Not Mine to Give

by Laura Landon

  “Your men are ready. Soon we’ll have our Brenna back with us.” With that, Angus turned to Katherine. “Is your back causing you pain?”

  “No, Angus. You are the perfect healer. I could not have asked for better.”

  The old Scot smoothed a hand over his bushy white beard, a deepening blush darkening his ruddy complexion. The smile on Kate’s face could have competed with that of an angel, so consuming was its effect, and Duncan saw a softening to the old man’s crusty nature he’d never seen before.

  “Take care, lass,” Angus said, pointing a crooked finger in her direction. “You can na be too careful,” he said, mounting his horse.

  “Thank you, Angus. I will remember.”

  Duncan watched the man who’d been like a second father to him ride away. He couldn’t remember ever seeing such a softness in the aging warrior’s character before. “You seem to have found a soft side to Angus’ nature,” Duncan said, fastening the last of their blankets behind the saddle. “He’s usually not so amiable.”

  “As compared to what, my lord? The rest of the Fergusons I’ve met?”

  “You don’t feel safe among my men?”

  Katherine smiled a cynical grin. “Safety is not my concern, my lord. I’ve learned that your weather is not all that contains a chill.”

  “It will take them time, Kate. They do na know you, yet.”

  “They know enough. They know I’m English.”

  …

  Katherine rode at the Ferguson’s side as they neared Lochmore castle. Her new home.

  She held her back straight, refusing to let thoughts of facing Duncan’s people for the first time intimidate her. She took in huge breaths of the clean Scottish air, pretending it smelled of England. She looked at the trees, and the glens, and the hillsides of heather, and convinced herself it did not look so different from home. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the countryside; the birds in the sky, the wind rustling through the leaves, and told herself it was the same breeze that would soon reach her home in England.

  For a long time, they rode in silence, up one rolling hill, then another. Through meadows and glades, and across bubbling streams rushing noisily past them, then up a hill even steeper than the ones before. Without warning, Duncan stopped, his eyes riveted on a spot straight ahead. Katherine followed his gaze and stared in awe at the imposing fortress that sat high atop a ridge far in the distance.

  Unlike many of the castles she’d seen on her way from England, Lochmore was made of stone rather than wood. It was also bigger than most, daunting in size and design. Its formidable towers and walls seemed impregnable. It was Duncan’s home.

  Her home.

  Two round towers built along the curtain wall with two three-story towers on either side of the gate boasted both dominance and strength. It was also the first castle she’d seen with a barbican to defend its entrance.

  A small group of Ferguson warriors rode from the lowered drawbridge down the steep hill toward them. They were but small figures in the distance, yet Katherine could tell they were all big men. Especially the man in front.

  She lifted her chin high. She would not cower before the Scots.

  “Your warriors are coming to escort you safely home, my lord.” She was glad her voice sounded calm. That was far from how she felt.

  “My warriors have been keeping us safe for hours already.”

  Katherine looked around but saw nothing but trees and craggy hills and rolling meadows. “I do not see them.”

  “Nay, you can na. They do na wish to be seen.”

  Katherine looked around again then turned her attention to her husband. The breath caught in her throat. His steady gaze remained riveted on her, his dark look unreadable. Was he watching to study her reaction to his home? Or did the hooded expression on his face conceal a more soul-searching dilemma? “Regrets, husband? Has your rash decision to take an English wife finally come to haunt you?”

  He stiffened, and Katherine tried not to let the darkened look in his eyes affect her. It did though. It made his shadowed glare a little more foreboding.

  She kept her voice low, her tone casual, so none of the men beside them could hear her words. “Perhaps you can steal me into your castle under the cloak of darkness. I am sure there’s a secret chamber where you can hide me where no Ferguson will ever see me. I wouldn’t want to be a constant reminder to you or them that their laird sacrificed his honor or the Ferguson name to take an English bride.”

  His ebony eyes darkened even more, and Katherine thought perhaps she’d spoken out loud his secret thoughts.

