by Arnette Lamb
Raking feathers from her fingers, Elanna dashed to the wooden bucket and began washing her hands. “What did he eat?”
“He drank that orange concoction you tainted.”
“What else?”
From the foyer Alpin heard the shuffle of booted feet. She pictured them carrying Saladin to the stairs.
“What did he eat!” Elanna shouted.
“Berries, roots, and I think dandelion greens.”
Elanna froze, then swung her head slowly toward Alpin. “Dandelions? Blackamoor ate dandelions last night?”
Alpin’s hopes plummeted. “Yes. Is that bad?”
“Bad combination, dandelion greens and too much squat-in-the-bushes sauce. Very bad.” Not bothering to dry her hands, Elanna went to the hearth, wrapped her apron around the handle of the steaming kettle, and swung it off the fire.
Racked with regret and impotent anger, Alpin stalked her friend. “Will he die?”
“I do not know. I’ll feed him a little boiled sea-grass root. If he wakes up, we pour mighty big doses of plain orange water down his gullet.”
Alpin clasped her hands together. “I pray this works. I’ll get your medicinals and meet you upstairs.”
Five minutes later Alpin stood with Malcolm at Saladin’s bedside. Against the white linens the Moor’s swarthy complexion looked dull gray.
“He looks bad,” Malcolm said. “He’s hardly breathing.”
Alpin stepped in front of him. The despair in his eyes made her chest grow tight. “Please don’t worry, love,” she whispered and reached up to cup his unshaven cheek. “Elanna will do everything she can to make him well.”
He sighed and gave her a halfhearted smile. “I wish I had your confidence in her. Since I don’t, I’ll send for the midwife.”
She wanted to tell him the truth, but self-preservation held her back. The midwife wouldn’t know the cause of Saladin’s ailment. Alpin had to persuade him to let Elanna do the healing. Hating herself, she conjured up a bald-faced lie. “No, you mustn’t call the midwife. She might kill him. You must have faith in Elanna, Malcolm. People all over Barbados do. The governor will allow no one else to treat his gout.” The hope in his eyes spurred her on. “She’s cured everything from heart ailments and impotence to yellow fever and dropsy.”
A hint of a smile played on his lips. “Dropsy? I shudder to think of the treatment for that ailment.”
Footsteps sounded in the hall. Moving again to Malcolm’s side, she said, “I don’t know the treatment either, but Elanna has the healing touch. You could ask her yourself.”
“Ask me what?” Elanna said, entering the room carrying a tray laden with a pitcher, a stack of folded cloths, and a steaming mug.
“Never mind,” Malcolm said, his mood again grave. “Just treat him with the same care as you do the governor of Barbados.”
Elanna’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
“Malcolm’s worried,” Alpin rushed to say. “I told him how everyone in Barbados praises your healing skills. Even the governor.” A man Elanna had never set eyes on.
She put the tray on the nightstand. “Betcha that.” Head down, she hastened to Saladin.
She’s suffering from guilt, thought Alpin, feeling wretched herself. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Lookie-see first.” Elanna leaned over the bed and with her thumbs lifted Saladin’s eyelids. The contrast of her mahogany skin next to his now gray complexion gave vivid proof of just how ill he was.
Malcolm began to fidget. “Do something, for God’s sake.”
Alpin put her arm around his waist. His muscles felt tense beneath her hands. “He’ll be as good as new.”
“I pray ’tis so. He’s my best friend, and I love him well.”
With a businesslike air that Alpin knew was forced, Elanna placed her fingertips under Saladin’s jaw and felt down the length of his neck. She applied slight pressure under his arms. Next she unbuttoned his shirt and laid her head on his chest.
“Well?” said Malcolm.
“Don’t fret for him,” Elanna said. “Blackamoor’s heart beating strong like a jungle drum. This island girl will wake him up”—she glanced grimly at Alpin—“plenty quick.”
Elanna stirred a spoonful of dried green herbs into a steaming cup of brown liquid. Easing her weight onto the mattress, she slipped her arm beneath Saladin’s neck and lifted his turban-clad head. When she reached back for the cup, Malcolm picked it up and handed it to her.
