by Arnette Lamb
Shocked at his reaction, he folded his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows. “Well?”
“Why not, my lord?” She shrugged, drawing his attention to the set of her shoulders and the delicate hollow at the base of her throat. “I’ll put a keg of rum against your gray mare.”
“What? A horse for a jug of spirits? That’s hardly fair.”
Like a tutor grilling a slow-witted student, she said, “I have six kegs of rum. You have ten times that many horses. All things considered, my ante is as valuable to me as yours is to you.”
Her distorted reasoning rattled in his mind and looked for a logical place to settle. But the exercise was unnecessary, for he would emerge victorious. He didn’t want the rum … unless he could use the occasion to understand his sudden interest in a woman he shouldn’t want. “Very well, but only if you share it with me.”
She shivered. “A whole keg? We’d both be rotten drunk.”
“A drink between friends, then. ‘Best friends’ is how I recall you describing us. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
Again she took great interest in her bracelet. “Rest assured, Malcolm, I could never change my feelings for you, even if I tried.”
Her cheerful tone couldn’t mask an innuendo. Neither could the gleam in her eye. He smiled down at her. “Good. I’m also considering selling Paradise and I’d like to know more about it before I do.”
Her eyes grew large, and the color left her face. “You can’t sell Paradise. That would be foolish.” She grasped his ankle. “Please don’t sell it.”
“Why not?”
Her gaze darted desperately from the bunks to the floor to the tartans that hung from pegs on the wall. “Certainly you can sell it, since you own it,” she said, distracted. “But what about the people there? The servants. The slaves.”
She said the last word with so much compassion that Malcolm was again reminded of the trouble with the slaves five years ago. Could Charles have agreed to give Malcolm the plantation out of spite because Alpin had taken the side of the slaves? His first instinct was to reject the idea that the Alpin he’d known was capable of championing a humanitarian cause. But as a child she had loved animals and Malcolm really didn’t know her anymore. She had not written to him, and Charles had omitted personal information about her in his letters.
“I haven’t decided what to do about Paradise. Why don’t you help me? You can tell me all about the place, give me your opinions.”
A doubtful gleam sparkled in her eyes. “You will continue to profit handsomely if you keep it.”
“Because of the cheap slave labor?”
Squinting in fury, she swore, “’Tis an abomination.”
He’d seen that same look in her eyes years ago when he’d threatened to dig up her dead badger and make himself a new sporran from the hide. She had railed at him, called him a slimy cur, and threatened to set fire to his bed, with him in it. Now he couldn’t resist egging her on. “Slavery has its appeal.” When she gasped, he rushed to add, “If we had it here in Scotland, I’d buy the earl of Mar and put him to work shoeing my horses.”
All seriousness, she said, “You’re mocking me.”
“Nay. I’m trying to learn from you.”
She exhaled, as if relieved. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing, Malcolm. But you needn’t decide anything about Paradise for now. Mr. Fenwick is a capable overseer.”
She was hiding something; he knew it. He just had to find a way to learn all her secrets. “You sound like Lady Miriam.”
Humor twinkled in her eyes, drawing attention to her perfectly arched brows and the curling wisps of auburn hair that framed her face. “And you’ve a bit of the diplomat in you, Malcolm Kerr.”
He laughed. “That’s because you don’t know me.”
“Oh, yes, I do.” She rose and headed toward the door, her hips swaying seductively.
He reached out and grabbed her arm. When he stepped toward her, his foot tangled in the sheets. Before he could get his balance, he fell, pulling her down with him. Twisting, he managed to land on his back with Alpin sprawled on his chest. Her elbows poked him in the ribs. He winced and grasped her upper arms.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, her eyes wide, her heavy braid draped across his neck.
“Me? You’re the one on top, but that was always the case with us, wasn’t it?”
“Don’t do this.” She tried to jerk away.
He held her fast. “Admit it, Alpin. You always wanted the upper hand.”
