Border Bride (4 page)

Fearful that he would discern her reaction, Alpin thought of the eighty slaves at Paradise. They depended on her, needed her.

"You're smiling," he said. "You
want
to belong to me?"

Let him think her a meek female—for now. She shrugged. "According to Charles's will you're responsible for my welfare."

"Well, now." He smiled and folded his arms over his chest. "'Tis a truly interesting turn of events."

She couldn't contain her own surprise. "You're pleased?"

"But of course," he said, like a wolf wooing a lamb into slavering jaws.

His cunning tone alarmed her. In defense, she tensed and stepped away. Just as quickly, she relaxed. They were both adults now. She was not some retiring English rose pining for a notorious Scotsman with an appealing smile and an ancient title. She was a woman with a purpose and a plan.

Gossips in the port city of Whitley Bay had told her of his ascension to laird of clan Kerr and earl of Kildalton. Prior knowledge of his elevated rank was unnecessary, for Malcolm Kerr wore authority and confidence as effectively as he wore Highland dress. Gazing at his back and observing his masculine swagger, she began to believe the rumors about his easy way with women.

She moved around him. "Splendid. You can have your housekeeper show me to my rooms. Is Mrs. Elliott still with you?"

He watched her a moment more, that peculiar smile lingering on his lips and disturbing her composure. "Unfortunately no. She's in Constantinople with my parents. Since you belong to me, I'll have someone bring in your things." Over his shoulder he called out, "Alexander!"

The soldier who'd greeted Alpin hurried across the yard. Balding and a head shorter than Malcolm, the soldier wore a plaid similar to the bold red and green tartan of the Kerrs.

As he approached, a memory stirred, nudging Alpin to again remember her visits to Kildalton years before. Alexander Lindsay. That was his name.

He joined them, his mouth drawn in a disapproving pucker. She smiled and said, "Hello, Mr. Lindsay. A very long time ago you helped me bury my pet badger. Do you remember?"

He stared down at her; yet his pale blue eyes seemed distant. "Aye. We laid the toothless beast to rest in the old tiltyard."

Time had dulled that particular knife-sharp pain. Others still hurt, but none so deeply as the loss of her home, a wound inflicted by Malcolm Kerr. Thoughts of taking Paradise from him soothed the ache.

"Malcolm demanded the hide to use for a sporran," she said. "He threatened to dig up poor Abercrombie. I cried, but he wouldn't stop teasing me. You sent him to Lord Duncan for discipline and had Mrs. Elliott make me a sleeping potion."

Disarmed, Alexander swallowed hard. "A noble beast for certain, my lady."

"Lord Malcolm? A beast? I do hope not."

"Nay—" Alexander whipped his gaze to the laird of Kildalton, who chuckled.

"She's having you on, Alexander. Everyone knows I'm a lambkin at heart when it comes to the fairer sex and God's creatures." Sending Alpin a sidelong glance, he added, "Have you a lady's maid in that carriage?"

The rumble of his voice, flavored with a slight burr, reminded Alpin of her miserable childhood in the Borders. Barbados had been her salvation. Now she must find a way to convince Malcolm to return it to her.

"Yes. Her name is Elanna." Alpin knew the woman would cause a stir; she had planned it that way.

"Assist the lass, Alexander," said Malcolm. "And have someone bring in their bags."

Then he took Alpin's arm and leisurely walked across the yard and up the steps to the keep. Studying his large hand, she wondered how the reed-thin lad had grown into so magnificent a man. His broad shoulders and thick neck would rival an oarsman's. His slender waist and long, muscled legs bespoke hours spent on horseback. He'd lived a privileged life, free of worry, while she'd fretted over crops, battled disease and the forces of nature to build a secure future for herself. It wasn't fair that the fruits of her labor should fall into his hands. Codrington's explanation rang in her ears: in transferring ownership of Paradise to Malcolm, Charles had repaid a debt of gratitude. But what had Malcolm done to earn such generosity?

He opened the huge double doors and waved her inside. "You're suddenly quiet, Alpin. Why?"

His question jarred her from speculation. Inside the castle she couldn't help comparing the stone fortress, with its heavy Jacobean furniture and expansive rugs, to the airy simplicity of Paradise.

She scanned the familiar entryway, looking for a safe subject. She found it in the appointments. "I don't remember so much armor on the walls of Kildalton. Was it here before?"

