Border Bride (37 page)

Accustomed to having people gawk at her, Elanna calmly gathered her meager sack of belongings and food for the voyage; then they made their way to the room. They shared the narrow bed and tried to sleep.

The blast of a horn awakened Alpin: the signal that the tide was on its way in. In painful silence they left the inn and walked to the ship.

The
Lydia Jane
rode low in the water, lanterns dotting her decks and crewmen scurrying in the rigging like green monkeys in a fruit-laden fig tree.

Alpin's footsteps rang hollow on the gangplank, a fitting sound to the emptiness in her heart. A sailor respectfully averted his eyes as he offered her a hand onto the deck. She felt the other men watching her and her unusual companion and speaking quietly among themselves. Like everyone else, they were intrigued by Elanna.

The ship rocked gently. Ropes creaked, and the tide lapped against the hull. In the narrow companionway, the air felt close and smelled of damp wool. Alpin's stomach churned, and she swallowed hard, praying that the sickness would not accompany her to Bridgetown.

Their assigned cabin was the third on the left. The louvered door stood open. Light from inside poured into the hallway. Alpin stepped across the threshold and froze, for there, lounging on the narrow bunk, his arms folded behind his head, his legs crossed, was Malcolm Kerr.

Her heart catapulted into her throat. Elanna bumped into her and muttered words that sounded like crusty mustard seeds and hollowed-out logs.

Malcolm drilled Elanna with a devil of a stare and tipped his head toward the hallway. She clutched Alpin's arm and pulled back, but Alpin's legs wobbled like saplings in a gale and her feet felt nailed to the teetering floor.

She waved Elanna back. "What are you doing here, Malcolm?"

He didn't bat so much as an eyelash.

"How did you find me?"

A bland handsome stare was her answer.

Anger seemed her best defense in what appeared a defenseless position. "You want me only because of who my grandfather is."

"If you will recall, sweet wife," he drawled, "I handfasted myself to you before John Gordon laid eyes on you."

He had her there, if she believed him, which she didn't. Scraping up every last bit of gumption, she lifted her chin and glared at him. "I think you knew all along that I was related to Comyn MacKay. You were desperate for an alliance with him. That's why you meddled in my life and made sure I had nowhere else to go but here."

"Do you honestly believe that rubbish?"

She hadn't even thought of it until a moment ago. She'd been too preoccupied with her pregnancy and too worried about the people at Paradise. But now, as she recalled his excitement in telling her she was Comyn MacKay's granddaughter, the conclusion made sense. Malcolm had probably known for years. She felt used, manipulated by him, all in the name of love.

The liar.

"I believe it implicitly," she said. "You took Paradise and brought me here under false pretenses."

"Why would I take the plantation only to give it back to you?"

Because she had outsmarted him. "It's a mystery to me how your loathsome mind works."

"I assure you, Alpin," he murmured ominously, "you have yet to learn the true meaning of 'loathsome.'"

He could frighten her, but he'd never make her cower. "What will you do, beat me?"

"The law gives your husband that right, among others."

"Such as what? Locking me in a dungeon? Whacking off my hair?"

"You've been reading the law." He swung his legs off the bunk and sat, his fingers gripping the edge of the mattress, his broad shoulders taut with tension. "How industrious of you."

"I'm not afraid of you, no matter how many laws you have on your side. You cannot keep me here to salve your wounded pride."

"I do not intend to keep you
here
. You'll walk off this ship of your own accord. You'll mount the horse that awaits on the quay. You'll return to Kildalton and fulfill your part of our bargain."

The walls seemed to close in on Alpin. "I'll do nothing of the sort."

He seemed so embittered, looked like a battle-hardened soldier. What had happened to the laughing, joking Malcolm? The Malcolm who had professed to love her? Sadly she knew the answer. He'd gotten what he wanted, a tie to an important clan.

He should have grown up to be an admirable man, not a selfish schemer who destroyed other people's lives to achieve his own goals. Power had been his birthright, but instead of wielding it for the betterment of those in his keeping, he used his position to batter anyone who stood in his way.

"Either you'll walk or I'll carry you. The choice is yours."

"Why are you doing this? You don't really want me."

