The Border Series

by Arnette Lamb

  So that’s how she’d found out about Rosina. “Why are they in Italy?”

  “Because your beautifully rhetorical letter reached us a week before we left Constantinople. I thought it best to pop in on the prince across the water. I tried to talk young Charles out of coming to Scotland to reclaim the crown in his father’s name.”

  The ramifications of such a venture were staggering. Malcolm glanced about the room to be sure they were still alone. An invasion could endanger the life of everyone from Cornish fishermen to the shepherds of the Orkney Islands. “I cannot believe the Bonnie Prince wants to come here.”

  Her lips tightened. “Believe it.”

  “But he cannot.”

  Pained tolerance squared her jaw and stiffened her neck. “So I advised him.”

  “And he didn’t listen to you? Either he’s half-witted or you’re slipping, Mother.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “He’s more stubborn than a sultan. That taste of battle he had last year at the siege of Gaeta made him eager to rouse his brother Scots. Then his mother died. I think he’s angry at the world.”

  Through a haze of denials, Malcolm saw red. “What language does he intend to use to rally his countrymen? Italian? We speak that tongue often in Scotland, you know.”

  “A clever sarcasm, Malcolm.” She glanced out the window. “Your sister Anne is teaching him Scottish.”

  Malcolm’s temper exploded. He stood, knocking his chair to the floor. “That twit. How could you let her do such a thing?”

  The sleuthhound bolted across the room to Lady Miriam’s side. “Everything’s fine, boy. Lie down.” She stroked the dog’s long ears and burnished red coat. “Redundant is very protective of me.”

  Regretting his outburst, Malcolm picked up the chair and sat down again. “He looks a bit thin.”

  Tears misted her eyes. “Redundant is not the traveler my Verbatim was.”

  Everyone in the family had loved the old female dog, and when she died they all had grieved, but none more than Lady Miriam. To ease her pain, Malcolm said, “Of all her offspring only Redundant inherited her tracking skills.”

  “Aye,” she said, casting off sorrow as easily as another woman would throw off a cloak. “He’s even better on a scent than she was. Poor thing. He’s been confined for months.”

  “I’ll take him hunting.”

  “Good. Where were we?”

  “As if you’d forget,” he chided. “You were about to tell me why my impetuous sister Anne is tutoring Charles Stewart.”

  “You needn’t take up the office of outraged older brother. Your father is chaperoning them.” She laughed. “You should see him standing over them, his hands clasped at his back, his posture as stiff as Dora’s apron. Duncan’s quite righteous in the role of duenna.”

  Malcolm chuckled, which he suspected was her plan. “I’ll be sure to tell him you said so.”

  “If you do,” she warned, “I’ll tell Alpin about the time Angus MacDodd caught you spying on him and Alexis Southward. He scared you so badly you wet your breeches.”

  Shame, as only a mother could inspire it, made him cringe. “I yield to the more devious mind, and propose a truce.”

  She held out her hand. “How novel and original of you to propose a treaty to me.”

  She had spent her childhood at court and her adult life in the diplomatic corps. But still she had a sense of humor. “What can I do to help with the Stewarts?” he said.

  “Pray that the impetuous prince changes his mind or that his father forbids him to make war.”

  “Have you spoken with James?”

  “Yes. He sided with me, but I fear Lord Lovatt and Murray are too influential with our young Stewart warrior.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I’ll go to the Highlands and talk with Gordon and the other clan chiefs. If I cannot dissuade them, I’ll go to France and speak with King Louis. He’s listened to me before. I’ll try to change his mind about financing a Stewart invasion. ’Tis unthinkable, truly.”

  “Does Queen Caroline know?”

  “I’m certain she’s unaware of it now, but there’s much intrigue among the Jacobites in Italy. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone leaks the news to her or Walpole.”

  “You’ll make John Gordon see the error of his ways. I have complete faith in you, Mother.”

  “Thank you, but I’ll tell you a secret, Malcolm.” Her businesslike mien faltered, and he saw a glimpse of the loving mother who had tended his scraped knees and brightened life’s disappointments. “I’m weary of spending my time preventing arrogant men from doing their worst. ’Tis the ordinary people who suffer for the arrogance of the nobility.”

