Not Mine to Give

by Laura Landon

  “Do na leave even one small speck of dirt in the wound, Lady Katherine,” Malcolm whispered, “or the laird will die as quickly as if we had done nothing.”

  Katherine couldn’t find her voice to say any words, so she nodded, then rinsed her cloth and carefully washed the gaping wound. Duncan moaned and moved his head from one side to the other but she did not stop, nor did she look up from what she was doing.

  While Angus mixed his potions and salves, Katherine wiped the blood from her husband’s tender flesh. “Don’t you dare die, husband,” she whispered, “or I will never forgive you. You promised you would not leave me and I would hold you to that promise.”

  Duncan moaned and opened his eyes and Katherine pulled back her hand from his wound. He tried to speak, but another wave of pain hit him. He clenched his teeth and sucked a harsh breath, then closed his eyes in blessed slumber.

  “Do na worry that you are causing pain, milady. Our laird is strong and can take it.”

  “I cannot stop the bleeding, Angus. What do I do? Her hands shook as she wiped at the blood.

  “Is the wound clean?”

  “Yes. I think so.” Katherine placed her hand against Duncan’s forehead. He was burning up. “Help him, Angus. He’s so hot.”

  “Here, milady. Malcolm will lift his head. Get as much of this down him as you can.”

  Katherine reached for the cup and put it to Duncan’s lips. She forced Duncan’s lips apart then tipped the cup. Some of the precious liquid ran down the sides of his face but she did not give up until the cup was empty and Duncan had swallowed most of the potion.

  “It’s gone, Angus.”

  “Aye. Call some men, Malcolm.” Malcolm went to the door and four huge men followed him in. “It’s best you do na watch this, milady.”

  Angus pulled a long knife from the fire and stepped to Duncan’s side. The blade glowed fire red and steam rolled from the hot metal. Katherine’s heart thudded in her chest. “Oh, Angus. Is there not another way?”

  “Nay, milady. It must be done. Stand aside until it’s over.”

  Katherine stood with her back to the bed and clutched her hands around her middle. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and wished she could close out the sounds and the smell as well. She couldn’t.

  She heard the hiss of burning flesh followed by Duncan’s roar, then his struggle to escape the pain. Muffled grunts and groans filled the room as the Ferguson clansmen worked to hold their laird still. For an eternity, Katherine felt the pain as if it were her own.

  Duncan roared a second time, then Katherine heard only the sizzling hiss and breathed the acrid smell of burning flesh before all was quiet.

  “It’s finished, milady. We’ll sew his wound now.” Angus leaned over Duncan’s side with a needle and some thread.

  Katherine went to her husband’s side and wiped the perspiration from his brow. Even though the thread was the finest and the needle the smallest Katherine had ever seen, it still seemed impossible that Angus would sew Duncan’s flesh together like some piece of coarse wool.

  “Kate.”

  “Yes, Duncan.” Katherine wiped her husband’s face with the cool cloth and cradled it in her hands. He was in such pain. “I’m here.”

  “Bolton was na there. I could na—”

  “Don’t worry, Duncan. You brought Brenna home with you.”

  “Aye. Brenna is home.”

  Katherine reached for his hand as Angus put the first stitch through his flesh. Duncan squeezed his eyes shut and moaned.

  Katherine turned back to her husband. “Do what you have to do, Angus. Our laird is losing strength.”

  “Aye, milady,” Angus answered her, putting another stitch in Duncan’s flesh, then another.

  “You will not leave me, Duncan. I will not let you.” She held his hand to her breast and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “If you leave me I will make sure no Scot ever sees the precious crown again. I will take it with me to England and wear it myself. What do you think of that?”

  She gave Duncan every reason she could think of why he could not die. By the time Angus had put the last stitch through his flesh, her arm was bruised from her wrist to her elbow where he had gripped her. She didn’t know whether Duncan had heard what she’d said, nor did she care. She would have told him the King of Scotland was waiting for him downstairs if it would have helped to save his life.

