Conquer the Night (48 page)

“Well, men?” Percy said.

“How can we swear such an oath? The king will demand service!” one of the men cried.

“The king understands such things. He will be angry, and he will rage, and he will take his blood in my revenues, I'll wager, demanding I pay his mercenaries. But I don't care to die now, and if I give a blood oath, I keep it.” He looked at his men a long while. Then he turned to Arryn once more. “Sir, you have the oath of every man here. Though, for old times' sake, I would like to hear how you are faring, I believe that we should now be on our way. We may gather our dead?”

“Aye, Lord Percy, gather your dead. But we'd like to give you word as well, should you come upon a man. Lord Kinsey Darrow.”

“Darrow?” Percy said sharply. “He should be far ahead; his place was at the end of the vanguard when we would have attacked.”

“Aye, he's ahead,” Arryn agreed. “If you find him, tell him that I'm following. Closely. And that I want word of the Lady Kyra's good health, and I want the Lady Kyra herself. And if she is not returned to me soon, I will indeed roast him slowly. I will bake him while I skin him. He may send her to me, alive and well, and save his life.”

“The Lady Kyra?” Lord Percy was troubled. “Darrow was to wed Kyra—”

“My lord, the wedding was not of her choice.”

“But surely, Arryn, she is in no danger—”

He broke off because one of his men had cleared his throat.

“What is it, Barnabus?” Lord Percy asked sharply.

“My lord, they are not so far ahead of us. I met up with one of his men yesterday, snaring rabbits, a fellow I had once known.”

“Aye?”

“He suggested that if we rode hard, we might join them.”

“Join them where?”

“He heads for Seacairn, the lady's holding. He believes that it is border country that will take the rebel Scots a long time to reach, since there's so much more they must do. And he believes as well that the fortification has been strengthened and supplied.”

Arryn felt his muscles tighten.
Aye!
The castle was fortified and well supplied. The portcullis moved smoothly; oil vats were full, arrows were plentiful. Walls had been repaired, and even thickened.

“What of the Lady Kyra?”

Arryn thought that he had spoken the words himself; he had not.

It was old Percy who had spoken.

“The lady … is well enough, I believe,” the man named Barnabus said. “My old friend told me that Kinsey keeps his distance from her; he believes she is a witch. He intends to marry her still, but broods daily, planning a trial, since, as his betrothed, she betrayed not only him, but her king and country when she opened the castle to Scottish outlaws.” He hesitated a moment, glancing at his fellow soldiers, then at Lord Percy, then at Arryn. “My friend is a decent man, sent into service for Lord Darrow. He has been appalled by many of the things done as he has ridden with Lord Darrow. He … he could take no part in the attack on your holdings, Sir Arryn. He said that he fell behind, pretended illness. He could not stop what happened, but neither could he take part. He spoke so openly because he thought … he thought perhaps Lord Percy would go to Seacairn, and perhaps temper Darrow's madness.”

“You said nothing of this!” Percy told him.

“I'd not had a chance, and my lord …” He paused, looking around again. “Lord Percy, sir, the Scots thrashed us roundly. They
skinned
Cressingham. Wallace is making a mask from the flesh—”

“Oh, now, that's not true!” John thundered.

“But he was skinned,” Barnabus said.

Percy sighed. “Edward came and butchered men at Berwick. Now the Scots have trounced us at Stirling Bridge. And now there is little hope but that we will hate each other fiercely for all the days to come!”

“He has no just cause to slay the Lady Kyra!” Arryn said to Percy, and everyone in the woods fell silent.

Lord Percy sighed. “Arryn, by law, she is a traitor. She swore fealty to Edward. He can trump up a trial.”

“The king would grant her mercy.”

“The king is in France.”

“Men, gather our dead. I would walk with Sir Arryn for a spell. Sir Arryn! There will be no more violence against my men!”

“Aye, Lord Percy, if your men swear the peace as well.”

“Peace is so sworn.”

“Then come, sir, and we will walk,” Arryn said.

And the sworn enemies, now sworn to peace, watched one another warily in the forest as Arryn set an arm around the old man's shoulders, and they walked down the trail together.

