Fair Border Bride (20 page)

Carnaby glared at his wife in disbelief. Shaking off her hand, he snorted with disgust and strode from the solar.

***

A day later, Harry stood in the church at Halton listening to the subdued chatter behind him as he awaited his bride. He caught the occasional jingle of spurs and the thud of a scabbard hitting the woodwork, indicating most men had come to the church armed. He shot a surreptitious glance over his shoulder. The well-to-do half of the congregation looked back at him with open curiosity. Their feathered hats, wide shouldered tunics and rich gowns contrasted sharply with the drab homespun and fustian of the few local folk squashed into the back of the church.

None of his relatives were here, but it did not matter. Father would arrive when he could contrive a space in the constant press of business. The
Carnabys
, who lived closest and had received the news earliest of all, made up for the lack of Wharton relatives. Sir William of Halton, splendid in brown velvet, took pride of place at the front beside Alina’s mother.

Lionel had warned him that several Erringtons had turned up, which was puzzling. No one dared turn them away. Perhaps Carnaby had invited them, and if he had, Harry was not going to let it spoil his day. If the congregation had been informed of the altered date, then they must also know that there had been a change of bridegroom.

A mutter of sound rippled through the church and told him his bride had arrived. He looked around and experienced a rush of delight as Alina, escorted by her father, paused at the church door. Her blue silk gown, already sewn with marriage to John Errington in mind, enhanced her small waist and he saw that for the first time since he had known her, she had adopted the court fashion for a stomacher. The flat front pushed her breasts high, and gave her that elegant outline so beloved of the court ladies.

Richly embroidered girdle cords ended in silver tassels to match the tiny silver cords that linked across the slashed and padded sleeves. As she walked forward the overskirt rippled back with every step to reveal the pale silk underskirt beneath.

His years at court had taught him to appreciate good tailoring, but now his gaze ran over the square-necked bodice and lingered on the expanse of creamy bosom, flattered by a glowing amber pendant. Her newly-washed hair, brushed smooth and caught back from her face by a chaplet of flowers, hung loose to her waist.

She walked eagerly down the aisle to join him beneath the Norman chancel arch, her face alight with joy. Cuthbert Carnaby glowered, said not a word and joined his wife and sons. Alina reached Harry’s side and against the background of simple white painted walls her chestnut eyes glowed in the candlelight. He had never seen her look happier.

Her smile told him she appreciated his choice of dark blue velvet doublet slashed with gold to complement her dress. Harry let his happiness show in his eyes and saw her breath catch in her throat. The rest of the world faded away. He could not stop, indeed did not wish to stop, smiling. He took her hand, they turned to the priest and Harry concentrated on the important words that would make them husband and wife.

A latecomer let the church door bang shut. A moment later a deep voice rang through the church. “That woman is affianced to me!”

The priest stopped in mid-sentence, his mouth slack. His gaze lifted from the page of his missal, roamed between the young couple before him and came to rest on someone at the back of the church.

Harry wheeled around, eyes narrowed. Alina turned more slowly. They both recognised the voice.

John Errington, magnificent in crimson velvet, stood in the centre of the church, his hat with its large, curling white feather gripped loosely in one hand. He stalked a few paces forward, halted in the middle of the church and regarded them both. The congregation swayed like trees in a high wind, mouths agape, seeking a glimpse of the intruder. The whispers broke out in a sibilant hiss that rose to the rafters.

Alina’s fingers grasped his arm, and she tucked herself close in beside him.

Harry locked glances with John Errington.

John ignored Harry, and looked only at Alina. “You are engaged to be my bride, Alina. I ask that you honour our agreement.”

His deep voice battered the stones of the church and bounced back to echo around the congregation. Harry looked down, saw the blood drain from Alina’s cheeks.

Harry looked at the man poised to become his father-in-law. Carnaby shot a dour glance at Errington and turned back to the altar with an expression very close to complacency. Harry’s teeth clenched. So he was to handle this himself. He glared at Errington. Surely the man could see she did not want him? Would he not see sense, and leave?

