Fair Border Bride (4 page)

She could think of nowhere else. She watched Harry as he slowly, finger by finger, removed his gauntlets and laid them beside him on the grass. The green shade receded from his skin.

“There is an old stable up the hill,” she suggested. “You can hide there until you feel better. Do you think you can walk? Or ride, perhaps?”

A sapphire flashed on the smallest finger of one hand. It matched his eyes. His hands, she saw, were as beautiful as the rest of him. She felt an absurd longing to take his hand and hold it to her face.

“Ride?”
He laughed soundlessly behind the palms that covered his face. “I doubt it. But I could hang on to the stirrup and let the horse drag me along.”

The effort of hauling a six-foot, well-built man onto his feet made her breathless, and staggering ten paces proved an exercise in frustration. But it was strangely exciting to touch him and feel his weight on her shoulder. She had never been this close to a man who was not a relative.

She glared at him, panting as he sat, head in his hands, after his third fall. “I had no idea it would be such trouble to hide you. This is hopeless. Can you not call your horse?”

Somehow she got him on his feet again. Sweating with effort, buried beneath his broad shoulder, she twisted her head and growled at him.
“Call!”

Swaying, he gazed at the mare. “I can’t remember her name.”

“Then whistle!”

It took him a moment to gather enough breath to do it. They were both relieved when the chestnut lifted her head and ambled over. “Now, grab onto the stirrup leather,” Alina guided his hand. “I’ll stay by your side. No, that’s no good. She won’t know where to go.”

Alina detached herself from Harry’s grip, went to the chestnut’s head and hooked her finger through the bridle. She looked over her shoulder. “Ready?”

Harry’s fingers tightened on the stirrup leather. Alina clicked her tongue and the horse walked forward. Harry lurched, staggered and fell without a sound. Alina groaned in despair. The mare stopped and looked round.

“Stay where you are.” Anger laced his voice and kept her by the animal’s head.

He sounded as frustrated as she was herself. He grasped the mare’s foreleg and clambered to his feet, then hung onto the saddle until he caught his balance.

“How lucky she’s a good tempered mare,” Alina remarked, stroking the velvety neck. “Now all you have to do is move your feet. She will pull you along.”

Harry lifted his head.
“Easier said than done.
And the sarcasm doesn’t help, by the way.”

Startled, she shot him a wide-eyed glance. “I wasn’t being sarcastic. We’ll have to do it, Harry. I have to get back soon or someone will come looking for me and then you’ll be discovered.”

“Then I presume they’ll throw me in the dungeon. Not a good idea.”

She liked his sense of humour, and smiled in encouragement. He gathered himself for a final effort. He looked rather green again. Hoping he would not notice, she moved to the other side of the mare. Sympathy was all very well, but if he vomited over her gown it would be difficult to hide his presence from her nosy brothers.
Or her mother.

Somehow he matched his feet to the stride of the horse and they found themselves at the door to the stable.

“There! I knew we could do it. Give me your hand.”

“Don’t sound so cocky, young lady. Where…”

He let go and clutched the worn doorpost as if the world swayed around him. Alina swooped forward and kicked straw into a deep bed against the wall. “Don’t worry, it’s clean. Dragon sleeps outside when it’s warm.”

“I couldn’t care, at this moment, if it was alive with rodents.” His eyes closed. He took one step, pitched forward and she only managed to steady him for two paces before he fell into the straw.

“Oh, Harry!”

It was no good. He was beyond her irritation and instructions. He was now either asleep or unconscious and she could only leave him to sleep it off. Lionel had been like this once, when he missed the mark at tilting practice and forgot to duck when the sandbag swung round on the long arm of the quintain and caught him on the back of the neck. Everyone laughed at her fears that he’d never wake, said he would be all right come morning.

He had, of course, so perhaps she worried needlessly.

