Conquer the Night (34 page)

“I did not hurt her, no. But you must realize that your men know that she has hurt you, betrayed you … perhaps the men who died threatened her in some way. That is why she would look at you the way she did.”

“She has always despised me.”

“She despises us all. She thinks that we are …”

“What?”

“The barbarians.”

“We are Edward's men!”

“She deserves whatever punishment you would mete out, Kinsey. But … we must take care, the gravest care….” His voice trailed away, and he was quiet a moment. Then he warned, “Edward broke a king, the king of Scotland—”

“A king of Scotland he created!”

“Balliol had the legal claim to the throne; even the Scots who think him a weak fool believe he had the legal claim. But that is not the point. Edward stripped him of his crown and country. Do you think he would hesitate to humiliate you and throw you in chains if you were to fail in battle because of your obsession with her?”

“I have crushed these people again and again!”

“So far, we have mostly slaughtered those with little strength to fight back.”

“What difference? The king wants them all annihilated.”

“The difference is that we'll face real battle now, and you'll need all your forces; you can waste no more men foolishly here, letting them be cut down so easily trying to scale such a defensive wall as that at Seacairn.”

“
He
scaled it!” he said.

“But we cannot do so now. You'll have revenge in time. And if you choose to, and something befalls her … just remember my warnings. There must be an accident … or a legal precedent.”

“Aye … all must be legal.”

Kinsey looked from Richard back to the tower of Seacairn, glowing in the night. Soft light radiating, from a fire, from a blaze. Aye, he slept there; his enemy slept there—with her. Kinsey could not help but torture himself, imagining them together, her smile, her laughter, what he'd never been able to take.…

He remembered her eyes today, remembered seeing her there, in the woods, hair a blaze of red and gold, even in the night, tall, lithe.…

Her eyes, emerald.

Glittering on him—with hatred.

He could not stay here. His duty was to ravage Scotland. He would do so now with ever greater pleasure.

Patience.

Firelight flickered in the tower room, he was sure, bathing their naked bodies in soft, glowing gold.

Revenge would come in time.

“We'll ride hard to reach Warenne's troops come the morning,” Kinsey said. “And Richard?”

“Aye?”

“If I catch them—”

“There is no ‘if,' my lord. These outlaws cannot withstand the might of the king!”

“Aye, then,
when
I catch them …”

“Aye?”

“Remind me that they must not die easily. He is a filthy, savage rebel. She is a traitor, and surely a witch. And she must meet a traitor's death. And …”

“Aye, Kinsey?”

“I think that they must burn. Feel the fires of hell, burn until they are scorched, ashes in the wind, no more, no more … by God! I will see them in hell!”

He turned away from the cliff.

He would have another day.

A certain tension lingered at Seacairn; everyone was aware that although Darrow and his men had given up their quest for the castle, they were all biding time.

Two of the defenders had been injured, none killed. And yet, outside the walls, there had been a pile of nearly fifty men, men in Kinsey's colors readily sacrificed until their lives became too great a price for even a madman like Kinsey when a far more important battle loomed ahead.

They were duly buried.

Kyra attended funeral services again, at Arryn's side, watching as Father Corrigan spoke the rites. His words were reverent and correct, but she felt that a restlessness had begun in him. He was not at all the typical priest, or even the typical priest that reformers might condemn. He didn't keep a woman on the side, he hadn't fathered bastards—that she was aware—and he didn't drink to excess, overeat, or seem to fall prey to the common sins of the flesh. But he had courage—and a sword. And the power and ability to use both.

She never looked at the fallen men. They were all Kinsey's people; they had ridden with him and been trained by him. They were from his home of Suffolk, or provided him by the king from men-at-arms drawn from the countryside. He had taught them how to fight with no mercy, to plunder, pillage, rape, and decimate the countryside. But most of them had lived here—she had seen their faces; she might know them by name. Death was never easy, and she couldn't help but feel sorrow. What would have happened to her had they scaled the walls? Just how far Kinsey would go against her, she didn't know.

