Forbidden (11 page)

By the time Duncan slid the mantle covering Amber aside, she no longer cared. All that mattered to her was that the sweet torment continue. When his hand pressed against her legs, she gave him what he sought, opening herself so that he could touch her in any way he pleased.

Deliberately Duncan drew his fingertips over the petals that were slowly opening to him. He caressed Amber in a taut silence that was heightened by the rapid, broken sound of her breathing. She no longer sensed his leashed passion, for her own had become overwhelming.

Without warning, ecstasy burst, ravishing Amber's senses. Her shivering cry and the hot, helpless rush of her response told Duncan just how much she had enjoyed his caresses.

Despite the savage thrust of his own unanswered need, Duncan smiled. Even after the last tremors of pleasure no longer shook Amber, he was reluctant to leave off caressing the sultry flower he had so recently coaxed into opening.

But he knew he must stop.

If he kept caressing her, he might very well throw his vow to the sea winds and sink his hungry flesh into the place that was so fully prepared to receive him. With a difficulty that was in itself a warning, he forced himself to release the tender flower.

Yet even then, Duncan couldn't make himself retreat entirely. His hand remained between Amber's legs, close enough to feel her warmth, but not touching her.

Amber's eyes opened and she knew herself naked with Duncan's hand lying intimately between her legs. She flushed and reached for the mantle to cover herself once more.

“Nay,” Duncan said thickly. “Don't hide. You are even more beautiful in full bloom than you were unopened.”

As he spoke, his fingertip skimmed her still sensitized flesh. She cried out as the violence of his hunger and restraint poured through her, shaking her.

“It isn't enough!” Amber said. “You are in pain.”

“Aye. And this,” Duncan said, caressing her slowly with his fingertip, “is salt in the raw wound of my need.”

With a harsh word he closed his eyes.

Into the silence came a rustle and murmur, a whispering of wind, grass, and the distant voice of winter. The sound increased until it grew greater than the rush of breath from Duncan's harshly restrained body.

A distant part of Amber's awareness registered the fey, growing sound, but she ignored it. Duncan was all of the world she cared about.

And she had hurt him without even knowing what she had done.

“Duncan,” she said huskily.

When Amber's fingers touched his bare flesh, he flinched as though she had taken a whip to him.

“Nay,” Duncan said in a raw voice. “Don't touch me.”

“I want to ease you.”

“Breaking my vow won't ease me.”

Amber took a deep, shaken breath. What she was going to do was dangerous, two parts of the bleak prophecy fulfilled. Yet she could not endure Duncan's pain any longer, not when the means to banish it lay within her.

“I release you from your vow,” Amber whispered.

Duncan surged to his feet.

“Don't tempt me, golden witch. I already wear the fragrance of your passion. Tis like breathing fire. I can't take much more.”

The silence that followed Duncan's words was filled by distant rustles and murmurs and eerie cries that swelled until they were a breaking wave of sound pouring across the fen. Air whistled through thousands upon thousands of wings as skeins of wild geese spiraled down, their bodies dark against the falling sun, their voices calling in autumnal urgency, crying of untimely winter.

Death will surely flow.

Death will surely.

Flow.

Death will.

Surely.

Amber put her hands over her ears to stop the sounds of a terrible prophecy coming true.

Erik waited for Duncan and Amber in a chair of riven oak whose seat was softened by a loose cushion. Despite luxurious wall hangings and a roaring fire in the central hearth, the great hall of Sea Home's manor house was cold. Each time a violent gust of wind forced icy air through chinks in the manor's thick timber walls, the tapestries stirred. Though the carved wooden screens were placed so as to turn the drafts from the manor's main door, torch flames leaped and wavered when the door opened, as it just had.

The flames of the central fire bent and whipped in the draft. Their dance was reflected many times over in the eyes of the rough-coated wolfhounds that lay at Erik's feet, in the peregrine's unflinching glare from the perch behind the oak chair, in Erik's own eyes… and in the ancient silver dagger that he was turning slowly in his hands.

A door bar thumped home as the main door was shut once more. Moments later the leaping flames shrank to their accustomed size. Sounds of hurrying footsteps accompanied the low urging of Alfred's voice as Erik's knight approached the great hall.

