Conquer the Night (7 page)

“This is Scotland, not England.”

“Border country.”

“Scotland!”

“Aye, Scotland, then. But her father was English If you listen to her speak—”

“If you listen to her speak, you will find yourself a traitor to your own cause!” Arryn warned him. Then he added hoarsely, “My God, Jay, you must remember what was done! And she knows of it; she hasn't tried telling me she was no part of it, just that the men here are innocent.”

“Sweet Jesu, Arryn, I am well aware of the atrocity. How do I forget when my brother perished, when … my sister escaped the manor to tell us what had leveled the house to the ground?”

“Aye, it was your sister, Katherine, who related the events that took place. And she would have died with the others were she not so clever and ingenious. And still—you suggest that I forgive this Lady Kyra because rumors of her beauty are true, because she is loyal to the man she considers her king—and because she has the strength of character to
fight?
”

“I suggest that you not practice the same cruelties that make a monster of another man, lest you become a monster yourself.”

“I never intended to execute the woman, and you are well aware of that, no matter what my threats.”

“Of course.”

“But she will not wed Darrow with her honor and riches intact. I swear that as well!”

Jay was sorrowful, looking first to the floor, and then to Arryn. “I ride with you, Arryn, because I know you. I know that you will not hesitate to kill in battle, and I know, as well, that you don't butcher men or women just to prove that you can, or that you are powerful enough to slaughter the innocent. Your strength is in your justice. Whatever you do to her,” he said very softly, “it will not bring Alesandra back to you. Or the child that was lost with her.”

Arryn didn't reply at first, but after a moment he said, “In all of Kinsey Darrow's offenses, he has cried out that he does justice in the name of the king of England, and the lordships of Seacairn. The lord, Kyra's father, is dead—and until a wedding is carried out and legal, the lordship of Seacairn is a ladyship—the inheritance is hers. She has accepted her king with all loyalty, and such a man as Kinsey, apparently, in the same manner. She is as much the enemy as anyone.” He was quiet for a moment, inhaling deeply, fists clenching and unclenching, fighting to conquer the haunting emotions that could seem to paralyze his soul at any given time.

Then he added, “You're right, you do know me. You know that I will not set the lady ablaze.” The last was said very bitterly. “But there will be retaliation. For the moment, my friend, you will guard her, and guard her well. I intend to see that we are well secured at this castle. I don't believe, however, that any force would test our own, other than a king's army, and we know that Edward is in the field already. Still, I don't care to be surprised at night by any other faction. I will return when I have seen to the security of the castle.”

“Aye, Arryn. Yet can we hold this fortress long?”

“Perhaps not—if Edward himself decides to take it. We can withstand a fairly powerful assault, but still … it is important as well that the men immediately begin stripping the fortress of her assets.”

“I will guard Kyra well, Arryn,” Jay swore. “She'll not escape me again. I promise.”

Arryn nodded. He worried somewhat that Jay, usually steadfast in all endeavors, seemed to have weakened toward this woman of Kinsey Darrow's. But she resided in a locked tower with a good long drop to the parapets below. Unless she somehow managed to talk Jay into opening the door, there was no escape—and if she got past Jay, more of Arryn's men were already busy occupying the guest rooms in the castle and staking out their claims to the choice spots in the stables and outer buildings. She could not go far.

