by Arnette Lamb
If he didn’t know better he’d think she was flirting. The prospect both baffled and inspired him. He stared at the ancient coin. “You’re an interesting surprise, Alpin MacKay.”
“Oh! Do you truly think so?” She squeezed his hand and turned her attention to the row of new barracks against the castle wall. “Wasn’t the butcher’s shop there?”
He felt as if she was coaxing him out on a branch and planning to hack away at the limb. With her, he knew the feeling well. Memory stirred his ire. “Aye. The butcher used to be there. You tossed his knives into the blacksmith’s forge and set fire to his chopping block.”
“You remember?” She shook her head and set the curls at her temples to swaying. “I was so selfish.”
“Except to strays and injured beasts.”
A wistful smile enhanced her youthful appearance. “I couldn’t bear to see any animal hurt. What ever happened to Hattie?”
“Your three-legged rabbit?” Years ago in an attempt to win the favor of Malcolm’s father, Alpin’s uncle had forced her to give up her pet to Malcolm. Alpin had been so forlorn. An hour later she had rallied, and in a wickedly premeditated move she had wrecked Malcolm’s future. Even now the wound smarted. “Hattie turned out to be an exceptional breeder.” The irony of the subject made him grin. “Sweeper’s Heath is overrun with brown rabbits.”
“I’m so glad you cared for her. Thank you. Will you take me to Sweeper’s Heath? I’d love to see Hattie’s offspring.”
Like a blow from a well-trained opponent, reality struck him. Her guardians were dead. The plantation in Barbados she had called home for over twenty years now belonged to Malcolm. But she couldn’t know that. The transaction had been a private affair.
“Will you, Malcolm?”
“That depends. Why are you here now?”
New tears filled her eyes. “You mean why am I here at last. Oh, Malcolm. I begged Charles to send me home. There was never enough money, he said. Then after dear Adrienne died he hardly spoke at all. The rum finally killed him, you know. He did leave me a stipend. So I dashed out straightaway and bought passage on the first packet home.”
“Come now, Alpin,” he scoffed. “You hated the Borders.”
“I hated everything and almost everyone then, or have you forgotten?” As if brushing away a pesky insect, she waved her hand. “Enough about me. I’ve a surprise in the carriage.”
Malcolm shortened his long stride to match her quick, determined steps. He wondered what sort of wounded creature she’d brought. As they approached the carriage he noticed the trunks and hatboxes fastened to the boot. “You haven’t been to see your uncle?”
She sent him a puzzled frown. “Do you know, it never occurred to me to go to Sinclair Manor. I only thought of coming to you.”
He’d schemed to return her to Sinclair Manor and under the control of the uncle she hated. If she thought to avoid her fate, she’d be disappointed, another prospect Malcolm relished. But where did she intend to stay? Surely she was just stopping by Kildalton to pay her respects. He lifted an eyebrow. “Why would you come to me?”
“Oh! I’ve been too bold.” She ducked her head, but not before he saw a flush stain her cheeks. “Island life loosens the manners and the tongue, or so the visitors say. It’s just that you and I were so close when we were young. I couldn’t have survived Sinclair without knowing you were only two hours away.”
Years before, she’d driven a knife into his pride. Did she think to twist it with sweet words and false sentiment? She would wither into a hag before she succeeded. “We were close all right, especially when you held a dirk to my throat and tied me to a tree.” He shuddered at the thought of what had come after.
She reached for the carriage door. “Let’s not squabble. I’m harmless now, I assure you.”
Oh, aye, he thought, as harmless as Eve with a bushel of quinces. But he was no naive Adam, languishing in Eden and yearning for forbidden fruit. He was a lord of the Border, perilously trapped between Jacobite clan chiefs to the north and loyal English subjects to the south. He had not needed another pretty diversion. He’d wanted retribution. So he’d meddled in Alpin’s future and reduced her alternatives to none.
“Perhaps,” he said, watching her fondle the brass handle, “you would care to join me for supper before you continue on your way.”
Her hand stilled; then she brought it to her side. “Continue on my way?” She again craned her neck to look at him. “I came to see you, Malcolm. I thought you would want that.”
