Conquer the night, p.23
Conquer the Night, page 23
Deep onto one of the trails, she shivered, thinking that though there was a moon, and stars dotted the sky, it was very dark at night, and she was very much alone. Thank God it was summer, and though the night was chill, there was no snow, no ice, no brutal cold to be as bitter a foe as any other she might face. She knew the trail she followed led to a small brook, and she urged the mare there, thinking she had, at least, some jewels in her hem, and fresh water to drink. It was a pity she hadn’t thought to steal the priest’s bread; she hadn’t brought food, she’d been too distracted to eat much, and she had run before supper. Such a small detail. The vicious carnage between the English and the Scots was already devastating the countryside; the English burned crops and houses to destroy a people, and the Scots scorched the earth in return to starve the English back across the borders. There might be little new in going hungry here.
And she had tricked poor Patrick and left the castle. Escaped. She was free from both men: the Scottish outlaw, the English demon. She should have felt great relief, and she felt merely empty.
The woods seemed to close around her.
Shelter her.
Her world, she realized, was lost. The home she had known, the people she had known, aye, the luxuries she had known. And that was the way it must be. She didn’t seem to feel that loss yet.
The emptiness was what gripped her heart. She had run from him. Did it matter? He would have left her. And Kinsey would eventually return….
And her punishment might be slow or might be quick, but it would be sure. And he wouldn’t hate her so much because she had become the property of his greatest enemy; he would hate her because she had always despised him, and he would be justified to do so.
She walked her horse deeper into the woods, warning herself that she couldn’t dwell on the hollowness in her heart. It was absurd. A woman conquered and seized did not fall in love with the enemy, and such an enemy could not be courteous, polite, and thoughtful, and create such a rage of emotions with his eyes, his touch, the tone of his voice. She was nothing to either of these men except a weapon to be used against one another, and that was all, and she must now take the greatest care for her own life.
She had two choices.
The king’s mercy. Never a safe wager.
Or she could simply run….
And disappear into the countryside. God knew it was wild enough, and there were places distant enough.
As she walked the mare along, debating the serious question of her future, both immediate and into the years ahead, she didn’t feel a sense of fear. She knew the woods. She was sheltered by the oaks. But as she walked, her feeling of comfort faded. She became aware, vaguely at first, of the mellow light that seemed to seep through the forest here and there. For a while she moved on, perplexed, speaking to the mare now and then, more curious than frightened. Then, as she came to the brook and saw that the soft light seemed to emanate from the curve in the waters ahead, she froze, aware that the strange yellow light was coming from campfires.
Dismounting from the priest’s mare, her heart seeming to have leapt to her throat, she moved silently to the shadow of an oak, trying to look beyond the darkness to the glow, and discern who was in the woods, just how far they were from her, and just how many men there might be.
The distance, she realized with trembling relief, was fairly great; they were at least a quarter of a mile from her, but there were a number of fires burning, and so there had to be a fairly large contingent of men. She’d be safe enough from them, she thought, if she didn’t light any fires herself. On the other side of the brook there were rocky outcrops, and those would offer her shelter for the night, and a fine place to hide the priest’s horse. She had been disturbed that she had not found a way to escape with her own mare; now she was glad. If this horse was discovered by someone who knew her, they would not realize that the mount was hers, and if …
She didn’t dare accept the thought that it might be Darrow in the woods, though such an idea was most logical. He’d had time now to serve the Earl of Harringford, time to hear about Seacairn, and time to gather forces to return.
Still, frozen by the oak for the moment, she stared down the winding path of the trickling brook to that curve. She should have noted the fires from the tower at the castle. Had the guards seen that men were coming?
She should go back. Tell them.
To what avail? Surely someone had seen the fires; they would be safe at the castle….
Safe! The invaders would be safe from the English from whom they had wrested the castle!
If she did not return, then when Kinsey attacked, as he must, they would all believe that she had cunningly schemed to escape to come to Kinsey, give him warning, information….
