Authors: Jen Black
She said nothing. He hoped she was happy with what he told her. “Once I’ve given him the orders, I can then ask for your hand in marriage. I don’t think he’ll refuse, do you?”
“Did your father not mind you marrying me?” She sounded subdued.
“Oh, not really,” Harry said cheerfully. “My older brother will inherit anyway, and that means I have more leeway in choosing a bride. Your family is well favoured with lands and perhaps that’s why he thinks you are acceptable.” Harry chuckled softly. “Or perhaps he thinks I shall be able to control what goes on here. That’s if we choose to live at Aydon.”
“I doubt it.” Alina’s voice was soft in the darkness. Harry wasn’t sure if her remark applied to his controlling events at Aydon, or where they should live. “Have you made love to other women, Harry?”
“What?” She had surprised him the first time they met, and now she was doing it again.
“You heard me, I think.”
He coughed and cleared his throat.
Jesu
, no woman had asked him that before. He nodded, and then remembered she could not see him in the dark. “Yes.”
“Yes? Is that all?”
“What do you want?” His voice, like his thoughts, hovered between irritation and amusement.
“A strict accounting?
A tally sheet?”
“No,” she said, wriggling closer to him in the straw. “I wondered if you knew what you were doing. You don’t seem keen, to be honest. I thought men were always as keen as dogs with bitches.”
Harry spluttered, caught between outrage and laughter. “You want me to show keenness, then?”
“Of course,” she said. “Why else did we come here?”
Harry hesitated. “You had doubts, if you remember. I am trying not to rush you.”
Her hands sought his chest, moved to his shoulders. The straw creaked and rustled. “My doubts have gone, Harry. I know who you are, where you come from, that you want to marry me and that my father does not terrify you.”
He was not sure he agreed with her last point, but he had no argument with the rest of her statement. Her fingers traced his throat, found his jaw, his mouth and then her warm breath reached him. She kissed him so delicately he did not respond in case he frightened her away. Her lips remained closed. Had she ever been kissed by a lover before? He didn’t think so. Errington had stuck to the formalities, then.
He cupped the back of her head in his palm, and let the fingers of his other hand stray over her. Words echoed and ricocheted around inside his skull. “I love you,” he whispered.
He felt her stiffen in his hands, heard a hiss of sound as if she sucked air between her teeth. Her arms sprang around his neck and almost choked him. The rest of her pressed against him and Harry fell back in the straw.
“Alina—.”
She kissed him, pressed against him. Sounds of happiness poured from her throat. Harry grasped her face between his palms and kissed her back. This time he sought her open mouth and she recoiled.
An open-mouthed kiss must be new to her. He held her gently and did not stop her lifting her head. She did not retreat far, for her breath still fanned his cheek. “This is how lovers kiss, Alina.”
Her head moved slowly in denial between his hands.
“Truly?”
“You will like it,” he added, and waited. His fingers held her with the lightest of touches and he knew the moment she decided to try again.
The softness of her mouth on his delighted him. He matched his lips to hers, tilted his head so that their mouths not only met, but melded, melted and joined. Tantalising her lips with the tip of his tongue, elation surged through him when her mouth parted for him. Teasing, tempting, Harry moved slowly. His reward came when she ran her tongue in swift exploratory ventures across the divide.
“What an apt pupil you are,” he breathed against her ear, and sought her mouth again.
“I like it, Harry, but it is making me feel breathless, as if I have run a long way.”
“
M’mmmm
.
Exactly as it should.”
He half-smiled as he met her hot, eager mouth.
“But you aren’t breathing hard at all.”
“You might think that, but my heart is racing.
Feel.”
Her hand touched his doublet. “I think…”
He brushed her hand aside, opened the hooks and thrust her hand inside, laid it flat against his skin. He shuddered, and she started at that first contact. He heard her swift intake of air and held steady.
“Now, can you feel it? Tell me
quickly,
otherwise I might think I’ve died.”
Her fingers spread, the pads pressing against his skin, moved slowly to the place where his heart thudded. “It beats so fast, Harry. Perhaps mine does too. If only we had light, I should be able to see you.”
He wondered at her thoughts. Did she want to see his body? One day, he promised himself. One day she would tell him exactly what she wanted of him.
