by Jen Black
“Alina! Hurry!”
“Coming, Mama.” Alina hesitated, regarding her brother with a speculative gaze.
Lance approached her warily. “It makes me nervous when you squint at me like that, Ally. What are you thinking?”
She beckoned. “Go downstairs and wait in the courtyard. If John and I come outside, stay with me and don’t let him chase you away. If I tell you to go, pretend you think I don’t mean it.”
He looked puzzled, but a moment later his eyes widened beneath the thatch of brown hair. “You want him to think you’re telling me to leave, but really you want me to stay?”
Alina smiled and patted his shoulder. “Exactly. I’ll go and sit with mother. After the first few pleasantries we shall most likely be sent out to stroll in the orchard. That’s when I shall need your help.”
“I bet he’s not a patch on H—”
Alina whirled, a finger to her lips. “Don’t mention that name, Lance, please.”
She returned to the sunny part of the solar while Lance scuttled down the old stairs to the kitchen.
“Where would you like me to sit, Mama?”
Margery Carnaby had already packed her spindle away and sat bolt upright with her hands clasped in her lap. “Where you usually sit, Alina. I don’t think we should put ourselves out for a younger son of the Erringtons, do you?” Mother never forgot her antecedents, which were higher than those of her husband. Now she ran a considering gaze over her daughter. “Your hair is neat and that gown suits you. I expect he will not stay above an hour.”
Alina seized a cushion, hesitated and looked at her mother. “Do you dislike the Erringtons, Mama?” She banged the cushion against the wall, placed it on the higher ledge of the window seat, stepped up and sat on it.
“Of course—Not there, Alina!” Her mother looked scandalised. “You know perfectly well the higher seat is not acceptable today. Here, girl, in the chair beside—”
She broke off at the sound of footsteps. Alina stayed where she was as the Steward tapped and bowed at the doorway. “John Errington, madam.”
Mama beamed at the young man in the stone archway. “Ah, good afternoon, sir. Please, be welcome.”
John Errington advanced into the sunshine pouring through the lancet windows and bowed over her mother’s hand. Knowing she would be little more than a silhouette with the bright sunlight behind her, Alina felt free to study him. He had retained the slender build of his youth, though the padded sleeves and shoulders of the sober, well cut and expensive doublet did much to disguise the fact.
He was very much taller than she remembered. A small sparkling ruff hid his throat and neck, and a scant brown beard disguised his chin. Leather riding boots covered a good deal of his legs. He held a pair of leather gauntlets in one hand, and their silver embroidery glinted as he moved. Lace ruffles hung below his doublet cuffs and concealed much of his unadorned hands.
Most fashionable men wore rings on each hand. Rakish young men sported earrings. Lionel had bored them for weeks debating the purchase of an earring. Errington didn’t even have a jewel in the band of his cap. It crossed her mind that she ought to be insulted that he did not care enough to dazzle her with the quality of his jewels. Did he expect the splendid doublet and the depth of his lace cuffs enough to win her?
He rose from an unhurried and perfectly executed bow and made the required responses to her mother’s greeting. His voice boomed around the room. Alina started at the sound. Such a deep, rich voice proclaimed him man rather than boy. She realised she did not know him at all and yet in a month or less she might be sharing his bed.
The thought unnerved her. Twisting her fingers together in her lap to still their trembling, she studied him. The only signs of the once despised pimples lay in a scattering of small craters across his forehead. His face had somehow grown to accommodate the nose Lionel once described as beaky.
“You remember my daughter, Alina?”
At her mother’s introduction, Errington turned to Alina. His hazel eyes narrowed against the light. “Of course. I trust I find her in good health?”
Alina bowed her head in acknowledgement. “You do, sir. You have—” She stopped. She could hardly say he had grown up and lost his gangly looks. “You look well, sir.”
The expensive tawny velvet was not a shade she would have chosen to match his fresh complexion, but his hazel eyes glowed with friendliness and his mouth curved in a smile. At least they had chosen the same coloured outfit today. Perhaps it meant something.