"Nay." He paused to touch a worn and dented leather shield bearing a blazing sun, the emblem of clan Kerr. "After Lady Miriam ended the war between my father and your uncle, Baron Sinclair, Papa took these fighting implements from the soldiers. They've become heirlooms."

Battle axes, lances, and helmets covered the high stone walls of the entryway. Two benches with needlepoint cushions sat below the leaded windows that looked out onto the yard. Tables with urns of freshly cut heather lined one wall, tapestries depicting the May Day and a country fair graced the other. The staircase curved up to the second floor.

Light from a chandelier in the shape of a cinquefoil illuminated the room. She spied a familiar weapon. "You used to wear that sword."

He chuckled. "You mean I used to drag it around. As a lad I couldn't wait to wield it. Papa drew a mark on the wall in my room and said I could start soldiering when I was as till as the mark. I measured myself every day until…"

She glanced up. He was staring down at her, his jaw clenched tight, a guarded expression in his dark brown eyes.

"Until… ?" Their gazes locked. "Who's quiet now, Malcolm?"

He smiled without joy. "Until I was about your height."

That wasn't what he was going to say. She was sure of it. He was hiding something. "Are you mocking me again?"

"Nay." He guided her to the stairs. "I was wondering what has made you so defensive."

Had honesty been her purpose she would have answered that it was necessity, for never in her life had anyone except the Night Angel, the avenger of her youth, bothered to take her side. As far back as she could remember, she'd been either a poor orphan with nowhere to go or a poor relation without tuppence to her name. When she finally found a home, Malcolm had fallen heir to it.

She laughed to conceal her bitterness. "Actually, I like being small, for when I trip I don't have far to fall."

"A clever rhyme."

"My lord… ?" A housemaid about fifteen years old approached them. The fair-haired girl had eager hazel eyes and a country-fresh complexion liberally dotted with freckles. She wore a plain brown dress so new the seams still puckered, and a starched white apron and mobcap.

"Excuse me, my lord. No one's come to apply for the position of housekeeper."

"Thank you, Dora," Malcolm said. "This is Lady Alpin. Please prepare one of the guest suites for her and her maid."

Dora bobbed a curtsy. "Which suite, my lord? With Mrs. Elliott gone, there ain't none to say."

"Alpin, you once boasted that you knew every nook and cranny of Kildalton. Have you a preference?" he said.

Sarcasm laced his words, but she ignored his reference to her skulkings in the past. "I don't remember, and I'm not particular, so long as the room has a fireplace. I'm used to sunnier climes."

"Then you shall have the sunniest and warmest rooms here." To Dora, he said, "The large suite on the second floor—where the earl of Mar always stays."

She gasped and darted a worried glance up the stairs. "There's no linens on the beds, my lord, what with Mrs. Elliott gone and the new housekeeper quittin' and all."

He tapped his teeth together for a moment. Patiently he said, "Then fetch the linens and whatever else the room needs. While you're doing that, I'll show our guest where it is."

"Aye, sir." She walked away mumbling, "Candles and towels, and plenty of peat. Oil for the lamps. Water for the basin…"

"After you." He extended his hand toward the stairs.

As she climbed the stone steps, Alpin passed dress shields bearing brass plates with the names of the lesser clans that aligned themselves with the Kerrs: Lindsay, Elliott, Armstrong, Maxwell, Johnstone, and Ramsay. Hundreds of men swore fealty to Malcolm. They would follow him into battle should he need an army. They paid him a laird fee.

With so many contributing to his wealth, what would he do with the gift of Paradise? Surely he had no interest in a plantation half a world away. He could probably buy a score of Paradises and not put a dent in his gold chest.

She longed to ask him what he planned to do with the island property, and she would, once she'd set her plan into motion by ingratiating herself with him and insinuating herself into his life.

At the top of the stairs he ushered her to the left. A door behind them opened.

"Malcolm… ?"

The sultry voice stopped him. Alpin glanced over her shoulder. Her breath caught.

In an open doorway stood a woman
en deshabille
, her arms bare, a Kerr tartan covering her from breasts to knees. Her mane of golden blond hair hung in wild disarray. Tall and lithe and perfectly comfortable with herself, she yawned.

