Conquer the Night (42 page)

He was stopped by the English guards as he approached their encampment. They immediately surrounded him, demanding to know his name and his business.

He quickly called out his name, telling the guards, “I'm liege man to Lord Kinsey Darrow, and it's important that I find him.”

“Lord Darrow!” one of the men repeated, looking to another.

“Aye, Darrow's here; he pledged himself and his men to de Warenne earlier, as is right, giving his feudal duty to the king!” said another of the guards. “Darrow and his men camp yonder; follow the path there, and you'll come upon them.”

So he began his trail through the multitude of Englishmen, the tassel-adorned tents of the rich, the cruder shelters of the lesser men. It was staggering to see just how many men there were, how the tents seemed to stretch forever. Knights talked and drank and gambled by their quarters; their squires polished swords and shields, and tended to horses and harnesses.

He heard the incessant clamor of bagpipes, coming from the distance.

And then he saw the banners that designated Lord Darrow's camp, and again he was accosted before entering the inner circle, where Darrow's tent was pitched.

“Who are you? What's your business with Lord Darrow?”

“Sir Richard!” he said quickly. “It's me—”

Before he could say more, Sir Richard Egan was on him, dragging him from his horse, slamming him down to the ground. Darrow's right-hand man was strangling him.

“Wait, wait!”

“You pathetic, whimpering bastard!”

“Wait! I have news!”

“Let him up, Richard!”

The noise of their struggle had apparently brought Darrow from his tent. Richard looked at him with disgust, then rose as ordered.

He dusted himself off indignantly. “Lord Darrow, I was no disloyal coward! I played the game as I thought I must—until the time when I could be of real service.”

“Oh?” Kinsey Darrow stroked his chin, then extended his arm to indicate the camp. “On the eve of battle, you've come to me?”

“I could not do so before.”

“We should slay the dog here and now!” Sir Richard said.

“But I have information—” he began, and broke off. Sir Richard was drawing his sword.

Darrow lifted a hand, waylaying Sir Richard once again. “What information?”

He raised an arm in self-defense, rising carefully and warily. “I serve you, my lord, I have always served you. I have watched and waited, and bided my time carefully. Now I can give you something that you want!”

“And what is that?”

“The Lady Kyra.”

Darrow arched a brow, a careful man. “You have her with you?”

“No.”

“I say kill him,” Sir Richard insisted coldly.

“She is but a few hours' ride,” he said quickly. “I could not take her myself, and assure that I could keep her alive. You do want her alive?”

“Oh, aye, I want her alive.”

“So where is she?” Sir Richard demanded angrily.

“Close, and guarded by just a few men. I can take you there.”

Darrow looked at Sir Richard. “A few hours … there and back?”

“Aye, with just a few riders.”

“Where is Sir Arryn?”

He smiled. “Where else? He has joined the outlaws.”

“He's lying to save his fool life—” Sir Richard began.

“Why would he lie? He didn't have to come here!”

“It's a trap!”

“It's not a trap,” Kinsey Darrow said after a moment. “God, no—the fierce Scots are planning their moment, their great destiny—their great death!” he finished, and spit in the dirt.

“Aye, Sir Arryn rode out this morning with his men. I stayed behind, anxious to observe the arrangements made. She is with company from his old homestead of Hawk's Cairn; they are ordered to hurry her to the Highlands if word comes that the English have taken the battle.”

“Then the matter is simple,” Sir Richard said. “When the Scottish dogs are beaten, we reach her before riders can get out to tell her and her companions that they must ride to the Highlands.”

Darrow shrugged, reflecting on that wisdom for a moment. Then he shook his head. “No. She might get away if we wait. I could fall, as well, be wounded, or killed. No, we'll leave now, ride hard and fast, and be back before the dawn.”

“How will you explain her presence?” Sir Richard demanded.

“Explain?” Darrow asked imperiously.

“The Earl of Surrey is in no mood to brook trouble.”

“There are whores all over this camp, Richard. Laundresses, God knows what else. She will be my prisoner, and other than that, subject to the king. The Earl of Surrey is well aware the lady was my betrothed, an arrangement made by the king himself. I'll worry about the lady, Sir Richard—once I have her in my company.”