"I welcome the opportunity to show you just how much I want you, but unfortunately I have crops to harvest, and Captain MacMarcil has a tide to catch."

So coldly polite was his tone he might have been declining an invitation to sup with a tiresome acquaintance.

She could be chilly, too. "I suppose you know the captain."

He smiled without humor and waved a hand toward the door. "After you. I intend to be home before sunrise."

She glared at him.

He shrugged. "Make no mistake, Alpin, I
will
carry you. If it comes to that, I insist that you kick and scream. I would so like to send these seafaring men off with a tale of gossip on their lips."

As always, she had no choice but to obey a man. Too angry to speak, she whirled and edged past the waiting Elanna. Marching down the gangplank, she spied Saladin and four horses near the dock. Beside him lay the enormous sleuth-hound. The dog must have led Malcolm to her.

Sunrise greeted them at Kildalton. Malcolm lifted her off her horse. She tried but failed to stifle a yawn.

"Go to bed, Alpin, and get some rest."

Surely he was as exhausted as she. "What will you do?"

"I'll pull a man from the haying crew and assign him to guard the paddock. If you leave again, Alpin, you'll have to walk." He looked at the cloud-filled horizon. She saw vulnerability in his eyes, but the next instant it was gone. "Then I'll return to the fields and pray the storm passes us by."

Too tired and heart-weary to argue, she turned and walked into the keep, vowing with every step that next time she'd take ship at the larger port of Tynemouth or at South Shields. She would even ride all the way to Southampton if she must.

Her opportunity came the next morning when the men returned, toilworn, from the fields.

Standing with Elanna on the deck of a merchantman ready to depart the harbor at Tynemouth, Alpin heard the thunder of approaching riders. Two clansmen bearing torches came into view. In front of them loped the sleuth-hound; behind them rode a stoic Malcolm Kerr. Saladin and Alexander, each leading a riderless mount, brought up the flank.

Alpin shivered with frustration. This time he didn't even dismount. He sat astride that white stallion looking like a king whose word was law. She could feel his anger. Unfortunately her own rage matched his.

The ship's captain hurried down the gangplank. Malcolm spoke but never took his eyes off Alpin.

The captain returned. "Lass, you'd best go to your husband."

"But, sir, I've booked passage."

He gave her back her money. "Go. There's no place for you or the African woman on my ship or any other leaving this port."

Hating herself, she clasped her hands together. "But he'll beat me."

The captain laughed. "The laird of clan Kerr fights off the women, not the other way 'round."

All the way home she glared at Malcolm's back, damning him and damning herself for a fool. She and Elanna had escaped through the postern gate and walked to the village of Weber's Glen. There they had borrowed horses. The hound had led Malcolm to her again. As she planned her next escape, she considered her mistakes.

Later that day a courier arrived with a letter for Malcolm from his stepmother. Alpin gave the man tuppence, then locked herself in the study. She gently lifted the seal and read the message: "Wish on your lucky star and pack away the breakables. I return soon."

Alpin's hand trembled. The confusing message made no sense, except the last words. Lady Miriam was coming back. Alpin had to leave.

A knock sounded at the door. She resealed the missive and put the letter with Malcolm's other mail. Then she released the bolt. Elanna stood on the threshold.

Once inside, she said, "I'm the reason he keeps finding you."

Elanna was part of the problem; an African in Scotland stood out like a Chinaman in Barbados. But Alpin would not leave her friend behind, and they must make haste. Disguises seemed the most logical solution. That and divert the attention of the nosy sleuthhound.

"She's done it again, my lord."

Like too much whiskey, angry resolve spread through Malcolm, intoxicating him, dulling his senses.

He secured the reins and jumped down from the hay-laden wagon. The whistling of sickles ceased. The field-workers and clansmen stared. The persistent crows swooped down to feast.

Looking at Alexander, but seeing his own hands clutched around his wayward bride's neck, Malcolm ripped off his gloves.

"Did you lock the postern gate?"

"Aye, sir. I also put an extra guard on the paddock."

"Then how the devil did she get away?"

"She was wearing breeches and a hat. She told the guard she was there to exercise the gray. Since she was alone and pretending to be a lad, the guard saw naught amiss."

