Conquer the Night (29 page)

Seeking forgiveness did not sound like Kyra. Nor was he so certain that he could trust the Irish priest who had served here beneath Darrow.

He nearly shoved Ingrid aside in his haste to depart the tower room. He found the priest below in the great hall, listening to Ragnor's warnings regarding an English attack from the outer defenses.

“Father, where is Kyra?”

He didn't think that the man's surprise was feigned. “Not in the tower?”

“If she were, I'd not be asking. I was told you two had a disagreement. And that she came to you for forgiveness.”

“Kyra?” Father Corrigan echoed Arryn's own sentiment that he could not imagine a situation in which she would beg forgiveness, even from her priest.

“It's true,” Tyler Miller said. “I saw her exiting the castle with Patrick; they went to your house.”

“But I wasn't there. I left the castle to baptize a new babe and returned straight here, to the great hall.”

Arryn stared at him for a moment, then strode quickly from the castle. Jay, Ragnor, and Father Corrigan followed at his heels.

He hurried to the inner walls, calling out to the guards as he passed the gates; they had not yet been secured, and wouldn't be until they saw the attackers coming across the open slope before the castle walls. Reaching the priest's small house, he threw open the door.

There was Patrick, against the wall.

For a moment he felt a deep, shattering rage. Patrick was dead; she had killed him. But no, Patrick was breathing; he was just slumped down.

Father Corrigan stepped past Arryn, hunching down to Patrick. He swore softly, startling words from a priest.

“What did she do to him?” Arryn demanded harshly.

“Opium.”

“What?”

“It's a drug from the east, from the Holy Lands—”

“I know what it is! Where the hell did she get it?”

Corrigan looked at him. “From my shelves.” He hesitated, looking up at Arryn. “From the moment you left, she was planning to flee. I used it on her the night before.”

“And she knew, and that was your argument?”

“Our argument was that she planned to leave,” Corrigan said, offering the truth for what it was, and not as an excuse or a defense.

Arryn swore, exiting the house, Jay and the priest still following close behind. “How long ago did she manage this exit?”

“Not long; it isn't more than a few hours since we argued.”

“Do you think she saw the campfires, that she knew Darrow was out there?” Jay asked.

Arryn looked sharply at Jay, then turned to stare at the priest. “Aye, 'tis possible,” he said.

“But how did she just walk out?” Father Corrigan murmured.

A young woman carrying tinder for the fires came hurrying by. “Sir Arryn!” she said, bobbing and blushing. “And thank the Lord, Father! You're back! And glad we are, for we need you, that we do, what with this trouble brewing. But you returned right quick, and that you did!”

Arryn clutched both her shoulders, startling her, scaring her. “Sorry, lass, but when did you see the priest leave?”

“Just a moment, sir, before we heard your call at the gates! Aye, indeed, for the priest went out just as they were closed for the night!”

“Thank you, lass, thank you,” Arryn said, and, staring at Corrigan, he felt as if his blood vessels were bursting within his temples. “There you have it, Father. Our lass rode out as a priest, blessing all us poor fools as she departed! Jay, have Brandon bring my horse back. Tell Ragnor to wait until the last possible moment for my return, but at the first hint of light on the horizon, the gates are to be closed, and not opened again until the danger is past.”

“Arryn, don't be a fool, man; you're not going out there for her alone—”

“No, he's not,” Corrigan said firmly.

“Aye, that I am. There's an army out there. I can't spare the men from the castle now; all preparations must be made against an attack. I don't want the men caught out from behind our defenses. I'd not fight a battle from the trees, since we've these fine walls here for cover. I don't intend to engage the enemy; I don't intend that he should see me. I'll need to move quietly.”

“I'll move more quietly!” Corrigan vowed. “For the love of God, man, you'll need some defense at your back!”

“And a priest is that defense?” Arryn demanded.

“I didn't always intend to go into the church. I learned about warfare as a boy, and can wield a sword with the best of your men.”

