Conquer the Night (24 page)

His eyes narrowed as he stared at her. She suddenly realized that he was watching her, and she started to back away from the wall. She knew that he would come for her, that he would have to quit his training session and seek her out. Had she intended her escape just to be of further irritation to him? To cause one of these very important sessions to be disrupted?

He would not allow her to do so. He would send one of his men instead.

“Jay!” he shouted. Leaving his position on the field, Jay mounted his horse and came loping toward him.

“Kyra is upon the wall. Will you see that she returns to the tower?”

“Aye, Arryn, if you wish,” he began, but then paused, looking past him toward the forest. Arryn had already heard the hoofbeats coming from the direction of the northern forest. As they watched, John Graham, with two companions, came from the trail, riding hard toward them, waving a hand in greeting.

His cousin had left at dawn just a few days ago, riding back to report to Wallace regarding Arryn's men and his strength—and his promise to fight. Now John was back, and though they bordered the forest of Selkirk, Arryn thought that his cousin had ridden very hard and fast to have returned so quickly.

“See to Kyra!” he said briefly to Jay, and lightly spurred Pict so that his battle horse flew into motion, and he raced the distance to meet his cousin.

“There's news?” he shouted.

“Aye! News, indeed.” John straightened in his saddle, looking around. The fields were filled with men. Arryn's—good Scotsmen—and those who had begged mercy and sworn to his cause at the taking of the castle. Indeed, the Irish priest, Michael Corrigan, had proven to be something of a swordsman himself, and worked with a number of men now, teaching them about the weight of the weapon they carried, the art of retreat—and the art of a thrust to kill.

“We'll head to the castle,” Arryn said.

John nodded to his companions, who broke off to remain in the field, watching the sessions. He and Arryn rode for Seacairn. The portcullis was open, and they traveled quickly through the outer and inner defenses. They left the horses with Brendan in the courtyard, and entered the main hall. It was empty. A carafe of ale sat at the far end of the table, and John helped himself liberally after the long ride.

“What is it, what is happening?”

“Good news is this—Andrew de Moray has become a powerful weapon for us here, even in the south. He is a man of vast means, a true baron, an aristocrat—and a man defying the king, and even the fact that the king holds so many of his kin hostage!”

“Aye, we've known that de Moray is a fine man for a rebel cause.”

“What we've not known is how many fine men he has compelled to follow us! Knights, Arryn, fellows who know the skills of warfare.”

“What of the king?”

“He has sailed for France, but his armies are on the move. They think they will crush us quickly in a decisive battle that will break the Scottish spirit once and for all! But, Arryn! Our successes have been so vast that Wallace and de Moray are ready to meet the armies.” He began to draw on the table, indicating events. “Aye, look here! We took Perth—I rode beside Wallace myself at this turn of the tide—and here at Dunottar, we took a large contingent of the English, many who had fled there! Then on to Aberdeen … We returned to Selkirk, but de Moray continued attacks. All these castles fell … Elgin, Forres, Nairn, Lochindab—at Aberdeen we destroyed English shipping. My God, Arryn, we've a good fighting chance, but we must move ahead more quickly. You'll need to ride to Wallace within a few days' time—he is choosing his ground for a major battle. See here, the English commander Cressingham moves thus, and Warenne rides along here. Word has it that Cressingham is so certain of his strength that he has told Percy to disband his army in the west!”

“I'm told Wallace offered no mercy whatsoever at Dunottar.”

“The barns of Ayr were sharp in his mind, Arryn. Don't forget, the English trapped a good three hundred and sixty men there, tricking them to an eyre or council, hanging one and all, even the lads who served them, and burning them to ash. You know well how easily the English set blaze to both property and people!”

Arryn steeled himself against the pain that never failed to wrap around his heart at the reminder. Aye, they'd done enough in revenge, and God knew, the English had warranted it. It was no good claiming the Scots had struck first when John had still been king and invaded the north of England—not when the English army had crossed the border within two days to inflict the terror at Berwick.