Darrow walked up to him. “You had best be telling the truth. If it is a trap, I'll kill you. If you've lied, I'll kill you.”

“And if it's the truth and you take her into your custody?”

“Then you are restored to my service—with an ample reward in gold.”

He smiled, pleased.

“Sir Richard—we'll take five men, my best, fastest riders, and those who can wield a sword and still move somewhat quietly. No armor. Sir Arryn will not have left his knights, his armored men-at-arms, behind. The Scots are too desperate to fill their ranks for the battle. We'll leave immediately.”

The men from Hawk's Cairn were wary of her, Kyra had realized quickly, but they were not so rude as the woman. Katherine was her name, and she was Jay's sister, and possessive of her brother—and of Arryn, so it seemed. Kyra learned this from Ingrid, though, despite Katherine's rudeness, she had not clung to solitude in her little copse all day, but come to the center of the forest home to see the men for herself.

Harry MacTavish was tall and gaunt, with brown hair and a brown beard and deep, soulful brown eyes. He nodded to her gravely when she appeared at the circle where the three sat around a small fire, whittling pieces of wood. Then he rose, introducing himself, Ioin Ferguson, an older fellow with graying hair and a weathered face, and Thomas Riley, a young man, strong in appearance at first, but when he rose to nod in acknowledgment of her, she saw that he was missing part of his right arm from the elbow down.

She couldn't help but notice the infirmity, and to ignore it under the circumstances seemed ruder than asking about it.

“From Lord Darrow's raid upon Hawk's Cairn?” she asked quietly.

“The massacre, you mean?” he inquired politely, with no taunt to the words.

“Aye,” she said.

He smiled, a handsome young man with dimples and dark auburn hair. “Lady, I was born so, and handle myself well enough, but I thank you for the concern.”

Katherine returned from the woods then, stiffening as she saw Kyra with Ingrid hovering behind her. They were not the only ones who had been left behind; some small distance away were laundresses, a few other wives, one man's daughter, several men's mistresses, and a few women who were what had been termed “merchants of pleasure,” along with a jester, two cooks, and a smith. But the others were some distance away, having taken up quarters in different pockets of sheltering trees and brush.

“So Darrow's whore has emerged!” Katherine said.

Behind Kyra, Ingrid snorted with a dangerous sound that caused her to smile.

“Katherine!” Thomas Riley remonstrated.

“Well, she has her clothes on now,” Katherine murmured, coming among them.

“Be civil; we've all a duty just to wait,” Harry said firmly.

“Aye, and who is she hoping will win but the bastard who killed all our kin!” Katherine exclaimed.

“Katherine,” the older man, Ioin Ferguson, said, without looking up, “I've known ye since ye were a wee lass. There's no sense not keeping a decent tongue in your mouth!”

“How can you—”

“Arryn has said that we're to guard her from danger, lass, and that's what we'll do,” Ioin Ferguson said firmly. “If ye don't like it, lass, go sit among the trees. The waiting is a toll on us all, girl; you'll not make it harder!”

Katherine stared at Kyra again, her blue eyes stormy. “He cares nothing for you, you know. He loved his wife. His
wife
. You're nothing but the enemy, a whore to him as well, so don't go thinking that you are more to him, or that you can ever be more.”

But she
was
more, Kyra thought. Aye, she was his whore carrying his child.

“I am sorry that my presence makes this more difficult for you,” she said with quiet dignity.

Katherine stepped closer to her. “Traitor!” she said.

“Am I?” Kyra inquired. “To whom?”

Katherine looked as if she wanted to strike her. Ingrid stepped forward. “You little foulmouthed hussy, if you speak to my lady again in such a manner—”

“Ingrid, I can manage, thank you, really!” Kyra said. “Excuse me, I think that I will return to the copse.”

“And pray?” Katherine inquired. “Who will you pray for, my lady?”

“The righteous,” Kyra said simply, and turned away. Ingrid followed her.