Arryn stared at the priest for a long moment. He didn't doubt the man's capabilities.

He did doubt his loyalty.

And yet …

The man might well be the one to help stop Kyra before she could reach Darrow.

“Jay, go, call Brendan; have a horse for the priest, too.”

“Arryn, are you sure—”

“Aye!”

Jay moved on, still frowning, still uncertain.

“Hurry, Jay. I need all speed,” Arryn said, his eyes never leaving the priest. “If you betray me, Father, I'll see that you rot in hell.”

“If I were to betray you for such a man as Kinsey Darrow, it would be just that I should rot in hell,” Corrigan said.

“Then we will ride, Father. Together.”

“Aye. We will ride, sir, together.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The greatest fear Kyra had was in traveling the distance of open ground between the castle and the forest.

Father Corrigan's dappled mare was much slower than her own sleek mount, and in trying to race that distance, she had leaned close against the horse's neck, talking, coaxing, pleading that she go from a trot to a lope, and from a lope to a gallop. By the time she reached the first trees banding the forest, she was aware of riders coming hard from the hill, bearing down on the castle. Who they were she didn't know; she didn't dare hesitate to watch their arrival, but quickly entered into one of the very dark forest trails, grateful only that she had come so far.

She knew these surrounding forests fairly well, having spent many formative years here at her father's holding, as well as in London, serving in the queen's court. Her childhood imagination had often been given free rein here; she'd not been required to be a lady, but she had fought tree-branch dragons, fended off barbarians, and dreamed of being a witch or a healer in the woods, with all good men coming to her, and even a prince coming to her rescue when she was besieged by the enemy—what enemy, she hadn't known at the time.

Now, she reflected, she didn't need to fear the tree branches, nor would an enemy be so easily bested, should he appear.

Deep onto one of the trails, she shivered, thinking that though there was a moon, and stars dotted the sky, it was very dark at night, and she was very much alone. Thank God it was summer, and though the night was chill, there was no snow, no ice, no brutal cold to be as bitter a foe as any other she might face. She knew the trail she followed led to a small brook, and she urged the mare there, thinking she had, at least, some jewels in her hem, and fresh water to drink. It was a pity she hadn't thought to steal the priest's bread; she hadn't brought food, she'd been too distracted to eat much, and she had run before supper. Such a small detail. The vicious carnage between the English and the Scots was already devastating the countryside; the English burned crops and houses to destroy a people, and the Scots scorched the earth in return to starve the English back across the borders. There might be little new in going hungry here.

And she had tricked poor Patrick and left the castle. Escaped. She was free from both men: the Scottish outlaw, the English demon. She should have felt great relief, and she felt merely empty.

The woods seemed to close around her.

Shelter her.

Her world, she realized, was lost. The home she had known, the people she had known, aye, the luxuries she had known. And that was the way it must be. She didn't seem to feel that loss yet.

The emptiness was what gripped her heart. She had run from him. Did it matter? He would have left her. And Kinsey would eventually return….

And her punishment might be slow or might be quick, but it would be sure. And he wouldn't hate her so much because she had become the property of his greatest enemy; he would hate her because she had always despised him, and he would be justified to do so.

She walked her horse deeper into the woods, warning herself that she couldn't dwell on the hollowness in her heart. It was absurd. A woman conquered and seized did not fall in love with the enemy, and such an enemy could not be courteous, polite, and thoughtful, and create such a rage of emotions with his eyes, his touch, the tone of his voice. She was nothing to either of these men except a weapon to be used against one another, and that was all, and she must now take the greatest care for her own life.

She had two choices.

The king's mercy. Never a safe wager.

Or she could simply run….

And disappear into the countryside. God knew it was wild enough, and there were places distant enough.