“Still, cousin, if we're ever to best the English at battle, the bickering amongst us will have to stop. I was nowhere near Irvine when our good nobles finally decided that with Edward busy in France, they might make a stand—but then argued so fiercely that they backed down before the battle!”

“Aye, well, it boils down to this often enough—the Bruces, who have wavered a few times too often, believe that a nationalist victory will have us rallying to stand behind John Balliol as king, and if not John, then another member of the Comyn family. Bruce is likely to give up the honor of Scotland for the honor of a throne. This Robert the Bruce is a pup—”

“So is Wallace. So are we all, John.”

“Aye, but Wallace has lightning in his eyes. He draws men. His passion is what binds us. Even at Irvine, while our nobles squabbled and sued for Edward's peace, Wallace's men found an English baggage train, killed its defenders, and made off with immense treasure, which we will need. Nay, we'll not back off again. It will be de Moray and Wallace leading the men when we face the English now, and that I swear to you! De Moray is a wealthy man, Wallace the second son of a small landowner, a lesser knight! They will come together, and others will join them, and cousin, I beg of you, you must!”

“Aye, I intend to fight, and you know it, John.”

John nodded, watching him. “Good. There's more.”

“Aye?”

“Kinsey Darrow has learned of your being here.”

“Does he ride here even now?”

John grinned. “One would think! I was told his fury was so great that he nearly went into apoplexy. He almost killed his own messenger. But he was warned by sounder minds to wait for greater force; last I heard, he was awaiting the Earl of Harringford and his forces.”

“Powerful forces.”

“Aye, but they'll be called to join the English as they hunt down Wallace. Cressingham is a fool who believes himself up against no more than rabble, but he knows it to be a large rabble, and the command from the king is that the Scots be crushed.”

“Where was Darrow?”

John looked down for a moment. “At the manor of old Tigue MacDonald.” He hesitated a moment. “He had the old man meet a traitor's death, strung him up before all his tenants, hanged him, gutted him, chopped him into fours.” John spoke bitterly. “Pillaged, robbed, murdered, raped.”

MacDonald. A good man, a fierce old fellow without a moment's compromise or doubt in all his life! Arryn thought.

Another hatred against Darrow that burned at his very soul!

“He is not so far.”

“Still, I believe that the Earl of Harringford will command him to join with the army before coming here.”

“Perhaps. Still, I'd best see that the guard be far more than just wary.”

“Aye, and Arryn, we need all that you have seized here! Our men are fierce fighters, rich in spirit, yet poor in weaponry. Have you stripped the armory here?”

“That I have. And we've the smiths working day and night to repair swords, finish those begun, repair what plate and mail were left…. Aye, there was fine armor to be had here, and we have stripped it all. My men will be armed.”

“Is there more?”

“Aye, there are those who still have hand-hewn pikes, nothing more.”

Arryn lifted a hand, hearing footsteps on the stairs. Jay came into the main hall. “Arryn,” he began, then paused, arching a brow with a hopeful grin. “Aye, John, a great war council! Tell me, for the love of God, that all goes well?”

“Aye, Jay. And will, by God, be better. Tell me, man, can you fashion a sword?”

Jay shrugged. “Well, I have fashioned an opposing swordsman, upon occasion.”

“Lady Kyra has returned to reside above?” Arryn asked sharply.

“Arryn, as you commanded, I returned her to the chamber, demanding to know how she had escaped, of course. She said that she did not escape, merely left the room. You left no man on guard, and did not slide the bolt.”

Aye, he had grown precariously lax! He had not slid the bolt because, at the back of his mind, he knew that they could be counterattacked at any given time.

And the castle might well be set to the torch….

He'd have no one else burn, no more of the scent of charring flesh to haunt his dreams; he'd not have her die….

As had Alesandra.

“Did you slide the bolt now?”

“Nay, I came to ask what means you would take to keep the lady within.”

“I will see to her,” Arryn said. Jay was a good friend who knew him well and seemed to understand him at times when he didn't understand himself. “We were discussing the urgent need for arms,” he said to Jay.

“Well, we have plundered this castle.”

“And you have fashioned many a swordsman …” John murmured. He stared at Arryn. “What of the fallen?”