  “A sharp tongue does na do you credit, Kate. I’ve seen your bright wit and keen intelligence often, but never have you stooped to play the shrew.”

  She turned her face away from him and closed her eyes. He was right. She was no good at shrewish behavior.

  Her uneasiness wrapped around her like a cloak. It was just that she felt so… alone.

  Duncan didn’t want her, but wanted the crown. Bolton didn’t want her, but wanted the crown and her father’s strong ties to the King of England. Duncan’s people didn’t want her, but wanted a Scottish lass for their laird’s mistress.

  Katherine tightened her fists around the reins and twisted until her horse skittered nervously beneath her. She would always be a reminder of the atrocities Bolton and his warriors had committed. In time, all would know she had been Bolton’s betrothed, and that Duncan had taken her as his wife to feed his revenge against his enemy.

  She would not let the Scots defeat her. She was English, and not even Duncan and his clan of Scottish Fergusons could make her forget it. She would stand tall before his people and force them to look hard for a reason to hate her. A reason other than that she was English.

  She loosened her clenched hands and watched the group of warriors climb the rise to come near them. “Your men have raised the portcullis and lowered the drawbridge to welcome their laird. It’s obvious they’re glad to have you back.”

  “Aye. I’ve been gone a long time. It’s good to be home.”

  He pushed his horse forward, and Katherine looked down a small slope, then up the second sharp incline to the crest of a high hill where the fortress stood. It seemed… unwelcoming.

  She slapped the reins against her horse’s flanks and followed behind him. Scores of men stepped out from behind the trees and joined them on the hillside. By the time they reached the crest of the first small hill, there were several hundred Ferguson clansmen surrounding them. The presence of this large an army of Scots riding to greet their laird made the goose flesh rise on her arms.

  Duncan reined his horse to a stop and waited for the small group of riders from Lochmore Castle to reach them. A Scot almost as big as her husband, but with hair a lighter shade of brown, and eyes a paler hue, stopped alongside Duncan. The warrior’s features were sharp, his nose as angular as Duncan’s, his forehead as high and dominant, his face equally as handsome, but in a different sort of way. That is where the similarities ended.

  The cut of his cheekbones was not nearly as sharp, the slant of his jaw not nearly so rigid, and his features not nearly as rugged and defined. But there was still a distinct likeness to the undeniable strength that set Duncan apart as the laird of clan Ferguson, and that likeness made Katherine take note of his presence.

  The Scot grasped his laird’s forearm in greeting. He raised his sword high in the air and a thunderous roar erupted from the warriors surrounding them.

  “Malcolm, this is my wife, Katherine. Kate, this is Malcolm, my friend and right hand in all things.”

  Katherine raised her shoulders and held her head high, refusing to bend before Malcolm’s narrowing gaze.

  The Scot put his hand over his heart and bowed his head. “Lady Katherine. Know always that I will guard and protect you with my very life. Just as I swore fealty to my laird when we returned to find his father slain, so do I now swear it to you, his wife and my mistress.”

  Katherine nodd
ed in acceptance, then curved her lips to a slight smile. Every Ferguson clansman watched with great interest. Not a sound could be heard. Malcolm bowed his head in servitude, but did not return the smile. The gesture did not go unnoticed.

  Katherine ignored the warmth that infused her cheeks and nodded in understanding. The line had been drawn.

  Duncan was the first to move. He turned to Malcolm. “Ian said that you had done well in my absence to repair the damage done by the English. Is the castle secured and the cottages ready for winter?”

  “With the aid of the men the MacIntyre laird left behind, we’ve repaired the outer bailey wall and the damage done to the front wall of the keep. All the cottages save four are habitable and even those should be ready by week’s end.”

  “What of the lives lost?”

  “There were twenty-eight in all, counting Kenneth’s wee lass of two summers who was trampled by the English bastard’s horse.”

  Katherine turned her head and tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. A child. A mother had lost her babe.

