by Arnette Lamb
Oh, God. Anne had ruled against him. “Why did she decide to enforce the codicil to Roxanne’s will and let the baron foster my son?”
Anguish flickered in her eyes. “Please don’t ask.”
A life of now-meaningless struggles lay behind him. He’d wasted his time fighting the demons of his blood. “She thinks I’m like my father.”
In a pool of pale gray wool, Miriam knelt beside his chair. “I’ll find a way to prove you’re nothing like Kenneth Kerr.”
Crestfallen, Duncan took her hand. Her skin was icy cold. Was her heart the same? He had to warm her. “I’m worried about you, Miriam. You’re chilled. You’re exhausted.” He longed to say, you’re pregnant with our child. But he couldn’t. Not yet. So he did his best. “I’ll go with you to Sinclair’s.”
“Thank you, but no.”
“What will you do there?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Reluctantly, she said, “I’m really very good at negotiating, especially with hard evidence. That’s what I’ll look for.”
“Evidence against the baron?”
“Yes. I’ll also decline the marriage offer and attend the ball in your honor. You stay with Malcolm.”
Did she always work so hard? Taking her other hand, he rubbed them both. He studied her closely, but she so expertly masked her feelings, he saw only her serene beauty, her strength of character. How could he hope to make a life with her if he couldn’t see what she was thinking? He looked deeper into her eyes, behind the intelligence, past the intense concentration. “You might need me more.”
“Thank you, but no.” She sighed and closed her eyes. But in that brief instant he saw vulnerability and affection.
It gave him hope. He said, “Malcolm’s a sturdy lad, and healing well.”
Her lips curled in a practiced smile, but no humor reached her eyes. “Then he’ll need your company all the more.” Quietly she added, “Saladin and Mr. Givins must go with me.”
Frustration made him clutch her hands tightly. “I canna sit back and make fiippity-flops while you ruin my son’s future.”
She didn’t wince, but a softening of her expression told him she understood. “An interesting predicament, since I’m accustomed to working alone and with great success.”
She’d probably done too many things alone in her life. Duncan intended to change that and much more. “You’ll be afraid in the snow. I’ll send a guard with you.”
She lifted her chin. “I would appreciate an escort.”
He recalled the night long ago when she’d rescued the lost Mary Elizabeth and returned in triumph. The people of Kildalton had taken her to their hearts. In the alehouse, the patrons had amended the drinking songs in honor of her bravery. Mrs. Elliott had lectured him on the dangers of deceit. Angus had advised him to move cautiously with Miriam.
“None of my men can drive the sleigh.”
“Duncan, I can drive it as well as I drive a carriage.”
Thwarted, and angry because he felt her slipping away, he demanded, “Is there anything you don’t do well?”
She gave him an enchanting smile. “’Twould take a lifetime to confess all of my shortcomings.” She pulled her hands free and stood.
Duncan watched her go, her head held high, her shoulders squared, his child in her belly, his fate in her hands.
A torturous three days later, she returned.
Duncan stared, stupefied at what she’d brought with her.
Chapter 18
Miriam’s hands and fingers cramped from gripping the reins and controlling the huge horses. Beyond the physical discomfort of the journey, she felt torn by conflicting emotions. As she guided the sleigh through the gates of Kildalton, a bittersweet sense of homecoming lifted her spirits. But her heart ached for the sight of the Border Lord.
At their first meeting he’d sworn she could never bring the earl and the baron to accord, not while both men lived. She’d proved him wrong; yet he’d been the one to die.
Grief diluted her pride and her sense of accomplishment. Loneliness crept in. Following a ritual she’d devised of late to chase the doldrums away, she found strength in happy thoughts of the babe she carried. One day she might bring her child to the Borders.
The eerie silence in the castle yard snatched her attention. At one time she’d passed through these gates and received a hero’s welcome for rescuing a little lost girl. Now, the people of Kildalton milled about in small groups and cast worried glances her way. Only the children waved. When the blacksmith’s son called out to Verbatim and made a move toward the hound, his father stopped him with a stern command.
