Not Mine to Give

by Laura Landon

  Even though there were men guarding the borders leading onto Ferguson land, it didn’t guarantee Bolton and the English would not get past them. If Bolton found Kate, there was no way Malcolm could see to her safety.

  He should not have let them go. He should have gone with them. He should have…

  Alister burst through the entrance. His flushed cheeks and the worried look on his face sent warning signals racing through Duncan’s chest. “My laird. The mistress’s horse has come back to the stable alone.”

  Duncan shoved his chair backward and moved toward the entrance. The loud crash when the chair hit the floor focused every warrior’s attention on him.

  “Saddle your horses and bring torches.”

  The Ferguson men jumped from their places around the tables and headed to the exit.

  Duncan fought the roaring in his head as he ran from the room and across the bailey to the stable. He’d known something was wrong. She should have been back long ago. Malcolm would never have kept her out this long unless he’d been unable to bring her back.

  Painful slashes of guilt ate away at him. He should have kept Kate here to protect her. Just as he should have been here to protect his father and mother and sisters.

  When would he learn? When would he know what to do to protect what was his? When would he be able to keep the people for whom he cared most safe? He was their laird. A laird should know. His father had.

  Duncan raced through the double doors that led to the stable. His horse was already saddled and waiting for him. He mounted and galloped toward the drawbridge, forcing his warriors to hurry.

  She had to be all right. If Bolton had taken her, he’d ride after the bastard this very minute and bring his head back on a spike.

  “If we follow the mare’s prints in the snow they should lead us to the mistress.” It was Alister who spoke, and Duncan glanced down at the lone set of prints that led to the castle.

  “Did Malcolm’s horse come in too?”

  “Nay, milord. Only the mistress’s.”

  Duncan didn’t say anything, but glanced down again at the prints as he urged his horse forward. “Bring more torches, Angus. We’re losing the daylight.”

  Angus rode closer with four more warriors. The light from their torches lit the path a little brighter. They traveled far into the hills, past the place where the women usually went to gather berries, then farther.

  “Over here!”

  It was Gregor that hollered from far to their right and when Duncan turned he saw what had caused him to stop. Malcolm’s horse stood near a thicket, the reins caught in the nettles of a thorn bush, his mouth chomping on grass he’d uncovered beneath the snow.

  “He must have wandered off,” Duncan said. “Spread out. Malcolm may not be far away.”

  The men separated and rode forward. It didn’t take long for someone to spot Malcolm’s snow-covered body lying on the ground.

  Duncan’s heart jumped to his throat. “Is he alive?” he asked as Angus leaned over Malcolm’s still form.

  “Aye. He is alive.”

  Angus lifted the plaid from over Malcolm and threw it to the ground beside the warrior. Duncan picked it up and held it to his chest. It was the plaid Kate had been wearing.

  “I can na find any marks on him, Duncan. Not even a lump on his head. It’s as if he just went to sleep.”

  Duncan held the Ferguson plaid tighter and fought the waves of panic that threatened to consume him. “Gregor. Take what men you need to carry Malcolm back to the keep. The rest will come with me.”

  “Aye, milord,” Gregor answered. He kept some men to put the huge warrior on his horse.

  Angus gave Gregor instructions as he mounted his horse to follow Duncan. “Have Morgana give him liquids. Do na let her stop feeding him until I return. When he wakes, do na let him sleep again.”

  “Aye, Angus.”

  Angus held his torch high in the air to light the way in the snow. “Is the plaid the Lady Katherine’s?”

  Duncan nodded. It was the best he could do. The thought of Kate lying cold and frozen in the snow wrenched at his heart. “She does na like our winters, Angus.”

  “The mistress is strong and hearty, Duncan. If she’s lost, she’ll find a cave in the rocks to stay until we come for her.”

  “But she will not enter it.” Duncan wanted to drop to his knees and roar to the heavens until the rocks and mountains felt his pain. He braced his shoulders and stared at the prints in the snow, then pushed his horse faster. “We have to find her. She will na go into a cave. She will na go in.”