  She did appear tired. Faint circles shadowed her eyes, and she lacked the vibrancy that was her hallmark. “How long since you had a good night’s sleep?”

  “Since I last saw your father.” She sighed and, with a skill that never ceased to amaze him, rose above her exhaustion. “I insist”—her hand slapped the table—“that you tell me more about my new daughter-in-law.”

  He could have talked for hours, purged his soul of sinful lies, and expounded on the rewards of romantic bliss. Who better to hear his confession than the only mother he’d ever known? His conscience answered: the only woman he’d ever loved.

  He chose the information about Alpin that would most interest Lady Miriam. “John Gordon is certain that Alpin is Comyn MacKay’s long lost granddaughter. He says she looks just like him.”

  Interest sharpened her keen gaze, and he realized she was looking not at him but over his shoulder. “That would certainly explain the baron’s dislike for her and his eagerness to send her to Barbados. He hated anything and everyone Scottish back then. I’ll tell you this, Malcolm. You had better wish on your lucky star and pack away the breakables,” she said quietly, “when Comyn MacKay sets eyes on her.”

  Malcolm swiveled and saw Alpin standing in the doorway, her hair perfectly plaited and coiled at the crown of her head. She wore a lavender gown that turned her eyes to twinkling amethyst jewels.

  His heart bursting with love, he beckoned her to them. Then he turned back to Lady Miriam. “Do you also think she looks like Comyn MacKay?”

  Her gaze trained on the approaching Alpin, his stepmother whispered, “Is the King German?” Then in a louder, casual tone, she feigned friendly conversation. “Verbatim did love to travel…”

  Chapter 18

  As Alpin neared the table she heard Lady Miriam say “verbatim.” It was the first big word Alpin had learned. At the time she had been awed by the beautiful lady who knew so many fancy words she could give them away to dogs.

  But Alpin was no longer an impressionable illiterate child. She was a woman who had succeeded in her mission. Neither her handfast husband nor England’s most illustrious ambassador could prevent her from returning to Paradise.

  Reaching the table, she saw the marquetry box in Lady Miriam’s possession. After Malcolm had fallen asleep last night, Alpin had read the contents. Although she didn’t understand all of the notes begun by Lady Miriam and continued in Malcolm’s distinctive hand, she knew trouble was afoot. John Gordon of Aberdeenshire was behind it. The Kerrs were trying to foil it. Alpin MacKay wanted no part of it.

  She curtsied. “Hello, my lady.”

  Malcolm’s stepmother rose and embraced her. “Please, call me Miriam. The Kerrs never stand on ceremony.” Leaning back, she smiled fondly. “We have always considered you one of us.”

  The rhetoric stung. As a child Alpin had lived on the fringe of this family. When life at Sinclair Manor turned unbearable, she always sought shelter here at Kildalton. Before being discovered, she had knelt by her straw pallet in the windowless tower room, said her prayers, and promised to be a good girl if only God would give her kind people of her own. He had; they were waiting for her half a world away.

  Pasting on a smile, she stepped back and dished up some rhetoric of her own. “You’re very kind, Miriam, but you alway
s were—even when I least deserved it.”

  “Like most bright children, you were headstrong.” She glanced pointedly at Malcolm. “And your pranks were harmless.”

  “Who are you making excuses for, Malcolm or me?” Alpin asked.

  “Both, and welcome to our family.”

  Alpin looked at her handfast husband, who gave her a bland smile. A sooty stubble shadowed his cheeks and jaw, and his hair begged for a brushing. His shirt was wrinkled, his tartan hastily donned. He hadn’t even bothered to put on his sporran and his clan badge. He didn’t need the accoutrements of power, he possessed them naturally.

  He snaked an arm around her waist and drew her to him. “Well, Mother, what do you think of my bride?”

  “I think she’s lovely.” She winked at Alpin. “Why, I wonder, would she burden herself with a slovenly troll like you?”

  “I am not a troll.” With a gentle squeeze, he said, “Tell her the truth, Alpin. I’m a generous soul, and you adore me.”

  Even disheveled he looked too handsome for his own good—or for hers. Peeved by her attraction to him, Alpin patted his head. “I have always adored wounded beasts.”