Oh, he did, but their meetings would be at his convenience and in her uncle’s English manor house. “You can’t expect to stay here at Kildalton. ’Tis unseemly. After we’ve eaten, I’ll have Alexander escort you across the border to Sinclair.”
“My staying here is unseemly?” She chuckled. “Thank you for attempting to flatter me and guard my reputation, but I’ve been on the shelf for so many years, I’m dusty. Unless you are concerned about your reputation. Have you turned out to be a rogue, Malcolm?”
He braced his hands on his hips and laughed so hard the tassels on his sporran quivered. “If I have, Alpin, you can rest assured I’ll keep my lusty proclivities on a short leash. But what would a spinster be knowing about rogues?”
Her mouth dropped open, and she slapped her hand against her cheek. “It’s your wife, isn’t it?”
Humor vanished. The old enmity returned in full force. Because of her, he would never marry. She couldn’t know that, but if the gossips in Whitley Bay had told her of Saladin’s presence in Kildalton, they must also have told her that Malcolm had no wife. A situation the other clan chiefs longed to change.
Unable to meet Alpin’s inquisitive gaze, he stared at the kilt-clad soldiers on the battlement. “I have yet to wed.” Thanks to you.
“And you’re so blasé about your bachelorhood. Unless …” Deviltry twinkled in her eyes. “You can’t be waiting for me to fulfill that childish bargain we made years ago.”
Memory failed him. “Which bargain?”
“You wanted a baby brother. You made me promise to give you a child. I thought ’twas a matter of spending the night alone at the inn in Bothly Green.”
“I assume you now know it takes more.”
Ignoring his innuendo, she said, “In exchange, you agreed not to tell your father or my uncle that I was hiding in the tower room. You reneged. They found me and sent me to Barbados.”
Bitterness engulfed him. “I did not tell my father that you had run away from Sinclair Manor, nor did I tell your uncle you were here.”
The intensity of her gaze captured him. “Truly?” she asked, disbelief in her husky tone.
“Truly. My father heard you in the tunnels and discovered your hiding place. You shouldn’t despair at the prospect of falling under the baron’s protection again.”
Her confident stare and winsome smile unnerved Malcolm.
“I couldn’t possibly go to Sinclair,” she said. “Charles left you his plantation and all his possessions. As one of his possessions, I now belong to you.”
Chapter 2
“You belong to me?” The voice of the ninth earl of Kildalton almost broke.
Alpin had expected to feel elation at catching him off guard, and she did. She hadn’t counted on feeling admiration, hadn’t anticipated the feminine yearning that pulled her stomach tight. But what woman wouldn’t appreciate a man as handsome as Malcolm Kerr? Interest sparkled in his oak brown eyes, and a hint of a grin played about his lips. Lord, he could turn a nun’s head.
Fearful that he would discern her reaction, Alpin thought of the eighty slaves at Paradise. They depended on her, needed her.
“You’re smiling,” he said. “You want to belong to me?”
Let him think her a meek female—for now. She shrugged. “According to Charles’s will you’re responsible for my welfare.”
“Well, now.” He smiled and folded his arms over his chest. “’Tis a truly interesting turn of events.”
; She couldn’t contain her own surprise. “You’re pleased?”
“But of course,” he said, like a wolf wooing a lamb into slavering jaws.
His cunning tone alarmed her. In defense, she tensed and stepped away. Just as quickly, she relaxed. They were both adults now. She was not some retiring English rose pining for a notorious Scotsman with an appealing smile and an ancient title. She was a woman with a purpose and a plan.
Gossips in the port city of Whitley Bay had told her of his ascension to laird of clan Kerr and earl of Kildalton. Prior knowledge of his elevated rank was unnecessary, for Malcolm Kerr wore authority and confidence as effectively as he wore Highland dress. Gazing at his back and observing his masculine swagger, she began to believe the rumors about his easy way with women.
She moved around him. “Splendid. You can have your housekeeper show me to my rooms. Is Mrs. Elliott still with you?”