He rose to one elbow. “Enough. I want to kiss you again.” He pushed her back in the straw and proceeded to show her how varied and magical a kiss could be. In no time at all her skin grew hot and her breathing ragged. Laying a fingertip at her throat, he traced a line slowly down to the drawstring of her linen chemise, found the bow that tied the strings, jerked it loose and pressed the edges of fabric apart. His mouth wandered over her skin.
“Harry…oh, Harry…” Her voice lingered over his name. He found the laces of her bodice, loosened them and let his fingers trawl the sweet mounds of her breasts. “I did this before. Do you remember?”
“
M’mmmm
.” She sounded amused.
“In the dark, when you were in the dungeon…and Matho was pacing up and down above us.”
Harry let his tongue circle her skin until she groaned and moved restlessly beneath him. Hot, urgent, eager to move, to invade, it took all his determination to hold back. He wanted to judge the moment and make it perfect for her. If he got it right the first time, then everything would be all right later.
The straw rustled and their breathless laughter turned to gasps and moans. The world might have stopped turning but Harry did not notice as Alina trailed her mouth over the smooth skin of his shoulder. In turn he licked the salt off her skin, nipped the softness of her belly. When he touched her thighs, she let them fall apart.
Harry had made love many times. No young man refused an offer if the lady was suitably attractive, and offers came his way frequently. Delightful they may have been, but there was more to this encounter than mere pleasure. He had never found bedding a maid so all encompassing, never suspected how demanding and delightful it would be to have someone want all of him; his mind, his heart and his body, all at the same time.
Not that he objected. It deterred him not in the slightest. He doubted he would ever be able to explain it to any one, perhaps least of all himself, but as he moved over her in a blur of anxious desire, he prayed that she would not reject him at the last moment.
She was ready for him, begged him to go on. With his blood roaring in his ears, he found and thrust into her. Aware of an obstruction and her sobbing breath in his ears, he stayed motionless. Her nails dug into his shoulders but her small whine of pain hurt him more.
“Alina?”
Her head jerked to one side. “Don’t stop now!”
He hardly dared move. Slowly, little by little, her muscles relaxed around him. “Shall I…?”
She urged him on with tiny thrusts of her hips. “Slowly, Harry, slowly!”
He loosed a gasp of laughter against her cheek, braced his elbows more firmly in the straw and set off in a slow, languorous rhythm that all too soon, and without his permission, increased.
“I shall…I—”
It was impossible to get the words out. He wanted to tell her he must go faster, for that imperative ache was gathering, swelling and about to burst and he could not control it, not this time. He could only hope that she was with him as he rose on the wave that would carry him on to that deep boneless beach of oblivion. He crashed down with a sound that echoed like a growl around the stable loft and dimly, from somewhere close to his ear, heard a short, sharp cry and then a diminishing echo.
He was hot and slick with sweat. His head rested against her cheek and the thunder of her heart frightened him. He lifted his head, suddenly impatient with the darkness that had been their friend until now.
“Alina?”
His senses cleared. When he shut his mouth, he heard her panting for breath. She must have enjoyed it, or she wouldn’t be breathing as if she’d run up the hill from Corbridge. But he had to make sure.
“Alina?
Tell me…” He swallowed hard. “Have I hurt you?”
“It’s gone now. Harry?”
He found her hand and kissed it.
“Harry, I love you.”
Relief and joy swept over him.
Alina opened her eyes on blackness, cold air and the sound of a horse snorting somewhere close by. Her fingers snatched at a thick heavy covering that lay over her, and straw prickled and rustled beneath her.
Memory flooded back. She was in the stable loft beneath Harry’s cloak, and he was beside her….except that he wasn’t. Her hand wandered, searching for him and found nothing but cold straw.
“Harry?” She called again, louder, but received no answer. Surely she had not imagined his warm bulk, his breath cool on the back of her neck as his large body cradled her in their straw nest?
She sat up and pushed the cloak away in one sharp movement. Cold air rushed in and goosebumps sprang up on her arms, attacked every inch of uncovered skin. Scrambling to her knees, Alina fumbled the edges of her chemise and bodice together.
