Border Bride (36 page)

Pasting on a smile, she stepped back and dished up some rhetoric of her own. "You're very kind, Miriam, but you always were—even when I least deserved it."

"Like most bright children, you were headstrong." She glanced pointedly at Malcolm. "And your pranks were harmless."

"Who are you making excuses for, Malcolm or me?" Alpin asked.

"Both, and welcome to our family."

Alpin looked at her handfast husband, who gave her a bland smile. A sooty stubble shadowed his cheeks and jaw, and his hair begged for a brushing. His shirt was wrinkled, his tartan hastily donned. He hadn't even bothered to put on his sporran and his clan badge. He didn't need the accoutrements of power; he possessed them naturally.

He snaked an arm around her waist and drew her to him. "Well, Mother, what do you think of my bride?"

"I think she's lovely." She winked at Alpin. "Why, I wonder, would she burden herself with a slovenly troll like you?"

"I am not a troll." With a gentle squeeze, he said, "Tell her the truth, Alpin. I'm a generous soul, and you adore me."

Even disheveled he looked too handsome for his own good—or for hers. Peeved by her attraction to him, Alpin patted his head. "I have always adored wounded beasts."

"Oho!" Lady Miriam clapped her hands. "She knows you too well."

Feeling decidedly self-conscious with their familiar banter, Alpin said, "Dora's preparing your room, Miriam, and a bath."

His mother smiled apologetically. "You mustn't go to any trouble, for I'll be leaving within the hour."

Considering the contents of the notes, Alpin thought the decision wise. But she'd keep the knowledge to herself. "So soon?" She looked to Malcolm for his reaction.

He shrugged. "I tried to talk her into staying, but she never listens to me. The king's business, you know. Here. Take my chair." He stood. "You two get reacquainted while I change clothes."

"Malcolm," said his stepmother, "perhaps you'd like to ride with me as far as Sweeper's Heath."

She made the offer in a light-hearted tone; yet her eyes held his for a long moment.

"'Twould be my pleasure, Mother." Giving them a courtly bow, he left the room.

Alpin sat, her eyes straying from the box and the dangerous information it contained to the unshuttered windows and the traffic in the lane, her mind dwelling on her husband's departure and how she could make use of it. She would devise an excuse to leave this afternoon. She'd write Malcolm a note and be on her way. Her heart constricted at the thought of never seeing him again, but, as always, life had given Alpin MacKay few options. When pitted against the welfare of eighty people, one woman's heartbreak seemed a small price to pay.

"You could join us if you like."

The politely worded offer lacked sincerity; Lady Miriam wanted to speak privately with her stepson.

"Thank you, no," Alpin said, terrified of their dangerous game. "We've candles to dip and barracks to scrub." And treason to avoid.

"I'm deeply sorry about Charles's death."

Caught off guard, Alpin said the first thing that came to mind. "It put an end to his suffering. He's where he longed to be."

Alpin worried that she'd been too frank, but Lady Miriam smiled and said, "Thank goodness he had you to care for him. Tell me, Alpin. Did Duncan make the right decision years ago when he persuaded Baron Sinclair to send you to Barbados?"

Tears clogged Alpin's throat. "Oh, yes. I had a good life there."

"And you're happy now, as Malcolm's wife?"

Lady Miriam looked hopeful, her blue eyes glowing with motherly love, her lips curving in a tentative smile. The truth, bittersweet as it was, came easy to Alpin. "I love Malcolm, and I'm proud to be his handfast wife."

As if relieved, his stepmother leaned back in the chair. "Forget the handfasting. He's ready to call in the parson."

Girlish dreams soared, then settled like a rock in Alpin's stomach. A real marriage? But that was impossible—unless they knew she carried his child. She had to find out. "I thought formal vows were exchanged when the woman conceived."

"And you will, my dear. I'm certain of it."

Alpin relaxed and found herself blushing.

"Did Charles leave you a dowry?" Lady Miriam asked.

The old hurt resurfaced. "No. He left me a stipend."

All business, Lady Miriam propped her elbow on the box and rested her chin in her palm. "We'll correct that, once you're countess of Kildalton."

