Border Lord (4 page)

"No. You didn't tell me about the fish. But if you would," she said slowly, concisely, "please tell me who burned out the crofters. For my own safety, of course."

Safety? She persisted and lied with a skill even the duchess of Perth would envy. " 'Twas my neighbor to the south. He's responsible. What a bother he is. Why, a fortnight ago he poached my finest peacocks. Stay away from him."

"That would be Aubrey Townsend."

If she knew the name, she knew the particulars. Why didn't she just come out and say why she was here? He wasn't about to ask. Let her think him more interested in fishing than feuding.

"I believe," she went on, "that he's also called baron Sinclair."

Duncan couldn't stop his lip from curling in revulsion.

"Baron Sin he's called on this side of the wall. A lady like you shouldn't go anywhere near him. So you see, you're better off departing with the cavalry."

Her gaze didn't falter. "What do they call you?"

He fought the urge to squirm like a guilty schoolboy. Dredging up a sweet smile of his own, he said, "Most often they call me—'my lord.' Unless, of course, they've come for one of my prize fishing lures. Then they've been known to call me a genius. I make the best lures in Scotland."

"I'm certain you do, my lord." She folded her arms at her waist, which pushed her enticing breasts above the square neckline of her stylish riding habit. The single ruby she wore on a thin gold chain disappeared in the folds of her cleavage. "Will you retaliate? Will you punish baron Sinclair?" she asked.

Duncan's skin grew warm. "Me?" he squeaked, his mind on the hidden ruby. "Can you truly see me bounding over the Border, sword in hand? Besides, my son would never part with the family blade."

"Yes, of course," she said, suspicion on her lovely features.

He wanted to pick her apart like a clock and see what made her mind tick. But he couldn't afford so pleasant a challenge. She had to see him as the innocent victim. Then she had to go. Straightaway. So did he.

Faking a yawn, he stretched out his arms and got to his feet. "Pardon me, but it's well past my bedtime. I've had a trying day
of
sharpening hooks and writing in my journal. There's still my owl feathers."

She rose. "Then forgive me for detaining you, my lord. We do, after all, have plenty of time to chat."

Duncan stopped so fast he almost tripped on his own feet. "I don't understand."

"You will, I assure you."

Shocked, Duncan realized that he'd woefully underestimated his adversary. Sinclair had applied to the queen, and she'd sent her prized settler of international squabbles. The clever red-haired wench had managed to dismiss her guard and entrench herself in his household—indefinitely. "What about the cavalry? You can't wander about without an escort."

"Don't trouble yourself about my safety. 'Tis all arranged, I assure you. You have owl feathers to clean, and I—well, I shan't bore you with my affairs."

When he didn't move, she held out her arm. "We can walk up together and you can show me my room."

He took her arm when he wanted to wring her neck. Surely in all of Christendom there couldn't be a more wily, tenacious female than the incorruptible Miriam MacDonald. Why couldn't she have been open to bribery like the other emissaries? Duncan Kerr would have to deal with her, but tonight his schedule was full. The Border Lord had a pressing engagement with revenge.

Once in her chamber, Miriam leaned against the heavy oaken door. Iron studs and metal bands pressed into her back, yet she was keenly aware of the shuffling footfalls as the earl retreated to his own room.

Conversing for an hour with him had drained her, as if she'd spent an evening mediating an argument between a Jew and a Christian on the validity of Jesus Christ.

"Leave it be for the night, Miriam, else you'll never get to sleep." Alexis had donned her gown and robe. Her dark hair lay in a thick plait over her shoulder. She shook the wrinkles from Miriam's night rail, then laid it over the bed. "Come, I'll help you undress."

After a fortnight of primitive camps and poorly furnished inns, the bed looked inviting. Miriam couldn't resist touching the plump feather mattress or sighing with relief at the thought of sleeping in comfort. "You're right, of course."

She removed her hat, jacket, and blouse. Alexis stepped behind her and started to work on the lacings of her stays.

"Where are the twins?" Miriam asked, pulling the pins from her hair.

"Beyond my room." She pointed to an opened door. "Which is through there."

To the left of the portal stood an enormous vanity in Jacobean mahogany, a lighted, twelve-hour candle on top; to the right of the door, next to the hearth, stood a spotless cheval glass and a native basket overflowing with fragrant dried heather and gorse.

