Not Mine to Give (21 page)

Katherine touched her hand to Malcolm’s forehead and brushed the strand of blond hair from his face. She didn’t know what to do for him. “He all of a sudden fell to the ground and closed his eyes.” She ran her fingers over his face and the back of his head searching for any wound that could have caused him to fall, but could find nothing.

“You can
na help him, English. Malcolm will na wake up for a while. A verra long while.”

“How do you know?”

“I have given him a bit of the potion Angus gives to the ailing. It will na hurt him, if I did na put too much in his ale. If I did, he may never wake up, but that will be a pleasant way to die. Will it not?” She glared at Katherine and the look in her eyes was murderous. “Not like some of the Scots your English have slaughtered.”

Katherine looked again into Malcolm’s face, unable to believe this was happening. He did not seem to be in pain, but to be sleeping peacefully. “Why? Why would you want to harm Malcolm?”

Her shrill laughter raised the level of Katherine’s fear. “Oh, English. I do na want to harm Malcolm. It’s you I’ve come for.”

Katherine looked up at the woman, expecting to see concern on her face, but there was none. Instead, an evil countenance covered her dark features and she took another step closer until she stood right beside them. It was then that Katherine saw the knife in the woman’s hand.

She kept her gaze focused on the knife while she moved her hand down Malcolm’s side. If he were like Duncan, she would find his dirk somewhere around his waist. “But I’m not ill,” she said, trying to distract her assailant. “You didn’t put the potion in my ale to make me sleep.” Katherine found Malcom’s knife and wrapped her fingers around it.

“I did
na want to make you sleep, English. I want you to know you are going to die. I want you to see death and know it’s coming to take you.”

A cold chill ran down Katherine’s spine and she pulled the
knife ever so slowly out of its sheath. She didn’t stop until she had it gripped in her hands.

In a movement so swift Katherine didn’t see it coming, the girl kicked out her foot. She knocked the knife from Katherine’s grasp, then swung out with her own knife and made a slash on Katherine’s forearm that cut through the material of her gown and left a crimson streak.

“You canna surprise me, English. I’ve come to know you too well to expect you to die willingly.”

“You cannot do this. Duncan will find you.”

Her inhuman laughter made the hairs rise on the back of Katherine’s neck.

“My laird will thank me. I’m doing him a favor. He does
na want you. Surely even you can see it?” Her malicious smile broadened. “I thought perhaps he’d killed you that night he put his hands around your throat. I watched from the doorway and prayed he would end your life, but Malcolm and the old man came back to save you.”

Katherine shook her head in confusion. “You hate me that much?”

“You can na imagine how much I hate you, English. How much I hate watching you take the mistress’ place in the castle and giving orders to the servants as if you belonged, as if you were one of us. You can na imagine how much I hate knowing you lie in the master’s arms each night and that even now he may have planted his seed in your womb.”

She reached out and grabbed the reins to Katherine’s horse then pointed her knife. “Get up, English. We have far to go.”

“What about Malcolm? You cannot leave him here. He’ll freeze.”

The woman shrugged her shoulders as if she didn’t care, then poked the sharp point of her knife into Katherine’s back, giving her no choice but to move. Katherine lowered Malcolm’s head to the ground and stood, but before she walked to her horse, she took the extra shawl from around her shoulders and placed it over his body.

“That will na help him once it gets cold, English. But it’s one more thing you’ll wish you would have kept for yourself once the snow falls.”

Katherine lifted herself atop the horse. When she was seated, the woman grabbed her hands and tied them to the saddle. Katherine struggled to free herself, but before she could gain an advantage, the woman jabbed the knife into the flesh at her waist. She smiled when a spot of blood soaked through Katherine’s gown.

“Fight me if you want, English. I would just as soon kill you here.”

“Then why don’t you?” Katherine gasped through the pain.

“Because there would be na doubt that you had been murdered if they find you here with a knife in your chest. I think my laird will sleep better if he thinks your death was an accident.”

“Duncan will not let you get away with this.”

She cackled a bitter laugh. “He will not care that you’re dead. He will only care that he did na get the crown before you died.”

The woman gave another shrill laugh then pulled on the reins and the pretty gray mare followed through the trees into
the hills.

