Border Bride (33 page)

He gave a contented grunt and sipped the brandy. "This year our profits should be greater. We had ample rain and plenty of fertilizer from the cattle."

She seized an opening. "What if someone inquires about purchasing some of the animals while you're away?"

"I doubt anyone will, but you can tell them to come back next month."

Small talk was getting her nowhere. Finesse was what she needed. "I suppose you think I couldn't sell a cow."

He began working her skirt up to her knee. "I
suppose
you could sell a coal mine to Newcastle."

If she owned a blasted coal mine, she wouldn't be pregnant and in love with a man who wanted her only for bed sport and political gain. "You're just flattering me because you managed to get out of shopping for a proper gift for your bride."

He almost choked. "I knew you wanted something from me, other than a reunion with the MacKays. What is it?"

He was the one who wanted the meeting, not Alpin. Following her plan, she made light of the question. "It was a jest, Malcolm. I have all I need, except enough work to keep me busy."

"That'll change soon, for all of us."

He referred to the harvest. "Not for me, if all I have to do is cook and turn away cattle buyers." She snapped her fingers. "Oh, I almost forgot. You were going to show me the letter from Codrington." She held her breath, hoping he would take the bait.

"What does that have to do with keeping you busy?"

"Well…" She rubbed his neck. "Since I know more about the plantation than you do, you could give Paradise to me for a wedding gift."

His hand went still. Her skirt fell back into place, covering her knee. "Why do you want it?"

Honesty came easy. "I was raised there, Malcolm. I know the slaves as well as you know your soldiers. I couldn't live with myself if the new owner mistreated them."

"They were kind to you?"

She tamped back a burst of homesickness and love. "Very much so, and I'm afraid a stranger would take advantage of them. You can't imagine how wretchedly some slaves are treated."

"Then tell me."

"The women are encouraged to breed, and not always with other slaves. On some plantations the children bear a striking resemblance to the master."

"That's disgusting."

"Yes, but it gets worse. Oftentimes little children are taken from their mothers and sold. Imagine a man siring a child, then selling it to his neighbor."

"Aren't there laws dictating humane treatment of slaves?"

"White men make the laws and the profits. But those abominations have never occurred at Paradise, and if you'll give me the authority and the responsibility, I'll keep it a decent place."

"You never could abide any creature being mistreated, could you, Alpin?"

She tucked the compliment away; she'd have a lifetime of lonely nights to remember his words of praise. "There's another reason." Again she waited, for this was her most persuasive argument.

"I'm listening."

She had rehearsed the words; distancing herself from the sentiment they evoked posed a challenge. "You once told me that I resented you because you were born to wealth and position and I was born to poverty. At first I denied it, but now I have to agree that you were right."

An eerie calmness surrounded him. "You no longer resent me for my birthright?"

Borrowing one of his rejoinders, she said, "You could hardly call my attitude toward you this morning resentful."

He chuckled. "True, and in light of what you've told me, I'll give you Paradise for your wedding gift."

She had to bite her lip to keep from shouting with glee. Paradise would be hers. With the papers in hand, she would return to the safety of her island home. No one could stop her. No one could take her property away again. With the help of her friends, she would raise her child there. Malcolm could wed his Highland heiress.

She fought off a stab of jealousy. "Perhaps I'll have a daughter someday. The plantation could be her dowry."

He jumped from the chair, almost knocking her to the floor. " 'Tis a bit early for such talk."

Gaining her balance, she stood, transfixed by his odd behavior. He seemed distant, enraptured by the family portrait on the far wall.

At length she said, "But the subject of children is important. What if I do not conceive? You'll still be obligated to provide Kildalton an heir. What will become of me then?"

He whirled to face her, a hard edge to his features. "We needn't discuss this now."

"Quite the contrary."

"Leave it, Alpin," he growled.

Baffled by his sudden anger, she forced herself to be reasonable. "Look, Malcolm. If I had my own means, you wouldn't be troubled to look after me."

"By 'means,' you refer to the proceeds from the sale of Paradise plantation?"

