Conquer the Night (38 page)

“Percy's men were disbanded?” Arryn asked, frowning. “Why?”

John looked over the table at him. “Apparently Warenne thinks that he has sufficient force to deal with a pack of pike-bearing farmers.”

“Then that's to our advantage,” Arryn said.

“The king doesn't think we're worthy of his greatest efforts!” Patrick said.

“We need any advantage,” Arryn said. “His men do ride with trained warriors, cavalry, horsemen, bowmen. Mercenaries from the continent. Knights with no cause, and no tournaments to attend for their livelihood. We need every advantage we can use against such men. But then, we also fight with something they do not.”

“And pray tell, cousin, what is that?” John asked.

“Passion, desperation—this is our home. And we fight for lives. Our lives, our country.”

“Aye,” John agreed.

“What of the barons—will they support this fight? Have they been summoned?”

“Word has it that some will arrive—and watch. And if we have a chance of winning, they will cast their lot with us. And if the English appear to be taking the upper hand …”

“Then they will help to tear us to shreds,” Ragnor said.

“That is simple to solve,” Jay said.

“And how is that?” Ragnor asked him.

“We win,” Arryn supplied. “There's heavy work to be done in the morning. My friends, I'm for bed.” He started for the stairs.

“Arryn, a minute!” John called to him.

He waited and his cousin walked over to him. John spoke softly.

“I have heard that you intend to bring the priest, many of the men from here—and the Lady Kyra.”

“Aye.”

“She's escaped you many times.”

“She hasn't escaped
me
many times. She tried to leave Seacairn—”

“When Kinsey Darrow was in the forest.”

“His men tried to kill her. I was there; I saw it.”

John watched him for a long moment.

“Don't question my judgment, John. I know what I'm doing. If Darrow finds her, he will kill her. It's that simple. She rides with me.”

“If you trust her, Arryn, I bow to your judgment.”

“Aye.”

“What will you do with her?”

“Take her to the forest village at the foothills where the families of many of the outlaws have gone. It's where we would ride before Abbey Craig were she with us or not; some of these men feel they must see their wives and babes … before the battle. And I would leave the laundresses behind, the cooks, the camp followers.”

“Do you dare leave her there?”

“Aye, and why not?”

“You leave her with the survivors of Hawk's Cairn.”

“She did nothing there.”

John shrugged. “I bow to your judgment; let's pray others will.”

“Whatever comes, there is no choice.”

John nodded. “Good night then, cousin. Sleep well. Nay, never mind, don't sleep at all. As our Viking ancestors liked to say, we can sleep when we're dead. Use the night well. Would God that I were you this evening.”

He grinned and spun about to return to the table, where the others were still engaged in conversation. They could talk about the possibilities of the battle forever.

Use the night well!

He had listened to John; now John had listened to him. He knew that he couldn't risk the lives of others, that he would always have to care what he said to Kyra, and how much he allowed her to know.

But she was coming with them; he had decided what was to be, and making the decision had put his mind at rest.

He felt strangely at peace for a man leading troops to join in a great battle.

He walked the stairs to the tower room and hesitated outside the door, then opened it and walked in.

Kyra sat before the fire, soft white gown around her shoulders, eyes wistfully upon the flames, hair falling in golden tendrils down the length of her back. A soft, clean breeze whispered in from the night, catching the flames, and they danced, and shadows played against the walls. The room was both cool and warmed, in a glow and darkened, and she seemed a picture of incredible beauty, sitting there in the light and the shadow.

She heard him, turned, and started to rise, and he shook his head and came to her by the fire. He sat behind her, enveloping her in his arms and drawing her back against his chest so that they both watched the dance of the flames.

“We ride tomorrow. When the horses are gathered, the supplies are packed … we ride.”

“Where?” she asked.

“North.”

She turned slightly, smiling. “You don't believe in me at all, do you?”