Katherine turned to look at Malcolm’s sleeping body lying on the ground and prayed her shawl would be enough to keep him alive until he awoke or Duncan found him. Even now it was hard to make out his features. All she saw were the first big flakes of snow swirling to the ground, covering his body.

…

“I’ll be back after the snow settles.”

That was all the woman had said before she disappeared into the swirling white.

Katherine struggled to loosen the rope that bound her to the tree where the woman had left her. She’d lost the feeling in her hands and feet long ago. Huge flakes of wet snow pelted her in the face as she worked with the knot.

When the cord finally fell away, she pulled her hands in front of her and stared at the drops of blood that dripped to the snow from her raw fingers. She waited for the pain, but there was none. She felt nothing.

She tucked her numb fingers into the folds of her skirt and took the first step away from the tree, only to realize she didn’t know which direction would take her home. When she looked up to the sky, she realized there was not much daylight left for her to find shelter.

A wall of rocks to her right provided the only hope of protection from the howling wind, and Katherine lifted one foot then another as she plodded through snow that went above her ankles. She leaned against the craggy stones and let the tears she’d kept at bay for the last hour or more spill over her lashes. Tiny ice crystals froze to her cheeks, but her fingers didn’t have the feeling to wipe them away. Her heart didn’t have enough hope for it to matter.

She curled into a tight ball beside the tiny opening in the rocks, but she couldn’t force herself to go deeper into the small, dark space. She no longer cared. All she wanted was to lie down and rest. Perhaps if she slept for just a little while she would be strong enough to find her way home.

She hugged her arms around her middle and closed her eyes, wondering if Duncan would ever find her. The woman’s hateful words came back to haunt her and she wondered if her enemy was right. She wondered if Duncan might not even bother to look.

Duncan sat at his place in the great hall listening with one ear to the complaints of two of his warriors concerning a dispute over a horse. He should not have let Kate go to pick berries this afternoon. His nerves had been unsettled since she and Malcolm had ridden across the drawbridge. And with good cause.

Even though there were men guarding the borders leading onto Ferguson land, it didn’t guarantee Bolton and the English would not get past them. If Bolton found Kate, there was no way Malcolm could see to her safety.

He should not have let them go. He should have gone with them. He should have…

Alister
burst through the entrance. His flushed cheeks and the worried look on his face sent warning signals racing through Duncan’s chest. “My laird. The mistress’s horse has come back to the stable alone.”

Duncan shoved his chair backward and moved toward the entrance. The loud crash when the chair hit the floor focused every warrior’s attention on him.

“Saddle your horses and bring torches.”

The Ferguson men jumped from their places around the tables and headed to the exit.

Duncan fought the roaring in his head as he ran from the room and across the bailey to the stable. He’d known something was wrong. She should have been back long ago. Malcolm would never have kept her out this long unless he’d been unable to bring her back.

Painful slashes of guilt ate away at him. He should have
kept Kate here to protect her. Just as he should have been here to protect his father and mother and sisters.

When would he learn? When would he know what to do to protect what was his? When would he be able to keep the people for whom he cared most safe? He was their laird. A laird should know. His father had.

Duncan raced through the double doors that led to the stable. His horse was already saddled and waiting for him. He mounted and galloped toward the drawbridge, forcing his warriors to hurry.

She had to be all right. If Bolton had taken her, he’d ride after the bastard this very minute and bring his head back on a spike.

“If we follow the mare’s prints in the snow they should lead us to the mistress.” It was Alister who spoke, and Duncan glanced down at the lone set of prints that led to the castle.

“Did Malcolm’s horse come in too?”

“Nay, milord. Only the mistress’s.”

Duncan didn’t say anything, but glanced down again at the prints as he urged his horse forward. “Bring more torches, Angus. We’re losing the daylight.”

Angus rode closer with four more warriors. The light from
their torches lit the path a little brighter. They traveled far into the hills, past the place where the women usually went to gather berries, then farther.

“Over here!”

It was Gregor that hollered from far to their right and when Duncan turned he saw what had caused him to stop. Malcolm’s horse stood near a thicket, the reins caught in the nettles of a thorn bush, his mouth chomping on grass he’d uncovered beneath the snow.

“He must have wandered off,” Duncan said. “Spread out. Malcolm may not be far away.”

