Border Bride (14 page)

To escape the sneers and scolding of her new relatives, Alpin had gathered her meager possessions—a lucky coin, a lock of her mother's hair, and a collection of knives—and staked out a corner in the stable at Sinclair Manor. In the bustling, crowded household, no one had even missed her.

She learned to hear a lullaby in the lowing of a milk cow. She found comfort in caring for sick and injured creatures, not knowing at the time that she herself was one.

Then on a bleak winter's evening, at a spot not far from where she now rode, her Night Angel had found her and taught her that children were supposed to be cherished and nurtured.

Seeing Malcolm as a man, she had at last discovered the identity of the first person to show her kindness. Malcolm's father had cared. The memory of her dark savior sparked her courage.

She dashed away her tears and swallowed her sorrow. The devil take Malcolm Kerr. She could and would make the most of her stay in the Borders. She'd find a measure of enjoyment in the land she'd left so many years ago.

Patches of heather and gorse thrived amid a field of cotton bracken and perfumed the air with the unforgettable scent of Scotland. In the distance Hadrian's Wall snaked across the land like the exposed backbone of an enormous reptile. Once she had frolicked in those Roman ruins.

Hoping to recapture those days she guided the horse onto the narrow road she had traveled often as a child. The freedom road to Kildalton Castle.

A family of red grouse dashed across the path and scurried beneath the protective canopy of a tangle of last year's bramble. A herd of hungry sheep ignored her passing, but a pair of red deer stags, their budding antlers thick with velvet, cocked their heads and stared, then bolted for the cover of a stand of beech trees.

As she approached the crumbling stone wall, she was surprised to find it smaller and more ravaged than she remembered. But back then everything had seemed enormous to a girl called "runt."

Alpin reined in the gelding and slid off the horse's back, her fingers gripping the saddle, her feet dangling in the air. The jump to the ground jolted her ankles. The horse sidestepped and ambled to a puddle of rainwater. On wobbly knees, she struggled for balance, all the while wishing she were tall enough to dismount with ease.

Laughing at so foolish and senseless a whim, she found a stick and began to overturn rocks. The familiarity of her surroundings wanned her: the old road and the break in the wall, mounds of earth the Romans had moved and nature had sown with weeds, industrious meadow pipits darting overhead and ferrying food to their young while the crafty hooded crows looked on, the constant breeze that even in summer made gooseflesh of her skin.

"Well, how now, Lady Alpin? What see you in those rocks that you lose so much attention?"

Malcolm Kerr.

Even in a raging hurricane, she'd have known his voice.

Grasping the stick tightly, she faced him. And was again startled by his masculine beauty. Dressed in full Highland regalia and seated on a pure white stallion, he looked like a powerful monarch in command of all he surveyed.

"Surely you have a greeting for me," he said.

Her will to resist his allure threatened to crumble much like the wall that served as his backdrop. Appalled at her own weakness, she tucked the stick under her arm and approached him.

"You have my attention now, my lord, and my cheeriest good day."

He doffed his bonnet, replete with three eagle feathers and a smaller version of his clan brooch, a blazing sun cast in silver. "My same to you. What are you doing here? Spying on me again?"

"Again? I was here first. You're spying on
me
."

He looked away, as if he'd said something he shouldn't. Then he stepped from the horse in a fluid motion that sparked her envy. "A favorite pastime of yours, as I recall."

"As I recall"—she strolled to a spot near the wall—"this was my land." She drew a line in the dirt. "That was yours."

He gave her a cocky grin, his oak brown eyes glittering with challenge. "Then I'm trespassing."

Her heart said he'd become an expert at invasion, but her pride said she could best him at that, too. "One of your minor offenses, I'm sure."

"Oh? And I suppose you're the saint who'll recite all my sins."

"Only a few. I must consult your other women to learn the rest."

"I've not committed a sin with you now that you're a woman. Although I've been trying."

"You're so glib, Malcolm. What are you doing here?"

He pointed over the wall. "I live there, on occasion."

