Conquer the Night (33 page)

“Whore!” Kyra suggested flatly.

“Oh, my lady!” Ingrid whispered, pained.

“It does not matter, Ingrid. It does not matter. Don't go against these men, and they will not allow us to be maimed or hurt, and as to the rest of it … well, we will survive.”

“Aye, lady, aye!” Ingrid tried a weak smile. “Come, let me wash your hair then, and let the steam ease the cares of the night!”

Kyra shimmied from the tunic, discarded her shoes and hose, and slipped from her undergown. She crawled into the steaming water, shivered, and lay back. She closed her eyes. God, but it had been an endless day and night!

“My poor lady!” Ingrid murmured. “I'll bathe your hair in rose water, rub your scalp. Ease the torments inflicted upon you!”

“Aye, Ingrid.”

But it was a moment before she felt a gentle touch in her hair against her scalp. There were fingers rubbing her head, massaging, and the feel of them was wonderful, and sensual….

And it was not Ingrid touching her.

Her muscles tightened; she swallowed hard.

She turned, and it was Arryn. Ingrid was gone, and Arryn had returned. His mantle and the light armor he had worn were gone; he had gone somewhere else and washed away the imprints of fire and battle.

“Turn around; let me finish,” he told her, and she did so, and closed her eyes again, and felt the sheer pleasure of his talented hands against her head and hair. He worked soap into her, and the rinse of elderberries. She gripped the rim of the tub and felt both a delicious sense of being stroked and languid, and yet …

Tense. Little ripples of sunlight working through her limbs. Nay, big ripples, hot ripples, alive and vibrant, keeping her keenly awake and aware …

“It is done.”

He twisted up the length of her hair, draining water from it, reaching for a towel. Yet his grip drew her from the tub, and when he found a towel it was huge, and he used it to wrap her hair and her length. Sweeping it over her head and around her, he held her before him so enwrapped.

“Don't run from me anymore,” he told her harshly. “I promised you freedom. When it's safe, you will have it. I give you my word.”

She nodded, moistening her lips. “Aye. I will not run. Do you believe me?” she whispered.

“Does it matter to you what I believe?”

“Aye, in this, it does!”

He drew her closer. The towel fell from her form. He kissed her lips exploringly. His hand slid down her bare spine, caressed her nakedness. His head rose away from hers.

Still, he didn't answer her. His words were a question again.

“Can it be, my lady, that you've come to care for me?”

He taunted her, she thought, no matter what his promises. She took care with her answer. “I have decided that you are not completely a wretched barbarian.”

He smiled. Despite the way he held her, there remained a distance in his eyes. “I am not wretched, and perhaps you are not such a deceitful, treacherous, and cunning witch.”

Her eyes widened in protest. “You don't believe me. But what promise did you expect would simply come your way? You, sir, invaded here. You came to me! I did not come to your home and invade and demand….”

He laughed softly. “Demand? Well, I will not demand. I will request. Will you come to bed, my lady?”

It was an invitation—perhaps. And what if she refused?

But she didn't want to refuse. Not tonight! She could still remember the way Sir Richard Egan had touched her, the things he had said to her….

She remembered Kinsey's eyes when he realized that she did hate him, would run from him, refuse him at every turn.

She …

She wanted to be held tonight. By Arryn.

“I have told you the truth about Kinsey, about … me. I don't want you to think that I would use … this as a means of seeking your forgiveness. I don't seek forgiveness. I did nothing against you. You, sir, however, should ask my forgiveness.”

“Ah.”

“Well?”

“I have absolutely no intention of asking your forgiveness. This is what is, and that is that. And, again, I cannot ask your forgiveness for something that has given me such unique warmth and pleasure.”

She felt heat rise to her cheeks.

“Do you believe me? About tonight?” Kyra asked.

He watched her a moment, but his eyes remained enigmatic. “Perhaps. I will allow room for doubt. And God help me, Kyra—I pray that giving you such benefit does not make me a fool—a stupid fool.”

She flushed again, and watched his eyes reflectively. “I should not be begging you to understand me!” she whispered.

He lifted his hands. “I am here now, and you are with me.”

“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.