Miriam eased back on the reins. The sleigh skidded to a halt, jostling the unusual cargo. The caged badger hissed a protest. Bleating in alarm, the lamb poked his head from beneath the furs and stared with sightless eyes. Alpin’s creatures.
The double doors of the castle opened. Duncan emerged, his shoulder-length fair hair rustling in the crisp winter breeze, his eyes filled with eagerness and fastened on Miriam. Mrs. Elliott stood stoically behind him, her hands clasped.
He started down the steps, tension lending dignity to his noble bearing. Originally, he’d stumbled and appeared ill at ease with the world. Today he looked as if he owned it. Bully for him, she thought, for if the queen rejected Miriam’s latest plea, he’d need all the confidence he could muster.
Alexander Lindsay helped Miriam from the sleigh. Saladin dismounted and came to her side.
His fists clenched, his intense gaze still riveted to her, Duncan said, “What happened?”
Exhaustion seeped into her bones, disappointment her soul. The diplomat who’d labored on his behalf now rebelled at his insensitivity. The foolish woman who’d let friendship influence her judgment suddenly cringed at his indifference. She’d only been gone three days, but evidently long enough to make him forget the closeness they’d shared. “Could we go inside, my lord?” she said. “I’m cold, and I’d like to sit on something that doesn’t slip and slide beneath me.
His expression softened. “Of course you would, and I’m a sorry, selfish Scotsman.” He took her hand and led her up the stairs. “I’m very glad to see you, Miriam.”
“My lady…” said Saladin. “What shall we do with the animals?”
The earl turned and stared in confusion at the sleigh. Then his eyebrows shot up and his mouth parted. “What are you doing with Alpin’s menagerie?”
Miriam wondered how he’d known about Alpin’s creatures, but the question seemed both insignificant and inappropriate. Pulling off her gloves, she said, “She asked me to care for them. She’s convinced God’s Night Angel will spirit her away from Baron Sinclair.”
“Her Night Angel…?” Then as if he understood or was distracted, he nodded. “Alexander, take them to the stable and ask the farrier to look after them. And bring him the other horse, too.” To Saladin, he said, “Make yourself at home, lad.”
Inside the castle, he guided Miriam to his study, then knelt before the hearth and began stoking the coals. She stood beside him, rubbing her hands until her skin tingled, and wondering what she should say first. Staring down at him, she could see his anxiety in the stiff set of his shoulders, in the way he snatched up clods of peat and tossed them on the andiron. The muscles in his thighs bulged, stretching his leather breeches as tight as a second skin. She thought of another man, a dark stranger with powerful thighs and arms strong enough to pin her to a tunnel wall.
Melancholy tightened her chest. She banished thoughts of her dead lover, she had a lifetime to think about Ian. Today she must concentrate on Duncan Kerr. Experience cautioned her to speak formally. Affection for him counseled her otherwise. She chose a little of both. “The herald is on his way to London. I submitted new evidence to the queen. Within a fortnight we should know her mind. Alexis will bring her ruling. Angus and John Hume will accompany her.”
He gripped a square of peat so tightly it crumbled. “So, I’m to endure another two weeks of torture.”
She almo
st said, I’ll be here with you, but then he murmured, “I doona think my life or my household will ever be normal again.”
He was probably referring to her presence and anticipating her departure. Why shouldn’t he? Since the day she had arrived, his time hadn’t been his own. Against her better judgment, she said, “I’m very confident, my lord.”
He looked up, relief glimmering in his eyes. “Why have you stopped calling me Duncan?”
Her mouth went desert dry, and she tried but failed to remember the gist of the conversation. “I assure you. ’Twas an oversight on my part. I must have gotten lost in the circumstances—”
“No rhetoric, Miriam.” He dropped the fire iron and stood. “A simple answer, if you please. Why won’t you call me Duncan?”
He seemed so forthright and determined, so different from the bumbling earl with feathery lures hooked on his coat and thick spectacles on his nose. But she’d changed, too, since their first meeting. “I thought you would prefer formality.”
