CHAPTER TWO #3
“Aye, Jay, I see—Lady Kyra has come to meet her new … guardians,” Sir Arryn said.
He left the hearth, walking toward her. She felt the frantic beating of her heart as he approached.
There was something in him, an energy and a hatred tightly leashed, that frightened her more than all the threats against her life, person, and sanity.
It was as if he might, at any second, snap, and then the violence done her would be swift and terrible.
Yet suddenly he reached out to her, taking her arm.
She felt the strength and tension in his grip, like the lightning of his eyes.
She longed to wrench free, to violently shake off his touch, yet she thought better of it—for the moment, at least.
“How rude of me. I failed to ask you to join us for dinner.” So saying, he slipped her arm through his own, a hand upon hers as he led her down the hall to the head of the table.
“Men, this is the Lady Kyra of Seacairn, daughter of the late Lord Hugh Boniface and Lady Mary MacGregor of Dumferline—now pledged to one English lackey known as Lord Kinsey Darrow. Lady Kyra, you have met young Jay MacDonald; the fine fellows to my left are Nathan Fitzhugh and Patrick MacCullough. There, to my right, Thane MacFadden and Ragnor Grant. Those strapping lads at the rear of the table are Roger Comyn and Hayden MacTiegue.” The men nodded to her as they were introduced.
She and Arryn had reached the head of the table.
He pulled out one of the heavy, finely carved chairs for her.
A hand upon her shoulder, he pushed her down. “Do sit and join us—Lady Kyra.”
She sat, having no other choice with his hands on her shoulders, aware of the faces staring her way.
Arryn did not sit. His booted foot landed upon his chair.
His hands left her shoulders, but he remained close, nearly touching her, as he reached for the tankard of ale in front of her.
He drank from it, and pressed it toward her.
“Drink, Lady Kyra. Drink with us. We were just about to toast our victory here.”
She ignored the tankard.
“Where is my priest?” she demanded curtly.
“Your priest, my lady?”
“My priest. What harm have you done him?”
One of the men at the end of the table made a snickering sound. She bit her lower lip, trying to keep from bolting in a wild panic and amusing them further, for surely they would attempt to stop her, and the attempt would not be gentle.
Arryn’s head lowered toward her own. “Surely you are not feeling the need for last rites so soon, my lady?”
She managed to push back the chair and rise, yet found herself hemmed in by him. Still, she found the courage to speak again. “I demand to know what you have done with him!”
“You demand?” he inquired, unruffled, only the dark blue eyes so fixedly upon her betraying any inner turmoil.
“Aye, sir, I demand to know—”
His hand landed on her shoulder. “Perhaps, with all in attendance here, I should fully explain your situation. You will make no demands. You—like the hounds by the fire—will receive whatever courtesies and kindnesses we choose to bestow.” He spun her around to see the faces of the warriors in the hall.
“Look around you, lady. Every man here had kin at Hawk’s Cairn.
You have heard of Hawk’s Cairn? Ancestral manor and estates of my line of the Graham family.
Aye, you know what happened; you know it well.
We have established that fact already, haven’t we?
You say that none of your father’s people here had a part in that barbaric act of inhumanity.
But you knew of it, by your own admission.
You knew that your betrothed was out riding against the Scots.
You didn’t carry a sword into that battle yourself—or did you?
God knows, you handle the weight of a weapon with much greater talent than many a poor man sent to his death on a king’s business.
It’s no real matter here and now. This stronghold will again be held by Scotsmen. ”
“Aye!” Roger Comyn shouted.
“Roger is one of the Comyn family, a distant relation to John Balliol—the Scottish king forced by Edward to abdicate, my lady,” Arryn explained.
“Sir!” she interrupted. “Horrible events have occurred; aye, there is no denying that. But, you should recall, Edward was brother to Alexander’s first wife, and the great uncle of the Maiden of Norway.
Negotiations were under way for her to marry King Edward’s son and heir. He did feel obligated to Scotland—”
“Obligated!” Arryn roared the word in such a fury that she had to fight to keep from falling back when he pressed toward her. “Obligated to wrest Scotsmen from their legal positions and thrust the English in upon us?”