Ingrid kept muttering in indignation. To keep her busy, Kyra found laundry, and, given a task, Ingrid went off happily. She was glad to be kept working, keeping her mind from her precious Swen.

Later in the day Thomas came to Kyra, bearing a trencher of cooked meat. She looked at him, and at the plate, incredulously.

He shrugged. “No reason not to build a cooking fire today, my lady. The English are ordered to serve the Earl of Surrey, de Warenne.”

“What is it?”

“Fresh venison, my lady. Eat and enjoy.”

He smiled and left her.

The smell of the meat was delicious. It seemed forever since she'd had cooked, fresh meat. She was about to take a bite when she discovered she wasn't alone in the copse. Katherine MacDonald was walking toward her.

“Cooked, my lady.
Cooked!
Roasted by fire. Just like the people of Hawk's Cairn. Just like Alesandra, Arryn's wife!”

Kyra set the piece of meat down, suddenly taken violently ill. She leapt up, made it to the trees, then stumbled down to the brook. She pressed her face into the cold water, rose, shivered, and washed her mouth and face again.

Katherine had followed her. To gloat, she thought.

But the young woman suddenly seemed uneasy. “You do deserve to be ill,” she muttered, but she seemed to be watching Kyra with concern. Perhaps she'd be in trouble with her brother or Arryn when they came if they were to find her too ill to ride.

If they came back …

Kyra didn't look at her, but felt the girl's stare as Katherine sat down on the embankment by her. “I was there!” she said, moving close. “Not even Arryn was there. Do you know what he did? What your Lord Darrow did?”

“I can imagine,” Kyra said quietly.

“No, you can't. She screamed and screamed … it was so horrible. And then … and then … the men were still laughing, still taking turns … and she wasn't screaming anymore; she was just silent. But she was
alive!
I saw her eyes … after. Then the fire started….” Her voice trailed off.

“Where were you?” Kyra asked quietly. “Where exactly were you that you were able to see her so, and yet escape the men yourself?”

Katherine stared at her with a harsh intake of breath. Then she looked at the water and started trembling.

Kyra was tempted to reach out and touch her. The other woman would have repelled her touch, she was certain.

“I … I …”

“Never mind, I didn't mean to upset you more.”

But Katherine buried her face in her hands. And she talked. “In the kitchen! I hid behind the worktable. I … hid. I couldn't help her! There were so many of them. But I saw them; I could see up the stairs….”

“There was nothing you could have done,” Kyra said. “Nothing.”

“I shouldn't be alive!” Katherine said. She stretched her hands out before her, looking at them, seeing life in her own flesh and bone. “I shouldn't be alive….”

“You should be alive. Someone must live to tell the story.”

Katherine looked at her, nodded slowly, then jumped to her feet. “You are nothing to him, you know! Whatever you say, you are English, Darrow's woman. You deserved the same that Alesandra received. You—”

She stopped speaking, shook her head, and fled.

It was later, very late at night, when Thomas came upon Kyra again, bearing bread this time. “Katherine told me that she made a point of comparing cooked food to charred remains,” he said apologetically. “I thought you might enjoy this more.”

She smiled, accepted the bread, and sat with him.

“Were you there, too, Thomas, when Kinsey's men came?”

He looked at the brook under the moonlight. “Aye,” he said softly.

“And you survived?”

“Some of us were quickly knocked out of the way—brutally. And we were left for dead. Brendan, a cousin of Arryn's, a lad, fighting at Stirling now, tried to stop them from entering the manor. He was struck down with such a blow we nearly buried him ourselves later. I was knocked out quickly; they didn't take me for much of a threat, a one-armed man, but I handle my weapon well enough with what I've got. But there were so many of them…. I was caught with a mace. I woke up when I smelled the burning. Darrow's men were already riding away.”

“It seems incredible that he is alive still!” Kyra marveled. “That God doesn't throw down lightning upon such a monster.”

Thomas laughed, but with dry humor. “If God were really merciful, King Edward would fall from his horse, break every bone in his body, and die a long and agonizing death. Oh, his horse should trample his privates, and kick his intestines from his body as well.”

Kyra had been about to take the last bite of bread. It seemed to harden in her fingers.