Not Mine to Give (20 page)

“You will get the crown, lass. I will at least have it where I can protect it.”

Katherine hugged her hands around her arms. What was left for her to do? “Will you promise you will not take it from me?” she whispered, the lump in her throat nearly choking her.

He shook his head. “I promise I will give you the chance to give it to me first.”

Katherine walked out of the room on legs that trembled beneath her. She had two weeks.

…

Katherine moved her basket closer to the stream and knelt beside the water. Malcolm had come with her, as were Duncan’s instructions. She was not allowed outside the walls without someone at her side. Right now, though, she needed to be alone. She needed time to sort through the desperation and confusion that surrounded her. Time to figure out what she had to do.

She dipped one of Duncan’s shirts in the water and scrubbed it with soap. She pretended that each stain represented one of her worries, and rubbed as if it were possible to wash away each problem with simple soap and water.

Each morning and every evening, she got on her knees in the chapel and prayed that God would show her a way. A way to keep the vow she’d given the priest, without losing the man she’d taken as her husband. This morning she had even prayed that God would stop her from giving more of her heart to him. But she knew it was already too late.

Katherine scrubbed the shirt in her hands harder. She didn’t know how she would survive when Duncan turned his back on her.

“If you do
na scrub the laird’s shirt in a different spot, milady, your husband will walk around with a hole in his back.”

Katherine jerked her hands out of the water and looked up
at Angus standing above her. She hadn’t heard him approach. “My mind is far away and not thinking about what my hands are doing.”

“I can see this.”

Katherine rinsed the shirt clean, and reached for the next piece and soaped it. “I had planned to come to see you when I was finished. It has been a long time.”

“Aye. How is the laird feeling today?”

Katherine smiled. “Much better, Angus. He went downstairs again today. It will not be long and he’ll be out training with his men.”
And well enough to travel to get the crown. “
He walked to the practice yard yesterday. Finally, Malcolm made him come back. Didn’t you, Malcolm?” Katherine looked back at the warrior who leaned against the tree, deep in thought.

Malcolm jerked to attention as if he’d been a thousand miles away. “Aye, milady. He’s much better.”

Katherine scrubbed the last piece of clothing in the cool water. “Have you seen Brenna today, Malcolm?”

“Aye. I went to see her before we left. She is much the same.
Morgana tries to make her leave her room, but she will na. She hides in the darkness like a fey lass.”

“Duncan goes each day to see her too. Perhaps he can help.”

“Perhaps,” Malcolm said, but his tone didn’t sound so sure. Katherine thought of the small figure huddled in the corner of her room and she doubted it too.

“Is there something you can do for her, Angus?”

“I will go see her, mistress, but I think there is naught anyone can do until the lass wants to come back to us.”

Katherine rinsed the last of her clothing and twisted it dry. “I’m almost finished here,” she said, hanging each article over a low branch or a bush to dry. “I overheard Margaret say the blackberries Duncan is especially fond of are ready to be picked. She said she makes a jam he has a fondness for.”

Angus gave a hearty laugh. “I remember last year at this time, Duncan bribed Meara and Elissa and Brenna with a handsome leather belt he had fashioned. He said he would give the belt to the sister who picked him the most berries.”

Katherine placed her basket beneath the bushes until she could return to get the clothes. “Who won the belt, Angus?”

“It was Brenna, milady. She returned with almost double the berries either of her sisters had picked, but if I remember right, she had some help.”

Angus smiled a broad beaming grin and reached for a leaf from the bush. “Our Brenna has always been a comely lass with a rosy glow to her cheeks and a twinkle in her eyes. With one of her bright smiles, half the laird’s warriors jumped to help her pick berries. Is that
na right, Malcolm?”

“Aye, Angus. Our Brenna is a rare beauty.”

There was a soft hush to Malcolm’s voice and Katherine stared at the far away expression in Malcolm’s eyes. Brenna was the lass he loved. It was as plain as if it were written across his face. How much he hurt was etched there as well. He must be living an agonizing torture seeing how much she had changed.