  “Oho!” Lady Miriam clapped her hands. “She knows you too well.”

  Feeling decidedly self-conscious with their familiar banter, Alpin said, “Dora’s preparing your room, Miriam, and a bath.”

  His mother smiled apologetically. “You mustn’t go to any trouble, for I’ll be leaving within the hour.”

  Considering the contents of the notes, Alpin thought the decision wise. But she’d keep the knowledge to herself. “So soon?” She looked to Malcolm for his reaction.

  He shrugged. “I tried to talk her into staying, but she never listens to me. The king’s business, you know. Here. Take my chair.” He stood. “You two get reacquainted while I change clothes.”

  “Malcolm,” said his stepmother, “perhaps you’d like to ride with me as far as Sweeper’s Heath.”

  She made the offer in a light-hearted tone; yet her eyes held his for a long moment.

  “’Twould be my pleasure, Mother.” Giving them a courtly bow, he left the room.

  Alpin sat, her eyes straying from the box and the dangerous information it contained to the unshuttered windows and the traffic in the lane, her mind dwelling on her husband’s departure and how she could make use of it. She would devise an excuse to leave this afternoon. She’d write Malcolm a note and be on her way. Her heart constricted at the thought of never seeing him again, but, as always, life had given Alpin MacKay few options. When pitted against the welfare of eighty people, one woman’s heartbreak seemed a small price to pay.

  “You could join us if you like.”

  The politely worded offer lacked sincerity; Lady Miriam wanted to speak privately with her stepson.

  “Thank you, no,” Alpin said, terrified of their dangerous game. “We’ve candles to dip and barracks to scrub.” And treason to avoid.

  “I’m deeply sorry about Charles’s death.”

  Caught off guard, Alpin said the first thing that came to mind. “It put an end to his suffering. He’s where he longed to be.”

  Alpin worried that she’d been too frank, but Lady Miriam smiled and said, “Thank goodness he had you to care for him. Tell me, Alpin. Did Duncan make the right decision years ago when he persuaded Baron Sinclair to send you to Barbados?”

  Tears clogged Alpin’s throat. “Oh, yes. I had a good life there.”

  “And you’re happy now, as Malcolm’s wife?”

  Lady Miriam looked hopeful, her blue eyes glowing with motherly love, her lips curving in a tentative smile. The truth, bittersweet as it was, came easy to Alpin. “I love Malcolm, and I’m proud to be his handfast wife.”

  As if relieved, his stepmother leaned back in the chair. “Forget the handfasting. He’s ready to call in the parson.”

  Girlish dreams soared, then settled like a rock in Alpin’s stomach. A real marriage? But that was impossible—unless they knew she carried his child. She had to find out. “I thought formal vows were exchanged when the woman conceived.”

  “And you will, my dear. I’m certain of it.”

  Alpin relaxed and found herself blushing.

  “Did Charles leave you a dowry?” Lady Miriam asked.

  The old hurt resurfaced. “No. He left me a stipend.”

  All business, Lady Miriam propped her elbow on the box and rested her chin in her palm. “We’ll correct that, once you’re countess of Kildalton.”

  She was talking about exchanging permanent church-sanctioned vows. If Alpin pledged her troth to Malcolm, she would become his property, as would Paradise. She’d just become the lawful owner and refused to give up her land to a man who couldn’t be bothered with the plight of the slaves. “I’d rather wait until I conceive. Malcolm needs a son to carry on the Kerr name.”

  Eyes narrowed, her chin stubbornly set, his stepmother, said, “Daughters are as valuable as sons. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a pigeon-brained fool who cannot rub two sticks together to make a fire.”

  Her defense of their sex was so fierce that Alpin felt herself swell with pride. Still, she had to steer the conversation away from Malcolm Kerr. “Speaking of fools, some of the white men in Barbados would turn your stomach. They ride around like kings and treat their gamecocks better than they treat the females in their keeping. One fellow in Bridgetown harnesses bare-breasted slave women to his carriage on Sunday mornings.”

  “That’s how he gets to church?”

  Hatred fueled Alpin’s need to return and begin freeing the slaves in Barbados. “Yes.”