"She left without Elanna?"

"Nay, sir. The African left the grounds half an hour later through the west gate. Said she was off to collect the Moor's supper."

"Saladin's supervising the haying at Sweeper's Heath. Send Rabby to fetch him."

"Aye, sir."

"Where's Redundant?"

His eyes teeming with regret, Alexander stared at Malcolm's bonnet. "At Farley Green hooked up with Wiley's bitch. Even if you could get 'em apart, the hound's nose is mint for now."

"Shit!"

"Twill make a fine litter of pups, my lord."

Malcolm glanced sharply at the soldier. Alexander gave him a weak smile. "We'll get her back."

Worn out and heartsore, Malcolm found himself laughing at her cleverness. By putting Redundant with a bitch in heat, she had taken away his surest means of finding her.

Twenty years ago Alpin had lived unnoticed for weeks at Kildalton Castle. No one was more familiar with the passageways and exits of the keep. He'd have to pull a crew of men from the fields and set them to guarding the gates and grounds.

The real reason for her flight eluded him, but he suspected it was pride. He had longed to tell her about the perilous state of affairs in Scotland, to impart to her his fear that war loomed ahead. But he couldn't confide in a woman who scorned Scottish politics and didn't care if the fields were harvested. He didn't trust himself in the presence of the woman he loved, the woman he'd tricked into coming to Scotland in the first place. He couldn't abandon the harvest to spend his days playing her jailer. As laird, his duty lay with his people.

Now Comyn MacKay was on his way to find the lost member of his flock. Lady Miriam's message had been clear. Malcolm shuddered to think what the Highland chieftain would do if he arrived at Kildalton eager to see his long lost granddaughter and learned that Malcolm had driven her away.

He had to keep her, but not for the alliance. He wanted her for himself and the love he couldn't deny. Once the Jacobite plot had been foiled, he would bare his soul to her.

First he would get her back, and he had no doubt that he would, for he was several steps ahead of his clever wife. On his orders, the blacksmith had forged notches into the shoes of the horses at Kildalton. If she managed to get away on one of the mounts, Malcolm could easily follow the distinctive tracks.

That was just what she had done.

Like footprints in the snow, the hoof marks led him unerringly to the docks at South Shields. Standing on a hill, he gazed at the port the Romans had discovered over fifteen hundred years ago. No visible signs of their presence remained, but an industrious explorer could dig beneath the mounds of earth and uncover the tools and remnants of a civilization of builders and engineers.

Wishing he were on such an expedition, Malcolm guided his mount down the hill. He found the horses in a field near the orphanage. Then he went to the quay.

"Have you a blackamoor among your passengers?" he asked captain after captain.

"Nay, my lord" was the response of the day.

A glance at the passenger list gave him an idea. "This widow. Is she veiled?"

"Aye, sir. All proper like, she is. Grieving, I'm sure, poor lady. Ain't said but two words to me, and odd those were."

Malcolm was already studying the next ship. "Oh?"

"I asked her if she'd like her meals sent to her cabin. She said, 'Betcha that.' My money says she's Welsh. They've got a strange speech about them."

Applauding himself and Elanna's slip of the tongue, Malcolm fetched his bride and deposited her on the steps of Kildalton.

"The gates are locked, Alpin, and I've put extra guards on the grounds. You cannot get away."

She gave him a fake smile. "Watch me."

Her next ruse was even more clever, and his second trip to Tynemouth proved amusing in the extreme. If, that is, he ignored the fact that his wife had deserted him again.

"Tell me about this masked leper and the sister of charity," he asked the first mate on a barkentine destined for Calais.

"They come in a cart, my lord. Ain't heard a peep out of the poor wretch or the nun with 'im."

A nun in Scotland? Improbable. "She was wearing a habit?"

"Peculiar, it was, now that you mention it. Looked more like a monk's robe to me. Bonny thing she is, though. 'Magine a sister 'o mercy with eyes like fancy purple stones."

Ten minutes later when he led her off the ship, Malcolm thought her fancy eyes were shooting daggers. "You cannot get away, Alpin. Give it up."

Two days later when he fetched her back a second time from Whitley Bay, humor fled.