  She whispered in his ear and wiped the perspiration from his brow, and hardly noticed. Angus touched her on the shoulder and took the cloth from her hands. “We’ll make a poultice from the stonecrop now, milady. Put this on him, then wrap him with clean cloths.”

  Katherine took the mixture Angus handed her, then swallowed the lump in her throat when she looked at Duncan’s flesh.

  “It is na pretty, but his flesh is na longer gaping open. We will change this poultice twice every day and get as much of this liquid into him as we can. It will help to bring down the fever.”

  Katherine nodded, then let Angus show her how to dress Duncan’s wound. With shaky hands she lifted the cup of catnip tea to his lips and made him drink. “He will live, Angus. I know he will. He gave me his promise.”

  “Then it will be so. Our laird would never tell you false.”

  …

  It had been two days since Duncan had ridden home. At times he’d been so wild with fever it had taken Katherine and Angus and Malcolm to hold him down. Other times he was so still she feared he was no longer breathing. She forced him to drink the healing potion Angus had for him and prayed he would live.

  Katherine wiped Duncan’s face and body with water that had been kept outside all night so it was almost freezing. Nothing they did seemed to bring his fever down, and he became so violent, Katherine had to call for Angus to hold him. Duncan thought he still battled the English.

  “Have you seen Brenna yet today?” Katherine asked, stretching her aching muscles. Duncan slept peacefully, for a while, at least.

  “I looked in on her before I came.”

  “How is she?”

  “Much the same. It will take time.”

  Katherine nodded. “Bolton was not there?”

  “Nay, milady. No one was there, save the women and children and a few old men.”

  Long fingers of dread twisted her heart in her breast. “Do you know what that means? Bolton has gone to London to enlist Edward’s aid in giving him a larger army to fight the Scots.”

  “Aye. Our laird thinks the same.”

  “Do you think Bolton knows I’m here with Duncan?”

  “Aye.”

  A cold wave of fear washed over Katherine. She’d known it would come to this. Once Bolton found out she had been taken by Duncan, it would mean war between England and the Fergusons. How many innocent people would die because she had not been brave enough to follow her king’s edict? Because she had not been strong enough to walk away from her Scot.

  “Do you think he knows I’ve married Duncan?”

  “I do na know, milady.”

  “It will not be long before he gets here, Angus. A month, perhaps. Maybe only weeks.”

  “Aye. He will have to make his move soon. Scotland’s winters are too harsh to risk exposing his men for long.”

  Katherine breathed a shallow breath and held Duncan’s fist to her breast. She didn’t have much time. She would search the room again for a secret passageway that would take her outside the curtain walls. Ian told her once that all Scottish castles had hidden routes for escape. The door leading to them was almost always concealed in the laird’s chamber so he could hide his family if the keep were under attack.

  She had to get to the crown. She had to have it near her when the king or her father came. Giving England back her crown was the only way she could save Duncan’s life and stop the senseless killing of hundreds of innocent people.

  Katherine looked back down at Duncan’s bruised body. “If there was no battle, how did this happen?” She touched his flesh and caressed his face, then pray
ed again he would live.

  “It was a trap. Bolton knew we would come for Brenna, and he made it easy for us to get her out. We were na expecting them to attack when they did. It was nay until we were back on Scotland’s side that we had trouble. About one hundred of Bolton’s men ambushed us once we crossed Scotland’s border. We were alone then. All the neighboring clans had left us. Although we should have been able to handle the English with little problem, they were na after anyone but the laird.

  “They rode at Duncan from the front and surrounded him, cutting him off from the rest of his warriors. He fought brave and left many of the cursed English on the ground, but by the time we could get to him, they had done this.”

  Katherine rinsed her cloth in the icy water and lay it against his fevered flesh. Then she lifted his head and forced him to drink more of the potion Angus had made to help him.

  “Why do you na lay down for a while, lass. You have na left our laird’s side for two days. I’ll watch him while you rest.”

  “No, Angus. There will be plenty of time to sleep once his fever is gone.”