He darted another swift glance at Carnaby, who stared at the great ceiling beams with a satisfied smile. Had he planned this? Harry detached Alina’s clutching fingers, stepped forward and addressed his rival. “Will you join our guests and allow our wedding to go forward, sir?”

Errington’s glance flicked briefly to Harry, and then returned to his original quarry. Offering a sad little smile he held out his hand to Alina. “With apologies, I fear I cannot,” he said with every appearance of sorrow. “I have a signed contract that Alina shall be my bride. I must insist that it is honoured.”

Harry hesitated. The entire congregation hung on his response. Alina glared at her father as if willing him to do something. Carnaby sat with a smirk on his swarthy face, an expression that made Harry long to throttle him. Biting back his frustration, he half-turned and raised his brows at the priest.

“It is your bride’s affair, sir. I can do nothing.”

No help there, then. Harry turned to the girl at his side.
“Alina?”

Her eloquent gaze warmed him. “I wish to marry you, Harry.” She looked at John. “John must find another bride.”

It was all Harry needed. Inflating his chest, he turned to face the crimson clad Errington. “I regret, sir, if you feel somewhat ill-used. Alina and I will marry today, with her full consent and that of her father. If you will give way, the ceremony may proceed.”

“That I cannot allow,” Errington said. He waved an elegant hand around the church congregation. “I have many friends and relatives here. They arrived to celebrate my wedding to Alina Carnaby. It is you, sir, who must give way.”

An indrawn breath shuddered through the congregation. Errington moved a step closer. He looked only at Alina. Once again he held out his hand, and smiled as if he expected her to change her mind. “I would have you for my well-beloved bride, Alina. Will you not come to me?”

The tenderness of that rich voice, pitched for her ears rather than the congregation, must have touched her, for Harry saw her swallow as if some large obstruction stuck in her throat.

“He means it,” Harry murmured. “It seems he has a real affection for you.” Her hand tightened on his arm as she faced the other man.

“John,” she murmured and then ducked her head. Harry wondered what she could say that would not make things worse, but remained silent. Let her deal with it in her own way. “John, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you but….I wish to marry Harry.”

Harry watched Errington’s hazel eyes darken and realised he was not about to give way. “I am afraid I cannot accept that, Alina,” Errington said. The white feather twitched by his thigh. His voice revealed nothing but courtesy, but his expression hardened as he regarded Harry. “I see that this man has coerced or compromised you in some way—”

“No, never!”
Alina’s denial rang out.

Harry shook his head, watching Errington closely.

“Father!”
Alina turned to her father but Carnaby, damn him, went on staring at the ceiling.

It was her grandfather who shoved his way to the front of the crowd and stood midway between Errington and Harry. From there he glared at his son. “Get on your feet, man. We can’t ignore this. What do you have to say in this matter?”

Carnaby shook his head, folded his arms and nodded towards Harry. “This is not what I wanted,” he growled. “And Errington is right. He has signed papers.”

A jingling of spurs drew Harry’s attention. Several tall, richly dressed gentlemen rose to their feet in the mid-section of the church. Harry glanced back at Carnaby. “Perhaps you forget our earlier conversation, sir? Surely you recall my father’s interest in this?”

Carnaby’s head jerked back. The glare he directed at Harry was filled with loathing. “Damnation,” he muttered. “Errington, I must withdraw from the arrangement. You have my apology, sir.”

Harry glared at Carnaby. The man must have encouraged Errington into this confrontation and likely hoped that Errington would take it further.

Sir William looked from one to the other, and then back at John Errington. “Your supporters may stand down now, sir.”

John twirled his hat in front of him, spinning it round and round between his fingers. “My cousins came to attend my wedding. Should they return home unsatisfied?”

Sir William’s face grew pink. “Damn it, this is not your wedding, sir! The wedding is between Harry Wharton and my granddaughter.”

“Ah, yes.
The Deputy Lord Warden’s son.”
Errington’s glance mocked Harry. “It helps to have relatives in high places, does it not?”