“What I would prefer,” he said, taking her arm and leading her to a chair, “is to raise my son in peace, and to hear you call me Duncan again when you explain about this new evidence and tell me what I can expect from the queen.”
She settled in the chair and felt the strain ease in her back. “I found proof that the baron has raided your land. Some of your spotted cattle were penned near his slaughterhouse. I confronted him. He claimed ignorance of the situation. He also set free the two men he promised to turn over to the magistrate. I’ve ordered him to return what’s left of your herd. I’m sorry about the others.”
Taking the facing chair, Duncan leaned forward, his arms rested on his knees. “They can be replaced. But what were you doing in a slaughterhouse?”
The loose lacings at the neck of his chamois shirt exposed his throat and offered a view of the curly golden hair that covered his chest. “I was following Verbatim. She actually found them.”
“How?”
“’Twas the footstool in Sinclair’s library. It was upholstered in a spotted hide.”
Duncan’s grin made her self-conscious, but she couldn’t look away. “You remembered about my cattle,” he said.
“Aye.”
“Remind me of the beasts if I ever again complain about your memory.” He patted her hand. “What else happened?”
Matching his congeniality, Miriam lounged in the chair and stretched her feet toward the fire. “I discovered his destruction of Hadrian’s Wall and reported it to the queen.”
“Thank you. ’Tis a significant and irreplaceable piece of English history.”
Abashed because she hadn’t considered the historic value of the wall, Miriam murmured, “’Tis also on Kildalton land.”
He chuckled. “Oh, I see. Your reasoning doesna matter, so long as the wall is safe. But what makes you so confident the queen will change her mind?”
He needn’t know about Miriam’s bargain with the queen or how much she’d learned from him about the cruelty of prejudice and the destruction of carrying a grudge. Or did he? She studied his face, his open expression of honesty, and his handsomeness, marred only by worry over the future of his son.
“Please,” he said softly, resting his chin in his palm. “Tell me.
She took a deep breath. “You made me see the unfairness in bringing to justice the people who murdered my parents.”
Surprise smoothed out the creases on his forehead. “Me?”
The words formed easily. “Yes. For many years I’ve begged the queen to punish the Glenlyon Campbells for what they did to my family. She always refused. The last time, she grew so angry…” Embarrassment over her behavior that day stopped Miriam.
“She banished you to the Border,” he said with a knowing glint in his eyes.
Miriam felt a burden lift, a burden she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying. “Yes. You’re a victim of your father’s crimes, same as the children of the Glenlyon Campbells will become scapegoats for their parents’ villainy. Those men who took my parents’ lives, they’re old now. I like to think they’ve suffered all these years.”
“You certainly have.”
“No more. I’ve explained my feelings to Her Majesty. I think she’ll see the parallel between your life and mine and agree that you’re a good man, Duncan Kerr.”
His eyes misted over. “I don’t know what to say.”
Warmed to her heart, Miriam smiled. “You needn’t say anything—not yet, for I also told the queen what you said about letting Malcolm develop his own friendship with the baron. I expect she’ll admire you for that. I also told her about Malcolm’s new castle.”
He nearly choked. “Castle? I can’t afford another castle. I commissioned a modest manor house.”
With the difficult part of the conversation behind her, Miriam sought to lighten his mood. “Oh, but I assured her you wouldn’t hear of skimping on the place. I envisioned a moat, a brass-studded drawbridge, modern plumbing—even a fully equipped stable and spacious accommodations for the mail coach.” At his pained expression, she added, “Did I mention the church with stained glass windows and padded velvet pews? Or the furnished parsonage with window boxes and a vegetable garden?”
His eyes narrowed and he wagged a finger at her. “You’re joking, Miriam.”
She was, but with the humor came the sad realization that she’d probably never see Malcolm’s second home or ever learn if as an adult he made a friend of Baron Sinclair.
Sometime after midnight she awoke, and as she stared at the glowing coals in the fireplace, she again felt a presence nearby. Verbatim lay curled before the hearth. The wardrobe doors stood open, the drapes closed. Nothing was amiss. When the feeling persisted, Miriam called to the dog. “Search, girl,” she said.
