Border Bride (32 page)

Alpin had elected to go to the market herself today; Malcolm's admission of love had given her the strength to storm this bastion of female authority.

But as she looked from one face to the next, she was unexpectedly reminded of another group of women an ocean away, women with ebony-hued skin and a dream of freedom. Slave women who would rejoice at the news of her impending motherhood. Indentured women who depended on her, women who honestly enjoyed her company.

The clock of time turned back, and the little girl in her braced for the disdain that always came from the women of Kildalton.

Betsy stepped forward. "We're so glad you're handfasted to Lord Malcolm. Some of us believed him when he swore never to wed until he found the perfect mate."

A knot of tension inside Alpin began to ease. The smiles and the concern of these women were real. They had even confided a truth about her husband. He could have made a dynastic marriage, but he'd wed for love instead. For that gift she said a prayer of thanks and absolved the women of their cruelty years ago.

"You've made him very happy, my lady," said Betsy.

This one experience was so different from the encounters of her youth and the camaraderie was so intense that Alpin felt tears pool in her eyes. Too choked up to speak, she shrugged self-consciously.

The stately Miss Lindsay elbowed her way to the fore. Her arms folded primly at her waist, her bonnet ribbons tied in a lopsided bow near her cheek, she was the image of a dignified spinster. "Betsy, you should be ashamed of yourself for embarrassing her ladyship so." She executed a perfect curtsy. "Contrary to what Betsy would have you believe, we were not gossiping about his lordship's private affairs. I was just saying how he has a fondness for cobbler, wasn't I?"

"Cobbler?" squeaked Nell. "You was talkin' about—"

"As I said," Miss Lindsay interrupted, glowering at each of them, "we were discussing how Lord Malcolm favors cobbler. None of us would stoop to gossiping about what a blessing it was that he chose you rather than that Cameron heiress."

Nell harrumphed. "Your own nephew says the Highland clans are pressing for an alliance with the Borders. Lord Malcolm could've wed the Gordon lass. Her father came to call, or have you forgot?"

"I haven't forgot the visit by John Gordon. His clansmen left a pretty penny in your husband's pocket for all that ale they drank at the Rot and Ruin."

"I say," a beet-faced Betsy declared, "politics is an unnatural subject for ladies."

A dozen questions blazed in Alpin's mind. Sensing the conversation might turn to banal matters, she looked to Alexander's aunt for answers. Playing the innocent, as she had with the lawyer Codrington, seemed wise. "I'm terribly confused, Miss Lindsay. Why does Lord Malcolm need an alliance with anyone?"

"Because someday those troublemaking Jacobites will start another war."

Caught off guard, Alpin said, "War?"

A stern-faced Miss Lindsay nodded. "Aye. They still want a Stewart on the throne."

Betsy sighed and rolled her eyes in exasperation.

Alpin remembered Malcolm's anger at the unexpected arrival of John Gordon, a Highlander. If these women hadn't dabbled in politics, Alpin would never have known about warring Jacobites, who really didn't interest her, or Malcolm's need for a tie to the northern clans, which interested her very much.

Had his declaration of love been a political ploy?

All contriteness, Miss Lindsay rushed to say, "Do not give those Highlanders a thought, my lady. Lord Malcolm tolerates them when he has to."

Alpin had a niggling suspicion that his desire to reunite her with her father's family stemmed from selfish motives. To test her theory she said, "But aren't the MacKays Highlanders?"

"Certainly," said the spinster. "They're probably the most reasonable of the lot, according to Alexander. But they've naught to do with you. You're from around here, my lady. We've known you since you were a girl. There's no link between you and the Highland MacKays, however advantageous for Lord Malcolm that match might be."

Oh, yes, there was a substantial link: Comyn MacKay.

"They couldn't find you, Alpin," Malcolm had said of the MacKays. "They wanted to care for you. Give them a chance to love you now."

Understanding snuffed out the flame of her euphoria.

Love. She'd been foolish to believe in so tender an emotion. The methods of her paternal relatives and her handfast husband were suspect in the extreme. As always, she must look out for herself. For weeks she had shelved the issue of her security. But no more. She would wait for a break in the storm of his male power. When a calm arrived, she would make use of it.