Alina took an old blanket from a peg on the wall, shook it out and draped it over him. Mama would say he ought to be stripped, washed and have hot bricks packed around him but she did not have the means to do it. Thank goodness it was summer. She had no idea how she would feed him, but she would worry about that later. Now, she must hide the strange horse, and hurry back to the hall before she was missed.

Aydon Hall, June 1543

The hasty scramble up the slope from the Horse-field made Alina’s heart pound. Reaching the courtyard, she circled the stack of new ashlar blocks Father had ordered to replace the worn wooden staircase up to the hall, and drew in several deep breaths. Mounting the staircase, she straightened her shoulders. No need to be caught panting like a squire fresh from exercise, or give Mama the chance to complain about poor posture. Marching through the hall toward the solar, she hoped Mama wouldn’t have noticed how long she had been.

Sunlight flooded the two triple-lancet windows at the southern end of the solar. Embroidered hangings masked the grey stone walls, and there were two further doors, one of which led to her parent’s bedchamber. The other led into a vestibule, from which a staircase led to both the ground floor and the attics where Alina and the boys slept. Beyond the landing was a larger solar, in which the whole family gathered in the evening.

Mama sat ramrod stiff on the wooden chair, a basket of cardings at her feet and a smaller basket of spun wool on the table at her elbow. Alina’s spindle lay on the smooth wood like an unspoken rebuke.

“You have had time enough to ride to Corbridge and back.”

“I beg your pardon, Mama.”

Her mother rattled her knuckles against the basket of wool. “I have spun all this wool.”

The unspoken words ‘without your help,’ rang in Alina’s mind. A twinge of guilt flared and died. “I am here now, Mama.” She sank to her accustomed stool, took up the spindle and a clump of wool, and set to work.

In the ensuing silence, her thoughts drifted to Harry, sound asleep in Dragon’s shelter. Perhaps when he woke he would remember who he was.

“Well? Shall you work today, or not?”

Flinching at her mother’s unaccustomedly sharp voice, Alina lifted the spindle once more.

“There are grass stains on your skirt, girl. Is it not enough that I fear for your father and every able-bodied man who has ridden off on this wretched Hot Trod? Must I worry about you, daughter?”

Alina concentrated on the spindle in her hand. “There’s no need, Mama.”

“And the grass stains?”

Alina looked down. The long green stain was so obvious against the brown fabric she did not know how she had missed it. It must have happened when Harry’s weight felled her to the ground. Memory swamped her and she recalled the smell of leather in her nostrils, his weight across her shoulder and the feel of his wrist in her fingers. He had been so much heavier than she expected.

Putting Harry in Dragon’s stable probably wasn’t the wisest thing she had ever done, but what else was she to do? Harry was so different to the local lads. Already she would recognise his voice among a thousand others, and looking at him stirred all sorts of unfamiliar feelings in her.
Shock, admiration and a twist of…not fear exactly, but something like it.

Rather like finding a wolf in the sheep pen.

A frisson of excitement ran across her skin. She liked everything about him but for the fact that his family name was Scott.

“What is the matter with you, girl?”

“I thought to hide my clumsiness, but now I see I cannot avoid it.” Collecting her scattered thoughts, Alina offered the only excuse she could imagine. “I stumbled going down the hill. Dragon was hidden away behind some bushes, and I could not find her—”

“Alina, your childhood is behind you.” Her mother’s words, the exact words she had heard so often since she turned twelve, were engraved on Alina’s heart. She winced, kept her gaze on her spindle and let the rant flow over her head.

“Soon you will be married, if your father’s negotiations are successful, and Dear Lord, let us hope that they are. How will you instruct servants and run a household if your staff laugh at you behind your back? You must learn to behave with dignity and decorum. You will be twenty inside half a year.”

The clear light lit every line on Mama’s face and deepened the frown ridges carved across her brow. Her eyes were pink-rimmed, as if she had been weeping.

‘Don’t worry, Mama. Father will return unscathed, I am sure of it.”

