Free Not Mine to Give by Laura Landon

English, and do it now. I will not ask again. You can marry me, or you can sacrifice yourself to Bolton.”
    Katherine held still as stone for several long seconds, her gaze never leaving the penetrating glare in his eyes. The mind-numbing truth hit her with the force of a battering ram. She did not have the stomach to follow her king’s edict. She did not have the courage to face Bolton on her own.
    Katherine fisted her hands in the folds of her skirt to block out what her defiance would mean. She set her spine straight and matched his cold stare without flinching. “Then know this, Scot. It will never be as you wish. You will never possess the crown. I will not give it to you.” She stood and faced him with more willfulness than his expression told her a woman should possess. She could see it in his eyes. “Nor will you ever possess my heart.”
    His lips pressed to form a thin, hard line. His hands fisted tight at his side. The anger she read was near the surface, hidden behind the hooded darkness in his eyes. His eyebrows raised in question. “Never is a long time, milady. As impossible to predict as tomorrow.”
    “Not in this, my lord.” Katherine held her ground. She could not weaken. “You will never have what you want.”
    He stared at her a long time, his countenance darkening even more. A deafening silence stretched interminably between them, and when she could bear his scrutiny no longer, she lifted her chin and curved her lips into a humorless grin. “Has marriage to me lost its appeal, my lord? Is tainting the blood of every Ferguson from this day on too great a sacrifice to make?”
    She sat down in her chair and relaxed against the back as if what he decided next did not matter to her one way or the other. “Now the choice is yours, my lord. Do you still want me, knowing you’ll gain nothing from your ill-conceived bargain?”
    The blazing fire crackled in the silence and she waited for him to say the words that would end this farce. The words that would condemn her to an uncertain, perhaps even tortured existence.
    She said a silent prayer that his decision and God’s will would be one and the same. All the while, keeping her gaze locked onto the unreadable coldness in his eyes.
    He pulled back his outstretched hand and folded his arms across his chest. Dear Lord, but he was intimidating. The dark scowl on his face did not show a hint of softness. She braced herself for his response.
    He stood before her with his feet angled wide and his broad shoulders locked in place. Without emotion, he said, “Let us get this over.”
    She did not react other than to release the long breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. The Scot would marry her only so Bolton could not have her. And take her to live where she would never be accepted because she was English. He would take her as his wife to repay a debt.
    He would take her because he wanted the crown.
    Her only other choice was a lonely existence, hiding in fear that Bolton would find her.
    If only she would not have kissed her Scot that first time. If only she would not have let him hold her in his arms and comfort her. If only she had not been so willing to trust him. She couldn’t think of that now. She couldn’t think of that ever again.
    She stood at her chair and faced the man she would take as her husband. “There is one thing more, my lord.”
    He tilted his head and waited.
    “You will never again from this day call me ‘English’.”
    “You are not proud that you are English?”
    “I am not proud to be called it when you speak it. You say the word as if it were bile in your mouth. I would rather be nothing.”
    “You can be Scot.”
    “I will be nothing.”
    He nodded. “You will be my wife. From this day on, you will be my wife.”
    It was decided. She crossed the large room and stood beside him while the priest began the sacrament of holy marriage. Duncan’s foreboding presence obviously made the poor man take notice.