She was shaking, but there were a few matters she had to set straight. “My father was here when Alexander was still alive; he was an Englishman, but he was chosen lord here under King Alexander—”
“Because of your mother. Because of the Scottish blood that flows in your veins—which you seem to have forgotten in your quest to help your intended rise to power in a land he would destroy to conquer, for a king who desires nothing but to destroy and subjugate a people as well.”
“Aye, that’s the truth of it; you’ve said it as well. I have forgotten nothing! This land is mine through my mother. Mine! And you—”
“So the land is yours, and not Darrow’s!
It matters little. By Scottish law then—this land is seized from you, my lady, and from your master, the wretched king of England who would style himself king and overlord here.
You have but one function left, lady, and that is to suffer what insult comes your way. ”
She picked up the tankard he had earlier attempted to thrust her way and slammed it on the table, staring at him, so infuriated by his speech that she was ready to fight again.
“At my father’s death, I was claimed lady here through the king of Scotland—John Balliol—rightfully chosen king, whom you say you honor, a direct descendent of the ancient kings through his mother’s line—”
“Aye, John Balliol had the right and legal claim!” Arryn agreed. “But though he was legal heir, he rots in prison in England, and even his most ardent supporters here”—he paused, glancing at the man Roger—“realize that he tried to be a good king, but hadn’t the strength to stand up to Edward.”
“You are outlaws, nothing more!” Kyra shouted. “What you don’t seem to understand, sir, is that the king of Scotland had agreed that he owed feudal duty and homage to the king of England—”
“The king of Scotland was forced to pay homage—as were all the Scottish lords and magnates who so foolishly tried to hold on to their titles and their wealth!”
She stepped away from the table. Arryn seemed both angered and amused, and not in the least afraid that she might take flight.
How could she? She realized that his friends had risen, that they formed a circle around her. Jay MacDonald guarded the rear, toward the steps that led up the tower. Ragnor Grant, another heavily built, very tall man, veered to her right. Thane MacFadden, darker, leaner, stood to her left.
She had no intention of running—and letting them toss her about like a sack of dirty laundry. She held her ground, her eyes steady on Arryn Graham. “If only John had chosen to continue to pay homage—”
Arryn moved in on her, just a shade closer.
His companions were at the ready, like hounds eager to make a kill.
“But what you don’t seem to realize, my blinded lass, is that John paid homage and paid homage and paid homage—and finally refused when Edward demanded that we give him men and finances for his war against France!
That was when the blood began to spill, when Balliol at last stood up against the king of England!
And why? Because we are not England; we are Scotland—and he has no real right other than his own determination to be lord over us. We will not submit!”
“You will remember that when the bloodshed began, the Scots raided England first,” she reminded him.
His sharp blue eyes were narrowed hard on her “Oh, aye, King John, for once a king of his people, rode south against the English in defiance of the king’s order that Scotland should raise men and arms to fight his wars!
And the Scots raided and pillaged and did some damage, but there was nothing of a massacre in there. ”
“Nae,” Ragnor chimed in fiercely, brushing back a long strand of his hair, “it was not a matter of merchants, men, women, and children perishing at the whim of a single man who seemed to think himself as powerful as the Almighty!”
“Nae, it was not murder, wicked, vicious, cold-blooded!” Jay provided.
“Don’t you realize,” Kyra demanded, “that Scottish barons are on the side of the king? The Bruces, with the second most valid claim to the throne, give fealty to the king of England.”
Ragnor made a snorting sound of disgust.
“Aye, for they would be kings! But they will learn in time that Edward means to have no true king here but himself,” Arryn told her quietly.
“Scotland is made up of more than just the powerful who fear what they will lose if they incur the wrath of the English king. She consists of a people who hold freedom very dear, and no matter what devastation he attempts to wreak here, we will win in the end. It is our country.”
“Aye! It is your country, but there does not need to be this bloodshed!”
“Oh?” Arryn inquired. She didn’t hear the change in his voice.
“You and your misguided friends do not begin to understand. Edward is a great king—a great warrior. He possesses courage and strength. He intends to give that courage and strength to this country—”
“Oh, my lady! You are speaking such rubbish! If you’ll forgive me!” Jay interrupted, coming forward to face her where she stood at the table. He shook his head with passion and sorrow. “Edward may be a strong king, and a powerful man—but he is an English king, an English man.”