Not Mine to Give (8 page)

Duncan nodded, then turned his mount and rode toward the drawbridge. He kept his pace slow until his wife was at his side, giving his men time to position themselves on all sides. He didn’t expect trouble yet. It was too early for Bolton to have heard that he had stolen his betrothed, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious. The time would come when he would answer for his actions. Bolton would not let Duncan’s insult go unanswered.

The blood rushed through his veins in anticipation of meeting Bolton again. The bastard did not deserve to live.

Katherine pulled the Ferguson plaid closer around her shoulders. She stuffed her hands deeper into the folds of her gown, hoping to keep them warm. She most likely didn’t have to worry whether or not Duncan’s clan would accept her. She would probably freeze to death before they crossed the border onto Ferguson land.

At least a half dozen clansmen rode ahead of them on their way to
Lochmore castle, and that many behind. The remaining warriors flanked them on either side, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not keep from staring at them. There was an early fall chill in the air, yet not one of them wore anything warmer than the funny little skirt she’d seen on every male from the minute she’d arrived in Scotland, and a loose, flowing shirt with the Ferguson tartan draped over his left shoulder. Even her husband seemed oblivious to the chill.

He rode with a proud lift to his head, the unyielding set to his jaw emphasizing his determination. His dark hair waved back from the rugged features of his face, touching the top of his collar in a fashion slightly shorter than how most of the other Ferguson clan wore theirs. Katherine moved her gaze to the corded muscles on his bronzed forearms. He’d rolled the sleeves of his snow white, linen shirt up to nearly his elbows, the strength he displayed a vague reminder of being held in his arms. The corded muscles of his calves and thighs were even more impressive. There was not a soft spot on his entire body.

A heavy sword rested in a scabbard behind his back, and a smaller sword hung from a belt at his waist. Katherine doubted he would hesitate to use both of them to fight any stranger who dared come near them. She did not doubt he would take an enemy’s life without a second thought. The knowledge was strangely calming. Wasn’t that one of the reasons she had agreed to marry him? Because she’d been too cowardly to face Bolton on her own.

She brushed such glaring truths aside with a pang of guilt. The disappointed look she knew she would see on her father’s face when he found out she had married her Scot loomed before her.

She braved another look at her husband. So far, he had not spoken a word. They’d ridden through meadows arrayed with the purple flowers of heather in full bloom. Then, up gentle, flowing hillsides bedecked with poppies of red and white. To avoid coming too close to where any English could be hiding to ambush them, they’d stayed in the open, skirting groves of gigantic trees that seemed to reach nearly to the sky.

Katherine shifted atop her horse, stretching the places on her back where a few of the deeper scars had not yet completely healed. Her body ached from riding so long. This, too, was the fault of the overprotective Ferguson. She did not have the stamina she needed to ride so long.

She rolled her shoulders, working out the knot at the base of her neck. As she turned her head, her gaze fell on the man riding beside her. She stiffened when she realized he was watching her.

“Are you tired?”

“No,” she lied. She’d rather every limb on her body fell off than let him know she was exhausted. “I simply needed to move.”

Katherine could not keep her gaze fixed on him too long. The expressions on his face were too disturbing. Anger. Frustration. Disappointment. These were blatant. Others were more deeply concealed. As if he needed this time in the wide open spaces of the Scottish countryside to come to terms with what he’d done.

“Is the weather always so cold this early? It’s not even fall yet” she said, searching for something to say.

He raised his brows. “You think it cold?”

“Yes.”

He took the Ferguson tartan from around him and handed it to her. “I fear our Scottish winters will be
verra long for you, woman. We’ll have to sacrifice many trees just to keep you warm.”

She wrapped the tartan around her shoulders and buried her hands in the folds of the material. The thick wool was warm from his body, and when she brought the plaid to her face, she could smell him as if she had her face buried against his chest. Her body shuddered as she thought of being close to him, and she pushed the thought away as quickly as she could. “Are we almost there?” she said, needing to occupy her mind.

He answered without looking. “Nay. We will na be home until tomorrow.”

Katherine couldn’t hide her surprise, nor her unease. “Your keep is that far away from Ian and Elizabeth? But I thought you lived nearby. I thought it would not take too long to travel back and forth,”

“It is na that far. The journey can be made in half a day, easy.”

“Then why will we not arrive until tomorrow?”

“We have na traveled the shortest route. It would lead us through too many dense forests. Too many places where the English could hide. And I do na want to travel at night. Besides, you should see your new home the first time in the daylight.”

“Are you worried I’ll be disappointed?”

Duncan’s mouth turned upward in an unreadable grin. “I do na think you’ll be disappointed, woman. It’s a grand castle and my mother made it a grand home for her family.”

Katherine had another question to ask. A question with which she hoped her husband would not take offense. “Duncan, is your clan very poor?”

He shot her a hard glance. She had no trouble interpreting this look. “Are you worried you will na have enough fine clothes to wear?”

She rolled her eyes, lifting them heavenward. “No. I do not overly care for fine clothes.”

“Then why do you worry I am poor?”

She looked around her. “Some of your men are without shoes. Surely, as their laird, you’re obligated to provide each man with a pair of shoes. When we get to your castle, you must see to that immediately.”

Katherine looked over to him to emphasize her demand and the sigh of exasperation he breathed puzzled her as much as the look on his face.

“You have much to learn,
English
,” he said, and the frown on his face told her he found her quite lacking.

She stiffened, not only at what he’d said, but at what he’d
called her. She made sure by her look that he knew it. “I asked you not to call me that,” she hissed, refusing to drop her glare from the amused look in his eyes.

He lifted his brows. “Aye, you did. I meant…You have much to learn, Kate.”

