by Arnette Lamb
She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples. He stared at her supple fingers and thought of the times she’d felt his forehead for a fever or patted his cheek in affection. She was more than a mother to him and the love of his father’s life; Lady Miriam was a trusted, cherished friend.
“Well.” She rose and turned toward the garden exit. “What will you do?”
No experience in his past had prepared him for the task that lay ahead. Yet instinct told him honesty was the place to start. “I often think about what her life has been like and wonder about the friends she’s made. I just wish she would talk more about the years she spent in Barbados. She’s a passionate, exciting woman.”
“I’m sure she is, considering I’ve a grandchild on the way.” Shyly, she added, “I am delighted. You’re father will be thrilled.”
On reflection, Malcolm knew he hadn’t tried hard enough to make a friend of Alpin MacKay. He’d been more concerned with the physical aspects of their relationship. Perhaps it was time to seduce her mind.
“That look in your eye bodes ill,” Lady Miriam said.
Then he remembered he had a castle full of guests and fields to harvest. “Romance will have to wait.”
“Nonsense. Your happiness affects all of the people, and I’ll wager they’ve warmed to Alpin—even Miss Lindsay and her market cronies. What’s more important than happiness?”
“Nothing,” he said, and knew it was true.
His stepmother gazed at the castle, a faraway look in her eye. “I used to think I had no place here. Your father was so settled in his role as earl and so much a part of this land. Because I’d spent my life in Queen Anne’s household, then traveling on her behalf, I couldn’t picture myself settling down at Kildalton.”
Her presence in the Borders had bettered the life of everyone. “Father changed your mind.”
She laughed. “With help from the Border Lord.”
Only a handful of people knew that Malcolm’s father had donned the disguise of the legendary hero. “I’m glad he did, Mother, and I wish I had a romantic persona at my disposal.”
“Oh, but you do, Malcolm. You’re kind and generous and not afraid to show your feelings. Just remember, no one will begrudge you the time to win your wife’s love. The people of Kildalton will expect you to make a happy marriage, and in a way you owe them that.”
She was right. “Harmony begins at home.” He echoed one of her tenets.
“Exactly, and tonight while you’re wooing your bride, I’ll get to know Comyn MacKay. Then tomorrow I’ll negotiate a dowry worthy of her.”
His bride had been so proud of owning Paradise. Now she would be an heiress of the MacKay clan with all the wealth and influence that came with the territory. His stepmother would see to it.
“When will you return to Italy?” he asked.
“In a couple of days. But right now I’d like a long bath and a nap in my own bed. I’m tired, Malcolm, of matters of state interfering in my life.”
He understood completely.
Conviviality was the order of behavior in the lesser hall that evening. Seated at one of the banquet tables, her husband and her grandfather on either side of her, Alpin vacillated between guilt and euphoria. Across the table, Lady Miriam conversed with Saladin and Elanna.
Throughout the evening, Alpin had been the victim of a dual assault. Malcolm and his stepmother had asked a continuous stream of questions about Alpin’s life in Barbados. Their ploy was as transparent as the glass in the windows. With Lady Miriam’s help, Malcolm was trying to make amends for accusing her of cuckolding him. And why shouldn’t he? He thought he was about to wed a wealthy heiress with ties to a Highland clan.
In addition to a verbal barrage of cordiality, Malcolm touched Alpin constantly. If he wasn’t holding her hand, he was wrapping an arm around her shoulders or dancing his fingers on her thigh. Little kisses, winks, and looks smoldering with sensual promise punctuated his every word.
For hours he had lavished her with attention and chipped away at her anger.
“I think,” he whispered in her ear, “I hear my sweet tooth calling.”
She fought the urge to smile and lean into him. “There’s pie left in the kitchen. Shall I dish you up a piece?”
“Too big. I was thinking about a wee morsel.”
Alpin felt herself color. “A sugarplum?”
“Too rich. I’m hungry for a treat to soothe my palate.”
Knowing smiles from the other occupants of the room rained down on them, increasing her embarrassment. Still, he’d been at her all night, murmuring one innuendo after another. “A spoonful of honey?”
