Border Bride (42 page)

In the darkened yard below, Alpin saw Malcolm, Lady Miriam, Saladin, Salvador, and Alexander walking toward the open gate. The twin brothers carried lanterns.

Not far beyond the wall, in the inner bailey, she saw two riders carrying torches and galloping toward the castle walls. The men wore bonnets and the distinctive plaid of the Gordons. Behind them rode their red-haired laird and half a dozen more of his clansmen. One of those men drew her eye. His fair hair flowed beneath a smartly cockaded hat. He was dressed like the others, but he seemed out of place.

Turning her attention to the welcoming party, Alpin was surprised to see Lady Miriam on the receiving end of Malcolm's wrath. He towered over her, his face taut with rage. Her red hair blazed in the lamplight, and she stared up at her stepson, her expression pleading, her hand on his arm as if to contain his obvious anger. Lady Miriam let go of him just as the Gordon outriders passed beneath the gate and approached the keep.

Alpin eased open the window, but the noise from the horses drowned out Malcolm's words. The visitors dismounted. Malcolm and the others stepped forward. When he reached the fellow with the plumed hat, Malcolm nodded in an oddly formal fashion, as did Alexander. Lady Miriam rushed forward, took the young gentleman's hand, and led him into the keep.

More puzzled than ever, Alpin dashed to the stairs. She heard Lady Miriam speaking French, but her tone was too low for Alpin to make out the words. The tramp of boots followed, and from the direction of the sound, she knew they'd gone to Malcolm's study.

As she made her way back to her room, Alpin saw her grandfather emerge from his chamber and stomp down the stairs. The guard outside her door paid no attention. Disgusted anew, Alpin went into her room and locked the door.

Then she opened the panel at the back of the wardrobe and stepped into the tunnel. Cool, stale air brushed her cheeks, and pitch darkness loomed ahead. Bracing her hand on the wall, she carefully made her way along the corridor to the circular steps that led down to the first floor. A guard had been posted in the tunnel earlier today. He was still there.

Cursing to herself, Alpin retraced her steps. Once in her room, she paced in agitation. Her grandfather had said John Gordon was on his way, so why did his arrival distress Malcolm? She didn't for a moment believe his ill temper stemmed from the interruption of their lovemaking. Then what had caused it? And why was her grandfather involved?

For the next hour she ransacked her memory, but she uncovered only scattered pieces of a puzzle. Treason had often been mentioned, but she didn't know enough about Scottish politics to draw a conclusion.

Why should she care? It amounted to another broken promise, another deception from her husband.

Wondering if Elanna was still awake, Alpin unbolted the door. The corridor was empty. Where had the guard gone? Probably to the privy.

She knocked on Elanna's door. It opened immediately. "What's going on?" Elanna said.

"I don't know. I thought you might."

"Muslim told me nothing except 'I'll be back.' Curse his committed soul."

An affronted Elanna had been cause for celebration among the slaves at Paradise; they swore that outrage stripped her of her royal air. Alpin agreed. "The guard is gone," she said.

Elanna stepped into the corridor and led Alpin to the stairs. "Shush," she said, tiptoeing down the steps.

The entryway was empty, too.

Excitement burst inside Alpin. Escape seemed possible. A part of her fought the notion, pleaded for her to stay. But the voices of the island called again and reminded her of the lies her husband had told. He had apprehended her before and seemingly with ease. She would probably fail in this attempt, too, but heaven help her, she had to try.

She pulled Elanna close and whispered, "You go into the kitchen and see if Rabby's still standing guard. I'll check the lesser hall."

Hope flickered in Elanna's eyes. "Maybe we go home?"

Love dragged at Alpin's heart. Duty and obligation pulled her another way. "Maybe so."

Elanna hugged her. "Bumpa Sam and the others, they need you."

"I know. Now hurry."

The merchantman
Brittany Bull
lumbered low in the water, the outgoing tide dragging at the mooring lines. Alpin and Elanna stood on deck near the gangway, their nervous gazes focused on the road leading to the neighboring port of Tynemouth. They'd left there two hours ago after booking passage on a ship bound for Calais.

They had escaped without a hitch. A full moon had aided their flight, and its reflection now shimmered on the surface of the sea.

