Border Bride (28 page)

She darted a glance at the closed door that led to the kitchen—and sanctuary. "I was concerned about your guest. I wouldn't want him to think poorly of Kildalton hospitality. You do pay me handsomely… and just because we're handfasted doesn't mean I'll become a layabout and shirk my duties."

"Alpin…" he warned. "You're babbling."

Oh, God, he saw through her, but she could think of nothing else to say.

"Look at me."

Reluctantly she did. Impatience tightened his mouth.

She gave him a quivery smile. "Yes?"

His knuckles grazed her cheek. Tenderly he said, "Talk to me, and please don't equivocate."

Why did he have to be so blessed nice? Because he had no idea how much she distrusted him and no inkling to how desperate she was to save the people of Paradise. "About what?"

"About what you're thinking right now."

A diversion flashed in her mind. Fluttering her hand, she laughed nervously. "I'm thinking about how much I hate surprises."

He gave her a confident, arresting smile. "You'll like this one. 'Tis a gift from your husband. Trust him to know what's best for you." Then he ushered her into his study.

The man named Gordon stood before one of the family portraits, his face pulled into a frown. Wrinkles distorted the square pattern of his tartan, and a bulging belly lapped over his low-slung belt. An elaborate chieftain's sporran dangled at his knees, rather than at his groin, giving him an unkempt look.

She glanced at Malcolm, and although her heart tripped fast in anticipation, she had to admire his well-muscled yet lean frame and the neatness of his Scottish attire.

Appreciation turned to puzzlement. If Malcolm had truly discovered her reasons for coming to Scotland and had sold the plantation, why would he wish to have an audience when he told her? To punish her. Aye, his kindness and consideration had been an elaborate act
of
cruelty.

He cleared his throat and moved his hand to the small of her back.

The visitor turned and stared at her, cataloging her from head to foot.

"Alpin," said Malcolm, urging her farther into the room, "May I present John Gordon, my fellow Scotsman and laird of his clan. He's also the earl of Aberdeenshire, although he shuns the title."

Not taking his eyes off her, Gordon sneered. "'Tis a rank the English bestowed and not worth a Carlisle shilling."

Having no relevant comment, she made a curtsy. "How do you do, my lord."

In answer, he stepped closer and walked before her in a half circle, inspecting her as an overseer would a newly acquired slave. "Eyes from heaven," he murmured.

Insulted to her soul, she lifted her chin. "Are you enjoying your stay, my lord?" When he gave her a blank stare, she added, "I mean, I hope your trip to Kildalton has been pleasurable."

He looked up at Malcolm and nodded. "'Tis now. She's a MacKay; there's no disputing that. The hair's true enough, but her eyes confirm it. She's of Comyn's line."

Feeling left out, she stepped away from both men. "Of course my name is MacKay. But what does that have to do with the price of salt? What's going on here, Malcolm?"

"John knows your father's family," he said, as if it were some great revelation.

An eerie feeling crept over her. She clasped her hands. "So?"

"'Tis my gift to you, the one thing you never had—a family."

Hearing her own words only intensified the bleakness of her situation. What she had considered a clever evasion had come back to jeopardize all she held dear. She had a perfectly fine family in Barbados—dark-skinned women who'd given her rag dolls to make her smile, men who'd carved stately faces in coconuts and left them outside her door to ward off evil spirits. People who missed her, people who needed her.

Crushed by despair, she forced back tears. "You thought I wanted a family?"

Confused, Malcolm battled disappointment. She looked appalled at the idea. Or had she expected some other gift? "What did you think I would give you?" he said.

An instant later, relief blossomed on her face. "I couldn't imagine it at all." On an exhaled breath, she rushed to him and took his hand. "See? I told you I was dreadful at surprises. I always act like a ninny and never say the right thing."

Alpin, the quick wit? She invariably had a clever retort. Her skill at verbal evasion could rival Lady Miriam's. But Alpin had expected some other gift from him. But what, and why had it made her so anxious that she had dawdled in the foyer and carried on about household chores? Surely she wasn't like his other women who had wanted jewels and gowns.

"Malcolm, please don't be cross with me. We have a guest."