What wretched timing. Arryn had not returned. He could ride back into the midst of hundreds of men besieging Seacairn.
There was a sound behind her—the slightest sound. She spun around, her breath catching, her heart seeming to fall to her feet. She could usually hear so well in the forest, but she hadn’t heard danger come. And with so many campfires burning, there had to be many men about, hundreds of them, in Kinsey’s service. How wretched that this one had found her!
Sir Richard Egan stood there, Kinsey’s right hand man. Tall, lean, cunning, hazel eyed and dark haired, he had a feral look about him. He was a man who enjoyed power; he hadn’t Kinsey’s background or family, but he was fearless and ruthless, and meant to rise to greater heights in Kinsey’s service.
“Sir Richard!”
“Aye, my lady. You’ve escaped the bloody, barbaric bastard! Thank heaven, my lady, for God knows what he might have done to you when we stormed the castle.”
She opened her mouth, stunned. No words would come. She looked around quickly. He had not ridden alone, surely. He was here, this distance from camp, with others, but she couldn’t see anyone. His horse, a huge black destrier, was back upon the trail, and thus she had not heard the animal.
He had followed her, she realized. He had probably been out in the circumference of the camp, keeping watch, when he had heard her. He had watched her, probably not knowing at first who she was, shrouded as she was in the priest’s huge robe. He had taken great care to accost her. He had crept up on her, and she had been taken completely by surprise. She damned herself, feeling his eyes. They raked over her in a way that made her flesh seem to burn. She could see his curiosity regarding her circumstances, and it felt incredibly uncomfortable. And she knew that he had barely endured her cool attitude toward him, and toward Kinsey; he knew, in fact, she thought, that she had despised Kinsey, and all that he did, and all that he stood for.
He strode the few steps to her, clutching her arm.
“Sir Richard!” she said in regal protest, her eyes narrowed upon him. But he seemed in no mood to endure her tone.
“Sir Richard?” he repeated his name, using her tone. “You speak to me so when you have been saved? Dear child, one would think you were not grateful that I have found you, saved you from the devils!”
“I saved myself, sir. You have happened upon me, nothing more!”
Her words made him angry, she knew.
“That is no matter. You are back with your own kind. And you will tell us everything, and we will avenge the evil done you. What did he do to you? Where is he? How did you escape? How many are in the castle now?”
“Sir Richard! Please. You’re hurting me. Let go of me.”
He ignored her; it was as if she hadn’t spoken. “We’ll go to Lord Darrow, lady. He’ll be anxious to see you, be certain.”
“Oh, aye,” she murmured, staring at him, her heart racing. He would drag her to Kinsey. She was damned. She couldn’t let him know that she was far more desperate to escape him than she had ever been to flee the “barbarians.”
He moved the hood back from her head. “You think that I don’t hear your tone, my lady? Ah, you’ve always considered yourself so much more … refined. But then, ’tis true, you’re so beautiful, Kyra. Perfect teeth, perfect face … perfect form. Speech so soft, so melodic, so regal. You think that that will always save you, don’t you? Perhaps, my lady, your very perfection, that which demands such ardor from those who know you, will be your downfall.”
“Sir Richard, if the king were to hear you, you’d be a dead man!”
“But the king isn’t here, is he?”
“Sir Richard, lead me to Kinsey. But get your hands off of me.”
“Why, my lady, still so haughty? The stamp of an outlaw is all over you. But come, as you’ve said, you’ve saved yourself. Oh, indeed. I’ll bring you to Kinsey, and with him you’ll truly be safe.”
Safe? She’d never be safe with Kinsey.
“Sir Richard, I tell you again, your grip is too tight; you are hurting me.”
“My lady! I’m so sorry. I’m afraid of losing you again. It is a miracle indeed that you have come into the forest with us here.” The sarcasm in his voice seemed blatant in the quiet forest.
