Not Mine to Give

by Laura Landon

  “Have you told our laird you’re carrying his babe?”

  Her hand stopped midway to her mouth.

  “You can na keep it from him for long.”

  She let her spoon drop on her plate and lowered her gaze.

  “Do na stop eating, lass. You need food for the babe.”

  Katherine picked up a piece of fruit and put it to her mouth. “Do you understand why I must give back the crown, Angus?”

  “Aye, lass. I understand. And so does our laird. It’s just a painful struggle for him to come to terms with the fact that he may not be able to get the crown back for his father.”

  “I think Duncan’s father wanted England to have her crown. I think his father sent the priest to my sister because he knew it wasn’t worth as many Scottish lives as would have died to keep a crown that didn’t belong to them.”

  “Mayhaps you’re right, lass. But it will take our laird more time to believe it.”

  “No. My husband will never believe it. He’s too filled with Scottish pride.”

  Angus handed her the goblet again and she drank, then gave it back to him. “There’s no answer, Angus. I cannot do what he wants and he’ll hate me for what I must do. I cannot live with his hate.”

  “He will na hate you, lass. There will be the babe.”

  Katherine fisted her hands in her lap and held her breath. A cold rush of emptiness washed over her. “I should never have married him, Angus. I knew it that day, but I was so frightened and confused. I didn’t have the courage to follow my king’s edict and marry Bolton. I had planned to go to the convent and ask for sanctuary but…” Katherine took a deep breath. “I should have gone.” She looked up at her friend and held his gaze. “Angus?”

  “Aye, milady.”

  “Promise me you will not tell Duncan I’m carrying his child. Not yet. Not until the crown is no longer between us.”

  “He will have to know. I will na keep it from him for long.”

  “In time, he will know.”

  Angus fisted his hands at his side and squared his shoulders. He furrowed his brow until his thick, bushy eyebrows almost met above his questioning stare. “What are you planning, milady?”

  Katherine could not hold his gaze. “I have only one choice, Angus. I’ve searched for another but there is none.”

  “You can na take the Ferguson heir away from our laird. I will na allow it.” Angus’ harsh voice contained a vivid warning.

  Katherine shook her head. “I would never take Duncan’s child away from him. He will have his heir.”

  “And will he have his wife?”

  Katherine could not stop the one tear that fell to her lap. “He will have what he wants.”

  “I can na let you do this, milady.”

  “You can stop it no more than I, Angus.” Another tear fell beside the first. “Do you think because of me he will hate the babe?”

  “Nay, milady. He will na hate the babe.”

  “Angus, will you promise me your laird’s child will always be cared for?”

  “You will be here to care for the babe.”

  Katherine closed her eyes. “If something were to happen and I could not be here, will you swear to me that you’ll make sure he is always cared for?”

  “I will help you care for the child. That is what I will promise.”

  To Katherine that was good enough. She would ask no more of Angus.

  “Finish your drink, milady, and I’ll leave the platter beside your bed. Close your eyes and rest. For the babe.”

  Katherine put the goblet to her lips and drank another swallow, then put it on the bedside table next to the crown. She slid down between the covers and closed her eyes and wished her Scot was here with her, holding her in his arms. She wanted just once more to feel him next to her. The memory would have to last a lifetime.

  …

  Duncan looked at the empty bed where his wife should be sleeping and his heart leaped to his throat. He took two hurried steps inside and scanned the room in search of her. So help him, if she had…

  He took note of her slender body leaning in the shadows near the window overlooking the courtyard and breathed a sigh of relief. Filtered moonlight streamed through the opening, illuminating her graceful features, and casting an ethereal glow to her pale cheeks. She pulled a cover closer around her shoulders and the thick mass of golden hair hanging to her waist shimmered in the faint light. His body stiffened in response. By the saints, he wanted to rake his fingers through the soft strands, then…

  Duncan steeled his shoulders and stared at her, cursing himself for being so weak, cursing himself for climbing the stairs to check on her. He’d sworn he would not come back to her again tonight, but all he could think of while he sat with Malcolm and the other warriors was his English wife.

  Hell, he hadn’t even been able to drink enough to erase her from his mind. And it was not for want of trying. Instead of the ale dulling his senses, the brew only heightened his emotions. His first thought was how desperate she must have been to leave him. His second was the terror that had consumed him when he realized she was gone.

  He walked over to her and stood so close he could smell the clean scent of rose soap. He should have stayed downstairs. It had been a mistake to come up here.

  He would just stand beside her. There was nothing more to be said. He would only stand here and feel her near him. But he would not touch her.

  A glimmer of silvery moonlight reflected on her hair and he reached out to touch the heavy golden softness. The long tresses sifted through his fingers. He bunched his fist and buried his face in the silky strands. She didn’t move. She didn’t stiffen or turn away from his touch. He wished to God she had. Then he would have stopped. But she stood still and lifted her chin, exposing her long graceful neck to him. Her eyes closed as if she wanted him to touch her, and his traitorous arm moved with a will of its own.

