Border Lord (37 page)

He slid her a sideways glance. Smiling crookedly, he said, "He got himself hooked by a red-haired Scotswoman who's too smart for her own good."

Laughter brought tears to her eyes. "I'm not certain if that's a compliment."

He leaned over her, his powerful shoulders blocking out the light, his hands bracketing her head. "Then be certain of this, Miriam MacDonald. I love you as I love Scotland. I'm a sorry wretch who doesn't deserve you, and if you'll but give me the chance, I'll spend the rest of my life making you happy. Marry me."

Joy curled in her belly and tightened her womb. "I'm pregnant."

He flashed a broad smile. "I know. I've been watching you from a tunnel behind that wardrobe. I saw you crying the day I gave you the tartan."

She remembered the pain, the loneliness. "You hurt me."

"Aye. I'm sorry for that, too. 'Twas the poorest piece of work I've ever done." He lay beside her and spread his hand over her stomach. "Will you forgive the miserable father of this remarkable babe?"

She'd start apologizing herself if he didn't stop being so sweetly charming. "You have no idea if she'll be remarkable or rotten. Stop dodging my questions."

"She?"

Miriam couldn't help but smile at his astonished tone. "You're dodging again."

With his lips a breath away from hers, he said, "Aye, 'tis a fault for sure."

"Wait! No kissing yet. You have a lot of explaining to do."

He fell back against the pillow. "All right."

"Did you know how to wield a sword before I came here?"

"Aye. The Grand Reiver insisted I learn."

She could imagine how cruel the lessons had been. "Do you fence?"

"I wilna tell you. But after the bairn comes, you can challenge me and find out."

"You could learn between now and then."

"I promise," he whispered, "never to be out of your sight."

Happiness purled inside her. "Does Malcolm know you're the Border Lord?"

"Nay."

"What will he say about us?"

Duncan chuckled, his breath caressing her ear. "He'll probably revive the archbishop of Canterbury, turn the chapel into Westminster Abbey, and insist on performing the ceremony himself."

She shivered and snuggled closer. "Seriously."

"He'll be excited, Miriam. He needs you almost as much as I do."

"Then let's tell him now."

He groaned. "I had other plans for the evening. Besides, he's playing sentry in the kitchen."

The thief. "I wonder who's stealing the food."

His arms grew taut. "Alpin is. She stowed away in the sleigh. I thought you knew."

"How did you find out?"

"I almost knocked her down in the tunnel. She's hiding in the tower room waiting for her Night Angel to rescue her."

The candle sputtered, casting shadows on his face. "The Border Lord," she said.

"Aye. Adrienne asked me to watch out for the lass. She's so headstrong. Compared to her, you're malleable, love."

"Oh, really?"

He pulled her over him. "Aye, and don't get huffy with me."

A lifetime of happiness loomed before her. "What will you do?"

Smiling, he said, "This…"

Then his mouth touched hers and she forgot bumbling earls and dark strangers and kissed Duncan Andrew Ian Armstrong Keir, the man she loved.

A week later Duncan strolled into the keeping room and sat in his favorite chair. Miriam had insisted he return the Kerr throne to the dais where it had stood since the first earl of Kildalton swore fealty to the first Stewart king of Scotland.

The ancient wood felt warm and satiny to the touch. Duncan surveyed the empty room until his gaze fell on the portrait of his father. Love, hatred, and regret seared him.

"Banish that thought, my lord!"

Covered from neck to toe in a fur-lined robe of soft blue velvet, her glorious hair trailing to her waist, her face flushed from the cold, Miriam stood in the doorway. "Alexis and Angus are coming."

Hatred and regret fled. Duncan patted the arm of his throne. "Good. Sit with me."

She hesitated, then pulled a beribboned document from beneath the robe. "I sent Alexander to meet them. He brought me this."

