The Border Series (Omnibus Edition)

by Arnette Lamb

  She stiffened, as if shoring up her defenses.

  Malcolm wanted to hold her, but he knew it was too soon. He found himself staring at the wisps of curling hair at the nape of her neck and thinking how delicate she was. Because of her size, he’d underestimated her. She might be small, but his wife possessed the strength and courage of a gladiator.

  Daunted at the prospect of conquering her, Malcolm spoke from the heart. “I’m sorry for the hurtful things I said to you.”

  “I’m sure you are. Hadn’t you better see what Salvador wants?”

  He had to break through the shell of her indifference. “I’d rather hear what you want.”

  Her hand touched the arm of the family throne. “I want to go home to Barbados.”

  Kildalton Castle was her home; he would make it so. “You would take my child?”

  She turned toward him then, righteous anger blazing in her eyes. “It’s my child. Before I let you use it as a political pawn or wreck its life, I’ll raise it in a ditch.”

  She looked so defiant and so proud, and Malcolm had never loved her more. He had to ball his fists to keep from reaching for her. “As I wrecked yours?”

  “You flatter yourself. I can make my own way and provide for my child.”

  Given time, he would rekindle her affection. But with Salvador here and half the crops still in the fields, Malcolm wondered when he could begin his quest for her heart. “We will provide for our child together, and we’ll do it here, Alpin.”

  Alarm smoothed out her features. “You would force me to stay even though I loathe you?”

  “You loved me once. If you give us a chance we could have a good marriage.”

  “I want no part of your Scottish dynasty. Now let me pass. I have work to do.”

  Unfortunately, so did he, and the responsibility weighed heavy on his soul. “What work?”

  “The soldiers will be hungry, and I’m sure Salvador would prefer linens on his bed.”

  Malcolm felt a glimmer of hope. She must care for him. Why else would she be so eager to resume her duties? “Until later, then.”

  Before he joined Salvador, Malcolm sought out Alexander. “Take all of the men you can spare from the haying crews and put them on the watch. Station guards at all the exits. Have them inspect every conveyance before it leaves the grounds.”

  “Aye, my lord, but what excuse shall I give for the search?”

  “Tell them that Alpin’s pet rabbit has gone missing.”

  “The lass’ll not get away again, my lord.”

  Standing at the windows in the upstairs solar, Alpin had an unobstructed view of her husband. Husband. The word stirred her ire anew. She’d handfasted herself to a stubborn, selfish man who would say or do anything to salve his great Scottish pride.

  What was he saying to Alexander? She opened the window, but they were too far away and there was too much noise in the yard.

  As if he hadn’t a care in the world, Malcolm returned to the keep. With sinking dread, she saw Alexander go into the barracks. When he emerged, he was followed by a dozen clansmen. He barked orders, and in pairs, eight of the men scattered. The remaining four marched to the main gates.

  She stood there a moment longer. To her dismay, the soldiers began searching every wagon and cart leaving Kildalton. She pictured guards at every exit.

  Since escape seemed impossible, she needed leverage. Hoping to gain it, she entered the tunnel through the wardrobe in her bedchamber and made her way down the dark stairs to the corridor near Malcolm’s study. Approaching from a different direction, she didn’t have to worry about the alarm bell.

  Leaning close to the door, she heard Salvador say, “What do you think?”

  Paper rattled. “I think Father has been married to a diplomat for too long. ’Tis rubbing off on him, for he pens rhetoric as well as she does.”

  “Where is Lady Miriam?” Salvador asked.

  “Trying to dissuade John Gordon from going abroad.”

  Alpin shivered, remembering the coarse Highlander and the way he’d stared at her and proclaimed her the granddaughter of Comyn MacKay.

  “Then she’s made a useless trip,” Salvador said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Read on, my friend. It’s all in your father’s letter.”

  After a brief silence, Malcolm said, “Sweet Saint Ninian. He actually wants to come to Scotland?”

  John Gordon lived in Scotland, so they couldn’t be speaking of him. Who was this “he”? Alpin wondered.

