by Jen Black
“A likely story!” Hot with excitement, Carnaby leered at the prisoner. “Rode here with the rest of your thieving relatives, did you? What a pity you got left behind. How inept of you!”
Harry glared at Father. “Unhappily we can’t all be fortunate as the man who talked an earl out of leaving his goods to his sons.”
Oh God! Harry, no! He referred to Uncle Reynold, who talked the Earl of Northumberland into leaving estates to Reynold rather than the true Percy heirs. Blood rushed into her father’s face and his fists clenched.
“Father, he was unhorsed and unconscious.” Alina cried. She could not let Harry face this alone.
Carnaby swung round and glared at her. A cold shiver ran down her spine. She had spoiled his pleasure and he did not like it.
Harry’s glance found her. His mouth tightened and he gave a tiny shake his head as if to say she should stay silent. Let me deal with this, his eyes commanded.
“You know this man, daughter?”
“Only that I found him unconscious in the meadow, sir. He had suffered a blow to the head.”
Carnaby turned from Alina. He grasped Harry’s jaw in one large fist, tilted his head up towards the candlelight to search for bruises. “There is a mark, I grant you.”
“He rode into a tree branch, sir.”
Carnaby stared into Harry’s face, and laughed. The sentries at either side smirked. Harry scowled.
Alina guessed he hated to be made to look a fool. “It was dark!” she cried. “Anyone could ride into a low bough in strange country in the dark.”
The laughter slowed and stopped. The sentries looked at her father. She had made things worse. Father swung around and grinned at her.
“He was riding the night we were raided? Alina, are your wits addled?” He turned back to Harry. “It’s a damned clumsy raider who gets knocked off his horse,” he snarled. “But the Scotts are ill-bred to the last snivelling bastard, so why am I surprised?”
“I am no raider, sir. The fact that my name is Scott is pure chance. I bear no relation to any of the Scottish family of that name. My home is Carlisle.”
“Anything to save your skin, eh?” Carnaby jerked his head. “Fling him in the dungeon. He can take the Leap tomorrow.”
“Father! No!” Horrified, Alina sprang to her feet, unaware and uncaring that every eye in the room swung to her. “He is not a raider! You can’t do this! I beg you!”
Lance leapt his feet, his eyes wide and frightened. Cuddy buried his face in his mother’s skirt.
The sentries hustled Harry towards the door. Alina ran to her father and grasped his arm. “Please, Father. He is innocent of any crime. He is not a reiver.”
Father detached her hand. He stared at the three men heading for the door and shook his head. “Don’t be a fool, Alina. The man’s guilty as the devil. Now go back to your seat and eat your dinner.”
She stood there, unmoving. “Father…” She backed away from him. “Father, I…please don’t send Harry over the Leap tomorrow. He is innocent, and speaks truly.”
“Are you listening to me, girl? What is this Scott fellow to you? Where did he come from?”
“I met him in Corbridge when Mama and I went to market.” She wheeled round. “You remember him, Mama? The young man buying needles for his sister?”
Her mother’s expression remained guarded, but she nodded slowly.
Father snorted in derision. “Probably means he was looking the place over for the rest of those rogues.”
“He saved my life!”
“Oh, get away with your wild ideas, girl! How could he save your life in Corbridge market?” He laughed at her. “Stop mooning about him, and get yourself ready to meet Errington tomorrow. I won’t hear another word on the matter. Either eat or get yourself to your bed.”
“Then I’ll go!” Alina ran from the hall without a backward glance. She tore through the solar, stamped up the rickety stairs to her tiny chamber in the attic and flung herself onto her narrow bed. Full of temper and frustration, she pounded her fists against the pillow and spared not a thought for John Errington. Her whole mind was focussed on Harry and his impending doom.
Chapter Eight
Harry lay flat on the damp, cold stone shelf and pondered the weight of the tower above him. Not so far above him, either, for if he lifted his arm his fingertips grazed the rough edges of the curved stones that made up the ceiling. It was like being inside a barrel. A runnel of moisture oozed through the stones on his left, which made him think it formed part of the curtain wall that surrounded Aydon Hall.