Duncan saw the royal seal. It was broken. Anne had exercised her divine right. Miriam already knew what the queen had decided. He looked deeply into Miriam's eyes but could not read her thoughts. Struggling to keep the fear from his voice, he said, "Has she ordered me to give up Malcolm?"

Miriam glided toward him. "No. Should you change your mind about fostering your son, you'll decide where he's to go. Her Majesty has also ordered the baron to make restitution for all the farms he's burned and the lives he's taken."

Weak with relief, Duncan slumped against the high back of the family throne. Through misty eyes he watched her ascend the dais, the lovely woman who had stolen his heart, the brilliant diplomat who had secured his future. "Thank you," he whispered, and pulled her onto his lap.

She gazed up at him, her gray eyes glittering with love. "I've brought you something else."

I'm a happy, lucky fellow, he thought, knowing he would bask for the rest of his days in the glow of her love. "What?"

Slipping the queen's official writ beneath the sash of his tartan, Miriam clapped her hands. "Sir Francis…" she called out.

Malcolm, in the guise of Sir Francis Drake, complete with ruff, padded doublet, and a painted-on mustache and pointy beard, shuffled into the room carrying one end of a long, covered box. Alpin, wearing a new jerkin and leather trews, carried the other end. They struggled with the cumbersome package, then set it on the floor. Something in the box moved.

Duncan bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. Glancing down at the love of his life, he anticipated mischief. The twinkle in her eyes confirmed it. "What have you brought me?"

She rolled her head toward Malcolm and nodded. With a flourish, the boy whipped the drape off the box.

"Peacocks, my lord," Miriam said. "I remember how much you wanted them."

Once he had cursed her dratted memory. Now it would be the keeper of all their yesterdays and the harbinger of all their tomorrows.

POCKET STAR BOOKS PROUDLY PRESENTS

TRUE HEART

Arnette Lamb

Coming mid-December from Pocket Star Books

The following is a preview of

True Heart
.…

Rosshaven Castle

Tain, Scottish Highlands

Spring 1779

"You didn't for a moment think I believed you asked me into the stables to show me a new horse."

Even after all these years, Juliet brought out the rogue in Lachlan. He took her hand and pressed her palm against his cheek. "What I have in mind is infinitely more entertaining than a foal."

Her interest engaged, she lifted her brows. Her fingers traced his mouth. "Which is why you brought me to the loft."

Her familiar scent softened the robust aroma of freshly mown hay. Her touch did more earthy things to his sense of decorum. "Why I brought you up here is a surprise."

"I see." She licked her lips. "You
intended
to wrinkle my dress and muss my hair?"

"Aye. The first before I ravished you, the second
while
I ravished you."

Always the grand skeptic, she said, "A husband cannot ravish his own wife…" She had more to say, but she'd make him wait. Juliet had helped Lachlan raise Agnes, Sarah, Lottie, and Mary. But respect and love for his four bastard daughters only scratched the surface of her generosity. She'd given him four more daughters and an heir. He loved Juliet more today than when she'd placed his son in his arms. At sunrise next, he'd love her more still.

Touching her was a pleasure he couldn't deny himself now that they were alone. "In the event you've lost the gist of the conversation, you were holding forth on the issue of whether a husband may ravish his wife."

"The word 'holding' distracts me." She glided her hand down over the placket of his breeches and made a carnal image of the ordinary word. "Tell me why there is a satin pillow beneath the hay." She flicked her very arresting gaze to the spot where roof met wall.

Lachlan chuckled. "If you hope to tease me with conversational detours, you'll go wanting for that, love. Not even a bolster of gold could distract me at the moment."

Her supple fingers began a dangerous rhythm, and her voice softened to an enticing purr. "Pondering two things at once is surely manageable for a man of your invention."

Desire thrummed in his chest, rang in his ears. On a shallow breath, he said, "You, on the other hand, are not completely captivated."

With her free hand she cupped his neck and pulled him closer. "I've been captivated since the winter of sixty-two."