He'd forgotten about John. The Highlander had perched himself on Malcolm's desk, his smile reflecting his amusement at their disjointed exchange.

"Please?" she implored.

The appeal in her eyes went straight to Malcolm's heart. She had evaded his questions about her life in Barbados, told him little about herself. He should celebrate her new openness. Selfishly, he should rejoice in his own good fortune.

He studied her hair and her unusual eyes and thought again of the advantages she would bring him. "I'm not cross with you."

" 'Twould be a mistake to treat the lass poorly," said John, waving his mug. "Comyn MacKay is peculiar about the women in his line. Coddles them."

"I've never heard of anyone named Comyn MacKay."

Alpin shot back. "So I can assure you, he has never coddled me!"

"He spent years looking for his lost granddaughter. So don't
you
be hasty, lass," warned John Gordon.

"Don't you dare presume to tell me who I am or what I ought to do."

She wasn't dissembling. But she
always
dissembled. Confused, Malcolm watched anger overtake her. Hoping to quell it, he said, "Aren't you curious about your father's people?"

"Here's how curious I am." She pivoted on her heel and faced the wall, her skirt twirling about her ankles, her back stiff.

Gordon whistled. "She's a MacKay, right enough. I'd stake the future of Scotland on it."

She faced them again, fire blazing in her eyes. "You can stake Comyn MacKay's hide on it for all I care."

"What's wrong with her?" Gordon asked. "She should be glad. The MacKay takes care of his own."

She opened her mouth, then looked at the floor, but Malcolm knew she had plenty to say. "Go ahead, lass," he encouraged. "Say what's on your mind."

Her bearing bespoke hesitancy. "It was—" She took a deep breath. "It was kind of you, Malcolm, to want to reunite me with my father's family, if indeed these people are my relatives. But please don't bother telling the MacKays that their long lost chick has come home to roost. I wouldn't walk across the lane to greet them." A tentative smile curled her lips. "I have all the family I need."

Gordon sent Malcolm a shocked look.

If Alpin was Comyn's missing granddaughter—and Malcolm wasn't convinced of that fact, either—she'd eventually change her mind about her family. According to John, Comyn had spent years scouring the Highlands for her. Malcolm wished his stepmother were here; Lady Miriam knew Comyn MacKay and could confirm the resemblance. For now Malcolm thought it best to honor Alpin's wishes. "My lady has spoken, John. 'Tis up to me to coddle her."

Her nervous gaze flitted to his chin. "Thank you," she said.

Malcolm wondered what she was thinking. Turning to Gordon, he said, "If you'll excuse us…"

Frowning, Gordon said, "I'll just gather my men and be on my way. You'll send the Moorish lad north when—"

"Of course," Malcolm interrupted before the Highlander could reveal their arrangement. "As always, Saladin will bring your salt."

When the door closed and they were alone, she rushed into his arms. "I'm sorry I got angry, but I truly want no more family."

Malcolm couldn't ward off a twinge of jealousy. Twenty years ago, in a childish prank, she'd taken away his chance for a family. Since manhood he'd held a grudge, but now he rethought his view.

The woman couldn't be held responsible for the act of the child. She hadn't meant to damage him permanently, couldn't have known the far-reaching effects of her prank. She'd known nothing about procreation back then. For chrissake, she'd believed a woman got a child by spending a night alone at the inn in Bothly Green. She couldn't have known the stings from the hornets had poisoned his seed and sentenced him to a life devoid of heirs.

Blame aside, who better for him to marry? Perhaps that was her penance. When she didn't quicken with their child, she'd be called barren. Husbands were seldom held accountable. Some people in Kildalton might scorn her. They'd scorned her as a child, but in barely a fortnight she'd won them over. Given enough time, she would prevail again. And all the while she would belong to him.

Feeling her snuggle against his chest, he began to see her in a different light. He saw the courageous front she'd worn years ago, the mask she'd donned against the cruelty of the world. As a child she'd blustered to hide her hurt feelings. As a woman she'd made the best of her life. It was his destiny to make the best of her future.

A sense of peace spread through him. He'd write to Lady Miriam and tell her about Gordon's visit and the growing dissension among the Highland clans. But he'd save his personal news and his suspicions about Alpin's Highland relatives and tell both of his parents when they returned.