  Katherine lowered Duncan’s head to the pillow and placed the cool cloth on his chest. His head thrashed from one side to the other.

  “Damn them. Damn them all,” he moaned aloud while his hands flayed in the air, fighting the invisible enemy.

  “It’s all right, Duncan,” Katherine whispered, holding down his arms. “You’re safe now.”

  “Damn the English. Vile. Loathsome bastards, all of them.”

  “Rest easy now, Duncan,” Katherine whispered, fighting him with all her strength. Angus reached out to hold Duncan’s arms and her fight became a little easier. Duncan breathed an exhausted sigh and quieted his movements.

  “Kate. Kate.”

  “Yes, Duncan.”

  “Kate. Oh, lass. I canna love an English.”

  “I know. You do not have to.”

  Katherine held his arms until he finally collapsed into slumber.

  “He does na know what he’s saying, milady. It’s the fever talking.”

  “I know.” Katherine placed a fresh cloth against his body and bit her lower lip hard to stop the tears. “I have no more leaves to make the potion, Angus.”

  “I’ll go for some, lass. Malcolm is outside if you have need for him to help.”

  She looked down on her husband, sleeping fitfully and cupped her palm against his cheek. “I’ll be fine until you return. Take Malcolm with you, Angus. Don’t go outside alone. Bolton’s men could be waiting.”

  “I’ll be safe, lass.”

  “No. I will not chance something happening to you, too. Promise me you’ll take Malcolm with you or I will not let you go. Promise me.”

  “Aye, lass. I will take Malcolm with me.”

  Katherine nodded, then lifted Duncan’s head again to have him drink the potion that was left. The door closed behind Angus and when all was quiet, she lowered her face to her hands and wept.

  Dear God, help her. She had come to care for him. Even though she knew he would never return her love.

  She would always be English.

  She could never give him the crown.

  The first he could not live with. The second he could not live without.

  Chapter 12

  Katherine turned her head toward the door and listened for Angus and Malcolm’s footsteps. All was quiet and she prayed they would hurry. Duncan was becoming more restless by the second and it wouldn’t be long and she would not be able to hold him down herself. The fever made him wild and he thrashed his head from side to side and moaned as he pushed the covers from his body.

  Katherine pulled them back over his chest and pressed her hand to his cheek to calm him so he wouldn’t tear the stitches from his wound. Without warning, his left arm wrapped around her shoulder. He clamped his fingers around the back of her neck and pulled her down against him. His grip was painful. Katherine tried to twist out of his grasp, but he held her tighter.

  “Damn you, English,” he hissed, his eyes wide open and glazed with pain. He held her face just inches from his and tightened his grip until she thought her neck might break. “Give me the crown.”

  Katherine tried to pull away, but she could not. He was too strong and his will to fight too great. Before she could protect herself he brought back his hand and struck her. His fist slammed against her cheek and white lights flashed behind her eyes. She struggled to keep the darkness from overwhelming her.

  “You have it. You have the crown. Scotland must have it.” Duncan brought both hands up and wrapped his fingers around her neck and squeezed. “Give me the crown, English.”

  Katherine clawed at his fingers clamped around her throat, but she couldn’t break his grip.

  “I want the crown.”

  “Duncan, no.” Her strangled voice barely came out. She twisted and clawed at him but could not free herself.

  Duncan tightened his grip more, cutting off the air she needed. Hot searing pokers stabbed through her. Her chest burned while bright lights exploded in her head. She pulled at his hands again, but knew her grasp was too weak to do any good.

  Somewhere in the far distance, a mighty roar shattered through the murky haze and Duncan’s hands fell away from around her neck.

  Katherine choked and coughed and grabbed her hands to her throat. Her body doubled over in agony and the explosive pain in her head was almost more than she wanted to bear. While her chest took in huge gulps of air, her throat burned with each breath.

  “Breathe, mistress. Breathe.”

  She heard Malcolm’s voice. It was familiar, and comforting, and pleasant. It did not hold any of the resentment or disdain she had heard in Duncan’s. In his fever, his hatred had found a way to release itself.

