Border Bride (22 page)

"What do you think of the Rot and Ruin?" he asked.

She laughed at herself and at his question. "I liked the tavern very much, but who gave it such an odd name? It's a family gathering place, not a tumbledown rum shop."

"Do you remember Lady Alexis?"

"I do." Alpin remembered a dark-haired older woman surrounded by infamy. Years ago, by way of the hidden tunnels, Alpin had sneaked into the noblewoman's room and made use of her toiletries. "She was your stepmother's friend and some relation to Queen Anne, wasn't she?"

"Aye." He put his arm around her and steered her under the awning at the fletcher's shop. "A cousin. She named the tavern."

"What happened to her?"

"She married my father's sergeant-at-arms, Angus MacDodd. They live at Traquair House."

It was the ancient home of the Stewarts, but Alpin knew little else about the royal residence. "Is it near here?"

He stopped in front of the stable. "A few days' ride to the north. Wait here. I'll be right back."

She watched him disappear through the door, a shadow slipping into a blacker maw. The sweet and pungent odor of hay rushed out from the stable. Horses nickered inside. He spoke to them in comforting, melodic tones, and the fading of his voice marked his progress deeper into the building.

Looking back the way they'd come, she saw the tavern door open. Three soldiers came out and went their separate ways. One man carried a lantern. The light swayed as he walked down the lane, then up the stairs to the battlements.

Next came Rabby Armstrong and the maid, Emily, hand in hand. They headed toward the market. The maid giggled. The soldier spoke in dulcet tones.

The horses nickered again. Alpin's pulse began to race, for now Malcolm would take her home and—She halted the thought. Paradise was home. Paradise. Not this quiet castle yard with its battlements outlined against the night sky and the yellow lights glowing in the windows of the keep.

"Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

He sounded playful, like the Malcolm of old. She felt a twinge of regret, then the deep stab of pity, for her, for him, and for the events that had brought her to Scotland twenty years after she had sworn never to see this land again.

She held out her arms. A warm, downy softness brushed her wrists and palms; then she felt weight and movement.

"Do you know what it is?" he said.

An animal. But which one? She hugged it to her breast and stroked the soft fur. Not a mouser, for this creature was too gentle, too docile. Then she felt the ears, noticed the flat back feet.

"A rabbit."

He put his arm around her. "But not just any breed of hare. This one had a special ancestor."

Hattie, another of God's crippled creatures that had been Alpin's only friends. Happiness bubbled inside her, and tears filled her eyes. Her uncle had forced her to give her pet to Malcolm years ago. He'd set Hattie free to multiply in the wild.

Choked with gratitude, she cuddled the living keepsake of her past, and leaned against the man who'd given it to her. "You went to Sweeper's Heath," she said, completely awed by the tender gesture.

"Aye." He stroked the rabbit's ears. "I told you the place was overrun with Hattie's offspring. We call them Alpin's friends."

In one instance, she had been remembered with fondness here. "I don't know what to say."

"The happiness in your voice is thanks enough." He hugged her.

"I am
very
happy." She was more than happy; at that moment she felt the strong pull of love for Malcolm Kerr.

"'Tis a shame it's so dark. I doubt you can see her," he said. "She looks just like Hattie."

"I need no light to remember Hattie or her get. It's as if I left her here yesterday."

"Nay," he said fiercely. "Forget our yesterdays, Alpin, every one of them. Think only about now, about how much I want you and how good we'll be together."

Eager to comply and explore her new feelings, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. He turned and lowered his head so their mouths met.

His lips were soft and seasoned with the fresh taste of the ale he'd drunk and the honest plea he'd made. She, too, yearned for an end to the troubles between them, and as he tilted his head to the side and deepened the kiss, she knew passion would banish their differences, if only for a time.

The warm, furry creature, nestled snugly and quietly in her arms, formed a symbolic bridge between them, spanning the years of separation, obliterating the turmoil of their youth and gloriously embellishing the good.

When his arms moved lovingly over her back, and a hum of satisfaction rumbled in his chest, Alpin felt renewed and cherished. From a peaceful corner of her mind, a voice whispered that at last she had embarked on the real road to contentment and true joy awaited her at journey's end.