Yet she had to take care in answering him. If she could not get him to cease being so suspicious of her, she’d never get him off guard so that she might escape him.
“A miracle,” she said, trying to keep her eyes downcast and speak humbly.
“A miracle! Some women would not have survived so well; the horror of the touch of such a heathen outlaw would have sent them into thoughts of suicide! Yet you seem to have … survived quite nicely. Beautifully. But I’m sure you’ll be explaining everything. Bless God, lady, you look well. Exceedingly well. Amazingly well!”
“Do I?” she whispered, feeling the ferocity of his hold as he started to lead her back to the main path he had come along, where his destrier waited.
“We heard, of course, what happened. And we were furious to know that you were seized by the outlaws, taken, abused at the hands of the barbarians. Lord Kinsey was beside himself with fear, and yet … you do not look abused, my lady.”
There had to be a way to break free from him. There had to be. He had found her this time because she had been careless. She knew these woods better than he did. If she could escape him, she could evade his pursuit with intelligence and success.
Desperate, she saw her chance.
She looked past him suddenly, frowning.
“Sir Richard!” she cried with great alarm.
“What?” His hold on her eased.
“Your horse has gone! Such a fine creature; we must catch him!”
She was able to reverse the tables, take him by surprise, and wrench free from his hold upon her arm. She went tearing up the trail and along the path—shooing the great destrier, who had ambled just a few feet away. Pretending to chase after the galloping mount, she burst into the trees and ran and ran.
And ran, never moving faster, or more desperately, in all her life.
“Kyra!”
She heard him calling her name.
Again, and again.
His rage growing …
Into the deep woods she sped, her priest’s robe catching on brambles and thickets. It was hard to run; she carried the priest’s heavy sword. She didn’t dare discard it.
She kept moving, running hard, ignoring the fingerlike branches that seemed to tear at her hair. When she burst into a second copse, she had to stop, bend over, and breathe.
She had come far.
But she was on foot now. And they had horses.
Still gasping for breath, she tried to listen over the pounding of her own heart and the wind in her lungs. Flattening herself against a tree, she heard nothing for several minutes. Then she heard shouting and hoofbeats, coming her way.
She pushed away from the tree, avoiding the rider who went by.
But she burst into a copse, and as she did so, a rider thundered in from the opposite direction. She didn’t know the man, but she knew the surcoat he wore over his chain mail. Kinsey’s colors, and his family crest.
The rider leapt down from his horse, coming for her. He was a stranger, with blunt features and cold eyes. Richard Egan had told him to come for her, she was certain. To take her, no matter what. In any condition.
She realized that if she was handed over to Sir Richard, she would be dead when he delivered her to Kinsey.
She backed away from the man. “Shall we play, my lady?” he queried. “I’ve the night to find you. If you make it too difficult for me to catch you, I will make it difficult for you. Perhaps a less gentle touch even, than that you’ve come to know!”
That was enough. She drew the priest’s sword. It was a powerful weapon; she just wished it were not quite so heavy. And she was facing a man in armor.
“Alone! By God, I’ve got you alone!” he said, inordinately pleased.
“Get away from me!” she warned.
“Oh, my lady, you rile the senses, you do!” he countered.
“You fool! Kinsey will kill you!”
“Ah, will he? He’ll never know. ’Tis your word, and mine, though Sir Richard has said we’ll not allow you to torment our great overlord anymore. And all know that you’ve become the whore of that filthy outlaw! Drop the sword, lady. I’d not have you bleeding and dying here—if I can keep from it! I’d even save your life. Come, be a good lass; drop the sword.”
He stepped toward her; she raised the weapon. He laughed, and she struck. His laughter faded as he barely managed to parry the blow. But then he realized that she’d had some training, that she knew her business.
And now he was furious.
