Not Mine to Give (29 page)

Duncan glanced over at the empty doorway and took a hesitant step then stopped.

“Go,” Kate’s father said, filling a cup with ale and sitting in a chair behind the table. “I am going nowhere until I’m sure my daughter wants to stay with you.”

“And if she says she does not?”

“Then you will have lost a treasure far greater than the crown.”

Duncan gave him a harsh glare, then crossed the room. Before he brought Kate back down to see her father, he would make sure she knew how important she was to him. He would say the words he should have said long ago. That he hadn’t taken her as his wife only because she possessed the crown, but because he could not imagine spending the rest of his life without her.

Duncan took the stairs to their chamber two at a time and ignored the harsh pounding of his heart in his chest. Before he brought Kate back down to see her father, he would make sure she didn’t doubt his feelings for her. That she knew his mind had been made up from the moment she’d kissed him in the dungeon.

Duncan made his way down the long hallway almost at a run. It was suddenly very important that he see her. That he make sure his Kate was safe. Before he took Kate back down to see her father, he would make sure she knew how much he loved her.

He lifted the latch on the heavy wooden door and bounded into the room. A cold, empty void slapped him in the face and he knew without looking he would not find her here.

Duncan ran to the chapel, praying she’d gone there as she did every day. Except for the flickering candles on the altar, the room was dark. An all-consuming fear engulfed his entire being, leaving little energy for him to do anything more than force his legs to carry him to the other rooms to search for her.

She had to be on this level. She had not gone down the stairs. He would have seen her if she had.

Duncan ran to the next room, Brenna’s room. Empty. He braced his hand against the stone wall to steady his trembling knees and made his way to his parents’ chamber. He threw open the door and glanced around the room, praying he would find her here. Fearing he would not.

His eyes stopped their search when his gaze focused on the opening that led to the secret passageway. A thousand voices screamed inside his head. A horde of foul demons from hell lashed out at him. She had left him. She thought he had chosen the crown and did not want her.

Duncan ran across the room and braced his hands against either side of the opening, fighting the lump in his throat that would not let him breathe. He stared down the dark passageway and fought the pain in his chest. He would rather die than spend one day of his life without her.

“Kate!”

The empty sound echoed back to him from the darkness of the tunnel.

“Kate!”

Duncan raced down the steps of the keep with the furies of hell on his heels. There was no need to issue orders to his men. The determined movements of their laird brought them running from every quarter — from the battlements and the stables and the practice area. Before he reached the outer gate, Ian and Malcolm and Angus were armed and at his side with the remainder of his warriors close behind.

He had to get to the place near the rocks where the passageway exited. He had to reach her before she went too far beyond the stream. Kate was not safe anywhere outside the castle walls. Wild fear thundered in his head when he thought of what might have happened to her already.

If her father had come from England and crossed onto Ferguson land, it was safe to wager that more of the English were nearby. Especially William Bolton.

Duncan pushed his mount harder until he neared the top of the rise that overlooked the place near the rocks where the hidden tunnel exited. He slammed his fist against his thigh in frustration and scanned the area again. She was nowhere in sight.

He turned to the right, the way he knew Kate would go. Back to England. She would think there was nothing left for her in Scotland. God help him. He had failed her. She thought he had chosen the crown. She thought he didn’t want her.

He dug his heels into his horse’s side and rode only a few feet, then pulled hard on the reins. A massive group of armed warriors carrying an English banner crested the rise. He searched the enemy army, praying he would not see his wife in their midst. It didn’t take long to realize his worst fears.

They had Kate.

Bolton had her locked in his arms as if he owned her. As if he had a right to touch her. Bright blazes of fury raged through Duncan’s head, blinding him to all but a desperate need to get Kate back. He gripped his fist around the hilt of his sword and took huge, gulping gasps of air. He envisioned the feel of his blade twisting deep in Bolton’s gut.

“Do you see Kate with him, Malcolm?” Duncan asked his question without lifting his gaze from Kate sitting in front of the English bastard. He did not dare look away for fear she would be gone when he looked back.

“Aye, Duncan. The English on Bolton’s right is mine,” Malcom hissed in the crisp, winter air.

Duncan moved his evaluative gaze for a moment as the band of English neared them. “Take heed of the warrior on the left, Angus. His hand hangs awkward at his side. I would
na doubt he has a knife hidden there.”

“I can see, Duncan. Have no regard for the puny warrior. I will take care of him.”

“All of you. Watch me close.” The first flakes of snow fluttered down around them and Duncan thought of how chilled Kate must be. He ached to hold her next to him to keep her warm. He ached to touch her and love her until she forgot how much pain he’d caused her. “Ian, you will have the ugly giant riding behind Bolton.”

