Fair Border Bride (21 page)

“Come on Errington! Finish him!”

Harry glared in the direction of the voice. He was tired of the barracking, tired of the whole thing. He should have been married by now except for this man’s stupid pride. He fixed his attention on Errington and feinted, got the reaction he anticipated, and moved forward on the different line.

The spurt of irritation gave an edge to his swordplay. The watchers noticed. Calls were directed at Harry. One got carried away, and offered advice.

“Keep that arm up, Wharton. Don’t let him go low—argh!”

Harry grinned. His feint had fooled the watchers as well as Errington. Stepping forward once, and again, he forced his opponent back, his blade whipping against Errington’s in a blaze of light.

“Hey, the lad’s good,” remarked his lone supporter. “Watch how he…”

Harry lunged, his sharp blade caught the skin of Errington’s forearm and a spurt of blood flew into the air.

Harry drew back, chest heaving. Satisfied with his performance, he watched his opponent. Would Errington’s honour be satisfied?

“A lucky blow, I think.” He offered a public salve to his opponent’s pride but he knew deep down that he had taught young Errington not to trifle with the Lord Warden’s son. They could both retire with dignity intact if only Errington had the sense to see it.

Errington shook his head, dropped his sword point and allowed a cousin to bind a handkerchief about his arm. Breathing hard, he glanced over at Harry with an odd look in his eye. “More good play than luck, sir.”

Some of the tension left Harry. He dipped his head. “Thank you.”

The ring of men remained quiet in the sunshine. A wood pigeon fluttered heavily across their heads. Errington patted the makeshift bandage, looked up and seemed surprised to see Harry still at his side. “Still here, Wharton? I thought you came to get married?”

Harry grinned. “I was. I shall, if my bride has not disowned me.”

A faint smile changed Errington’s lean face. “The sooner we get the ceremony over, the sooner we can repair to Aydon and enjoy the feast good Mistress Carnaby will have waiting.” He looked around the encircling crowd. “Off to the church, lads. There’s to be a wedding.” With a roar of approval the whole group broke away in the direction of the church, leaving them to follow as and when they would.

Errington’s smile faded when he thought himself unobserved. He rubbed his bandaged arm. Lines of discontent marred his face. Harry could see he was unhappy with the outcome, had expected to win the bout and claim his bride. Honour demanded he maintain a brave face in public.

Some women had drifted out onto the green. Harry looked for Alina, hoping to see admiration in her eyes. She was not there. His gaze slid back to Errington. On impulse, he offered his hand. “I’d be glad to have you as a friend, if you will.”

Errington’s hazel eyes flickered in surprise. He hesitated a moment, gauging Harry, then flung out his undamaged hand. “I’m not such a fool as to hold grudges. And if I’m any judge, I’d be the one to suffer for it if I did.”

A faint cry rang out. Still clasping hands, they both looked towards the church. Harry groaned.
“Now what?”

Faint cries came to them. “Here, where’s my horse gone? Hey! They’ve all gone!”

“What!”

Men ran to the horse lines beneath the yew tree at the church wall and more cries erupted. “They’ve
gone,
every bloody one!”

Harry and Errington exchanged glances and hastened towards the church, where frustration and rage laced the cries that tore the air.

“Where the hell’s that little bugger I left to look after them?”

“There! Look, is that him?” The man pointed to a small figure racing back down the gentle green slope from the old Roman Wall.

“Aye, that’s him right enough.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed. “Where’s my horse, young Will?”

Less than a minute later, poor Will staggered to halt, palm pressed to his side, very nearly spent. He pointed west. No more than eight years old, scarlet cheeked and hardly able to breathe, he gasped words rather than sentences. “Reivers…that way…took horses…” He looked at Harry.
“Alina as well!”

“What?” Harry sprang forward, knelt and grasped the boy’s shoulders. “Will, is it not? Well, Will, nod your head until you can talk properly. You saw Miss Alina ride off with the men who stole the horses?”

Will nodded.

“You are certain it was Alina?”

Will nodded. “Blue dress,” he gasped.
“Bride.”

A chill hand settled around Harry’s innards. He glanced up at Errington.
“Any idea where they’ll have gone?”

Sir William appeared at their side. “
Bewcastle’s
where they take horses stolen hereabouts.
Noted for it.
Bewcastle’s
west of here.”
He glared at them. “If the two of you’d not started footling about with swords my granddaughter would be safe…”

Harry’s answer was sharp. “She is my bride, sir. Believe me, I will find her.”