She found herself returning his smile and then a twinge of guilt touched her. John had come in good faith. He was not to know that her heart had been stolen by another. She pushed the spasm of guilt to one side and decided to try a more informal approach. “Hello, John. How are you?”
The white feather in his rakish cap almost touched his prominent cheekbone as he nodded. “I do very well, Mistress Alina.”
The deepness of his voice surprised her again. His eyes flashed, and she wondered if he too remembered the way his voice had mortified him last time they had met. He turned to her mother and conveyed warmest greetings and esteem from his parents. He remembered to ask after the health of the family and Sir Reynold in particular.
It was well done of him and Alina approved. She studied him as he added a sentence or two about the weather and wondered how long his visit would last.
“It is a fine day, madam, as I mentioned. Perhaps you might allow your daughter to walk with me and enjoy the sunshine?”
Her mother was unlikely to refuse permission requested so politely. Alina ducked her head and decided to take it as a compliment that he wanted to be alone with her, that he wanted no eavesdroppers to any conversation they might have.
“I see no reason why not.” Prepared to be generous on his first appearance at Aydon, Margery Carnaby smiled. “I shall stay here and leave you two young people to renew your acquaintance. Alina, I know you will not go too far. Perhaps the orchard? It is sunny and sheltered there.”
Some things were so predictable. Alina suppressed a smile. The young man stepped closer and held out his hand. “May I help you down from your perch?”
Hearing amusement in his tone, she looked at him warily and saw nothing but kindness in his expression. She placed her fingers across his waiting palm and his hand curled about hers. If they had still been children, he’d have expected her to get down on her own. She flicked a glance at her mother, knowing Mama would be nervous in case she chose to jump down and spoil the illusion of a gently reared young lady.
She stepped daintily to the floor, revealing one slender ankle for a moment, and kept on walking. John, with a swift inclination of the head to her mother, followed her towards the door.
Alina glanced over her shoulder. Mama, smiling, sank back in her chair.
Chapter Eleven
John held her hand high between them as if he led her into the dance. Alina kept her gaze on the stiffened front edge of her russet skirt as she advanced across the floorboards. They walked silently and steadily through the hall. At the door, a deafening cacophony of sound met them. Alina stole a glance at John’s profile, and saw him grimace and survey the stonemasons who tapped and chiselled stone into shape.
His colour seemed less florid out here in the shadow of the building, and that rendered the tawny velvet more attractive. His lace cuffs tickled her fingers as he led her down to the cobbled yard. She caught a glimpse of Lance goggling from the orchard wall.
Alina bit her lip. This might be the antidote she needed after the morning’s high drama. She would have to think of something to say, and that would keep her mind from Harry. Against all logic and reason, a tiny kernel somewhere deep inside her believed Harry would return, but she must squash it down out of sight, keep it hidden. So she smiled, tilted her glance to John’s face and spoke teasingly. “You could hardly look more serious if you escorted me to meet King Henry and his Queen, sir.”
One eyebrow lifted as he considered his reply. “If
I remember correctly, King Henry no longer has a Queen.”
Alina shivered. Could he not have accepted her comment in a more light-hearted way? “Aye. Queen Katherine Howard met the headsman last February, sir. I spoke loosely. I apologise.” He could offer the next conversational opening, for she would say nothing more.
He lifted her hand to his mouth and deposited a light, chaste kiss on her knuckles. Surprised, impressed more than she cared to admit by his confidence, she watched him and noted how the chased silver aiglets of his shirt cords glinted. Almost jewellery, then; but discreet rather than showy. It spoke volumes about his character.
“The King seeks to marry yet another lady.” His mouth relaxed in a smile. “Romance is in the air again.”
Alina shuddered. “I am glad he does not glance in my direction.”
John looked down from his vast height. “Is it too cold for you? May I get you a shawl?”
“It was merely the thought of meeting the headsman that made me shiver…Oh, look, here’s Lance.” Fluttering her lashes, she smiled. “Perhaps you have not met my younger brother?”