  Lady Miriam’s face grew flushed with anger. “Self-serving men without common decency and respect for the law?”

  “Yes. The island’s overrun with them.” Alpin poured out her heart as she never could with Malcolm.

  “I think I shall visit there when—” Her zeal gave way to resolution. “When I can. Now tell me this, Alpin, and forget Malcolm’s needs and feelings. Will you be disappointed if you do not conceive?”

  As if determined to prove her a liar, her traitorous stomach fluttered. Alpin stared out the window. Saladin passed by, his prayer rug tucked under his arm. “I cannot answer that,” she said truthfully.

  “’Tis too soon, I’m sure. Has Malcolm given you any money?”

  “I receive a salary as housekeeper. I maintain the ledgers and pay the staff.”

  “You’re his steward, too?”

  Alpin felt her hackles rise. “Yes,” she said defensively. “I prefer staying busy. I haven’t the temperament for sewing and chitchat.”

  Lady Miriam seemed pleased rather than surprised. Chuckling, she said, “We are alike, then, you and I. ’Tis just as well you’re industrious, considering I took most of the staff to Constantinople.”

  “We’ve managed.”

  “I can see you have, and admirably so.” She grew serious again. “Let’s talk about Comyn MacKay.”

  The words fell like boulders into the conversation. Alpin tensed. “What about him?”

  “More to the point, what do you think about him?”

  In conversation, Malcolm’s stepmother was as slippery as a ribbonfish. Alpin could be crafty, too. “Why is everyone so sure we’re related?”

  Instead of answering, she asked, “Do you remember your father’s name?”

  Alpin delved into her memory, but it was like stumbling blindfolded through a maze. “I seem to remember a common name. James or Charles. It wasn’t Scottish.”

  “Both are names of Scottish kings, as are Comyn and Alpin. The MacKays always name their firstborn after a member of Scottish royalty.”

  Alpin wouldn’t be swayed. “It’s a coincidence, no more.”

  “I disagree, Alpin. Why else would a man name his daughter after a Scottish king?”

  She felt the old hollow ache and despised Lady Miriam for causing it. “My father did not name me. He was lost at sea before I was born.”

  “So your mother, an E
nglishwoman, thought to name you after a Scottish king.”

  Phrased that way, it did seem farfetched.

  “Have you any papers,” Lady Miriam asked, “letters or the like, that belonged to your father?”

  “They were buried with my mother, or so Baron Sinclair said.”

  “He’ll be sorry he did that, Alpin. I assure you.”

  Alpin believed her. But her heritage didn’t matter. “Do whatever you wish, but not on my account. I have no need for more relatives.”

  “Even if your marriage proved advantageous?”

  “To whom?”

  “To you of course. As an heiress of the MacKay clan you’ll be entitled to the dower lands your grandmother passed to your father.”

  Alpin wanted only one plot of land, the land she now owned. “How can you be so sure I’m an heiress?”

  “The MacKays are wealthy.”

  “Let them keep their money. I don’t want it.”

  “Then think beyond yourself, Alpin. What if the people of Scotland will benefit from your being one of the Highland MacKays?”

  Alpin didn’t care a broken seashell for Scottish politics. But of course Lady Miriam did. “I doubt I could be of any value, for I wouldn’t know those people if they walked through that door.”

  “Oh, aye, you would. I know that clan well, and the resemblance is too strong to deny.” She stared at Alpin’s face and hair. “In the north, they call your unusual eyes ‘eyes from heaven.’ Comyn is your grandfather.”

  Would she never let the matter drop? Patience gone, Alpin braced her palms on the table and pushed herself to her feet. “Well, I’m past needing a grandfather, thank you very much.”

  Lady Miriam grasped her wrist. “He tried to find you, Alpin. I heard about his search years later. He couldn’t know to look for you here in the Borders, but they say he scoured every glen and brae above the Highland line and every port on the western coast.”

  Her soft, cajoling voice and pleading eyes reached out to the lonely child in Alpin, but the woman in her balked. She had made a vow to the people of Paradise. She must fulfill her promise. “That’s very admirable, and I appreciate your concern. But I am not interested.”