking. She knew he saw her the same. “Must you stare at me like that, my lord?”

  “Like how?”

  “Like you’re ready to slay some unseen enemy.”

  He dropped his hands to his side and stepped in front of her. “What is it you fear, Kate?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  She lowered her face to her hands. How could she explain it to him? He would think her such a fool. “I only wish to sleep out of doors tonight.”

  “But it would be warmer—”

  “I cannot go back in there.” She wrapped her arms closer around her middle.

  “Verra well. I will move the blankets and the fire out here under a tree. We will find shelter beneath the stars.”

  Katherine watched as he moved everything from the cave to the open. He laid the wool blanket atop the branches for their bed and started a new fire, then placed the food he’d wrapped in a cloth nearby. Finally, she had calmed enough to help.

  She opened the cloth and laid out the cheese and bread, then poured ale into the only cup that was there.

  “Are you aright now?”

  She lowered her head.

  He silently knelt beside her and waited while she cut a slab of the dark cheese with the dagger that hung from the belt at her side. Their gazes met when she handed him the cheese and a hunk of bread, but he brooked no further questions. They ate in silence, making a meal of what he’d brought, and sharing ale from the same cup.

  When they finished, Katherine packed the leftover food and wrapped it in the cloth, and Duncan placed more wood on the fire.

  “We will sleep now,” he said, placing his scabbard on the ground beside where he intended to sleep. “It’s been a long day.”

  Katherine looked at the bed of thick branches and the blanket he’d spread out on the ground. A lump caught in her throat. This was to be her marriage bed.

  “Duncan, I—”

  “Go to sleep, wife. Tomorrow will be a long day for us both.”

  He walked toward his men, leaving her in the flickering shadows of the glowing fire. She watched his retreating back, following him until he was just an outline.

  Her chest tightened painfully. He didn’t want her.

  She knelt beside the bed of branches and said her prayers. When she finished she crossed herself, then lay down.

  By the saints, she was cold. Cold, and alone, and — lonely.

  With a violent shudder, she curled into a tight ball atop her bed and pulled the woolen blankets under her chin. She stared ahead, watching as her Scot sat on a fallen log beside a blazing fire, talking with Angus and two other men she didn’t recognize. With a snap of his powerful fingers, he broke off small bits of a thin branch and threw them, piece by piece, into the fire. There was an unmistakable meaning to his actions. Every snap of the twig an echo of what she saw clearly.

  He would not come to her tonight.

  Chapter 6

  Duncan folded the blanket from what was to have been their marriage bed the night before while Katherine washed in the stream. He wasn’t proud of the relief he felt when his wife had been unable to spend their wedding night in the cave and they were forced to sleep out of doors. How could he take the lass’s virginity with his men sleeping so nearby? Except, that wasn’t the only reason he hadn’t made her his wife.

  Duncan tossed the last of their belongings into a pile and kicked at the dirt around the fire. God’s blood, he hadn’t sealed their union because—

  He swallowed past the bile rising in his throat. He hadn’t been able to seal their union because she was English.

  A hard knot fisted in his gut. His father’s tall, powerful image flashed before him — strong of character, noble from birth, proud of his Scottish heritage. Would his father have understood his reasons for taking an English as his bride?

  Surely the
answer was yes. Surely his father would have done the same.

  He threw more dirt onto the smoldering logs, trying to forget the way his bride had refused to look him in the eyes when she’d awakened. Trying to stamp down the anger that simmered just below the surface. Wondering whether she was hurt because he’d been unable to sleep at her side last night. Or relieved.

  He looked up as she came toward him. By the saints, she was a sight. She’d bound her hair in a netting of glimmering silver. He remembered how the golden tresses had cascaded to her waist last night in the moonlight. The silver trim on her white gown shimmered in the sunlight, and he couldn’t stop his body from reacting to her.

  He’d taken her as his bride to protect her from Bolton. Because she’d returned his medallion. And because she had the crown. He owed her. And he wanted what she had.

  “How long will it take us to get to your home?” she asked, standing before him, that familiar look of regal confidence in her bearing. He doubted she knew the meaning of the word submission.

  “We’ll reach our home soon. I’ve sent someone ahead so they will know we’re coming.”

  They walked to where his men waited, and one of his young cousins, Conan by name, came forward to take their bundles. Duncan noticed that Conan’s disapproving gaze lingered a mite longer than he deemed necessary. It bothered him that the look on his cousin’s face was not friendly, but he told himself it was to be expected. Once they got used to her, they would not see her only as English.

  Angus came forward with their horses, his steel gray eyes as focused and serious as always. “All is ready, Duncan. We should be home ere they set the midday meal on the trestle.”

  “It will na be soon enough, friend. It seems I’ve been away from my home a lifetime, and yet, I can na stay long this time either. We’ll make our plans to go after Brenna in two weeks’ time, whether the Kerrs have returned from Dumfries or nay.”