by Arnette Lamb
Disappointed to her soul, she went to the study to search for the letter from Codrington. Malcolm had offered to let her read it, but he’d gone back to sleep after making love to her this morning. Bristling with energy, she had dressed and begun her duties for the day. When he awakened, he’d roused Saladin and gone to Lanarkshire to deliver a herd of Spanish cattle.
Alpin looked in the drawer that contained the other correspondence. The old letters were there, but nothing new. A further search of the desk and the room proved futile. Thinking he might have left it upstairs in his traveling pouch, she went to their room.
In the leather satchel she found an accounting from a squire in Kelso, an invitation to a wedding next month in Carlisle, and an offering of stock from a tobacco concern in Glasgow. Recent correspondence. Nothing from Barbados. She felt certain if she found the letter from the island lawyer she would find the other missing correspondence too. Where had he hidden it, and why?
A more worrisome question plagued her. What would she do when faced with indisputable proof of Malcolm’s duplicity? Misery compounded her trouble, but she knew what course she would take. She would hide her heartbreak and do the same thing she had always done. She’d look out for herself.
She must be careful, though, for if he suspected her motives or learned of the child, he’d use all of the powers at his disposal to keep her here.
She must persuade him to transfer ownership of Paradise to her. Inadvertently, Miss Lindsay had given her a new reason to succeed.
In the sunny solitude of the upstairs solar, Alpin refined her plan and rehearsed her words. Sometime later a knock sounded at the door.
“Come in.”
Elanna entered the room. Agony dulled her eyes and pinched her mouth.
Seeing her friend so forlorn, Alpin said, “Ashanti princess got big trouble.”
“Betcha that.” The reply lacked its usual impudence.
Alpin put her own problems aside. “What happened?”
Elanna paced aimlessly around the room, trailing a hand over an embroidery frame, then riffling through a basket of spare buttons. When she pricked her finger on a needle and didn’t seem to care, Alpin grew alarmed. “The sooner you tell me what’s bothering you, the sooner you’ll sing a better, better song.”
Elanna looked up. “You cannot help this stupid island girl.”
During his sober periods Charles had criticized Alpin for spoiling the slaves and indulging Elanna. Alpin had never viewed her actions in that light; she believed in respecting individuals. In the protected atmosphere of Paradise her actions had seemed proper. Away from that secure world she wondered if she might have been wrong to allow Elanna the eccentricities of an Ashanti princess.
“Please talk to me, Elanna.”
Her shoulders sagged. “That Muslim forgives me.”
Alarm shot through Alpin. “Did you tell him about the potions?”
“Never, but I threw them down the privy shaft. He forgives me for driving him to drink.”
“Why are you upset if he forgave you?”
Head down, Elanna appeared the antithesis of her African birthright. “This woman plenty much afraid. That man put a scare in my soul. The gods now laugh at this Ashanti princess.”
Alpin had no culture to call her own, no heritage save a batch of uncaring relatives who’d been eager to ship her off to Barbados, where she’d made a good life and better friends. “I doubt the gods are laughing because you fell in love. My guess is they are rejoicing.”
She shook her head slowly. “Ashanti princess sing sorry, sorry song.”
“Saladin is a fine man. You cannot regret that you care for him.”
“No regrets. Wise Ashanti queen say it’s better to feel heart aching than not to feel heart at all.”
As much as it pained her, Alpin had to agree. “I think we should go home.”
Excitement flickered in Elanna’s eyes, and her innate poise returned. “How you get Paradise back from Scotsman?”
Alpin related her plan to get Malcolm to transfer ownership of Paradise to her.
Brows lifted in surprise, Elanna smiled. “You plenty clever white woman.”
“This white woman is also pregnant.”
Elanna’s mouth fell open. Fist clenched, she spat what could only have been an Ashanti curse word. “I should have given you careful-woman sauce.”
“No. I want this baby.”
“Scotsman never let you leave.”
“He will never know, unless you tell him.”
Elanna raked a hand across her lips. “Secret yours and mine—until we get home. Then you tell Bumpa Sam so he plays his drums for your child. Old Romeo will build a cradle.” Cupping her hands over her ears, she added, “Marguerite will howl and burn twigs for her Asebu gods.”
All of Alpin’s friends would be happy. They would fuss over her, praise her, and vie for the right to spoil her baby. “I expect they will. I want you to pack only one change of clothing and your valuables. We must be ready when the time comes.”
“When will we go?”
“Soon, Elanna. Very soon.”
“What about money for the ship?”
Alpin applauded herself. “As Lord Malcolm’s steward, I pay everyone’s wages. Even my own. And now, Elanna, I think this clever white woman should make herself beautiful for her husband.”
“Betcha that.”
At Alpin’s insistence they dined in the study. After the meal, she poured Malcolm a glass of brandy and sat on the arm of his chair, her hand touching his shoulder.
“When will the harvest begin?” she asked.
Looking like a pampered husband, he stretched out his legs. With the bowl of the glass cupped in his palm, he swirled the contents. “Next week, and I cannot say I relish the prospect.”
“Have you enough men to do the work?”