Alpin's heart thundered in her chest, and her hands grew clammy on the rail. Any moment now the hands would cast off the lines and the ship would catch the tide.

Would Malcolm come for her? Surely he would. He'd throw his heart at her feet and ask again why she was trying to leave him. But this time he would truly want to know. She'd tell him of her commitment to the people of Paradise. He would listen and understand the dilemma that even now was ripping her apart. He'd sail with her to Barbados, call it a honeymoon.

"What's that?"

At the sound of Elanna's voice, Alpin again stared toward the road.

"Back there—in the water."

Alpin whirled and saw a frigate easing into port beside them. Hundreds of smartly uniformed soldiers filled the deck. Their voices carried across the water, but she couldn't understand their words, for they spoke in a foreign tongue.

As she listened to them, she was reminded of the cobbler in Bridgetown, a German.

Eager for a distraction, she crossed the deck to get a closer look. Not ten feet away, on the deck of the other ship, stood an officer wearing a battery of medals and braids. He unfurled a map and spread it on a barrel. One of his subalterns held up a lantern. They conferred.

Then she heard the man say, "Kil-dal-ton, here!" and point a gloved finger at the map.

Kildalton. Why would armed German soldiers go to Kildalton? Perplexed and suddenly frightened, she watched the officer bark out orders. The hold was thrown open. Horses were led on deck.

One thought kept flashing in her mind: her escape had been almost too easy, as if Malcolm wanted her to get away.

John Gordon had come in the middle of the night. Malcolm had been angry. Who was the young man in the cockaded hat? Why had there been no guards on the battlements? Why had the stables been left unattended?

Like icy fingers on her neck, danger gripped her.

"We're going back."

"What?" Elanna said.

"We must go back to Kildalton."

Now that his rage had simmered to gnawing disgust, Malcolm leaned back in his chair and watched his stepmother work her diplomatic magic.

Charles Edward Louis Philip Sylvester Casimir Maria, better known as Bonnie Prince Charlie, sulked, albeit with grace, in one of the wing chairs. Since Lady Miriam had worn his hostility down to a nub, John Gordon merely prowled the room. Comyn MacKay still fumed, but quietly.

For the benefit of the prince, Lady Miriam spoke in French. "I'm sure you will agree, Your Royal Highness, that while eagerly awaited by many, your visit seems ill timed for a precious few."

At age fifteen, the prince possessed an odd maturity. His calculating gaze skittered from Gordon to MacKay, then back to Lady Miriam. "They will support me in the Highlands."

Comyn MacKay shot to his feet. "You'll hang before you get there. How dare you come to Scotland with only John Gordon and a dozen of his clansmen?"

The prince smiled. "But you brought fifty of your soldiers for my escort."

"I did no such thing. I came here to find my granddaughter." He glared at Gordon. "And I resent being coerced and having the lass used for your purposes."

The lass. Loneliness twisted in Malcolm's gut. He quelled the ache with the knowledge that at least she was safely away from the trouble brewing at Kildalton.

"Now, gentlemen," Lady Miriam said, "we've already settled that. As I recall, Comyn, you accepted John's apology and perhaps taught him something about valuing women in the process."

Alpin's grandfather sat down again, but he was still plainly miffed at his fellow Highlander. Resentment shimmered in his eyes, and his back grew stiff with disdain. Malcolm was so reminded of Alpin that he grew melancholy again, and as Lady Miriam convinced the Stewart prince that a return to Italy was in his best interests, Malcolm damned himself for a fool and wished with all his heart he could have another chance to get her back. He had vowed to befriend her, but the moment they were alone his good intentions had yielded to his body's need for her. Letting her go had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. But she was safe.

The door banged open, and the object of his thoughts burst into the room.

All eyes turned toward her. Malcolm bolted to his feet.

"Malcolm!" Out of breath, her cheeks pink from the cool night air, Alpin rushed to his side. "Soldiers are coming here—German soldiers. They came by ship. To South Shields."

"Who is she?" said the prince.

"She's my wife," Malcolm said.

"The lass is my granddaughter," declared Comyn MacKay.

The danger came rushing back. Malcolm took her hands. They were ice cold. He rubbed them between his own. "Catch your breath, sweetheart. Mother, get her a drink."

