Fair Border Bride

by Jen Black

  Beneath the silver hair and eyebrows, his brown eyes studied her. “H’mm. I trust your mother and father are well? Your brothers? If no one has died, we will—”

  She moaned covered her face with her hands. Harry would be dead by now, or so badly maimed that death would be preferable.

  Grandfather sighed. “I take it someone has died. I’m sorry, Alina, but you are going to have to talk to me before I can help. Must I shake you again?”

  He turned from her, fumbled in a dark oak cupboard and brought out a square of linen which he shoved into her hands. “Blow your nose. I mean it, Alina. Stop this snivelling at once.”

  She blew her nose several times, and eyed him over the linen as she did so. His blunt approach restored her more quickly than sympathy would have done. She had always considered him an older, heavier, more wrinkled version of her father, but now she was glad of the subtle differences.

  He held out a small pewter mug. “Drink this.”

  She drank a mouthful of the tawny liquid he offered and gasped when it took her breath away.

  “Now,” he said, considering her. “The whisky will settle you. What is it? Don’t you dare start weeping again. Reynold is still alive?”

  Alina bit her lip. “Sir Reynold is as he was when you saw him last. No worse, but no better. Oh, Grandfather, I’m so sorry. I did not think. Of course you would assume the worst…”

  Sunlight peered through the lattice window, laid a pattern of diamond shapes across the old man’s face and turned his hair to snow as he nodded. He put his hands behind his back, paced a step or two in front of the dark oak table and turned away, but not before Alina caught the resignation in his eyes.

  “So, it must be something Cuthbert has done.”

  She nodded. “He pushed a man over the ravine this morning.” She bit her lip to stop it wobbling. “A man called Harry Scott.”

  “Ah.” Sir William sighed. “Headstrong as ever. Cuthbert was ever thus, even as a child. I tried to beat it out of him, but to no avail. He has done this before, and no one has called him to account for it. Was there a reason?”

  “No reason at all,” Alina declared. “Harry saved my life in Corbridge last week. It is all because his name is Scott. You know how Father feels about that family.” She cocked her head. “You must hate them too, of course. I forgot about Stagshaw Fair Day.”

  He regarded her over his shoulder. His eyes were clear in the rubble of his face, and at this moment the quality of his gaze disconcerted her. Inhaling, he tugged his crumpled doublet into a more comfortable position. “I cannot say I admire the family, my dear. Their handling of me at Stagshaw was uncouth, to say the least. I take it this Harry Scott was a young man? You liked him?”

  Alina considered the soggy linen in her hands. “Yes.” To force speech made her throat ache. “I liked him very much indeed. I would have married him in a moment if he asked me. He says he comes from Carlisle. I don’t know how I can face Father again.”

  Grandfather paced before her, his leather shoes squeaking in the silence. Alina watched him anxiously, and saw how his hair straggled onto the collar of his worn velvet doublet and his hands, clasped behind his back, were veined with thick, gnarled blue cords. Grandfather was growing old.

  “Did you see him thrown over?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “That’s something, then. If the deed has taken place you will have to make the best of it, for there is nothing to be done. But there is always the possibility Cuthbert may have changed his mind at the last moment.’

  “There was no change of heart. I know it.” Tears brimmed again and her mouth twisted unbecomingly. “Grandfather, how can I make the best of it?”

  “You must. Go to church and say a prayer for his soul. What else can you do?”

  There was a long silence. If she were a man, she could avenge Harry, ride off and never have to speak to her father again. As a woman, the only way she could leave home was to marry, and that would bring its own troubles. How could she stand a man in her bed who was not Harry?

  Grandfather did not speak. After a long time she looked up and offered a tentative, wobbly smile. “You are right, Grandfather.”

  The old man nodded. “I heard he was hoping to match you with Errington’s lad. You should marry soon and move away from home. You will not need to see your father very often.”

  So grandfather had reached the same conclusion. “I shall be glad of it.” She sighed. If that was all marriage offered, it might be worth it, even if there was nothing but friendship between her and her prospective bridegroom. She hoped there would at least be friendship.

