Not Mine to Give (4 page)

He held the broth to her lips first, then the ale. She drank what she could, then turned her head and closed her eyes.

“You’ve done well, lass. Go back to sleep now and rest.”

He lowered her head and placed a light cover over her shoulders. The tips of his fingers brushed against her cheek.

“Good night, milady,” he whispered.

“My Scot,” she answered and slept.

…

She opened her eyes and looked around. It didn’t hurt to move nearly as much today as it had yesterday, and much less than the day before that. She held her breath and listened to the sounds around her.

The chamber was empty. He no longer came to sit with her during the day. Only far into the middle of the night, when no one was about and she was deep in sleep did he enter her room. His presence always lingered until morning when she awoke.

High, muffled giggles drifted to her from the anteroom. The young maid, Eloise, must have been assigned to sit with her this day. The Scottish lass had been hand picked by the Ferguson because she would follow the laird’s orders without question, and report every word and movement she made. For a few moments the girl must have sneaked out to be alone with her lover, Cory, while she believed her mistress to be sleeping.

She tried to remember how long it had been since he’d carried her out of the dungeon, most of that time so weak she could barely lift her head. Days? A week? Maybe more. And in all that time she had not been left alone. She knew that had been the Ferguson’s order.

She rolled to her side and pulled her legs to her chest. Her wounds were all closed, but when she wrapped her arms around her knees, the skin still stretched tight across her back. She sucked in her breath and held it until the pain went away. Thank God, though, it was nothing like before. More than once she’d prayed God would let her die so she could escape the pain.

Now she had other problems with which to concern herself. She had to get to the place in the rocks.

“Oh. You are awake, milady.” A startled Eloise closed the door behind her and straightened her mussed hair. The flush of her cheeks deepened when she neared her mistress. “Would you like me to bring you food? The women prepared an excellent stew for noon meal, and the Ferguson told them to keep some back for your repast.”

“Thank you, Eloise, but I’m not hungry. What I am, is tired of this bed. I would like for you to help me dress.”

The little maid’s face paled. “I can na, milady. The Ferguson said you were nay to leave your bed until he gave the order.”

She clenched her fist in the covers and silently prayed Ian would be home soon. Then the Ferguson laird could return to his own keep. The turmoil his nearness caused was too unsettling. He was the most domineering man she had ever met. If she did not get out of this bed soon, she had no doubt she would go mad.

“The Ferguson is not master of Kilgern Castle. I will not let him tell me when I’m ready to leave my bed. He has already kept me prisoner far too long.”

“Oh, no, milady. The Ferguson does
na wish to make you a prisoner. He is only concerned for your welfare.”

“Well, he need not concern himself any longer. My… Ian will be home any day now and everything will be fine.” Dear God, she prayed that were true. “Now, help me dress, Eloise.”

“Pray, let me get you something to eat first, milady. Then I will help you dress.”

She gave in with a sigh. “Very well. Bring me a tray and I will eat first.”

The maid smiled and bobbed her head in relief.

“Then I intend to dress and leave this room.”

“Yes, milady.” With another nervous bob of her head, Eloise left the room.

She struggled to remove the covers and it took her forever to work her way to the edge of the bed. She dangled her feet for a long while before she managed to stand on her own, but she could only remain upright if she gripped the tall poster with all her might.

This was all his fault. She’d never in her life been so weak, and his endless bullying had made her so. He would not allow her to get out of bed so she could get stronger. Well, she could not allow him to keep her abed any longer. Her blood ran cold thinking of what could already have happened in her absence.

The door opened behind her, then closed softly. She lowered her forehead to the smooth post of the bed and breathed a deep sigh. She did not have to turn around to know he was behind her, nor did she have to look to see the frown on his face. She waited for him to speak. The deep rumble of his voice and the burr of his speech were as familiar to her as her own voice.

“You are nay to be out of bed, milady.”

“I feel much better today.”

“Not well enough, I’m thinking.”

She clamped her hands tighter around the bedpost. “You cannot keep me in that bed forever, sir.”

He took three steps across the room which brought him close enough for her to smell the scent of horses and leather. Eloise must have found him outside. He certainly hadn’t wasted any time coming to her.

Dear God, but he was big. It would have taken an ordinary man five steps to cover the same area, and an ordinary man
would not consume so much of the room as he did.

“It’s too soon for you to be out of bed, Lady
MacIntyre. If your husband were here, he would na let you rise, either.”

She turned to face him and staggered when her knees buckled beneath her. Before she had time to reach for something solid, the Ferguson lifted her from her feet and placed her on the bed.

She couldn’t breathe, and it had nothing to do with the weakness of her legs. He did that to her. Dear God, she couldn’t allow it. “I am only so weak because you’ve kept me in bed far longer than is necessary. Even Angus says so.”

“Angus is as sensitive as a coat of your English chain mail and as delicate as a Highland winter. He’d have thrown you out of bed that first day if you’d opened your eyes for him.”

She dropped her head against the pillow and sighed. “He would not have. You would not have allowed it.”

“
’Tis right, milady, as I will na now.”

He stood beside her bed and looked down on her. She should be embarrassed by his nearness, but she wasn’t. He’d spent so many hours at her bedside when she’d been ill that for him to be near her now seemed right.

But it wasn’t.

“You don’t have to be so protective of me. You owe me nothing.”

He fingered the medallion hanging from his neck. “I owe you for what you did. You paid a high price for your actions.”