“We were children then, playing games and squabbling. You hated me. And I …” Her gazed slipped to his mouth. She swallowed. “And I was …”
“You were what?”
“I was naïve about how far our playing would go.”
The tension in his limbs suddenly eased; the air between them crackled with anticipation. As naturally as he might reach for warmth on a cold winter night, he pulled her closer, until the sweet rush of her breath fanned his face, until the minute details of her features filled his vision. “Now you know where playing can lead.”
“You cannot kiss me.”
“I always have.”
“No. Yes. I mean, those were different times. We were children. You don’t want me now.”
He shifted beneath her. The movement gave vivid proof of just how much he’d changed over the years and how much he did want her. “We were friends, nay?”
“Aye,” she breathed, wariness turning her eyes the deep hue of pansies. “You were my only friend.”
She exaggerated. He could see the deception in every facet of her being. Alpin MacKay harbored deep feelings for him, but fondness was not one of them. Why, then, would she swear otherwise? He had to call her bluff, find out why the woman who’d stolen his chance to sire an heir would work so hard to seduce him today. “I was and still am your best friend.”
She opened her mouth but decided against speaking whatever she had on her mind. Her teeth slipped over her bottom lip, and she stared blindly at the Kerr badge that secured his tartan to his shirt.
Determined to bring his challenge to fruition, he slid a hand over her shoulder and cupped her neck. “Let’s renew our friendship.”
With slight pressure he drew her mouth to his and tilted his head to one side. She squeezed her eyes shut and locked her lips tighter than a spinster’s hope chest. Friends, eh? He’d see about that.
He kissed her softly at first, but when she remained stalwartly unwilling, he used the cheapest trick of seduction he knew. “You kissed better as a child.”
She chuckled, her breasts nudging his chest, her hips undulating against his groin. “So did you. Only now you don’t have dirt on your face and innocence in your heart.”
Somehow she’d taken his dare and turned it back on him. “Neither of us is innocent, Alpin. We’ve outgrown that.” Summoning resolve, he tried to ignore the lust racing through his veins and settling in his groin. “A truce?”
As serious as sin on Sunday, she said, “I think you mean a tryst, Malcolm.”
“You like me,” he insisted. “In your heart you always have. Why else would you want to make a home here now?” If she accepted that lie, he’d make certain she paid a heavy price for it.
“You’re very important to me, Malcolm.”
He noted the equivocation and decided to play on it. “Then prove it, Alpin. Give me a kiss of peace.”
Now that the moment was upon her, Alpin froze. She had lured him here to flirt with him, to sow the seeds of seduction. The come-to-me potion wasn’t ready, but she couldn’t back down. She had nowhere else to go. The theme of her life hadn’t changed, only now she lay belly to belly with a man she couldn’t afford to alienate. Temporarily resigned, she reached up and, with as much tenderness as she could muster, raked an errant strand of hair off his forehead. “If it will ease your mind.”
It didn’t ease hers, for when Malcolm Kerr began kissing her in earnest, Alpin received her first lesson in the real art of sed
uction. He oozed finesse, and with a gentle roaming of hands and soft words of encouragement he inspired her to play the eager student. Too proud to back down and too preoccupied to think of an alternative, she followed his lead and kissed him back.
No childish groping as in days gone by, this embrace spoke vividly of adult need and mature passion. Her breathing grew shallow and her head light, but her body stayed firmly rooted to his. Because he was as large as she was small, he seemed a generous and comfy pillow beneath her. On the heels of that thought, she became aware of subtle changes, of limbs adjusting for a better fit, of his swelling hardness where she’d grown soft, of his languid hands turned possessive in their touch. When his tongue stroked the seam of her lips and prodded them to part, she pulled back and stared, aghast, at him.
His eyes drifted open, the brown irises dark, his expression dangerously provocative. He gave her a lazy smile and murmured, “You’re not trying to make peace.” Then he pulled her back into the kiss. “You also lied about having had affairs.”