He breathed cold, dank air. Too long in here and he would stiffen into a lump of lead. Wind gusted through the iron grill that closed off the entry and brought with it the smell of wood, damp earth and leaves, which was better than the usual noisome prison odours, but he pitied any poor sod thrown in here during the winter. At least it was summer, and he would not die of cold in one night.
It would be this infamous Leap of Carnaby’s that would kill him.
He turned his head. Beyond the barred gate, he could see the dark bulk of the inner courtyard wall. Shadows of trees rooted in the ravine swayed and danced across the moonlit grass. The rustle of wind in the leaves came faintly to him, and now and then a man’s voice spoke a sentence or two, and someone replied. They were too far away for Harry to hear their conversation.
Closer, so close he guessed they were only a yard or two from him, he heard the swift patter of scurrying mice. Very large, well-fed mice. He chose not to pursue the thought. Time enough to worry if they sought to join him on his rocky shelf.
The anger and shock of imprisonment had worn off now. The chill dark silence lulled him into contemplation, almost into acceptance of his fate. His mind moved idly. It would be a pity it was all to end so soon, and for such a stupid cause.
Harry clenched his jaw. He wasn’t ready to leave the world yet, not with so much still to do. He had his mission to complete, a rich bride to find, and a whole life yet to live. One fist banged into the other. But how to get out?
Human voices caught his attention. He levered himself up on one elbow.
A woman’s voice. A few broken words came into his cell on a gust of wind, and he swung his feet to the floor. The pad of footsteps came closer. On his feet in a heartbeat, he clutched the cold iron grill in both hands.
“Harry? Harry?”
She came from the west side, where the main gate stood. Moonlight hit one side of the dark cloak that covered her from neck to ankles, and her hair, drawn back in a long plait, swung out behind her.
“Alina.” Warmth flowed through him.
“Oh, Harry, I don’t have long.” A gust of wind belled her cloak. She shivered and dragged the edges together. “Matho is on duty tonight, and he’s agreed to let me talk to you, but only for a brief while.”
“Good for Matho, whoever he is. He should have been on duty the other night when the raiders attacked.” He grinned like an idiot. She wanted to see him badly enough to risk sneaking out of the hall and across the courtyard in the dark.
“Father reamed them out for carelessness and now they’re all extra vigilant. But Matho’s my friend. We grew up together. Harry, I am so sorry! I had no idea Father could be so ruthless and I couldn’t think of anything to say that would—”
“Don’t apologise.”
Her hand flattened against the bars. Harry clasped her fingers, drew her hand through the gap and cradled it close against his chest. “You tried to help, and we knew it was always a risk.” He kissed her cold fingers. “Another hour and I’d’ve been away. I should have gone in daylight, while I had the chance,” he added with a rueful smile.
“But if I had been clever—”
“Shush, my darling. It is not your fault.” He heard the endearment leave his tongue with vague surprise. Whether it was the privacy of darkness or the thought that after tomorrow nothing would matter, the words slipped easily off his tongue.
“Tell me,” he said, before he for
got all practical things in the delight of her presence. “Your father threatens me with something called the Leap. What is it?”
She dipped her head, and he heard her sharp intake of breath. “It’s the ravine, Harry.” She pointed towards the dark bulk of the hall. “On the other side is a ravine. It is deep, with the Ay burn at the bottom. Father…he makes prisoners jump from the precipice outside the hall.”
“Ah.” He raised her knuckles to his mouth, and kissed them to dispel the shadowy presence of Death looming in the darkness behind him. He remembered looking into the ravine the night he rode up here. His tongue probed the cleft between her fingers. She gasped. Harry’s blood sang through his body, and he kissed her knuckles again. “How deep, do you think?”
“Twenty times the height of a man, they say.” She shivered and frowned as she watched him nuzzle her fingers. “There are rocks and trees…”
“And no one survives?”
Her face crumpled. “Oh, Harry, sometimes they do, but they are broken, twisted creatures—”
A deep voice sounded from above, and Alina flung up her head. “Matho, please!”