  The old man considered her. “You must have liked this young man a great deal. Who was he?”

  Alina blew her nose and thought about the question. “He….What do you mean?”

  “His father? Family? Home?”

  “He came from Carlisle and that is all I know. He was going to Edinburgh. But he was honourable, I’m sure of it.”

  “A stranger, then, of whom you know nothing.” He shook his head, and reached out to grasp her chin between blunt fingers. “We must be careful in these times. There’s more to look for in a suitor than having a pretty turn of phrase or a handsome face, Alina. Come. You must go back to Aydon and it is time I visited Reynold. I will tell Henry to bring round the horses.”

  Chapter Ten

  Alina rode without speaking beside her grandfather, her gaze on the grey stone battlements of Aydon peeking above the rim of encircling trees. Her tears had dried, leaving her with a dull headache and a heavy feeling she thought might be with her for the rest of her life.

  Grandfather turned in the saddle. “Did you trust this young man?”

  She met his sharp glance with little enthusiasm. “Yes, absolutely.”

  “Why?”

  She frowned and looked out across the fields. “Because…” Grandfather would scoff if she told him she believed in Harry because he was tall, handsome and so attractive that she could not envisage him as anything but a gentleman. “Because he did not boast or brag. He lost his memory for a while, but he told me the moment he remembered who he was.” With some hesitation, she recounted the entire tale of how and where they had met.

  Grandfather did not seem overly impressed. “An exciting interlude in your quiet life, was it? I suspect you will get over it in a day or two. By Yuletide you’ll have trouble remembering him.”

  Alina doubted it, but supposed Grandfather had no reason to think otherwise. He had not met Harry, nor felt the force of his personality. He had no idea of Harry’s quality, or how she had reacted to him. A swift, fleeting memory of his hand on her breast at the dungeon gate made her shiver.

  “Grandfather, if you think I was won over by some handsome gallant showering me with compliments, you are quite wrong. Harry never offered me a single compliment.”

  “Aye, well. Just remember this, lass. All that glisters is not gold.”

  With that remark, he left her to her thoughts. She pondered his statement, and refuted it. In this case, what glistered was gold. She was sure of it. As they drew closer to Aydon, she recognised the small figure dancing up and down on the wall walk and frowned. What did Lance have to celebrate? He’d liked Harry as much as she did. How could he be so excited?

  She caught a glimpse of him racing along the allure to the kitchen door at the end of the parapet. It wasn’t long before he hurtled through the main gate and tore along the lane towards them. Puffs of dust rose under his feet. Her horse shied as Lance skidded to a halt and grabbed at her leg.

  “He’s gone, Alina! He’s not there!” His cheeks were scarlet, and he looked about to brim over with delight.

  Grandfather reined in and held onto his snorting horse. “Speak plainly, boy. What do you mean? And for the Lord’s sake, stand still!”

  Lance stiffened, greeted his grandfather courteously as he had been taught, and looked back at Alina.

  “Harry. He did the Leap and we can’t find him
!”

  She stared down into her brother’s face. His hazel eyes, full of mixed wonder and hope, gazed back. Slowly the sense of what he was saying sank into her mind. Her mouth curved in a hesitant smile before she bit it back. She did not dare to hope yet.

  Grandfather snapped the question she dared not ask. “You mean there’s no body?”

  “The men are still searching,” Lance said. “But no, they haven’t found anything.”

  “Oh, Lance, is that true?”

  Grandfather grunted. “Don’t get your hopes up, girl. He could be hidden in a crevice or such like.”

  This was hardly the time to remind Grandfather that he had suggested her father may have changed his mind at the last minute. But Lance said Harry had made the leap. Puzzled, she looked at her brother.

  Lance stepped up close, so that Alina’s horse hid him from his grandfather’s eye. He beckoned with one grimy hand, and nodded in the direction of the stables.

  Lance was not stupid. If he wanted her to go to the stables, he would have a very good reason for it. And he looked fit to burst, so whatever it was excited him.

