Border Bride (11 page)

As a child he'd recited the classics with ease. As an adult he infused them with menace. She picked up the ledger and hugged it to her breast. "Endure what, my lord?"

He made a slow perusal of her face, then grinned. "What else? Our ever-expanding agenda."

Feeling adrift in a sea of innuendo, she moved to the door. "Does your afternoon agenda include refreshments?"

"Aye. Beer for me and orange water for my Muslim friend. You'll find the fruit in the root cellar." Looking at Saladin, he added, "And please ask Elanna to serve us."

Alpin crossed the threshold and heard Saladin ask, "Who is this Elanna?"

As Malcolm closed the door behind her, he said, "A surprise, my dear Saladin. A surprise."

Alpin changed her mind about leaving her friend in the dark, saw the harm and disloyalty that could result. After fetching the oranges, she took Elanna aside and told her about Saladin.

The former slave girl looked the same as she had the day Alpin presented her with a certificate of freedom. Her innate poise turned to childish excitement. "He's African?"

Dora stopped mashing summer berries and inched closer. Alpin drew Elanna into the privacy of the scullery. Barrels of salted meat and a batch of fresh basil scented the air.

"He's half African," Alpin said. "His father was a Moor, and his mother a Spanish noblewoman."

Elanna stared, still awestruck. "How did he get here?"

"As children, he and his twin brother Salvador were scribes in the employ of Malcolm's stepmother, Lady Miriam."

Pinching her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger, Elanna said, "She is the diplomat."

Alpin shifted the oranges from one hand to the other. "Yes."

"Here, give me those before you drop them." Elanna made a sack of her apron. Alpin put the fruit inside. "How old is Saladin?"

"He was twelve or thirteen when I left here for Barbados. That would make him thirty-two or -three now."

"Is he handsome?"

"I'd say he looks impressive. Majestic, if you will."

"Hum." Elanna grew thoughtful. "Must be a poor Moorish man, since he doesn't have a harem here."

Amused, Alpin said, "How do you know if has women or not?"

Elanna shot her a look of superiority. "The maids here were quick to tell you about that girl Emily and her soldier. Betcha they couldn't keep juicy gossip like that a secret if their freedom depended on it."

"They didn't tell you much about Saladin?"

"I didn't ask." She tapped her breastbone. "This African princess learns by watching and listening."

Alpin chuckled. "When you've finished serving them, make the love potion. And be sure to tell me what you think of Saladin."

Explanations were unnecessary. From the moment Elanna stepped into Malcolm's study and spied Saladin, her face mirrored the gamut of reactions, beginning with shock and settling into avid interest. Especially so when Saladin put the tankard to his mouth. His coal black eyes stayed trained on Elanna, and the longer he looked, the more he drank. The tankard was empty when he put it down, but his eyes revealed a thirst no drink could quench.

"More?" asked Elanna, reaching for the pitcher.

In answer he surveyed her from head to toe, his gaze lingering on her neck and hands. "Oh, yes. I believe so."

"You some thirsty man," she said in a regal whisper while refilling his mug.

"And you're an interesting surprise. How did you get here?"

With a coy look, she said, "On a very slow and smelly boat, Your Majesty."

Humor flashed in his eyes. "I'm no king."

She winked at Alpin. "But you're majestic."

"I am?" Saladin asked.

She nodded, giving evidence of what the older Paradise slave women called her sassy ways. "Betcha that."

"Yes, well…" He cleared his throat. "You were born in Barbados?"

She set down the pitcher and squared her shoulders. Then, for only the second time since meeting her, Alpin heard her friend say, "I am Elanna, the last Ashanti princess of the Kumbassa people."

Saladin's arm froze, the newly filled tankard an inch from his mouth. "You're African royalty? A slave?"

Pride gave proof to her noble lineage. "You see before you a freedwoman." Her elegant facade crumbled when she playfully added, "Betcha that."

He shook his head. "Curse me for a plaster saint, Elanna, but I doubt any of us ever truly gain our freedom."

She turned to Malcolm. "He's your slave?" she squeaked, her face pinched in disbelief.

Smiling benevolently, Malcolm chuckled. "A slave to philosophy and a servant of theology. That's our Saladin."

"That's no answer," she snapped. "Is he or is he not your property?"

"Not mine or any mortal man's."

She threw up her hands. "You sing a riddle song. I'm going back to the kitchen."

Saladin caught up with her before she reached the door. "I'll walk you there."

She eyed him as a canary would a cat, until he smiled in invitation. A blush turned her dark skin mahogany red. "I suppose it's all right."

"Betcha that," he quipped and, putting a hand at the small of her back, guided her out the door.

Feeling like an intruder, Alpin looked at Malcolm and was surprised to find him staring at her. Seated at his desk he didn't seem so formidable, but his intense gaze held a menace of its own.

Perturbed, she crossed the distance and leaned close. "Why are you staring at me?"

"Was I staring?" He casually raked the opened letters into a pile and concealed them with a book. Then he propped his elbow on the desk and rested his chin in his palm. His black eyebrows rose in query. "What's wrong with admiring the very attractive woman who's agreed to share the pleasures of the flesh with me?"

She wanted to ball her fists, pound on the desk, and damn him for a rogue and a thief. Instead, she kept her voice light. "You needn't hide your love letters."

"You're not jealous?"

She wasn't in the least, but to keep up the pretense of wanting him, she shelved her indifference and returned to more important matters. "What happened between us in the barracks—Well… please understand that I didn't come here to vie for your affection." Softly she implored, "Don't you see that?"

His eyelids drifted shut, the lashes so thick and long they almost fanned his cheeks. "We'll discuss why you came here at length… later. After our bath."