“Kyra—”

“It's all right; it doesn't matter. You said that I need to know just who you are—and I know who I am. And I am the daughter of an English lord. You should not trust me.”

“There's a place … beyond Stirling.”

“Will the rebels try to take Stirling?”

He didn't answer her. “There's a village that's small, quiet, where the real hills begin. The English don't bother with the tenants there, for the land is craggy and poor, and the houses are sparse, the sheep give poor wool, and the cattle are skinny. It is held by the Church, by the Bishop of Glasgow, and though he is a known insurgent, the king has thus far forgiven him his every move. You'll be safe there.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I do have kin, my mother's people. They are MacLeods.”

“I know about your mother's people; you are safest where I tell you to be now.”

“But—”

“If we fail, Darrow will come looking for you. Your mother's family could suffer for harboring you.”

“But what about the people in the little village? Your people. Will I put them at risk if … if you fail?”

“No. They know what to do if the battle is lost. No matter what, there will be survivors, someone to tell our families that they must escape to the Highlands. They will know where to go. The chieftains are strong and crusty fellows in the deep mountains, fiercely independent. Not even the Romans of old went after them. The English … will not be bothered. They will ride to recapture the strongholds in the north and to the east that Wallace and de Moray seized from them through the year past.”

“And what if the English do not win?”

“Then there is nothing to fear.”

“But what of … the future?”

“The future? God only knows. If we win … Edward will be furious, naturally; he will raise an army to come after us again—he'll lead the attack himself this time. You know him better than I, and it's what he'll do, don't you think?”

“Aye,” she agreed.

“And then! As to Scotland … Balliol remains deposed, his Comyn relatives are would-be kings, and young Robert the Bruce, Earl of Carrick, would be king, though God knows, I doubt he rides with us against Edward now. Perhaps there will be a guardianship again.”

“And what will you do? Go home?”

“Well, I have no home anymore. It is ash.”

“You can rebuild.”

“Maybe. I don't know yet.”

“You have seized this castle.”

“Aye, but …”

She turned her head, looking up, trying to read his features. He shrugged. “It's borderland. There will never be peace here. There may not be time to rebuild anything else. Edward may march on us too quickly.” He lifted his hand. “It doesn't matter what we speculate. Only time will tell.”

She nodded, easing back in his arms, watching the fire. “Arryn?”

“Aye?”

“Well,” she said softly, “I would not have you accuse me of caring for you too deeply … but I pray with all my heart that you come through the battle safely. I would pray that you not fight, but such a prayer would be useless. And so I pray that you survive.”

He rested his chin atop her head. “Thank you, my lady. That's quite a kindness from a conquest so wretchedly abused.”

Her hands lay upon his lower arms where they folded around her. Her fingers tensed upon his arms. “I will live,” he said softly. “Don't fear; I will live, and you will be safe.”

She shook her head. “I'm not afraid for myself. Running to the Highlands had been a thought when I escaped here to the forest.”

“Oh, you did not think to escape to England?”

“Aye, I did. But …”

“But what?”

“Edward would have found some other wretched soul to whom to give me in marriage.”

He laughed softly. “So it is, with women and prizes.”

“You find it amusing because you are not a package to be bartered, sold, or given for the right price or action.” She was quiet for a moment, then she asked softly, “Was your wife of your choosing? Was she promised to you as a babe? She was Jay's relation, so I heard.”

Tension filled him. He could not talk about Alesandra, not to Kyra.

“I'm sorry!” she murmured softly. “I tread on hallowed ground. Forgive me.” She started to push away from him, as if she would rise. He tightened his arms around her, holding her against him. “I knew her forever; aye, she was Jay's cousin. We married because we both grew up—but not because of an old betrothal, but because we were ready to do so.”

“It sounds so wonderful.”

“Aye. Wonderful. Until she was murdered.”

She pushed away from him, turning to study his face anxiously again. “Kinsey will be in the battle. Surely, if he rode from here, he was to join the king's army. You mustn't look for him, Arryn. There will be thousands of men on the field; you can't hunt for him to kill him, or you will wind up dead yourself.”