Two massive wardrobes and a washstand, complete with fancy soap and thick towels, filled the opposite wall. A bank of velvet draped windows lined the outside wall. An assortment of nubby woolen rugs, each bearing a blazing sun, the symbol of the Kerr clan, dotted the stone floor.

Her last mission had entailed months spent amid the pomp and circumstance of European nobility. Miriam embraced the cozy comfort of this Scottish castle.

Once free of her chemise and stockings, she slipped the gown over her head and sat down on the vanity stool. Alexis began her nightly ritual of brushing Miriam's hair.

"That feels wonderful," she said, her scalp tingling from the drag of the boar bristles.

"Hum. A bath would be heaven, but 'tis too late to inconvenience the staff." Yawning, Alexis separated Miriam's hair and began to braid it.

Miriam glanced at the candle. Her fatigue vanished.

"What is it?" said Alexis.

Miriam slid the candle closer. In the mirror, her gaze met Alexis's. "This wick has been burning for two hours. We arrived only an hour ago. Don't you find that intriguing? Look at the room. Lady's soap, the clean linens. He knew we were coming. But how? He left the impression that we were merely travelers."

Alexis squeezed her eyes shut, creating a fine web of wrinkles. On a groan, she said, "I thought you were done for the night. Besides, country castles always offer shelter to travelers. Haven't you heard of Scottish hospitality?"

Miriam stared at the telltale candle. "Of course I have."

"Then who's to say that candle hasn't been lighted before tonight?"

"Me, that's who. The coincidence is too great. Remember the housekeeper said she'd just prepared these rooms."

"Oh, Miriam." Alexis shook the brush. "Given enough time, you could find a flaw in the Ten Commandments."

Undeterred, Miriam said, "I know this—several things about the earl and his household are not what they seem."

"All right." Alexis pitched the brush onto the vanity. "But if we're going to pick apart this poor sod, I insist we do it by the fire."

Contrite, Miriam said, "I'm sorry. Let's just say goodnight. You're cold and tired, and I'm—"

"Mistaken." Alexis chuckled without humor. "I'm wide awake, and as anxious as a beggar on Alms Day." She pulled Miriam to her feet. Although shorter than Miriam by half a head, and almost twice her age, Alexis had a grip like steel. "But if I didn't insist that you sleep at least once a day, your head would never touch a pillow. When you do retire, you never sleep the night through." A maternal smile, full of love and understanding, glowed on her face.

Miriam hugged her, bussed her satiny cheek, then pulled her to the hearth. Seated cross-legged on a rug like young girls defying a nanny's curfew, they faced each other. Miriam related the story of the sudden appearance of the armed guards on the walls.

"I wondered why you went outside. I thought you might be fetching Verbatim from the kennel."

"No, but I'll manage to move her in here tomorrow."

Humor sprung from Alexis's lips. "Remember the time in Rouen, when the duke of Burgundy planted a spy under your bed?"

Miriam laughed, too. "Poor fellow. Instead of gleaning information from me on the bride's dowry, he took one look at Verbatim and babbled on for hours about the concessions the duke was willing to make for his son."

"You won a few more from him, as I recall."

Pride infused Miriam. "A woman needs more than pretty promises from a courting swain."

"I have every confidence in you, my dear."

"Good. Now that I've met the earl I think I'll need it."

A horse nickered. Miriam jumped up, ran to the window, and pulled back the drape. A cloud passed over the quarter moon, throwing a blanket of darkness over the yard.

Alexis joined her. "What do you see? 'Tis black as a Cornish cave down there."

Miriam peered into the gloom. Below lay a walled courtyard or garden. She pressed her cheek to the cool glass. A shadow moved. "There," she whispered, pointing to a moving shadow.

"I don't see anything."

Squinting, her foot tapping as she waited for the moonlight to return, Miriam tried to follow the progress of the darkened shape. Was it a person or merely the night breeze rustling the bushes in the courtyard? She strained until her eyes ached but she couldn't see enough to make a decision.

Clouds continued to shroud the moon, but she knew as surely as the sun would rise tomorrow that she'd seen a man slipping from the castle.

"If someone was there, he's gone now," said Alexis, pulling Miriam back to the hearth. "'Twas probably a maid sneaking out for a tryst with a stableboy."

"What time is it?" Miriam asked.

"Just past ten o'clock."

Miriam paced the floor, trying to piece together the information.

