Border Bride (43 page)

"Aye, but I didn't want to."

"Then why did you?"

"Because I love you."

She stiffened. "That's not the only reason."

"Nay, I feared for you."

"Because of that prince?"

He couldn't help but smile, for she relegated the hopes of the Jacobites and the pride of Scotland's greatest dynasty to a nameless title. "Aye. He wants to start a war in Scotland and take the crown for his father, James."

A frown marred her brow. "I hate Scottish politics."

With absolute honesty he said, "As do I."

The tension left her shoulders, and her hands relaxed. "Truly?"

He put his hand over his clan badge. "My word as a Kerr. However, I find myself interested in the politics of Barbados."

"You do?"

"Aye. Since it concerns you."

She began to pace. "I must free the slaves."

"Then you will. What can I do to help?"

She stopped and studied him, hope and doubt sparkling in her eyes. "Would you go there with me? Help me fight for their freedom?"

With two questions she had opened the door to their future. Malcolm held out his hand. "Is tomorrow soon enough?"

She lunged into his arms. "Oh, Malcolm. You'll like everyone at Paradise. Just wait till you meet Bumpa Sam and the others."

He listened as she spoke lovingly of the island folk and told stories of her life with people who obviously cherished her and depended on her.

Never had Malcolm felt so complete, so right with the world. He hugged her close. "I have only one stipulation. I refuse to name our firstborn son Bumpa Sam."

Her laughter sealed their fate and vanquished their foes. He pictured the sons and daughters she would give him; he imagined her guiding their children with kindness and love, molding them to be decent, honorable people. No man, he thought, had ever been given so rich a bounty as this slip of a woman with amethyst eyes and a heart as big as Scotland.

"Will you marry me in the church, Alpin MacKay? Will you stay with me through lean times and fat?"

Her palms felt warm on his cheeks and her eyes were luminous with adoration. "I'll love you always, Malcolm Kerr."

He kissed her then, and the promise that flowed between them foretold a future bright with laughter and warmed by enduring love.

Twenty minutes later they stood arm in arm on the castle steps. The carriage awaited. Salvador had said his good-byes and was already inside. A dozen Kerr clansmen, with Alexander at the head, milled around in the yard. Riders had been dispatched along the road to watch for the approaching soldiers. According to the last report, the Hessians had taken a wrong turn and were still hours away.

"I wish John Gordon could take the prince," Alpin said.

Malcolm realized that she, too, was concerned about Lady Miriam's safety.

"Salvador will be with her, and for all his courtly ways, he's as deadly with a sword as Saladin is."

Malcolm heard the rustling of fabric and turned. His stepmother and Bonnie Prince Charlie emerged from the keep.

Seeing the pride of Scotland dressed in a maid's gown of drab brown muslin, a coif pulled low over his forehead, Malcolm didn't know whether to laugh or weep. A stern look from his stepmother advised him to do neither.

"Come here, Mother." He held out his free arm.

She hugged him. "Worry not, son. I'll send Alexander back as soon as we've found a boat."

She seemed almost excited by the challenge ahead. Malcolm kissed her. "I love you, Mother."

She gazed fondly at Alpin. "You'll be here when I return?"

Uncertainty glimmered in Alpin's eyes. "Malcolm and I plan to travel to Barbados. He's going to help me free the slaves."

Lady Miriam grasped Alpin's hand. "Wait for me. I want to go with you. I've a hankering to dabble in island politics."

Malcolm pitied the men of Barbados, for his wife and his stepmother would make a formidable team.

Alpin glanced up at him, her brows lifted in question.

"'Tis up to you, sweetheart."

"We'll wait," she said.

"I love you both." Lady Miriam kissed them, then sailed down the steps and into the carriage.

The prince extended his hand. "Another time, my lord."

"Another time, my lord."

Fumbling with the unwieldy skirts, Charles Stewart lumbered into the carriage.

"Hold!" Saladin dashed outside, Elanna hanging on to his arm. "I'm going with you."

"You one crazy Muslim. This Ashanti princess forbids you to go."

Alarmed, Malcolm said, "You needn't go, Saladin. Salvador and Alexander will protect them. And if it comes to a fight, the prince is an expert swordsman."