Pulled along by the silent pledge of fulfillment, she leaned into him. The rabbit squirmed.

Malcolm drew back. "Do you realize, love," he murmured, "'tis the first time you've ever willingly kissed me."

"Given the chance, I'll willingly do it again."

"I assure you, the moment we reach my bed"—he took the rabbit from her and tucked it into the sash of his tartan—"you'll get no protest from me. Unless you dally."

Clasping hands, they strolled the well-worn thoroughfare that led to the castle steps.

"You owe me a horse," she said.

"The gray?"

"Yes. Rabby and Emily are between the market and the tanner's shop."

"Playing kiss-the-freckle?"

"Well, it's a little dark for that. They're just kissing."

"The horse is yours. I'll talk to Rabby."

Once inside the keep, he guided her up the stairs and into his bedchamber. In the soft glow of the oil lamp, she watched him release the brown rabbit. Unlike its three-legged ancestor, this rabbit leaped agilely over a footstool and nosed its way behind the drapes.

Then Malcolm was before Alpin, cupping her cheeks and brushing his lips back and forth across hers. The angel-soft touch of his mouth and the dreamy pleasure in his eyes set her senses astir with excitement and her body aflutter with need. Eagerness made her hasty, sent her hands to clutch his waist and feel the sinewy ropes of muscles there. Touching him only whetted her appetite for the banquet of riches he had sworn to lay before her.

"Go slowly, love. Follow my lead."

His simple words spoke to the heart of her inexperience and supplied the resolve she needed to sate the hunger that raged within her. The moment her hands relaxed and her mind took control, she caught a glimpse of the wondrous place he intended to take her. Her heart soared.

He must have seen the elation in her eyes, for he smiled and murmured, "Aye, 'twill soon be ours."

His gaze roamed her face, and with the patience a saint would envy, he drew her closer and laid his mouth fully on hers. Moist and warm and honey sweet, his lips worked a scintillating magic so expertly controlled, it soothed and tingled, provoked and appeased. He beckoned her passion in stages: a little in the kiss at the corner of her mouth that made her breasts ache, a little more in the slow swipe of his tongue across her teeth that made her nipples contract, still more in the gentle suckling of her bottom lip that sent a jolt of desire straight to her belly.

Feeling all of a piece, she said, "It's as if you're kissing me everywhere."

He chuckled. "I shall, in due time." His hands left her face to roam her neck and settle on her breasts. "You feel the desire here?"

Covering his hands with her own, she applied enough pressure to make herself moan. "What do you think I feel?" she asked.

Taking her hand, he drew it down over the soft wool of his tartan past his tasseled sporran to the manly bulge beneath. "I think"—he sucked air through his teeth—"I'd better get you out of those clothes."

Against her palm, he felt robust, the perfect fulfillment to her own emptiness. Her mouth watered at the relief his words and his body foretold. "What about
your
clothes?"

A grin as big as Bridgetown spread across his face. "I'll leave them to you."

For the first time, she felt confident in taking the lead. "Then I'll exercise my right as a lady and insist on going first."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. Spreading his arms wide, he said, "Then divest me, my lady, but do it quickly."

Remembering his earlier plea, she decided to move at her own pace. With her right hand on the evidence of his need, she used her left to unfasten the clan brooch that secured the flap of his tartan at his shoulder. Understanding flickered in his eyes, and his hands returned to her breasts.

Clutching his most vulnerable part, she waved the silver pin. "Here, hold this."

He took it in his right hand while she unbuckled the sporran belt that rode low on his hips. Another belt, wide and worn and snug at his waist, held his tartan in place.

"I believe this is yours," she said.

His sly grin sent shivers down her spine. He gave her breast a last gentle squeeze, then snatched up his chieftain's pouch.

Leaning back to admire her handiwork, she thought him rather gallant, his arms spread wide. "How does it feel to have your hands full of Kerr regalia?"

He surged against her palm. "How does it feel to have
your
hand full of Kerr regalia?"

She laughed and grew bold in her exploration, sliding her hand up the length of him and then down again. "Is the wool chafing your skin?"