  Duncan and Angus rode on with Duncan’s warriors beside them, holding their torches high.

  “If Bolton has taken her…” Angus growled, the remainder of his thought unspoken.

  “It’s not Bolton, Angus. Bolton would na have left Malcolm lying on the ground still alive. I fear it’s one of our own who has done this. Someone who hates Kate and does na want to see her as my wife.”

  “We should have kept a closer watch, Duncan.”

  “I know. I should have known when we found her in the chapel she was na safe, but I could na believe one of our own would want to harm her.”

  “Who do you think would do such a thing?” Angus asked, but Duncan knew the old man already had a name ready.

  “I do na know for sure, Angus, but I will na rest until I find out.”

  Duncan gripped the reins tighter and held the shawl in his arms. He pushed his horse forward with greater speed.

  “Here, milord!” Balfour cried the discovery. “Here!”

  Duncan rode to the spot where Balfour had stopped his horse and jumped down to look at the rope hanging from the tree. The snow was packed to the ground where she had stood and his stomach turned when he saw the drops of blood in the powdery flakes. She’d been tied like an animal and left to freeze to death. The rage he felt equaled that of finding the English had murdered his family. Only this time his rage was directed at one of his own. At a Scot.

  He followed her faint prints in the snow, running, his movements so frantic he almost tripped over her crumpled body. She was lying on her side, her cheek resting on her folded hands with her knees tucked up close to her chest. Her golden hair fanned out around her face, giving the red cast to her cheeks an even brighter glow.

  She looked like an angel lying in the snow. A lifeless angel.

  A mighty roar came from deep within him and he fell to his knees to lift her body into his arms. He brushed the snow from her face, and her skin, and her clothes, then pulled the plaid he’d taken from Malcolm over her. Someone handed him a another plaid, and another, and he wrapped each of them around her to make her warm, then stood and held her close to him.

  “Let me see her, Duncan.” Angus put his weathered hand to her face and felt her skin then found her hands beneath all the covers and rubbed them harshly. She moved her head and moaned a soft sigh, but he didn’t stop rubbing. “She’s still alive.” Angus tucked the covers tighter around her. “Keep her covered until we get her home.”

  Angus held Kate long enough for Duncan to mount his horse, then Duncan took her and wrapped as many covers around her as he had. He placed a kiss on her forehead and held her close to him as his horse made his way back to the keep.

  Duncan looked down at the small woman in his arms and kissed her fiery red cheeks. He’d come to care for her, and he could not stand the thought of losing her now.

  This revelation should have surprised him, but it did not. She was his and had become important to him. He’d known it would happen when he took her as his bride. When she’d faced Bolton with him in the dungeon and placed the medallion in his hand.

  Then, she’d called him her Scot and captured him with her kiss.

  …

  Duncan watched Kate as she slept beneath layers of Ferguson tartans. He waited to speak until the door had closed on the last of the women who had come to bring fresh water and clean clothes for their mistress.

  “Who do you think
did this, Angus?”

  A bright fire burned in the hearth and the many lit candles around the bedside gave the room a muted glow.

  She looked like an angel sleeping beneath the covers, just as she had when they’d found her. He remembered how soft and delicate she’d looked lying in the snow. And how lifeless.

  She slept softly in the bed now, her wet clothes discarded and the cuts on her arm and at her side tended. She had not opened her eyes yet, and Duncan feared she was hurt worse than they knew, but Angus held his hand to her face and assured him she would wake up in time.

  “I can na believe one of our own would want to harm her, Angus. They all gave their oath of fealty and swore to protect her.”

  “Not all, Duncan.”

  Duncan gripped the tall bedpost. “No. Even Regan would na do this.” He didn’t want to believe that Regan’s emotions had taken such a twisted turn, but he knew jealousy was a powerful motive for love as well as hatred.