The occasion of her entry into Lachlan's life and the genesis of his true happiness. For hours he'd anticipated this time alone with her. Their eldest, Virginia, was betrothed this very day to Cameron Cunningham, a lad they favored. Their son Kenneth would foster soon with Cameron's parents, Suisan and Myles. Lachlan's elder daughters were seventeen years old and planning their own futures.

For now, time alone with Juliet was a luxury to Lachlan, but in a few years he'd have her all to himself. This afternoon's tryst was a gift he intended to savor. Teasing her was a part of their lovers' game.

He plucked a straw from her hair. "But coherent thought is ever your constant companion, no?"

"Not always."

"Let's see about that." Gaze fixed to hers, he kissed her. Her brown eyes glittered with pleasure and desire smoldered in their depths. A sense of belonging swamped him, and as he deepened the kiss, he wondered for the thousandth time what great deed he'd done to deserve this woman. With a sweetness that always thrilled him, she returned his ardor and fired it with her own.

In the distance he heard the happy sound of childish laughter. Juliet heard it too, but that was the way of mothering with her. Even in the crowd at Midsummer Fair she could discern the voices of her own children.

"Which of our brood is so joyous? Cora?" He spoke of their youngest daughter.

"Kenneth. Agnes must be tickling him."

"I'll be glad when his voice changes."

"Will you rejoice when Agnes flies the nest?"

"Aye and nay. 'Tis dear Sarah I worry over more."

"Not our newly betrothed Virginia?"

Juliet's first daughter was unlike any of his other children. She'd been strongly influenced by her four older sisters. From Lottie she'd learned grace and stitchery. At Mary's hand she'd perfected an artist's skill. From Sarah she'd gained a love for books and law. From Agnes she'd learned too much cunning and bravery.

"Now who's distracted?" Juliet teased.

Lachlan moved closer. She winced and shifted.

"Uncomfortable?" he asked.

She gave him a look of tried patience. "No. But a pillow would be nice."

That mysterious pillow again. An odd jealousy stabbed him. He couldn't own her every thought. She was curious about the pillow and wouldn't leave the subject alone. He reached for the item in question and held it so they could both inspect it.

Embroidered in satin thread were the words "We love you, Papa."

Juliet said, "Only Lottie's stitches are so finely done."

Lachlan eased the pillow beneath her head. "Never will I understand the female mind."

"We are cerebral creatures, even in our stitchery."

They'd plowed this conversational field often over the years. "Cerebral." He pretended to ponder it. "For a thinker you're doing some very earthy things with your other hand."

"Then I'll allow you a moment to gather your priorities."

"Gather holds great appeal." Which is what he did to her skirts, moving his hand up her thighs. He found bare skin. "No underthings? You're bold, Juliet."

She fairly preened. "The last time you lured me into the stables you took my underclothing and wouldn't give them back. Agnes made a show of returning the garments to me."

Two months to the day after Kenneth had been born, Lachlan had enticed his wife into the loft.

They'd spent the day loving, laughing, and napping in their pursuit of happiness. She was the sun to his day. The moon to his night. The joy to his soul. The love in his heart.

He pressed her back into the soft hay. "We were also interrupted that day."

The interruption had come when she'd asked him to give her another child. He'd refused. She'd respected his wishes.

" 'Twas a rough argument 'tween us." She mimicked his Scottish speech, but beneath the mockery lay regret, for she'd carried his children with ease and birthed them with joy. Five babes of her own had not been enough for his Juliet. Counting his illegitimate daughters, nine children were plenty for Lachlan.

"You're wonderful," he said.

"I thought I was the moon to your night."

"Aye, you are."

"The rain in your spring?"

"And the skip in my step."

She pretended to pout. "The thorn in your side?"

He blurted, "The bane of this loving if you laugh like that again."

She giggled low in her belly, more dangerous than full out laughter. Still in the throes of mirth, she said, "Do you recall the morning I seduced you in Smithson's wood house?"