“You swallow this easy and nice,” Elanna said, then threatened her unconscious patient, “or I’ll soak a rag in it and stuff it where your mighty Muslim dignity hides.”
Her gruffness didn’t fool Alpin; she knew Elanna cared deeply for Saladin, and her brusque manner was merely her way of curbing her anxiety.
Malcolm put his arm around Alpin’s shoulders and drew her closer. “I think that I just figured out the treatment for dropsy,” he murmured. “It involves a soaked rag and a man’s hidden dignity.”
“Saladin is strong. He’ll survive with or without his dignity. He has to. Elanna won’t have it any other way.” Alpin held her breath.
Curling her arm around his head, Elanna massaged the Moor’s Adam’s apple. Amazingly, his throat worked involuntarily, and he began to swallow. When the cup was empty Elanna put it aside and bathed his face, neck, and chest with a cool, damp cloth.
“He will awaken?” Malcolm asked.
“Soon, soon, and very soon,” Elanna replied.
“If he’s still unconscious, how did you get him to swallow?”
Elanna shrugged. “Ashanti holy man call it a body spirit I say it’s a mystery, same as new infant smacks for its mother’s breast.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Malcolm said. “But I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
The minutes dragged by. Only the rise and fall of Saladin’s chest gave proof that he lived. Silent despair filled the austere room. Outside the open window, activity in the yard crawled to a halt. None of the children sang or squealed in their game of hide-the-harp. Only the farm animals seemed unaffected by the tragedy of Saladin’s strange illness.
Alpin drew strength from Malcolm’s friendly embrace. He needed her, too, and that notion brightened her spirits. She made him a silent promise then: she would forbid Elanna to use her potions and ask her to confess her feelings for Saladin—if he rallied.
“The people of Kildalton love him, don’t they?”
“Aye,” Malcolm said.
Saladin coughed, and his eyes fluttered open. His mouth slack, he looked at his surroundings, then at each of the people by his bed. He focused on Malcolm and gave him a pained smile.
“Hallelujah!” Malcolm said on an exhaled breath.
Saladin turned his attention to Elanna, who had begun to cry.
Releasing Alpin, Malcolm rushed to the other side of the bed and knelt.
Elanna buried her face in the damp cloth and sobbed. Near tears herself, Alpin moved behind her friend and patted Elanna’s back.
“What is this,” Saladin said weakly, “a deathbed vigil?”
Elanna sobbed harder.
Malcolm grasped Saladin’s hand. “That all depends, my friend, on how you feel.”
The Moor licked his lips and swallowed. “I’d swear you tied me up and dragged me all the way home. How did I get here?”
“We brought you in the wagon.”
Saladin rubbed his forehead, pushing his turban askew. “Why’s that African woman crying? And will someone get me a drink? My mouth tastes like the moat at Gordon’s stronghold smells.”
Elanna sniffled and raised her head. “You one sassy blackamoor.”
“Ungrateful, too,” Malcolm said.
Saladin grinned, revealing the space between his teeth. “I’m also thirsty. Did you use your Ashanti powers to yank me back from the claws of death?”
If only he knew, Alpin thought, that it was Elanna who put his life in danger.
Elanna poured orange water and helped h
im drink. His eyes never left her face. When he’d emptied the glass, he said, “Did you save me?”
She nodded and busied herself refilling the glass. When she held it out to him, he wrapped his hand over hers. Staring first at Malcolm, then at Alpin, he said, “Leave us.”
Alpin saw Elanna stiffen and was surprised that she didn’t bolt. Thinking her friend was afraid to be alone with him, Alpin said, “Perhaps we should stay, Saladin. You might need us.”
“I don’t think he does. He has everything he needs.” With a final pat to Saladin’s arm, Malcolm rose. “Behave yourself.”
“I’m too weak to break bread. My angel of mercy is safe from ravishment.”
Malcolm led Alpin from the room. “God, I’m exhausted,” he said, leaning on the banister and staring at the entryway below.
Alpin understood; she was so relieved she wanted to giggle. “Would you like a bath?” she asked.