"All right," said Alexis. "Tell me everything."

Like an anchor tethered to her thoughts, the contradictions about the earl and his household pulled at Miriam. She relayed each one. By the time she finished, the candle was another hour shorter.

Alexis slapped her thigh. "Well, I agree that your observations are enough to make a saint seem circumspect. But I think you should take your time. You don't want to move too fast."

"True." Miriam turned her palm up. "Tomorrow I must tell him who I am and why I'm here. Now. Honestly, Lexie. Tell me what you think of him."

Propping an elbow on her knee, Alexis rested her chin on her hand. "In spite of what you said, I think he's adorable. Don't squinch your face up like that. You'll wrinkle before you're thirty."

"Heaven forbid I should wrinkle."

"If you weren't so determined to give your heart to a doer of gallant deeds, you might see something appealing in the earl. He's better than a fat ambassador who speaks fluent German."

"I intend to rule my own life and live it in Bath."

"But you'd like it better if Sir Lancelot were there."

Miriam groaned. "Could we please concern ourselves with the earl of Kildalton?"

Alexis laughed. "That boy of his. What's his name? Rob Roy." She rolled her eyes. "Have you ever seen a child who needed a mother so?"

"Never mind the boy. There's something about the earl, Lexie. He looks like a bumbling idiot, but I see a confidence or power in him."

"Sometimes I wonder," said Alexis, staring into the fire, "how a woman with so little intimate experience with men can be so observant. Alas, I find him intriguing, too."

Immensely flattered, Miriam stretched and fought off a yawn, "I'll talk to him first thing in the morning."

Alexis got to her feet. "First thing?"

"You can sleep until nine."

Smiling, Alexis said, "You'll thank yourself."

Knowing too well how much Alexis hated rising early, Miriam said, "Yes, I will. Let's just hope it all goes as planned tomorrow."

Nothing went as planned. Miriam awoke at dawn to find a mysterious scrap of paper under her door. Scrawled on the parchment in a childish hand was the name Roger.

To her dismay, she learned that the earl never roused himself before noon, so she spent the morning in a leisurely breakfast and bath, then dried her hair and dawdled while Alexis supervised the unpacking of their trunks.

When word reached her that the earl had risen, she donned a simple dress of pearl gray wool, with an over jerkin of red satin. As a further concession to the country atmosphere, she tied back her hair with a ribbon. Then she marched downstairs and knocked on his study door.

"Come."

Miriam let herself in. The earl sat at his desk, which was littered with a brilliant array of feathers, dozens of sharp hooks, and a rusted carpenter's vise. He wore the same green jacket and thick spectacles, but today he sported a full black periwig that draped his shoulders in a waterfall of curls. Miriam was reminded of royal portraits of Alexis's father, Charles II, who introduced the wig into fashion during the last century.

Spying her, the earl tilted his head to the side. "Come in, come in, Lady Miriam." He rose and indicated a wing chair. "Do sit down."

His son, wearing his tartan and a sporran big enough to hold the crown jewels, dropped the book he was reading. The lad wore his pitch dark hair tied at the nape of his neck with a strip of leather. His warm brown eyes glowed with curiosity.

She had hoped to speak alone with the earl. Hiding her disappointment, she said, "Hello, my lord, and Rob Roy."

The lad pursed his mouth. "'Tis Roger. I even wrote it down for you. Didn't you read the note?"

She remembered the scrap of paper, but even her logical mind couldn't make the correlation. Baffled, she turned to the earl.

He smiled indulgently and folded his arms over his chest. "My son doesn't like his given name, which is Malcolm."

The boy made a gagging sound. "Malcolm's a prissy name."

Miriam wondered why the earl didn't pad the shoulders of his jacket in the fashion of the day. Or why he allowed his son to behave so disrespectfully.

Sighing, the earl said, "'Tis also a king's name."

"Malcolm the Maiden," spat the boy, hands on his hips. "I refuse to answer to it."

"My son hasn't settled on a name he likes."

"Yes, I have. 'Tis Roger." He hitched up his plaid. "After Roger Bacon."

The earl raised his gaze to the ceiling. The lenses not only magnified the size of his eyes, but also the length of his lashes. Through the thick glass, they fluttered like dark fans. Beneath the wig, his hair was probably dark, too, the same as his son's. Quite attractive, she thought, then caught herself. Objectivity was her watchword.