“Now look here,” Harry snapped, and surged forward intent on inflicting damage to Errington’s sneering face.

Alina dragged on his arm. “Harry!”

The congregation sucked in an audible breath.

Harry clamped down on his temper. “My father gave us his blessing, nothing more.”

Carnaby directed a loud “Hah!” at the ceiling.

Errington nodded. “And your father’s blessing appears to have cheated me out of my chosen bride. You will therefore forgive me if I wonder at its shape and form.”

Sir William shot a baleful glance at his son, who ignored him and remained silent. “There was no coercion, Errington,” Sir William growled. “If that’s the way
your
thinking runs, then you are wrong. I think you must accept what is happening, young man.”

John’s brows lifted. He gazed down at his hat and ran his fingers, over and over, down the length of the white feather plume. He shook his head. “I fear I cannot. If I am not to have Alina by fair means, then I must use foul.” At his words, the young men behind him moved forward in support, and the congregation swayed back to make room for them.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen…” The priest bustled forward, hands raised, palm out. “There must be no unruly behaviour in the Lord’s house.”

Errington brushed the priest to one side and continued towards the bride. Alina retreated and Harry stepped in front of her.

“Out of my way, Wharton.”
John’s voice boomed in the small church. Harry felt Alina’s hands grip the skirt of his doublet just as Errington’s fist reached out and grasped the front of it. “I will have my bride.”

Harry lunged forward, grappled Errington and shoved him back. Errington did not let go. They staggered together, lurched from side to side and scattered the Errington cousins and the closest members of the congregation.

***

Hands to her mouth to suppress her cries of horror, Alina backed towards the altar, unable at first to tear her gaze from the sight of Harry fighting John Errington. When she did seize a moment to glance to one side, Grandfather shook his head over the struggling men and her father laughed.

The sight shocked Alina. Instead of protecting his daughter or helping his prospective son-in-law, her father sat there and laughed. A spurt of rage overrode her wariness. She stalked over and stood in front of him, her hands clenched.

“Father!”
She flung a pointing finger in Harry’s direction. “That is the man I love before all others! Do you want to see me a bride or a widow before the day is out? Help him!”

He regarded her without moving, but the smile slowly died on his face. Something must have touched him, for a moment later he rose to his feet and muttered to Sir William. Both men moved forward, arms outstretched and chivvied the two struggling figures down the short aisle to the back of the church.

Alina watched their jerky progress. At some point her mother rushed to her side and gripped her daughter’s hand, but Alina could not tear her gaze from the two young men who traded punches before the church door.

The priest called “Gentlemen, gentlemen—”

Sir William’s voice echoed hollowly from the back of the church. “Now, lads, let’s stop all this hoo-ha and sort this out like gentlemen.”

“Errington, you must give this up,” Carnaby roared. “Everything is null and void.”

Harry landed a blow to Errington’s chin. John stumbled back against the wooden font, surged back to his feet and rubbed his jaw where Harry’s blow had landed. He lips drew back his from his teeth. Alina had seen dogs do the same thing just before they attacked.

His hand dropped to his sword hilt.

“No!” Alina’s shriek soared over the sudden jostle of benches pushed back and the stampede of men to the door. Women clapped a hand against their mouths and three or four stumbled to their feet to follow the menfolk outside.

“Remain inside ladies, where it is safe.” The priest scuttled forward. Alina gripped her skirt and ran.

The priest caught her arm as she went by.
“Stay, my dear.”

Alina glared and shrugged him off without a word.

“Fine how-de-ye-do and no mistake.”
The strident voice rang in Alina’s ears as she ran the length of the church and turned towards the door. “The family’s too hoity-toity by far. I always said it and now, Constance Carnaby, maybe
ye’ll
believe me!”

With her hand on the door Alina shot a glance at the speaker. Aunt Agnes, of course; recently widowed, who had always thought herself superior by virtue of being a daughter of the Shaftoes of Bavington. Alina threw back the church door, ran across the gravel path and onto the grass of the churchyard.