Matho must have agreed, for she turned back to Harry. Her hand had warmed in his and when he kissed it once more, her other hand snaked through the bars and stroked his face, crept to the back of his neck.
“Ah, Alina,” he murmured. “Would that we had no iron bars between us.”
His flesh hardened. If this was his last night on earth, he wanted some pleasure to beguile his thoughts. He reached both hands through the grill and drew her close against the iron bars and in truth she was not reluctant, even when his hand roamed beneath her cloak, caught a ribbon and her nightgown gaped from neck to waist. His palm found the firm weight and curve of her breast and nestled around it.
Warm, silky flesh and the sound of her gasp in his ear as his fingers closed on her.
Alina choked, pulled back and met the firm resistance of his palm on her spine. Murmuring her name, he continued to caress the miracle of smooth flesh. Elation flashed through him as the hard stub of desire unfurled and grew beneath his fingertips. She turned easily under his hand and her breath came faster.
“Oh, Harry! I cannot bear it…”
His fingers froze.
“Not that,” she said. Her gaze raked the air above them both. Perhaps the invisible Matho lurked on the wall-walk above.
His fingers moved once more. She quivered in his hands, and her head rolled from side to side. Her eyes were closed. Moonlight silvered the tear that rolled down her cheek. Something closed, hard and painful in Harry. He let go her spine, moved his hand up and caught the back of her head in his palm. “Alina, kiss me,” he whispered.
Her eyes opened. She caught hold of the bars in both hands, moved close to the iron and angled her face to meet his. Harry licked the salty tear from her skin.
“Thank the Lord the blacksmith made the grill squares so large,” he muttered. She uttered a small, indistinct sound. He found her lips, explored them, felt the echo of her heartbeat in the soft, sweet flesh of her breast, still cupped in the palm of his hand.
She shuffled sideways, giving him better access to her between the bars. His mouth, light as a feather, brushed against hers over and over until she moaned in the back of her throat. The small sound opened her mouth, gave him access. His tongue rimmed the soft cushion of her lower lip, grazed her teeth, retreated before she could back away.
“Harry…”
She pressed against the gate. He looked down. The mound of her breast, outlined by the dark square of the grill, drew him. He caught her spine in both hands, pulled her closer and used his tongue and lips on her in a frenzy of need.
“Harry…” Her voice was a moan in the darkness.
Her hand sought his shoulder, found his neck, clung. “I cannot bear to lose you tomorrow.”
Harry breathed deep and held the air in his chest. He pulled her against him as if the grill was not an iron barrier between them and listened to the sound of her swift, shallow breathing.
A large black shape loomed up out of the shadows behind her. “Get away, man!” Harry swore. “Leave us be!”
He heard an inarticulate sound from Alina before she jerked back from him, yanking her cloak fast around her.
“Canna dee that, sir. The Master’ll be around soon to check that all’s well.”
“Oh, Matho!” Her soft voice held not shame, but concern. “Really?”
Matho nodded. His face remained in shadow, but Harry felt the intensity of the man’s long hard stare. It didn’t matter what he thought. Harry’s only concern was for the girl.
“You must go,” he said to Alina. “Make yourself useful,” he snapped at the man called Matho. “See her safe home.”
She backed away, her cloak clutched tight about her. “I love you, Harry.”
She turned and disappeared into the darkness. His last sight of her was a pair of slender white ankles beneath the dark cloak before the shadows swallowed her.
***
Alone once more, he lay on the hard stone. Already his blood slowed and cooled. Without his leather jack he had little protection against the cold. He smiled in the darkness. If he caught a chill, it would not matter now, since he was to die tomorrow. The stark fact sank into his mind and chilled him more quickly than the cold.
Accept it, my lad. Be calm. No good getting into a froth about it.
No, but it was damned unfair. He should have tried to argue his way out of it. But Carnaby was an odd man. Unlike his brother Reynold, who seemed able to charm the breeches off most of the nobility, a reputation for raw belligerence hung about the younger brother.