  Duncan lay his hand against her and could feel the warmth from her flesh. When his fingers curved around her throat, the heat of a roaring fire rushed through his body. Until today he had not believed she’d meant to keep the two promises she’d given him on their wedding day. Until today he had not believed that her vow to give the crown to her father had been more important than her vow of submission to him. Until today he had not believed that she didn’t love him enough to give him the crown.

  Duncan cupped her face in his palm and stroked her lips with his thumb. Her lips parted and she turned her face to kiss the inside of his hand. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to the soft flesh beneath her ear. He kissed her once, then again, and the cover she held around her shoulders fell to the floor.

  They had lived together as husband and wife for months, but not once had he felt such need to possess her. Not once had it seemed so important to show her he wanted her. Maybe she didn’t know.

  God help him. Maybe she didn’t care.

  Duncan wrapped his arm around her middle and pulled her close to him. The fit of her body next to him was perfect. With one hand, he caressed her face while his mouth kissed the tender flesh of her throat. His other hand moved up from her waist until it found the gentle rise of her breast.

  He heard a sharp intake of her breath when his hand cupped its fullness and her hands curled to tiny fists at her sides. His thumb found the hard nubbin through the soft material of her nightdress, and he rubbed until she moaned and pushed back against him.

  How could she have thought to leave him? How could she have thought to ask Ian for sanctuary?

  Two colored ribbons laced her gown around the neck and he reached for them and pulled. The material loosened and fell from her shoulders to pool around her feet. He grasped her by the arms and turned her to face him. By the saints, she was beautiful.

  Duncan lifted his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor, then locked his gaze with hers, trying to read the haunted expression in her eyes. The worry was lost to him. Her breasts raised with each labored breath she took. When he’d ca
st away all his clothes, he lifted her in his arms and placed her on the bed.

  How could she not understand how important it was to restore his father’s reputation? How could she not understand how important it was for him to uphold the Ferguson name? How could she not be a Scot after all they had shared?

  Duncan stretched above her, then lowered himself until his body covered her. He propped himself on his elbows and nestled closer, then looked into her eyes. The open need and desperation he saw swallowed him like a crashing wave and he feared he was drowning. Never had he told her he cared for her. Never had he spoken of love. He brought his mouth down on hers and touched her lips in a brief meeting.

  Oh, please, his heart cried out. Let her be a Scot.

  He pressed his lips against hers again and drank from her softness. The words she’d spoken the day of their wedding came back to haunt him and he shoved them to the back of his mind to bury them forever.

  His passion burned with a fire he could not control and when she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, a thousand shards of lightning struck in the pit of his stomach and seared his resolve. He had to have her. He had to make her his. He had to stop her from doing the one thing that would destroy them.

  Duncan kissed her deeply and when she opened her mouth to meet his demands, he invaded her warmth and conquered her weakness until she surrendered. He could not let her erect the barrier that would separate them forever.

  If she had not lost her heart to him, as she’d promised on her wedding day, he would win it from her. If she did not plan to give him the crown, as she’d promised on her wedding day, he would take it from her.

  Duncan lifted his mouth and looked into her eyes. The raw, unbridled passion he saw fired a new wave of emotions that burned in his veins. In one swift thrust he entered her. She was his. Again and again he took her, desperate to have her; frantic in his need to control her. He drove into her with unrelenting thrusts until he found a release for his fears. With a mighty roar, he spilled his seed and shuddered in her arms.

  He collapsed atop her with his face buried against her neck. His chest heaved as he fought to find enough air to breathe, and his back burned from the nail marks his wife had left. He had made her his. Forever and for all time, there would be no doubt he had been the victor. He did not doubt it — until he looked into her eyes.

  Her fingers trembled as she traced a line along his shoulders and down his arms. It seemed like a caress, yet the hurt in her eyes took the tenderness from her touch. Her hand cupped his face then moved over his brows, along his jaw line, and across his cheek bone, yet the disappointment on her face removed any affection from the contact.

  Duncan rolled to the side to move away from her, but the tight grip of her arms around his neck stopped him. He lowered his head back against the soft hollow spot in her neck and shut his eyes to block out what had just happened. “I am sorry, wife. I am so sorry.”

  She combed her fingers through his hair and touched his face with her hands. “Hold me, husband. Just hold me close until morning and do not let me go.”

  Duncan pulled her against him until there was not a whisper of breath to separate them. She nestled her head on his chest and he lifted a cover over them to keep them warm when the heat in the fireplace died. To keep them close until the heat of their passion died.

  …

  Dear God, it was not what she wanted to remember. There had been so much anger and frustration and regret in their act. His movements had been wild and frantic and desperate, as if he needed to fight something that could be conquered with only brute strength. As if he needed to master someone who refused to submit.

  Katherine lay with her arms around him and her legs entwined in his. Her Scot. She had given up all to be with him. All save her soul.

  In the end, it would be her only consolation.

  Chapter 19

  “Duncan! Duncan, wake up!”

  Katherine only heard the one loud thud that bounced their chamber door against the stones, and when she opened her eyes, Malcolm was already at their bedside. Duncan pulled her closer to him then pulled a cover over her to hide her nakedness.

  “We have company. A lone rider bearing the English king’s banner.”