He watched her a moment more, that peculiar smile lingering on his lips and disturbing her composure. “Unfortunately no. She’s in Constantinople with my parents. Since you belong to me, I’ll have someone bring in your things.” Over his shoulder he called out, “Alexander!”
The soldier who’d greeted Alpin hurried across the yard. Balding and a head shorter than Malcolm, the soldier wore a plaid similar to the bold red and green tartan of the Kerrs.
As he approached, a memory stirred, nudging Alpin to again remember her visits to Kildalton years before. Alexander Lindsay. That was his name.
He joined them, his mouth drawn in a disapproving pucker. She smiled and said, “Hello, Mr. Lindsay. A very long time ago you helped me bury my pet badger. Do you remember?”
He stared down at her; yet his pale blue eyes seemed distant. “Aye. We laid the toothless beast to rest in the old tiltyard.”
Time had dulled that particular knife-sharp pain. Others still hurt, but none so deeply as the loss of her home, a wound inflicted by Malcolm Kerr. Thoughts of taking Paradise from him soothed the ache.
“Malcolm demanded the hide to use for a sporran,” she said. “He threatened to dig up poor Abercrombie. I cried, but he wouldn’t stop teasing me. You sent him to Lord Duncan for discipline and had Mrs. Elliott make me a sleeping potion.”
Disarmed, Alexander swallowed hard. “A noble beast for certain, my lady.”
“Lord Malcolm? A beast? I do hope not.”
“Nay—” Alexander whipped his gaze to the laird of Kildalton, who chuckled.
“She’s having you on, Alexander. Everyone knows I’m a lambkin at heart when it comes to the fairer sex and God’s creatures.” Sending Alpin a sidelong glance, he added, “Have you a lady’s maid in that carriage?”
The rumble of his voice, flavored with a slight burr, reminded Alpin of her miserable childhood in the Borders. Barbados had been her salvation. Now she must find a way to convince Malcolm to return it to her.
“Yes. Her name is Elanna.” Alpin knew the woman would cause a stir, she had planned it that way.
“Assist the lass, Alexander,” said Malcolm. “And have someone bring in their bags.”
Then he took Alpin’s arm and leisurely walked across the yard and up the steps to the keep. Studying his large hand, she wondered how the reed-thin lad had grown into so magnificent a man. His broad shoulders and thick neck would rival an oarsman’s. His slender waist and long, muscled legs bespoke hours spent on horseback. He’d lived a privileged life, free of worry, while she’d fretted over crops, battled disease and the forces of nature to build a secure future for herself. It wasn’t fair that the fruits of her labor should fall into his hands. Codrington’s explanation rang in her ears: in transferring ownership of Paradise to Malcolm, Charles had repaid a debt of gratitude. But what had Malcolm done to earn such generosity?
He opened the huge double doors and waved her inside. “You’re suddenly quiet, Alpin. Why?”
His question jarred her from speculation. Inside the castle she couldn’t help comparing the stone fortress, with its heavy Jacobean furniture and expansive rugs, to the airy simplicity of Paradise.
She scanned the familiar entryway, looking for a safe subject. She found it in the appointments. “I don’t remember so much armor on the walls of Kildalton. Was it here before?”
“Nay.” He paused to touch a worn and dented leather shield bearing a blazing sun, the emblem of clan Kerr. “After Lady Miriam ended the war between my father and your uncle, Baron Sinclair, Papa took these fighting implements from the soldiers. They’ve become heirlooms.”
Battle axes, lances, and helmets covered the high stone walls of the entryway. Two benches with needlepoint cushions sat below the leaded windows that looked out onto the yard. Tables with urns of freshly cut heather lined one wall, tapestries depicting the May Day and a country fair graced the other. The staircase curved up to the second floor.
Light from a chandelier in the shape of a cinquefoil illuminated the room. She spied a familiar weapon. “You used to wear that sword.”
He chuckled. “You mean I used to drag it around. As a lad I couldn’t wait to wield it. Papa drew a mark on the wall in my room and said I could start soldiering when I was as tall as the mark. I measured myself every day until …”
She glanced up. He was staring down at her, his jaw clenched tight, a guarded expression in his dark brown eyes.
