Authors: Arnette Lamb
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #Scottish, #General
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 forgotten?"
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.
The next morning, secure behind the locked door in Malcolm's study, Alpin searched his desk. She found a bundle of letters from Charles, but the loose string and the old knot binding them told her that some of the correspondence had been removed.
She sorted the letters by date. The oldest had been written not to Malcolm but to his father, Lord Duncan Kerr, who had given Charles the money to buy Paradise Plantation over twenty years before. Lord Duncan had offered the funds as Adrienne's dowry.
So, Alpin thought,
that
was the debt of honor Charles had cited in his will. That was the reason he'd bequeathed the plantation to Malcolm.
But wait, the value of Paradise had increased tenfold over the last two decades. Due to
her
hard work. Surely honor alone didn't warrant so generous a repayment. Not even the greediest of usurers could term the transaction a fair return on investment. Still, Charles could not have been called astute in business matters.
Hoping there was more, she read the other letters, and found only a single missive to Malcolm, dated four years earlier. Amid a rambling dissertation on the virtues of the long deceased Adrienne, Alpin discovered a jarring passage: "I must reiterate my thanks for your generous offer and your unselfish solution to the problem of dear Alpin's welfare. It does ease my troubled heart."
Her hands shook, blurring the words. Malcolm had been concerned about her, had made a generous and unselfish offer. Of what? He certainly hadn't given her any money to live on, nor had he freely offered her a home in Scotland. She'd had to haggle with him to earn both. He hadn't expected her to come to Kildalton after Charles's death. He'd been genuinely surprised by her arrival here, and when she'd made the remark that she belonged to him, he had smiled and called it a truly interesting turn of events. Had she incorrectly read pleasure into his statement, or had he been hiding some ulterior motive?
Either way, Malcolm's reaction explained why her guardian had been lax in providing for her future. But at the time this letter was written, Charles had already transferred ownership of Paradise to Malcolm. According to the will, the transaction had occurred one year before the date of this letter. Charles had never intended to leave the plantation to her.
Hurt but convinced that Charles saw little of the world around him, she read the passage again. One word took her attention: "Reiterate."
Suddenly chilled to the bone, she realized she'd found the key that would unlock the puzzle of Malcolm's involvement in her life. But when had his interest in her welfare begun? And for mercy's sake, what form did it take?
She scanned the rest of the page, but read only of the soul-deep despair of a man who had lost his will to live and prayed for the day when he would be reunited in heaven with his beloved Adrienne.
Guilt and sympathy swamped Alpin. She'd never understood the depth of Charles's pain, and by comparison her trouble seemed trivial. She, at least, could control her destiny.
Upon her arrival in Barbados, she'd witnessed a love that had made paltry work of even the most romantic poet. Then fate had wielded its ugly hand and snatched dear Adrienne away.
For the next ten years Alpin had watched poor Charles waste away. The sad memory reinforced her belief that the price of enduring love was too high. Oh, she intended to go through with the handfast marriage to Malcolm and hoped to conceive a child, but she would never risk giving him her heart. She would persuade him to give her the plantation. Then she would return home.
The yearning she'd suppressed throughout the night stemmed solely from physical need. Malcolm had stirred her long-repressed passion. Sleeping alone in his massive bed had heightened her need. When he returned, she would join him in the sporting aspects of love, but her participation would end there. She would keep his castle and manage his servants. Then as soon as she had the papers she would return to Paradise and leave Malcolm behind. Her conscience would be clear.
That settled, she went back to the letters. To her disappointment she read only more of heartbreak and hopelessness. A further search of the desk yielded little for her cause but great insight into the daily life of the laird of clan Kerr.
Eager to investigate Malcolm's suite of rooms, she cleared the desk.
A bell clanged. Alpin yelped and jumped like a kicked puppy. Too terrified to breathe, she stared at the door. She expected Malcolm to break it down. Then she relaxed. A; his housekeeper and steward she had every right to be here.
He was off hunting. The letters were back where they belonged. Even if he did return early, he'd never know she'd been snooping.
Besides, the gonging sound had come from within this room. Saladin's Mecca bell. Of course. Chuckling at herself she wiped her damp palms on her skirt and willed the tremor from her hands.
How silly of her. But why had the bell rung? Of time dulled brass, it still lay on its side on the high shelf, same as before. Curious, she moved the footstool and climbed up on it. Just as she stretched out her arm, the bell clamored to life again.
She shrieked and drew back. Arms flailing, she teetered balancing on the balls of her feet at the edge of the stool. In desperation, she threw herself forward and grasped the nearest shelf. With a knock-knocking sound, the stool rocked to a stop on the floor. Her heart pounded like a drum. Her fingers curled in a death grip. Her sore wrist shook under the strain.
She took several deep breaths. When she'd calmed herself, she planted her feet on the stool and relaxed her hands. Then she reached again for the bell.
And saw the string. One end was tied to the clapper; the other end disappeared into a tiny hole in the side of the bookcase.