Conquer the Night (50 page)

Gaston was freezing, but he didn't allow himself to feel the cold. He had to run, and run fast.

He smelled worse than a sewer. Ah, but then, it was the sewer drains that had made him smell so!

By the time he reached the trees on the hillside, he was gasping and wheezing. It was not such a horrible incline, not for a man who knew it well, but he staggered as he struggled up.

He reached the trees.

Then, despite himself, he let out a strangled gasp.

For out of the shadow of an old oak, an arm reached out for him.

And he was dragged into the darkness of the shadows.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Kinsey, oddly, looked like hell.

So, she assumed, must she.

But Kinsey, despite his threat, had not reappeared in the crypts. And the way he looked now was as if he had been drinking to excess through the night. That wasn't his way. He knew how to drink, to celebrate, and he did so. But he pretended to drink more than he did; he watched all the while, so this seemed very strange.

She was exhausted, having lain awake all night, praying that she should remain with the dead rather than awake to find a living man at her side.

By morning, however, water and food had been sent to her, water to drink, and with which to wash, along with a brush and clean clothing. Apparently Kinsey didn't want it apparent that he had treated her shabbily before her mock trial. Gaston had looked like hell as well, as if he hadn't slept all night, but she'd had no opportunity to talk with him, for guards had escorted him down as he brought her belongings, food, and washwater.

Poor Gaston! Loyal—to the end, she was afraid.

When he came to collect the things, she touched his cheek. “Be of good cheer, my lady,” he had told her. “The priest is coming. He will be with you all the way.”

She nodded, wondering if Gaston had met Father Hemming, Kinsey's strange new henchman.

Apparently he had not.

Father Hemming did appear at the gate to the crypt. “Will you confess, my child?”

“To God alone,” she told him.

“Certainly, I am only his tool.”

“No, any confession I would make, sir, will not go through your ear.”

He didn't warn her again that she would rot in hell. He merely shook his head and walked away.

She doubled over when he was gone, afraid that she would burst into tears and sob until the execution robbed her at last of breath.

Arryn knew, and he would come after her, but it would be too late. Kinsey would have destroyed him twice over.

And she wanted to live so badly! Miraculously, the Virgin had answered her prayer—giving her a surprising happiness. But now she wanted that happiness, wanted the man who had invaded his way into her castle, her life, and her heart. And she wanted her child … only a tickle within her now, causing nausea at that! But, oh, God, how she wanted to live, and have her child, and love Arryn … whether he loved her in return or not!

“It's time, my lady.” Sir Percy had come down with the guards. “May I escort you, my lady?”

“Why not, my lord?” She accepted his arm. The guards followed closely.

“Be of good heart, lady.”

“Again, why not? I am about to be condemned for treason, though I do still think that Kinsey is taking the law into his own hands. The king should be the one to try me.”

“You may be right; there are such fine points to the law. Kinsey is a peer, and believes he has the right to judge a peer—with a proper jury, of course.”

“Of his own men.”

“Naturally. How else does one find the proper jury for the result he desires?”

She looked at him sharply. “And you're to judge me as well?”

“Naturally.”

“And your learned opinion, my lord?”

“Well, you are guilty of treason. And, alas, you have signed that document … but be of good heart, lady. Be strong.”

“Strong until death, my lord!”

And so he escorted her into the hall.

Her own great hall.

She faced a table full of men, some she knew, some she did not. And Sir Richard read out the charges against her, doing his own writing great justice as he intoned and emphasized key words. She was allowed to defend herself, which she did, telling them that she never let the outlaws in. But she hesitated when she was asked if she joined with them in the forest against Kinsey.

She looked straight at Lord Darrow.

“I never meant to betray my king. But Kinsey Darrow is a strange and selfish man, with an inflated concept of his own worth. I knew that he would plot and plan a way to kill me, since I had fallen into an outlaw's path—due to his own brutality against that same outlaw! I was left to pay the price for his cruelty. Yet it was from him that I needed to protect my own life.”

