Fair Border Bride

by Jen Black

  Alina watched him scrape ash from under the grate. “If I had to, I suppose I would. But until then, rabbits are safe from me.”

  “It won’t come to that,” he said easily. He glanced at the window, where the pink clouds of dawn gave way to a bright blue sky. “I think we should go soon.”

  “It’s still early.” She followed his glance “Where to?”

  “Back to Aydon Hall and your father.” He broke a stick across his knee and laid both halves on the flames. “I won’t build this up if we’re leaving soon, but it would be good to wash in warm water. What shall I use?”

  She handed him the old patched cauldron Mama had left behind and he took it outside to fill at the water butt. She went back to sweeping the table clear of crumbs and considered his words. As he came back inside, she looked up, the crumbs in her fist. “Father’s not going to be pleased to see us.”

  “He’ll be reasonable, I’m sure.” He hung the cauldron from the trivet and swung it over the fire. Alina tossed the crumbs into the fire. “Do you know you have straw in your hair?”

  “I’d be surprised if I didn’t.” She turned her back to him. “Can you take it out?”

  “Have you a comb?” He ran his hand down the ruffled, tangled fall that reached her hips.

  “Not here. Use your fingers.”

  Cold air struck the back of her neck as he lifted her hair. “M’mmm. Perhaps I should go and look for a curry comb in the stable.” His fingers ran through the long strands. Bits of straw fluttered to the stone flags at her feet. She tilted her head back, enjoying the sensation and thought she heard the jingle of metal outside.

  “Harry, I—”

  The door burst open with such violence it rebounded off the wall.

  Alina gulped. Harry’s hands stilled and then settled on her shoulders.

  She was familiar with her father’s temper, but the man with bloodshot eyes in a twisted snarling face who stood in the doorway seemed a stranger. He looked ready to tear someone limb from limb. Lionel, his expression wary, stepped inside after him, closed the door and stood behind him. He offered her a fleeting smile, but remained silent. Some part of her brain registered that Lionel was now as tall as Father. Both men carried swords and wore the sturdy leather and fustian they kept for hunting.

  Father’s eyes widened on Harry. “Scott!” A tide of crimson rose to the roots of his hair. “We’ve got you now, boy.” His hand clamped on his sword hilt.

  Alina squawked in fright. Lionel blocked his father’s sword arm.

  “Get out of my way!” Carnaby roared.

  Lionel stood firm, and refused to be shouldered aside. “Father, you cannot fight an unarmed man with a sword in your own house.”

  “Give way! Leave me be!” But her father stopped struggling, as if the sense of Lionel’s statement reached him.

  “How…how did you know I was here?” Too frightened to look at her father, Alina addressed the question to her brother.

  “The smell of bacon on the wind,” Lionel snapped. “Drifting down to the watchmen at Aydon in the dead of night. It wasn’t too hard to guess who would be hiding out in Grey House since we’ve all been searching for you most of the day.” He nodded towards Harry. “We didn’t expect him.”

  Father’s hot gaze remained fixed on Harry while he jerked a thumb at her. “Come here.”

  Alina remained pressed against Harry.

  “Alina! Come to me, daughter.”

  “I am staying with Harry.”

  The fire crackled cheerily in the silence, and a horse snorted outside.

  Harry offered a slight bow to both men in turn. “I think it is time I introduced myself,” he said calmly. “Harry Wharton, son and emissary of the Deputy Lord Warden of the West March, at your service.” He ignored Lionel’s surprised gasp. “I know who you are, of course and I offer condolences on the recent death of Sir Reynold.”

  No one spoke or moved. Alina looked from her father to her brother, gauging their expressions. Did they believe him? She glanced back at Harry. Though he stood straight and tall, stubble shadowed the lean planes of his jaw, and as usual his dark hair tumbled untidily over his brow. The loose ties of his shirt revealed the strong musculature of his throat.

  Yet things she had not noticed last night now struck her eye. Not only did his shirt have lace edging the collar, but his dagger hilt was jewelled and a sapphire on his hand sparkled in the firelight. His grey doublet, tossed carelessly over the chair, had silver buttons running from neck to hip. She glanced at him, and saw pride and confidence in his stance and good-humoured smile.