At the foot of the stone steps that led to the tower room, Arryn turned to the left, finding the broad passageway that led out to the parapets. From here he could look out at the courtyard of the castle, and to the stone wall some fifty yards away that guarded the outer circle of the defense works. Having seen, earlier that day, that he and his men were coming to attack, the farmers had herded their grazing animals inside the wall. Produce had been gathered inside to protect the inhabitants against siege conditions. Now the gates had been opened once more; animals were being herded back out of the inner tower courtyard, and the courtyard was being set to rights. Darkness had fallen, but after such a day, there was still a great deal of activity taking place. Some men hobbled about, injured in the fracas, but already fishwives were back in the courtyard, trying to make what sales they could of the catch taken even as the defenders had fought to save their castle. To the southeast of the castle, just below the circular walkway of the parapets, there was nothing but water, for that corner was protected by the river. Arryn knew that Seacairn had never been taken in such a manner, for to attempt to enter the fortress from the water would mean coming up the sheer stone of the wall. Stealth would be to no avail. Any assault or danger had to come openly, just as he and his men had come today, riding down hard from the north. It was folly to attack this place without a sound fighting force. It was only in the last months that he had gained a sound enough leadership to acquire the warriors he had needed for such a definitive assault.

Seacairn …

He had known the castle, as he had known the old lord, because before Edward had decided that he would destroy Scotland as he had destroyed Wales, there had been a time of relative peace between the two countries. Edward was a strong and crafty king; none had actually realized his true intentions until he had put them into practice.

Arryn walked the parapets and looked out over the large stretch of landscape visible from this height. They had begun their attack at midday; it seemed amazing that a full moon already rode high in the night sky, illuminating the countryside stretched before him.

He studied the slow run of the river, crystallized beneath the falling sun, the rolling green, yellow, and lilac hills, the rich forests beyond. It all appeared so beautiful….

And so peaceful.

No … if Edward came with his army, they could not hold this place.

He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. Arryn had come here to kill Kinsey Darrow, but Darrow had ridden away—at the summons of the Earl of Harringford. It was unsettling to know that Harringford and Lord Darrow were out there somewhere, attacking what village or manor he knew not. Perhaps, he reflected, they were trying to find William Wallace in the forest of Selkirk to destroy him and his men.

He bowed his head, shuddering suddenly, wondering if their rebellion could ever win them freedom from English domination.

He thought back to the night of Alexander's death.
God rot!
If the king had known just what a hell he would create for his country, would he have risked his life so?

There must always be a Scotland … Scotland wasn't one man. So Alexander had told him that terrible snowy night, and God help him, he had remembered those words always, even as he had discovered along the way just what defying the English would mean to him.

Ten years since the king's death. Ten years of violence, anguish, defiance, and a fight that they could not relinquish, no matter what tragedy came their way. Ten years …

Edward had to be defied. And men like Darrow had to be destroyed—along with all who supported them, even such loyal English women as the Lady of Seacairn.

Whether they fought for the imprisoned king who had abdicated, or the lion triumphant of Scotland, did it matter, as long as they fought for their country? Though Edward had taken the king, he had not defeated the Scottish spirit. And rebellions arose: Andrew de Moray in the North, and William Wallace in the south.

Arryn's cousin, Sir John Graham, had, from the start, befriended William Wallace, a man who seemed to some—even among the Scots—to be a tremendous danger, while to others he represented the soul of freedom for their country. Wallace had been gaining more and more followers in his quest against the English here in the southern half of the country, while Andrew de Moray had been putting forth a fair fight to the north. Wallace fought for a country for Scotsmen, and for the Scottish king, John Balliol, in his captivity, no matter how weak Balliol had proven to be. Though Arryn thought little of the captive king, he had come to know Wallace through his cousin, and he admired the man very much, and had joined with his band on many an excursion against the English.

Wallace continued to respect the imprisoned John Balliol as king, but he didn't live under the assumption that the king would be released. He fought under the flag of the lion triumphant, the symbol of their country. Arryn led his own group of knights and freemen. He was respected as the leader of his group, and he led with his own stern set of ethics. Far too much that was true butchery had been done by both sides in this wretched war, and thus the way he fought, and the understanding among his men that they would not massacre their own people or the English peasantry in battles in which they had no voice. As Jay had said, he allowed no man to be put to torture, but fought fair battles. He slaughtered neither women nor children. His men were free to ravage what property they might; God knew, they had to survive, and survival was getting harder all the time. He had burned fortresses to the ground, seized supplies, relieved great ladies of their jewels—but not their lives.