“Liar!” Kinsey cried out, rising. “I loved you!” he swore.

“You can love no one but yourself, Kinsey.”

He pointed at her. “She is guilty of treason, by her own admission. What say you all?”

There was no surprise when she heard a roar of “Guilty!” after his words. She never looked down, never blinked, never wavered, but still, she was stunned when she was immediately grasped by two of the men. Again, Kinsey pointed at her. “Now, my lady, you will meet the king's justice!”

To her dismay, Lord Percy stood at his side, making no protest.

Yet, as the guards took her out, Lord Percy did come by her side, forcing one of the guards to give way.

“Lass, you must give confession.”

She looked at him. He was so grave! Thinking of her immortal soul.

“Lord Percy, I thank you, but—”

“Give confession!”

“But—”

“I'm begging you, hear the priest!”

He moved away from her.

There had been a crowd outside the door. The people of Seacairn. Many were crying openly. They reached out for her, touching her. “My lady! Oh, God, my lady, my lady …”

Kinsey's men-at-arms held the crowd back. When one woman sobbed, coming too close, a man shoved her back roughly, striking her with the hilt of his sword.

“Stop!” Kyra cried.

Her courage was with her until she mounted the steps to Kinsey's hastily erected scaffolding. As she mounted it, she realized that Kinsey had planned the spectacle well. He had been threatened by Sir Arryn Graham, and he had probably let out word that she would be condemned as a traitor—hoping that Sir Arryn would come now and try to stop him. The scaffolding had been erected outside the inner wall, just behind the outer gate. It had been built high so that anyone on the hills could view the spectacle of her death.

Taken to the top of the steps, she was roughly spun around; her wrists were tied together as Sir Richard again cried out the charges against her—and the sentence.

She wished to betray the king with the vigor of a man.

She would meet a man's justice.

She would be hanged until nearly dead. Dragged down. Disemboweled.

Quartered.

A traitor's reward.

“Have you last words, my lady?” Lord Percy cried.

She stood on the scaffolding, staring out across the landscape she knew so well. It was so beautiful, with autumn approaching, the colors even deeper and richer than in summer. She felt the cool air caressing her face.

She smiled.

“Love this country!” she said softly. Then she cried out, “Honor Scotland. Arryn! If you hear me, don't fight for me—fight to keep this country yours, stay alive to come after the monsters like Kinsey Darrow—”

It was actually amazing that she had gotten so far. Kinsey, who had meant to be an observer, letting Sir Richard read the sentence and the executioner carry it out, was up on the scaffold, pulling her back.

His hands tangled in her hair. “If you would confess, my lady, do it now! For you are done speaking!”

“I'll have confession!” she cried. “You have to give me a priest!”

The crowd was growing louder. Kinsey winced. “I'd have ordered the executioner to strangle you to death, lady, but now you'll meet your God slowly! Aye, by all means! Say your confession!”

He threw her toward one of his men. She was caught.

The black-cowled executioner came toward her.

Her stomach quivered.

Her knees buckled.

She was never going to see Arryn again; she wasn't going to live to see his precious country free. She would never know her child….

She was terrified. So afraid. She didn't want to die….

She was suddenly ready to run to Kinsey, say anything, beg for time, forgiveness….

No
.

There was nothing she could buy from him.

She forced her knees to hold her. She had to die; there was no escape now. Guards were on the parapets; the portcullis was down. The people had been herded in, the unarmed people, the fishwives and the shepherds, the cow keepers, the farmers, cooks, and servants, tenants and merchants. None who could fight, except to die themselves.

She had to die with dignity.

The executioner threw a rope around her neck. Odd; she felt it chafing, so strange to feel such an irritation when so much worse would come….

“The priest!” she spit out. At least she would make Lord Percy happy, and buy herself just a few more minutes….

Precious minutes.

The executioner stepped to her side. His head bowed, hands folded before him, Father Hemming came up the steps. He walked across the scaffolding to stand before her. Close.