  “You gave me your name as Harry Scott.” The dull red receded from Carnaby’s complexion but a vein throbbed on his forehead and his voice held a threat.

  Alina drew a breath to speak but Harry forestalled her. “Ah, yes. I fear I lied.”

  Carnaby’s voice sharpened. “You use insolence to me?”

  Alina clutched her hands together beneath her breastbone. At least Father’s sword was still in its scabbard.

  Lionel shot a sharp glance at his parent. “How do we know,” he asked, turning back to Harry, “that you give your true name now?”

  Her brother was growing up at last. She sent him a swift smile.

  “I have the proof you need in my saddle bag.” Harry gestured to the leather satchel on the scarred table and when neither man objected, stepped up, opened the leather flap and extracted a bundle of papers. He was two steps closer to her father and Alina held her breath in case of an attack. Harry seemed confident as he selected and placed three folded missives on the table. Each bore an impressed blob of crimson sealing wax, still unbroken.

  Lionel drew off a gauntlet, stepped forward, scooped up the papers and offered them to his father.

  With a swift, dismissive gesture, Father said, “You read them.”

  Red wax cracked and fell to the flagstones as Lionel broke the seals. Father backed, folded his arms and leant against the vast wooden dresser. “Well?”

  Lionel scanned the pages rapidly. “It is from the Deputy Lord Warden at Carlisle, sir. We are to extend the watches. There are details—names, dates, times and penalties for non-compliance. They are direct orders with Wharton’s signature.” He held the papers out but Father waved them aside.

  “They don’t prove he’s Wharton’s son,” he growled, still glaring at Harry. “Merely that he is his messenger.”

  “Of course he is,” Alina gasped. “Father, why don’t you believe him?”

  “Why should we?” Lionel turned to her. “He’s lied once and he’ll likely lie again to save his life, like all the thieving vagrants in this region.”

  “Harry is not a thieving vagrant!”

  Harry caught her arm and gently pulled her back to stand beside him. “Wait,” he murmured against her ear. “It will of course be clear to you gentleman,” he said “that there are many men who can identify me. Sir John Forster or John Heron of Chipchase, for example. I think you would believe them, would you not? They reside not too far from here.” He smiled at Carnaby. “Come to think of it, I believe your father, sir, has met me on official duty.”

  Silence filled the room for the second time that morning as the four people stared at each other. A branch burning in the fireplace sizzled and whined and hooves shifted restlessly on the cobblestones outside.

  “Father?” It was Lionel, obviously uncomfortable with the turn of events, who stirred. “Since we could easily verify what he says, it seems he tells the truth. Shall we return home? Or make for Halton, so grandfather can confirm him to you as Wharton’s son?”

  Carnaby puffed out his cheeks, glared at Alina and strode to the door. “Aydon. We go to Aydon. Though what we do when we get there is beyond me. I had not thought to have a strumpet for a daughter.”

  With that he yanked the door open and flung out into the yard.

  Alina stared after him in disbelief. He could not have hurt her more if he had rammed his fist into her belly.

  Lionel he
sitated at the door and directed a small smile in her direction. “Don’t worry. He’ll get over it. Mama will be vastly relieved to see you safe and unhurt. She feared dreadful things once she discovered you were missing. At one point she thought the Tynedale reivers had you.”

  Alina blinked back tears. “I long to see her,” she whispered.

  “Bring them down, Lionel.” Their father’s bellow came from outside.

  Brother and sister locked glances before Lionel shrugged, turned and grasped the edge of the door. Holding it, he glanced back over his shoulder. “Don’t argue with him, Alina, or you’ll both suffer for it. He isn’t thinking properly right now. You may not believe me, but Sir Reynold’s death has upset him greatly.”

  She moved across the kitchen and laid a hand on her brother’s arm. “I don’t doubt what you say, but grief does not give him the right to browbeat me like this, nor to attack Harry as he did. You seem to have his confidence now. What do you think he will do?”