She had no intention of selling it, but he needn't know that. Once he'd signed over the property to her, she could relax. The day the harvest began, Alpin MacKay would begin her own voyage—home.

Her plans made and her destiny within reach, Alpin said, "Yes. Having resources of my own is important to me. Can you understand that?"

"Aye. You shouldn't feel like a poor relation in this marriage."

Actually she felt like a pawn, but she would exit this marriage with her future assured and the wonderful gift of a child. "Will you draw up the paperwork now? That way I can answer Codrington's letter tomorrow." If she couldn't devise a way to escape quickly, she'd write another letter, to the governor of Barbados, informing him of the transfer of ownership and her plan to return to the island.

"If it will make you happy, Alpin, I'll do it." Malcolm left the room.

Too excited to move, she counted his departing footsteps, heard the smooth rhythm of his bootheels on the stairs. But she had looked up there, searched their room from top to bottom. Curiosity overrode her enthusiasm, and she raced to the door. Peeking around the corner, she saw him disappear down the hall leading to his parents' bedchamber. So that was where he kept the papers. She hadn't thought to look there.

Then she realized it didn't matter where he'd hidden the documents; only getting them in her possession did.

He returned with a box under his arm. The wooden surface had been richly worked in marquetry. Easing into the chair behind his desk, he handed her Codrington's letter, then began penning the official transfer. He looked troubled and she wondered why, but she was too excited to dwell on his mood.

According to Codrington, activities on the plantation were going well under the supervision of Henry Fenwick. Alpin relaxed.

Once the deed was written, he offered her the quill.

"Why are you nervous?" he asked.

Concentrating hard, she willed her hand to stop shaking long enough to sign her name. "Because I've never owned anything before."

"Well, you do now." His smile was forced, his voice stiff.

From the box he produced several tally sheets she herself had written over the years. Charles had insisted the accountings were for his own use. Now she knew he'd begun sending them to Malcolm five years ago after he transferred ownership of the plantation.

She held the papers loosely, although she wanted to clutch them to her breast and dance around the room.

"Alpin, there's something I want to tell you."

He seemed so serious. Thinking he would lecture her on the responsibilities of being a landowner, she put the papers on his desk. "Not now, Malcolm. Let's toast our marriage."

He tapped his teeth together, a sure sign that he was troubled. " 'Tis important to our marriage, what I have to say."

"And bad news, from the look on your face. Leave it for now. Please. Let's celebrate our good fortune."

He stared at the other documents in the box, his indecision obvious.

Her heart bursting with joy, she sat on the rug before the hearth. "Come sit beside me," she said, "and bring the brandy with you. I'm eager to hear all about those cattle you sold today."

"'Twould bore you to tears, Alpin."

He seemed miles away, even as he crossed the room and dropped down beside her. Or perhaps it was just that she was so happy.

Determined to cheer him up, she said, "Then tell me how Saladin plans to get his sword back from the barkeep."

"MacGinty never intended to keep it. He was afraid Saladin would use it on someone. God, he was a sight drunk, wasn't he?"

She elbowed him in the ribs. "You made quite a picture yourself."

He glanced down at her, challenge glittering in his eyes. "I wasn't that drunk."

"Of course not. You always stumble up the stairs and fall asleep in your clothes."

"Did you take them off me?"

"Yes, and it took me ever so long to get you naked."

"Was that before or after you tied me up?"

"I'm not telling."

"I could make you."

"How?"

He pulled her across his lap and leaned close. "I could start by carrying you upstairs and stripping
you
naked."

Desire swirled inside her. She would leave him soon, so why not enjoy his passion while she could? She could also examine the contents of the box. Surely Charles's letter was there. Inhibitions gone, she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Let's sleep here. Then you cannot push me off the bed."

"I'm sorry, Alpin."

"Apology accepted. Just lock the door."

"No one will come in without first knocking."

"No one?"

His intense gaze roamed her face. She saw herself reflected in his eyes and wondered if he would truly miss her. Her heart ached at the thought that he might not.

