Border Bride (31 page)

Alpin tapped her foot. "He has principles."

Elanna held up her index finger. Her dark eyes snapped with conviction. "One stupid principle."

Patience gone, Alpin snapped, "You are full of yourself. I should never have freed you."

Elanna swallowed hard and wrung her hands. "Never say that. I owe you my life."

"You owe me nothing except to listen to my opinions. But you owe Saladin respect."

Remorse lent an earthy quality to Elanna's ebony beauty. "What can I do?"

Alpin sensed a possible compromise. "Go to the tavern and sit with him. He's never taken alcohol before in his life, and everyone knows he's broken faith. He also lost his sword in a bet. He'll be embarrassed, Elanna. As embarrassed as you were that time Charles put a bow in your hair and paraded you before the Ladies' Social Club."

"Very bad time." She shook her head slowly, and her eyes filled with pain. "Very bad."

"Then you know how Saladin feels. You've driven him from his home. Go to him. Talk him into coming back where he belongs."

Long, dark fingers gripped the chair arms; then she pushed to her feet. "You one smart white woman, Alpin MacKay, and I think you are happy with your Scotsman."

Echoes of the dream still tormented Alpin. She scanned the room and the stairs to be sure they were alone. "Others need me. Good people who helped me have a happy life. I promised them I would return to Barbados. I cannot forsake them."

Elanna walked to the door. Over her shoulder she said, "You will not forget them, Alpin MacKay. They know this."

Alpin smiled. "Sing Saladin a sorry, sorry song."

"Betcha that. After I sing
your
name to the gods."

It was the greatest compliment Elanna could pay, and Alpin acknowledged it with a respectful nod. Then she went up to bed to rest and devise a way to deal with her own stubborn man.

Hours later, like a patient cat with a trapped mouse, Alpin watched Malcolm stir. His sooty eyelashes fluttered, the pitch black color a perfect match to the stubble that shadowed his chin and jaw. The red silk scarves securing his wrists to the headboard gave him a particularly vulnerable look.

He emitted a groan, writhed; then his eyes popped open.

She pounced. "What did Saladin mean when he accused you of meddling in my life?"

Bloodshot eyes focused on her, then closed. "Why are you sitting on me, and what time is it?"

Her knees hugged his ribs. She glanced at the clock. "It's time for you to answer me. Did you trick me into coming to Kildalton?"

He sighed. "You must be tired, Alpin. Come lie down and go back to sleep."

She hated his placating tone and lordly arrogance. He shouldn't look so appealing after a night of selfish indulgence. "Answer me."

"You came to me. You said I was your best friend. Now untie me."

He would have to bring that up. Well, she could be clever, too. "I thought you liked being tied up. You said as much last night."

Through gritted teeth he said, "That was then; this is now. Get off my belly or you may regret it."

"You're bluffing. How will I regret it?"

"I may throw up on you. Untie me."

Her own stomach roiled, and she edged her bottom down to the cradle of his hips. His manhood stirred.

His eyes flew open. "Jesus, Alpin. You wouldn't dare torment a man fighting the demons of too much ale—and getting a tongue-lashing from his wife."

She squared her shoulders and didn't bother to dignify the absurd statements with a reply.

"Would you?" he asked weakly. Misery wreathed his face.

She felt herself weakening.

"That's a lass," he crooned. "Let me up and we'll discuss what's bothering you. We're both intelligent, compassionate people. Let's act like it."

He was too blasted reasonable. She shifted. He smiled in triumph.

"Not so fast. I want an explanation."

"I was besotted, sweetheart. 'Twas the ale talking, and you cannot hold me responsible."

Like boiling cane dripping sugar, he oozed charm. "Oh, yes, I can. Stop changing the subject. Did you or did you not meddle in my life?"

"You wanted to return to Kildalton. You came to me because I was your best friend. That's what you said. Remember? Please let me up, Alpin. I must go to Saladin. He probably feels as wretched as I."

"That's no answer."

"'Tis so."

"'Tis not. Why do you want me here?"

He grew still. "Because," he said quietly, "I love you, Alpin, and I think you keep looking for reasons not to love me."

Her mind skidded to a halt, and her heart soared. She hadn't expected him to declare his love, not with so much unsaid and so many things unsettled between them. "That's an unfair answer, Malcolm."

"Loving you is unfair? Why?"

"Because you said it to distract me."

"Then turnabout is fair play, for you often distract me. You're beautiful."

"No, I'm too short, and my skin is unfashionably brown."

"Your skin is lovely, and you're a tireless helpmate."

"How would you know if I'm a tireless helpmate? You keep me busy in the kitchen and the scullery."

His brows rose and he made a meaningful examination of the bed.

Flustered, she said, "Well. Once we're out of this room you never ask my opinion on important matters."

"Such as?"

"Such as when you moved that herd of sheep from Farleyton to Sweeper's Heath."

He stared at the canopy. "I always move the ewes to the heath in fall."

