Border Bride (24 page)

Alpin hadn't considered the baron's situation. At five years old she'd been eager for love and desperate for comfort. She'd received neither at Sinclair Manor. Now, lying naked in Malcolm's arms, her body still aglow with the aftereffects of their loving, she felt vulnerable. Acquiescence seemed the best road. "I suppose the baron did what he thought was right."

"'Tis odd," he said, glancing down at her, "that your father was from so large a clan as the MacKays and yet you came to live with your mother's family. Why was that?"

The question had often plagued Alpin. She thought it cruel that her father's people hadn't wanted a little girl, even if she was half English. "I don't know. My father died at sea before I was born. I have only vague memories of my mother."

"Do you favor her?"

When she thought of her mother, Alpin felt a deep loss, as if she had once held on very tightly to something and then let it go. Had she held the hand of her dying mother? She didn't know, for the event and her mother's face were both a blur in her mind. "I cannot recall much about her."

"You never thought to try to find your father's people?"

A familiar coldness invaded her soul. The MacKays hadn't bothered about her; she wouldn't give a rotten mango for the lot of them. Malcolm needn't know that.

"You're forgetting. I was sent off at age six. How could I search for the MacKays from Barbados?" She laughed. "Besides, I don't even know where they live. Do you?"

"Aye. They still hold the far northwest corner of the mainland. Now that you've made your home with me in Scotland, I assume you'll want to locate your family."

His silence demanded a reply from her. She couldn't tell him she had no intention of staying in Scotland, but if she didn't go along with his assumption, he might suspect her plans.

"I would like to know them," she said. "But what if they don't want me?"

"I'm certain they do."

"Then why didn't Baron Sinclair contact them when my mother died? He must have known who they were. He read my mother's papers before he buried them with her."

"That's not Sinclair's way. It was natural for him to assume responsibility for you, just as he did your other cousins who had no resources."

She really didn't care but felt obliged to address the subject since it was so important to Malcolm. "The baron could have at least written to the MacKays."

"Nay, he couldn't back then. Remember, he's English and has no ties with the Highlands clans, and he was at war with my father back then. By the time peace had been established in the Borders you were happily settled in Barbados."

True, and she had to get back there. "What do you think I should do about the MacKays? Let them know I'm here?"

"Aye, I think you should. Their chieftain swears allegiance to my friend, the earl of Sutherland. He could help you find your father's kin."

Being an earl himself, Malcolm probably rubbed shoulders with all of the highest ranking noblemen. She wanted nothing to do with them; one nobleman in her life was enough. To guard her privacy and lighten the conversation, she pinched his ribs. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

He chuckled and slapped his hand over hers, then began moving it in slow circles. The hair on his chest tickled her palm. "By all means," he said offhandedly, "that's why I—"

Her heart skipped a beat. "Why you what?"

Pulling her over him, he hugged her to his chest and cupped her bottom. "Why I can't keep my hands off you."

Ignoring the delicious feelings he inspired, she concentrated on his slip of the tongue and his attempt to disguise it with a compliment. Was his flattery a lie or only a half-lie? He desired her physically, of that she was certain, but lust wasn't the only reason for his interest in her life. The letter from Charles proved it.

Hoping to distract him further, she nuzzled his neck and slipped her legs between his. Against her belly, his manhood stirred.

"Wait," he said, stilling her hips.

"For what?"

"'Tis too soon. Surely you're sore."

Getting information from him concerned her more than the minor discomfort she felt. "Not in the least," she lied.

He huffed in disbelief, but below the waist he seemed to like the idea of another mating. She couldn't bring herself to call what they'd done, what they would do again, making love, not when she had so many doubts about his motives.

"We'll see about that." He moved her to the side, got out of bed, and walked to the basin.

She watched him soak a cloth in the water, then wring it out, the muscles in his forearms bulging. Grudgingly she admired his male beauty, his broad shoulders and thick neck, made strong by years of swordplay in the tiltyard. Her gaze wandered lower, to his trim waist and lean flanks, and the part of him that most captured her interest appeared very enamored of her.

