Conquer the Night, page 26
“Aye. I am with you … while you doubt me!”
“And want you, my lady, and that is enough.”
And I want you! she thought miserably. And that is way too much!
But she turned from him and walked ahead to the bed.
She felt him behind her, his lips touching down upon her shoulders, his fingers gently tracing a length of flesh down the middle of her spine.
She crawled into the bed, trembling. This hurt, wanting him. This was wrong, she thought. And still …
The wanting grew.
The sheets were delightfully cool and clean; the furs were warm.
He joined her. Stretched against her. Touched her.
Kissed her.
Made love to her …
He knew how to stroke a woman, and tease, and she wanted to be stroked and teased. To caress, kiss, stroke, whisper …
She wanted to feel him, the ripple of muscle, the sleek heat of naked flesh, the pulse of him, the scent of him … she wanted so much! Needed, tonight, perhaps, this feeling of being cherished. She had been wanted before. Kinsey had wanted to possess her….
This was different.
Their lips touched, met, clashed, hungered, parted, met again.
The things he did … moving against her body.
The sound of him, the urging of his whispers when she moved on him in return.
His touch could be passionate, then tender. Forceful, then a brushstroke she could barely feel. Volatile, then gentle …
And, oh, God …
Oh … God
Hours later, she lay against him, spent, soaked, sated, half-asleep. His arms were around her. He held her, protective, possessive still.
He spoke softly. “Remember, my lady, you must not come to care for me too much.”
Not come to care for him? Did he mock her now?
“Don’t come to think too highly of yourself!” she warned, tensing. Then she cried, “Oh, you wretched bastard! I am your prisoner, remember?”
She felt his fingers on her face, stroking her cheek. He ignored her cry and rose on an elbow, leaning over her and speaking softly once again.
“I don’t speak from any conceit, my lady.”
“Conceit? Too much confidence from you, sir?” she retorted. “Nay, I’d not believe it!”
She felt him shake his head. “You know all the events of our recent history, and you know the path ahead for all outlaws. I will never marry you, and I would not have you weep if the day were to come when I was hanged, drawn, quartered … and so on.”
She’d been angry—and hurt. Nay, he’d never marry her; she wasn’t his beautiful, lost Alesandra.
She was the king’s favorite, Kinsey’s prize.
Untrustworthy, even though the truth nearly slapped him in the face!
Nay, she remained in such great danger from them all!
His last words gave her a chill; anger faded, and fear set in. He could hold this castle; perhaps he could battle Kinsey and win.
But Edward had the might of all England….
She rose against him, and maybe she didn’t quite hide the stricken look in her eyes, and maybe, for once, he believed in her.
For his arms came around her and he pulled her gently back to him.
“And then again, my love, perhaps I will live forever.”
She shivered still.
He held her more tightly.
And they slept as the battle-scarred night turned to day.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Darkness.
The Englishmen had changed places with the outlaws, retreating to those hills from which Arryn Graham had seen their campfires.
Kinsey Darrow stood upon the edge of a cliff, some distance from his men, one foot upon a rock, arms crossed over his chest, tension still wound so tightly in him he could scarcely endure it. He looked across the sloping fields to the light that emanated from Seacairn, highlighting the castle in a glow beneath the moon. He saw the shadows on the wall; his own men, fallen. Sir Arryn’s men, seeing to their corpses.
Kyra had come to the woods. Had she known he was there? Richard had said she’d acted strangely, that she’d purposely eluded him.
And damn her, but he’d seen her face, seen her eyes!
She had shoved him, taken him by surprise, taken him as a fool.
She had run….
Made good her escape.
But then, if she feared him, why had she come, why had she escaped the barbarians? There lay the dilemma!
He gritted his teeth. Nay, there was no dilemma. She had teased, tormented, denied him since he had first asked the king for her hand. She would have refused him; it was Edward who had ordered otherwise. Yet, even when they had been betrothed, she had cajoled the king, demanded time, and in that time she had threatened him, warned him, kept him at bay. No matter, he had thought, eventually she would be his wife. Patience, and the day would be won. Edward did not stand between a man and his wife.