Looking at her over his shoulder, he chuckled. “Why? Do I need one?”
She twitched her nose. “Not unless you enjoy smelling like damp wool and lathered horse.”
He turned and picked her up. “Oh, Alpin, I thought we’d lost him,” he murmured against her breast.
Then he swung her around. The doorways, the chandelier, and the ancient battle shields on the wall spun in and out of her vision. She clutched his hair and closed her eyes. Saladin’s recovery absolved her guilt. Sweet reality took its place. Malcolm was back. Mere hours from now he would make her his wife in the physical sense. Under common law she would belong to the man who had surely deceived her.
Perhaps it was the recent brush with death, perhaps it was resignation, but whatever the cause, Alpin couldn’t let go of him. She wanted him, his comfort, his companionship, and his passion.
By the time he put her down, they were both dizzy. Like regular patrons of the Rot and Ruin tavern, they staggered down the stairs. While the now jubilant Dora filled the tub in the scullery, Alpin served Malcolm a plate of scones, cheese, and cold mutton. Leaving him at the kitchen table, she went to his room to fetch him a fresh tartan and a clean shirt. When she spied her reflection in the mirror, she put down his clothes and chose a fresh dress from the wardrobe to which she’d moved her clothes. Then she tidied her hair, washed her face, and pinched color into her cheeks.
After Malcolm finished his bath and dressed, they went into the yard and spread the news of Saladin’s recovery. Soldiers, tenants, and children joined them on their stroll through Kildalton.
When they entered the old tiltyard, Malcolm spied the globe near the quintain. “What’s that doing there?”
The irony of her morning role as teacher made Alpin smile. As a girl she’d been illiterate and envious of the children here, for unlike her uncle’s tenants, the lads and lassies of Kildalton had been provided with an education. During the year she’d lived here she’d been a stubborn six-year-old, too prideful to set foot in the school. Malcolm had excelled in history and mathematics; Alpin had mastered pranks and survival.
Young Gibby Armstrong dashed in front of them. Walking backwards so he could face them, his fair hair flopping against his forehead, he chirped, “She gave us island candy and let us spin the globe.”
Brows raised, Malcolm said, “Did you find Scotland, lad?”
Gibby almost tripped over his own feet. Rabby Armstrong scooped the boy up and gave him a ride on his shoulders.
“Aye, my lord, and Barbados,” piped Gibby, his fingers tangled in Rabby’s hair. “That’s where Lady Alpin grew the candy.”
Malcolm took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “I’m curious, Alpin. How did you grow candy?”
Feeling oddly at home, surrounded by people who had once scorned her for a wicked child but who just this morning had praised her for a generous soul, Alpin squeezed his hand. “I gave them sugarcane. I also showed them a machete. Elanna tapped a keg and passed out cups of rum.”
“You gave spirits to Gibby and the other bairns?”
The accusation in his voice jarred her. “No, of course not. Just the men.” She pulled away.
Malcolm pulled her back. “I was teasing, love. Now tell me you missed me.”
She had missed him, and loneliness had made her restless. To combat the anxiety she had led the servants in a cleaning frenzy. From the tower steps to the dungeon cells, Kildalton had been swept, scrubbed, and polished.
“I was too busy to miss you.”
“Ah, I see. How, besides teaching geography and plying my men with rum, did you keep busy while I was away?”
“We slaughtered the hogs and did some remodeling.”
“Remodeling of what?”
“I’ll show you.” She pulled him past the walled garden and into the rear yard.
Malcolm halted in his tracks. Before him stood a new building constructed of fieldstone with a thick thatched roof. “You built a new springhouse?”
“I didn’t. Alexander and his men demolished the old one. The wooden beams and roof supports are smoldering over there in a charcoal pile. The stonemason took over from there.”
Alexander joined them. “Building a larger springhouse was Lady Alpin’s idea, my lord. She worked as hard as any of the lads.”
“Well, well, my lady”—Malcolm eyed her from head to toe—“perhaps I should leave Kildalton more often, although ’tis a mystery to me how I could drag myself away.”
Murmurs of agreement spread through the men in the crowd.