He did. "Hot house better describes it. Actually I was remembering the time you tied me to the bed at Kinbairn Castle."

"You made a delicious captive, except for that one request you refused me."

Had she been cunning, Juliet could have gotten herself with child that day, for she had ruled their passion. "I prevailed."

"A winning day for both of us, but—" Something caught her attention. "Look." She pointed to the ceiling.

Craning his neck, Lachlan saw a piece of parchment secured to the rafter with an arrow. Printed on the parchment in Sarah's familiar handwriting were the words, "We love you, Mama."

Fatherly love filled him. Knowing he'd bring Juliet here, the lassies had left the pillow so he could see the affectionate words. Mary, the best archer of the four, had secured the note in a spot where Juliet couldn't miss it. Even though she wasn't their mother, they thought of her that way. But the positioning of the messages left no doubt that the girls knew that Lachlan and Juliet were making love in the loft.

On that lusty thought, he burrowed beneath her skirts and feasted on her sweetest spot.

Too soon she tugged on his hair. "Please, love."

He growled softly, triggering the first tremor in her surrender to passion. The beauty of her unfettered response moved him to his soul. But when she quieted, he eased up and over her, wedging himself into the cradle of her loins. His own need raging, he entered her, but not quickly or deeply enough, for she lifted her hips and locked her legs around him.

Lust almost overwhelmed him. "Say you're wearing one of those sponges." The sponges were the second most dependable way to control the size of their family.

Her slow smile struck fear in his heart. She wasn't wearing the sponge. If she moved so much as a muscle below the waist, he'd spill his seed, weighing the odds that she'd conceive again.

With his eyes he told her no.

Juliet's smile turned to resignation, and she mouthed the words, no ill feelings, love. He didn't need to hear the sound of the words; he'd heard them many times in the last three years. She waited until he'd mastered his passion. Then she reached into her bodice and retrieved a small corked bottle. With a flick of her thumb, she sent the cap sailing into the hay. The smell of lilac scented water teased his nose.

To tease her, he plucked up the wet sponge. "Excuse me for a moment." He put the sponge between his teeth, leered at her, and again burrowed beneath her skirts.

Primed, sleek, and ready, she awaited him. In his most inventive move to date, he inserted the sponge, then brought her to completion a second time.

"I want you now," she said between labored breaths.

Obliging her came easy to Lachlan. Just when he'd joined their bodies again and began to love her in earnest, voices sounded below.

"You must let me go with you," said a very disgruntled Virginia.

Lachlan groaned. Juliet slapped a hand over his mouth.

He knew to whom Virginia was speaking: her betrothed, Cameron Cunningham.

Hoping they wouldn't stay long, Lachlan returned his attention to Juliet.

Praying for patience, Cameron followed Virginia into the last stall.

She stopped and folded her arms. "Why can't I go with you?"

The greatest adventure of his life awaited Cameron. Years from now, after they were married, he'd sail around the world with her. For now, reason seemed prudent. "'Twouldn't be proper."

"Proper?" Her dark blue eyes glittered with temper, and her pretty complexion flushed with anger. "We're betrothed. That should be reason enough. Papa knows you will not ravish me. I haven't even gotten my menses yet."

From another female the remark would have sparked outrage, but Cameron had known Virginia MacKenzie since the day of her Christening, ten years ago. His ears still ached when he remembered how long and loudly she'd cried. He'd been eight years old at the time. He'd fostered here at Rosshaven. He'd learned husbandry from Lachlan MacKenzie, the best man o' the Highlands. The announcement earlier today of Virginia's betrothal to Cameron had been a formality. Their marriage, five years hence, would mark the happiest day of Cameron's life. Their parents heartily approved, for the union would unite their families.

He told her a lie and the least hurtful refusal. "You cannot go with me to France." He was sailing for China. She'd learn that truth from her father on the morrow.