Without a word, Erik stared at the three people who had barely beaten moonrise back to the keep. Egbert looked sheepish. Amber appeared flushed with more than the cold wind that had sprung up. Duncan looked like what Amber had named him— a dark warrior.

In the silence that stretched and stretched, Erik watched the three people, ignoring Alfred entirely. In defiance of Erik's usual good manners, he invited no one to sit on the chairs that had been dragged close to the fire for warmth and ease.

It was very clear to Amber that Erik was holding on to his temper by a bare thread.

“You seem to have brought winter with you,” he said.

Despite Erik's nearly tangible anger, his tone was mild. The contrast between his voice and the dagger gleaming wickedly in his hands was alarming.

“The geese,” Amber said. “They have just come to Whispering Fen.”

The news did nothing to soften Erik's expression. Yet his tone remained the same, calm to the point of flatness.

“Ahhhh. The geese,” Erik murmured. “Cassandra will be pleased.”

“By an early winter?” Duncan asked.

“It must be reassuring to have one's every thought turned to truth,” Erik said without looking away from Amber, “while mere mortals must depend upon such slender reeds as trust and honor.”

The blood left Amber's face. She had known Erik for her entire life, yet she had never seen him quite like this. She had seen him angry, yes, for he had a volatile temper. She had even seen him in a cold fury.

But never with her.

And never this cold.

“You may retire now, Alfred,” Erik said.

“Thank you, lord.”

Alfred vanished with the alacrity of a man fleeing demons.

“Egbert.”

Erik's voice was like the flick of a whip. The boy jumped.

“Yes, lord?” he said hurriedly.

“As you slept the afternoon away, you will have guard duty tonight. Go to it. Now.”

“Aye, lord!”

Egbert left with impressive speed.

“I believe,” Erik said thoughtfully, “that I've never seen the boy move so quickly.”

Amber made a sound that could have meant anything or nothing at all. She was still absorbing the fact that Erik knew Egbert had spent much of his time asleep.

She wondered if Erik also knew that she and Duncan had ridden off alone.

“He is frightened of you,” Amber said.

“Then he is smarter than I guessed. Smarter than you, certainly.”

Amber flinched.

Duncan took a step forward, only to stop when Amber grasped his wrist in an unspoken plea.

“How was your ride?” Erik asked silkily. “Chilly?”

“Not at first,” Duncan said.

'The day was beautiful," Amber said quickly.

“And how was your special place. Learned maid? Was it beautiful, too?”

“How did you know?” she asked in a strained voice.

Erik's smile was that of a wolf just before it leaps.

Abruptly Duncan wished he were wearing a sword or carrying the hammer. But he had neither weapon. He had only the certainty that Erik, for all his moments of charm and laughter, could be a deadly enemy.

With careful movements, Duncan took off his mantle and draped it on a trestle table to dry.

“May I?” he asked reaching for Amber's mantle.

“No. I—that is, I'm—”

“Afraid your laces aren't fully tied?” Erik finished gently.

She gave him a fearful look.

The expression that came over Erik's face didn't make Amber feel any more easy. He was in a savage humor.

“What, no protestations of innocence?” Erik asked in a soft voice. “No reassurances that you didn't leave Egbert sleeping in a field while two horses cropped grass nearby?”

“We—” Amber began, but Erik's voice overrode hers.

“No soft cries that honor hasn't been outraged and trust breached, along with your maidenhead? No blushes—”

“Nay, that's not—”

“—and stuttered little pleas that—”

“Enough.”

The flat promise of violence in Duncan's voice shocked Amber.

The hounds around Erik's chair came to their feet in a bristling, snarling rush. The peregrine's hooked beak opened in a shrill, savage cry. Unknowingly, Amber's nails dug into Duncan's wrist.

“Leave off harrying her,” Duncan said, ignoring the threatening animals.

He opened his mouth to add that discussing Amber as though she were a virgin was ridiculous, and nobody knew it better than Duncan. But a look at Erik's feral, wolflike eyes convinced Duncan to be careful how he stated the truth.

“Amber's maidenhead is as intact now as it was this morning,” Duncan said flatly. “You have my vow on that.”

In a silence outlined by the leap of flames, Erik turned the dagger over arid over in his hand while he studied the dark warrior who loomed in front of him, ready for battle.

Yea, even eager for it.

Abruptly Erik understood. He threw back his head and laughed like a tawny devil.