“Aye, friend.”

Duncan filled his chest with air and felt his head clear. “Gregor,” he called out and the warrior brought his horse close. “Stay here with the men. If we do na all return safe and well, be sure none of the English live to see the sun go down.”

The band of English warriors descended the slope at an easy gait, the pompous posture of their leader as he sat atop his horse presented a revolting sight. They were close enough now to see the confident smirk on Bolton’s face. Duncan fisted his hands at his side, then reached for the hilt of his sword.

“Duncan.” Ian whispered the warning from behind him. “Keep your head. It will do na good to act in haste.”

Duncan filled his chest with a blast of cold Scottish air that hissed as it entered his mouth through clenched teeth. Bolton had his arm around Kate’s waist, a malevolent smile on his face that made the blood boil in Duncan’s veins. “He’ll
na live to see the end of this day, Ian. I swear it.”

“I know, friend. But wait until you have the mistress in your arms before you make a move.”

Duncan closed his eyes to block out the picture of Kate sitting in Bolton’s lap, then stared at her, willing her to lift her head and look at him. He wanted to see her face and know she was alright. He wanted to show her by his look that he had come to get her and would keep her safe. He wanted to lock his gaze with hers and tell her without words that he loved her. But she would not lift her head to look at him.

Duncan held the air in his chest until his lungs burned. Bolton would not have her much longer.

He watched as Bolton left his main army on the hill and rode down the slope with a half score of his men at his side. He moved in his saddle with a cocksure swagger and a haughty lift to his chin. His hand stayed fixed around Kate’s middle until they stopped, then he handed her down to one of his warriors while he dismounted. With a snide grin, he pulled her up against him and stood with her as a shield in front of him.

“I’ve come to get the Bishop’s Crown and my betrothed, Ferguson. As you can see, my betrothed was so anxious for my arrival, she came to meet me. As soon as you hand over the crown, my future bride and I will return to England.”

Duncan waited for Kate to look at him but her face remained fixed on the mounting snow that swirled at her feet. She shied away from his gaze as if she had something to hide. “Kate?”

She made him wait a long time before she turned her head. The moment she did, his heart burst within his chest. A large red welt covered her cheek. Duncan swallowed hard to fight the consuming rage that threatened to erupt within him. He prayed Bolton’s death would be agonizingly slow.

Duncan tightened the grip on the hilt of his sword to keep from making a move which might put Kate in more danger. He stared at his wife until she raised her eyes to meet him.

Ever so slowly, her chin lifted. He gazed with unbelievable horror at the haunting emptiness in her blue eyes. The look of abject devastation on her pale face chilled every drop of blood flowing through his body. All signs of life were absent from her dark-rimmed eyes. Any glimmer of hope that had been there before had drained from her face. She had separated her heart from him.

“Release Kate to me now and I will make sure your death is quick, Bolton.” Duncan issued his demand through clenched teeth and inched his hand to the knife at his waist.

“Kate? You call my betrothed Kate?” Bolton jeered a demented laugh and tightened his hold around Katherine’s waist. “One would almost think you had grown fond of the woman I am to marry,
Scot. That cannot be, can it?”

The deadly glare in Bolton’s eyes alerted every nerve in Duncan’s body. The hostility on his face issued a warning. The man was not human. He was an animal.

“Let her go, Bolton.”

“The Lady Katherine was given to me by edict of my king. You have no claim on her.”

A shadowed film of sunlight filtered through the blustery clouds that raced over the Scottish meadow. Larger flakes of snow fell around them and Duncan’s raised voice boomed through the haze. “Let her go!”

“The English lady is mine, Ferguson, and unless you are prepared to die this very minute, you will give me the Bishop’s Crown.”

“The Scot does not have the crown, Lord Bolton. It’s not his to give to you.”

The Earl of Wentworth’s voice echoed through the swirling snow like an ominous foreboding of doom.

Bolton darted his gaze to the place from where the voice had come. The earl walked through the Ferguson warriors with the crown cradled in his arms, then came to a halt in front of Bolton. “I have the Bishop’s Crown. It’s mine to take back to England.”

Bolton’s eyes opened wide and the obvious fury and anger turned his face a mottled red. Duncan watched him for any sign of danger, waiting for the first opportunity to kill him.

Katherine’s father faced Bolton with a determined look that gave no quarter. “You will never get the crown, Bolton. The Ferguson laird gave it to me in exchange for something of much greater value.”

Katherine lifted her gaze to meet his. For the first time, Duncan saw a spark of life. He saw her search his face for a reason to hope.