He tipped his head back and gave her a stern look. “If you’re thinking of helping, you can forget it. I will not allow you to work in the fields, Alpin.”
Did he suspect she had conceived, and was he concerned for her welfare and that of the child? No. He was just being stubborn, a trait she knew well. “Allow me? That sounds despotic.”
A smile curled his lips. “Call it what you will, but I’d rather have you pampering my palate than blistering your hands.”
He shouldn’t be so considerate, not after coercing her into a sham of a marriage. Never mind that it had been her idea; she had a right to her anger. How else could she bear his false promises of love and keep her mind on her mission?
“I do,” she conceded with forced regret, “enjoy satisfying your appetite.”
His eyes smoldered with meaning. “A circumstance,” he murmured, caressing her thigh, “that makes me crave you all the more.”
His touch inspired memories of their lovemaking, but she fought her desire and concentrated on his deceit. “Malcolm Kerr! You could turn a how-do-you-do into an indecency.”
“You were rather indecent yourself this morning. I, if you will recall, was merely your bound victim.”
Appalled, she looked away. “I untied you before—”
“Before what? Before you mounted me and rode my docile manner to exhaustion?”
She laughed. “If you’re docile, the pope’s a Jew. Stop changing the subject. We were discussing the harvest. According to the ledgers, the yield was poor last year.”
“How did you know that?”
She stared at the crown of his head and the play of lamplight in his blue-black hair. Would her child have such glorious hair? Would it be a strapping boy with a thirst for knowledge? Or would her child be a girl with brown eyes and her father’s engaging grin?
“Alpin?”
She put aside her motherly speculation. She had plenty of time to think about her child. “Because I compared the harvest totals with the entries for the last two years.”
He walked his fingers to her knee. “Why?”
She stifled a shiver of longing and concentrated on
what he’d said. Had she made him suspicious? No, he was only curious. “Because I was interested. Remember, I’m your steward and your housekeeper.”
“And my wife.”
His temporary wife. Fighting regret for what could never be, she took up the conversation. “Precisely. What concerns you concerns me.”
He gave a contented grunt and sipped the brandy. “This year our profits should be greater. We had ample rain and plenty of fertilizer from the cattle.”
She seized an opening. “What if someone inquires about purchasing some of the animals while you’re away?”
“I doubt anyone will, but you can tell them to come back next month.”
Small talk was getting her nowhere. Finesse was what she needed. “I suppose you think I couldn’t sell a cow.”
He began working her skirt up to her knee. “I suppose you could sell a coal mine to Newcastle.”
If she owned a blasted coal mine, she wouldn’t be pregnant and in love with a man who wanted her only for bed sport and political gain. “You’re just flattering me because you managed to get out of shopping for a proper gift for your bride.”
He almost choked. “I knew you wanted something from me, other than a reunion with the MacKays. What is it?”
He was the one who wanted the meeting, not Alpin. Following her plan, she made light of the question. “It was a jest, Malcolm. I have all I need, except enough work to keep me busy.”
“That’ll change soon, for all of us.”
He referred to the harvest. “Not for me, if all I have to do is cook and turn away cattle buyers.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, I almost forgot. You were going to show me the letter from Codrington.” She held her breath, hoping he would take the bait.
“What does that have to do with keeping you busy?”
“Well …” She rubbed his neck. “Since I know more about the plantation than you do, you could give Paradise to me for a wedding gift.”
His hand went still. Her skirt fell back into place, covering her knee. “Why do you want it?”
Honesty came easy. “I was raised there, Malcolm. I know the slaves as well as you know your soldiers. I couldn’t live with myself if the new owner mistreated them.”
“They were kind to you?”
She tamped back a burst of homesickness and love. “Very much so, and I’m afraid a stranger would take advantage of them. You can’t imagine how wretchedly some slaves are treated.”
“Then tell me.”
“The women are encouraged to breed, and not always with other slaves. On some plantations the children bear a striking resemblance to the master.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Yes, but it gets worse. Oftentimes little children are taken from their mothers and sold. Imagine a man siring a child, then selling it to his neighbor.”
“Aren’t there laws dictating humane treatment of slaves?”
“White men make the laws and the profits. But those abominations have never occurred at Paradise, and if you’ll give me the authority and the responsibility, I’ll keep it a decent place.”
“You never could abide any creature being mistreated, could you, Alpin?”
She tucked the compliment away; she’d have a lifetime of lonely nights to remember his words of praise. “There’s another reason.” Again she waited, for this was her most persuasive argument.
“I’m listening.”
She had rehearsed the words; distancing herself from the sentiment they evoked posed a challenge. “You once told me that I resented you because you were born to wealth and position and I was born to poverty. At first I denied it, but now I have to agree that you were right.”
An eerie calmness surrounded him. “You no longer resent me for my birthright?”
Borrowing one of his rejoinders, she said, “You could hardly call my attitude toward you this morning resentful.”
He chuckled. “True, and in light of what you’ve told me, I’ll give you Paradise for your wedding gift.”