Arryn left her after the words had been said.

The night the dead were buried, she sat at the table at Arryn's side, Jay to her left, Ragnor to Arryn's right. With summer, food was diverse and plentiful; it was a rich season, and there were times when she could close her eyes and think back to a time of relative peace. She'd loved her home then, the fields, the forests, the sloping landscape in many colors, cliffs to be seen in the distance, and mountains far beyond. Even the years right after the death of Alexander had been good, even after the Maiden of Norway died, even that first year when John Balliol had been chosen as king….

All before Edward showed his true hand.

“You're thoughtful, my lady,” Jay said, watching her.

She smiled, her fingers curving around her wine goblet. “I was thinking.”

“Ah! Of the good old days!” he said.

“They were good. When my father was alive,” she said. Her smile deepened. “Everyone loved him, respected him. He didn't yell often, or bellow, or shout, but people listened to him. He loved holidays, loved to gather the villagers and his guests and have dances, and he loved the sounds of the pipes, old tunes and new….” She shrugged. “Perhaps you can't believe me. He was an Englishman, and loyal to Edward.”

“We don't think all Englishmen should rot and burn in hell, my lady,” Jay said. “I remember your father. He was a good man.”

Curious, she frowned. Jay smiled and explained.

“Oh, aye. I've been with Arryn for years; my father owed his father feudal service, while Alexander himself was direct overlord of Hawk's Cairn. When Arryn went into the king's service, I accompanied him. We rode the countryside upon occasion, and came here with Arryn's father, in fact.”

“I don't remember it.”

“You would not. You were in England, in the queen's household.”

“Ah!” she said, studying her wine.

“Learning the domestic toils of a lady's life—such as swordplay.”

She flushed, then leaned forward toward him. “You see, Jay, Edward can be very good in many ways. He humored me in many things.” She hesitated. “Jay, in truth, I am so very, very sorry about what was done. About Arryn's wife. Did you know her?”

“Aye. She was my cousin.”

“Oh! You were as sorely injured then by her death! And yet …” Her voice trailed off.

He smiled and said softly. “I in no way blame you! And there will be justice.”

He didn't blame her. Why did Arryn? Why did so many of his men distrust her?

She glanced uneasily at Arryn. He remained civil to her, courteous.

And distant. He watched her. Distrusted her, still.

“Jay, I did honor Edward as I grew up. He is a dangerous king, a very powerful one. Perhaps … you shouldn't go against him. When he chooses to be generous, there is no man more magnanimous. When he chooses to forgive, he is incredibly merciful. Why, you've seen! Many barons have risen against him—and many he has forgiven more than once.”

“But when he chooses not to forgive, men die terrible deaths. And when he chooses not to be generous, even wee bairns are fodder for his slaughter.”

“Berwick stains his greatness. That is true,” Kyra said.

“And he gave you to Darrow,” Jay commented.

Arryn turned at that. She felt a flush of color flood her cheeks.

“How did such a travesty come about?” Arryn demanded, leaning upon an arm to watch her, suddenly intent. She wondered how much he had heard. “You were beloved of the king and queen—and betrothed to a such a monster.” He grinned at Jay. “We have all agreed that he is a monster.”

“We are all nothing but pawns in the game of kings—isn't that said often enough?” Kyra murmured.

“Aye, but how did it come about?”

She shrugged, watching her wine rather than meeting the glances of either of the men.

“When the queen died, Edward … changed. He became more ruthless, single-minded. Darrow and I were both at court. Darrow saw me and asked Edward for my hand. My father had died, my fate was in the king's hands. And then …” Her words trailed away.

“Then what?” Jay demanded.

She swallowed wine. “Edward said if Darrow could prove himself an uncompromising weapon against the Scots, worthy of holding property here, then he should be so rewarded.”

Arryn seemed to withdraw.

“He would be rewarded—so he was given you,” Jay said. “Yet the wedding did not take place, while, still, word had it that you were a powerful vixen, passionate for the king's right, ever goading Darrow to greater feats and—”

“Atrocities,” Arryn supplied sharply.