  “He wanted to, but your father talked to his father, who changed the lad’s mind. At present he wants to go to Aix-la-Chapelle.”

  Why wouldn’t they say the man’s name?

  “Why does he want to go there?” Malcolm asked.

  “Who knows how his mind works? That’s why Lady Miriam must come back with me. Lord Duncan thinks she’ll have better luck dissuading him.”

  Alpin had no idea of whom they spoke, but obviously the man and his travels were a source of great concern.

  “Now that I’ve delivered my merry message …”

  Malcolm laughed, but the sound held more pain than humor.

  “Will you tell me,” Salvador continued, “why your old nemesis Alpin MacKay is back in Scotland.”

  “My nemesis? Have you forgotten the time she broke your ribs?”

  Salvador groaned. “No, but I deserved it. I told the baron about the wounded vixen Alpin had found. He made her watch while he killed it and hung the hide on the stable door.”

  Alpin remembered, too. She had vomited for days. But at least she had saved the fox’s kits.

  “The bastard,” Malcolm spat.

  “At least he’s changed,” said Salvador. “He loves children now.”

  “Aye. He’s still in Ireland with his newest grandson. God, he was wretched to Alpin.”

  “Speaking of her, what’s she doing here with you?”

  “We’re handfasted, and she carries our first child.”

  “What?”

  Alpin couldn’t listen to any more. She made her way to the kitchen, where she found Dora churning butter.

  After instructing the maid to add another chicken to the pot and prepare a chamber for Salvador, Alpin said, “Where’s Elanna?”

  “She went to Sweeper’s Heath to take Saladin his lunch.”

  Poor Saladin, thought Alpin. His romantic straits were as dire as hers.

  The horn sounded again, warning of another visitor. Surely this time it would be Lady Miriam.

  The need for solitude drove Alpin to the mews, where she fed and watered the birds, then sat on the three-legged stool and berated herself for telling Malcolm that she carried his child. But as always, where men and the important matters in life were concerned, she’d had little choice.

  “If you give us a chance,” he’d said, “we could have a good marriage.” But that was an impossible dream, for she was already committed to Paradise and the uphill battle that awaited her there.

  The owlet peeped. Alpin fed it a strip of meat. She pictured Malcolm escaping the responsibilities of his kingdom to care for these birds. The image seemed wrong. How would a selfish, scheming man find sanctuary in this dark and peaceful place? How could she want him so?

  Damn Malcolm Kerr for keeping her here so long and tearing her life apart. Damn her for not wanting to leave him.

  A commotion outside sent the kestrels to pacing. Reluctantly Alpin left the mews. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she started back toward the keep. Two dozen soldiers had gathered at the gate. The men on the battlements all faced toward the north road. A sense of anticipation filled the air.

  Would Lady Miriam’s arrival cause such a stir? If not, then who? Alpin thought about the evening meal and wondered if there would be enough food to go around.

  She stopped herself. This was not her castle to worry about, and she would not go out of her way. To keep Malcolm off guard, she would perform her duties. She would deal with the household problems as t
hey arose. No more, no less.

  Just as she reached the steps, the door opened. First Rabby, then a frowning Malcolm stepped outside. He had donned his bonnet and his broadsword.

  When he saw her, he hurried down the steps. “I was just coming to find you.”

  Something was wrong. Craning her neck, she looked up at him. “Why are you wearing a weapon?”

  He turned to Rabby. “Go to Sweeper’s Heath. Bring Saladin back with you.”

  When the soldier walked away, Malcolm took her arm. “I’m wearing this sword because I may need it. Come with me. We have guests.”

  She dug in her heels. “You have guests, not I. I only work for you.”

  “Alpin,” he growled, his hand tightening on her elbow, “this visitor very much concerns you.”

  Behind her she heard the rumble of approaching horses. “Nothing and no one in Scotland concerns me.”

  He stared past her. “Not even Comyn MacKay?”

  Chapter 20

  Four abreast, the mounted Highlanders streamed through the gates of Kildalton. The bright sunshine of early afternoon reflected on swords and battle shields. At the head of the sea of soldiers, clad in sedate black and green tartans, rode the chieftain. He alone wore three eagle feathers in his bonnet, but the ornamentation was unnecessary; in the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, Comyn MacKay exuded leadership.