Dislodging Elanna's hands from his shirt, Saladin wrapped an arm around her. "I do not go for that reason alone. This condescending, spoiled African princess will not marry me until she looks into the eyes of my father. I intend to find him."

Elanna hugged him. "I ask the gods to ride on your shoulders. You come back safe, plenty quick."

"I'll do my best." He extended his hand to Malcolm. "Keep her out of trouble until I return."

She huffed. Malcolm nodded and watched his longtime confidant salute the woman he loved, then climb into the carriage.

Alpin laid her head on his shoulder. "Won't the German soldiers be suspicious when they see my grandfather's soldiers here?"

Under normal circumstances the gathering would have been cause for alarm. But political woes were the farthest thing from Malcolm's mind at the moment. "Not if we invite them to the wedding."

She leaned back, and their eyes met. "What if the king protests our marriage?"

"Then we'll leave this place in my father's keeping and languish in Barbados until the king changes his mind."

Her arms circled his waist, and she sighed. "I love you, Malcolm Kerr."

As he held the woman he adored, he thought of the many roles she had played in his life and the parts she had yet to fill. A bright future unfolded before them, a time of peace and understanding, of companionship and enduring love.

From bestselling, award-winning author

Arnette Lamb comes her first medieval

Scottish romance.

Arnette

Lamb

Chieftain

1307 Scotland: Standing at her sister's deathbed,

Johanna Benison feels bound to build a future for her infant nephew. Knowing that England's King

Edward will execute the child's father, the feared

Scottish Chieftain, Drummond Mcqueen, Johanna assumes her sister's identity. But seven years later when Lord Mcqueen eludes the English axe and storms into Johanna's life, she fears he will discover her true indentity…

Available from Pocket Books

mid-February 1994

Pocket Books

Proudly Announces

CHIEFTAIN

Arnette Lamb

Coming from Pocket Books

Winter 1994

The following is a preview of

Chieftain
…

Scarborough Abbey

Summer 1300

Death stalked Clare Macqueen.

It dulled her honey-brown eyes and turned her skin waxy white. Even her flowing golden hair lost the luster of life. Usually tall and stately, she now seemed frail and childlike, swallowed by the narrow bed.

Shrouding the ache in her heart, Sister Margaret pressed a cool cloth to the scratches on Clare's cheek. "Are you in pain?"

"I cannot feel my legs. Are they broken?"

"Nay, child." The half-truth came easily, even to an abbess, for in two years fate had dealt this injured girl enough misery to last a lifetime. "You haven't skinned a knee."

A bittersweet smile curled Clare's lips. "You patched up enough of those. Every time Johanna and I climbed the harvest oak. Where is she?"

Sister Margaret's chest grew tight. Strong, capable Johanna. What would she do when she saw her sister, Clare? She'd fall prey to her temper, for she had always been Clare's champion. "She's stabling the horses and getting your servants settled in the guest cottage."

Clare's vision drifted out of focus. "A wolf spooked my mount. I fell."

The horse had trampled her spine. Once the inevitable infection set in, sweet Clare would die. Praise God it would be a painless passing.

Sister Margaret blinked back tears. "You couldn't know a beast lurked in the shadows."

"I should have stayed in the cart, but I wanted to ride."

At ten and seven, Clare was still more child than woman. Neither marriage nor motherhood had settled her restless spirit.

"Where is my son?" Clare asked.

"In the next room with Meridene. He's taken a liking to goat's milk."

"Meridene loves children. Her husband should fetch her. Tisn't fair that she was wed as a child, then brought here and forgotten."

"True, but Meridene's safe, just as you and Johanna are." Questions plagued Sister Margaret. "What of your husband?"

Tears pooled in Clare's eyes. "Taken by the king."

Edward I. The mere thought of him brought fresh pain to a wound seventeen years in healing. Sister Margaret clenched her teeth to stave off the ache. The walls of the infirmary faded, and she was once again a carefree Highland lass who'd caught the eye and inspired the passion of Alexander III, King of Scotland.

Oh, Alexander
, she lamented,
your merciful soul abides in these girls
. His complexity of character had been passed on to his fair daughters: Clare, with her penchant for game and glee, and Johanna, inspired by her dedication to love and law.