She was talking about exchanging permanent church-sanctioned vows. If Alpin pledged her troth to Malcolm, she would become his property, as would Paradise. She'd just become the lawful owner and refused to give up her land to a man who couldn't be bothered with the plight of the slaves. "I'd rather wait until I conceive. Malcolm needs a son to carry on the Kerr name."

Eyes narrowed, her chin stubbornly set, his stepmother, said, "Daughters are as valuable as sons. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a pigeon-brained fool who cannot rub two sticks together to make a fire."

Her defense of their sex was so fierce that Alpin felt herself swell with pride. Still, she had to steer the conversation away from Malcolm Kerr. "Speaking of fools, some of the white men in Barbados would turn your stomach. They ride around like kings and treat their gamecocks better than they treat the females in their keeping. One fellow in Bridgetown harnesses bare-breasted slave women to his carriage on Sunday mornings."

"That's how he gets to church?"

Hatred fueled Alpin's need to return and begin freeing the slaves in Barbados. "Yes."

Lady Miriam's face grew flushed with anger. "Self-serving men without common decency and respect for the law?"

"Yes. The island's overrun with them." Alpin poured out her heart as she never could with Malcolm.

"I think I shall visit there when—" Her zeal gave way to resolution. "When I can. Now tell me this, Alpin, and forget Malcolm's needs and feelings. Will you be disappointed if you do not conceive?"

As if determined to prove her a liar, her traitorous stomach fluttered. Alpin stared out the window. Saladin passed by, his prayer rug tucked under his arm. "1 cannot answer that," she said truthfully.

"'Tis too soon, I'm sure. Has Malcolm given you any money?"

"I receive a salary as housekeeper. I maintain the ledgers and pay the staff."

"You're his steward, too?"

Alpin felt her hackles rise. "Yes," she said defensively. "I prefer staying busy. I haven't the temperament for sewing and chitchat."

Lady Miriam seemed pleased rather than surprised. Chuckling, she said, "We are alike, then, you and I. 'Tis just as well you're industrious, considering I took most of the staff to Constantinople."

"We've managed."

"I can see you have, and admirably so." She grew serious again. "Let's talk about Comyn MacKay."

The words fell like boulders into the conversation. Alpin tensed. "What about him?"

"More to the point, what do
you
think about him?"

In conversation, Malcolm's stepmother was as slippery as a ribbonfish. Alpin could be crafty, too. "Why is everyone so sure we're related?"

Instead of answering, she asked, "Do you remember your father's name?"

Alpin delved into her memory, but it was like stumbling blindfolded through a maze. "I seem to remember a common name. James or Charles. It wasn't Scottish."

"Both are names of Scottish kings, as are Comyn and Alpin. The MacKays always name their firstborn after a member of Scottish royalty."

Alpin wouldn't be swayed. "It's a coincidence, no more."

"I disagree, Alpin. Why else would a man name his daughter after a Scottish king?"

She felt the old hollow ache and despised Lady Miriam for causing it. "My father did not name me. He was lost at sea before I was born."

"So your mother, an Englishwoman, thought to name you after a Scottish king."

Phrased that way, it did seem farfetched.

"Have you any papers," Lady Miriam asked, "letters or the like, that belonged to your father?"

"They were buried with my mother, or so Baron Sinclair said."

"He'll be sorry he did that, Alpin. I assure you."

Alpin believed her. But her heritage didn't matter. "Do whatever you wish, but not on my account. I have no need for more relatives."

"Even if your marriage proved advantageous?"

"To whom?"

"To you of course. As an heiress of the MacKay clan you'll be entitled to the dower lands your grandmother passed to your father."

Alpin wanted only one plot of land, the land she now owned. "How can you be so sure I'm an heiress?"

"The MacKays are wealthy."

"Let them keep their money. I don't want it."

"Then think beyond yourself, Alpin. What if the people of Scotland will benefit from your being one of the Highland MacKays?"

Alpin didn't care a broken seashell for Scottish politics. But of course Lady Miriam did. "I doubt I could be of any value, for I wouldn't know those people if they walked through that door."

"Oh, aye, you would. I know that clan well, and the resemblance is too strong to deny." She stared at Alpin's face and hair. "In the north, they call your unusual eyes 'eyes from heaven.' Comyn
is
your grandfather."

Would she never let the matter drop? Patience gone, Alpin braced her palms on the table and pushed herself to her feet. "Well, I'm past needing a grandfather, thank you very much."