Second thoughts plagued her. She needed time to devise a foolproof way of tricking him into marrying her. "What happened was very disturbing."

"A mere fraction of how disturbing the rest will be."

"This is all happening rather quickly, don't you think?"

"You encouraged me, Alpin. Why back down now?" She had encouraged him, and probably given him the mistaken impression that she was experienced in the art of seduction. Her easy success still baffled her. Could she now appeal to his sense of honor? "Because…" He toyed with her bracelet. "Because?" Exasperated, she blurted. "Because I'm a virgin." Hunger gleamed in his eyes. "An enticing element in our arrangement." He sounded as if he were bartering for a herd of sheep.

He, a rich man with a vast kingdom, made richer by the acquisition of Paradise Plantation. Well, she refused to be an easy conquest. She'd fashion her own bargain, but first she needed more information. "Enticing? What do you mean?"

His fingers began a slow journey up her arm. "If what you say is true, then it might be a considerable enticement—in some circles."

The only circles she could think about were the ones his fingers were drawing on her skin. How, she wondered, could she despise and desire him at once? "Why do you want me? You can have your choice of women."

"Suffice it to say, you have always held a special and unforgettable place in my life."

"A dishonorable place," she grumbled, "is where you'd put me."

"On the contrary. I intend to
honor
you from the delicate lobes of your ears to the dainty tips of your toes."

A tingling started in the parts he mentioned and spread everywhere in between. "I'm neither dainty nor delicate. Save those niceties for your dear Rosina."

"Forget her. She's gone."

"Where?"

He tapped his teeth together. "To Carvoran Manor."

"That's the estate your father was building for you when I left years ago. Is it grand?"

His hand stilled. "Nay. 'Tis nothing pretentious."

She relaxed. "Then tell me where it is and what it's like."

He began turning the bracelet around her wrist. "Remember the dry well near Hadrian's Wall?"

Confident that she had distracted him, Alpin grew bold. "Yes, I do. You once told me a treasure was buried there. I spent two days digging up the place."

Assuming a comically innocent air, he patted her hand. "But you found a pair of knives to add to your collection of sharp weapons."

"Some weapons. They were rusted beyond redemption. Still, it was a clever trick on your part."

His eyes narrowed. "And you keep cleverly changing the subject. Tell me, Alpin," he murmured, "what
do
you want?"

His seductive tone drew her like gulls to fish bait. She let down her guard. "1 want a home of my own among people I can trust and call friends."

"I'm your friend, and you can trust me."

He said it with such sincerity that her heart leaped. If she could believe him, she could forgo subterfuge. "I can?"

"Uh-huh. Have you other stipulations before we end our negotiations and cry peace long into the night?"

He seemed so sure of her capitulation, and if there was anything Alpin hated it was being taken for granted. "I have about a thousand questions, and I'm not sure you'll want to answer them."

"You ask a thousand, Alpin. I'll ask one. Will you or will you not be mine?"

She didn't trust him, but if she could convince him that her work and dedication had made Paradise the profitable plantation it was, just maybe he would understand and give her back what was hers by right. Then she wouldn't have to trick him. Besides, she liked it when he spoke softly and smiled in that friendly way. "I'm not sure I should risk losing the good job I have."

"You'll enjoy your new duties, although the hours will be longer at first. Touch me, Alpin."

A warning blared, but she saw no alternative to giving him what he demanded. So she cupped his cheek and was immediately sorry, for the drag of new whiskers tickled her palm and the gleam in his eye dented her resolve. "You might go hungry."

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned, pressing a kiss on her hand. Groaning, he said, "I'm hungry now."

Her stomach bobbed like a keg on the ocean. She fought the urge to surrender and concentrated on the consequences of what he proposed. "What if I conceive?"

His fingers curled around her arm. "You won't," he said flatly.

"How can you be so certain? And, more to the point, how can I believe you?"

He opened his eyes and drilled her with a powerful stare. "Another wager? As I recall, you enjoy a friendly bet."

This was the opportunity she'd been waiting for. As normal as any woman, she felt certain she could bear a child. But could she maneuver him into wagering Paradise Plantation against her fertility? Something held her back, for she wasn't quite ready to reveal her heart's desire. "I'll think about it."

"Do your thinking this afternoon. I expect you to come to me tonight."

She must stall him. She must use her feminine wiles to gain some time. When the easy solution came to her, she almost felt guilty. "Are you offering to marry me?"

His steely gaze wavered.

"I didn't think you were," she said.

Uncertainty gave him a crafty look. "'Tis a big step."

"My point exactly. We should take a few months to think out our decision."

Understanding glimmered in his eyes. "A month," he growled. "No more."

She felt a fleeting relief, but her thoughts soon turned to the grand scheme she must create. "You're very understanding."

"More than you know, Alpin."

She managed a weak smile. "That sounds ominous."

"I know women. I've three sisters, remember? And now"—he placed a final kiss on her hand—"I regret to say, my duties to Kildalton call. Please send Saladin to me."

She thought of the letters and realized he probably had to answer them. Caught up in the reprieve she'd won, she kissed his cheek. "Straightaway, my lord."

As she left the room she began to whistle. Malcolm thought he had her in a compromising position. He did, but he wasn't the only one who could play the game of compromise. Alpin would keep a close watch on him and discover his weakness.

She knew just the way. Kildalton Castle was full of tunnels and secret passages. Years ago a frightened six-year-old girl had taken refuge there. Today those dark corridors would provide a desperate woman with a listening post and, she hoped, the tools to win back her home.

First she had to find the key.

Chapter Six