Border Bride (25 page)

"Is something wrong, my lady?"

Nothing she intended to share. "Of course not, Dora I was just thinking about all the work we have to do today."

Dora drew herself up. "I'm ready for my assignments."

Disillusionment clouding her thoughts, Alpin reverted to routine. "I'll fetch the dirty linens from the barracks while you boil water for the laundry. Elanna started plucking a goose yesterday. You finish it."

"What about caring for the Moor?" Dora asked.

Alpin had been so wrapped up in Malcolm Kerr she'd forgotten about Saladin. "I'm sure Elanna will look after him."

Screwing up her face, Dora said, "I don't think so, my lady. Not after last night. Besides, she's gone fishing."

Fishing? Elanna had never fished in her life—and for some very interesting reasons. "You're sure she said 'fishing'?"

"Aye. She asked me for directions to the loch. Probably best she did, after the fight she had with Saladin last night."

Alpin needed trouble in the castle about as much as she needed another handfast husband. She'd been certain Elanna would feel guilty for having given Saladin the potion. She'd expected her to wait on him hand and foot. "Tell me what happened."

"Well…" Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, the maid stared at the rabbit in her arms. "They had a bonny row while you was at the tavern. I was cleaning up the scullery, but I could hear them yellin'. Saladin wanted his prayer rug. The African miss said he was too sick to grovel on the floor. When he demanded the rug, she tossed it out the window and told him to stay abed."

Elanna had always scoffed at traditional religions and blamed missionaries for bringing diseases to her tribe. Alpin could hear the African woman belittling Saladin's faith, especially if it interfered with her healing regimen. The fishing expedition was a means to make amends, since Saladin would eat fish although he avoided meat. "Find the rug and take it to him along with his morning meal."

Dora curtsied. "Aye, my lady. But I'll need the key to the walled garden. That's where the rug landed."

Saladin's room was on the second floor overlooking the garden. "The keys are on the bottom shelf in the scullery."

"Straightaway."

After collecting the dirty sheets from the barracks, Alpin fetched a basket of gardening tools and cloth pouches for storing and drying the seeds. Then she went to the kitchen garden in search of solitude. She had just picked the last of the basil seeds when she heard the tramp of boots on the pebbled path. Instinct and the pounding of her heart told her it was Malcolm.

He sauntered toward her, strutting like a cock who thought the sunrise would await his call. She couldn't help admiring him, dressed as he was in a flashy red and green Kerr tartan, the sleeves of his soft cotton shirt billowing in the late morning breeze. Even the jaunty pitch of his bonnet bespoke a man born to rule.

"You should have awakened me."

Her first impulse was to rail at him. She chose sarcasm instead. "A clan war couldn't have awakened you."

He squatted beside her and plucked a basil leaf. "Out of sorts this morning, are we? That's odd, for I feel like conquering the world." He tickled her cheek with the leaf.

The sharp smell of basil filled the air. "You tried to kick me out of bed."

The herb floated to the ground. "What?" he blurted, loud enough for the soldiers on the battlements to hear.

She snatched up the leaf and put it in her basket. Then she glanced around to see if they had drawn an audience. Assured they hadn't, she began harvesting seeds from a marjoram bush.

"Last night you almost pushed me off the bed," she said.

He laughed and slapped his knee. "Why would I do that after I tried so hard to get you into it?"

She didn't really care about the episode in bed; either they would learn to sleep together or she'd take a separate room. But she did care, and mightily so, that he'd lied about going to Sweeper's Heath himself. Feigning indifference, she shrugged. "I wouldn't presume to read your mind. Perhaps you just don't like sleeping with me."

A horn blared, signaling the arrival of a visitor, but Malcolm kept his eyes on her. "I must admit that sleeping was not my first priority."

The warmth in his voice melted her resentment. She thought of a way to tease him. "You also snore," she lied.

He drew back as if she'd struck him. "That's absurd."

"No, it's not," she said reasonably. "It's ear-shattering."

"If I'm such a rude bed partner," he grumbled, "then why has no other woman ever told me so?"

Damn him for throwing his past lovers in her face. Damn her for feeling jealous. If it was the last thing she did, she'd make him forget every one of those women. Putting on a sweet smile, she patted his cheek. "Probably because none of them liked you enough to be honest."

His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "And I suppose you're willing to admit that you like me?"

Placing a hand over her heart, she batted her eyes. "I'm fair smitten, my lord."

"I see." He took her hand, and with his thumb, drew lazy circles on her palm. "Then perhaps we should go back to bed and explore your feelings. Given time, I'm certain I could change 'fairly smitten' to 'completely smitten.'"

He could seduce a nun, Alpin decided. He could connive his way into a cloister and have a whole order of religious brides renouncing their vows.

Feeling cross at herself for wanting him, she fought against the cravings he inspired. "What if you fall asleep and try to push me off the mattress again?"

His hand moved up her arm to her neck and, with the slightest pressure, began tugging her slowly toward him. "We'll just have to make certain I don't."