“Once, I believe, but he was little more than knee-high. You’ve grown, Lance. How old are you now?”
Lance removed his shoulder from the wall. “Fourteen, sir.”
“Almost fourteen,” Alina interposed. “We are to walk in the orchard, Lance.”
Lance’s mouth turned down. “You can be all round it inside five minutes.”
“I know, sweetheart. But we can go round it several times, can we not?”
“You’ll get your gown wet. The grass is long and still bedewed.”
“Any one would think you did not want us to walk in the orchard, Lance.”
“I don’t.”
Before Alina could demand why, her suitor interrupted. “I’m sure a lad like you has more exciting things to do. We won’t mind if you leave us to our own company.”
“Of course not.” She shook her head at Lance as she spoke.
Lance frowned. “I think I’ll stay.” His gaze shifted from her to John. “I could ask John about horses.”
“Master Errington to you,” Alina said.
John linked her arm through his and patted her hand. “I think we must resign ourselves to a juvenile chaperone.”
He saw through her little ploy and yet he did not seem annoyed. John Errington went up a notch in her estimation. “We could sit in the sun and talk. Father never tells me what’s going on in the neighbourhood, much less in the country. He thinks women should have no interest in such topics.”
They approached the wooden seat in the sunniest corner between the two high stone walls of the orchard. John stared down at it dubiously. “Are you sure it is sturdy enough?”
“It’s really, really old,” Lance said from behind them. “It was made before the raids started. Auld John told me.”
“Which raids? Last year, or the year before that? You don’t mean the ones that started with Edward’s death in 1307?”
Lance nodded.
“But that would make it…two hundred and thirty-six years old.” John looked at the seat with new respect.
“The oak is older,” Lance said. “Auld John says it was a young sprig when the Romans lived up on the hill.”
Alina walked forward and sat down. “See? It is quite safe.”
John laughed. “Is everything here as old as this bench?” He looked around. “I noticed a roof that could do with some attention.” He nodded at the sagging roofline on the kitchen block. “You’ve moved here recently, I think? We thought Aydon was a ruin and wondered why Sir Reynold bought it.”
Alina blessed him for his thoughtfulness. It was far easier to talk of mundane things. “The de Raymes family exchanged Aydon for lands near Shortflatt. Aydon was dilapidated but Uncle Reynold started repairs. Now it is a staircase they renew, and after that the new roof goes on the kitchen block. I shall probably be deaf by then,” she added with feeling. “We used to live at the Grey House and it was much nicer than this. I think—no, I shouldn’t say that.”
Father liked the idea of living in a castle and had been swift to leave the comfortable farmhouse, but she could not be disloyal and say so to a stranger. John waited, but Alina shook her head.
John Errington cleared his throat. “You will like the house at Sandhoe. All our modifications are complete and there is a splendid view down to the Tyne. But perhaps you have seen all it has to offer and remain unimpressed?”
She twitched on her seat at his courteous reminder that he wished to be considered as more than a visitor. If she married him, she would live at Sandhoe, midway between Corbridge and Hexham. She sensed his approval and glanced down at her hands.
If only Harry, rather than Errington, stood over her, she would not have begged Lance to stand guard. She remembered the swift exchange of kisses in the windswept darkness and glanced at John Errington. His mouth was narrower than Harry’s, with more sharply incised curves. The thought of kissing him did not make her heart beat faster, but he would expect kisses and much more once they were married.
Unless Harry returned in time.
“Tell me about Sandhoe.” She would be polite and pleasant but that was all. Let some other girl snare John Errington.
“Surely you’ve been?” He laughed with hardly a sound, his teeth small and white in his sunburned face. He leaned closer, reached out and ran a strand of her chestnut hair through his fingers.
“I don’t think so.” Alina flicked her hair away from him, pushed it back under her coif and glanced up at Lance. He leaned against the wall, his sturdy young arms folded across his chest. “Have we been, Lance? Do you remember?”