The sleuthhound sprang to her feet and trotted to the wardrobe, where she whined and held up a paw.
“No, Verbatim. ’Tis not time for a walk. I told you to search the room.”
As if confused, the dog cocked her head and whined again.
“Oh, go back to sleep,” Miriam grumbled. Then she fluffed her pillow and followed her own advice.
A bar of winter sunlight fell over the carpeted floor when next she awakened. Out of habit, she glanced toward the door and smiled when she saw a familiar scrap of paper. Out of propriety, she stifled a laugh when she joined Saladin and Malcolm at the breakfast table.
Resplendent in a blue velvet suit with’ a length of lace tied at his neck and draping his shoulders, Malcolm had used ashes to sketch a mustache and pointed beard on his face. To complete his imitation of Charles I, he wore a parchment crown and pitched scraps of bread to a pack of terriers.
“Good morning, Your Majesty. I trust you’ve fully recovered.” Miriam curtsied and sat at the bench across from Saladin.
Malcolm piped, “I still got my head too, for now.”
“What delightful pets.” Saladin snickered. Miriam stifled a laugh.
“They’re supposed to be cavalier spaniels.” He nodded regally, flipping the tip of the lace collar into his porridge and toppling his crown. The dogs snapped up the paper creation and, in a frenzy of snarling and yapping, tore it to shreds.
Saladin rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast of oatcakes, honey, and dried quinces. Miriam poured herself a glass of milk.
Mrs. Elliott dashed into the room. The normally composed housekeeper threw up her hands. Over the barking terriers, she said, “Master Malcolm! Take those dogs back to the kennel where they belong.”
He surprised Miriam by gathering the dogs.
The harried housekeeper raked a loose strand of hair off her forehead. “I hope you don’t mind bannocks and honey, my lady. I had planned to serve ham, but it’s disappeared from the pantry.”
“The Roundheads filched it!” declared the departing Malcolm. “Find that scurvy Cromwell and you’ll find your ham.”
She blew out her breath. “His lordship is inquiring now. He sends his regrets.”
Miri
am didn’t see him until supper, when he informed her that a leg of braised mutton had evidently walked off the cooling rack in the kitchen. To Saladin’s delight, they dined on cheese, bread, and barley soup.
After the meal Miriam took Verbatim for her evening walk. They returned to find Mrs. Elliott standing in the foyer. Tied at her waist was a heavy ring of keys Miriam hadn’t seen before. She remembered the key she’d taken.
“His lordship would like to see you now, my lady. He’s in his chamber.” She pointed down the hall. “’Tis just past his study.”
Miriam knew well the location of his private chamber; she’d searched it to find evidence that he was the Border Lord. In retrospect, the idea seemed foolish.
“Thank you.” On the matter of the key, she took a direct approach. “Oh, Mrs. Elliott, I have the key to the tunnel door. ’Tis in my room.”
“So that’s where it got off to,” she said, seemingly unsurprised. “We haven’t locked doors here since I was milkmaid. Imagine someone at Kildalton stealing food.” She patted Verbatim and added, “Sorry, girl. No bone for you tonight.”
“I’ll just fetch the key, then,” Miriam said.
Duncan sat in the throne chair and stared at the door. What was keeping Miriam? If she didn’t come soon, he’d botch the whole thing. He tapped his feet. Like an old ragged tartan, his courage began to fray.
When the knock came, he jumped. Then he gathered his gumption and straightened his backbone. “Come in.”
She glided into the room, the sleuthhound at her side. The icy night wind had pinkened her cheeks and mussed her fiery hair. Dressed in a gown of pale green, she looked as fresh and as innocent as a maiden in spring. But Miriam MacDonald was no maiden, he’d seen to that right enough. Instinctively, he sought some sign of the child she carried. Her breasts swelled gently above the rounded neckline of the gown, her stomach was still fiat where the waistline of the dress dropped to a point in front.
“Is something amiss, Duncan?” She fluffed out her skirts and examined the fabric. “Have I spilled soup on my gown?” She lifted a mass of curls from her neck. “Have I leaves in my hair?”