  Her body hurt, but knowing how much he loathed her made her heart ache a thousand times more.

  “Hold on to me, milady, and breathe.”

  With one hand, Katherine grabbed a fistful of the wool of Malcolm’s shirt. With her other hand she protected her face where Duncan had hit her.

  “He did na mean it, milady. It was the fever. He would never harm you. You know that.”

  Katherine did not answer. She touched her fingers to her throat and swallowed. It was as painful on the inside as it was on the outside.

  When she could breathe easier, she pushed herself away from Malcolm and walked away. From the other side of the room, she looked at the man who was her husband. He was a stranger to her. She thought she knew him, but she didn’t. She knew nothing about him except he was a very proud Scot who wanted the Bishop’s Crown, and hated the English.

  And hated his wife.

  “Get some cord, Malcolm,” Angus issued. “We’ll tie the laird to the bed.”

  Katherine’s gaze shot to the old Scot’s face. “No.”

  “I can na trust that he will na harm you again. It’s his fever. He does na know what he’s doing.”

  “Then we’ll have someone sit in the room with me, but we will not tie him to the bed like a mad dog.”

  Angus nodded, then took the leaves he had brought to the hearth and mixed them with warm ale. He brought back the cup and Katherine lifted Duncan’s head to make him drink.

  “Kate.”

  “Yes, Duncan. I’m here. Open your mouth and drink this ale. It will help your fever.”

  He took a swallow, then another. “Kate. Do na leave me. I do na want you to leave me.”

  Katherine brought the cup to his mouth again. He was calm and sedate now. Nothing like the violent warrior who had just tried to kill her.

  “Rest now, Duncan.”

  Katherine made him drink until the cup was empty while Angus and Malcolm both stood guard. A faint rustle in the far corner of the room caused all three of them to turn.

  Brenna stood in the dark, the black look in her wide open eyes filled with hatred as she stared back at them. She must have been there the whole time. She must have seen it all.

  Malcolm took a step toward he
r to take her from the room, then stopped when she twisted out of his grasp. She glared at Katherine, the look in her eyes as murderous as any she’d ever seen.

  “’Tis a pity he did na kill you, English,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “I prayed he would.”

  …

  Katherine sat at Duncan’s bedside and watched his breathing strengthen. For three days she had not left his side for fear he would stop breathing if she wasn’t there to threaten him with the crown or remind him he’d promised not to make her a widow. As the sun went down on the fourth day his fever broke and for the first time since he’d returned from getting Brenna, he slept peacefully.

  Angus stood behind her and stared at his laird. “Let me put a fresh poultice on your neck, milady, then we will change the laird’s bandage so he’ll sleep through the night.”

  Katherine pulled the shawl she wore to cover the hideous bruises on her skin, higher around her neck. She didn’t want anyone to see what Duncan had done to her. “He’ll be all right now, will he not, Angus?”

  “Aye, milady. The fever has left him and he will recover. The laird is strong and it will take more than a sword to his middle to bring him down.”

  “That’s not true, Angus. Your laird almost died.”

  “You are right, mistress. Even I was more than a little afraid. Now, come here. I’ve mixed a poultice of sorrel and it’s ready to put on your skin.”

  Katherine put her hand on Duncan’s forehead to make sure he was still cool, then sat on the stool by the hearth and took the shawl from around her neck.

  “Have the marks gone away any, Angus?”

  “Nay, milady. The color is even worse today but the bruises do na feel so warm. Do they still pain you so?”

  “Only this one,” she said, pointing to the left side of her neck where there was an exact imprint of Duncan’s fingers. “This is the only one where the pain has not lessened.”

  “It’s the worst. I should na have left you that night. I should have known it was na safe for you to be left alone.”

  “Move, Angus. Let me see.”

  Duncan’s voice sliced through their whispers like an ax hewing a small tree. Angus turned, while Katherine grabbed the shawl and pulled it up around her neck. She fumbled to hide her bruises from him.