“I went with Father one day. It still has the tower but there’s a new house to one side, bigger than this, with a walled garden and a pond stocked with fish. You were not at home that day,” he added, looking at John.
John’s hazel eyes regarded Alina. “Would you like to ride over and visit? With your mother’s permission, of course…”
Alina shook her head. There was no point in seeing the house, or building up his hopes of marriage. “Perhaps another day.”
***
Lionel dropped his spoon into the empty bowl, shoved it out of his way and placed his forearms on the table. “Errington is the sort of brother-in-law a man would like as a friend. A gentleman born and bred, one who’ll be loyal to the last drop of blood.”
Alina wound her spoon through the pool of honey on her porridge and scowled at her brother. ‘You marry him, then.’
John Errington’s visits took up so much of her time she did not know if she enjoyed them or not. Certainly they removed her from the daily tasks of spinning and sewing for a little while, but everyone’s calm acceptance of John as her bridegroom unsettled her. After a week of visits even the workmen in the yard stopped chiselling long enough to greet him, the servants welcomed him by name and her mother seemed charmed by him.
‘Don’t be childish, Alina.’
She wrinkled her nose at her brother. “I’ll choose a bride for you, shall I?”
Lionel laughed and flipped the lace flounces at his wrist into place. “I’ll do my own choosing, thank you. Father and Mama like him well enough.”
Alina snorted. “You mean Father values the connection with the Erringtons.”
Lance frowned at them both. “He’d be my brother-in-law too, and I’d rather have Harry Scott.”
Lionel heaved a sigh and pushed to his feet. “You’d better get used to it, both of you. Scott has gone, he won’t be back and the bridegroom will be Errington.”
Lionel snatched his bonnet from the table and left the hall. Alina spooned up porridge. She liked John, and she hated misleading him. Yet until she knew Harry had returned, there was no point in making a fuss. She got up and wandered to the south window seat. When Lance trailed behind her, she tucked her feet out of the way to make room for him on the opposite ledge. The seat was big enough for two, the sunshine warmed them and they had th
e hall to themselves.
“Is Harry going to come back?” Lance whispered.
“I hope so.” Alina strove to be positive. “I know it’s been a whole week, but he’ll come, I know he will.”
“But Father tried to kill him. He’ll try again if Harry returns.”
Alina looked out of the window. Lance was right. Father would be furious if Harry sought her out. But if Harry felt anything for her, he would surely come. After all, her feelings for him had not lessened in a week.
“I wouldn’t go back to a place where they’d tried to kill me,” Lance said. “Would you? Honestly?”
“I don’t know, Lance. I’ve never had to think about such things before. I don’t suppose I would, unless I had very good reason.” She had to hope Harry considered her reason enough.
“Well, can’t you persuade Father to accept him?”
“And how do you propose I do that?”
Lance shrugged.
Alina clasped her hands about her knees and rocked back and forth on the stone seat. She could almost feel the strands of the net tighten about her as the day for her marriage to John crept closer. The Errington family were pleased with the arrangements, her parents were delighted and messengers scurried between the two houses on a daily basis.
Her gaze lifted to the promised coat of limewash with its new and delicate tracery of vines. They coiled, a soft translucent green, across the wall that shone white as fresh snow in the sunlight. The entire hall had been limewashed in two days, but the artisan needed a further three days to paint the vine across the full width of the wall behind her father’s chair. Her mother admired the work, but the artist might as well have painted the word Marriage in bold red letters for all that it meant to Alina.
Lance’s nose pressed up against the glass and he peered down into the ravine below. He wished for Harry’s return almost as much as she did herself.
She considered telling Lance her plans to evade marriage to John Errington, looked at him and remembered his youth. Her fingers tightened around her knees. The temptation to confide gained in the battle with good sense. She reminded herself that the fewer people who knew where she planned to hide meant she was less likely to be found. On the other hand, she needed someone to tell Harry where to look for her. If he returned…