“I have to find him, Kyra.”

“If the Scots take the day, you will find him in time. The English will hold nothing more than borderland and Berwick—if that. Don't risk your life to find him. His death is not worth your life.”

He hesitated, meeting her eyes. She seemed so grave, so sincere. He smiled ruefully. “Aye, lady. I would give my life to take his.”

“Because you feel guilty. You killed Darrow's kin, and he came after you in revenge. You didn't expect such a vengeance, and you weren't there to die for your wife! Arryn, you could have done nothing else when you met Angus Darrow. You had to fight. And you couldn't have known. My God, there has been so much bloodshed, so very much! You cannot hold yourself responsible!”

He touched her cheek, eased her from him, and rose. “But I do,” he told her, and he walked to the fire. He placed both hands on the mantel and stared into the blaze.

Fire …

He felt her arms coming around him. She laid her cheek against his back. “It is the last night we will spend here, isn't it?”

He heard her turn away, and when he turned, she was in the process of letting her tunic fall to the floor. The undergown of softest, gossamer linen fell atop it, drifting like a cloud to billow at her feet. The fire played pure gold over the exquisite curves and shadows of her body, the roundness of her breasts, the lean hollow of her belly, the flare of her hips, the length of her legs. Her hair seemed to be an endless cape of dazzling spun metal, catching the firelight in shades of silver, copper, and gold. Her eyes touched his, emerald in the firelight.

Brilliant, glittering.

She turned and walked to the bed.

Aye, it was the last night they would spend in the tower room.

He left his clothing atop hers. He started down to the bed. But she rose on her knees to meet him. Her arms slipped around him. Her fingertips played over his nakedness. She sought his lips. He crushed her to him, met her kiss. She broke from him. Her lips played over his shoulders, throat, chest. Her fingers followed his spine. She kissed and kissed, stroked, caressed….

She moved against him.

She'd learned so much….

And so much was instinct….

He felt her touch, savored, soared, cried out hoarsely and dragged her to him, and down, and met her eyes, and was one with her….

The fire burned….

Flamed and rippled.

The night passed.

They made love again.

And again …

She woke alone.

She could hear the great cacophony of sound going on below. The clang of harnesses, the shouts of men, the clatter of horses' hooves. Commands given, commands received. It was surprising that it had taken so much time for the noise to awaken her.

She rose, shivered, reached for a fur to cover herself, then hurried to wash and dress. As she dug into her trunk, she realized that she was dressing to leave—that God alone knew if she would ever return.

There was a tapping on the door; she hugged the fur to her.

“It's me, my lady!” Ingrid called.

“Come in.”

Ingrid entered with a flourish of energy, her cheeks flushed. “Oh, my lady, you should see it all, the baggage carts, the weapons, the activity. Oh, but you will see it. And you must pack lightly, Sir Arryn says, but remember, too, that if something is a treasure to you, well, it must come, for none of us knows … well … you know. So tell me, what shall we bring? Your warmest cloak, for though it's summer now, we could be in the Highlands come the winter if—”

She broke off, crossing herself.

Kyra sat back, smiling. “Ingrid, you're riding with the heathens?”

Ingrid turned pinker. “My lady, you tease me so. I ride where my Swen rides, and that's a fact. And I would not leave you, Kyra.”

“I'm grateful, glad that we'll be together.”

“Oh, and Father Corrigan rides with us, and Tyler Miller, and so many others. We'll do well enough; don't be afraid.”

She wasn't afraid of leaving Seacairn, Kyra realized.

She had been afraid to stay.

And she was afraid for Arryn.

“Ingrid, don't you be afraid. We'll be just fine.”

“Oh, my lady! Can you believe it?
We
are running with the rebels!”

The intruders were
rebels
now, Kyra noted, rather than
outlaws
.