Border Bride (35 page)

Malcolm held out a chair at the table near the windows, then sat across from her. The first rays of sunlight accentuated the strands of silver that salted her red hair. At eleven years old, Malcolm had fallen in love with her, thought she was the only woman in the world for him. At twenty-eight, he thought the world a better place for her presence in it.

"Now that you've seen to the comfort of my rickety old bones, you can tell me how Alpin MacKay came to Scotland and ended up naked on the floor with you."

A fresh bout of embarrassment seized him. He cleared his throat. "She arrived from Barbados a couple of months ago."

"Why didn't you write it to me in your letter?"

At the time he'd written, he had justified the omission by telling himself the news would have complicated her mission in Constantinople. In actual fact, she was too skilled to be distracted, but the point was moot, for his plans for Alpin had taken a different turn.

Thinking of his handfast bride and how he'd acquired her, he decided one small lie would create a hundred truths. "I wanted to surprise you."

A frown marred the ivory smoothness of her forehead. "I am surprised. I thought you disliked her because you believed she made you sterile with those hornets years ago."

He'd wasted too much time on that emotion. "I love her to distraction, and now that you're home, I'll set a date for the wedding."

She gave him a rueful smile to let him know she hadn't missed his evasion about the hornet incident. Hell, his stepmother's perception was rivaled only by her perfect memory.

"Does Baron Sinclair know she's here?"

"Nay. He hasn't returned from Ireland and the company of his grandson."

"You'd never know he once abhorred children, especially Alpin," she said. "Why did she come back to Scotland?"

If half-truths were blessings, Malcolm had a foot in heaven's door. "Charles died."

She winced. "Oh, I'm sorry. Your father said the poor man never recovered from the tragedy of his wife's death." She stared at the Kerr family throne, a faraway look in her eyes. "Twenty-two years ago, Duncan gave Charles and Adrienne the money to escape Scotland and build a new life on that plantation. They were happy there, and they prospered, despite their disappointment over Adrienne's many miscarriages. They actually thanked us for sending them Alpin. She must be heartbroken."

Lady Miriam didn't know Malcolm acquired the plantation. The transaction had been a private matter, and she never interfered in his business. "Alpin's healing, Mother."

Her lips curved in a wry grin. "The men of clan Kerr have innovative ways of distracting their women. I'm glad you've put the past behind you. She didn't hurt you intentionally, and as I've said before, I doubt that you're sterile."

He was accustomed to her bluntness. He just didn't share her optimism on the matter of his siring children. "'Tis obvious you are wrong."

"Oh, posh. You never were one to dally 'round with the maids, and you cannot count mistresses, especially the ambitious Rosina. She, by the way, has turned her attention to a pair of Italians who look like throwbacks to the days of Roman centurions."

That didn't surprise Malcolm, considering the woman's appetites. He was pleased, though, that she'd found entertainment elsewhere.

But how would Miriam know? "Who told you about Rosina?"

"We were talking about Alpin. She was such an independent sprite. She didn't mean to hurt you."

A wave of guilt engulfed him. "I know. I'm just sorry it took me so many years to figure it out."

She gave his hand a motherly pat. "Your father will be very sad about Charles."

"Where is he?"

She drummed her fingers on the polished surface of the table. "He's in Italy—he and your sisters."

So that's how she'd found out about Rosina. "Why are they in Italy?"

"Because your beautifully rhetorical letter reached us a week before we left Constantinople. I thought it best to pop in on the prince across the water. I tried to talk young Charles out of coming to Scotland to reclaim the crown in his father's name."

The ramifications of such a venture were staggering. Malcolm glanced about the room to be sure they were still alone. An invasion could endanger the life of everyone from Cornish fishermen to the shepherds of the Orkney Islands. "I cannot believe the Bonnie Prince wants to come here."

Her lips tightened. "Believe it."

"But he cannot."

Pained tolerance squared her jaw and stiffened her neck. "So I advised him."

"And he didn't listen to you? Either he's half-witted or you're slipping, Mother."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "He's more stubborn than a sultan. That taste of battle he had last year at the siege of Gaeta made him eager to rouse his brother Scots. Then his mother died. I think he's angry at the world."

Through a haze of denials, Malcolm saw red. "What language does he intend to use to rally his countrymen? Italian? We speak that tongue often in Scotland, you know."

"A clever sarcasm, Malcolm." She glanced out the window. "Your sister Anne is teaching him Scottish."

Malcolm's temper exploded. He stood, knocking his chair to the floor. "That twit. How could you let her do such a thing?"

The sleuthhound bolted across the room to Lady Miriam's side. "Everything's fine, boy. Lie down." She stroked the dog's long ears and burnished red coat. "Redundant is very protective of me."

Regretting his outburst, Malcolm picked up the chair and sat down again. "He looks a bit thin."

Tears misted her eyes. "Redundant is not the traveler my Verbatim was."

Everyone in the family had loved the old female dog, and when she died they all had grieved, but none more than Lady Miriam. To ease her pain, Malcolm said, "Of all her offspring only Redundant inherited her tracking skills."