He smiled that endearing grin she hoped God would bequeath to her child. "No one," he murmured, "except my family, and we needn't worry about them."

Then he kissed her, his lips soft and persuasive, his arms a strong and comfy cradle. The kiss inspired a new intimacy, a contentment born of two souls searching for oneness in this space in time. Then she felt a familiar yearning that seemed to bind her fully to him and spawn dreams of a future that would never unfold. She threaded her hands in his hair, mapping the shape of his head, committing to memory the rich texture of his hair, his high brow, and the slight indentation at his temples. Even as her need for him grew and she anticipated the pleasure they would share, her mind envisioned the child they had created.

No longer fettered by the constraints of an uncertain future, she felt free to explore him, to take the lead. With the same attention to detail he'd practiced on her since the first night they'd made love, Alpin hugged him close and spread kisses over his face, his neck, and the shell of his ear.

His breathing turned raspy. Against her cheek, he said, "If my gift inspired such wifely devotion, I'll be certain to give you presents every day of the year."

Ignoring the reference to a permanence they would never achieve, she whispered in his ear. "It wasn't your generosity, but you. Please love me, Malcolm."

He groaned and removed her clothing with the skill and speed of a man with no time to lose. Then he laid her down on the soft rug and lavished her breasts with slow, wet kisses, teasing the sensitive sides and grazing the nipples with his tongue and the tantalizing edge of his teeth. When at last he set to suckling her properly, she cried out and hugged him to her.

The familiar ache deep in her belly turned to a raging need. Reaching down, she rucked up his tartan and, with both hands, caressed him, learning the different textures of his sex, the soft, weighty sacks, the velvety skin that encased his steely maleness, the crowning glory that had touched her intimately.

His mouth went still on her breast. She looked down at him and beheld a man deep in the throes of absolute pleasure. His eyes were closed but not tightly shut, his mouth was open but not slack. Seeing him thus and knowing she'd brought him to such a state of arousal, she grew bolder in her handling of him. She coddled him with her palm and brushed him with the pads of her fingers; she lightly grazed his length with the tips of her nails.

He gasped and his eyes flew open; then his luminous brown gaze focused on her. "I think," he said, "you had better stop."

Feeling spunky, she winked. "But I like it."

He grinned. "Have your way with me, then, Alpin, but be forewarned: I shall retaliate in kind."

The picture wouldn't form, so she continued her ministrations. "Wouldn't you rather kiss me than threaten me?"

"Oh, aye, love. But—"

Then his eyes did squeeze shut and his jaw went tight with tension, and instinctively she knew he was fighting the demon that was himself, the demon that she had aroused.

Suddenly he jerked away and tore at the buttons on his shirt, almost ripping the fabric.

Lying naked before him, lazily watching his frantic movements, Alpin felt a devil invade her mind. "I feel like a lusty proclivity."

He laughed. "Oh, you are. No doubt about that, and as soon as I get out of my regalia, I'll show you how much I appreciate your new station in life."

As innocent as a virgin, she said, "But we haven't had dessert. It's on the table."

Still clothed from the waist down, he paused and shot her a look that promised retribution. As if he had all the time in the world, he forgot about removing his garments and knelt between her legs. "Nay, mine's right here."

Then he caressed and loved her in a way that defied her imagination and made child's play of her preconceived notions about physical love.

She fell asleep in his arms, his tartan wrapped around them for warmth and modesty.

Through a heavy blanket of sleep, Malcolm felt a raspy wetness on his cheek. Instinctively he drew up his arm to shield his face. Alpin lay nestled against his side. The floor of the study felt solid at his back. He heard an impossibly familiar whimpering and sensed movement in the room.

Flint struck steel. Light blossomed behind his desk, followed by a female gasp. Craning his neck he focused on the dog. His heart sinking with embarrassment, he lifted his gaze to the woman who stood before him.

Lady Miriam MacDonald Kerr.

Her blue eyes flamed with motherly outrage. "That naked brunette had better not be Jane Gordon."