Border Lord by Arnette Lamb Read Free Book Online Page B

ground, and began a systematic mapping of the terrain. Her sleek, golden-red coat glistened in the sunshine.
    Seated comfortably in the open carriage, the afternoon breeze ruffling his outlandish wig, the queen's minion his captive audience, Duncan reviewed his plan. By day's end she'd be convinced that he and his people were innocent, defenseless victims of Baron Sinclair. She'd report back to the queen. Baron Sinclair would be revealed as the villain he was. Life, albeit peaceably, would go on.
    Duncan said, "Did you train the hound?"
    She gazed after the dog, affection softening her features. "She needed little, actually. Sleuthing is bred into her. Do you mind if she stays in my room? I promise she won't misbehave."
    If it made her happy and kept her occupied, Lady Miriam could bring a litter of squealing pigs into his pantry. "Please, feel free."
    "Thank you. I noticed that you have a number of terriers from the dales of Aire and a litter of foxhounds in your kennel."
    He glanced down at her and smiled. "Is that what they are? Terriers and foxhounds," he repeated much like Malcolm when he learned a new curse word. "To me they're scruffy creatures with heaven knows what in their fur. None are so fine or elegant, I think, as your Verbatim."
    As if he'd made small talk about the weather, rather than a diatribe about dogs, she said, "I forgot, my lord, that you prefer fishing to hunting."
    He knew that for a lie; she never forgot anything, and if she thought to trip him up, she'd be vastly disappointed. "Verbatim looks swift enough to outrun a horse."
    "Thank you. She's an excellent traveler. Did your father teach you to drive a team?"
    Duncan tensed. The horses slowed. Her attempt to turn the conversation might have charmed him, if she had chosen any subject except his father. Kenneth Kerr had been an impatient, cold man who was highly skilled and inventive with a strap.
    Flicking the reins, Duncan said, "No. I'm afraid we didn't get on well at all. He was such a crude fellow. He used to say he'd sooner stroll the halls of Holyrood Palace in stays and a farthingale than ride in a carriage. Can you imagine such a thing?"
    "Did he also fight with Baron Sinclair?"
    Duncan wondered if she practiced that smile in a mirror. Was she attempting to distract him? Or trick him with wily questions?
    Answers would have to wait, for Duncan needed to keep his wits about him. Wits! He almost laughed out loud; he was supposed to be witless. "Also? You don't think I'd sink to the baron's level? Heaven forbid. Violence brings on the grippe. I prefer fishing, but then you know that. Did I ever tell you about the boot I mistook for a salmon?" He twisted his face into a self-effacing grin. "Bent my hook and destroyed one of my most valuable lures. I call it the spangle-dangle. Took me a whole day to make another."
    "How clever of you to name them."
    She stared at the horses, but Duncan knew she wasn't thinking about the grays. He'd trade all the salt in Kildalton for a peek at her thoughts.
    "Are you named for your father?" she asked.
    Duncan spoke from the heart. "No. For the king MacBeth slew. My father was a rough Scotsman who embraced the clannish ways. A likable, bold chap, I suppose—if you favor that sort. They called him the Grand Reiver."
    "He raided, then?"
    "Until the eve of his death."
    "How old were you when he died?"
    He had expected her to ask personal questions. He just wished he could return the favor. He wanted to know why she'd never married. If she were betrothed? Was she the mistress of some well-fixed peer? Were her nipples pink, and did they pucker when suckled?
    "If the subject makes you uncomfortable, my lord…"
    Duncan marshaled his lustful thoughts. "Not at all, my lady. I was twenty and in Rome at the time." Sheepishly, he added, "I've always enjoyed studying the Romans. The aqueducts fed some of the finest trout streams in Italy."
    "Ah yes. I'm curious," she said, toying with the leather lead. "Why does the baron