The men separated and rode forward. It didn’t take long for someone to spot Malcolm’s snow-covered body lying on the ground.

Duncan’s heart jumped to his throat. “Is he alive?” he asked as Angus leaned over Malcolm’s still form.

“Aye. He is alive.”

Angus lifted the plaid from over Malcolm and threw it to the ground beside the warrior. Duncan picked it up and held it to his chest. It was the plaid Kate had been wearing.

“I can na find any marks on him, Duncan. Not even a lump on his head. It’s as if he just went to sleep.”

Duncan held the Ferguson plaid tighter and fought the waves of panic that threatened to consume him. “
Gregor. Take what men you need to carry Malcolm back to the keep. The rest will come with me.”

“Aye, milord,”
Gregor answered. He kept some men to put the huge warrior on his horse.

Angus gave
Gregor instructions as he mounted his horse to follow Duncan. “Have Morgana give him liquids. Do na let her stop feeding him until I return. When he wakes, do na let him sleep again.”

“Aye, Angus.”

Angus held his torch high in the air to light the way in the snow. “Is the plaid the Lady Katherine’s?”

Duncan nodded. It was the best he could do. The thought of Kate lying cold and frozen in the snow wrenched at his heart.
“She does na like our winters, Angus.”

“The mistress is strong and hearty, Duncan. If she’s lost, she’ll find a cave in the rocks to stay until we come for her.”

“But she will not enter it.” Duncan wanted to drop to his knees and roar to the heavens until the rocks and mountains felt his pain. He braced his shoulders and stared at the prints in the snow, then pushed his horse faster. “We have to find her. She will na go into a cave. She will na go in.”

Duncan and Angus rode on with Duncan’s warriors beside them, holding their torches high.

“If Bolton has taken her…” Angus growled, the remainder of his thought unspoken.

“It’s not Bolton, Angus. Bolton would
na have left Malcolm lying on the ground still alive. I fear it’s one of our own who has done this. Someone who hates Kate and does na want to see her as my wife.”

“We should have kept a closer watch, Duncan.”

“I know. I should have known when we found her in the chapel she was na safe, but I could na believe one of our own would want to harm her.”

“Who do you think would do such a thing?” Angus asked, but Duncan knew the old man already had a name ready.

“I do na know for sure, Angus, but I will na rest until I find out.”

Duncan gripped the reins tighter and held the shawl in his arms. He pushed his horse forward with greater speed.

“Here, milord!” Balfour cried the discovery. “Here!”

Duncan rode to the spot where Balfour had stopped his horse and jumped down to look at the rope hanging from the tree. The snow was packed to the ground where she had stood
and his stomach turned when he saw the drops of blood in the powdery flakes. She’d been tied like an animal and left to freeze to death. The rage he felt equaled that of finding the English had murdered his family. Only this time his rage was directed at one of his own. At a Scot.

He followed her faint prints in the snow, running, his movements so frantic he almost tripped over her crumpled body. She was lying on her side, her cheek resting on her folded hands with her knees tucked up close to her chest. Her golden hair fanned out around her face, giving the red cast to her cheeks an even brighter glow.

She looked like an angel lying in the snow. A lifeless angel.

A mighty roar came from deep within him and he fell to his knees to lift her body into his arms. He brushed the snow from her face, and her skin, and her clothes, then pulled the plaid he’d taken from Malcolm over her. Someone handed him a another plaid, and another, and he wrapped each of them around her to make her warm, then stood and held her close to him.

“Let me see her, Duncan.” Angus put his weathered hand to her face and felt her skin then found her hands beneath all the covers and rubbed them harshly. She moved her head and moaned a soft sigh, but he didn’t stop rubbing. “She’s still alive.” Angus tucked the covers tighter around her. “Keep her covered until we get her home.”

Angus held Kate long enough for Duncan to mount his horse, then Duncan took her and wrapped as many covers around her as he had. He placed a kiss on her forehead and held her close to him as his horse made his way back to the
keep.

Duncan looked down at the small woman in his arms and kissed her fiery red cheeks. He’d come to care for her, and he could not stand the thought of losing her now.

This revelation should have surprised him, but it did not. She was his and had become important to him. He’d known it would happen when he took her as his bride. When she’d faced Bolton with him in the dungeon and placed the medallion in his hand.