"Well," she declared, waving a hand toward the baskets of produce, "since we've used our feminine logic to settle all of the man-made strife in Scotland, I think I should worry about feeding my husband."

Eyes twinkling with mirth, Mrs. Kimberley put a hand on Alpin's arm. "Right you are, my lady. Those apples'll cook up fine and juicy in a cobbler," she said. "Shall I bake you one?"

"She makes the best cobbler in Kildalton," declared Miss Lindsay. "Everyone says so."

Alpin set down her basket. "Yes, please, and I insist on buying enough apples so you can make a pie for your own family."

Miss Lindsay hummed her approval and nodded to the others.

Mrs. Kimberley started sorting through the pile of fruit. "Thank you, my lady. I'll bring it 'round before dark."

Her basket filled with Malcolm's favorite foods, her heart racked with doubt, Alpin headed for the keep. In the crowded lane, the people of Kildalton respectfully noted her passing. She exchanged small talk, but her interest kept straying to the tanner's wife, who stood with her husband outside their shop, her belly swollen with an advanced pregnancy. The man's tender expression bespoke pride and devotion.

Had hers been an ordinary marriage, Alpin would have sought out Malcolm, thrown herself into his arms, and told him that she carried their child. Once again, however, his dishonesty demanded she keep her news a secret and redouble her efforts to get home.

Disappointed to her soul, she went to the study to search for the letter from Codrington. Malcolm had offered to let her read it, but he'd gone back to sleep after making love to her this morning. Bristling with energy, she had dressed and begun her duties for the day. When he awakened, he'd roused Saladin and gone to Lanarkshire to deliver a herd of Spanish cattle.

Alpin looked in the drawer that contained the other correspondence. The old letters were there, but nothing new. A further search of the desk and the room proved futile. Thinking he might have left it upstairs in his traveling pouch, she went to their room.

In the leather satchel she found an accounting from a squire in Kelso, an invitation to a wedding next month in Carlisle, and an offering of stock from a tobacco concern in Glasgow. Recent correspondence. Nothing from Barbados. She felt certain if she found the letter from the island lawyer she would find the other missing correspondence too. Where had he hidden it, and why?

A more worrisome question plagued her. What would she do when faced with indisputable proof of Malcolm's duplicity? Misery compounded her trouble, but she knew what course she would take. She would hide her heartbreak and do the same thing she had always done. She'd look out for herself.

She must be careful, though, for if he suspected her motives or learned of the child, he'd use all of the powers at his disposal to keep her here.

She must persuade him to transfer ownership of Paradise to her. Inadvertently, Miss Lindsay had given her a new reason to succeed.

In the sunny solitude of the upstairs solar, Alpin refined her plan and rehearsed her words. Sometime later a knock sounded at the door.

"Come in."

Elanna entered the room. Agony dulled her eyes and pinched her mouth.

Seeing her friend so forlorn, Alpin said, "Ashanti princess
got
big trouble."

"Betcha that." The reply lacked its usual impudence.

Alpin put her own problems aside. "What happened?"

Elanna paced aimlessly around the room, trailing a hand over an embroidery frame, then riffling through a basket of spare buttons. When she pricked her finger on a needle and didn't seem to care, Alpin grew alarmed. "The sooner you tell me what's bothering you, the sooner you'll sing a better, better song."

Elanna looked up. "You cannot help this stupid island girl."

During his sober periods Charles had criticized Alpin for spoiling the slaves and indulging Elanna. Alpin had never viewed her actions in that light; she believed in respecting individuals. In the protected atmosphere of Paradise her actions had seemed proper. Away from that secure world she wondered if she might have been wrong to allow Elanna the eccentricities of an Ashanti princess.

"Please talk to me, Elanna."

Her shoulders sagged. "That Muslim forgives me."

Alarm shot through Alpin. "Did you tell him about the potions?"

"Never, but I threw them down the privy shaft. He forgives me for driving him to drink."

"Why are you upset if he forgave you?"

Head down, Elanna appeared the antithesis of her African birthright. "This woman plenty much afraid. That man put a scare in my soul. The gods now laugh at this Ashanti princess."