"Aye," she said, casting off sorrow as easily as another woman would throw off a cloak. "He's even better on a scent than she was. Poor thing. He's been confined for months."

"I'll take him hunting."

"Good. Where were we?"

"As if you'd forget," he chided. "You were about to tell me why my impetuous sister Anne is tutoring Charles Stewart."

"You needn't take up the office of outraged older brother. Your father is chaperoning them." She laughed. "You should see him standing over them, his hands clasped at his back, his posture as stiff as Dora's apron. Duncan's quite righteous in the role of duenna."

Malcolm chuckled, which he suspected was her plan. "I'll be sure to tell him you said so."

"If you do," she warned, "I'll tell Alpin about the time Angus MacDodd caught you spying on him and Alexis Southward. He scared you so badly you wet your breeches."

Shame, as only a mother could inspire it, made him cringe. "I yield to the more devious mind, and propose a truce."

She held out her hand. "How novel and original of you to propose a treaty to me."

She had spent her childhood at court and her adult life in the diplomatic corps. But still she had a sense of humor. "What can I do to help with the Stewarts?" he said.

"Pray that the impetuous prince changes his mind or that his father forbids him to make war."

"Have you spoken with James?"

"Yes. He sided with me, but I fear Lord Lovatt and Murray are too influential with our young Stewart warrior."

"What will you do?"

"I'll go to the Highlands and talk with Gordon and the other clan chiefs. If I cannot dissuade them, I'll go to France and speak with King Louis. He's listened to me before. I'll try to change his mind about financing a Stewart invasion. 'Tis unthinkable, truly."

"Does Queen Caroline know?"

"I'm certain she's unaware of it now, but there's much intrigue among the Jacobites in Italy. I wouldn't be surprised if someone leaks the news to her or Walpole."

"You'll make John Gordon see the error of his ways. I have complete faith in you, Mother."

"Thank you, but I'll tell you a secret, Malcolm." Her businesslike mien faltered, and he saw a glimpse of the loving mother who had tended his scraped knees and brightened life's disappointments. "I'm weary of spending my time preventing arrogant men from doing their worst. 'Tis the ordinary people who suffer for the arrogance of the nobility."

She did appear tired. Faint circles shadowed her eyes, and she lacked the vibrancy that was her hallmark. "How long since you had a good night's sleep?"

"Since I last saw your father." She sighed and, with a skill that never ceased to amaze him, rose above her exhaustion.

"I insist"—her hand slapped the table—"that you tell me more about my new daughter-in-law."

He could have talked for hours, purged his soul of sinful lies, and expounded on the rewards of romantic bliss. Who better to hear his confession than the only mother he'd ever known? His conscience answered: the only woman he'd ever loved.

He chose the information about Alpin that would most interest Lady Miriam. "John Gordon is certain that Alpin is Comyn MacKay's long lost granddaughter. He says she looks just like him."

Interest sharpened her keen gaze, and he realized she was looking not at him but over his shoulder. "That would certainly explain the baron's dislike for her and his eagerness to send her to Barbados. He hated anything and everyone Scottish back then. I'll tell you this, Malcolm. You had better wish on your lucky star and pack away the breakables," she said quietly, "when Comyn MacKay sets eyes on her."

Malcolm swiveled and saw Alpin standing in the doorway, her hair perfectly plaited and coiled at the crown of her head. She wore a lavender gown that turned her eyes to twinkling amethyst jewels.

His heart bursting with love, he beckoned her to them. Then he turned back to Lady Miriam. "Do you also think she looks like Comyn MacKay?"

Her gaze trained on the approaching Alpin, his stepmother whispered, "Is the King German?" Then in a louder, casual tone, she feigned friendly conversation. "Verbatim did love to travel…"

Chapter Eighteen

As Alpin neared the table she heard Lady Miriam say "verbatim." It was the first big word Alpin had learned. At the time she had been awed by the beautiful lady who knew so many fancy words she could give them away to dogs.

But Alpin was no longer an impressionable illiterate child. She was a woman who had succeeded in her mission. Neither her handfast husband nor England's most illustrious ambassador could prevent her from returning to Paradise.

Reaching the table, she saw the marquetry box in Lady Miriam's possession. After Malcolm had fallen asleep last night, Alpin had read the contents. Although she didn't understand all of the notes begun by Lady Miriam and continued in Malcolm's distinctive hand, she knew trouble was afoot. John Gordon of Aberdeenshire was behind it. The Kerrs were trying to foil it. Alpin MacKay wanted no part of it.

She curtsied. "Hello, my lady."

Malcolm's stepmother rose and embraced her. "Please, call me Miriam. The Kerrs never stand on ceremony." Leaning back, she smiled fondly. "We have always considered you one of us."

The rhetoric stung. As a child Alpin had lived on the fringe of this family. When life at Sinclair Manor turned unbearable, she always sought shelter here at Kildalton. Before being discovered, she had knelt by her straw pallet in the windowless tower room, said her prayers, and promised to be a good girl if only God would give her kind people of her own. He had; they were waiting for her half a world away.