Through a haze of seasoned misery, Sister Margaret stared down at one of her two children, who both favored a Scottish king long dead.

"Did you hear me, Sister Margaret? The king ordered Drummond taken to the Tower of London."

Again and always Edward. Now that he'd vanquished Wales, the king had turned his armies and his wrath northward. The Hammer of the Scots, they called him. Clare's husband, Drummond Macqueen, was only the latest victim.

Sister Margaret cringed when she recalled the cruelty of which Edward the Plantagenet was capable. Upon the death of their father, Alexander, the twin girls had been condemned by Edward to the oblivion of this poor abbey in North Yorkshire. Only by taking the veil and swearing secrecy had Margaret been allowed to accompany her daughters.

Johanna and Clare knew nothing of their birthright, not even their family name. A pity, for their blood was as blue and their lineage as royal as any crowned at Westminster Abbey.

Thinking of that cruel deed, she feared for Clare's three-month-old son. "Will the king come for your boy?"

"Nay." Clare swallowed, fighting back tears. "Like everyone else, he thinks Prince Ned rather than Drummond Macqueen sired my child."

"Is it true?"

Transfixed by the tapestry on the far wall, Clare spoke softly and with great regret. "'Tis true I was unfaithful, but Drummond had already planted his seed. In exchange for my favors, the prince promised me he would go to his father. He said the king would spare Drummond." Her mouth pursed in disdain. "The pervert lied to me."

"So you were allowed to keep your son."

"Yes. The king gave me a writ granting us a demesne in Dumfries." Lifting a weak hand, she pointed to her traveling bag. " 'Tis in my pouch. Will you get it please?"

Sister Margaret retrieved the rolled parchment and read of the king's meager bequest and his condemnation of Clare's husband. "Why didn't you go to this place?"

"I know no one in the Borders, and the king forbade me to take any of Drummond's people. Not that they would've followed a known adulteress. Drummond denounced me publicly. I was ashamed, lonely, and afraid. I thought only of coming to you."

"Bless the Virgin you did. All will be well. Rest now."

Clare's eyes drifted shut. Sister Margaret expelled a breath and began to pray for the soul of her daughter.

Sometime later, she heard voices in the next room. Taking the royal scroll, she tiptoed from the infirmary and found Johanna and Meridene huddled around the baby's cradle.

Johanna looked up, her brown eyes clouded with concern. "How is she?"

"Dying."

Meridene gasped and scooped up the babe.

Making a fist, Johanna punched the air. "She shouldn't have ridden that trail at night. She knows better. What kind of a beast is her damned husband to have so little care of her?"

"Johanna!"

"Sorry, Sister Margaret." Johanna folded her arms at her waist, jostling the ring of keys that dangled from a leather thong.

At ten and seven, Johanna possessed a maturity beyond her years and a logic to rival any Oxford scholar. Although younger than Meridene and only five minutes older than Clare, Johanna had always been the leader.

"Where is her husband?" she asked.

Sister Margaret waved the parchment. "Lord> Drummond was taken by the king." She relayed Clare's tale of woe.

Her jaw taut with anger, Johanna held out her hand. "May I see what our generous sovereign has left her?"

Sister Margaret handed over the document and reached for the babe. Meridene kissed the boy's brow and placed him in Sister Margaret's arms. Her grandson, a handsome child with a grin as big as the Highlands. What would the future hold for him?

Johanna squared her shoulders and moved to the door. "I'll sit with her."

Sister Margaret visited Clare's servants, Mr. and Mrs. Stapledon. Two years ago, when the king himself had taken Clare to the Highlands to wed the dashing Scottish chieftain, she had convinced the Stapledons to come with her to her new home. But Macqueen Castle was now ruled by Drummond's younger brother.

Bertie Stapledon scratched his beard. "The king'll execute Lord Drummond, do ye see. What'll become of the babe then?"

A chill passed through Sister Margaret. "I do not know."

According to the writ, Lord Drummond's family was prohibited any congress with Clare or the child. Meridene would help Sister Margaret raise the wee Alasdair. Johanna was too busy overseeing the farmers and shepherds who occupied the abbey's land.