Feeling trapped by his engaging display of devotion and uncomfortable as the center of attention, she bristled. “An excellent idea.”
Dora stepped to the front of the crowd. “That ain’t all she done, my lord. She had us clean the castle from top to bottom. Even Mrs. Elliott wouldn’t find fault with Lady Alpin’s housekeeping ways.”
“’Twould seem I’ve made a bonny bargain, then. I’ll have to work hard to uphold my part.”
The men chuckled. The women tittered. The children cheered.
Flustered by his heated gaze, Alpin opened the spring-house door. “You’d better inspect it first.”
He ducked inside. A moment later he called out, “There’s enough cheese and fresh ham in here to last till spring. Bless Saint Ninian! With the game we felled and this bounty, we’ll spend the winter eating like kings.”
Alpin’s high spirits sank. Before winter she would return to Barbados. She’d never see the castle folk or the soldiers again. She’d be only a fond memory to the children. While Malcolm and his tenants toasted their feet by the fire and savored the crumbly cheese and salty ham, she’d be tending her own estate and providing for her own people.
Guilt over her deception nagged at her conscience, but she justified her actions with the knowledge that she had helped Malcolm’s people. She’d left her mark and would be remembered kindly.
He, on the other hand, had deceived her, and although she hadn’t found the missing letters or uncovered solid proof of his interference in her life, she knew in her soul that he had schemed to take Paradise from her, had lured her to the Borders, and had put her squarely under his thumb.
Only the reasons for his actions eluded her.
But she’d find out, for he couldn’t keep his secret forever, not if they were living together as man and wife. At that uneasy thought, she renewed her vow to guard her heart.
When he emerged from the springhouse he gave her a courtly bow. “Good work, Alpin. You’re a Scotswoman at heart.” To Alexander he said, “Go to the Rot and Ruin. Tell Jamie to tap a laird’s keg of ale. We’ll drink to our bounty and toast our bonny new lady and Saladin’s recovery.”
The crowd roared and moved en masse toward the tavern.
Malcolm held out his arm. “Shall we, Alpin?”
She shouldn’t feel all bubbly inside. His eager expression shouldn’t make her heart trip fast or cause her to make wishes that would never come true. But Alpin couldn’t resist wanting him, couldn’t pass up the chance for the intimacy he offered. At seven and twenty,
she might not have another chance to discover the mysteries of physical love.
She hooked her arm in his. “Are you planning to get me drunk and make sport of me?”
He leaned so close his breath tickled her ear. “Oh, nay. Not that kind of sport. I want you alert when I take you to my bed tonight. I want you besotted only with me.”
“I don’t besot easily.”
“We’ll see about that.”
The enticing and familiar smell of his sandalwood soap was enough to make her tipsy. His nearness set off other, more delicious sensations in her body. Her legs grew weak, a tightness coiled in her belly, and her breasts ached for the touch of his hands, the feel of his mouth.
Like a lovesick miss, she sighed with longing.
He kissed her cheek and whispered, “Remember that thought, love.”
The urge to surrender chipped away at her will to resist loving him.
“And tell it to me later,” he added, “in vivid detail.”
That overconfident comment sparked her courage. She’d sooner grow fins than reveal herself so completely. “How much game did you bring home?”
He chuckled and tapped her on the nose. “You’ll have to dissemble better than that to get my mind off making love to you.”
“Love? I thought ’twas bed sport you wanted.”
“Do you want bed sport?”
She told a half lie. “I don’t precisely know what I want.”
He nodded, sagelike, the picture of a Scottish chieftain. “’Tis usually the case with virgins.”
“Are you so sure I’m a virgin?”
“If not, you’d better tell me.”
Miffed that he had grown to such an impressive and respected figure of a man, Alpin demanded, “What will you give me in return for my innocence?”
“Hum.” He stared at her mouth. “I’ll give you gentleness, every scrap of my attention, and a night of loving you’ll never forget.”
His promises thrilled her, and deep inside she feared that any attempt at resisting the charming Malcolm Kerr would end in a battle she was bound to lose. She felt like a shallow-rooted sapling swaying to the breeze of his desire.