“Would you show me where the berries are, Malcolm?” she said, leaving her clothes, and walking back toward the castle.

“Aye, milady. But they are way in the hills.” Malcolm pointed to the forest to their right. “You can na go there by yourself. I will take you tomorrow. We’ll get our laird all the berries he can eat.”

Angus looked up at the gray sky. “Be sure you dress warm, lass. The weather’s changing and there will be a blast of cold air to chill our bones by tomorrow.”

Katherine stopped and let the damp air hit her face. “I can feel it.”

“Aye. It will be colder, especially up high where you’ll find the berries.”

Katherine didn’t mind. It would give her a chance to leave the castle. Perhaps she could find a way to escape. It had been more than a week since Duncan had threatened they would go for the crown, and he was getting stronger by the day. She would soon run out of time.

They walked through the inner bailey, past the kitchen. “It was a good thing you did for our women, milady,” Malcolm said. “See, they are open again today.”

“It was not a new idea, Malcolm. It’s the way our kitchen was in England. It seemed to work there and I only borrowed the idea.”

Angus cleared his throat. “It will
na be long before our women are convinced having windows was a new idea born in Scotland.”

Katherine hid her smile.

“I think it does na hurt to steal England’s ideas,” Malcolm said with a confident air. “They would do the same, would they not?”

A grin covered Katherine’s face. “Yes, Malcolm. They would do the same.”

Katherine walked through the front door and stood in the open doorway. She stepped back into the shadows, watching her husband talk to his men; watching as he took care of the clan’s important business. He was born to be the laird of clan Ferguson. He’d been taught well. And when the English came for their crown, he would give his life to keep it from them. As his father had given his life before him.

A wave of panic washed over her. She didn’t have much time left. She had to find the tunnel that would take her beyond the castle walls, then travel to
Kilgern Castle to get the crown. Somehow she had to get the crown out of Scotland and take it back to England. Somehow she had to find the courage to leave Scotland and her Scot.

The last would be the hardest, because once she left, she could never come back to him.

He would never want her back.

…

Katherine lifted her face and watched the clouds race across the sky. Angus had been right. The air would have a biting chill to it soon. Perhaps they would even see snow.

She headed down the path toward the stream to get her laundry. Malcolm was close on her heels, but had slowed to talk to
Gregor, while she went ahead to gather her clothing. It wouldn’t take her long. Then she could go back to search again for the secret passage that was hidden in one of the rooms in the keep.

With Duncan well enough to spend more time downstairs and out-of-doors, she could now make a thorough search of their room. The secret passageway in the
MacIntyre keep had been easier to find. So far, though, she had not found the stone that, when pushed, would open a door leading beyond the wall. The Ferguson escape route was not nearly so easy to find as the MacIntyre’s.

Katherine walked toward the bushes where she’d hung her laundry, thinking of which room she would search next. Her footsteps slowed. Something wasn’t right.

Katherine stared at the branches where she knew her clothes should be. There were no shirts or gowns hanging there. There were only strips of tattered, dirty rags ground into the mud at the water’s edge.

Katherine picked the first torn piece of cloth out of the muck and held it in her trembling hands. It was material from one of her gowns. She picked up the next and examined it. More material from that same gown.

She picked up all the pieces she could find and rinsed them in the water to make sure, but every piece of shredded clothing was from her gown. None had come from Duncan’s clothing.

Whoever had done this had slashed her clothing with a knife, and had taken Duncan’s shirts with them. The realization of what that meant sent a violent shiver down her spine.

Katherine threw her shredded clothing into the basket, and threw her shawl over the top to cover it. There was no need for anyone to know. Duncan would only assign more Fergusons to guard her. She would never have a moment alone to search for the hidden passageway.

“Have you gathered your laundry?” Malcolm asked, walking up behind her.

“Yes. I’m ready to go back.”