  “We will know as soon as the mistress wakes. She knows who tied her to the tree and left her to die. If it was Regan, she can tell us.” Angus went to the small table beside the bed and poured the heated water the women had just brought into a cup to make some fresh tea.

  “Do na use that water, Angus.”

  Angus turned around to face his laird, the look of incredulity on his face.

  “Use only food and water that you bring into the room yourself, friend. We can na trust anyone right now.”

  “You think someone might try to poison her?”

  “Kate was supposed to die and she did not. The killer knows as soon as she awakens she’ll give us a name. Our killer must make sure she never opens her eyes.” Duncan took some of the potion mixed with water he’d pulled from the well himself and held it to her lips. She swallowed once then turned her head. “We must keep our guard. Our killer does na have much time and she knows it.

  “She? You do na think it’s one of our warriors, but one of the women?”

  “Aye. A warrior would have killed Kate outright. He would nay have staked her out to die. It’s one of our women.”

  “Then I fear it’s Regan.” Angus said.

  Duncan had to agree, even though he didn’t want to.

  He did not want to think what he would have to do if it were.

  …

  Duncan stood in the corner of the room near the bed where Kate lay, hiding behind the tall screen where no one could see him, and waited. Angus had made a big commotion when he left, announcing to all within hearing that he would not be back until morning. That the mistress was sleeping peacefully and the laird had gone to an empty chamber to rest until his wife awoke. He gave instructions that the lady Katherine was not to be disturbed until morning.

  Duncan leaned against the stone wall, listening to Kate’s shallow breathing. He feared their plan to snare whoever had tried to kill Kate might go for naught, but just as the first rays of sunlight colored the dark sky with a faint pink glow, the door to Katherine’s room opened a slit and a small, familiar figure stepped into the room.

  She walked to the bed and watched Katherine sleep for what seemed an eternity, then raised her hand above her head. Duncan did not wait to see the candlelight reflect off the metal in her hand before he pushed away the screen and catapulted toward her. He knocked the small woman to the floor, grabbed the knife in her hand and threw it across the room.

  The door flew open and Angus and Gregor and Balfour rushed into the room and lifted the would-be killer to her feet.

  “You should na have stopped me, milord. I would have gladly rid you of your English wife.”

  Duncan’s heart twisted in his chest. “Oh, Morgana. You have done this?”

  Morgana and her mother and her mother before her had served the Ferguson mistresses with unswerving loyalty. He couldn’t believe she would try to kill Kate. “Why? Why would you try to kill your mistress?”

  “She is nay my mistress. She is English.”

  The look on Morgana’s face was filled with such open hostility it took Duncan’s breath away.

  “I know you did na want to marry her,” she cried out, “but only did so for the crown. If she were dead, you would be free to marry a Scot. I was only serving you as my mother did before me.”

  “That is na true, Morgana. I married her because I wanted her. I want the Lady Katherine to rule my heart and my keep.”

  “Nay! Your mother is waiting to come back to run Lochmore again, but she can na return as long as Lady Katherine is here. I promised I would get rid of your English wife so she could come back.”

  “Nay, Morgana. Lady Beatrice is dead. She died with my father, your laird.”

  The incredulous look on Morgana’s face told of her confusion. “They are na dead, milord. And neither is my Hugh or my brother Ambrose or your sisters Meara and Elissa. They are only waiting for me to rid their keep of your English wife.”

  Duncan held Morgana to him and lifted his watery gaze to the ceiling. She was so young. Barely older than Kate, and already she had lost a husband she had loved dearly, and her father, brothers, and everyone close to her. She had lost them to the English. Maybe in her mind she had to kill Kate to make up for so many deaths.

  Morgana looked up at him and Duncan saw the worshipful adoration in her eyes. “You should have seen the look on the English lady’s face when she saw that I had come to kill her.” The laughter that came from Morgana’s mouth was harsh and unnatural. “She thought I had come to help her. From the day you brought her here, she thought I had accepted her. She thought the Fergusons could come to care for her. Now she knows that’s impossible.”