Lady Miriam grasped her wrist. "He tried to find you, Alpin. I heard about his search years later. He couldn't know to look for you here in the Borders, but they say he scoured every glen and brae above the Highland line and every port on the western coast."

Her soft, cajoling voice and pleading eyes reached out to the lonely child in Alpin, but the woman in her balked. She had made a vow to the people of Paradise. She must fulfill her promise. "That's very admirable, and I appreciate your concern. But I am not interested."

"You'll have to deal with the MacKay, for I can assure you John Gordon has told him where you are."

Her assurance chipped away Alpin's determination to remain civil. "Gordon came here over a month ago, and we haven't heard a whisper out of this Comyn MacKay. You're overestimating his devotion."

She smiled a smile that any orphan would have cherished. "We'll see, my dear, but I advise you to prepare yourself. John Gordon doesn't do anything unless and until it benefits him. When it's to his advantage to tell Comyn about you, he will. I simply think you should be forewarned."

Lady Miriam's caution was an exercise in futility. Alpin was leaving Scotland today.

At sunset Alpin and Elanna sat in the public room of the Barnacle Inn near the docks of Whitley Bay. At high tide they would sail on an English flute, its bulging belly loaded with whiskey and wool. This ship would take them to Southampton, where they would book passage on an East Indiaman for the long voyage to Barbados.

A fire crackled in the blackened hearth, spilling warmth into the near empty room. Feeling listless, Alpin sipped the honeyed milk and hoped the drink would settle her queasy stomach. She hadn't been able to stay in their rocking cabin; she would have retched until the ship sailed at two o'clock in the morning. So she'd taken a room here, but doubted she could sleep.

In her note Alpin had told Malcolm she'd gone to Carvoran Manor to pay the servants there and inventory the stores. She had wished him pleasant dreams and said to expect her home by afternoon the next day.

Home. Once the word had held a wealth of meaning to her. It had represented security, a sense of self-worth, the ultimate happiness. Now a part of her, the part that Malcolm had nurtured with love and captured with passion, saw this journey and her future as an obligation.

Had he given her one inkling of support on the subject of freeing the slaves she would have told him about her beliefs and torment. She would have sought his counsel. But he had made a joke about the issue.

The earl of Kildalton couldn't be bothered with the plight of Bumpa Sam, Mango Joe, and the seventy-eight other people who were her responsibility. Malcolm was too busy intriguing in Scottish politics.

Her lover had his cause; she had hers. She couldn't help lamenting over the poor timing of their romance. Under different circumstances they might have had a happy future. But that was a fool's wish, and dwelling on what might have been would only make her feel more miserable.

"You left your rabbit behind," said Elanna.

"I know." Same as her last departure from Scotland, she was leaving with little more than the clothes on her back. Years before, she had left a menagerie of nature's forgotten creatures in the care of Lady Miriam. But this time Alpin was leaving her heart.

Solace came in thoughts of the child she carried. She'd have a part of Malcolm to cherish, a little person to warm her heart and share her life, a true family to bring joy to her waning years.

"Will he come looking for us?" Both fear and hope shone in Elanna's eyes.

Alpin knew well those conflicting emotions. "No. I told him if he did, I'd never get my work done. I also invited Alexander and his aunt to sup tonight, to keep Malcolm company."

"You plenty clever, Alpin MacKay. Let's just hope the lucky gods ride on our shoulders until that ship sails."

If he did come after her, he'd be angry, and Alpin had no desire to feel the brunt of his wrath. She preferred to take with her the memory of their good times together.

"Do you think Saladin will come for you?"

Elanna folded her arms on the table and stared into the fire. The light threw her high cheekbones into relief. "Muslim tied to his principles."

"Are you sorry we came?"

"Never, never. He say his Prophet willed it so. I believe Ashanti gods respect this Allah and send me to his servant." She sighed and shook her head. "Muslim too stubborn to know what's good for him."

The door opened. Alpin jumped and jerked around to see a man and woman dressed in traveling clothes step into the inn. The newcomers stared, shocked, at Elanna. Fighting panic, Alpin picked up the saddle pouch that served as her valise. She had sewn the deed to Paradise Plantation into the lining of her cloak. She draped the garment over her arm. "I think we had better go up to our room until time to board the ship."