“Here,” Malcolm said, reaching for the basket.

“No.” Katherine pulled it away. “Thank you, but I can carry it.”

There was a frown on Malcolm’s face. “Is something wrong, mistress?”

“No. Nothing is wrong.”

Katherine breathed a deep sigh and turned the conversation to th
e berries they would pick tomorrow.

When she said her prayers tonight, she would make certain to pray that she stayed alive long enough to eat some of the jam they made.

Katherine finished her petitions, then made the sign of the cross and rose from her knees before the altar. She rested her hand against the railing and looked up. The statue of Jesus with his outstretched hands usually comforted her, made her feel safer. Tonight, nothing made her feel safe. Nothing made her feel wanted.

She remembered the shredded clothing she’d found by the stream this afternoon. The warning was abundantly clear. The hatred Duncan’s people felt for her was growing.

Candles flickered on the altar, lighting the room in muted dusky shades. She ignored the painful tightening in her breast and fell back to her knees.
Dear God,
she prayed, fervently clutching her hands together in front of her,
don’t let them hate me so. Don’t let him want me only for the crown.

She had been Duncan’s wife for more than two months, and his people accepted her no more today than they had when Duncan had first brought her here. The glares she received when she came back from the stream today were no softer or more welcoming than they’d been that first day she’d ridden in at Duncan’s side. It was as if Duncan’s clan all knew she would not truly be a part of their laird’s life for long.

Katherine said a final amen, then began again her search for the secret passageway. She walked to the wall behind the altar and ran her hands along the stones. Nothing. Not a lose stone, or a lever to push, or a handle to pull. Nothing that would show her how to get beyond the castle walls.

Satisfied that there was nothing behind the altar, Katherine
went to the side wall. She’d searched the chapel before, but maybe, just maybe she’d overlooked something. Maybe tonight she’d find what she was searching for. Her heart beat faster in her breast. She didn’t have much time left. Only days before Duncan would force her to go to Kilgern to get the crown. Maybe less before whoever wanted to harm her would accomplish their goal.

Katherine fell to her knees and ran her hand along the stones at the base of the wall. Nothing. She sat back on her heels and looked up. Nothing but a smooth, stone wall. Slowly, wearily, she got to her feet and turned around. Her heart slammed against her ribs, then jumped to her throat. Duncan stood by the door, watching her.

“Are you looking for something?”

Katherine took a step backwards, stopping when her back collided with the wall. “I… I came to say my prayers.”

“Have you finished?” he asked, the look on his face unreadable.

“Yes.” Katherine focused on the stones on the floor.

“Come here.”

“It’s late, my lord. I would like to—”

“Come here.”

Katherine lifted her gaze to meet his. “I’m tired. I don’t want to argue more about the crown.”

His eyes grew darker. The little softness she prayed she would recognize in his features wasn’t there. He breathed a sigh before he spoke. “I will na speak of the crown. I would only like to talk to you.”

Katherine hesitated a moment, then walked to a bench and took a seat. He sat down beside her, so close his leg pressed
against hers.

His nearness caused a strange heat to warm her flesh, then creep to the pit of her stomach. No matter how hard she fought to keep him from affecting her, she failed. His muscled strength caused every nerve in her body to tingle in response. His dominating power made her want to turn to him for comfort. His commanding presence made her want to give herself to him for protection. Except she knew he didn’t want her. She knew it was Regan he wished to talk to like this, and hold in his arms, and take to his bed. Regan he would rather have taken as his wife.

Katherine clasped her hands in her lap and waited.

“Are you ill, Kate?”

Katherine concentrated on the stone pattern on the floor. “No. I’m not ill.”

“Then why could you
na eat your meal again tonight?”

“I wasn’t hungry. Nothing more.”

She heard him take a breath, releasing the air with a heavy sigh. She wondered what his reaction would be if she told him about the torn clothes she’d found by the stream. Would he even portray a pretense of concern? She wasn’t certain, and that bothered her more than knowing one way or the other.

