Border Bride (13 page)

"If she doesn't now, she soon will. I have a plan."

Keenly alert, Alpin moved a step closer. Her toe slammed into something hard and sharp. She had forgotten about the blasted boot scraper. Pain shot up her foot, and she bit her lip to muffle a gasp.

"What was that sound?"

In agony she leaned against the wall, eased off her slipper, and rubbed her throbbing toes.

"What sound?" Saladin asked.

"I thought I heard a noise in the tunnel."

Heart pounding, Alpin held her breath. If only she could see them, but the hidden door had been so well crafted not even a stream of light trickled into the tunnel.

Saladin said, "Hand me that lantern and I'll see what it is."

Alpin shivered, scooped up her shoe, and backed out of the alcove. Once in the tunnel proper, she felt for the wall. When she had her bearings, she touched the key in her pocket.

"It's probably a rat."

"Since when do you have rats in your castle?"

"Since the snakes died, I suppose."

Snakes
! Alpin listened for the sound of scaly creatures slithering along the dirty stone floors. Her knees locked.

"What if the snakes aren't dead? What if they multiplied?"

"Impossible," said Malcolm. "They were both males."

"How could you tell? They looked alike, down to the fangs."

Fangs!

"The snake dealer at the market in Barcelona told me so."

"You believed that swindler? He also tried to sell you the crown of Isabella."

"He tried to sell you the sword of your namesake." Malcolm laughed. "You almost bought it."

"Forget the snake dealer and our foolish youthful adventures. Where were we? Oh, yes. You were about to tell me what you have planned for Alpin."

Malcolm's voice dropped to an indistinct rumble. She crept into the alcove again and put her ear to the squat door that she had once walked through with ease. But that was years ago. She had been a lonely, desperate child. She had become an angry, desperate woman—who couldn't hear a blasted word Malcolm was saying.

As soon as he finished mumbling, Saladin whistled and said, "I'm impressed with your clever ideas."

What ideas
? Impatient, and feeling the darkness press in on her, Alpin struggled to conquer her fear and quiet her breathing.

"Did you hear something?" Malcolm asked.

"Noise in the tunnel again? Perhaps it's the ghost of the Border Lord come back to haunt us."

"Bah!" said Malcolm. "He never was any more than a ghost."

Alpin knew better. At her first glance of Malcolm Kerr, the adult, she had realized that the Border Lord and her Night Angel were the same man. But why didn't Malcolm, of all people, know the true identity of the legendary dark stranger?

"I always wondered about him," Saladin said. "Was he real or a legend created by parents to make children behave?"

"You wonder about everything from the stars in the sky to the fall of man."

"Please," Saladin drawled. "What were we talking about?"

You were talking about me
! Damn that accursed Malcolm. Would he never reveal his plan for her?

"We were talking about vermin in the tunnel. I have an idea." Malcolm's voice grew softer, as if he had moved away, across the room. "You go around through the main door to the tunnel. I'll duck under the squat door here. We'll flush the pest out the back of the tunnel and into the walled garden."

Alpin's heart climbed into her throat. Using the same route Malcolm planned, she could flee, for she'd used the garden door to gain access to the castle years before. She could run down the inky corridor, through the iron door, and out into the walled garden. Or she could follow the tunnel to the stair tower and hide there. But the thought of entering that room she had once called home bothered her more than the prospect of facing down a rat.

"I don't want any rats in the garden. That's where I say my prayers to Allah."

"Just take your scimitar with you. No rat would stand a chance against that blade."

"I'm not going into that tunnel."

"Why not? Are you afraid? I thought Moors were fearless."

"Even if the snakes have died and the rats become shy, I remember your skill at setting trip wires."

Trip wires
! Oh, Lord. What had she gotten herself into? And when would they get back to talking about her?

"That was years ago. I dismantled them all."

Saladin huffed in disbelief.

"Would I leave so dangerous a thing where an innocent servant could fall victim?"

"Probably not, but no one ever uses the tunnels anymore. Me included."

"Except those hairy, long-legged spiders," Malcolm said.

Spiders? So what? Alpin wasn't afraid of any spiders.

"Nasty creatures." Saladin's voice wavered with disgust.

"Don't tell me you're frightened of insects."

"I am if it's the same spider that gave Mrs. Elliott that vicious bite a couple of years ago. She nearly died."

Poisonous spiders
! Perspiration blossomed on Alpin's skin; yet she felt cold with fear.

Leather creaked; one of the men had risen from a chair. Alpin told herself to stay calm. Even deadly spiders were timid and afraid of people. Right? She wasn't sure, but she was certain she had enough time to make her escape, if she didn't trip and fall into the web of a—

"Why don't I believe those vermin are dead?" Saladin said.

"'Tis baffling to me. I'm a man of my word."

"You're also a bit too eager to get me into that tunnel. I have a feeling you want me to fall on my face."

Hooray for Saladin's skepticism!

"I've outgrown such pranks."