  Lionel shrugged and nodded in Harry’s direction. “Depends on him, I suppose. Father can’t risk running foul of the Warden’s son. Father knows it, but he hates it, too. My advice is to tread gently. Very gently.”

  When Lionel walked out into the yard, Alina turned to look at Harry. “Will you ride to Aydon?”

  He had been staring at the flagstones, deep in thought. At her words, he looked up, and though he did not smile, he did not seem overly worried. “I think we could try, at least. Let me go and get Bessie saddled and we’ll be on our way.”

  ***

  They rode into the quiet courtyard of Aydon, which seemed deserted. Alina slipped from Harry’s horse to the ground, her stomach queasy with nerves. Even the stone masons had disappeared. Where was everyone? A young lad darted out of the stables as Harry dismounted. Handing over the reins, Harry joined her and walked steadily to the staircase leading to the hall.

  The first person Alina saw in the bright, newly limewashed hall was her mother, who rose from her chair and rushed across the flagstones. “Alina! At last, you are safe!”

  There was genuine delight in the greeting. With a sob of relief, Alina banged her cheek on her mother’s gable hood, surrendered to the comfortingly tight hug, and tried to speak through a throat suddenly grown tight.

  Her mother drew back. “Daughter, are you well?”

  Alina nodded. “No harm befell me, Mama. I am well.” Her eyes brimmed with sudden happy tears, and she did not object when her mother dabbed at them with a handkerchief.

  “Come sit beside me.” Mama led her across the hall and into the solar, where she sank back into her chair with a happy smile, black skirt belling out around her. The light, gauzy veil of her headdress fluttered and settled at the nape of her neck. “Whatever possessed you to disappear like that? Such a to-do with the Erringtons. You have no idea of the fuss they made—” She broke off, shaking her head. “I’m told you were at Grey House all this time? You have been gone a night and a day!”

  If Mama thought she left early on Friday morning, Alina saw no reason to disabuse her of that idea. She sank to the stool at her mother’s side, coughed to clear the constriction of her throat and glanced back at the doorway to the hall where Harry hesitated.

  “I was at Grey House, Mama. I was there all the time.” She offered a small, tentative smile. “I did not expect it to be quite so bare and cold. I had forgotten we brought my bed here.”

  “Oh, daughter! You’ll be lucky if you don’t catch a chill! Why did you go?”

  Alina looked down at her clasped hands. “I could not marry John Errington.”

  Her mother’s eyes widened. “And you thought that if you disappeared for a day, the problem would go away? The wedding will be re-arranged, you must know that.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Harry, waiting patiently in the archway, chose that moment to cough gently, and move into the room. Margery Carnaby turned, frowning. “Who is this?”

  “Mama, allow me to introduce Harry Wharton. He is the second son of Sir Thomas Wharton, the Deputy Warden of the West March. This is my mother, Harry; Mistress Margery Carnaby.”

  Harry bowed from the waist, rose and offered a smile intended to charm. “Mistress Carnaby.” He stepped forward, ready to take her hand. “We met briefly in Corbridge market some weeks ago.”

  Margery Carnaby looked him up and down.

  He had washed his face and combed his hair that morning, but he still looked rumpled and untidy. With a twinge of regret Alina remembered John Errington’s impeccable tawny velvet and silver-stitched gauntlets. Harry’s sober grey clothes were far more suited to rough riding than exchanging pleasantries in a lady’s solar, but the cloth was heavy and expensive and the silver buttons sparkled in the sunlight. Mama was sure to notice them. “Do you not remember him, Mama?”

  Margery studied him and condescended to offer her hand. “No, but I met your father once, young man. You have a look of him, perhaps, across the cheekbones.”

  Harry bowed once more and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “I believe there is a distant connection, through marriage, between our families.”

  No one had ever mentioned in Alina’s hearing that Lord Wharton was connected to the family. Wide-eyed, she watched her mother indicate the recessed sunlit window with its chamfered stone seat. “I can offer you nought but a cushion on the window seat, young man.”

  Alina seized a cushion, plumped it and, smiling brightly, handed it to Harry. He gravely placed it on the central stone square and sat down. He was obliged to place both forearms on the higher square of stone at each side and looked vaguely magisterial and most uncomfortable in his stone chair. Alina hid a smile and looked down at her slippers.