She climbed up the fallen stones and peered over the wall. In the distance, near a loch where she used to fish, she saw a well-traveled road leading to a small estate. She squinted to make out the details, but she was too far away. Then she remembered. "That's Carvoran Manor."

"Aye."

That hollow feeling in her stomach returned. "You keep your mistress there."

"Kept. She's gone."

She pursed her lips to keep from smiling. "Oh. So sorry. You must be bereft."

He twirled the bonnet while his eyes made a lazy inspection of Alpin's riding costume. Uncertain whether he was judging her or her outfit, she grew defensive. At one time her wardrobe had consisted of breeches and tunics he'd outgrown. "Why are you staring at me?"

"Because the sight of you in leather breeches offers much consolation—to my bereavement. Especially from this vantage point."

He was only teasing. She laughed and jumped to the ground. "You're either a prime rogue or a creative jester."

"Perhaps I'm both."

"And perhaps I'm the queen o' the May, instead of a homeless maiden."

His smile faded. "Why do you always do that, Alpin?"

"Do what?"

"Speak bitterly about your life so that I'll feel sorry for you."

Pride made her reckless. "You're mistaken. I don't want your pity or anyone else's."

"Then what
do
you want?"

My home
, her soul screamed.

"It's only fair," he said in a chiding tone, "that you tell me. I've never lied to you."

Surprised by his frankness and stumped for an appropriate reply, she surveyed her surroundings. "I want that chest of Roman gold we always searched for."

He grew dead serious, his piercing gaze pinning her where she stood. "I'll find out, you know. You can't hide your secret from me."

The threat in his voice struck a warning bell. "What makes you think I'm hiding something?"

He winked. "I'm your best friend, remember? And I'll be your first lover."

She felt like an animal, caged by his virility and trapped by her own foolishness. "Somehow I have trouble thinking of myself as one of the objects of your lusty proclivities."

Stepping forward, he held out his hand. "'Tis unfair to throw a man's words in his face, and I don't think of you in that way."

"The way you think of Rosina?"

"I don't think of her at all."

"Don't expect me to be flattered. You're fickle."

He took the stick from her hand and tossed it aside; then he grasped her wrists and pulled her close. "Nay, Alpin. I can be loyal to the right woman. Truth to tell, I'm intrigued by what I see and don't see."

He towered over her, but she was growing accustomed to staring at the clan badge that secured his plaid at the shoulder. "What don't you see?"

A bland smile softened his masculinity. "You asked me if I intended to blame you for all the ill that befell me in childhood. I believe the opposite is true."

She fought to keep the sarcasm from her voice. "What could
I
possibly blame
you
for?"

"Let's just say I have the feeling you find fault with me because of my birthright."

He was close to grasping her motive. Dangerously close. "You make me sound shallow and petty."

Bending from the waist, he pushed against her, coming so near she could distinguish each of his eyelashes and feel the warm rush of his breath. "Then show me who you really are. Tell me why you sought my protection."

Stretching the truth seemed appropriate, considering how fast her pulse was hammering and how much she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and make certain he truly forgot his Rosina. "You protect me? You've tried to seduce me at every turn."

"Some things never change, such as your expertise at evasion."

She had to get a distance between them. Knowing she'd start fidgeting if she didn't move, she turned toward the wall. "You know why I came to you."

"Because you had nowhere else to go? I don't believe you. You could have gone to Sinclair Manor."

The cruelty she'd suffered during those years came back in a flood. She whirled on him. "Ha! I hated my life there and ran away every chance I got."

"But you could have at least stopped to visit. And had you, I think you would have stayed at Sinclair Manor."

"I'd sooner go back to living in your tower room."

He shook his head slowly, real disappointment clouding his eyes. "There. You've done it again. I'm sorry, Alpin, that you had to seek refuge in a windowless room. I'm sorry you had to steal food, but it wasn't my fault."