As she walked the mare along, debating the serious question of her future, both immediate and into the years ahead, she didn't feel a sense of fear. She knew the woods. She was sheltered by the oaks. But as she walked, her feeling of comfort faded. She became aware, vaguely at first, of the mellow light that seemed to seep through the forest here and there. For a while she moved on, perplexed, speaking to the mare now and then, more curious than frightened. Then, as she came to the brook and saw that the soft light seemed to emanate from the curve in the waters ahead, she froze, aware that the strange yellow light was coming from campfires.

Dismounting from the priest's mare, her heart seeming to have leapt to her throat, she moved silently to the shadow of an oak, trying to look beyond the darkness to the glow, and discern who was in the woods, just how far they were from her, and just how many men there might be.

The distance, she realized with trembling relief, was fairly great; they were at least a quarter of a mile from her, but there were a number of fires burning, and so there had to be a fairly large contingent of men. She'd be safe enough from them, she thought, if she didn't light any fires herself. On the other side of the brook there were rocky outcrops, and those would offer her shelter for the night, and a fine place to hide the priest's horse. She had been disturbed that she had not found a way to escape with her own mare; now she was glad. If this horse was discovered by someone who knew her, they would not realize that the mount was hers, and if …

She didn't dare accept the thought that it might be Darrow in the woods, though such an idea was most logical. He'd had time now to serve the Earl of Harringford, time to hear about Seacairn, and time to gather forces to return.

Still, frozen by the oak for the moment, she stared down the winding path of the trickling brook to that curve. She should have noted the fires from the tower at the castle. Had the guards seen that men were coming?

She should go back. Tell them.

To what avail? Surely someone had seen the fires; they would be safe at the castle….

Safe! The invaders would be safe from the English from whom they had wrested the castle!

If she did not return, then when Kinsey attacked, as he must, they would all believe that she had cunningly schemed to escape to come to Kinsey, give him warning, information….

What wretched timing. Arryn had not returned. He could ride back into the midst of hundreds of men besieging Seacairn.

There was a sound behind her—the slightest sound. She spun around, her breath catching, her heart seeming to fall to her feet. She could usually hear so well in the forest, but she hadn't heard danger come. And with so many campfires burning, there had to be many men about, hundreds of them, in Kinsey's service. How wretched that this one had found her!

Sir Richard Egan stood there, Kinsey's right hand man. Tall, lean, cunning, hazel eyed and dark haired, he had a feral look about him. He was a man who enjoyed power; he hadn't Kinsey's background or family, but he was fearless and ruthless, and meant to rise to greater heights in Kinsey's service.

“Sir Richard!”

“Aye, my lady. You've escaped the bloody, barbaric bastard! Thank heaven, my lady, for God knows what he might have done to you when we stormed the castle.”

She opened her mouth, stunned. No words would come. She looked around quickly. He had not ridden alone, surely. He was here, this distance from camp, with others, but she couldn't see anyone. His horse, a huge black destrier, was back upon the trail, and thus she had not heard the animal.

He had followed her, she realized. He had probably been out in the circumference of the camp, keeping watch, when he had heard her. He had watched her, probably not knowing at first who she was, shrouded as she was in the priest's huge robe. He had taken great care to accost her. He had crept up on her, and she had been taken completely by surprise. She damned herself, feeling his eyes. They raked over her in a way that made her flesh seem to burn. She could see his curiosity regarding her circumstances, and it felt incredibly uncomfortable. And she knew that he had barely endured her cool attitude toward him, and toward Kinsey; he knew, in fact, she thought, that she had despised Kinsey, and all that he did, and all that he stood for.

He strode the few steps to her, clutching her arm.

“Sir Richard!” she said in regal protest, her eyes narrowed upon him. But he seemed in no mood to endure her tone.

“Sir Richard?” he repeated his name, using her tone. “You speak to me so when you have been saved? Dear child, one would think you were not grateful that I have found you, saved you from the devils!”

“I saved myself, sir. You have happened upon me, nothing more!”

Her words made him angry, she knew.

“That is no matter. You are back with your own kind. And you will tell us everything, and we will avenge the evil done you. What did he do to you? Where is he? How did you escape? How many are in the castle now?”