  She focused on Duncan, expecting to see the black glare of revenge staring back at her. But he kept his eyes on Malcolm as if he’d forgotten she was there.

  “What of food for winter and the weapons we’ll need to go after Bolton?”

  “We will pray that we do na have a harsh winter for food will na be plentiful this year, but we will have enough to survive. Bolton was in such a hurry to go after the crown that his men did na spend too much time plundering our supplies. They were more interested in searching for what was na here.”

  Katherine’s stomach lurched and she noticed Duncan’s hands tighten on the edge of his saddle until his knuckles turned white.

  “What of our weapons?”

  “Orin has worked day and night since Bolton left to make and repair what our men will need when we leave. He told me just today that if we rode out tomorrow not one of our warriors would lack a weapon to defend himself.”

  Katherine looked at the expression on her husband’s face. It was hard, unyielding. An expression that was familiar to her.

  Twice she braved a look at the strange faces around her. If any felt contempt for their laird’s new wife, they hid it well. If any felt a warmth for her, they disguised that equally as well.

  “Kate?”

  Katherine jerked her attention back to Duncan with a start. “Yes, my lord?”

  “Are you ready?”

  Her mouth was dry. “Yes.”

  “I will show you your home.”

  She rode on Duncan’s left while Malcolm rode on his right. Angus gave her a nod of confidence, then took his place behind them. Katherine kept her back stiff and her eyes fixed straight ahead as they climbed the steep rise to Lochmore castle. She twisted the reins around her fingers until her hands hurt.

  The drumming of the two hundred or more Ferguson men and horses that thundered atop the wooden planks of the drawbridge did not deaden the pounding of her heart in her ears. She did not look at the crowd as they crossed the outer bailey. There were so many of them, and they stared at her as if, because she was English, she was the cause of their heartache.

  They continued through the hundreds of Fergusons that crowded the inner bailey. When they reached the steps of the keep, Duncan dismounted, then lifted her from her horse. Katherine clamped her hands around his forearm and held onto him for a moment before she dropped her hands and stepped away. She could not rely on him to be the buffer between his people and his English wife. In this, as in everything that had happened to her since she’d come to Scotland, she was alone.

  Four hundred Ferguson men, women, and children had come to see their laird’s English bride. She would show them she did not fear them. Katherine lifted her shoulders and faced them.

  She held her head high and stared at the hostile faces before her. Each man, woman, and child wore an expression ranging from critical, to disapproving, to cold indifference.

  She was English. She knew she should expect nothing less.

  Duncan lifted his hand in the air and the Fergusons greeted their laird with a mighty roar. When the din quieted, he reached for her hand and held it up for all to see.

  Another great roar echoed throughout the castle courtyard, and Katherine took a step closer to her husband. When the sound died, Duncan braced his feet and addressed his people in a loud voice that bespoke authority.

  “I present to you my wife. She is na longer English, but is from this day on a Ferguson.”

  A loud roar went up and Katherine felt Duncan’s hand reach for hers and entwine his fingers.

  “Know you all that the Lady Katherine has found a place with me and her name will be written in the book beside mine for all time. From this day on, the Lady Katherine Ferguson will be the mistress of Lochmore castle.”

  Every soldier drew his sword and raised it high in the air, then another resounding roar filled the courtyard and echoed off the curtain wall.

  Katherine bowed her head and bent her knees low. Another cheer sounded. They didn’t know. Just as Duncan had used her to get the crown, she had used him to escape marriage to Bolton, and now every Ferguson was in danger of losing his life.

  When the roar of the crowd quieted, Duncan placed his arm around Katherine’s shoulder and led her into the keep. Katherine stopped and stared in amazement at her new home.

  The gigantic rooms were even larger than those at Kilgern castle. Katherine breathed a sigh of relief. Duncan was right. She would never fear the dark here, nor would she fear the walls closing in on her.