“Oh,” he breathed. “As a garnish? Aye, I’d like that.”
Laughter bubbled up inside her. “You’re indecent.”
“Not yet, love. But I intend to get that way.”
“Tell me, Elanna,” said Lady Miriam, “how does it feel to be a free black woman in Barbados?”
Alpin jumped at the chance to cool Malcolm’s ardor, for if he continued to press her, she feared she might lose her composure and giggle like a love-struck girl.
“Good, good, but lonely.” Elanna gazed fondly at Alpin. “I’m the only free black in Barbados, thanks to my mistress.”
Alpin could feel Malcolm watching her. Lady Miriam leaned forward, seemingly waiting for Alpin to comment. Honesty was easy. “No man or woman has the right to own another.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Saladin held up his mug of orange water.
Pewter clanged against pewter as everyone joined in the tribute.
Comyn drank, then looked at Alpin. “I propose a toast to John Gordon for reuniting me with my granddaughter.” Again the mugs touched. He added, “Although I thought he’d be here already.”
Malcolm stiffened beside Alpin.
“Oh?” Lady Miriam appeared the picture of the serene woman, but her eyes were keenly fixed on Comyn. “He’s coming to Kildalton?”
“Aye. When he sent me word that I’d find Alpin here, he told me he’d join us by midweek.” He glanced at Alpin. “He’ll probably arrive tomorrow and take all the glory for finding you.”
Today was Thursday, so John Gordon was late, and if Alpin’s hunch was correct, the information sat ill with Malcolm and his mother.
Comyn emptied his mug and slammed it on the table. “Are all of the women in Africa as bonny as you, Miss Elanna?”
She stretched her long neck and squared her shoulders. Her dark eyes glittered with pride. “Betcha that.”
Alpin couldn’t help teasing her. “Even the mosquito-eating Equafos?”
“Oh, yes,” piped Saladin. “Tell us what you truly think about those people with bones in their noses.”
Elanna pursed her lips and stared at the ceiling. At length, and in perfectly clipped English, she said, “An Ashanti princess must be tolerant of the more primitive cultures.”
Only Alpin and Saladin laughed.
“You’re a princess?” Comyn asked, his face blank with shock.
“Of course she’s a princess, and you can close your mouth, my lord,” Lady Miriam said. Then she turned to Alpin. “Tell us about your schooling on the island.”
“Don’t be shy, Alpin,” Malcolm coaxed. “Tell us.”
Unwilling to spoil the happy atmosphere, Alpin told the truth. “When I was little, Adrienne taught me. Then we took on an indentured servant who’d been a tutor and an estate manager.” Later, when Charles had taken to drink, Henry Fenwick had become her dependable right hand.
Malcolm said, “An Englishman?”
Henry was a private man, and it had taken Alpin five years to learn why he’d left Northampton. Out of habit and respect, she was reluctant to discuss his personal business. She picked up the pitcher. “Yes, he was English. Would anyone like more beer?”
Malcolm held out his mug. As she refilled it, he leaned close and whispered, “Not too much, love. I wouldn’t want to spoil my appetite or dull my sweet tooth.”
A fami
liar thrill went through her at the thought of his lovemaking. But she couldn’t forget his anger or forgive his scorn of the child she carried.
She was saved a reply when Lady Miriam said, “I’d love to live in Barbados for a few years. I’m interested in meeting that fellow who uses slave women for horses.”
“I suspect you’d make him see the error of his ways,” Saladin said.
“I’d do my best. And now that Alpin’s all settled in at Kildalton, I’m not needed here. What say you, Alpin, will you sell me Paradise Plantation?”
Bewildered, Alpin studied Malcolm’s stepmother, looking for some sign that she was joking. Her proposal was the solution to the problem of caring for the slaves. But if Alpin severed her tie with Barbados, she would have nowhere else to go.
The old fear gripped her.
Malcolm could be assured of keeping her in Scotland and feathering his political nest. Had he and his stepmother cooked up this scheme for the same reasons they showed an interest in Alpin’s past? Having no answer, she hedged. “The lawyer may have already committed us to a sale.”