“Until …?” Their gazes locked. “Who’s quiet now, Malcolm?”
He smiled without joy. “Until I was about your height.”
That wasn’t what he was going to say. She was sure of it. He was hiding something. “Are you mocking me again?”
“Nay.” He guided her to the stairs. “I was wondering what has made you so defensive.”
Had honesty been her purpose she would have answered that it was necessity, for never in her life had anyone except the Night Angel, the avenger of her youth, bothered to take her side. As far back as she could remember, she’d been either a poor orphan with nowhere to go or a poor relation without tuppence to her name. When she finally found a home, Malcolm had fallen heir to it.
She laughed to conceal her bitterness. “Actually, I like being small, for when I trip I don’t have far to fall.”
“A clever rhyme.”
“My lord …?” A housemaid about fifteen years old approached them. The fair-haired girl had eager hazel eyes and a country-fresh complexion liberally dotted with freckles. She wore a plain brown dress so new the seams still puckered, and a starched white apron and mobcap.
“Excuse me, my lord. No one’s come to apply for the position of housekeeper.”
“Thank you, Dora,” Malcolm said. “This is Lady Alpin. Please prepare one of the guest suites for her and her maid.”
Dora bobbed a curtsy. “Which suite, my lord? With Mrs. Elliott gone, there ain’t none to say.”
“Alpin, you once boasted that you knew every nook and cranny of Kildalton. Have you a preference?” he said.
Sarcasm laced his words, but she ignored his reference to her skulkings in the past. “I don’t remember, and I’m not particular, so long as the room has a fireplace. I’m used to sunnier climes.”
“Then you shall have the sunniest and warmest rooms here.” To Dora, he said, “The large suite on the second floor—where the earl of Mar always stays.”
She gasped and darted a worried glance up the stairs. “There’s no linens on the beds, my lord, what with Mrs. Elliott gone and the new housekeeper quittin’ and all.”
He tapped his teeth together for a moment. Patiently he said, “Then fetch the linens and whatever else the room needs. While you’re doing that, I’ll show our guest where it is.”
“Aye, sir.” She walked away mumbling, “Candles and towels, and plenty of peat. Oil for the lamps. Water for the basin …”
“After you.” He extended his hand toward the stairs.
As she climbed the stone steps, Alpin passed dress shields bearing brass plates with the names of the lesser clans that aligned themselves with the Kerrs: Lindsay, Elli
ott, Armstrong, Maxwell, Johnstone, and Ramsay. Hundreds of men swore fealty to Malcolm. They would follow him into battle should he need an army. They paid him a laird fee.
With so many contributing to his wealth, what would he do with the gift of Paradise? Surely he had no interest in a plantation half a world away. He could probably buy a score of Paradises and not put a dent in his gold chest.
She longed to ask him what he planned to do with the island property, and she would, once she’d set her plan into motion by ingratiating herself with him and insinuating herself into his life.
At the top of the stairs he ushered her to the left. A door behind them opened.
“Malcolm …?”
The sultry voice stopped him. Alpin glanced over her shoulder. Her breath caught.
In an open doorway stood a woman en déshabillé, her arms bare, a Kerr tartan covering her from breasts to knees. Her mane of golden blond hair hung in wild disarray. Tall and lithe and perfectly comfortable with herself, she yawned.
His mistress, thought Alpin with more jealousy than she expected. Eligible bachelors of means were rare on the island of Barbados. She’d had a gentleman caller once, but Charles had been so embarrassingly drunk that the fellow had never returned. After word got out, no other man had bothered to court Alpin.
Malcolm cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, Rosina.” Ruefully he added, “May I present my guest, Lady Alpin MacKay, late of Barbados.”
The woman’s pale eyes widened, then fastened on Alpin. Blushing, Rosina gave Malcolm an apologetic smile, murmured “How provincial,” then stepped back and closed the door.
Alpin started walking again.
“I suppose you’re appalled,” he said.
“Hardly. I’m disappointed.”
“You are. Why?”
“Because you’re not very good at keeping promises.”
He stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall, his eyebrows raised in question. “I’m not?”