Surprisingly, she found herself alone. Frowning, she spun round, uncaring that the blue silk of her gown swirled against the ancient gravestones as she searched for Harry and John. A burst of laughter drew her glance to the west. They’d gone through the churchyard and into the Halton grounds rather than towards the village green as she’d expected.

Hands clenched, she watched the men form some sort of square in the open space before Halton Tower. If the bursts of merriment were any clue, they were enjoying themselves hugely. Why were men always so anxious to spar and fight or watch someone else do it? Somebody would be killed.

Her lips thinned and her chin came down. Not on her wedding day, and not with her bridegroom. Alina lifted her blue silk skirt in both fists and plunged towards the gate intent on giving the protagonists a piece of her mind.

A hand grasped her arm and a gruff chuckle sounded in her ear.

“Nah, nah, had up, me beauty.
Ye’re
wi
us!”

***

Harry had no time to look to his bride. Trapped within a horde of jostling Carnaby and Errington men and swept at great speed out of the churchyard and into the Halton lands, Harry’s blood ran hot. He caught no more than a swift glimpse of sunshine on the honey coloured stones of Halton Tower and the outbuildings that formed a natural square behind it. The men slowed and formed a circle, with himself and Errington in the middle of it.

The sun sparkled on Errington’s blade as it slid from the scabbard.

Harry’s muscles tightened. To interrupt a wedding and demand that the bride honour a previous commitment was outrageous, and Errington’s taut, frowning face worried him. For the space of a heartbeat Harry rued the day he met Alina Carnaby in Corbridge market square, then his blade leapt to his hand with a chilling, ringing hiss. He was not going to lose her now.

A sigh of expectation whispered around the watching circle.

Harry flicked the hair out of his eyes. Would his children, assuming he lived to have any, ever believe him when he recounted the tale of a swordfight to win his bride?

Errington attacked with a leap forward, but his second step stabilised him. He had been well taught. Harry allowed himself to be driven back, looked beyond the blades for an instant, saw his opponent’s narrowed his eyes, and a chill ran through him. His opponent intended to make this a killing game.

Harry flexed his fingers on the hilt, skipped away from the attacking blade, backed around the edge of the barrier of warm male flesh. He breathed the mixed odours of sweat, musk and civet, heard the tap of meeting blades with extreme clarity and learned the weight and reach of his enemy.

Errington favoured the high line, and offered more than one invitation. He wanted Harry to attack him, and that gave Harry pause. He parried continuously, using the edge of his blade to block and deflect Errington’s blade. First one and then another jocular insult rang out from the crowd.

One of Halton’s terriers rushed into the ring and barked around their feet. Men laughed, someone grabbed the dog by the scruff of the neck and dragged it out of harm’s way. Harry’s sense of foreboding faded. No one but Errington expected this to be a fight to the death.

Errington’s pride was undoubtedly hurt, and perhaps he loved Alina. Harry could understand that. The man needed to make some sort of grand gesture to clear his feelings, and he’d gone too far to back down without some sort of token, some final flourish. Hopefully his pride hurt more than his heart.

On that thought, Harry treated the battle as a weird kind of tournament and prayed he was correct as the silver blades cleaved the sunny air. The spectators roared, swords slid and whined against each other. Sweat slid from his temples and more than once Errington’s blade came perilously close to a hit.

The man was good.

Harry looked for a weakness and found none.

The comments, good, bad and happily sarcastic, were aimed at Errington and he thought it strange until he realised the Errington clan did not deem him worthy of insult. No one knew him. He was naught but some jumped-up popinjay who had stolen Errington’s bride and must be taught a lesson before he was sent packing – minus the lady.

Not caring for that assessment, Harry gritted his teeth, glared at his opponent and redoubled his efforts. Air sawed in and out of his lungs. Their blades caught, clung and brought him close to Errington, so close he felt the man’s warmth, smelled his sweat. They glared at each other. Harry thrust Errington away from him.