After that taunt, she ceased cataloging his every move and made a few of her own. She threaded her fingers into his hair and felt the thick texture of every strand. Her tongue sought his, twirling and exploring, while her mind took note of the slick spiral of wanting that curled around her backbone and sapped the strength from her legs and arms. Like currents under the surf, strong emotions pulled her toward him, promising some mysterious reward.
When his hands caressed her bottom and his hips surged beneath her, she became shockingly aware of the prize he offered. As effective as a slap in the face, the knowledge that she’d excited him chased away her desire. But if he suspected the true nature of her feelings, he would only challenge her again. She must let him think he’d succeeded in his quest to prove that their friendship not only still thrived but that it had deepened into passion. She also had to get away from him. Now.
“I think,” she said, drawing back to catch her breath, “that your peaceful intentions have sparked off a war.”
“I yield, then.” He spread out his arms. “And I propose a treaty of mutual satisfaction. We’ve already laid the groundwork.”
Baffled by his husky whisper and startled at the acquiescence she felt, Alpin squeaked, “You would lie with me?”
He chuckled, the sound a rumble against her breasts. “’Tis where such sport usually ends.”
“Sport?” Good intentions fled like gulls before a hurricane.
“Aye, and I expect we’ll enjoy a fair dose of that. Shall we say tonight at midnight in my bedchamber?”
“Tonight?” Outrage made her blood boil. “Your mistress just left.”
“I want you, and that’s all that matters.” With his index finger he tapped her nose. “Tonight. I’d take you there now, but Saladin would only interrupt us.”
Her mind had become a wasteland devoid of coherent thought. “Saladin?”
He nodded. “I see you didn’t hear the trumpet sounding his arrival. I almost missed it myself.”
She hadn’t heard any horn. But the look on Malcolm’s face signaled a warning of its own: she’d gone too far in her attempt at seduction. She’d only wanted to distract him a bit. Now she was in over her head. “Don’t you think this is all happening too fast?”
To her dismay, he chuckled again and tucked his hands behind his head. “Absolutely not, and don’t bother taking your bath in the kitchen. I’ll have the tub sent to my room.” He jiggled his eyebrows. “We’ll share that as well.”
He looked like a fat tomcat after a successful night on the prowl. Precisely what she’d hoped to achieve, but not during their first tryst. She wasn’t ready to give herself to him yet. He had to propose marriage first.
She rolled off him and got to her feet. Sucking up her pride she said, “We cannot, Malcolm. ’Twould be wrong.”
“Wanting each other is right,” he said in a silky whisper. “And you can’t deny the desire you feel for me.”
“No.” Unable to face him, she stared out the window. To her surprise, life in the castle yard went on in normal fashion. A hay wagon lumbered toward the gate; the goosegirl shooed her flock out of the way; the blacksmith banged out his perpetual melody; rowdy children played chase. She was reminded of two other children and a time long ago. But hatred and greed separated them now. “I liked it when you kissed me, but I’ve changed my mind.”
His hands touched her shoulders. “Change it back, Alpin.”
“You must promise never to kiss me again.” She stepped away.
He followed her, a wall of warmth at her back. She felt the rush of his breath on her skin. “I promise I’ll do more than kiss you.” The blast of a horn made her jump. His fingers tightened. “We’ll discuss it tonight in my room.”
“No, we won’t. ’Tis finished here and now.”
He released her. She turned and saw the warmth flee his eyes, leaving cold dislike. “Then pack your bags. I’ll have Alexander take you to your uncle.”
Chapter 5
At the sound of his retreating footsteps Alpin almost called him back and slapped his face. She should have expected knavery from the beast, Malcolm Kerr. Her better judgment kept her silent. Was it his fault she’d fallen prey to a trap of her own making? Yes. With his tender kisses, he’d put her off guard; then he’d struck a mean blow.