He stared open-mouthed, his forehead dotted with perspiration, his coal black hair damp at the temples. Nostrils flaring, brown eyes glittering with anticipation, he said, "Oh, aye. You'd better get my tartan off now."

"You're teasing."

"Me?" he choked out. "Good God, Alpin, you keep stroking me like that and you'll drive me to ravish you."

With absolute confidence, she continued her intimate ministrations. "Impossible. You can't a ravish a woman who wants you."

He quickened with new vigor. His sporran hit the floor, and his fingers curled around her wrist, stilling her hand. "Wanting me is one thing, Alpin. Satisfying you is something else."

Suddenly out of her depth and self-conscious, she stared at the placket of his shirt. "I don't understand."

"You will," he said lightly, encouragingly. "I promise. Now do something constructive with those buttons and that belt you find so enthralling."

Somewhat mollified, she unfastened his shirt and freed the belt at his waist. He pulled her hand away, and his tartan fell to the floor, leaving him naked from waist to boots.

She gasped at the sight of him, unadorned and magnificent in his male beauty. Her fingers itched to touch him again, but other, more intimate parts of her vied for the same privilege.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

She blurted, "You've changed."

"Aye, and so have you."

She thought of the day at the Roman wall when he'd bared her breasts and first ignited her desire. Suddenly her clothes felt heavy, suffocating. "But you've seen me."

"Then look your fill, Alpin, but I warn you, you'll be disappointed in our loving if you touch me there again."

She remembered something he'd said. "Because I'm a virgin, you think you have to move slowly."

"I
know
I have to move slowly, and you'll have to trust me."

"I do." And she meant it, but she was still curious.

When he didn't move and her yearning grew to unbearable heights, she concentrated on the nest of jet black hair that narrowed like an hourglass at his navel, then fanned out to spread across his chest.

Her hands were drawn there, to the impressive musculature and short, silky curls that clung to her fingers and tickled the sensitive skin in between. He seemed so controlled, so intimidating, so overpoweringly experienced that she grew timid, an odd feeling for one who'd fended for herself since childhood.

Then she stared at the base of his throat and noticed the hammering pulse and the steel-tight tendons in his neck. Swallowing hard, she looked higher and saw his jaw firmly set and his normally sensual mouth now drawn in a stern line of determination.

Of their own accord her hands slipped beneath the fabric of his shirt and raked it off his shoulders. He stepped out of the pool of plaid cloth, pitched the silver brooch into a chair, and reached for her.

"It's my turn," he said.

Her belly constricted. "But you still have on your boots."

"Later."

His ominous tone wreaked havoc with her newly mastered control, and when he turned her around to free the buttons on her dress, she thought she might slither into a puddle at his feet. A tremor shook her shoulders, but his hands grasped her and he leaned close to whisper, "Just this moment I'm interested in exploring you."

Dampness blossomed between her legs, and she became aware of a wholly feminine, highly sensitive spot that swelled and cried out for his touch. With an enlightened maturity, she came to a startling realization.

"You're trembling. What's wrong?" he asked sharply.

She leaned into him, and since he stood behind her and couldn't see her face, she spoke freely. "I just learned something. You and I, our bodies, are alike and yet different."

Reaching around her, he slid his hand between her legs. "A notion," he murmured against her neck, "that brings me extraordinary delight."

She sighed in pleasant exasperation. "You're much bigger than I, but nature designed us to fit together."

Cupping her, he pulled her back and pushed forward. "I believe that is the gist of the procedure."

Inordinately pleased with her own deduction and his spirited demonstration, she grew brave. "But not if you dally at my buttons."

In reply he peeled her dress off her shoulders, then reached for the straps on her chemise.

"You certainly know the ins and outs of undressing a lady."

"At present," he said, "the word 'in' holds particular appeal."

A revelation struck her. "You mean…" At last she understood the concept of consummation, but words foiled her.

"I mean
this
." He stripped off her remaining clothing, then carried her to the bed and laid her down. Bracing himself on stiff arms, he loomed over her, blocking out the light, obstructing rational thought.