"Swear, then, on your honor as the ninth earl of Kildalton."

As far as Alpin was concerned, Malcolm Kerr had no honor, earl or not. She wouldn't believe him if he swore on the bones of Christ.

"I'm wounded that you don't believe me."

"Let's just say I've known you too long and I'm not completely convinced."

"Wait," Malcolm said. "Sit back down. I'll tell Alpin about the rats. She'll know what to do."

"I never thought I'd hear you sing her praises."

Yes! Now she would learn what was on Malcolm's mind.

"Times change. People change." She could almost see him shrug.

Saladin laughed. "You've certainly got some changes in store for her."

What blasted changes
? Would they never stop speaking in ambiguities? It was almost as if they knew she could hear them. That thought made her skin crawl. But she disregarded it; they couldn't have any idea that she stood in the tunnel.

"Where is she?" Saladin asked.

"Riding, I think. She's taken a liking to the dappled gray."

"That gelding's a spirited mount. Do you think she can manage him?"

"I hope so. I'd hate to see the lass hurt. I'm sure the baron would have something to say about that."

The baron
! At the mention of her hated uncle, Alpin stomped her foot.

"There's that noise again."

"'Tis your Moorish imagination. There's nothing but ghosts of rats and spiders in there."

Alpin shivered.

"What will Sinclair say about her living here rather than with him? He is her only kin."

"He's still in Ireland fawning over a grandchild."

"He's certainly changed, Malcolm—since your stepmother defeated him. He'll want to know that Alpin's here."

"Aye. I may send word to him, but I suppose I should tell Lady Miriam first."

"Will you tell the baron and Lady Miriam what you just told me?"

What did the mighty Malcolm just say?

"Oh, I don't think so," he said, a silky quality in his voice that gave Alpin pause. "I like to keep my plans for Alpin close to my chest."

Alpin thought a dagger would look better there.

"I'll leave you to your correspondence," Saladin said. "It's time for my prayers."

When she heard the door open and close, Alpin retraced her steps and exited the tunnel. Once in the lesser hall she plopped down on the ancient family throne and breathed a sigh of relief. Her excursion into the bowels of Kildalton Castle had gained her little, except the knowledge that Malcolm had some plan for her. She was determined to learn exactly what Malcolm Kerr had on his mind.

Common sense told her she had the perfect tools, but would her conscience allow her to use them?

Chapter Seven

Later that day, with the walls of Kildalton Castle far behind her and the wind snatching at her kerchief, Alpin eased back on the reins until the gray slowed to a walk. Her legs ached from the jarring ride, and a slight soreness in her bottom reminded her that she hadn't sat a horse since leaving Paradise.

Paradise
. Swamped by a wave of homesickness, she closed her eyes and conjured up a vision of bright blue skies above a jewel of an island lush with lacy ferns, sprawling bearded fig trees, and an ocean of sugarcane.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. The cool breeze chilled her dampened skin, telling her vividly of the differences between her tropical home and this northern land. She had hated her life here, and when Malcolm's father, Lord Duncan Kerr, had put her on a ship more than twenty years ago, Alpin hadn't looked back. She had embraced Barbados with the zeal of an explorer claiming new territory. Her territory. Her own new world.

People there depended on her. She had given the slaves a promise of freedom. Upon her return she would again pick up the banner of emancipation. The indentured servants would see their years of toil culminate in the promised gift of a parcel of land and independence. Under the supervision of Henry Fenwick, Paradise would pass the slow months after harvest. If necessary, the planting would wait for her.

When her loneliness grew and a sob welled up in her throat, Alpin knew she must rally her courage. Dwelling on past injustices and future rewards would only hinder her return to Paradise. Still, it seemed unfair that Malcolm possessed so much while she owned so little.

Malcolm.

She felt hollow at the thought of him, of his teasing smiles when she had expected mocking sneers, of his masculine allure when she had believed herself immune to romance. Her remembrances of him centered around dunking in a brisk loch or searching for the perfect skipping stone and, on rainy days, playing peevers and tag in the dark, hidden corridors of Kildalton Castle.

How did he see her now? How did he reflect on their childhood together? He spoke of broken stilts and stolen kisses, but when he pulled her into his arms and lured her with a man's expertise, she sensed an anger she didn't understand. With the ease of a dockside hawker luring passengers from an incoming ship, he was drawing her into a scheme. Yet sometimes his charm and his attraction to her seemed superficial, as if he were still playing one of his many roles.

His reasons for so heartless a ploy eluded her. Unless it was the hornet incident. But she'd been only six at the time. Surely he wouldn't hold a grudge for so many years. She'd done him no lasting harm.

She had been the orphan, the poor relation shuffled from her mother's deathbed to the indifferent care of her uncle, Baron Sinclair. At first her nightmares and weeping had kept the others in her adopted family awake. Their scorn of a bereft child had hurt more than the uncaring woman who'd given her life, then died, a brokenhearted and penniless widow.