  Alpin trembled inside, for here was another man who thought it his right to dabble in her destiny. First her uncle had snatched her from the jaws of poverty, only to banish her for a troublesome child. Then Charles, weak-willed and broken in spirit, had left her adrift and at the mercy of a more dangerous adversary.

  Melancholy weighted her soul, for her lover’s crime had been the greatest; he had altered the course of her life and, in the process, stolen her heart.

  She felt fragmented, terrified, and alone.

  Malcolm put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “Which chamber shall we put him in?”

  His question jolted her. She stood at another of life’s crossroads, and Malcolm wanted to discuss accommodations. Furious with him, she tipped her head back until their eyes met. “You can house him in the stables for all I care.”

  Concern softened his features. He gave her a gentle squeeze. “He’s just a man looking for his granddaughter. But I’m the man who found her.”

  He had taken her mind off the uncertainty and made her think of the everyday. She found solace in his answer and loved him a little more for it. “I shall give him the suite next to Saladin’s.”

  He winked. “The perfect choice. I believe, as they say, we have our ducks in a row.”

  His sword rattled, inspiring a question of her own. “You do not fear him?”

  He stared at the gates. “Nay, for I expect you’ll deal with him, Alpin. ’Tis his army that troubles me.”

  She faced the visitors and estimated that at least fifty soldiers had passed through the gates. Her gaze was drawn to the leader, and she found herself looking into a pair of very familiar eyes.

  Comyn MacKay dismounted and marched toward them, spurs jingling, his arms swinging, his step as quick and light as that of a man half his age. Alpin’s heart tumbled in her chest, for he was studying her with an intensity that matched her own.

  He wasn’t a tall man, compared to Malcolm, but he was spry and trim and carried himself with dignity. He wore his tartan as Malcolm did, the sash thrown over his shoulder and secured with a silver brooch bearing a hand holding a dagger erect. His sporran was made of a prize badger hide with intricate stitchery and fine golden tassels.

  When he doffed his bonnet, he revealed a shock of curly white hair, yet his brows and full beard still held sprinklings of dark red. In Highland fashion, he sported narrow braids at his temples.

  Her grandfather.

  He stopped a yard away. His eyes, the same shade as hers, narrowed, then went glassy with tears. “Do you know who I am, lass?”

  Misgivings fled like cowards from a battle struck. She couldn’t stop her bottom lip from quivering. “Yes.”

  Arms spread wide, he chuckled. “Then step away from that foosty Lowlander and give your grandsire a hug.”

  The pull of his affection was strong, and when Malcolm slid his hand to the small of her back and gave her a push, she went willingly.

  Comyn MacKay drew her to his chest and hugged her tight. He smelled of a forest at dusk, and if welcome had an odor, she thought she’d discovered it, too.

  “Lassie mine,” he said, “you’ve been out of the fold for too long.”

  In that instant a thousand girlish dreams came true. The MacKays had wanted her. No awful flaw in her character had caused them to desert a little girl. Fate had sent her to Baron Sinclair, and he had separated her from her father’s people by sending her to Barbados.

  Malcolm cleared his throat. “Shall we take our reunion inside?”

  Comyn held her at arm’s length for a moment, then drew her to his side. She looked at Malcolm and found him shaking his head and glancing from her to the man who held her. “Lord, you two are a pair of MacKays. She’s your kin, Comyn. There’s none to deny that.”

  “Sure as the king’s another Hanoverian,” Comyn said with disdain. “I expect the bastard’s German blood to boil when he learns you’ve taken one of my Highland lassies to wife.”

  Once again Scottish politics intruded in Alpin’s life. By marrying her, Malcolm would anger the English king and make an ally of this Highland chieftain. Her grandfather.

  He stepped away from her. “You’ve not finished your haying, I see,” he said to Malcolm.

  “Nay. I’ve had a few interruptions from your granddaughter.” He shot Alpin a meaningful look.