“She’s not your bride yet, Harry!”

Harry heard the jubilation in Errington’s voice. If the man was going to propose a race with Alina as the prize, he would kill him. He got to his feet and hesitated long enough to send a swift wink to Young Will before he turned and ran.

Footsteps pounded after him. “Do you have a horse? We have to save her!” It was Errington.

Harry gestured ahead to the Halton stables. “I’m family now. What about you?”

They reached the stable door together. A wry grin crossed Errington’s heated face. “I came late, remember? My horse went with the rest. You go on. I’ll gather men and mounts and follow you as soon as I can.”

“Do that. But don’t think you’re going to steal her from under my nose, Errington.” Harry disappeared into the gloom.

Thinking to add to the romance of the knight and his new lady, someone had caparisoned his mare fit for a royal tourney.
Swearing,
Harry tore flowers from the brow band and reins, ripped the gaudy fabric from Bessie’s rump and tossed it over a straw bale.

“She wouldn’t come anyway, I can see that now.” Errington’s voice came from the doorway. “Will you be able to track them?”

Harry ground his teeth together.
Jesu
, did the man think he was incapable of following the trail a dozen horses would leave in soft ground? “Childs’ play,” he snapped.

Harry led Bessie out and mounted in one fluid movement. Errington headed back toward the church. Gathering up the reins, Harry saw Alina’s father striding toward him across the cobbles.

Carnaby put a hand on Bessie’s neck. “Will tells of half a dozen raiders and nearly twenty horses. It should be a plain trail.” His tone suggested that even an imbecile like Harry could not miss it.

Harry restricted himself to a sharp nod of the head.

Carnaby moved to one side and gestured for Harry to ride on.

“Fetch her home, lad.”

Harry heard the soft comment, and glanced back, frowning. He urged his horse towards the open hillside and wondered if he had imagined Carnaby’s gruff words.

Twenty horses on soft ground made a trail as plain as day.

Harry drew a deep breath, urged his mare up the slope and let his gaze follow the hoof prints that pocked the meadow on and up to the bare landscape beyond. His blood ran hot and anger warred with fear for Alina.

He knew how reivers infiltrated the local populace seemingly at will. No doubt they’d heard of the wedding by listening to gossip in the village, rode this way and couldn’t resist stealing the horses while everyone was occupied in church.

Horse theft was one thing but taking Alina was quite another. He wished he’d told Errington to alert the Lord Warden. Her life might be in danger, though more than likely there would be a ransom demand. Sickening fears stole into his mind. Some of the ruffians wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off a pretty girl.

On the other hand, she would be terrified, he’d no doubt, but she had a temper and it was her wedding day. High emotion might lead to angry words and Alina wasn’t known for holding her tongue. He growled low in his throat. If one of them so much as laid a finger on her, he’d kill him.

“Come on, Bessie!”

The mare snorted, flicked her ears and thundered on up the slope, shedding a rose from her brow band as she went. The reivers and their ponies had disappeared over the crest of the hill, but all he needed were the hoof prints, and a glimpse of the group now and then.

Carnaby’s wistful expression and soulful words had been a surprise. Harry had been allowed a fleeting glimpse of a worried father who obviously had feelings for his daughter.

The slope levelled out as he neared the crest, and he let the mare pick her own gait while he searched the land ahead and to either side of the dark, muddied line of hoof prints. They rounded a rocky outcrop, followed the outer rim of a copse, then disappeared into a dip in the land and carried on up the rising green slope beyond.

The reivers covered the ground fast. Harry squinted ahead and in the far distance saw the horses travelling west at a steady pace across a bare ridge. With a crow of delight he settled down to ride as unobtrusively as possible yet still keep them in sight.

Sweat dampened his spine and anxiety tightened his muscles. Bessie responded by speeding up. Controlling the tension that gripped him was difficult. He reasoned that they couldn’t do anything to Alina while they moved at speed across country. The danger would come when they stopped. Gritting his teeth, Harry intended to be right there with them when they reached their destination.

***

Alina prayed her captor would stop soon. He rode a shaggy pony over rough ground and, held face down before his thighs, the smell of horse, grass, and bog clogged her nose. Because the pony was short-legged, knee high clumps of wiry grass whipped her face and dollops of icy black water drenched her.

The pony broke from a canter to swift, bone-shaking trot.