Her father must have seen it too, for he answered the questioning confusion he saw in her gaze. “The Ferguson laird gave the crown to me because it did not mean nearly as much as what he received in its place.”

Duncan met Kate’s gaze. There were so many unanswered questions in her look. She focused on the crown in her father’s hands, then turned back to him. He saw the ragged breath that filled her breast, the gasp of understanding when she realized he’d chosen her over the crown. She struggled harder to free herself from Bolton’s grasp, but Duncan gave her a look of warning. The Englishman was desperate now that he’d lost the crown.

Bolton pulled Katherine back a step as if creating more distance would deny what was happening, would make her his. “You cannot have the crown,” Bolton roared. “I want it. I will have it and your daughter as my bride.”

“It’s too late, Bolton. Lord Ferguson took my daughter as his wife after you beat her and left her to die in the
MacIntyre dungeon.”

The shocked denial on Bolton’s face warned them all to be wary. “No, that was her sister, the one given to the Scottish laird.”

“No,” the earl said. “It was Katherine. You nearly killed your betrothed.”

Bolton went wild. Even Kate must have sensed his imbalance because she tried to pull out of his grasp to get away from him. Bolton twisted her in his arms until she winced in pain.

“Release my daughter, Bolton.”

“Never. She’s mine. I will have the marriage to the Scot annulled. Words spoken in this heathen country by their pagan priests are not sacred. I can have the words disavowed in short order.”

“And what if there is a babe? What if she is already carrying the Ferguson’s heir?”

“No! It cannot be!”

Duncan’s gaze flashed to Katherine’s face and for the briefest second her heart was open to him.

She was.

Kate was carrying his child. The next Ferguson heir. A result of the love they shared.

An emotion unlike any he had ever known engulfed him. More wondrous, more desperate, more consuming. He would die before he would let anything happen to her.

“Leave her go, Bolton,” the earl said. “It’s too late. Their vows were spoken before God and you cannot change them.”

“The king—”

“The king will not interfere. He will do nothing to help you. I will see that he does not.”

Duncan forced himself to remain where he was. He saw Katherine struggle against Bolton, clawing to release his grip, but her efforts were hardly noticed. With frantic, trembling movements, the Englishman’s hand reached for the knife at his side. Duncan had no doubt he would use it.

“It’s over, Bolton,” the earl said, clearly concerned that Bolton was on the brink of madness. “You’ve lost both your betrothed and the crown.”

“No!” Bolton lifted the knife from his sheath at his side and raised it above Katherine’s head. “The Scot will not have what the king promised me!”

Before the blade began its downward descent, Duncan threw his dirk with unerring accuracy. The long, pointed weapon found its mark in the center of Bolton’s chest, bringing to a halt the beating of his evil heart. The arm poised above Kate’s chest froze, unable to continue its downward motion. The weapon pivoted to the ground with a dull thud. Bolton’s other arm dropped from around Kate’s waist, freeing her from danger.

In the same second, knives from Angus, Ian and Malcolm’s hands found their targets and the three warriors nearest Bolton fell to the ground. Only two of the men behind them gave up their lives to defend their leader. The rest dropped their weapons in surrender.

“Kate!” Duncan ran to Kate’s side and pulled her into his arms. “Do na look,” he warned, cupping her face with his hand and turning her head away from the look of torment on Bolton’s face. The stark terror in his wide open eyes evidenced the horrors of hell, and Duncan knew the Englishman had just entered through its portals.

Katherine’s father stood before the surviving warriors from Bolton’s army then addressed them in a commanding tone. “If you wish to live to see another day, you will pick up your dead and return to England. If not, I will stand back and watch the Scottish Fergusons slaughter you with my
blessing.”

The remaining English warriors quickly lifted Bolton and the other dead onto the backs of their horses and led them toward England’s border. Duncan gave the order for his men to follow to make sure they were gone forever. When
Gregor and the others were out of sight, he lifted Kate’s head from his chest and looked at her.

“Ah, lass,” he said, holding her close. He touched the red welt on her cheek. “It’s all right. He’ll never hurt you again.”

She looked at her father, still holding the crown, then back to Duncan. “You gave up the crown?”

There was a searching look in her eyes. A look that said she needed assurance that he could live with the decision he’d made. “Aye, Kate. Compared to the woman I chose as my wife, the crown means nothing.”

Duncan felt Kate shiver in his arms and he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “I will take you home now, wife.”

The look on Kate’s face caused his heart to leap in his chest. He couldn’t quite read every emotion in her gaze, but he prayed he saw at least a glimmer of hope. Something he could hold onto until he could show her how much he loved her.