She had never liked the crypts.

And it seemed that Kinsey had known it, for her prison was the crypt, the place where her father lay shelved with dozens of other corpses.

They had come upon Seacairn on a morning much like the one when she had left it. It seemed eons ago. It was really just a matter of weeks, but the world had changed. The Scots held Scotland—and Kinsey was taking Seacairn.

When they arrived, Kinsey ordered the gates opened. The guard on the wall refused, but when Kinsey promised that he would gain entrance and create a massacre to put Berwick to shame when he did, Kyra ordered the gates open.

There was no one left to defend the castle. It was strong, armed, supplied, but there were no men left within.

They rode in. Kinsey immediately dragged her from the horse she rode. His hand on her arm, he brought her to the entrance to the tower.

When they entered, Gaston quickly appeared. “Lord Darrow! My lady.” He met her eyes, and saw the warning in them. Ever quick, he bowed low to Darrow. “My lord, we have prayed for your safe return. We thank God that the barbarians left the castle, though the good Lord bless us, sir, we've heard that the Scots tore into the English!”

“The English will return and annihilate the traitors,” Kinsey said. He looked around as his men filed into the hall. “See to them; bring food, the best food, and plenty of it.”

Holding Kyra by the arm, he pulled her along.

She was afraid that he meant to drag her up the steps to the tower room.

He dragged her down instead.

Down into the bowels of the castle.

Into the realm of the dead.

And he left her, and after he had done so, he ordered his men down. They came with torches. As they arrived, she was afraid that they had come to rape and murder her. They had not. They had been sent to see that the iron gates to the crypt were in good repair, and that she could not escape.

Hours passed. When she closed her eyes she could not help but think of the dead rising and floating around her in a macabre dance. She could smell death, inhale it, breathe it. Rot, decay, the cold …

The darkness.

Her father was here! she kept telling herself. But she did not want to see his face beneath his shroud. She just wanted to close her eyes and believe that if the dead could dance, he would be with her, beside her, protecting her.

The darkness and cold were terrible. Even in her mantle, she shivered. She was so cold that she grew tempted to try to find warmer covering among the corpses. But no matter how cold she might be, she couldn't quite bring herself to do so.

So she shivered, and shivered….

And no one came for a very long time.

Then, when she had nearly dozed, she heard a whisper. “My lady!”

She raised her head. Gaston was at the gate. He carried a small torch. Even his dear face was eerie in such strange light.

She jumped up, coming to him. “Gaston! You've got to be careful. He is so vengeful; if he thinks that you're helping me …”

“He is drunk and passed out in the master's chambers,” Gaston said.

“But he has spies everywhere.”

“Sir Richard is on the parapets—watching. The other men pay me no mind. They feel safe here; they've been drinking, wagering…. At any rate, Lord Darrow never said that I could not bring you food and water.”

She nodded. He offered her a skin of water, which she accepted gratefully. He had brought her bread as well, and a piece of freshly cooked meat. She hadn't realized that she was starving. She wolfed it all down with him there, asking him to give her any news he had heard.

“Well, my lady, the countryside teems with men! Those who run, and those who run after them. There was a great council at Perth, and William Wallace has been named Guardian of the Realm. Well, he and Andrew de Moray have been so named, but word has come that de Moray travels north to his own lands, and to his young pregnant bride, for he believes that he is mortally wounded. Wallace, however, will not accept his impending death, and orders that de Moray's name be on all official papers with his own. Aye, and Wallace has been knighted, some say by Robert the Bruce, though seeing how Wallace is a stickler for Balliol being the proper king, I have to wonder at that.”

“But the English continue to flee?”

“Aye. They have even left Berwick.”

“My God, what a victory. And yet … Kinsey would come here, and hold this place!”

Gaston was quiet for a moment. “My lady, all men know that King Edward will hear of this defeat, and he will return.”

“Aye, but … something has begun. And whether he comes back a hundred times, it will not matter.”