  Morgana turned in Duncan’s arms and stared at Katherine’s still body lying on the bed. “Now she knows we do na want her here. She knows there is only hatred hidden behind our smiles.”

  Icy fingers wrapped around Duncan’s heart and twisted. When Angus took Morgana from his arms, Duncan let her go.

  “Come, lass,” Angus said. “I will give you something to make you sleep. You need to rest.”

  “Aye, Angus. I am very tired.” Morgana laid her head on Angus’ shoulder and let the old man lead her from the room. “Have I done well?”

  “There is na more you can do, Morgana. Na more.”

  The door closed behind Angus and Gregor, and Duncan turned to his wife, still sleeping on the bed. She had not moved since they’d come back. It was as if she’d willed herself to stay away.

  Duncan sat down beside her and lifted her head, then held the cup to her mouth. Katherine took a small swallow of the liquid then turned her head to his chest. He felt the first slight movement and looked down on her just as her eyes fluttered halfway open.

  “You came after me.”

  “Aye, lass. I came.”

  “She was wrong. She said you would not.”

  “Aye, lass. She was wrong.”

  …

  Katherine opened her eyes, then closed them again. She did not want to be awake. She wanted to sleep forever, and when she had slept enough here on earth, she wanted God to take her to heaven. But she was awake now, and judging from the furnishings around her she had not gone to heaven.

  She was still in Scotland.

  She moved her head to the side and looked at Duncan sleeping at her bedside. She remembered him holding her in his arms and forcing her to drink Angus’s potions.

  The brilliant rays of the sun streamed through the crosslet slits on either side of the bed and through a larger window that overlooked the inner bailey. Light cast the room in a bright glow. She was tired, but at least she was warm. She’d been so cold and so scared. She’d been sure she was going to die. Sure that Morgana would succeed in killing her.

  Morgana. The first person she’d met when Duncan had brought her to his home. Morgana, with the friendly smile on her face and honest acceptance in her gaze — and bitter hatred in her heart.

  If Regan had stuck a blade into her side and left her to die, it would not have surprised her. She knew the ha
tred Regan had for her. Regan had not hidden or disguised it. Morgana’s hatred had come without warning.

  And if Morgana harbored such deep hatred, how many more of Duncan’s Fergusons felt the same?

  “Will you stay awake this time, Kate?”

  Katherine turned her head and looked at her husband. No wonder Regan loved him. He was everything a woman could want. He was strong, and kind, and caring, and proud. So very noble and proud. And deserving of a Scottish wife.

  “How long have I slept?”

  “Two whole days and into the third. The great hall is filled with people waiting to hear how you are. They are even waiting outside in the bailey until they know.”

  Katherine turned away from him. Lies. The people of clan Ferguson had probably gathered in the great hall and the bailey to hear if Morgana’s attempt had been successful, so they could celebrate around the grave of their English mistress.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Katherine shook her head. “How is Malcolm?”

  “Your cloak kept him warm. He’s fine. He would like to see you when you awaken to thank you. He said you saved his life.”

  “Tell him he is welcome, but I do not care to see him.”

  “Kate, I—”

  “I’m tired now, Duncan. I would like to sleep.” Katherine closed her eyes and turned away from him.

  “No, Kate.”

  The harsh tone of his voice forced her to open her eyes and face him. She’d heard that tone before, and knew he would grant no quarter.

  “You will na turn from me, Kate. We will talk about what is wrong.”

  Katherine stared into the flames of the hearth. The room was warm. On the outside she would heal. On the inside she would never stop hurting. She would never be able to look at one of Duncan’s clansmen and not wonder if their smiles were as false as Morgana’s and if secretly they too wished she had died.

  “Angus said when you opened your eyes, you were to stay awake. He said you were to drink every drop of ale with the potion in it, and that you were to eat the food Margaret had prepared for you.”