  She smiled at Sir William. “Lance will take your horse to the stable, Grandfather, if you wish to go straight in and see Sir Reynold. Lead me to the mounting block, Lance, and I’ll help you take the horses to Auld John.”

  They watched grandfather stride away to visit his dying son. In the stables, Lance hopped from foot to foot while Auld John lectured them on the proper way to care for a horse that worked hard for its rider. He glanced at them both from under bushy grey brows. “Thoo’s taking nee notice.” He flung down the rubber he had been using on Grandfather’s chestnut, and stamped towards the door. “Ah divven’t knaws why ah bother.”

  Lance giggled. Alina shushed him. “Don’t let him hear you. He’s a good man, and he loves his horses. Lance!”

  She could not understand his levity after what had happened to Harry such a short time ago. Still on edge, she cuffed him lightly, and knocked his cap to the floor. “Be serious, Lance and stop giggling. He’s gone now. Tell me what happened. I know there’s something you haven’t told me yet.”

  He picked up his cap, shook it and clapped it back on his head. “Ay, that I ’ave.”

  “And don’t mimic Auld John. If he should hear you, he’d be hurt.”

  Lance sighed. “Harry didn’t wait to be pushed. He ran at it and jumped off to the right.”

  “What? He jumped?” Shock ran through her. “You little liar!” She grabbed at him.

  Lance ducked out of reach. “It’s true.” He watched her dubiously from the far side of a barrel almost as big as himself. “He ran at it before they could get hold of him, and jumped off at an angle. He didn’t scream or shout. There was an awful silence, and then a thud and the sound of branches cracking. Matho wouldn’t let any one look over. He said if everyone crowded onto the crag it would give way like it did two years ago. So nobody saw what happened to Harry for absolutely ages.”

  For a moment she did not see the dark shadowy stable, but an image of Harry leaping off the crag. The picture made her heart thud in her chest. She swallowed down the impossible lump in her throat and clenched her fists. “What did Father do?”

  Lance leaned both forearms on the top of the barrel and rubbed his chin against his sleeve. “He ordered Matho away and stalked out to the edge. I don’t know what he saw, but he went red, swore and ordered all the men down into the woods. Then he called them back again, and said it was hopeless. He’d let the reiver go.”

  Her knees wobbled, so she sat down on a hay bale. She could not make sense of it all. “Are you sure? You seem to be saying that Harry jumped over the edge, but he escaped, that he isn’t dead. I don’t want to build up hope and then…”

  “Of course I’m sure.” Lance’s teeth flashed in a swift grin. “I wouldn’t lie to you. I know you’re sweet on Harry.”

  She bridled, thought of denying it and then let it go. “Well, it doesn’t matter a docken, does it? We’ll probably never see him again.” It occurred to her that she had a way of checking. “Oh, I should see if his horse…can you do that, Lance? Please? If I disappear again, mother will have a fit.”

  She told him exactly where Harry’s chestnut would be found, and Lance nodded and sauntered towards the door. He hesitated, fingers grasping the doorframe. “I think Matho could tell you more. He won’t talk to me, I’ve asked him. But he might talk to you.” He grinned. “He’s sweet on you, like you’re sweet on Harry.”

  “Oh!” Alina swung around on him, but he vanished before she reached the door. His laughter drifted back to her as she sat back rather suddenly on the hay bale.

  It seemed that Harry had escaped after all. She ought to be smiling. Instead her eyes leaked as she sat there in the gloom, hugged herself and listened to the horses moving on the cobbles.

  Slowly everything sank into place. Harry had not waited to be pushed, and more than that; he had jumped in a particular direction as if he had known a route to safety. Only one person could have helped him.

  Perhaps she could begin to believe in Harry’s escape after all. She leapt up from the hay bale. Matho Spirston would know. Matho had always treated her with condescension because she was a girl, yet she knew, in some instinctive way, that Matho was fond of her. She smiled, remembering the times he had taken her side in an argument against Lionel.