“Perhaps not. Stirling Castle fell. The one English commander with the sense to turn his men on the bridge and salvage them from disaster was made constable of the castle by de Warenne as he went running. Sir Marmaduke de Twenge is the poor fellows' name; he surrendered the castle, for what else could he do with such power arrayed before him? The Scots could starve him out. He is a prisoner now of the Scots. My lady, so many are grateful for the prisoners alone. Some of our men may be returned from their imprisonment in England.”

“Aye, that's wonderful.”

Gaston started suddenly.

“My lady, I think that someone comes. I must leave you. You mustn't be afraid. You will prevail. The dead will not hurt you.”

“Aye, I know.”

“Your father loved you, lady. He will guard you. God, our Lord Christ, and the Virgin will guard you as well.”

She smiled in the darkness. She could remember throwing herself down before the beautiful statue of the Virgin what now seemed eons ago.
What irony!
And yet, Gaston's words did bring comfort. Maybe the Virgin would protect her now. She must have known what it was like to want to guard a babe in her womb with all the strength and power in mind, soul, and body.

“Thank you, Gaston.”

He squeezed her fingers. “We're here, my lady.”

“Aye, Gaston. I will prevail.”

He doused his light and tiptoed away.

The stygian darkness wrapped around her.

Day came.

She knew because Gaston arrived once again. He was accompanied by Kinsey's men, and brought her washwater and more food and drink. He was also accompanied by a priest, a man from a special order with a huge black cloak and hood, a man who tended to keep his head lowered in prayer, and his hands folded before him.

He had come to receive her confession, if she wanted to speak to him about her sins of witchcraft, treason, and fornication.

She couldn't help but laugh. Sharp faced, extremely self-righteous, he looked at her severely. “My lady, confession is all that can save you. Repent, and you will be forgiven.”

“Kinsey will forgive me?” she inquired.

“God will forgive you.”

She smiled. “Father, if you are the man who would be my arbiter with God, I'm sorry, but I think I would do better on my own.”

“You will burn in hell. Lord Darrow remains willing to marry you.”

“Lord Darrow remains willing to marry my estates.”

“My lady, without confession, you will rot in hell.”

“Life with Lord Darrow would be hell, not that he intends I should have life.”

The priest didn't lose his temper. “There are ways, my lady, to encourage you to confess.”

“I'm sure there are.”

“For now, I will leave you to dwell on your sins—among the dead.”

He left her.

But she'd had plenty of water, and plenty of food. And she was becoming accustomed to the dead; she even talked to them, her father mostly.

She feared somewhat for her sanity. But even that seemed better.

Kinsey had meant to break her with the corpses.

The corpses had become her friends.

The next day Kinsey had her dragged back up. He sat at the head of the table in the great hall, leaning back, ale before him, legs planted upon the table.

He eyed her narrowly, but didn't move as two of his men brought her before him, then departed.

She thanked God that castles were dim; even so, her eyes hurt from the daylight that trickled in through the arrow slits and from the glow that burned from the fire deep in the hearth.

October had come, she thought, and was surprised that she might be staring at Kinsey, and thinking about the month of the year.

She stood in the center of the cold stone floor and returned his stare. She was miserable and afraid, but yet, there seemed little sense in being afraid. Fear spoke of uncertainty.

She was certain of his intentions.

He was going to kill her. Exactly how and when seemed yet to be determined, but that he would kill her was certain. He could threaten all he wanted. She wouldn't marry him. If she did so, he would gain all that he wanted, and then brand and try her for a traitor, trump up witnesses to swear to the king that she had changed sides, and that she had slept with the enemy as well.

Then he would execute her as his wife!

Yet how strange …

Kinsey, for the power he now held over her, didn't seem happy or satisfied. He stood finally, and as he had done the night in the forest, he walked around her slowly.

It was unnerving to feel him at her back.

He lifted a lock of her hair. “Ah, Kyra! I could tell you that despite your captivity, your hair still gleams like gold. That your eyes are like gemstones, radiant, glittering, greener than an emerald forest. I could say you were glorious, despite all! But it would be a lie, of course. Soon you'll look like a ragged little scarecrow, your hair will lose its luster, and God knows, maybe your perfect teeth will start to fall out.”