Knowing she was losing the battle with desire, she dragged her attention from his mouth and stared at the feather in his bonnet. "How?"

When their lips were inches apart, his hand stilled. "Use your imagination."

Over his shoulder she saw Alexander coming toward them. At his side walked a stranger in a subdued plaid of green, black, and yellow that she didn't recognize. Knowing that Malcolm couldn't see the men, she grew brazen. Wickedness forced her to say, "I could tie your arms and legs to the bed."

He raised his eyebrows and leered. "A truly adventurous proposition. I'd be helpless to prevent you from visiting any number of eroticisms on my naked body."

A delicious shiver coursed through her. "You're scandalous, Malcolm Kerr."

"Me?" he said, as innocent as a babe at christening. " 'Twas your idea, and a truly inventive one. I must say, I can't wait to try it."

The men drew closer, but Malcolm gave no sign that he heard them. Alpin couldn't resist saying, "The concept of being my love slave excites you?"

Laughter rumbled in his throat. "Take a peek up my kilt and you'll see just how much the idea excites me."

The challenge in his voice spurred her on. Knowing his body shielded her from view of the approaching men, she slipped her finger inside his boot and lightly scratched his calf. "I'd rather take off your kilt, but…"

He sucked air between his teeth, and his hand tightened on her neck. "But?"

Alexander cleared his throat. Malcolm stiffened and glanced over his shoulder.

"But unfortunately," Alpin continued, her voice dripping with honeyed regret, "there's no time. You have a guest."

Ignoring the intruders, Malcolm leaned close and whispered, "You're a wicked lass, Alpin MacKay."

Her heart thudding against her ribs, Alpin looked up at their audience. Alexander shuffled his feet. The stranger, a stocky man with red hair and a piercing gaze, stared at Alpin.

"Do you know what happens to wicked lassies?" Malcolm asked.

Swallowing back fear because she knew she might have goaded him too far, she licked her lips. "No, I don't. Tell me."

"I'll show you." He gave her an arch look. "Tonight."

He rose and by way of greeting said to the visitor, "Your visit had better be about the next shipment of salt. Come with me."

Leaving Alpin sitting in the garden, Malcolm and his guest walked to the castle. She glanced at Alexander, who frowned at his departing laird.

"Who is that man?" she asked.

The soldier pretended to spit on the ground. "A trouble-making Gordon, and no one you need concern yourself with."

"Why does he make trouble, Alexander?"

He pursed his lips, as if he'd said too much. "'Tisn't important, my lady."

"If it's not important, then why won't you tell me why he's here? And why was Malcolm so curt with him?"

Raking off his bonnet, Alexander rubbed his balding pate. "He buys Kildalton salt. I hear Fraser's making a hutch for your rabbit. I'll just see how it's coming along." He touched his forehead. "Good day, my lady." He marched off.

From his change of subject and abrupt departure she knew she'd have to learn the answers herself. A scan of the battlements showed no additional soldiers, so she assumed the stranger wasn't a threat to the security of Kildalton Castle. What, then, about his arrival had so disturbed Malcolm? Surely it wasn't salt.

Curious, she left the garden and went to the great hall, which was empty. She took a moment to admire the eight life-size portraits of the former earls of Kildalton, including one of Malcolm's father, the fair-haired Lord Duncan. Even now his hazel eyes looked down on her with kindness.

Then she went to Malcolm's study. The door was closed. She heard the muffled sounds of an argument, but they spoke in Scottish. If she sneaked into the tunnel to eavesdrop again, her entry would set off the warning bell. If she stood here, one of the servants might see her.

So she went to the staircase and examined the battle shields of the clans that had aligned themselves with the Kerrs.

The shield of the Gordon family was conspicuously absent.

Chapter Thirteen

Wondering when his guest would get to the point, Malcolm sipped his beer and watched John Gordon of Aberdeenshire pace the study. Arms clasped behind his back, he peered at the shelves of Roman helmets, spearheads, and pottery that Malcolm and his father had unearthed from the ruins near Hadrian's Wall. With a casual air, he perused the standing globe, gave it a departing spin, then moved on to the wall of paintings.

For a man planning the overthrow of one of the world's great monarchies, the Highlander seemed indifferent to the danger he courted and unaffected by the lives he risked. How, Malcolm wondered, could a man act so blasé while contemplating a declaration of war? Probably because the Gordon chieftain had spent most of his life in the scheming mews of Jacobite politics.

Whatever the case, Malcolm had no intention of broaching the subject first. His mind kept straying to Alpin. One night in his arms and she'd awakened a minx. He intended to give her every opportunity to explore her role as seductress—after his guest stopped prowling and started parleying.

"I don't remember Kildalton being so prosperous when your father ruled," Gordon said in Scottish.

Saladin dispatched their letters, and on occasion Malcolm traveled north to the Gordon stronghold in Aberdeenshire, but the last time this chieftain was invited to Kildalton, Malcolm had been a lad. "Times have changed in the Borders," he said. "My stepmother brought us peace."