“You have
na been hungry for many of the meals our cooks have prepared of late. Did you na like their food?”

“The food is fine, Duncan. It’s just me.”

“Your clothes are beginning to hang on your body, wife. I do na want to see them become any looser.”

Katherine turned her face away from him. She knew she was becoming thin in the extreme. Perhaps when he
compared her to Regan’s full, curving body, he found her less than appealing. Perhaps that was why he had yet to take her again since he had healed. Her cheeks burned like they were on fire.

“Why did you come to Scotland, Kate?”

She looked at him, unable to hide her surprise. “I came to be with Elizabeth for the birth of her first child. I was supposed to have wed Bolton, but persuaded father to postpone the wedding until after Elizabeth’s babe was born.”

“How was it our priest mistook you for your sister?”

Katherine closed her eyes and thought back to the night when the Ferguson priest had come. A cold shiver raced down her spine. “It was the middle of the night when one of the servants came to tell Elizabeth your priest was downstairs. Elizabeth was sleeping soundly. She was still recovering from the birth of the babe and I didn’t want to awaken her. When I saw how anxious the servant was, I feared the worst. I was afraid the priest had come to tell us Ian was dead. I didn’t want Elizabeth to hear the news like that, so I went in her place.”

“And the priest did not ask your identity?”

“No. He only asked if my father was the English Earl of Wentworth.”

Katherine thought back to the dried blood staining the priest’s robe and shuddered. As if he could feel the terror she’d felt that night, Duncan placed his arm around her shoulder and drew her close to him. A sudden warmth surged to every part of her body. A strange and comforting peace. Dear God, she wished he would not hold her so. She wished he would not remind her of what she would miss when he
could no longer stand to touch her.

“And then what, lass?”

He nestled her close against his side, and Katherine couldn’t keep from resting her head against his chest. Couldn’t help but breathe in his raw, masculine scent, mixed with leather, and horses, and the smell of the outdoors. Katherine breathed deeply, letting each of her senses have its fill.

“I knew it was only a matter of time until Bolton came in search of the crown. That’s what the priest warned me. I hid Elizabeth and the babe, then went back to the keep and passed myself off as the mistress of
Kilgern Castle. If any of the servants knew I wasn’t Elizabeth, they didn’t give me away. They would have gone to their graves to protect their mistress and the MacIntyre heir from Bolton. The MacIntyre Scots had come to love Elizabeth.”

He reached over and nestled her hand in his strong grasp. His thumb made slow, lazy circles atop her hand, sending warm pulses deep within her.

“You do na think your Ferguson Scots would be as loyal?”

She said nothing. She knew Duncan wouldn’t want to hear her answer.

Duncan’s thumb halted its movements atop her hand. “Why did you come to me in the dungeon?”

“I came to ask for your help. I didn’t know Bolton had you until he came from the dungeon with your medallion hanging from his neck. He was laughing because you’d become so violent when you saw him wearing it. When he threw it to the rushes on the floor, I waited until he left, then
found it. I hoped returning it would gain your help to fight Bolton.”

Duncan lifted his hand and clutched his fingers around the medallion that still hung around his neck. “I will always be grateful to you for giving this back to me. I will forever owe you for your bravery.”

“You’ve already sacrificed enough, my lord. I expect nothing more.”

He looked down at her, and Katherine lifted her head to meet his gaze. A hand tightened around her heart. All she saw was the pain he couldn’t keep from his eyes.

“Oh, lass. How did we come to this?”

“Neither of us had a choice in what we were to do, my lord. You want nothing from me except what I cannot give, and I am willing to give you anything except what you want.”

His hand lifted to her face, then he rubbed the back of his fingers against her cheek. The look in his eyes said there was nothing more for which to hope.

“What I have left to give you isn’t enough. Is it, my lord?”

He didn’t answer.

Katherine separated herself from him and rose to her feet. On legs that threatened to fold beneath her, she walked down the hallway, and into her chambers. He wouldn’t come to her again tonight. The look in his eyes told her so.