A thrill of anticipation coursed through her. During his hunting trip she'd entered this room dozens of times each day, to tidy up, to explore, to search for proof of his perfidy She hadn't found the missing letters or the documents concerning Paradise, but she had found some unusual personal items, including what Elanna identified as a contraceptive sponge his mistress had left behind in a bottle of rose water.

When he came toward her, his gait as lazy as his smile Alpin wondered how soon she would conceive his child or ü she already had. Would she tell him? No, not if it meam staying in Scotland. She had responsibilities: to free the slaves of Paradise Plantation; to establish the security of her own future.

"You look faraway," he said, kneeling on the bed and blocking out the light. "Have you grown bored with you new husband so soon?"

Oddly, she felt secure in the situation; she had time to learn his secrets, and if she roused his suspicions she'd lose her chance to gain her independence. Stretching, she said, "Only if my husband has grown bored with me."

Malcolm stared down at himself. "If you call that fellow bored, you've still a lot to learn about the male anatomy."

His boldness took the edge off her assurance. "What's this damp cloth for?"

"For this." He spread her legs.

Realizing what he intended to do, she scooted to the headboard. The movement made her wince. "I can wash myself."

"True. You can also admit that you're still tender"—he pointed to her lap—"in certain places."

"Oh, all right, but you needn't be so tiresome about it or come at me with an icy rag."

"And you needn't be so stubborn. I'm your husband, Alpin, and I very much enjoy looking at you."

He probably thought ogling her was his right as her lord and master, and she did like the way he made her feel, liked being held in his arms. But she'd give up her claim to Paradise before she'd admit it.

Summoning bravado, she eased down and folded her hands behind her head. "If playing the lady's maid tickles your fancy, then who am I to quibble?"

"You're a very wise woman." His devilish smile and casual tone portended retribution. Then he tucked the cloth between his thighs and lay down beside her.

"What are you doing? I thought—"

"Hush." He shook his finger at her in reproof. "You're quibbling again, my beautiful bride. I'm doing two things—warming the towel and cooling my ardor."

A clever reply eluded her. She spared a glance at his "ardor" and found it suddenly tamed. "Oh."

"But in the interim," he said patiently, "I'm certain you won't mind if I tickle my fancy, as you so aptly put it."

She raised her eyes; challenge brimmed in his. He couldn't possibly shock her, she'd lost her virginity, after all. Striving for nonchalance, she waved her hand.

It was her last casual gesture of the night. He suckled her breasts until she thought she might go mad with renewed wanting. He tasted her from earlobes to navel and would have continued had she not put an end to his depravity.

"Oh, very well," he said peevishly. "I'll save that dessert for another time."

Then he produced the warm towel and redefined her understanding of titillation. Teeth clenched against a barrage of carnal sensations, she managed to lie still until he said, "Thank you, Alpin, for the gift of your innocence."

The honesty in his voice went straight to her heart, and for one of the few times in her life, Alpin felt valued. And awed that she should feel so much pride in such an intimate situation, and with Malcolm Kerr, the man who had shattered her peaceful life. But at the moment she couldn't summon disdain, for her body yearned for him, and he deserved the praise for that. "You said you would be gentle. You kept your word."

He pulled her beneath him. "Gentleness then, thoroughness now."

Wild with need and aware of the satisfaction that awaited, she opened herself to his passion. By the time she fell asleep hours later, she decided thoroughness was a badge of virility for him and a blissful state of mind for her.

Needles of pain shot up her arm and yanked her from sleep. Opening her eyes, Alpin found herself teetering on the edge of the bed and staring at the floor. Her arm was numb from sleeping on it. Certain she would tumble off the bed, she tried to roll over, but encountered an immovable male. Malcolm lay on his stomach, his legs and arms spread wide, so that he took up most of the bed and all of the covers.

She picked up his hand to move it. He stirred, slipped the arm around her waist, rolled to his side, and pulled her against him. Uncomfortable with their nudity and fearful that she had awakened him, she pretended to be asleep. Through slitted eyes she studied the room.

The lamp still burned, but the level of oil in the glass base had dropped. The sun hadn't risen; darkness shadowed the edges of the closed drapes. She could hear the mantel clock ticking, but the high backs of the chairs before the hearth obstructed her view of the dial.