Starting tomorrow he'd try to win Alpin's trust and learn her secrets. For now he would simply hold her in his arms.

Saladin found them that way, standing in the study, locked in a healing embrace. Allah desert him, but he envied their accord. Still, no two people deserved to find joy in each other more than these childhood adversaries turned adult friends.

Malcolm looked up and grinned. "Welcome back to the world of the living, my friend."

Elanna's words rose in his mind—"Gods kick you out one time; gods throw you back again"—but Saladin kept them to himself. His feelings for her were too raw to expose, even to Malcolm. "I came to offer my congratulations," he said.

Alpin stepped away from Malcolm; he pulled her back. "Don't be shy. 'Tis just Saladin. He'd never embarrass you or tell you what to do."

"I know. But I'd best see about supper." She gave Malcolm a parting smile and hurried from the room.

Saladin said, "You should tell her the truth."

Malcolm began to pace. "I know, but not now. What is it you always say about lying? I have it: 'One evil which creates one hundred truths is better than one truth which creates one hundred evils.'"

"I don't follow your rationale for deceiving Alpin into a handfast marriage. You should have wed her outright."

"I know, and I will."

Saladin was only five years older than Malcolm, but the philosophical differences between them were vast. A Muslim would never take a decent woman out of wedlock. Saladin couldn't abide such deceit in Malcolm. "How can you justify tricking her?"

Malcolm rubbed his forehead. "Gordon and the other Jacobites are ready to move against the king. They're demanding I join them. Marriage to Alpin gives me an option because the MacKays are moderates."

Another difference arose. Malcolm's methods in dealing with the Highland clans tried Saladin's patience. "Using a woman to settle a dispute is dishonorable. Why not use your sword?"

"Because in our culture we value our women for more than childbearing. We give them freedom."

Saladin couldn't resist saying, "But Alpin's conceiving a child is a moot point."

"Dammit, Saladin. I know I cannot give her a child. But I need a tie to a Highland clan, and she needs a home."

Feeling guilty, Saladin said, "You're certain she's kin to Comyn MacKay?"

"Now that I picture them both? Aye. I should have noticed the resemblance before now, but I haven't seen Comyn in over a decade and I've had other things on my mind."

So much distress was surely born of emotions rather than politics. "I think you love her."

He chuckled ruefully. "Maybe I do." Perching on the arm of a chair, he grew serious. "I spent years blaming her. 'Twas all senseless. She couldn't have known the harm her prank would cause. I couldn't be bothered with her feelings. God, Saladin, she must have been lonely. Can you imagine being six years old, alone, and boarding a ship to Barbados?"

Such a voyage would have been a holiday in Saladin's childhood. "Yes, my friend. I can."

Malcolm clasped Saladin's arm. "I'd forgotten your wretched childhood. I'm a selfish man, and sorry to my soul."

One of Malcolm Kerr's finest qualities shone through: though quick to anger, he was quicker to forgive, except in Alpin's case, but at last he'd done the right thing by forgiving her.

The joy of their seasoned friendship made Saladin smile. "Don't apologize. Lady Miriam rescued Salvador and me from the slave block. Our life is as Allah willed it."

"I wonder what your brother would say if he knew Alpin and I were handfasted."

Saladin laughed. "He'd probably forgive her for breaking his ribs all those years ago."

Malcolm shook his head, his eyes brimming with fondness. "God, she was a hellion." Quietly he added, "She's changed."

Thoughts of his twin brother brought a lightness to Saladin's heart, a relief he sorely needed. "So has Salvador."

"Aye," said Malcolm. "Knighthood has altered his life."

"But not his
way
of life."

"We know him too well. He'd rather play the scribe for Lady Miriam than parade his achievements about the court."

Saladin laughed. "This is so. It also prevents him from keeping his vow to find our mother."

"What about your part of the pact? Will you ever seek out your father?"

Indifference consumed Saladin. He cared less than nothing for the worthless man who'd sired two fine sons, then boarded his ship and sailed off without a word. But Malcolm's engaging grin warranted a positive reply. "I'm certain I will someday, but I think I had better wait until you've persuaded the Jacobites to forget about putting James Stewart on the throne."

"Well said, my friend. Well said."