  The great hall of Lochmore castle was built in a circle with three huge fireplaces set into the walls. Katherine smiled. Neither would she be cold. A balcony with many doors exiting into the stone lined the second level. Katherine assumed these each led to the chapel and the laird’s private chambers. She wanted nothing more than to find solitude behind one of them, but instead, walked sedately at her husband’s side.

  “We have waited the midday meal for you, milord. The table is prepared.”

  Katherine turned around to face the gentle voice that had just spoken.

  “Thank you, Morgana.” Duncan smiled warmly at the woman nearing them. “Kate, this is Morgana. She has served the mistress at Lochmore castle as did her mother and her grandmother before her. She was my mother’s handmaiden, and she will be yours. All you want or need, you will get from Morgana.”

  Morgana could not be much older than Katherine. She smiled at the pretty blush that covered the maid’s cheeks. When Morgana bowed her head and bent her knees before her new mistress, Katherine held out her hand and touched the handmaiden’s shoulder. “I am pleased to have you at my side, Morgana.”

  Morgana graced her with a smile. Not a huge, open grin, but a small, sincere lift of her lips. A warm rush surged through Katherine’s breast. A friendly face. The first friendly face she’d seen since she’d arrived. “I can see I shall want for nothing,” Katherine said, smiling back. “May I learn well and stay true to all that has been before me.”

  There was a pleased look on the maid’s face as well as the faces of everyone who had heard Katherine’s words. “Would you like to eat your midday meal or see your new home first, milady?”

  “You have waited the midday meal. We will eat first, then I will let you show me your laird’s home.”

  Morgana smiled a bright smile. “Come, the food is ready.” She led the way to the center of the long table and Duncan sat down with Katherine at his side. Malcolm sat at Duncan’s right, and Angus next to Katherine. Gregor, Balfour, and twenty or thirty Ferguson warriors Katherine knew she had met, but whose names she could not remember, joined them.

  The mood was festive, the talk lively, but more than once Katherine caught a sideways glance from one of the soldiers or from the women serving the table. The warrior to the far right shot her daggers whenever he looked at her. Perhaps he’d lost a son to the English.

  The pretty little server who walked around the table to re
fill the cups of ale fixed Katherine with a most hostile glare. Perhaps she’d lost her lover.

  The robust woman who brought another platter of bread and cheese to the table paused, then watched Katherine with a hateful stare. Perhaps her home had been burned.

  And the young man who sat across from her with the dark, smoldering look. Perhaps his name was Kenneth and it had been his little girl who had been trampled by the English horse.

  Katherine did not want to know what went on behind their looks. Perhaps they knew she’d lacked the strength to follow her king’s edict and fight Bolton on her own, and now had put them all in danger. She closed her eyes to block out their faces, but they were forever before her.

  “You’re not hungry, Kate?” The flat line of his voice spoke in a tone void of emotion. He asked his question between bites of food and without a glance in her direction.

  “No, my lord. My stomach is not ready for food.”

  He reached for his cup of ale and slowly lifted it to his mouth. “’Tis best if you make an attempt to eat, lass, lest the women think you’re not pleased with their offering.”

  Katherine raised her gaze to meet her husband’s look of concern and stabbed a piece of roasted fowl and brought it to her mouth.

  “A drink of ale will help, too.” He reached for her cup and handed it to her.

  When Katherine wrapped her fingers around the warm metal, he covered her hand and refused to release it for just a moment. Their gazes locked and a heated rush went down to her toes.

  “You are safe, Kate.”

  Katherine could not find words to answer. She didn’t worry about being safe. Every Ferguson she’d set eyes upon since she’d said her vows as their mistress had sworn to protect her with their lives. Safety was not a concern.

  She closed her eyes and thought about the Ferguson she’d married. From the moment she’d kissed him in the dungeon, he had been the one she’d wanted to hold her. For the first time in her life, she’d met someone she could rely on. Someone who would take care of her.

  She pushed the thought away as quickly as it appeared. She could never forget that he’d only chosen her for the crown.