“Business can wait,” Malcolm said, getting to his feet and holding out a hand to Alpin. “I dearly hate to leave good company, so I’ll take mine with me. Good night, all.”
As she stepped over the bench, Alpin held his flattery close to her heart. Perhaps she had judged him too harshly. Perhaps he deserved the benefit of the doubt.
Then she saw a man standing near the door leading to the tunnels.
A guard. Another clansman sat on one of the benches in the main entryway, the sleuthhound curled on the floor beside him. Looking up the stairs she saw still another watchman. They had been at their posts since early afternoon. Their counterparts stood sentinel at every exit, and not because the castle was full of Highland guests. Malcolm’s men had followed her all day, even when she fed her rabbit or went to the privy.
The reminder of the day’s scrutiny jangled her nerves.
Were the outside guards still on duty?
“Wait here,” she said, drawing away. “I’ll be right back.”
He reached for her. “Where are you going?”
To see if you’re still keeping me a prisoner, she wanted to say. Instead, she took a lesson from him and winked. “I heard there was a sweet tooth prowling the castle.”
His eyes grew luminous. “Will you feed the beast?”
What choice did she have? None, as always. She put on a smile. “If I don’t, he might devour me.”
“He might anyway.”
“I’ll meet you upstairs.”
He cupped her chin and leaned close. “I’ll light a fire and turn down the bed.” Then he gave her a kiss of promise. “Hurry.”
In the kitchen she found Rabby Armstrong standing near the back door. He smiled apologetically. “A fine meal, my lady. All of the MacKays said so. We told ’em the laird knows how to pick a bride.”
She shrugged but felt betrayed by his loyalty to Malcolm, for she’d come to know him well. She had a right to happiness and peace of mind, same as he.
Spitefulness made her say, “How is your mother?”
“Walking better since you brought her that poultice for her foot.”
“Give her my best, Rabby.” She dished up a slice of pie and tucked the honey jar under her arm.
In the entryway, she gave the plate to the guard.
His eyes downcast in shame, he stroked the sleuthhound. “Thank you, my lady.”
She climbed the stairs and ignored the sentry who stood outside the chamber she shared with Malcolm. Once inside, she paused.
Barefoot and grinning like a king on coronation day, her husband lounged on the bed. She smiled, too. What woman wouldn’t have, when faced with the prospect of making love to so handsome and powerful a man? He bent one knee, causing his kilt to bunch up in his lap. In the shadowy folds of the cloth, his maleness stirred to life. Curiosity drove her to the foot of the bed where she enjoyed an unobstructed view of his loins.
She tried to govern her lustful thoughts, but her mind seemed determined to taunt her with the pleasure this man could inspire. She gripped the honey jar with both hands.
Although fully exposed and completely aroused, he appeared comfortable with his masculinity.
“See what you’ve done to me?” he said.
Even at a distance of fifty paces she couldn’t have missed his ardor. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”
“Nay, but watching you caress that honeypot stimulates my imagination and brings to mind any number of wickedly delicious endeavors we could undertake. I doubt the night is long enough to explore them all.”
The lusty words delivered in a seductive tone sent her own fantasies soaring, yet she couldn’t ignore his real reasons for wanting her. “Am I more appealing to you, now that I bring you a tie to a Highland clan?”
“Forget the alliance, Alpin. ’Tis unimportant, and I promise you clan loyalties will never come between us.”
If only that were true, but as always he was speaking of his obligations and ignoring hers. She had a responsibility, a clan of her own.
“Put down the jar for now, Alpin.”
Weary of the strife over problems that had only one solution, she knelt and set the crock on the floor. When she stood again, her head felt light, an odd counterpoint to the heavy desire that pulled in her belly and captured rational thought.
He murmured, “Undress for me.”
Her fingers felt as clumsy as toes on the buttons of her dress, and as she worked her way down the placket of her bodice, she watched him watch her. His eyes grew glassy with desire, and a sheen of perspiration glistened on his forehead and upper lip. The rise and fall of his chest set a tempo for his pulsing maleness. She knew the cadence well, for it thrummed in all her secret womanly places.