She lowered her gaze, unable to look at him. She’d paid a high price indeed. She’d failed. “I gave you only what was rightfully yours.”

“Why did you come to the dungeon, milady. What favor did you want in exchange for my medallion?”

“It’s not important.”

“It seemed so at the time.”

“But it is no longer.” She closed her eyes to block the fear. “Have you found him yet?”

One eyebrow on his darkened features raised. “I do na ken your meaning.”

“William Bolton. I know you’ve gone out searching for him. Have you found him?”

“Nay.”

“Leave him be, Lord Ferguson. You don’t know how far his power reaches.”

“I canna leave him be.“

“He’s protected by the king.”

“He is nay protected by
my
king.”

A cavern of silence separated them, made more daunting by the fierce glare in his eyes. It worried her. “Many of your fellow Scotsmen will die if you go after him.”

“Many men from Scotland have already died because of him, milady.”

“But—”

“Enough. Even though you are wed to the laird of clan MacIntyre for a year and more, I see you have na left your love for the English far behind. I think mayhaps you have put the MacIntyre plaid on your body but have not let the MacIntyre Scot into your heart.

“How dare you! It’s not to your credit to assume all English are the same as Bolton. Could it be that your hatred lies in the fact that he took something that was yours? Or do
you hate all English?”

“If you have need to understand the cause of my hatred of the English, milady, I will show you the graves of my father and mother and two sisters. I found them slaughtered by Bolton and his men when I returned from battle.”

“William Bolton killed your family?”
Dear God.

“Not all, milady. My youngest sister, Brenna, still lives. I found her huddled in a corner on the floor where she’d been since Bolton’s men left.”

Her stomach clenched, but she refused to lower her gaze from his. Instead, she faced the icy glare of hardened steel focused on her. “Is she all right?” she asked.

“Nay. She is not
aright. She was not as lucky as her sisters, Meara and Elissa. She lived. And now William Bolton has her with him in England until I give him the crown.”

For the first time since she’d met him, she sensed the building of an uncontrollable violence that smoldered just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. “He would trade your sister for the crown? But you don’t have it.”

“That matters not to Bolton. All he cares about is getting the crown.”

“But the crown doesn’t belong to him either. It’s England’s.”

Her statement, though spoken softly, had the impact of a thunderclap. His gaze, which was dangerous and foreboding in the best of circumstances, darkened even more. “Do you think, my lady, that if Bolton gets the crown he’ll give it back to England?”

She didn’t answer.

“He will not. He knows it is the verra same crown that has adorned the head of every English monarch for more than five hundred years. Its value in stones and gold alone will give Bolton more wealth than anyone in the land. It’s a symbol of England’s greatness, and Bolton believes its power will raise him to a level equal the King. Bolton will not give it back. His greed is too great.”

“How did the crown come to be in Scotland?” she asked.

“It was brought here by some verra brave Scots that died for their efforts.”

“And they gave it to your priest?”

“They gave it to my father at Lochmore for safe keeping and he sent it here when Bolton came. Because you’re English, he thought it would be safe in your keeping.” He lifted the corners of his mouth in a cynical grin. “Is it?”

She lifted her chin to match his formidable expression, and kept her gaze on the dark depths in his eyes. “Why do you want the crown, my lord? If you had it, would you return it to England?”

He didn’t try to mask the stark look of hatred on his face. “Nay, milady. I would na give it back to England.”

“But there will only be war if Scotland keeps it.”

“There will be war even if Scotland gives it back. Your Edward is amassing an army right now. Within the year the English will again cross Scotland’s border in their quest for more land and power. Our Scots took the crown to prove to your English they’re not invincible. That circle of gold and stones is to England a symbol of her greatness. Our Scots took it to prove how easily that greatness could be taken away.”

“Do you think England fears you now?”

“Nay. England will never fear Scotland. But they will never get the crown back either. My father promised to protect the crown, and he died honoring his vow. That oath is now mine. I will have the crown for Scotland just as surely as I will avenge my father’s death. Do you understand, milady?”

“I understand you’re a very proud man, my lord, but you don’t have the crown.”

“But it is na far from my grasp. I will na give up until I have it. Do na forget that, milady.”

“What about your sister? Bolton wants the crown or he won’t give Brenna back.”

He hesitated and an expression of anguish crossed his face. “Even Brenna’s life is not worth the crown. My sister understands that as well as any loyal Scot. I will get her back without forfeiting the crown.”

She let her head fall back against the pillow and sighed. “Why did you come here?”

“To warn Ian and ask his aid to fight against your Englishmen. I thought it best to come alone until I found out if Bolton had laid siege here as he had at Lochmore Castle.”

“He didn’t. There was no one to fight him here.”

“Where was Chalmers? Ian left him to guard Kilgern Castle when he sent the rest of his men to fight the English.”

“We buried him two months past. A small band of renegades attacked him while hunting. He and most of the men with him died.”

“Were the renegades English?”

“Does it matter?”

“Aye. It matters to me the same as it will to Ian.”

She looked down at the covers on the bed. “They were
English.”

The look in his eyes hardened. Did he see her only as the enemy? It bothered her that he might, and knew it should not.

“Rest now, milady. I’ll send Eloise in with your tray.” With that he gave her his back and walked to the door.

“Wait.”

He halted, then turned and glared at her as if he’d taken great offense at her order. “I cannot lie in bed any longer. Even if you will not allow me to leave my room, at least let me get dressed.”