She found herself fighting in earnest. She struck him several times, but his mail deflected her blows. She couldn’t allow him any strikes, for she had no defensive armor, not even a shield. She searched for his weaknesses; beneath the arms, right at the neck, and at the knees. His coat was short; if she could strike …
He nearly caught her in the midriff; she jumped back, catching the bark of a tree, spinning around it. He came after her; rather than retreating, she leapt toward him, her sword in both hands, at the ready.
He fell back too late. She caught him in the left leg, a good blow that might well have severed a blood vessel—it had crippled him, at the least.
He let out a furious bellow. She started to sprint back again, seeing that he could not run after her. But she froze, for now a second man had come riding into the copse. He saw her, saw her imminent flight, and leapt down from his mount directly in front of her, barring her way.
She was between the two men.
“Take care!” the first howled. “She’s near killed me, she has, the bitch! She’s a wild one! Strike her down quickly!”
“We’re to bring her to Kinsey alive—”
“Sir Richard says that she is to be taken dead if need be!”
“Lord Kinsey wants her alive!”
“Aye, then a well-used prize already! Seize her, but slice her to ribbons if need be!” The injured man swore. “She’ll pay a few more pipers, I daresay! Take her down, man! I am bleeding to death here; I need help!”
Kyra looked quickly between them. She started for the second man, sinkingly aware that the first fellow was bleeding profusely—but he wasn’t down. He was limping toward her.
Still, she had to meet the fresh swordsman first, and hope that speed and surprise would keep her back safe from the injured combatant.
She tried to watch both. Aye, bleeding, and staggering, the man she had wounded was coming toward her with greater determination. Her focus was on the second man then; she could still see the first as he kept coming … coming….
“Kyra! Get out of the way!”
A third man had come into the copse. His back was to her, but she knew the height of him, the breadth of him, the raven color of his hair.
She knew his voice. Arryn.
His sword arm was raised. The injured man raised his weapon in defense. Arryn smote a mighty blow. The enemy’s sword shattered, he dropped without a sound.
Kyra had frozen. Arryn turned, thrusting her out of the way of battle, taking on her second opponent.
“You bloody outlaw!” the man raged, and he parried and fought hard. Arryn kept up blow after blow, step by step, pushing the man back. Kyra heard the constant scraping of his sword against the man’s armor, the clangs as steel met steel time and time again.
Then … he caught the man at the vulnerable juncture of helm and armor at the throat. The man clutched his neck and let out a strangling sound.
Fell.
“Go!” Arryn thundered to her suddenly.
“But—”
“Go! You little fool! You came here to warn Kinsey, but his men do not all care that you find him, do they?”
“You fool!” she protested furiously, but her anger quickly died. “There are more coming!” she cried, gasping as she heard horsemen. Two men in Kinsey’s colors came into the copse.
Cavalry, yet they could not manage on their horses here. They leapt down from their mounts. She saw nothing but eyes beneath their helms.
She hesitated; she still bore the priest’s sword, and blood dripped from it.
“Get out of here!”
“I can help!”
But their eyes were on her; she backed away.
Arryn attacked, striking heavy blows to their heads and shoulders. They turned from her, and both men engaged with Arryn.
“My lady!”
She turned again, hearing the cry of her name. As silent as darkness, Father Corrigan had come into the copse.
“Father, he is outnumbered. I must stay and—”
“My weapon, if you please.”
“You’re a priest!”
“You do well enough, but I think I can do better!”
She gave up the sword.
“Get her out of here!” Arryn cried, striking a blow that caught the first man in the side, finding a weak link through the slits of his mail. Blood spurted. “Go!”
“Go!” Father Corrigan formed the word on his lips.
She didn’t wait longer, but burst into the trees once again, running. She didn’t know where she was going. She had lost perspective. The woods were alive, she realized. Sir Richard was still close, God help her!
Blindly, wildly, she ran through thickets and dense stands of trees. At last, again, she could run no more. She paused by a tree and heard a trickling sound. The brook she thought. She had run right back to the brook.
