The Border Series

by Arnette Lamb

  Alpin marched across the yard, a limp hampering her steps, her skirt swirling about her ankles. Thinking of the leather breeches that clung to her in all the right places, Malcolm pursued her. Alexander and the others followed.

  When he caught up with her, Malcolm said, “You’re hurt, Alpin, and your scratches could fester. Go inside. I’ll send Elanna to you.”

  She slowed her steps. “No. I want to see for myself.”

  They rounded the corner tower. Malcolm leaned close and whispered, “Don’t you trust your handfast husband?”

  “It’s not that. I’m responsible for Elanna. Sometimes she can be contrary.”

  “She had an expert tutor. Like mistress, like maid. I just hope she’s declared a holiday today,” Malcolm said.

  A larger crowd milled around the side yard adjacent to the walled garden. Saladin sat on the ground, his back propped against the squat wooden door, his legs splayed. Against his cheek he held a wad of gaily flowered cloth that looked vaguely familiar. “Welcome home, my lord,” he said.

  “What happened?”

  “That woman disturbed my prayers.”

  From beyond the garden wall the unseen Elanna yelled, “Here’s what I think of your prayers, Muslim.” Bits of paper sailed over the wall.

  “That’s the Koran she’s ripping to shreds,” Saladin said, staring at the shower of debris that fluttered to the ground.

  “What did you do to her?” Alpin demanded.

  “To her?” He took the rag from his cheek, revealing a bruise the size of a plover’s egg.

  Elanna yelled, “Tell them what you did, you ecky-beckie beast!”

  “I did nothing,” he shouted back.

  “Ha! And my father was a mosquito-eating Eguafo with boar’s bones growing out of his nose.”

  Malcolm knelt beside his friend. “Tell me what happened.”

  “She flirted with me and dared me to kiss her.”

  “You lying blackamoor!”

  Sighing, Saladin closed his eyes. “I don’t know what came over me. I did try to kiss her, and you see what she did to me. She’s big trouble.”

  “Betcha that, you monkey-faced slave catcher.”

  “Oh, Lord, Saladin,” Alpin murmured. “You’ve unleashed a wild woman.”

  “Have I?” he countered smoothly. “A man has his limits. Any other would have done the same when faced with a half-naked woman bearing fruit.”

  Malcolm wondered where he’d gone wrong, what he’d done to turn his life into a comedy of errors. “My friend, let her out.”

  “Yes,” Alpin said. “Open that door.”

  “Certainly,” Saladin said, as amenable as a missionary with a cause. “When she apologizes.”

  Elanna laughed. “This African princess will go white like a fish belly all over before she sings sorry, sorry song to some perverted Moor.”

  Tilting her head back, Alpin called out, “What did he do to you, Elanna? Are you all right?”

  “He jabbed his tongue in my mouth. Oooh.” Her voice quivered with disgust. “He tastes like that mush he eats for breakfast.”

  “You served it to me, wench,” Saladin snapped.

  “You begged for it and more,” she shouted.

  Saladin scowled and reached for his scimitar. The curved and polished blade glinted like gold in the fading light of sunset “Stay there, then. Perhaps a night in the open will cool your hot temper.”

  “Temper?” Elanna said. “You one stupid man, Saladin Cortez. You ruined my dress.”

  “Malcolm! Do something,” Alpin demanded.

  The men in the yard howled and slapped one another on the back. Malcolm coughed to cover his own laughter. “Did you ruin her dress, Saladin?” he asked, choking.

  “I hardly call a short length of cloth a dress.” He waved the rag. “And I only took a piece of it.”

  “The piece covering my breasts! You threw what was left in the fountain,” Elanna screamed. “It’s wet.”

  “Fountains usually are,” Saladin murmured.

  Alpin had heard enough bickering. Her wrist ached. From her scalp to her toenails, she felt bruised to the bone. Considering the amused glint in Malcolm’s eye and the way he stood, legs apart, arms crossed over his chest, she suspected he would never force his friend to relent. How could he? Judging from the red stain on Saladin’s lips, he’d tasted Elanna’s berry brew. At present neither man was blessed with an overabundance of rational thought. But Alpin knew of another way into the garden, a way uncluttered with prideful men and curious onlookers.

