Free Fair Border Bride by Jen Black Page A

Red faced and sulky, he slouched back onto his bench and stared at the table.
    “I don’t know what Cuddy means, Father.” Her voice sounded shaky, and she cleared her throat. “Perhaps this is another of his imaginary friends. You know—”
    Cuddy shook his head. “Harry’s my friend, and he’s real. You like him, too.” He looked at her as if she betrayed him.
    Cuthbert Carnaby flung down his knife and bellowed to his Steward, stationed at the hall door. “Send down to the old stable. Bring anyone you find here immediately.” He glared around. “We’ll soon see if any one threatens the hall tonight. I refuse to be surprised by raiders twice in the same week.”
    Alina touched her fingertips to her brow and found her hairline damp with sweat. Pray God that Harry had gone.
    Everyone waited and cast anxious glances around the hall. People went on eating, for food was too hard bought to waste, but Alina surreptitiously fed the remains of her meal to the hounds.
    Her mother noticed, and shook her head in rebuke. “Why, Alina, I thought you liked roast mutton?”
    “It’s only a lump of gristle, Mama.”
    She clutched her hands so hard the small bones rubbed together. She had exchanged farewells with Harry that morning, but he spoke of waiting till dark before leaving. A hurried glance at the window told her the sun was still in the western sky.
    She could hardly blame Father for taking no risks with their security. If only Aydon had not suffered a raid this week, if Harry’s surname had been anything but Scott, and if these wretched Border lands would settle down into some kind of civilised life.
    Oh, dear Lord, she could hear footsteps pounding along the passageway, and every head in the hall turned in anticipation. Alina sat motionless, expecting the worst. The Steward appeared. Behind him two guards jostled a tall man into the hall.
    Harry’s face was scarlet. The white cloth of his shirt showed through the tears in his doublet, and his black hair hung untidily over his brow. They pushed him forward, and she saw that his wrists were tied together behind his back.
    Oh, Harry. Alina felt sick, but filled with pride in him, for he did not cower. Lance sat white-faced and still. Cuddy ran to his mother, who held him in her arms and made soothing noises.
    The sentries marched Harry towards the high table. He stared grimly ahead. No doubt he thought she had betrayed him.
    Father got up, and confronted the prisoner. They were of the same height, though her father carried more bulk. The silence stretched on. Frightened but unable to look away, Alina watched Harry lift his chin and survey the lord of Aydon with a gaze neither cowed nor unsteady. The tendons of his throat stood clear in the flickering candlelight and the shadows around his collarbones swelled and died with his breathing. Her stomach quivered in response. Father might be lenient, if Harry looked frightened or begged for clemency, but this display of courage would only aggravate him. A spasm of alarm ran through her. For goodness sake, Harry, don’t stare at him as if he is nothing more than a field hand.
    Cuthbert Carnaby obviously felt the same. The silence in the hall was ominous as he contemplated his prisoner through half closed eyes. His hand, heavy with rings, lashed out and caught Harry across the cheekbone.
    Several feet away, Alina jolted on her seat as the blow struck. She gasped aloud, and her fingers clenched on the table.
    Harry took an inadvertent step sideways, steadied himself, tossed his hair back and faced his tormentor. The tilt of his head was insolent.
    “Who are you?” Carnaby demanded.
    A thread of blood trickled from Harry’s mouth.
    Heat and anxiety ran through Alina. She sat taut and rigid with her teeth clamped in her lower lip.
    “My name is Harry Scott.” He inclined his head. “My home is in Carlisle.”
    Oh Harry! Why did you not lie? You know that name will enrage Father.
    “What are you doing on my