His valid observation gave her pause. She hadn't expected honesty from Malcolm Kerr, but he was correct about her methods; she saw that now. "Thank you for telling me, and it wasn't your fault I ran away from my uncle." It
was
Malcolm's doing, however, that she'd lost Paradise, but she'd live over a tavern and wait on tables before she'd confess that truth. The bleak option seemed ironic in the extreme, for if he did discern her methods, she might as well learn how to tap a keg.

Swallowing her pride, she held out her hand. "Forgive me?"

He took it and with his thumb traced the pads of her fingers. "Apology accepted. You might be interested to know that your uncle's household has changed."

"Certainly," she quipped. "Now his poor relations live in the sty."

"Wrong. Thanks to my stepmother's negotiations, all of your cousins have married well and moved on. Your uncle is in Ireland. You could have a wing in the manor all to yourself."

Suddenly suspicious of his glowing report, she said, "Do you want me to go there?"

His hand slipped up her arm. "Nay. I want you in my bed."

She gasped, for at every turn her confusion grew. "I hardly know you anymore." Yet he seemed to know her very well.

"Another expert evasion. Number two on the day, I believe."

From somewhere behind her, she heard a lamb bleating for its mother. The cry echoed her own emotional turmoil. She might as well blurt out what he wanted to hear and get it over with. "I'd rather stay with you."

He leaned close. She smelled sandalwood, the manly fragrance he'd preferred even as a lad. "Then you'll admit I'm making progress?" he asked.

Even though she willed it away, an embarrassed flush warmed her cheeks. "I'll admit you're making bold."

He assumed an adorable pout that years before had made the visiting noblewomen pinch his perky cheeks. Now it made her want to punch his nose. "When will I ever learn to behave?" he said.

Troubled by the easy way he distracted her, Alpin shrugged at his charming display. "Probably when time stops ravaging this wall." She raked a handful of dust from between the stones. "The mortar is crumbling."

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Giving her hand a squeeze, he said, "That's evasion number three. I believe we were discussing what else you want, besides a home and honest work."

If he thought to befuddle her with seduction, he would fail. Because she intended to control their courtship. "Have you a complaint?"

"Only one." He touched the edge of her kerchief where it covered her ear. "I heard a rat rummaging in the tunnels."

Did he suspect that she had eavesdropped on his conversation with Saladin? No. He was too arrogant to let it pass. He would have confronted her if he'd guessed. Although her excursion into intrigue had been a failure, she might again make use of the tunnels. "I'll have Dora see if the stableman has a good mouser."

"Fair enough. Rodents can be pesky devils—always poking their noses where they're unwanted. Now, tell me what you want from me."

Dissembling seemed her only option. "I want us to get to know each other, as we did before."

"We
knew
each other when I was seven and you were six. We whiled away many an afternoon playing kiss-the-freckle."

Her life had changed the day she met Malcolm Kerr. Twenty years later fate—or someone—had interfered once more. Until she again gained control of her future she would play her evasive game. "We shouldn't have been so brazen."

"You're probably right." He laughed and fell into step beside her. "'Twould seem our destinies are forever linked. From the moment you ran away from home, my life changed."

Happy moments in their past gave her the will to thread her fingers through his. His skin felt work-worn and made her rethink her assumption that he led a privileged life. But she must be cautious in her understanding; she'd learned early in life the high price a gullible girl must pay.

Glancing up, she realized he'd been waiting for her to speak. "Do you remember the time I tried to build a house here?" she asked.

"Aye." He pointed to a pile of smaller stones near the break in the wall. "You were certain you could make your fortune offering refreshment to travelers on this road."

"That's because you told me there was water in that old well."

"I thought there was."

"I spent an entire day down in that hole digging in dry dust."

"I pulled you out and tended your bruised fingers."

He had. She'd been exhausted and on the verge of tears. Then he'd appeared above her, a smile on his face, a quip on his tongue, and a rope in his hands.

"Lord, I was an industrious little beggar," she mused.

"Beggar? Never. You always insisted on doing your share and earning your keep."

"I'm smarter now."

"I know. You're more clever, too."

"You won your share of contests."

He laughed. "Not when the sport required throwing daggers or nocking arrows."