CHAPTER TWO #5
A fire already burned in the hearth; fresh linen stretched across the large bed, and the smell of clean rushes on the floor mingled with the fresh breeze that drifted through the high tower windows, as the tapestries that covered them had been pulled back.
He had ordered this place prepared, she thought, and in little time.
There were no servants present, this had all been done with remarkable speed and competency.
Naturally, she thought suddenly. He had come here as the conqueror—he meant to take the master’s quarters. And he had already told her what her fate was to be: used, abused—and left for the buzzards.
She turned again quickly to find him staring at her. The strangest quickening and tension seemed to seize her limbs. But she was the lady here. And she had endured the taunting in the great hall below because she had gone there with a purpose—to find out about Father Michael and Capt. Tyler Miller.
“Look, sir—you are misinformed, misguided, and, I’m afraid, totally ignorant on many issues. And still, I understand, sir, what you have suffered in this war, and I am ready to pay for the sins done against you with my life.”
“I am glad that you are so resigned, for you will pay,” he informed her politely.
“So take vengeance against me.”
“I intend to.”
She hesitated, watching him, for he made no step toward her. She suddenly felt compelled to defend herself. “What happened at your Hawk’s Cairn was horrible, Sir Arryn, but—”
“Beyond all words, my lady.”
“But Lord Darrow came after you, sir, you’re aware, because of the death of his kin.”
It had been a mistake to remind him. She watched the icy steel mask that came over his features. “I didn’t murder Darrow’s kin or anyone in the path in cold blood, my lady. I met with a warrior, a knight, face-to-face. We fought. He died.”
“Sir, still …”
“You know exactly what was done at Hawk’s Cairn!” he said heatedly.
She had heard the facts of the slaughter often enough. She looked down, not wanting to meet his eyes, wishing she had never spoken.
“Do with me what you will!” she whispered, and found the courage to lift her eyes. “But I beg of you, you must realize that the people here are truly innocent of the crimes that were done against you—”
“While you, my lady, are guilty of an outrageous amount of talk!” he broke in, harsh and impatient. “Guilty of a tiresome, shrew’s tongue—among other things. Enough for now. I will tend to you later.”
He turned to stride from the room. She was surprised to find herself running after him, throwing herself against his back. “Wait, please! I’ve tried to explain again and again—”
“You’ve tried to explain? Ah, lady, at least your Capt. Tyler Miller is a trained fighting man. He mowed down lads and lasses, working in the fields, and he beheaded the smithy, who was surely innocent of any crimes against Lord Darrow.”
“Please!” she whispered. “I must know what you’ve done with Capt. Tyler Miller, with the priest, with …”
She backed away, dropping her hold on his arm as he spun to her. She stood straight, her eyes raised to his. “I know what happened at Hawk’s Cairn. But I don’t believe that you will practice butchery upon these people. You wish to taunt, but you will not be so cruel—”
A roaring sound suddenly seemed to erupt from him; she jumped quickly backward again, but not quickly enough. His hands were on her, wresting her to him. He held her, shaking her. She wore no cap or wimple; her hair hung free to her back, and she felt it shake along with her teeth.
“Don’t underestimate my determination, lady!
And by God, take care! Don’t you—you, of all people—dare believe that I will know any mercy!
” She saw the slamming of his pulse at the vein against his throat and cried out from the punishing force of his fingers on her arm.
He moved his hand as if he would strike her.
She closed her eyes, willing herself not to flinch.
She opened her eyes. He had not struck her, yet seemed the more furious for it.
His fingers then fell upon the fabric of her outer gown, soft blue linen beautifully embroidered at the sleeves and neckline, and ripped with such force that the fabric gave way from bodice to hemline.
Stunned and frightened, she met his eyes, then turned to flee again—to where, she did not know.
Nor did it matter, for he reached out and caught the cotton fabric of her darker blue undertunic, and her very impetus to flee aided the grasp of his fingers.
The garment was wrenched nearly from her; she tripped upon the hemline.
Half-clad, she stumbled and fell to the floor, trying to grab the fabric to cover her breasts even as she gasped for breath, and twisted in a desperate movement for defense.
He stared down at her, eyes still glittering cobalt, touched with anger and no other emotion.
He was not about to fall on her with lust or unbridled passion.
“Don’t mistake the need for my time elsewhere as a weakness for having mercy toward you, Lady Kyra.
I do not intend to offer any. No quarter.
Let there be none asked, for none will be given. ”
He turned away from her then and exited the tower room.
The door slammed in his wake.
She heard the sliding and grating of the heavy bolt beyond.