But now …
She had been in reach! He had almost touched her, taken her, seized her….
And the Graham had taken her again, riding with her across the sloping hill, and into the protection of the castle.
Where light glowed now. Light … aye, he’d seen the light of the fire. Seacairn might have burned to the ground, but the fires had been dampened, even as he and his men had ridden hard away, dodging the arrows that were flying down upon them, listening to the groans of those burned with oil, carrying the injured….
He was a good commander, an able commander, but his anger had led him to forget restraint. He hadn’t gathered his men with sound thought and careful strategy. He had ordered them after the riders, ordered them to a flat-out assault on the walls. How many had he lost?
Too many, and when Richard shouted that he must pull back or face the king’s wrath for all the men he was losing so foolishly, he had done so, because he had known that his aide was right. Yet, when they had ridden away, he saw the fire….
And saw it ebb.
Fire …
His muscles constricted; his jaw tensed. Did Arryn Graham remember his charred homeland? His charred lady wife? Had Kyra been within the room that burned, or had she been at Arryn’s side, delighting in the battle that left his men bleeding and broken, herself at the castle, supreme, always, always looking down at him….
The blaze that might have destroyed the tower and Seacairn was out, but still … a glow radiated from the tower. Aye, night, the battle over, the victor lay there….
With his spoils.
If only battle could be won with rage alone, he would have emerged the winner of the conflict. But rage couldn’t scale walls, raise a portcullis, ram a heavy wooden gate. How was it then that the castle had fallen so easily in his absence?
She had willed it so.
“Lord Darrow!”
He turned, scowling. In his temper, he did not wish to be disturbed.
But Richard had come to him. “What is it?”
“You are precipitously close to the edge!”
Kinsey stared at him, then laughed. “And you fear for my sanity, Sir Richard! Aye, a good friend you are, but fear not.”
“You are staring at the tower, and ruing the fact that we lost her! You stand too close to an edge. Think, my lord. Scotland lies in this predicament, I’ll remind you, because a king went off a cliff!”
“Ah, yes. Desperate to prove his youth and strength—and ride to his wife. A foolish loss—for him. Well, I’d not cast my life aside for any woman, Richard; you may rest assured of that. I’ll not die and leave you unrewarded. Our ambition will continue to climb.”
“Aye, we’ll do well, and both be rewarded—if you think with your head, Kinsey.”
“Take care, Richard. I remain your overlord!” he warned, his tone severe.
But Richard wasn’t to be cowed.
“I take care, always. Will you? She has become an obsession with you! And you will be broken by Edward if he learns that you throw away soldiers needed in battle because you would chase what is already lost to you.”
“She is not lost.”
“You would marry her still?”
“Long enough for legal claim to the titles that were rightfully to be mine.”
“And then?”
“I am a jealous man, a rightfully jealous man, driven to the brink of insanity by all that has happened.”
“Don’t underestimate her relationship with the king. His wife adored her.”
“Don’t underestimate the king’s hatred for any man or woman who would betray him—to the Scots.”
“How can you prove she betrayed the king?”
“She betrayed me!” Kinsey said, and at the end his voice was a roar. Then his voice deepened and grew quieter. “I will have her!” he added. “I will have her back. You should have seen her, Richard! But then, you did see her, didn’t you?”
“I told you—”
“Richard, you should have seen the way she looked at me. As if I had already ordered her execution. Strange, I had done no such thing. I ordered her brought to me.”
“The men see her as a witch, Kinsey. And she is fierce in her defense…. You must understand, she might have been hurt, fighting to free herself.”
“But she wasn’t hurt fleeing from you, right?”
Richard fell silent; Kinsey knew he was feeling like an idiot. She had escaped Richard with ridiculous ease.
“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.