  Besides, she thought cheerfully, she’d lured Malcolm into proposing today. Why force him to choose between loyalty to his friend and obligation to her?

  So she slipped away and went to her room to fetch her ring of keys and a dress for her friend. Taking a lighted lamp from the lesser hall, she entered the tunnel. By the time she made her way to the right corridor, thoughts of a hot, soothing bath and the absence of snakes and trip wires revived her. She passed the alcove outside Malcolm’s study and smiled, for now that he’d proposed she wouldn’t need to spy on him again.

  She passed the darkened stairway leading to the tower room she’d once called home, but refused to dwell on those lonely times. Malcolm was correct, and she refused to pity the frightened child she’d been so long ago.

  When she pushed open the iron door at the other end of the tunnel and stepped into the walled garden, her mouth fell open in surprise. Elanna stood on the garden side of the squat wooden door, Saladin’s prayer rug draped over her shoulders. Smiling with sweet satisfaction, she ripped out the last pages of the Koran and flung them, along with the leather binding, over the wall.

  “You forgot something, Muslim,” she trilled and pitched his prayer rug over the wall. Brushing her hands together, the last Ashanti princess of the Kumbassa people strolled toward Alpin. Head high, shoulders squared, Elanna stood as naked as she had a decade ago when Charles had purchased her at a slave auction in Barbados.

  But it wasn’t Elanna’s nudity that shocked Alpin; it was her friend’s dishevelment. Elanna looked like a woman who had been thoroughly seduced. Without her head wrap, her shoulder-length hair lay in a wild tangle. Her lips appeared swollen and pouting with sensuality. The haunted expression in her jet black eyes confirmed Alpin’s conclusion. She knew the look well, understood the blatant yearning Elanna displayed. Having fallen victim to the charming allure of Malcolm Kerr, Alpin felt bound by the same kind of love spell.

  Once at Alpin’s side, Elanna touched her tattered sleeve and quietly said, “Island girls got big trouble.”

  Alpin nodded, and from the other side of the wall she heard Saladin say, “Let’s go hunting, my lord. I’ve a hankering to get away from these women and kill something my religion forbids me to eat.”

  Chapter 9

  So close their shoulders touched, Elanna and Alpin stood at a window in the upstairs solar. In the darkened yard below, Malcolm stepped into the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle of his white stallion. Torchlight illuminated a score of tartan-clad soldiers who waited nearby, their masculine banter rising in the yard, their horses kicking up dust.

  Through the diamond-shaped panes, Alpin saw Alexander approach his laird. Malcolm leaned over and spoke to him at length. She couldn’t hear what he said, but he pointed to the tiltyard, to the falcon mews, and waved a silk-clad arm indicating the whole of the compound.

  Alexander made a fist, then stuck his thumb in the air. He spoke, held up his index finger, spoke again, then unfurled his middle finger.

  Malcolm nodded and continued his instructions.

  Alpin fumed, but not because he was leaving; she needed some time to regain her sense of self. Still, he could have consulted her, for she was capable of managing his affairs. He hadn’t sought her out since she left him an hour ago to rescue Elanna from the walled garden.

  Since then Alpin had cleansed her wounds and donned her nightrail and robe. She’d changed her mind, too. She didn’t want him to go.
But Malcolm seemed more interested in hunting than in consummating his handfast marriage.

  “So much for passion,” she mused.

  “Island girls better off alone,” Elanna said.

  Feeling dejected, Alpin scraped at the dirty glass with her fingernail and wondered if he would even say good-bye.

  What would she do if he traipsed off without so much as a glance in her direction? She’d wring his selfish neck, that was what she’d do. It wasn’t that she expected a dramatic farewell. But she had a role to play, and how in the name of all that was holy was she supposed to act like a devoted bride if he wouldn’t bother to play the smitten groom? Because he wasn’t smitten, she admitted silently. He felt only lust, and even that might vanish when the potion wore off.

  Rabby Armstrong sprang up in his stirrups and shouted to Malcolm. All of the men looked toward the stables. A moment later Saladin popped into the pool of yellow light. Tail swishing, neck tucked close to its chest, his pitch black mount sidestepped like a winning racehorse on parade.