A little more than a year ago, soon after Edward had forced Balliol's abdication and demanded that all Scotsmen sign an oath of allegiance to him, Arryn had encountered Lord Angus Darrow, cousin to Kinsey, and they had fought upon a bridge. Arryn had bested the man, but Angus Darrow had flown at him in a rage and plummeted to his death far below. Arryn and his men had still granted quarter to Darrow's followers, doing nothing more evil than relieving them of the gold, jewels, and fine woolen goods they had been attempting to bring south to England from Scottish coffers.

Not long before that fight, Arryn had married Alesandra MacDonald, his friend's young cousin and ward. He hadn't really thought that he'd had the time or the right to take a wife, but he knew that she had cared for him and trusted him since they'd been children. She'd been orphaned as a child, and she was always there, smiling, gentle, eager to see him always. His father had been dead then, having perished on a journey northward some months earlier. What had happened to Sir Robert Graham, they didn't know. His body had been found on the side of a cliff. There had been no witness to his death. Arryn missed him bitterly. He could only guess that his father had been murdered, accosted as he had been himself. But he could prove nothing.

Alone, he had become what they called the Graham of Hawk's Cairn, a knighted, well-to-do, and well-respected landowner; it was time to start a family. He had known different women in his life, in different places: landed widows, buxom maids, the lonely, the passionate. But now he wanted a wife, someone to love and cherish—a gentle touch, someone with whom to talk at night, to keep his house, bear his children, laugh with him, grow old with him.

He and Alesandra had been children together, but she had changed. Shy and slim as a girl, she had grown into a beautiful, self-possessed young woman with dark doe eyes and a wealth of rich brown hair. She had captured him in a way he had least expected, slipping beneath his skin with the softness of her voice, the hesitancy and tenderness of her touch. She had seemed to him to be everything that he was not: patient, courteous, balanced, thoughtful, and kind. She embodied all the honor and innocence for which they fought. Her outlook on life was bright and optimistic and ever cheerful, and little had made her as happy as the knowledge, soon after their wedding, that they were going to have a child. At Hawk's Cairn, she had turned his grand but nearly deserted manor into a home, given it elegance, made the whole of his holdings seem richer than they had been.

Then, while he was in the north, meeting with Moray, Darrow had ridden in. Arryn had heard from the few survivors that his wife had been seized and raped by her tormentors, then left in an upper bedroom of the manor, stunned and bleeding, when the fire had been set.

Even now, nearly a year since, his flesh went cold when he thought of what his wife had suffered. He had left her to that fate! She had died so because she had been his wife! Guilt plagued him when he lay awake, and it tortured his dreams. He would see her walking toward him, see her eyes so wide, hear her whisper his name … and when he would look up, she would suddenly begin to burn before him, and he would hear her screams.

Even now his hands began to shake, and he felt hot and cold, and sick! He couldn't bear the thoughts that tortured his mind, that would do so until his dying day….

And yet men would ask him for mercy!

He lowered his head, closing his eyes against the beauty of the country for which it seemed he had sold not only his soul, but Alesandra's as well.

Darrow and his men had killed his wife. Darrow had been guilty of heinous cruelty and brutality, as King Edward had been, but it was true, as Jay had warned, that to become like them would be his defeat, and their victory. He would not slaughter men needlessly, inflict agony upon the innocent … brutalize women or children.

But neither could he let Darrow's betrothed go in peace! God knew what role she might have had in any of this, no matter what her passion and pleas for others. And did it matter? Of all that belonged to Darrow, she needed most to be taken away. She was the slim thread that gave him any power in Scottish affairs; her family had the position and the wealth. And if he hesitated in taking revenge, all he had to do was close his eyes….

And the dreams would haunt him, waking, sleeping. He would see the flames rise….

And hear Alesandra's screams in the silence of the night.