Alpin had no culture to call her own, no heritage save a batch of uncaring relatives who'd been eager to ship her off to Barbados, where she'd made a good life and better friends. "I doubt the gods are laughing because you fell in love. My guess is they are rejoicing."

She shook her head slowly. "Ashanti princess sing sorry, sorry song."

"Saladin is a fine man. You cannot regret that you care for him."

"No regrets. Wise Ashanti queen say it's better to feel heart aching than not to feel heart at all."

As much as it pained her, Alpin had to agree. "I think we should go home."

Excitement flickered in Elanna's eyes, and her innate poise returned. "How you get Paradise back from Scotsman?"

Alpin related her plan to get Malcolm to transfer ownership of Paradise to her.

Brows lifted in surprise, Elanna smiled. "You plenty clever white woman."

"This white woman is also pregnant."

Elanna's mouth fell open. Fist clenched, she spat what could only have been an Ashanti curse word. "I should have given you careful-woman sauce."

"No. I want this baby."

"Scotsman never let you leave."

"He will never know, unless you tell him."

Elanna raked a hand across her lips. "Secret yours and mine—until we get home. Then you tell Bumpa Sam so he plays his drums for your child. Old Romeo will build a cradle." Cupping her hands over her ears, she added, "Marguerite will howl and burn twigs for her Asebu gods."

All of Alpin's friends would be happy. They would fuss over her, praise her, and vie for the right to spoil her baby. "I expect they will. I want you to pack only one change of clothing and your valuables. We must be ready when the time comes."

"When will we go?"

"Soon, Elanna. Very soon."

"What about money for the ship?"

Alpin applauded herself. "As Lord Malcolm's steward, I pay everyone's wages. Even my own. And now, Elanna, I think this clever white woman should make herself beautiful for her husband."

"Betcha that."

At Alpin's insistence they dined in the study. After the meal, she poured Malcolm a glass of brandy and sat on the arm of his chair, her hand touching his shoulder.

"When will the harvest begin?" she asked.

Looking like a pampered husband, he stretched out his legs. With the bowl of the glass cupped in his palm, he swirled the contents. "Next week, and I cannot say I relish the prospect."

"Have you enough men to do the work?"

He tipped his head back and gave her a stern look. "If you're thinking of helping, you can forget it. I will not allow you to work in the fields, Alpin."

Did he suspect she had conceived, and was he concerned for her welfare and that of the child? No. He was just being stubborn, a trait she knew well. "Allow me? That sounds despotic."

A smile curled his lips. "Call it what you will, but I'd rather have you pampering my palate than blistering your hands."

He shouldn't be so considerate, not after coercing her into a sham of a marriage. Never mind that it had been her idea; she had a right to her anger. How else could she bear his false promises of love and keep her mind on her mission?

"I do," she conceded with forced regret, "enjoy satisfying your appetite."

His eyes smoldered with meaning. "A circumstance," he murmured, caressing her thigh, "that makes me crave you all the more."

His touch inspired memories of their lovemaking, but she fought her desire and concentrated on his deceit. "Malcolm Kerr! You could turn a how-do-you-do into an indecency."

"You were rather indecent yourself this morning. I, if you will recall, was merely your bound victim."

Appalled, she looked away. "I untied you before—"

"Before what? Before you mounted me and rode my docile manner to exhaustion?"

She laughed. "If you're docile, the pope's a Jew. Stop changing the subject. We were discussing the harvest. According to the ledgers, the yield was poor last year."

"How did you know that?"

She stared at the crown of his head and the play of lamplight in his blue-black hair. Would her child have such glorious hair? Would it be a strapping boy with a thirst for knowledge? Or would her child be a girl with brown eyes and her father's engaging grin?

"Alpin?"

She put aside her motherly speculation. She had plenty of time to think about her child. "Because I compared the harvest totals with the entries for the last two years."

He walked his fingers to her knee. "Why?"

She stifled a shiver of longing and concentrated on what he'd said. Had she made him suspicious? No, he was only curious. "Because I was interested. Remember, I'm your steward and your housekeeper."

"And my wife."

His temporary wife. Fighting regret for what could never be, she took up the conversation. "Precisely. What concerns you concerns me."