  “She is that right enough—the very image of my mother.” Comyn slapped Malcolm on the back. “Call your next man. My soldiers can swing a sickle as good as any.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Malcolm. “We could use the extra hands.” He yelled for Alexander.

  When the soldier approached, Malcolm and Comyn left her and joined the newcomers in the yard. The MacKay singled out one of his soldiers, presumably his own next man. Introductions were made; then Alexander and Malcolm conferred, the others gathering in a circle around them.

  Forgotten for the moment, Alpin watched their male camaraderie and thought Barbados had never seemed so far away. She was homesick for her friends and her stable, orderly life. She was drawn to the grandfather who’d held her in his arms and spoken of his own mother. She’d fallen in love with a man who used her as a stepping stone to power.

  Now she faced the daunting task of housing and feeding not only the soldiers of Kildalton but Comyn MacKay’s men too.

  With that diversion in mind, she marched up the steps and into the kitchen. Dora was pitting cherries, but from the stains on her mouth, Alpin saw that she had eaten her share.

  “Go to the butcher. Tell him we need enough beef to feed one hundred men for supper.”

  Dora squealed in dismay. “What’ll we do for vegetables?”

  “Get all the peas and tatties from the market. Ask your mother and Nell to help you clean and cook them. Tell the baker we’ll need a mountain of bread. Take all the cherries to Mrs. Kimberley and have her turn them into pies. When Elanna gets back, she’ll help you.”

  Alpin turned to leave, then remembered the accommodations. “Have Emily and her sister come and prepare every guest chamber.”

  “Aye, my lady. But what about food for the morning meal?”

  Alpin felt torn. If she were smart, she’d use the arrival of the MacKays to cover her escape. Once Malcolm was asleep, she and Elanna could make way for Tynemouth. On the one hand she was curious about Comyn, but on the other she felt disloyal to Bumpa Sam and the other kind men who had for years fulfilled the role of grandfather in her life. She missed their kindness, their freely given affection. None of them would care who had sired her child or think of the benefits the babe would bring them; they would simply adore
it. Once, that is, she returned.

  If she shirked her duties to Kildalton now, however, Malcolm might grow suspicious and double his efforts to prevent her escape.

  Plagued by indecision, she drew a pitcher of beer, gathered up some mugs, and went to the lesser hall. Salvador stood at the windows watching the activity in the yard.

  No sooner had Alpin poured the drink, than Comyn MacKay strolled in with news that the watch had spotted Lady Miriam’s carriage approaching from the Aberdeen road. Alpin wondered if her arrival would prove to be a curse or a blessing.

  Bless Lady Miriam, thought Malcolm as he helped her from the carriage. “Let’s take a walk.” He guided her past the front of the castle and toward the walled garden.

  She scanned the soldiers in the yard. “I saw some workers in the field near Otterburn. They were wearing MacKay colors. I take it Comyn has arrived.”

  “Aye, he’s inside, but he can wait.” He told her about the letter Salvador had delivered. “Father has persuaded James to forbid his son the trip to Scotland. Now Prince Charles wants to go to Aix-la-Chapelle.”

  Her only sign of agitation was the vigor she used in slapping dust from the skirt of her velvet gown. “That’s very close to Hanover and King George.”

  Malcolm hadn’t considered the geography. “If the king gets wind that a Stewart prince is encroaching on his German playground—”

  “He’ll dispatch his Hessian mercenaries before you can say ‘king across the water.’ Bonnie Prince Charles will find himself languishing in the Tower.”

  His stomach sinking with dread, Malcolm nodded to the guard at the wooden door as he ushered Lady Miriam inside the walled garden. The gurgling of the fountain and the chatter of wagtail larks made a peaceful contrast to the tumultuous events of the day. “Perhaps martyrdom’s what Charles wants.”

  “Nay.” She walked to the fountain and sat down on a bench. “Aix-la-Chapelle is a favorite retreat for Scots and English. I’m certain he thinks to mingle with them and gain their support. He has sworn to take the crown for his father. This trip is only a first step toward returning to Scotland.”