  “My blackamoor one mighty fine man. Betcha that.”

  Taken aback, Alpin said, “Your blackamoor? Do you want him?”

  Elanna shrugged. “For a time.” Then, referring to an oft-cited tribal custom, she said, “Ashanti princess must look into the eyes of the father of her forever mate.”

  Alpin watched Saladin effortlessly maneuver his horse through the throng and to Malcolm’s side. In an alien land he had made a fine life for himself. “Saladin is bastard-born. He doesn’t know his father.”

  Longing softened Elanna’s features, but no amount of discomfiture could lessen her regal stature. “Sorry, sorry, and so I said to him.”

  “Was that before or after he tore your dress?”

  “That’s why he tore my dress.” She shook her head slowly. “He goes behind God’s back, that one. He’s a mighty angry man.”

  “But you gave him the berry juice.”

  “That blackamoor takes what he wants, anytime, all time.”

  “How did you stop him?”

  Her chin came up a notch. “I didn’t.”

  “He ravished you?”

  “No.” The finality in Elanna’s voice spoke volumes about the episode in the walled garden.

  “What made him stop?”

  Elanna pounded the stone sill with her fist. “One stupid principle.”

  “What principle?”

  “Too silly, silly to mention tonight.”

  Even as a lad Saladin had been ruled by his strong convictions and Muslim beliefs. Alpin suspected he hadn’t changed. Elanna wanted him. He’d declined. “What will you do?”

  Tears glistened in her eyes. “Make him sing sorry, sorry song.” Elanna whirled and stomped from the room.

  Just as Alpin started to call her friend back, Alexander bowed and stepped away. Malcolm turned toward the keep and, as if he knew precisely where she was, guided his horse to a spot directly below her.

  Her heart thumping, Alpin opened the window and leaned out. Lamplight from within the room showered him in a golden glow and turned the sun on his clan badge to a star twinkling in the night. Anticipation of what he would do and appreciation for the starkly handsome man he was made her wish they were lovers in the true sense of the word.

  She hated herself for the weakness.

  Smiling, he lifted a gauntleted hand and crooked a finger, beckoning to her. He might have slapped her, so sharp was the blow to her pride. How dare he sit that loose-gaited, short-winded nag like a man born to ride and destined to rule? How dare he look so splendid in his role as earl of Kildalton and laird of clan Kerr? How dare he treat her like a tavern wench and make her yearn for a parting kiss?

  Ignoring his summons, she lifted her brows. “Have you forgotten something, my lord?”

  “Aye,” he said. “A proper farewell from my lady.”

  His soft, yet commanding tone and the insistent gleam in his eye robbed her of speech. “But don’t shinny down the drainpipe as you used to,” he added with a chuckle. “My men will think I’ve handfasted myself to a hoyden.”

  Horses and riders stirred in the yard. She scanned the faces of his soldiers; they were all watching. And waiting. Waiting for her to confirm his declaration. Or was she doomed to make a fool of herself?

  Marriage to him was what she wanted, part of the plan she’d come halfway around the world to carry out. But Malcolm had maneuvered her into a corner, prodded her into playing the lovestruck bride. Which, heaven help her, she was. With Paradise hanging in the balance, what choice did she have? None.

  Loathing herself and loathing him more, she smiled brightly and motioned for him to wait. Then she dashed across the room, snatching a shawl as she went. At the foot of the stairs she slowed, securing the wrap around her shoulders and telling herself that her heart was racing because she’d run down the steps. But when she pushed open the castle doors and saw him waiting, she accepted the galling truth that she wanted his kiss.

  Twisting in the saddle, he grasped her beneath the arms and picked her up. Leather creaked and the white stallion snorted, but she paid little attention; her mind focused on the strong hands of the formidable man who held her. Her feet dangling in air, her pulse pounding, she wrapped her arms around his neck. The smell of sandalwood surrounded her, but even though he wore an exotic fragrance from a faraway land, Malcolm Kerr seemed as rooted to the soil of Scotland as the ancient rowan trees in the yard.

  When they were nose to nose, he whispered, “How is your wrist?”