She hadn't intended to pour out her complaints, but couldn't seem to stop the flow of words. "Had you asked me, I would have pointed out that it would be more practical and economical to put the herd in the outer bailey. You pay the Fraser brothers to cut the grass. The sheep will do it for nothing."

"True, but how will the Frasers make a living? They're proud men."

"Of course they are, and hard workers, too. They can learn to shear sheep, or better yet, you can teach them to raise a herd of their own. The Frasers are not young men, and they have no land. What will happen to them when they're too old to swing a scythe?"

Her practicality confounded Malcolm. He had admitted his love, but she'd accepted his devotion as if it were no more than a daily chore. To hide his disappointment, he took refuge in addressing her flawed theory. "I take care of my people, including the Frasers."

"But that's charity. I doubt they would be happy old men living off your generosity."

She was thinking about her own life, about being a poor relation. It was another valuable insight into a woman who assumed responsibility with the same glee as other women accepted a new dress. It was also another reason why he loved her. "I admit yours would have been the better plan. We'll bring the ewes here next year, and you'll be the one to tell the Frasers about their new life."

The light of excitement faded from her eyes. "Very well."

"Thank you for the suggestion. Now can we agree that you like me a wee bit?"

She studied his bare chest. "You could say that. But I'm still angry because you told Saladin that I tied you to the bed."

How did he explain to a woman the working of a lifelong friendship between two men? "Last night Saladin told me the secrets of his heart. I felt bound to return the favor by telling him one of my own."

A confused frown furrowed her forehead. "It was your idea," she grumbled. "Not mine."

He longed to kiss away her troubles and ask what was really bothering her. Using the silken restraints had been her idea; she'd suggested it in the garden weeks ago. But Malcolm knew he had to foster her affection, for she held on to it the way a miser guarded his gold. Arguing wasn't the way. Besides, he had a full day of work ahead and the effects of a longer night to contend with. Still, creating harmony with Alpin came first.

He knew of one topic that would stimulate her interest and put a spark in her eyes. "Since you've shown such ability with the Frasers' welfare, you can advise me on the sale of Paradise Plantation."

She flinched as if he'd slapped her, and instead of a spark in her eyes, he saw an explosion of fear. "What do you mean, sell it?" she demanded. "When did you decide that?"

She might have been honest when she said she wanted to return to Scotland, but Malcolm knew that Alpin MacKay had unfinished business in Barbados. He was desperate to know the details, but he'd just vanquished her morning irritation and wouldn't risk alienating her again. He had to win her love; only then could he learn her secrets.

"Codrington sent me a list of prospective buyers. They have the funds and are eager to strike a deal."

"Who? What are their names?"

"I cannot recall, but I'll show you the letter. Now will you either untie me or make this captivity worth my while?"

An endearing blush crept up her cheeks. "I thought your stomach was troubling you."

His randy body responded with a vigor only Alpin MacKay could inspire. "The ache is a wee bit lower now."

Chapter Sixteen

I love you.

Standing in the crowded market later that day, her hand poised over a mound of freshly cut leeks, Alpin heard the echo of Malcolm's words. Around her, feminine chatter faded and movement became a soft blur. All that mattered was the soaring of her spirit and the low twinge of excitement deep in her belly.

I love you.

His words had become tangible, so real she had the absurd desire to string them on a daisy chain and hang them from the castle gates for all to see.

I love you.

A pledge that answered every prayer she had whispered in the loneliness of her life. A promise that fulfilled the soul of an orphaned child, a banished girl, and a solitary woman. A tribute that would alter her future and the life of every person she held dear. One other life would be affected: the life of the child she carried.

The sharp odor of leeks made her mouth water and her stomach pitch. She now understood why she'd been irritable earlier. That and the absence of her menses told the tale: she had conceived Malcolm's child.

Amid the turmoil her life had become, she felt a solidity, an anchor, and she thanked the hand of fate that had brought her to Scotland. Her sojourn here had not only sweetened the bitterness of her youth but had heaped a bounty upon a woman who had expected much less out of life.

Malcolm's child. Malcolm's love.

Guilt tripped on the heels of her happiness. He'd come along too late for Alpin MacKay; she'd already committed herself to a future and a people thousands of miles away. But the boy or girl tucked safely in her womb would have a better chance. This child wouldn't go begging for love and security. This child wouldn't look expectantly into the faces of strangers and hope for a smile or a word of kindness, only to receive indifference or a cuff on the jaw for having bothered them.

She dropped a handful of onions into her basket and moved on to the other produce. Just as she reached the apples, she felt an awareness prickle her skin. Sensing she was being watched she turned and saw a group of women staring at her, smiles wreathing their faces.

She knew them: Mrs. Kimberley, who helped with the baking; Miss Lindsay, Alexander's maiden aunt; Nell, the barkeep's wife; and Dora's mother, Betsy, who managed the market. Alpin couldn't call them friends. They were Scots, cruel critics from her past, unsuspecting players in her destiny.