  The bed turned cold when Duncan left her. Katherine pulled the covers under her chin while her husband dressed with the speed of a practiced warrior.

  “Is it Bolton?”

  “Nay. It is na Bolton.”

  The breath caught in her throat. “Father.”

  Both men looked at her and Duncan reached for the sword he’d left on the table and the long knife he’d placed beside their bed. He put them both in their sheaths at his side. “He brought na warriors?”

  “Nay. He is alone.”

  “Ready my horse and wait for me at the steps.”

  Malcolm turned and left the room. Duncan followed him to the door then turned to face her. “You have run out of time, wife.”

  Katherine stared at the crown, then looked at Duncan’s beseeching gaze. A glimpse of her shattered future flashed before her. He stood across the chamber and waited for her to give him her decision. Not one muscle on his body moved.

  Time and all around her stopped. His breathing halted as he glared at her. If she could have opened the door to his heart, she knew she would have heard his whispered entreaty, pleading with her to give him the crown.

  It was impossible to hold his gaze any longer. This was the temptation to which she could not surrender. The priest had predicted it that night, thinking he was warning Elizabeth about Ian’s demand for the crown. This was what he had made her swear to on penalty of her soul.

  “The crown is not mine to give.”

  The words fragmented in the air around them. His chest filled with a mighty rush that expanded his shoulders to a breathtaking width. Hands capable of snapping a man’s neck fisted at his side, and the fire in his eyes blazed with agonizing intensity. The hurt and disappointment she saw on his face was no more devastating than if she would have slain him with his own sword.

  “You have made your decision, wife.” His tone was hard. Deadly. “You must now live with what you have decided.”

  She watched him walk away from her and clutched her hand to the place where his babe rested. Even time would not ease the pain growing inside her.

  …

  Duncan sat on his horse high atop the hill with Ian on one side and Malcolm on the other and watched Kate’s father draw near them. The English would get their crown. Kate had chosen. He knew now she didn’t love him or Scotland enough to yield.

  He struggled with the hurt in his chest and considered again taking the crown from her by force. It was a thought he had entertained often. But he knew he could not do it. He’d given his word and he could not break it. Just as she…

  No. That was different.

  He wanted to fall on his knees and roar to the hills. He wanted to lash out at something — someone — and swing his broad sword until he could no longer lift his arm to attack. He wanted to use power and brute strength to change what he couldn’t live with. But physical might would not make right what was wrong. His pain at losing the crown was as great as when he’d ridden through the gates of Lochmore to find his family slain. His English wife had hurt him that much.

  He’d never thought it would come to this. He’d been sure in time she would come to love him enough she would give him the crown. He had failed.

  Duncan watched until the Englishman was almost upon them. Scores of Ferguson warriors flanked Kate’s father on either side. He held his shoulders erect as if it was common to be surrounded by an enemy guard of this size and might. As if he was not concerned in the least to be in the middle of this many Scots.

  The English earl brought his horse close enough for Duncan to see the piercing determination in his eyes, then he stopped.

  He was broad of shoulder with graying hair that gave his distinguished carriage an intelligent bearing. His rigid posture a
nd the confident look on his face negated any weakness Duncan may have imagined he would have. That and the fact that he had ridden onto Ferguson land alone and unarmed.

  Kate’s father first looked at Ian and raised a questioning brow. “MacIntyre? I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Good day, milord. Your daughter Elizabeth heard you might come and did not want to miss this opportunity to see you.”

  Next, the earl looked at Duncan. His gaze lingered before he spoke. “Lord Ferguson?”

  Duncan felt that in the few seconds the earl studied him, everything about him was revealed. “Good day, milord. You have come without an escort?”

  “You would not have ridden to England alone?”

  The corners of Duncan’s mouth raised slightly. “Nay. Not unless it was my sincere wish to see my Maker on that day.”

  Kate’s father concentrated his gaze. “I have no desire to see my Maker today, laird. I only wish to see my daughter. I’m told she is with you.”

  Duncan nodded. Without a word, he turned his mount and headed back to the keep. He fought to keep his frustration and disappointment at bay. He tried to come to terms with what Kate would do when she saw her father.

  He tried to convince himself his father’s honor would not be betrayed if he lost the crown.

  He tried to imagine a life for the two of them after she gave the crown to her father.

  He could imagine none of it.

  Duncan crossed the inner courtyard and dismounted. The Earl of Wentworth did the same, and together they climbed the stairs and entered the keep.

  The great hall was empty and Duncan and Ian and Kate’s father sat in chairs at the high table. Malcolm and some of the other warriors took their places at the long trestle tables, and when huge wooden trenchers of bread and cheese and goblets of ale arrived, they ate their morning repast in silence.

  “William Bolton has been to see Edward. He’s asked the king to grant him an army to fight you, Laird Ferguson.” Kate’s father spread honey on a warm slice of bread and lifted it to his mouth. He said his words as casually as talk of the weather.

  “I thought as much,” Duncan answered, taking another helping of roasted pig. “I crossed the border not long after your earl had murdered my mother and father, but he was na there. I assumed he had run to his English king to cry at his feet.”