Snippets of his father’s conversation came back to him. Folk hinted that the Carnaby wealth came not from honest toil, but from the dissolution of the monasteries and exploitation of the weak-willed Earl of Northumberland. The younger Percys’ hatred of Sir Reynold was legend and speculation on exactly how Reynold obtained such a hold over the Earl still flourished twenty years later.
The Tynedale men, known as the biggest parcel of rogues on the English side of the Border, banded together to oust him, yet with Cromwell’s help, Sir Reynold hung on to his lands. Cuthbert Carnaby seemed imbued with the idea that he could get away with anything. Even down to executing someone because his name was Scott.
Harry wondered what his father might do on discovering his son had been executed, and then realised his family might never know what had happened to him.
He toyed with the idea of asking for paper to write a note, but a moment’s reflection told him nothing would ever be delivered.
How had he got into such a predicament? It all started with the mission. That was the reason he’d not given his real name.
He groaned. It was the worst day’s work he had ever done.
Harry sat up abruptly and clasped his arms about his knees to stop himself shivering. Reviving anger threatened to overtake him. He wasn’t ready to die. He’d met a wonderful girl and he felt more alive now than at any time in his life. The memory of her, warm and ready in his hand, made his heart beat faster.
Had he missed a way out of this? If he’d not remembered who he was, he would have been ignorant of his mission to suborn Scots into helping Henry of England gain control of their baby Queen. Remembering his identity, he’d focused on not allowing his mission be traced back to his father.
A chink of sound at the entry made him look up.
“Harry?”
He recognised the deep, gruff voice. It was the man she had called Matho. Alina was not with him. He got up and walked over to the grill. “What is it?”
“The Master’s bin and gone, thinkin’ all’s weel.”
Harry waited. The man cleared his throat. “The lady Alina isna anybody’s fool, and she claims ye’re innocent o’ any crime.”
“That is true.”
There was a long silence.
“They say ye name’s Scott. Will ye be deein’ anything to hurt the folks o’
Aydon?”
Harry gripped the bars of the grill. “I swear,” he said, his voice strong and steady, “that I have done nothing, and will do nothing, that will bring hurt or harm to the people of Aydon.”
Matho shifted, trying to get a good look at Harry. Harry moved further into the shaft of moonlight. He sensed that something good might come of this exchange.
“Aye, well. Tomorrow. There’s nowt as’ll change Carnaby’s mind once it’s made up. He hates the family Scott to the last wee de’il in it, and since ye were daft enough to say ye name was Scott, he’ll have ye tossed off the crag, ne doubt aboot it. But there’s summat…”
“What? What, man?” Hope rose in Harry’s chest like bubbles of air through water. He thumped his chest to be rid of the pressure they caused.
“A wee chance, maybe, if ye’re a lad wi ye wits about ye. The Master hasn’t noticed yet, but a tree came down a day or two back, an’ it lies fair across the gully below the crag. If ye were to hop onto it, like as not ye’d be able to shimmy down and get clean away.”
“How far down is it?”
“Ten feet, maybe.” A grin slid over the solid Northumberland features. “Figurin’s no my strong suit, y’knaw.”
“And below that?”
Matho looked him straight in the eye. “Nowt but the Ay burn.”
***
Once in the safety of her bed, hot tears trickled into Alina’s feather pillow. One of the less vigilant men might never have spotted her, but Matho pounced on her the moment she ran through the door to the outer courtyard. Convincing him to let her speak to Harry had not been easy and he’d stood out of earshot but within sight of her the whole time.
Frustration burned because she had not been able find the key that would have freed Harry. Perhaps the boys knew where the keys to the dungeon were kept, but it was too late to think of that now.
She touched her lips, remembering the gentleness of Harry’s mouth, how strong his grasp had been when he pulled her against the cold iron grill. Her fingers sought the gap in her nightgown, and traced the curves as Harry had earlier. What might have happened if the grill hadn’t been between them? She shivered. This man was special. He meant more than her first kiss, more than her girlish dreams of a knight of old come to claim her. Harry was real, and fine, more than handsome and she hated her father for his harsh treatment.