Margery Carnaby flicked a glance at her daughter, as if assessing this new show of concern. “I envy you your confidence. We will only be sure of that when he rides through the gate.”

Alina concentrated on her spindle and wondered what might stop her mother picturing disaster out on the hillside.

“Do you know the man I am to marry, Mama?” she asked brightly. “Has Father decided on John Errington? Or has he changed his mind again and forgotten to tell me?”

Mama avoided her gaze. “Get on with your work. It is not for me to say. Your father will do so when he is ready.”

Alina leaned forward. “But you could give me a hint, Mama. In what direction does he ride when he has my marriage in mind? If he rode west it would mean the Erringtons.”

Her mother suppressed a smile.

“A hint, Mama?
A tiny hint?
Does he go east or west?
North or south?”
Alina lifted a hand to her mouth and pretended shock. “Not north, Mama?
Surely not one of the Tynedale families?
He would not, would he?”

“Don’t be so foolish, girl.” Mama saw she was being teased but could not hide her smile. “You shall not persuade me with such foolish talk. You know your father would never marry you off north of the border. Neither would he consider one of the infamous riding families in Redesdale.”

Alina frowned as if deep in thought. “Then he must be looking east or west, for there are not many who live in the wild lands south of the Tyne. The Erringtons would be best, of course, for they have so many good connections, but he may prefer one of the Blackett boys. He surely does not look as high as the Shaftoes?”

Her mother put down her spindle. “You can wheedle all you like, daughter, but I shall not reveal your father’s plans. Indeed, I do not think they are complete yet.”

“Then I suppose I am not likely to be married in the next two weeks.” Alina tossed her long plait back over her shoulder with a cheerful smile. “After all, you would want time to make a new gown for my wedding, would you not?”

The sun warmed her skin. The grey kitten woke in its basket and wobbled across the floor, mewing until she bent and scooped it onto her lap. “I’ll have to keep you away from the big yard cat.” She tickled its clean pink tummy, and the kitten yawned. “That old tom might do you an injury.”

Her mother glanced at the tiny creature. “Your father will not tolerate the animal around his feet for long. I know you doused it to get rid of fleas, but it will have to go outside.”

“I know. But she will soon grow, and when she can fend for herself, she shall live outside. Until then I shall keep her in my room and she can chase mice around the attics.”

Mama heaved a sigh. “Johnny Woodrington would have been an ideal match for you. Same age, same station in life, good rich lands that would come to him in time.” She shook her head. “And then he catches the sweating sickness and dies three days later.
So much planning and negotiation.
Almost two years gone to waste.”

Biting her lip, Alina hid a smile. “I’m sure Johnny didn’t do it deliberately to annoy you and Father.”

“That sounded hard and cold, Alina. I have warned you before about your flippant attitude.”

“I beg pardon,
Mama,
I did not mean it so.” She ducked her head, as if ashamed. “But I hardly knew Johnny. I suppose we must give thanks the disease did not come to Aydon.”

Mama regarded her doubtfully. “Indeed. But it meant your father must begin negotiation all over again and it was not
easy,
let me tell you, though you do nothing but laugh about it. Most of the young men were already spoken for. I know Cuthbert found it trying when he received naught but refusals.” She picked up her spindle. “By now you should have had a child in your arms.”

“I don’t mind, Mama. I am in no hurry to marry.”

“Alina, you are no green girl, yet you still have your head full of nonsense. It is long past time you were married. A grandchild in the house would have been nice,” Mama added in a wistful tone, and then shrugged. “But since the Good Lord has seen fit to send illness to your uncle, it is something of a blessing that you are still here to take over some of my tasks.” She shook her head. “That was another thing that upset your father. It meant he had to take over all Reynold’s duties here as well as his own.”

“I know uncle’s illness upsets him.”

“And as if that was not enough,” Mama went on, “there were the responsibilities of rank.
Meetings and endless attendance on the Wardens whenever they demand it.
Thank the Lord there are only three Wardens.” She shook her head in sorrow. “Last year they seemed to proliferate. Setting watches, organising rotas, writing reports, calls to arms. Alina, you have no idea how your father hates it all.”