She narrowed her glare. “My name is not Kate, either. No one calls me that.”

“No one in England, you mean. You are a Ferguson now. I will call you Kate.”

She closed her mouth. It would do little good to argue with him, a fact she was learning rapidly. Besides, perhaps he would forget the name if she ignored it. Or, perhaps she did not mind being called Kate when he said the word.

Her husband moved his gaze to a small glade surrounded by a dense forest of trees. “We will sleep there.”

“There? But there’s no shelter. Isn’t it too cold to sleep out of doors?”

“The men are used to it, and I will make sure you do
na feel the cold this night.”

An icy shiver twisted its way down Katherine’s spine. The violent tremor that shook her had nothing to do with the temperature.

“But surely you don’t intend—”

The scowl on his face deepened. “Enough. It was
na my preference to sleep out of doors this night, but we did not leave Kilgern as early as I had intended.”

She stiffened in surprise. “Are you saying that was my fault?”

“I was not the one who held up the wedding with such a display of stubbornness. Or spent such a long time in prayer after giving my vows.” His voice turned hollow and cold. “Were you praying, mayhaps, for a miracle to release you from your vows?”

She turned an icy glare on him and braced a fist against her waist in defiance. “Perhaps if you had given me time to accustom myself to the idea of marrying you, instead of simply demanding that I do so, I would not have taken so long. I was not the one who refused to wait even one day to marry. And I was not the one who bellowed so loudly that even the poor priest couldn’t remember half his words.”

Katherine gave him as condescending a look as she could muster. “Were you afraid,
mayhaps
, that if you would have had time to think about your vows, you would not have had the courage to say them?”

“It was
na courage I needed to say the words, wife, but courage I will need every day for the rest of my life to live with the vows I have given.”

His words hit their mark with the accuracy of an arrow fired by an expert bowman. They sliced through the tough barrier she’d erected to protect herself and struck where she was the weakest. The ache in her chest told her so. “You cannot say I didn’t warn you that marriage to me would not be as you hoped. I told you what to expect before I said the vows and you cannot demand that I change now.”

“Not all you told me can stay as you wish. The day will come when you will have to decide what you will do with the crown, Kate.”

“And when I will not give it to you, will I have served my purpose? Will I no longer be of use to you?”

“In time you will realize how important the crown is to me. And to Scotland.”

Katherine shook her head. “It will never be,” she whispered, not certain she’d spoken the words loud enough to be heard.

“I have made you my wife. For now, we will be content with that.”

She slowly lifted her gaze. “Can you be content with it?”

“I will learn to be. Even though you are English.”

She dismissed her husband with a turn of her head, concentrating on a small stream babbling in the distance.

…

It didn’t take long for them to reach the open glade beside the stream where Duncan intended to spend the night. Not nearly long enough for Katherine. She had spent the last hour mulling over the open honesty of the Ferguson’s words. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself his not-so-subtle meaning didn’t hurt, she could not. He would never forget that she was English. He would never have married her except for one reason.
She had the crown.

Katherine pulled her horse to a halt when Duncan stopped, and looked down to the ground. She didn’t want him to help her from her horse. She didn’t want him anywhere near her, but, by the saints, it was a long way to the ground.

She looked again, then slipped her foot into the strap to lower herself. She slid down the side of the horse, stretching her leg as far as she could reach, praying her toes would hit something solid soon, but they didn’t. She had no choice but to let go, and hope her wobbly legs would support her when she landed.

Just as she loosened her grip on the leather saddle, Duncan’s strong hands clamped around her waist from behind. He lowered her with a jolt, and turned her until she faced him. “Such impatience could land you in a heap on the ground, milady.”

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, my lord,” she answered, pushing at his arms around her middle. She didn’t want to be this close to him. She pushed again. Harder.

He released her. This time when her legs buckled beneath her, she had the foresight to reach out to something other than his rock solid body for support. Unfortunately, the only thing within arm’s distance was her horse. Although holding onto the mare was, in some respects, safer than being held by her Scot, the horse was not nearly as steady. The mare shied to the side as soon as Katherine leaned against her and she again felt Duncan’s arms clamp around her.

With one arm, he held her around the waist, and with his other, he lifted her chin with his finger. When he spoke, his face was so close she could feel his warm breath against her cheek. “I think if you will but ignore that stubborn side to your nature, wife, you’ll see how enjoyable it is to let me take care of you. Is that not one of the reasons you chose to marry me?”

A cold chill raced up her spine. “If I live to be one hundred years old,” she hissed through clenched teeth, “I will never need you to take care of me. And for the life of me,” she said, twisting out of his grasp, “I cannot fathom why I thought I must marry you. I must have been a true
lackwit. Would that I could go back and undo my mistake.”

His mouth turned upward in a mocking grin. “Not a
lackwit, milady. The thought of Bolton as your husband frightened you more than having a Scot share your bed. ‘Tis not a good sign, though, when you regret your decision on the same day as your wedding.”

Katherine couldn’t let him stand this close to her. The effect he had on her confused her as much as her inability to keep from marrying him.

She turned and walked away from him. Her legs wobbled unsteadily beneath her but she kept moving across the clearing until she reached the trunk of a tree she could lean against. She anchored one hand against the rough bark and lowered her head until her warm forehead rested against her forearm. By the saints, she was tired. Weary and exhausted and… alone.

“Wife.”

Every muscle in her body froze. She hadn’t heard him follow her. Katherine lifted her head and slowly turned around. He stood beside her with a small bundle.

“Here is a cloth, soap, and a brush for your hair. You can wash in the stream. Go as far as the edge of the clearing, but do
na step out of my sight.”

Katherine stared at him, unable to hide the shocked look on her face. “I will have my privacy, my lord. Your men are just on the other side of the clearing.”