She had to bite her lip to keep from shouting with glee. Paradise would be hers. With the papers in hand, she would return to the safety of her island home. No one could stop her. No one could take her property away again. With the help of her friends, she would raise her child there. Malcolm could wed his Highland heiress.
She fought off a stab of jealousy. “Perhaps I’ll have a daughter someday. The plantation could be her dowry.”
He jumped from the chair, almost knocking her to the floor. “’Tis a bit early for such talk.”
Gaining her balance, she stood, transfixed by his odd behavior. He seemed distant, enraptured by the family portrait on the far wall.
At length she said, “But the subject of children is important. What if I do not conceive? You’ll still be obligated to provide Kildalton an heir. What will become of me then?”
He whirled to face her, a hard edge to his features. “We needn’t discuss this now.”
“Quite the contrary.”
“Leave it, Alpin,” he growled.
Baffled by his sudden anger, she forced herself to be reasonable. “Look, Malcolm. If I had my own means, you wouldn’t be troubled to look after me.”
“By ‘means,’ you refer to the proceeds from the sale of Paradise plantation?”
She had no intention of selling it, but he needn’t know that. Once he’d signed over the property to her, she could relax. The day the harvest began, Alpin MacKay would begin her own voyage—home.
Her plans made and her destiny within reach, Alpin said, “Yes. Having resources of my own is important to me. Can you understand that?”
“Aye. You shouldn’t feel like a poor relation in this marriage.”
Actually she felt like a pawn, but she would exit this marriage with her future assured and the wonderful gift of a child. “Will you draw up the paperwork now? That way I can answer Codrington’s letter tomorrow.” If she couldn’t devise a way to escape quickly, she’d write another letter, to the governor of Barbados, informing him of the transfer of ownership and her plan to return to the island.
“If it will make you happy, Alpin, I’ll do it.” Malcolm left the room.
Too excited to move, she counted his departing footsteps, heard the smooth rhythm of his bootheels on the stairs. But she had looked up there, searched their room from top to bottom. Curiosity overrode her enthusiasm, and she raced to the door. Peeking around the corner, she saw him disappear down the hall leading to his parents’ bedchamber. So that was where he kept the papers. She hadn’t thought to look there.
Then she realized it didn’t matter where he’d hidden the documents; only getting them in her possession did.
He returned with a box under his arm. The wooden surface had been richly worked in marquetry. Easing into the chair behind his desk, he handed her Codrington’s letter, then began penning the official transfer. He looked troubled and she wondered why, but she was too excited to dwell on his mood.
According to Codrington, activities on the plantation were going well under the supervision of Henry Fenwick. Alpin relaxed.
Once the deed was written, he offered her the quill.
“Why are you nervous?” he asked.
Concentrating hard, she willed her hand to stop shaking long enough to sign her name. “Because I’ve never owned anything before.”
“Well, you do now.” His smile was forced, his voice stiff.
From the box he produced several tally sheets she herself had written over the years. Charles had insisted the accountings were for his own use. Now she knew he’d begun sending them to Malcolm five years ago after he transferred ownership of the plantation.
She held the papers loosely, although she wanted to clutch them to her breast and dance around the room.
“Alpin, there’s something I want to tell you.”
He seemed so serious. Thinking he would lecture her on the responsibilities of being a landowner, she put the papers on his desk. “Not now, Malcolm. Let’s toast our
marriage.”
He tapped his teeth together, a sure sign that he was troubled. “’Tis important to our marriage, what I have to say.”
“And bad news, from the look on your face. Leave it for now. Please. Let’s celebrate our good fortune.”
He stared at the other documents in the box, his indecision obvious.
Her heart bursting with joy, she sat on the rug before the hearth. “Come sit beside me,” she said, “and bring the brandy with you. I’m eager to hear all about those cattle you sold today.”
“’Twould bore you to tears, Alpin.”
He seemed miles away, even as he crossed the room and dropped down beside her. Or perhaps it was just that she was so happy.
Determined to cheer him up, she said, “Then tell me how Saladin plans to get his sword back from the barkeep.”
“MacGinty never intended to keep it. He was afraid Saladin would use it on someone. God, he was a sight drunk, wasn’t he?”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “You made quite a picture yourself.”
He glanced down at her, challenge glittering in his eyes. “I wasn’t that drunk.”
“Of course not. You always stumble up the stairs and fall asleep in your clothes.”
“Did you take them off me?”
“Yes, and it took me ever so long to get you naked.”
“Was that before or after you tied me up?”
“I’m not telling.”
“I could make you.”
“How?”
He pulled her across his lap and leaned close. “I could start by carrying you upstairs and stripping you naked.”
Desire swirled inside her. She would leave him soon, so why not enjoy his passion while she could? She could also examine the contents of the box. Surely Charles’s letter was there. Inhibitions gone, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Let’s sleep here. Then you cannot push me off the bed.”
“I’m sorry, Alpin.”
“Apology accepted. Just lock the door.”
“No one will come in without first knocking.”
“No one?”
His intense gaze roamed her face. She saw herself reflected in his eyes and wondered if he would truly miss her. Her heart ached at the thought that he might not.