While the men murmured, Lady Miriam poured Alpin a glass of brandy. "Here, Alpin."

She drank, but only a swallow. Clutching the glass and still panting, she said, "Why would German soldiers come here?" She surveyed the men in the room. "What have you done?"

Gordon cursed. The prince grew stiff with fear.

Comyn said, "I told you no good would come of this."

Lady Miriam said, "There's a perfectly good explanation."

"Oh, aye," said Comyn. "They've come for the Bonnie Prince, and they'll take all our heads as souvenirs."

"The prince?" Alpin frowned. "What prince?"

Malcolm said, "May I present Charles Edward Stewart." Then in French he said, "My lord, meet my wife, Alpin MacKay."

"Tell us about these soldiers," the prince said.

To his surprise, Alpin answered in French. "I know little, actually, Your Grace. They have a map, but I do not think they know exactly where they're going. I expect they're several hours behind me."

Real fear widened Charles's eyes, and he suddenly looked like the fifteen-year-old lad he was. "What will I do?" he asked Malcolm.

Malcolm had no intention of challenging the king's Hessians. Perhaps someday the battle to put a Stewart on the throne would be struck, but not now. The clans still fought among themselves, and until they unified, any attempt to dethrone the Hanoverians would be senseless.

Malcolm went to the door and called out to Alexander. He explained the situation. "Post a score of riders on the road to South Shields. I want to know exactly where those Hessians are at any moment."

"Aye, my lord." Alexander pivoted and marched away.

Malcolm stepped back inside his study and closed the door. "You must return to Italy," he said.

Prince Charles nodded. "But how?"

Lady Miriam stepped between them. "You're easily recognized even in that Gordon plaid."

"He could wear a disguise," said Alpin.

Malcolm pulled her into the circle of his arms and silently thanked a wayward prince for bringing her back to him one last time. "As a master of disguise, what do you recommend?"

She colored and shot him a look that promised further discussion, which he relished. Then she studied the prince. "We must be clever, but we must also get you away from here quickly. What about one of Mrs. Elliott's dresses?"

The war-trained prince nearly choked. "I cannot travel as a woman."

Lady Miriam beamed. "Yes, you can. 'Tis the safest way." She turned to Gordon. "John, go to the stables and have them ready my carriage." When he left, she turned back to the prince. "Come with me, your Royal Highness."

"Mother," Malcolm called after her, thinking of what his father would say about her plan. "'Tis too dangerous. Let Gordon take him."

"Do not worry. I've been in more perilous situations."

She probably had, but Malcolm couldn't bear the thought of risking her life. "I'll go with him."

"Nay," she said. "Salvador and I were to return to Italy anyway, and I know Whitley Bay and the people there. Any one of a dozen fishermen will take us willingly."

She had a point. "I've never won an argument with you anyway," he said, grumbling.

"'Tis the way it should be twixt mother and son."

Malcolm watched her lead the last Stewart prince out of the room.

Comyn planted his hands on his hips. "I'd like to know what you were doing in South Shields, lass."

She grew still. "I was going home to Barbados."

"Barbados?" he said, looking bewildered. "You're soon to be properly married, and you said you were selling that plantation."

Malcolm could feel her slipping away, but God help him, he had to defend her, even if it meant losing her. "I believe she was happy there before I meddled in her life and forced her to handfast herself to me."

Comyn's beard quivered. "You forced her?"

"Stop yelling over my head, both of you." Alpin stepped to one side.

Malcolm braced himself for the heartbreak of a lifetime.

When her eyes met his, he saw torment and strength.

"I was happy there," she said quietly, reasonably, yet her fists were knotted. "I had a good life with people who loved me and depended on me. I promised to free them, Malcolm, and I will, no matter what."

So, he thought, loyalty had been her driving force. He'd been absolutely wrong in his treatment and his judgment of her. Now he must make amends. "Will you excuse us, Comyn?"

Her grandfather touched her shoulder. "You're loved here, too, lass. I'll be at
your
side, no matter what."

She gave him a tentative smile. "Thank you, Grandfather."

Comyn glanced sternly at Malcolm, then left the room.

"You let me go this time, didn't you?" she said.