  “Am I to suspect that this young man has something to do with your refusal to marry John?”

  Alina jumped. Mama was right to grow suspicious. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

  “It is no good being sorry, daughter. Nothing has changed.”

  Glancing at Harry, Alina searched for something to say. Mama would not be pleased to hear her daughter had spent the night in Harry’s arms, yet that was the one thing that may deter the Errington family from pursuing the match. Alina took a deep breath. “We met Harry in Corbridge market weeks ago, Mama. Perhaps you remember him now?”

  Margery Carnaby’s dark, unfathomable eyes considered Harry anew and then suddenly narrowed. “Ah. The young man purchasing a gift for his sister?”

  “The very one.” Alina smiled. “And you remember I told you he saved me from the bull that broke loose in the market square that day while you were in church?”

  Her mother nodded briefly. “But his name…surely that was Scott?”

  “Yes, well, I was coming to that. Harry was on business for his father, the Deputy Lord Warden, and riding north to Edinburgh. It was secret, and important, so he told everyone his name was Harry Scott. He did not know it was the one name Father hated above all others, nor did he know he was going to meet me.” With a swift glance at Harry she rattled on. “He had the ill luck to fall from his horse and lay unconscious for some time in our field.”

  “The same day your father rode out after the reivers?”

  Alina nodded. Judging from her sharp eyes and lack of smiles, Mama had an inkling of where this was leading. Her shrewd dark gaze swept to Harry. “Why were you riding so close to Aydon, sir? It is far from the normal route north.”

  Sunshine rimmed Harry with a faint golden line. To Alina’s eyes he appeared relaxed and smiled easily. “Pride would have me spin a yarn, but the truth is, madam, I wanted to know where your daughter resided so that I might visit her when my business was done. I thought I might ride close by and satisfy my curiosity without exciting any attention.” His voice, mellow and soothing, reached them without effort.

  He laughed quietly before continuing. “As it was, I gained far more attention than I wanted. A band of rough looking men were in the act of raiding your cattle, saw me and threatened to slit my throat. I ran, they gave chase
and the result was a collision with the tree. I’m lucky they didn’t stop to finish the job.” His sapphire blue eyes were full of self-mockery. “I had a bump the size of an egg for days.”

  Alina relaxed a little. He was handling things very well. How could Mama resist him?

  “You did not know that the reivers move at night rather than daylight?” Her mother’s acid tone jolted Alina’s eyes wide.

  Harry’s mouth pulled to one side. “I am learning quickly, but that I had forgotten. I’ve spent years in London, madam. My father was keen that I should have a good education, and then I served in several important households. I know the ways of King Henry’s court better than I do the ways of Borderers.”

  Mama fell for the lure. One brow arched, and her face softened into a smile. “You must tell us, one winter’s evening, of King Henry’s Court. I would like that. I believe Alina would benefit from it also.”

  Hastily Alina nodded. “Most assuredly, yes.”

  “It would be my pleasure, madam.” Harry’s blue glance was sincere and full of respect.

  Mama turned to her daughter. “Go on with your tale, Alina.”

  Mama had not been diverted, and was still in full control of the conversation. Hastily gathering her wits, Alina saw her mother’s eyes widen as a thought occurred to her. “You hid him, didn’t you? In Dragon’s old stable? Am I right?”

  Alina could not deny it. She nodded.

  “I knew it.” Her mother fished for a handkerchief in her sleeve, found it and held it beneath her nose. “You hid him, you lied to me—all those visits to the horse—the boys found out, revealed your secret to your father and Harry faced the Leap.”

  With two rapidly increasing spots of angry colour springing to her cheeks, she glared at her daughter, and then swung around on Harry. He straightened abruptly on his stone seat. “I heard that you were seen in Corbridge weeks later, and there was a fracas involving my husband and my son. No doubt you were also there. You are nothing but trouble to this family, sir.”

  Hands flapping at the air to try and stop her mother’s tirade, Alina bleated “Father picked a quarrel—”