She shivered in fear—fear of yielding to her nemesis, fear of the yearning he aroused in her, fear of being sent away to the wretched house she’d fled at the age of six. A greater dread gripped her. Was she destined to live out her life and never know the love of a man, never see just how far passion would take her?
But Malcolm Kerr wasn’t speaking of tenderness or affection in the traditional sense. Sport was what he’d called it. Sport.
Her stomach turned sour, and bright girlish dreams faded like curtains too long in the sun. She didn’t want romance anymore. In her youth she had. Watching Charles and Adrienne devote their lives to each other had given Alpin a sound understanding of the meaning of love. It had also shown her the danger of so deep a commitment, for when Adrienne died a part of Charles had perished with her. From then on, he’d been a shell of a man, uninterested in the world around him and blind to the needs and to the future of his young ward.
Alpin’s life had changed on that fateful day. She had put her childhood behind her. Rather than swimming in her favorite pool of rainwater, she began devising ways to divert it to irrigate the thirsty fields of sugarcane. Instead of playing hoodman blind with the slave children, she spent her time formulating a plan to set them free.
She became a practical woman, interested only in the basics of life: a roof over her head, enough land to support herself, and peace of mind.
Malcolm Kerr had taken all three. With the stroke of a quill he’d taken her home and her livelihood. With one kiss he’d stolen her self-respect.
Lifting a shaking hand, she touched her lips and remembered the feel of his mouth on hers, melting her resolve and inciting a desire that lingered even now. She could put an end to her torment. She could knock on his door at midnight, lie in his arms, and discover the mysteries his kisses foretold. But from observation, she knew where a tender liaison would lead: she might gain the means to fulfill her dream of returning to Paradise and freeing the slaves, but in doing so she ran the risk of enslaving her heart to a man who wouldn’t value it.
Her strong will rebelled against such sentimentality. She had work to do, plans to make. She’d gotten in over her head and suffered a momentary setback. He’d pulled a dirty trick on her. Bravo for him. He’d obviously forgotten that Alpin MacKay was an expert trickster. In her own way she would refresh his memory.
Casting off self-doubt, she scooped up the laundry and took it to the washing shed. Then she went to the kitchen to oversee the preparation of the evening meal.
Alone in the cavernous room, Elanna sat at the oak table, peeling a mountain of turnips. Her eyes, as dark as molasses, surveyed Alpin. “Trouble be coming with you through t
hat door.”
Thinking Malcolm had followed her, Alpin flinched and glanced over her shoulder. Except for an industrious spider, expanding an already impressive web, the doorway was empty. “If I were you”—Alpin reached for the broom and destroyed the web—“I’d leave off playing the sage, at least while we’re here. These country folks might stone you for a witch.”
Elanna held up her hands as if warding off a foe. “Big bad Scotsman put mighty fright in poor slave girl’s heart.”
Alpin laughed and set the broom aside. “You can also put away your Bajan. You speak perfectly good English when it suits you. And you’re free,”
“Because of you.” Elanna patted the table, her dark skin blending perfectly with the aged wood, her gaily flowered dress adding cheer to the ancient room. “Sit. Tell me what happened to put such fire in your eyes.”
Alpin lifted her skirt and stepped over the bench. “You were right about me finding trouble.” She picked up a turnip peel and coiled it around her finger. Then she told her friend about the seduction of Malcolm.
“Why worry? You said he always kissed you, even when he was a lad.”
“This was a different kind of kiss.”
“Betcha that. You don’t look like you’ve been romanced by any boy.”
Alpin dropped the peel and again touched her lips. Even the tangy flavor of the turnip couldn’t obliterate the warm taste of him. “Now he wants me to be his mistress.”
Elanna picked up the knife and stabbed at a turnip. “He’s supposed to want to say ‘I do, I do’ first.”
Admitting defeat dulled Alpin’s senses and sapped the strength she’d garnered. “I must keep a level head where he’s concerned. The scoundrel insisted I share his bed or return to the house of my uncle, Baron Sinclair.”