  Unaccustomed to tender solicitations, she made light of the injury. “’Tis better already.”

  His gaze scoured her face and her unbound hair, then settled on her mouth. She felt buoyant and wondered if the potion was to blame. But no, she hadn’t swallowed enough of the drink.

  “Have a care while I’m off hunting, Alpin. Look to Alexander for your needs.”

  The evening fell away, and suddenly she remembered sitting on the rim of the old well, her breasts bared to his hands and lips. “All of my needs?”

  Amusement gleamed in his eyes. With an endearing grin, he whispered, “None of your intimate ones. Save those for your husband.”

  Then he kissed her, a searing, branding kiss of possession. Murmurs spread through the yard, and rather than inhibit her response, the knowledge that his men looked on induced her to surpass his passion. She gloried in the feel of his lips and the power of his embrace, and with a boldness so new it shimmered like tinsel inside her, she opened her mouth wide and deepened the kiss.

  A growl of appreciation rumbled in his chest, and as his hands clutched her tighter, his tongue plunged into her mouth, then retreated, inviting her to follow his lead. The heady challenge and the assurance that he was leaving spurred her to greater adventure. Relying on intuition rather than experience, she drew his tongue into her mouth and gently suckled him, tasting the lingering flavor of the berry juice and knowing the potion still had him in its spell.

  His chest heaved, and his fingers started to tremble. Thinking she might have gone too far, she pulled back. Applause from the soldiers buzzed in her ears.

  His eyes flew open. “Sweet Saint Ninian,” he swore. “You’ve made a raging beast of me.”

  Absurdly pleased and a little frightened by the fervent glimmer in his eyes, she stared at his clan badge. “I’m afraid you’ll let me fall.”

  As if she were a pennyweight, he lifted her higher. Their eyes met again. “Have I ever let you fall, Alpin?”

  Suspended in the cool night air and physically at his mercy, she wondered how much true sentiment she should read into the probing question. Uncertainty made her say, “No. But I used to be much smaller and more nimble.”

  A crooked grin gave him a reckless air. “You’re still small. And nimble, I’ll wager, in ways we’ve yet to explore.”

  At a loss for a reasonable response, she cleared her throat. “Why are you leaving now?”

  “Because the roe deer feed at night, or have you f
orgotten?”

  She hadn’t, but she suspected the nocturnal habits of wild game were only a part of his reason, and since he didn’t seem willing to volunteer more information, she didn’t press him. His absence would allow her to search for proof of his interference in her life.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  With a grunt of satisfaction, he lowered her to the ground and quietly said, “Not long enough for you to forget that you’ll soon be mine. Move your things into my room and sleep there—until I return.”

  He was speaking of the handfast marriage, but he made it sound as if he owned her. She looked at the crowd of mounted clansmen. They all stared at Malcolm, blatant respect in their eyes.

  Her independent nature surfaced. “Where will I sleep after your return?”

  He chuckled and devoured her with a hungry gaze. “You won’t. Except in snatches.”

  Embarrassment chilled her. She gave him a bland smile, pulled the shawl tighter. “Enjoy your sport.”

  “You and I will, I assure you.”

  “I do live for your assurances, my lord.” She turned away.

  A stupefied Dora stood on the castle steps, a wineskin and a sack of provisions in her hands.

  “What is it, Dora?” Alpin asked.

  “Miss Elanna said I should give these to Saladin.”

  Alpin waved the maid into the yard. Entering the castle, she heard Malcolm urge his horse onward; then the thunder of hooves signaled his departure. She hesitated in the foyer, her mind awhirl with conflicting thoughts. She wished he would never come back. She prayed he wouldn’t go at all.

  The doors slammed shut.

  “Is it true, my lady?” Dora said, her voice a squeaking whisper. “That you and his lordship are handfasted?”

  Exhaustion claimed Alpin. “Aye, ’tis true, Dora.”

  The girl clasped her now empty hands. “Lady Miriam’ll be so happy.”

  Bully for Lady Miriam. Alpin’s happiness lay half a world away, but at the moment even the thought of returning to Paradise seemed a poor substitute for the unfulfilled yearning in her heart. A pity she couldn’t have both.