Fair Border Bride by Jen Black Page B

leather-bound book in his hand. He looked up in alarm and winced as the heavy door rebounded off the wall.
    Alina ran to him, wet leather soles slapping on the flagstones.
    He rose stiffly to his feet as she reached him, threw herself against his chest and sobbed as if the world had come to an end.
    He held her close and tight against him. “Alina! What is it, girl?”
    When he received no answer, Sir William grasped her by both arms and shook her so hard her teeth rattled.
    “Stop this caterwauling, do you hear me? I have no time for female hysterics, young lady. If you can’t talk to me sensibly, you can turn around and go back to Aydon.”
    Gripped between his gnarled but surprisingly strong hands, Alina stared up into his dark eyes and found alarm rather than sympathy there. She tried to breathe, snuffled, and hiccupped. Tears dripped off her chin and plopped onto her dress. Her cheeks smarted where salt tears had run.
    Grandfather pushed her into the chair he had vacated. “Sit down and compose yourself. Then tell me what’s wrong. Is it Reynold?”
    A stab of guilt shot through her misery. Of course Grandfather would think of his son, so ill these last few weeks. “No, oh no. I’m sorry. I should have remembered…”
    Beneath the silver hair and eyebrows, his brown eyes studied her. “ H’mm . I trust your mother and father are well? Your brothers? If no one has died, we will—”
    She moaned covered her face with her hands. Harry would be dead by now, or so badly maimed that death would be preferable.
    Grandfather sighed. “I take it someone has died. I’m sorry, Alina, but you are going to have to talk to me before I can help. Must I shake you again?”
    He turned from her, fumbled in a dark oak cupboard and brought out a square of linen which he shoved into her hands. “Blow your nose. I mean it, Alina. Stop this snivelling at once.”
    She blew her nose several times, and eyed him over the linen as she did so. His blunt approach restored her more quickly than sympathy would have done. She had always considered him an older, heavier, more wrinkled version of her father, but now she was glad of the subtle differences.
    He held out a small pewter mug. “Drink this.”
    She drank a mouthful of the tawny liquid he offered and gasped when it took her breath away.
    “Now,” he said, considering her. “The whisky will settle you. What is it? Don’t you dare start weeping again. Reynold is still alive?”
    Alina bit her lip. “Sir Reynold is as he was when you saw him last. No worse, but no better. Oh, Grandfather, I’m so sorry. I did not think. Of course you would assume the worst…”
    Sunlight peered through the lattice window, laid a pattern of diamond shapes across the old man’s face and turned his hair to snow as he nodded. He put his hands behind his back, paced a step or two in front of the dark oak table and turned away, but not before Alina caught the resignation in his eyes.
    “So, it must be something Cuthbert has done.”
    She nodded. “He pushed a man over the ravine this morning.” She bit her lip to stop it wobbling. “A man called Harry Scott.”
    “Ah.” Sir William sighed. “Headstrong as ever. Cuthbert was ever thus, even as a child. I tried to beat it out of him, but to no avail. He has done this before, and no one has called him to account for it. Was there a reason?”
    “No reason at all,” Alina declared. “Harry saved my life in Corbridge last week. It is all because his name is Scott. You know how Father feels about that family.” She cocked her head. “You must hate them too, of course. I forgot about Stagshaw Fair Day.”
    He regarded her over his shoulder. His eyes were clear in the rubble of his face, and at this moment the quality of his gaze disconcerted her. Inhaling, he tugged his crumpled doublet into a more comfortable position. “I cannot say I admire the family, my dear. Their handling of me at Stagshaw was uncouth, to say the least. I take it this