Read Online Conquer the Night by Heather Graham - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heather Graham
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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 jewelsâbut not their lives.
A little more than a year ago, soon after Edward had forced Balliolâs 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 Darrowâs 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 friendâs young cousin and ward. He hadnât really thought that heâd had the time or the right to take a wife, but he knew that she had cared for him and trusted him since theyâd been children. Sheâd 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 didnât 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 Hawkâs 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 cherishâa 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 Hawkâs 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 couldnât bear the thoughts that tortured his mind, that would do so until his dying dayâ¦.
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
A little more than a year ago, soon after Edward had forced Balliolâs 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 Darrowâs 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 friendâs young cousin and ward. He hadnât really thought that heâd had the time or the right to take a wife, but he knew that she had cared for him and trusted him since theyâd been children. Sheâd 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 didnât 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 Hawkâs 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 cherishâa 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 Hawkâs 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 couldnât bear the thoughts that tortured his mind, that would do so until his dying dayâ¦.
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
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