“Aye, John, we took every sword, knife, and blade from the fallen—the enemy, and our own.”

“But have you really taken weapons from all the fallen?” John inquired, a touch of humor in his eyes. “And those who might not have fallen quite so hard?”

“What are you talking about?”

“What of the great men of this fine edifice who have found their eternal rest in their shrouds in the shelves of the crypt?”

Startled, Arryn looked at Jay, then at John. He shrugged. “I admit, cousin, we had not thought to rob the dead, though the dead have the least use of mortal weapons!”

“Shall we to the crypt?” John queried.

“No!” The sudden cry was cast down as an indignant gasp. Looking up, Arryn saw that Kyra had decided to depart her tower prison once again. Had she meant to slip by him, or simply to spy on him? Either way he felt his temper simmering. He looked at Jay, but Jay shook his head, and he realized he was the one in command.

“Lady Kyra!” he said coldly. “So you have chosen to join us again.”

“No!” she repeated passionately.

“No?” he queried, his voice deep and grating. “Ah, lady, it is a word I hear from you too often, and so strangely, for you are in no position here to give command!” Arms crossed over his chest, he sat at the end of the table and watched her as she came down the last of the stairs.

Her head was bare; the length of her red-gold hair rippled down her back, and her eyes had never appeared a deeper emerald. She ignored his reprimand. “You would stoop so low, sir, as to rob the dead?” she demanded. Passion and indignation were in her voice; her breasts rose and fell with her words and her fury, and he was struck with the thought that she was indeed far more than a beautiful woman—she was a rare one, with fire and spirit, and something within her that he wanted still! That Darrow hadn't had apoplexy at her loss did not seem at all to make him a stronger man, just a greater fool.

“Do you hear me, Sir Arryn? It is a vile crime indeed to steal from the dead, sir! God will not forgive you such an act.”

“Oh? God discusses what He will and will not forgive with you, my lady? Have you taken to communing with Him in the self-imposed exile you have enjoyed the last few days? How curious, for I believe He will forgive me. This will be a lesser crime, I think, than that of which we are all guilty—robbing the living of life,” he said flatly. “Come, John, as you suggested, to the crypts. Kyra, you must join us, and pray for us in the good Christian spirit with which you gave warning—or, lady, do the dead rest in the chapel above us?”

She was not about to answer him. He rose swiftly, catching her arm as she started up the stairs. His fingers wound around her wrist. Up a few steps, she looked down at him with her eyes surprisingly filled with tears, and all the more dazzling for them.

“If you think that I will help you—”

“No matter. But you will accompany me.” His eyes locked with hers. “Jay, call for Gaston, and ask him where we will find the castle's revered dead.”

Gaston, bobbing and ever courteous and cheerful, informed them that the dead rested deep below in this tower. All they need do was take the back set of stone stairs, yet they must take a torch, for the caverns beneath were as dark as any pit of hell. “But Lady Kyra could have told you that,” he finished, smiling at Kyra.

“Aye, she could have, but she did not.”

“Why would you see the dead?”

“We would borrow their weapons.”

“Borrow?” Kyra spit out.

“Ah, lady, they were mostly good Scotsmen, I'd imagine, and would be glad to lend a hand to a cause of their country! Bring a torch then, Gaston,” Arryn ordered.

“Aye, Sir Arryn.”

John took the torch; Arryn took Kyra's arm, keeping her wrist locked firmly in his grip.

The stairs were damp. Though it was summer, the region tended always to be cool, and as they went lower the stone became cooler still, and the air around them became all but frigid. A good way to preserve the dead, he thought. The esteemed corpses of Seacairn would be all but icicles.

They reached the ground floor and an archway that surely dated before the arrival of the Normans. Deep within the cavernous hallway that opened to them next was a room filled with stone shelves, and upon those shelves, the nobility of centuries—ladies in elegant gowns, men in arms and armor, the fragile texture of their shrouds shielding them from the living. Arryn saw immediately that John had been right—many of the old lords and privileged knights of Seacairn had been laid to eternal rest with their weapons. Swords glittered in the firelight of the torch that John carried to lead the way.