If only she had not been so intent on reaching Harry she might have heard the reiver’s unshod pony pattering up through the churchyard behind her. His evil smelling hand had both gagged and dragged her across his pony as if she weighed no more than a child. Then, with her as the bull’s eye in a round ring of stolen horse flesh, the reivers pounded across the hillside.

The pony gathered itself and lunged forward across a trickle of muddy water. Her chaplet of flowers had long since fallen into the mire, and now her long hair swung down into her eyes, and the precious amber pendant smacked against her nose. Bracing one hand against the pony’s shoulder she gripped the rider’s ankle with the other, and swore when the pendant struck again. Joggled and dizzy, she shut her eyes, but that made the dizziness worse. She forced her head up and focussed on a distance clump of grass.

It was better than looking down at the ground.

The rough, uncouth voices around her gradually shaped words and phrases she understood. “Got
yersel
summat to play
wi
t’ night, Johnnie?”

Raucous laughter followed the remark.

“His
missus’ll
tak
a butcher’s knife to his
privates
if’n
he does.”

The pony jerked to a halt. Alina squeaked at the jarring impact. Before she caught her breath, the pony walked into a sluggish stream. Gobs of dirty water struck her face. Yowling in outrage, she got a mouthful of mud. Spitting and retching, howls of laughter increased around her.

“Sit up then, ye ninny.” The voice sounded amused and not unkind, but even when she braced both hands against the pony’s shoulder she could not lever herself into a sitting position. Her captor seized the cloth of her gown between her shoulder blades and yanked her upright. Relief was immediate. Alina clawed the wet, muddy hair from her face and looked down at her wedding gown. Blotched with wet, stinking mud, the blue silk was ruined. Mother would be furious.

“Aye, she’s a
looker
allreet
.
Mebbe
worth a bit o’ marital strife, eh, Johnnie?”

The voice came from close beside her. Alina lifted her head and looked straight into the beady eyes of the nearest rider. He grinned at her, grizzled whiskers moving back over yellow teeth and his sharp blue eyes glinted with amusement.

“Less o’
yer
lip, Geordie.”
The growl came from the man behind her. “This
one’ll
earn me
mair
gold than
ye’ve
ever seen. She’s Carnaby’s lass.
Him that dinged us over at Jedburgh.”

She knew the tale. Something as trivial as the price of a tankard of ale had stirred men into a fight a year or two back in Jedburgh. Archie Elliot of Thirtleshope had not taken kindly to having a front tooth knocked out and retaliated with a foray against her grandfather’s land at Halton. Cowsheds, barns and haystacks blazed, cattle had been stolen and never recovered. Alina did not dare turn and stare at her captor, but she stole glances at him from the side of her eye. Could this man be Elliot?

It was difficult to speak against the jolting motion, but she managed it in short bursts. “Is your name…Archie Elliot of…Thirtleshope, sir?”

A guffaw of laughter went up around her and the riders closed in to hear more.

“Man, she’s polite an’ all!”

“Ye be famous, Archie!
The lass
knaws
ye!”

“
Geddaway
and keep them
‘
orses
runnin
’ in a bunch.” The man behind her did not waste words and his stern tone did not spoil the men’s good humour, for they rode off, still laughing, and rounded up the two runaways that had made a bid for freedom.

Alina sneaked a sly glance at the whiskered jaw of the man whose corded forearm held her close against his chest. She judged him to be in his mid-thirties. His skin was pockmarked, ingrained with dirt and his clothes were ill-matched and of poor quality, but he rode with an easy grace, his gaze on the stolen horses and managed his pony with consummate skill. “Na, lass, I’m not Archie Elliot, but he’ll
tek
these ’
orses
for a good price.”

“Who are you, sir?”

“
Me
name’s Johnnie Hogg, not that it’ll mean
owt
t’ ye.”

“Why then did they call you Archie?”

A huff of laughter gave her the courage to glance back and she caught his considering brown gaze.

“’Cos them daft fools think
it’s
ower
funny to call any man Archie if they think he’ll be rich someday soon.”

“But….Oh, I see. It’s because Archie is rich?”

“Aye.”

Conversation ceased as he guided his pony through a rocky decline and up the other side but once they reached the open ridge once more, Alina tried again. “Why have you kidnapped me?”

“Sit straight,” he commanded.

Hastily she turned to face the pony’s ears. “It’s supposed to be my wedding day.”