Then, she’d called him her Scot and captured him with her kiss.

…

Duncan watched Kate as she slept beneath layers of Ferguson tartans. He waited to speak until the door had closed on the last of the women who had come to bring fresh water and clean clothes for their mistress.

“Who do you think did this, Angus?”

A bright fire burned in the hearth and the many lit candles around the bedside gave the room a muted glow.

She looked like an angel sleeping beneath the covers, just as she had when
they’d found her. He remembered how soft and delicate she’d looked lying in the snow. And how lifeless.

She slept softly in the bed now, her wet clothes discarded
and the cuts on her arm and at her side tended. She had not opened her eyes yet, and Duncan feared she was hurt worse than they knew, but Angus held his hand to her face and assured him she would wake up in time.

“I can
na believe one of our own would want to harm her, Angus. They all gave their oath of fealty and swore to protect her.”

“Not all, Duncan.”

Duncan gripped the tall bedpost. “No. Even Regan would na do this.” He didn’t want to believe that Regan’s emotions had taken such a twisted turn, but he knew jealousy was a powerful motive for love as well as hatred.

“We will know as soon as the mistress wakes. She knows who tied her to the tree and left her to die. If it was Regan, she can tell us.” Angus went to the small table beside the bed and poured the heated water the women had just brought into a cup to make some fresh tea.

“Do na use that water, Angus.”

Angus turned around to face his laird, the look of incredulity on his face.

“Use only food and water that you bring into the room yourself, friend. We can na trust anyone right now.”

“You think someone might try to poison her?”

“Kate was supposed to die and she did not. The killer knows as soon as she awakens she’ll give us a name. Our killer must make sure she never opens her eyes.” Duncan took some of the potion mixed with water he’d pulled from the well himself and held it to her lips. She swallowed once then turned her head. “We must keep our guard. Our killer does na have much time and she knows it.

“She? You do
na think it’s one of our warriors, but one of the women?”

“Aye. A warrior would have killed Kate outright. He would nay have staked her out to die. It’s one of our women.”

“Then I fear it’s Regan.” Angus said.

Duncan had to agree, even though he didn’t want to.

He did not want to think what he would have to do if it were.

…

Duncan stood in the corner of the room near the bed where Kate lay, hiding behind the tall screen where no one could see him, and waited. Angus had made a big commotion when he left, announcing to all within hearing that he would not be back until morning. That the mistress was sleeping peacefully and the laird had gone to an empty chamber to rest until his wife awoke. He gave instructions that the lady Katherine was not to be disturbed until morning.

Duncan leaned against the stone wall, listening to Kate’s shallow breathing. He feared their plan to snare whoever had tried to kill Kate might go for naught, but just as the first rays of sunlight colored the dark sky with a faint pink glow, the door to Katherine’s room opened a slit and a small, familiar figure stepped into the room.

She walked to the bed and watched Katherine sleep for what seemed an eternity, then raised her hand above her head. Duncan did not wait to see the candlelight reflect off the metal in her hand before he pushed away the screen and catapulted toward her. He knocked the small woman to the floor, grabbed the knife in her hand and threw it across the room.

The door flew open and Angus and
Gregor and Balfour rushed into the room and lifted the would-be killer to her feet.

“You should
na have stopped me, milord. I would have gladly rid you of your English wife.”

Duncan’s heart twisted in his chest. “Oh,
Morgana. You have done this?”

Morgana
and her mother and her mother before her had served the Ferguson mistresses with unswerving loyalty. He couldn’t believe she would try to kill Kate. “Why? Why would you try to kill your mistress?”

“She is nay my mistress. She is English.”

The look on Morgana’s face was filled with such open hostility it took Duncan’s breath away.

“I know you did
na want to marry her,” she cried out, “but only did so for the crown. If she were dead, you would be free to marry a Scot. I was only serving you as my mother did before me.”

“That is
na true, Morgana. I married her because I wanted her. I want the Lady Katherine to rule my heart and my keep.”

“Nay! Your mother is waiting to come back to run
Lochmore again, but she can na return as long as Lady Katherine is here. I promised I would get rid of your English wife so she could come back.”

“Nay,
Morgana. Lady Beatrice is dead. She died with my father, your laird.”