Where was he? She shuffled forward. No, she must
stop,
for there was a gap in the floor somewhere close by. The blackness was impenetrable, and she could not decide which direction to take. It must have been the same for Harry and he was stranger here. Had he fallen to the stable below? The horse snorted as if something disturbed it. Was Harry lying injured somewhere beneath the loft?
The thought was enough to bring her to her senses. She crawled forward until she found the sawn edge of the boards announcing the open square in the floor. Warmer air, smelling thickly of horse, came up from below. The stable was as dark as the loft.
She sat back on her heels. She was alone in the dark. He had left her.
She put her head back and screamed. “Harry!”
The horse snorted, iron shod hooves clattering on the stone floor below. The sound of the heavy body thumping into the wooden stall brought Alina to her senses. Mortified by her moment of panic, she leant forward. “Steady, girl, steady. It’s only me being stupid.”
She rubbed her face with both palms, dragged her fingers through her hair. “I’m panicking because it’s dark and I can’t see and I don’t know where Harry’s gone. There are steps into the loft, I know that. I’ve often used them. But I cannot see them in the dark.” She clenched her hands into fists and beat them against her thighs. “Think, Alina, think.”
Slowly a picture formed in her mind. Since she knelt by the loft opening, then the stairs were on the far wall behind her. She remembered them clearly. Now all she had to do was make her way over there.
Looping her skirts out of the way, she crawled across the straw, and uttered a sigh of relief when she reached the steps. One hand to the wall, she felt for the first step, and moved slowly down.
Faint footfalls sounded outside. Alina froze in mid-step. Her breath sounded loud in the silence. Something creaked and a brief glimmer of light flashed and grew stronger. What if it wasn’t Harry? What if Father had suddenly remembered her fondness for Grey House? Lantern in hand, a dark shape turned the corner of the stable door, and headed for the stairs where she crouched.
“Harry!” Weak with relief, she sagged to the wooden step.
Harry held the lantern high. “What’s the matter?” He bounded up the steps and crouched on the step below her.
Alina blinked in the weak candlelight. “I woke and found you gone. I thought—Oh, Harry! Where did you go?”
“You were coming to find me? Alina, you might have hurt yourself. Let’s get back to bed.”
“Our nest in the straw?”
Already she felt better.
“Our makeshift bed.”
She heard the laughter in his voice, and it warmed her. “Where’ve you been? What’s that?” She pointed to the bundle in his hands. “Can I smell bacon?”
“I went over to keep the fire going,” Harry said. “While I was there I thought I might fry a slice of bread. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
She giggled. “Oh, Harry! You are amazing. I’m hungry, too.”
It was easy, in the candlelight, to find their way back across the loft.
***
At first light they went back to the still warm kitchen fire and ate what little there was for breakfast. Alina cleared away the crumbs on the breadboard while Harry crouched by the hearth and built up the fire. Her gaze lingered on him while her hands moved automatically over her tasks. The once-white shirt sat easily on his broad shoulders and his hair glowed in the new flames creeping around the twigs he laid so carefully.
This was a taste of how it would be if she and Harry married. She smiled dreamily. One day, perhaps, there would be children, too. A girl and boy, if the good Lord deemed it so, each with Harry’s wonderful blue eyes and dark hair.
She stared down at the empty board and frowned. It was no good dreaming. “Harry, what will we do now the food is gone?”
“There’ll be rabbits in the fields. According to Matho you’re a dab hand with a bow.”
Lifting her head, she looked at him. “So you talked about me, then, the pair of you? I expect he told you about me shooting at Stagshaw Fair?”
He grinned at the fire and did not turn. “He said you beat all the lads and they hated you for it.”
“Ay, and did he tell you how hard my father warmed my backside for me after it was all over?”
Harry laughed. “Let me guess…He said it was unladylike behaviour. How old were you?”
“I was ten,” she admitted. “Mama tried to teach me to be a lady, but I was slow to learn.”
“You mean you’re still a hoyden but with redeeming qualities? I can send you out to shoot a rabbit for the pot when times are hard?”
“Oh, no.
I’m fine with the target, but I can’t kill things.”
“You’d starve rather than kill a rabbit or two? What an odd creature you are.”
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?”