His mistress, thought Alpin with more jealousy than she expected. Eligible bachelors of means were rare on the island of Barbados. She'd had a gentleman caller once, but Charles had been so embarrassingly drunk that the fellow had never returned. After word got out, no other man had bothered to court Alpin.

Malcolm cleared his throat. "Good afternoon, Rosina." Ruefully he added, "May I present my guest, Lady Alpin MacKay, late of Barbados."

The woman's pale eyes widened, then fastened on Alpin. Blushing, Rosina gave Malcolm an apologetic smile, murmured "How provincial," then stepped back and closed the door.

Alpin started walking again.

"I suppose you're appalled," he said.

"Hardly. I'm disappointed."

"You are. Why?"

"Because you're not very good at keeping promises."

He stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall, his eyebrows raised in question. "I'm not?"

"No. You promised to keep your lusty proclivities on a short leash."

A devilish smile enhanced his dark good looks. He bent from the waist, his shoulder-length black hair grazing his cheek. "What length
leash
would suit you?"

He was saying one thing and meaning something else. She didn't know him well enough to understand either. For some reason she looked at the door where the woman had been, then at the door before her. "I'm not sure. Perhaps a furlong."

He chuckled. "I could make a bit of mischief and more with so mighty a leash."

Feeling out of her depth, she took the offensive. "Making mischief always was your strong suit."

"Just as teaching me to kiss was yours."

Outrage barreled through her. "That's hogwash, Malcolm Kerr. Every time I saw you, you tried to paste your sloppy lips on me!"

Calmly he said, "You started it."

"I did not!"

"Aye, you did." Leaning against the door, he folded his arms over his chest. "'Twas Adrienne's birthday party. You were five. I was six. You'd seen her kissing Charles and talked me into trying it with you. I liked it and tried to recapture the experience numerous times."

His recollection reminded her that they'd once been friends. But not for long. "According to rumor, you've made a vocation of kissing any woman who'll let you."

A rakish grin gave credence to his vile reputation. "Just don't forget 'twas you who lured me onto the path of sin."

Delivered with quiet intensity, the sermonlike words made her laugh. "Go ahead, Malcolm. Condemn me for your ill-gotten fame. Just remember. Only one of us enjoys sloppy kisses."

All his humor vanished. "No man has ever made you feel desire?"

No man had bothered to come close enough, she almost yelled. Her experience with kissing had begun and ended with Malcolm Kerr. The confession sounded so pitiful she wanted to cry. His concern seemed so earnest she looked away. "Is this my room?"

"Alpin…" he entreated softly. "You're dissembling."

Putting as much scorn into her voice as she could muster, she said, "Oh, please, Malcolm. Unlike you, I don't reveal the details of my affairs or flaunt them before strangers."

He pushed open the door. "Of course. How indiscreet of me, a stranger, to ask."

She glided past him. "Indiscretion. Another of your sterling qualities."

"Why do I doubt you're as prim and proper as you let on?"

Even with her back to him, she felt his keen gaze and had the strangest notion that she had unwittingly challenged him. The possibility gave her pause. At length she faced him and said, "Because you wouldn't know prim-and-proper if it crawled into your sporran."

His eyes narrowed and he looked into his chieftain's pouch. "Prim-and-proper would never crawl in here."

Aghast, she said, "I should slap you."

"But you won't. Make yourself at home, Alpin. Should you decide about the length of that leash, I'll be in my study."

More annoyed with herself than with him, Alpin stifled the urge to slam the door in his face. Putting on a sweet smile, she closed the door. Her suite contained a sitting room, a bedchamber and privy, and a smaller room for her maid.

She walked to the open windows and sighed with relief.

Moments after her arrival she'd feared Malcolm might send her away. Through careful maneuvering she'd ensconced herself in his household and found living proof of his scandalous reputation. Lucky for her and her cause, he'd be so preoccupied with his lusty proclivities and his gorgeous mistress that Alpin would be free to put into motion the next step in her plan.

She gazed down on the castle yard and smiled. A gape-mouthed Alexander helped Alpin's maid from the carriage. Battle-hardened soldiers, laundry maids, and even the children of Kildalton stared in disbelief at Elanna.

His mind a muddle of conflicting thoughts, Malcolm stared at the bar of sunlight seeping beneath the door to Alpin's room.