Fatigue threatened to draw her back into sleep, yet a part of her mind stayed fixed on the warm naked flesh of the man beside her.

Malcolm. Her handfast husband. Her lover.

Serenity rippled through her, and a tenderness between her legs reminded her of their hours of lovemaking. He made a low, contented sound and nestled closer. A large, work-roughened hand gently cupped one of her breasts. Tucked up against him, safe and secure, Alpin had never felt so cherished, so protected.

Without thinking, she caressed his arm and closed her eyes.

When next she awoke, she was again lying at the edge of the mattress, completely exposed, her arm numb. Malcolm's hand rested at the small of her back as if he were pushing her away.

Peeved at his physical rejection of her, she eased from the bed. His breathing never altered. Drawing her waist-length hair over her shoulders for warmth and modesty, she turned to look at him. As before, he lay on his stomach, covered with a tartan blanket from the waist down, his face turned toward her. His sun-browned skin and thick black hair contrasted sharply with the white linens. In repose, he appeared older than his years and bore a striking resemblance to his father. They shared the finely shaped jaw and the elegant straight nose typical of the previous earls of Kildalton who were depicted in portraits in the great hall. But Malcolm's sensuous mouth was uniquely different from those of his Kerr ancestors. The memory of his lips, his endless kisses, made her stomach go tight with yearning.

Standing naked before him, she accepted the bittersweet truth that she could easily come to love him. Perhaps she already did.

The prospect terrified her. Eager to get away, she donned a work dress from the wardrobe and brushed her hair. Then she located the rabbit, snoozing behind the drapes, picked it up, and walked to the door. Malcolm still lay sprawled face down, oblivious to her leaving.

When she entered the kitchen she saw Dora squatting before the hearth and stoking the fire.

"You're up early, my lady." The maid sprang to her feet and wiped her hands on her freshly pressed apron. Spying the rabbit, she beamed with joy. "Ain't she a bonny one. Alpin's friends always are."

Complimented anew, Alpin moved the rabbit to her shoulder and patted its back as she would have done to a babe. Its twitching whiskers tickled her neck. "She is indeed, Dora. But I'm sure she's hungry. Will you bring up some carrots from the root cellar?"

Dora dashed to the back door and picked up a pail. "I did that first thing. I also thought I'd look for extra greens at the market today."

Warmed by the maid's thoughtfulness, Alpin said, "Thank you, Dora. That's very kind of you."

The maid flapped her wrist. " 'Tweren't nothing, my lady. His lordship's even having the carpenter build a hutch. That's what they was whisperin' about in the Rot and Ruin last night."

Malcolm had spoken to so many people in the tavern that Alpin had lost track of the names. It seemed everyone except her had known about the gift of the rabbit. "Be sure to give the carpenter something from the food stores in addition to what Lord Malcolm pays him for his labor."

"Aye, my lady. Fraser has a taste for haggis, but his wife won't make it for him."

"Then haggis it is. Here." Alpin handed over the rabbit. "You take care of my new pet until we have a safe place to put her. I'll be in the kitchen garden collecting seeds for next year's plants." She would be gone in the spring, but the people of Kildalton wouldn't suffer for her leaving.

Dora stroked the rabbit's ears. "Were you surprised, my lady?"

Alpin smiled. "I certainly was."

"His lordship said you would be. When he thought it up, he was so pleased, he slapped his leg and splashed water all over the scullery floor."

Alpin rather liked discussing Malcolm's generous nature. "When did he do that?"

"Why, yesterday when he was bathing. You were upstairs getting him fresh clothing. He had me send Rabby to Sweeper's Heath straightaway to fetch this pretty hare. Lord Malcolm was beside himself with worry over the Moor, but then when Saladin got better, his lordship couldn't do enough for you."

So the rabbit had been a gift of gratitude, not a token of affection. Alpin felt a stab of disappointment. She had assumed Malcolm missed her during his hunting trip and had brought the hare as a romantic gesture. She'd been as fluttery as a lovestruck girl last night; she'd even felt the stirrings of love. So much for sentimentality on his part. So much for romance on hers. Damn him for making her care.