…

Katherine set her second full basket of berries on the ground and lifted her shoulders to stretch her muscles. She and Malcolm had picked berries for what seemed hours and all the baskets were finally full. “Are you ready to go home,
Malcolm?”

“Aye, milady. Do you think we’ve picked enough to satisfy our laird’s taste through the winter?”

“I’m sure our laird will be pleased with what we have.” Katherine looked at the four baskets of berries on the ground and smiled. “We’ll both remind him all winter of how pleased he must be with our labors.”

Malcolm picked up the two pouches that hung over the horses’ saddles and held the first one open while Katherine poured in her basket of berries. There were so many they would be lucky if they all fit.

“Which way is it to Kilgern Castle?” Katherine asked.

Malcolm turned to the right and pointed. “It’s over those hills, milady. It’s
na too far. You just have to follow the stream and you canna miss it.”

Katherine looked where Malcolm had pointed and began to formulate her plan. She only had to follow the stream and she would be there.

“Our laird said just this morning that he intends to take you there soon. He said you were anxious to see your sister.”

Katherine forced a smile and set the empty basket on the ground. “Yes, I’ve missed her and cannot wait to see how much the babe has grown.”

“It will na be long,” he said, picking up a second pouch. “We’d best hurry back to the keep. The wind has changed and it’s getting cooler.” Malcolm held the other pouch open for the second basket.

“Does it always turn so cold this early, Malcolm?” Katherine threw the extra shawl she’d brought with her over her shoulders while Malcolm got the second set of saddle
pouches from her horse.

“Would it distress you, mistress, if I told you the weather has been mild so far?”

“Oh, Malcolm. If this is mild, I fear I will never survive your Scottish winters.”

Malcolm laughed a hearty laugh and handed her the vessel of ale that had been hanging by a rope on her saddle. “
Here. This will help to warm you.” There was another vessel hanging on Malcolm’s saddle, and he took a deep swallow of his ale, then held the pouch while she poured the rest of the berries into it.

Katherine put the vessel to her mouth and drank. She felt the warmth from the ale travel down to the pit of her stomach and rubbed her arms to ward off a shiver. “I don’t know who sent the ale to warm us, but I will make sure to thank them when we get back. They must have known it would turn colder before we returned and that we would welcome its warmth.”

Malcolm took another swallow of his ale then held the reins to Katherine’s horse while she mounted. “Margaret or Morgana probably saw to it. They are thoughtful that way.”

Malcolm walked to his horse and put his hands on the saddle. He looked as if he was ready to pull himself up, but his knees buckled beneath him and his forehead fell forward, resting at an awkward angle against the side of his horse.

“Is something wrong, Malcolm?”

“Leave, milady. Get yourself to…Duncan. Ride…fast.”

Malcolm’s ashen face had a drawn look to it and his slurred words had an unnatural sound to them. “What is the matter, Malcolm?”

“Go… mistress. Now.”

“I will not leave you. Are you ill?” Katherine jumped from her horse and ran to his side.

“Get… Duncan.”

Malcolm’s weak voice came out as soft as a whisper. His feet gave out beneath him and he sank to the ground.

“Malcolm! Malcolm!”

Katherine’s heart pounded in her chest and she placed her hand to the warrior’s forehead, searching for a cause to his malady. His skin was not fevered but cool to the touch. When she pulled his shirt open at the neck and placed her ear to his chest, she heard the steady pounding of his heart. Even though it seemed to beat slowly, it was still the strong beat of a healthy man. It was as if he wasn’t ill at all, but had simply fallen asleep.

“Malcolm, can you hear me?” He didn’t move, but lay on the ground in a heap.

“He can na hear you, English.”

Katherine jerked her head toward the voice behind her. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief when she looked into the familiar face. She clutched her hand to her breast to calm her breathing. “Oh, thank God it’s you. Something has happened to Malcolm.”