Awash in an ocean of sensual promises, she heard the signal horn blare.
His concentration wavered, but only for an instant. “Show me your beautiful breasts.”
Mouth watering with wanting, she pulled her arms from the sleeves of her dress and peeled the straps of her chemise off her shoulders. Slowly she drew the garment down to her waist, exposing herself.
His breathing turned raspy.
Her nipples turned to stone.
He folded his arms behind his head, stretched out his legs, and crossed his ankles.
It was a pose she remembered well. Only he hadn’t been languishing in an elegantly outfitted bed with passion on his mind; he’d been lounging on a narrow ship’s bunk with anger in his heart.
She shivered with vulnerability.
He cocked his dark eyebrows. “Don’t stop now. I ache for the sight of you and the feel of your body next to mine.”
In spite of his honest plea, she couldn’t shake the picture of his coldly despotic behavior or shut out the echo of his angry words.
“My lord!” Alexander pounded on the door.
“Go away,” Malcolm yelled.
“But, sir—”
“Begone, Alexander.” Malcolm held out his hand to her. Her feet seemed determined to disobey her brain. Loving him meant trouble and heartache. Leaving him promised loneliness and grief. Comfort came with the knowledge that she could heal her wounds among friends in a land she knew.
She tipped her head toward the door. “It might be important.”
“Nothing,” he murmured, “is more important than you.”
The words soothed, cajoled her to forget the obstacles between them and to accept the passion he offered. She already carried his child. What harm could come from sharing another night of pleasure in this cozy room?
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
That we’re not in a bower, she wanted to say. This room, this castle, was her prison, and the father of her child, her warden.
“Alpin,” he said, “I promise you, we will not be disturbed.” Grinning, he added, “I rule here, you know.”
His conviction fired her independence. He might command the p
eople, but Alpin knew she held sway over his desire. She gave him a saucy smile. “I’m thinking that I haven’t finished undressing for you.”
His gaze slid lazily from the top of her head to the tips of her shoes. He pulsed with renewed vigor. “I’m all eyes, and you’re a wicked temptress—”
“Malcolm, you must come.” It was Lady Miriam’s voice.
“Damn!” He closed his eyes and balled his fists in the velvet counterpane. Alpin watched his desire for her subside.
Disheartened, she thrust her arms into the dress and buttoned it. “It would seem that ‘never’ has arrived.”
He sprang from the bed and took her in his arms. “I’ll be back; you have my word on it.”
“Of course you will.” She believed him, but a greater truth weighted her soul. She and her interests would always come after the politics of Scotland.
“Keep the bed warm.” He kissed her deeply, possessively.
Then he pulled on his boots, snatched up his sporran, and marched out the door. She stood where he’d left her, her thoughts darting from the sad state of their affairs to the identity of the new arrivals.
Inquisitiveness got the better of her. She opened the door. The guard stepped back. Her jailer. Now furious, Alpin made her way to the upstairs solar and drew back the curtains.
She gasped at what she saw.
Chapter 21
In the darkened yard below, Alpin saw Malcolm, Lady Miriam, Saladin, Salvador, and Alexander walking toward the open gate. The twin brothers carried lanterns.
Not far beyond the wall, in the inner bailey, she saw two riders carrying torches and galloping toward the castle walls. The men wore bonnets and the distinctive plaid of the Gordons. Behind them rode their red-haired laird and half a dozen more of his clansmen. One of those men drew her eye. His fair hair flowed beneath a smartly cockaded hat. He was dressed like the others, but he seemed out of place.
Turning her attention to the welcoming party, Alpin was surprised to see Lady Miriam on the receiving end of Malcolm’s wrath. He towered over her, his face taut with rage. Her red hair blazed in the lamplight, and she stared up at her stepson, her expression pleading, her hand on his arm as if to contain his obvious anger. Lady Miriam let go of him just as the Gordon outriders passed beneath the gate and approached the keep.