“Aye,” he said. She heard the grin in his voice.
“Heard
aboot
it in Corbridge.”

“What do you hope to gain? Oh!” She grabbed at the pony’s mane as it leapt across a ditch and raced on.

“Gold,” said Johnnie Hogg.

She gazed at the horses running across the shoulder of the hill. “But Father won’t pay!” She bit her lip, but the jarring ride made her wary of biting clean through it. “Right now he’s probably glad to see the back of me. If you think my father is rich, you are quite wrong.”

“But
yer
uncle has money.”

So they’d heard of her uncle’s death. “I doubt Sir Reynold’s death will make Father a rich man. He’ll leave for his daughters’ dowries.”

Johnnie’s voice sharpened. “Then
mebbe
we’ll
gie
’
im
yer
’
ead
in a basket.”

Horror widened her eyes and set her nerves on edge. Swallowing hard, she tucked her chin down almost to her breastbone. Her stomach heaved. If she vomited, she’d likely choke to death, for she didn’t imagine Hogg would stop riding. Employing every ounce of common sense and courage at her command, she breathed long and deep through her mouth and exhaled slowly.

Surely her head in a basket, as he had so neatly phrased it, would be Hogg’s admission of defeat when all else had failed? There was a long time, surely, before they reached that point.

But she would have to endure this, somehow. Did Harry know she’d been taken? He would, unless John Errington had killed him. That was the worst of all the miserable thoughts that scurried through her mind. She had to believe Harry had survived and would ride after her. She could hardly expect John to show much interest in what happened to her when she had shamed him so publicly.

What if this went on for days? What if Harry really were dead? Her stomach rolled. She told herself to be sensible. They wouldn’t have killed each other. Neither of them was so stupid, and Father or Grandfather would have stopped it before it got to that point. Or if they didn’t, Mama would have done something. Or bossy Aunt Agnes, who thought she ruled the roost. A weak smile crossed her face at the thought of domineering, loud-mouthed Agnes beating the opponents apart with her walking cane.

Alina stared at the land ahead through a blur of tears. The green slope rose slowly and steadily across the neck of England, where the rocks pushed through the rough grazing. She clung to the thought that Harry would be riding not far behind her, and it helped.

There was little chance of escape now, but later she must seize her chance. The trouble was that reivers kept well away from farms unless they wanted to relieve it of an animal or two. Looking at the wild landscape around her, her heart sank at the thought of the miles of desolate moss and rock she would have to travel before reaching safety.

It was cool on the uplands, and the breeze raised gooseflesh along her arms. The thin silk of her dress offered no protection. She remembered her dreadful night walk from Aydon to Grey House, and shuddered. Lifting her head, set her jaw and stared at the sky.

The only source of heat was the body of the man behind her. Tempting though it was to lean back and let his warmth soak into her, pride kept her spine rigid and her teeth clenched together.

***

So cold she could barely feel her limbs, Alina stared up at a sky clustered with stars. She kept her hands tucked in her armpits, but it did not help much. Wood smoke tickled her nose and soon the ponies slowed and picked their way downhill.

Johnnie cleared his throat, spat into the undergrowth and then half turned in the saddle. “
Tak
the
beasts
ower
t’ Fat Johnnie’s place.
Ah’m
ganning
’
doon
wi the lass.”

The men wheeled off across the open hillside and were swallowed up in the darkness. She was alone with Johnnie. He guided the pony down a narrow track down a shallow incline among shrubs and trees. What would happen now? Nervousness gnawed at her. Appalled, she heard herself say “You’ll be taking me home to your wife, I suppose?”

“Aye.”

His reply lacked bite. Emboldened, Alina ventured another question. “What’s she like?”

“What’s it tae ye?”

He sounded indifferent rather than annoyed. Like Lionel when he was tired and hungry. “I’m curious,” she said. “I think I know how my mother would react if Father brought a strange young girl home one night.”

A single snort of laughter encouraged her. “And ’
ow
would she greet him, then?”

“Oh, there’d be the civilities, then a frosty silence, and after that the questions would start. That would be in public. Actually,” she added slowly, “I can’t imagine what she would say in private.” It was fear that made her talk like this, but it was better than silence. Curry favour with your captor while you can. “Your wife isn’t going to like me, is she?”

“Aye, she will.”

“Why? Why should she?”

“’Cos
ye’ll
bring in silver, and she’ll like that fine.”