She stared at him, a strange hand seeming to sweep around her heart. At times it seemed he knew her so well.

And then he would look at her, as he looked at her now, and she would feel a cold chill of fear.

“I managed to delay the wedding, and my reputation for power came from my ability to avoid Darrow, not push him onward. I said I needed time to mourn my father, to remember him and honor him, to pray for guidance in all things … and then I threatened Kinsey with the king's vengeance if he didn't respect the vow I'd made to remain chaste before the marriage. I'd told him that … Edward could be very superstitious, and that he might believe he had failed because of just such a broken vow, were he ever to fall to the Scots,” she told Jay.

Delighted with her story, Jay began to chuckle.

Arryn did not. He rose abruptly and left the table. Near the great doors to exit the hall, she saw him take his mantle from a wooden hook.

What had made him angry? she wondered.

Talk of Kinsey?

She watched him leave, feeling strangely deserted. He'd warned her not to care for him.

Because he might die.

No …

Because he hadn't stopped mourning the wife and unborn child he had lost, and somehow she had just reminded him that she wasn't the woman he really wanted, and this place was just a conquest, nothing more. He had turned from her, she thought. It didn't matter that they still shared the tower room, nor that he wanted her. Whatever he said, he still thought she had betrayed him. He had forged a distance between them, and it was firm.

Don't care for him!

What a fool
.

Close to tears, she forced herself to smile at Jay. “How have you remained unmarried, sir? Or are you? In truth, I know nothing about you!”

“Ah, no, I'm not married. Why not? When I find a beautiful woman, it seems that she is already taken.”

She flushed, afraid that he referred to her.

I
am not at all taken!
she might have told him.
Just … used
.

“But you're an intriguing fellow, Jay. So! Tell me more of your story.”

He lifted his hands. “Simple enough. I grew up with Arryn, followed him to King Alexander's court—and home again.” Then he paused. “We rode north with the rebellion rising; we returned to … ruins and death.” His eyes met hers again. “So now we keep riding.”

She put her hands on his. “Jay, I pray you at least believe this; I'm so very sorry.”

“I know.” He reached out, touched her hair, then drew back his hand, flushing. “I am one of the lucky ones. My sister survived the carnage. A few did. But still, there was nothing left to do but seek revenge. And we came to here to hurt Darrow. All we have done is injure you.”

“Don't worry,” she told him. “I am strong, and your coming here did not cast me to such a man as Kinsey. Fate was against me, so it seems.”

“But what will happen now?” Jay asked. “We dare not leave you behind.”

“God help us, we must see to it that she rides with us.”

They both turned. Father Corrigan stood behind them, and he spoke firmly.

“So
you
will ride with us, Father?” Jay said. “Your flock is here.”

“But life calls me onward.”

“What of your calling to God?” Kyra asked.

“I believe it is God who calls,” he told her, bowing slightly.

“Are you sure you're a true priest?” she persisted.

“As God is my witness.”

“A strange priest, indeed,” she told Jay.

“Perhaps he'll share his story.”

“Perhaps—one day,” Corrigan said. “My lady, Mayda, the head cook, and Gaston are going to play. Will you dance?”

“Your pardon, Father?”

“The kitchen staff will entertain; will you dance?”

“With you?”

“Aye, my lady. I am good, if you'll allow me to show you …?”

She looked to the end of the long table. Gaston, the little Briton, sat with a self-styled flute in his hand. Big, bosomy Mayda, the cook, held a small stringed instrument.

“I'm for my pipes!” Ragnor exclaimed.

“You know the auld outlawed tunes, do you?”

“Aye, Briton, that I do!”

Ragnor left the table hastily. Maids began to clear. Father Corrigan reached for Kyra's hand. “My lady? If I dare be so bold?”

“A man of God is never bold, Father. He is righteous!” she said, laughing. And she rose, and Gaston began to play. Plump Mayda listened a moment, then joined in, and the tune was cheerful and light, a song played at weddings and harvest celebrations.