“He seems to be more accepting of it these days.” Alina spoke carefully, gauging her mother’s state of mind. “I remember he was actually smiling when he returned from the Lord Warden’s last summons.”

Her mother frowned. “He was, wasn’t he?
Something to do with John Foster being fooled by a couple of naughty rogues from
Coquetdale
.”

Alina went on spinning. Mama was right. Father had a lot on his mind these days.

It would probably be safer for Harry and everyone else if he left as soon as he could ride. It would not do for Father to discover that she had been hiding a Scott on the premises.

The kitten’s head twitched, wide blue eyes focussed on the twisting single strand over its head. It lunged for the wool, missed and toppled to one side. Alina chuckled, and settled it safely in the valley between her thighs, thankful her thick skirt and petticoat shielded her from the sharp claws.

Harry might well sleep through the rest of the day undisturbed, and possibly the night too.

Her mother sighed. Alina looked up. Mama, her eyes tight shut, clutched the spindle against her stomacher.

“Please do not worry, Mama. Father will be hot on their heels by now.”

“It should not have been your father’s responsibility. This…this ugly old house is Reynold’s property.” Mama glared around the stone walls as if they were to blame for her current situation.

“But it will soon become father’s property if Uncle Reynold does not recover.”

Her mother’s hands fell to her lap, and the strands of wool, lacking tension, unwound. Tut-tutting at her own carelessness, Mama shook her head. “Reynold took ill early in May, and here we are, mid-way through June. I doubt he will recover now.”

“I expect you wish we were at still home, Mama. Grey House is more comfortable than this old place.”

“Aye, I would, to be sure. But we could not in all conscience leave your uncle Reynold to servants. Your father would no doubt have led the raid even if we had been still at home.” She looked up. “And Reynold set the stonemasons to do all this work, and your father insists it must go on. The noise they make is enough to drive one demented.”

“It is good to have day’s silence without them.”

Any moment now Mama would mention, as she so often did, how inconsiderate Sir Reynold’s wife had been in dying two summers ago and thus bequeathing the responsibility of nursing him in his illness to the Carnaby family in general and Margery in particular. His three young daughters had gone to their maternal grandmother at Shortflatt, but a few gentle miles to the north east, and for that, Alina was thankful.

The kitten reached out a tentative paw for the twisting strands, overbalanced and tumbled off Alina’s knees. The little creature used its claws and this time reached her flesh. Alina winced, scooped the kitten up in one hand and placed it on the floor.

A sniff made her look up. A tear trembled on her mother’s lashes. “Don’t cry, Mama. Father will return safely, you shall see. The men are loyal and brave, and he has Lionel to support him.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Her mother clutched both hands tight to the dark velvet at her breast.
“Oh, Lionel!”

“Lionel is eighteen, Mama, and it is high time he rode out with Father. If he refused, the men would laugh at him behind his back. You know that.”

Margery applied a scrap of linen to her eyes. “You, I suppose, are glad he has gone. You would not care if he was hurt, or…”

“Of course I should care, Mama.”

“I remember once you threatened to smother him with a feather pillow if he did not stop tormenting you.”

Alina laughed and lifted the wool out of the kitten’s reach. “That was years ago. There was a time I would have given anything to have been born a boy so I could knock out his teeth for teasing me. It doesn’t mean I don’t love him.”

Margery sniffed and wiped her tears with the scrap of linen. “I must look in on Reynold and keep him apprised of Cuthbert’s decision to ride out.”

Almost there, Alina thought. Her mother would soon be back to her normal, cheerful self.

Later that day, when the duty visit had been made to Sir Reynold, and they’d taken a meal in the hall, Alina followed her mother back to the solar. A servant had lit candles and stooped to replenish the hearth fire. Alina kissed her mother’s cheek, and hurried to the door.