  Why had she not thought of it before? If she confided in Matho, he would help. And when Matho decided to do something, it got done. Alina knew that if Matho told Gilbert Richardson and Robert Cooper and the others to keep an eye out for Harry’s return, then they would.

  If Harry chose to return. Her high hopes died and her steps slowed to a halt as she reached the stable door. Many a man would think himself well out of such a dangerous situation and never look back.

  ***

  That afternoon Alina changed to her brown and russet gown and sat in the sunny southern half of the solar with her mother and hemmed a lawn shirt for Cuddy. She’d had no opportunity to talk to Matho, for he was on an errand to Corbridge. But she was reasonably sure Harry had survived, for the news that no body had been found below the ravine had raced around Aydon and surprised everyone, and Lance had reported Harry’s horse gone from the meadow.

  Her fingers moved at a steady pace. She took pride in her small neat stitches, and such precision saved her from having to respond to Mama’s glowing account of John Errington.

  Alina’s last glimpse of the Errington boys had been across the church during Easter Week three or four years ago. Thomas, already a man, had been tall and handsome. John, the thin boy of fifteen, was also tall, but boasted pimples and skinny shanks in wrinkled, knitted hose. She and Lionel had been amused when John’s voice ricocheted up and down the scale without warning. Lionel, his voice safely broken, had sniggered behind his father’s back.

  Before he left for Halton, Grandfather had made it plain he thought the marriage a sensible arrangement between two families of rising importance. ‘Lift your head, Alina, smile and make a success of the match in the hope of advancing your family’s fortunes.’

  If she had not lost her heart to a stranger, it would have been easier to bear. But now she knew and dreamed of marrying Harry. A romantic dream, no doubt, but one that was deeply part of her. What if she objected? Fled to Grey House? It should be possible to hide there for a while. Father would search, but so many nooks and crannies existed around the old farmhouse and many more in the stables and barns. She could hide out there forever if needs be.

  She shook her head. It was impossible. Why was she thinking of running away? It was the kind of reaction expected from someone of Lance’s age rather than a mature young lady. Parents always arranged marriages and it was a daughter’s duty to smile and accept it.

  Her dream of Harry was doomed. Even if he cared, which was doubtful, he would never know she was to be married in the next few weeks. She did not know where he lived, could not contact him. She didn’t want
to risk involving Lionel, for now he considered himself a man he would feel obliged to reveal her secret to Father. Lance was too young. All she could do was pray that Harry would return.

  If she were wise, she would give up all thoughts of him, bow her head and be nice to John Errington when he came calling.

  It was difficult to know how she felt about John.

  Lance poked his head into the solar. “This might be him. He’s so tall he needs to duck under the gate. Auld John’s taken his horse to the stables. He’ll be here in a moment.”

  Alina stared at her brother. “Who will be here?”

  Lance stared back at her as if she was stupid. “Isn’t it today Father said John Errington would call? I think it’s him talking to Lionel in the inner yard.”

  Alina stabbed her needle into her sewing, disregarded her mother’s protests and hurried to the window at the north end of the solar. Lance got there before her.

  Staying well back against the wall, she peeped out into the yard. A tall, well dressed young man stood in conversation with her brother Lionel. “Yes. It is indeed John Errington.” She felt no rush of emotion at the sight of him.

  Lance regarded her with an impish grin. “Do you like him?” He lowered his voice. “As much as Harry?”

  “Come and sit, Alina.” Her mother’s voice came faintly from the far end of the solar. “I wish you had dressed your hair more becomingly.”

  Alina patted the skin beneath her eyes and hoped the signs of weeping had disappeared. “I wish he had not come today.”

  Lance grinned. “If he’s to be your husband you’ll have to defer to him in everything.”

  Glaring at her brother, she walked back to the south end of the solar.

  “Can I come?” Lance remained at the window, but his whisper followed her.

  “Small brothers are not welcome when one—” She stopped and turned back, her thoughts racing. Lance would make a useful buffer in the first uncomfortable moments of meeting her intended bridegroom.