He raised a hand, making the sign of the cross over her.

“Bless you, my child.”

Then he lifted his head.

Striking, deep blue eyes met hers.

Her knees buckled in earnest.

She was so stunned, she nearly shouted out his name.

He brought a finger to his lips. “Kneel!” he whispered to her.

“There's a rope around my neck!” she whispered in reply.

“It's loose enough.”

She went down on one-knee. He came closer.

“Am I to confess?”

“Aye, you shall confess! You kept the news of a child from me.”

“I didn't intend to—”

“You may apologize later! Lean closer!”

She did so. It must have appeared as if he were listening to her whispered sins.

He cut the ropes that bound her wrists.

“When the rope pulls you up, grab it.”

“Arryn! I'll still strangle—”

“You'll not! John is the executioner, and he knows how to rig a proper knot!”

“But Arryn—”

“Nay, my lady, pay me heed! It's our only chance. Catch the rope with both hands. You'll swing … there will be a horseman!”

Swing …

She'd swing!

He stood, suddenly beginning to intone words in very hasty Latin, making a strange sign of the cross again and again. Then, with his head bowed low, he stepped to the side.

“Begin!” Sir Richard snapped to the executioner.

The man in black began to pull the rope….

Kyra reached up, clutching it as the noose began to tighten. The right-angled oak arm over which the rope had been thrown began to turn to the east, to the side of the scaffolding. She was off the ground, flying, holding on with all her strength.

Suddenly, the rope gave.

She fell toward the ground, unable to keep from screaming….

If she hit ground, every bone in her body would be broken!

And worse …

Her baby …

She never hit the ground. A man dressed in a poor linen shirt and breeches caught her smoothly in his arms. Blue eyed, dark haired, a younger version of Arryn. It was Brendan Graham. “My lady!” he greeted her, and turning, she found a horse waited for them. He set her atop the animal, and mounted behind her.

By then, a roar had gone up.

Kinsey's men-at-arms were fighting, but amazingly, they seemed to be fighting one another. The portcullis was up. People were streaming out….

And riders were coming down from the hills. On the scaffolding, Arryn and John had thrown off their robes, and were battling the men in armor who leapt forward, charging for the stairs, to accost them.

They had the advantage, slicing down any man as he tried for the stairs.

“No!”

Kinsey's howl of rage was so loud that Kyra could hear it over the screams and shouts and general melee.

Then she saw Arryn. He was ready to jump down from the scaffolding to meet Kinsey.

“Come, my lady, I'm to take you to safety!” Brendan told her. He urged the horse around the crowd in front of the scaffolding. He spurred the animal toward the gate.

She tried to turn back, to see Arryn. As she did so, a man suddenly came leaping at the horse with tremendous strength. His force threw both her and Brendan from the horse. She lay stunned in the dirt.

Brendan wasn't moving.

She saw the sword just seconds before it could impale her.

“You will meet justice!”

It was Sir Richard who had waylaid them. She rolled and leapt to her feet in just the nick of time to avoid his blade. She jumped back again and again as he came swinging at her.

“Lady Kyra!”

She looked up. Jay was on the parapets. He tossed down his sword, saluting, then started to run along the wall to reach the stairs and come down.

She had a weapon now. Sir Richard smiled, coming at her harder. Jay's sword was heavier than her own, but a fine enough weapon.

And she was ready to kill Sir Richard.

He came at her, and she parried. He lunged, and she fell back. He swung, and she ducked. She took the initiative, stepping forward, again, again, again…. He fell back. Smiled.

Then he started for her once again….

It was amazing how the ground around them cleared as Arryn met Lord Kinsey Darrow before the scaffolding. Kinsey, in a rage, was a formidable opponent. He was a tall, powerful man, accustomed to battle, ready to fight.

Indeed, he almost foamed at the mouth.

He wore a coat of mail; Arryn had none. His blade caught Arryn's arm; blood seeped upon the raw linen of his shirt.