The hounds settled their ruffs, stretched, and sprawled at ease once more, yellow eyes reflecting fire. A sweet whistle from her master cooled the peregrine's ire.

When quiet had been restored, Erik gave Duncan a look of masculine sympathy.

“I believe you,” he said.

Duncan nodded curtly.

“You don't have the relaxed air of a man who has spent the afternoon—and himself—lying between a woman's soft legs,” Erik added.

Duncan said something profane beneath his breath.

“Come to the fire, warrior,” Erik said, struggling not to show the smile concealed within his beard. “You must be stiff as a sword with chill. Or is that the only part of you still warm?”

“Erik!” Amber said, embarrassed.

He looked at her bright cheeks and smiled with a combination of affection and amusement.

“Little Learned innocent,” Erik said gently, “there isn't a man or woman in the keep who doesn't know where Duncan looks—and who looks back at him.”

Amber put her hands to her hot cheeks.

“ 'Tis a source of much betting among the men,” Erik said.

“What is?” Amber asked faintly.

“Whether you or he will break first.”

“It won't be Duncan.”

Amber didn't understand how much the tartness in her voice had given away.

Erik understood immediately. So did Duncan. While Erik gave in to laughter, Duncan went to Amber and hid her flaming face against his chest.

The contradictory currents Duncan's touch revealed—prowling hunger, rue, laughter—were oddly comforting to Amber. But nothing was as reassuring as knowing that Duncan again welcomed her touch.

He had all but turned himself inside out to avoid contact with her on the way back to Sea Home.

With a sigh. Amber leaned against Duncan. Silently she drank the heady wine of his presence, letting it drive out the cold that had come over her when she heard the geese descending.

“Touching,” Erik said dryly. “Literally.”

“Leave off,” Duncan retorted.

“I suppose I must, but I haven't been quite this amused since you accused me of wanting Amber for myself.”

Her head snapped up. She looked at Duncan, startled.

“You didn't,” Amber said.

“Oh, but he did,” Erik countered.

Amber made an odd sound.

“Are you laughing?” Erik asked.

“Ummm.”

He frowned at her.

“Do you think it so unreasonable that a maid might be drawn to me?” Erik asked, offended.

“Nay,” Amber said quickly.

Erik raised his eyebrows.

After a moment Amber lifted her head and looked at the dark warrior who held her quite gently.

“But,” Amber added, “ 'tis absurd to believe that this maid would ever allow any man to touch her, save one.”

“Duncan,” Erik said.

“Aye. Duncan.”

“That is to be expected between a man and his betrothed,” Erik said matter-of-factly.

As one, Duncan and Amber spun and stared at Erik.

“My betrothed?” Duncan asked carefully.

“Of course,” Erik said. “We will announce it tomorrow. Or did you expect to seduce Amber with no thought to her honor—and mine?”

“I have told you,” Duncan said. “Until my memory returns, I can't ask for Amber's hand.”

“But you can take the rest of her, is that it?”

Duncan's face darkened.

“The people of the keep are whispering,” Erik said. “Soon they will be talking openly about a foolish maid who lies with a man who has no intention of—”

“She has not—” Duncan began.

“Leave off,” Erik snarled. “It will come as surely as sparks fly upward! The passion between the two of you is strong enough to taste. I've seen nothing like it in my life.”

Silence was Duncan's only response.

“Do you deny this?” Erik challenged.

Duncan closed his eyes. “No.”

Erik looked at Amber. “I needn't ask you about your feelings. You look like a gem lit from within. You burn.”

“Is that such a terrible thing?” she asked painfully. “Should I be ashamed that I have finally found what every other woman takes for granted?”

“Lust,” Erik said bluntly.

“Nay! The profound pleasure of touching someone and not feeling pain.”

Shocked, Duncan looked at Amber. He started to ask what she meant, but she was talking again, her words urgent, driven by the tension that vibrated through her.

“Passion is part of it,” Amber said. “But only part. There is peace as well. There is laughter. There is… joy.”

“There is also prophecy,” Erik shot back. “Do you remember it?”

“Better than you. I remember that prophecy said he might claim rather than he will.”

“What are you talking about?” Duncan demanded.

“A woman's heart and body and soul,” Erik said. “And the catastrophe that will—”

“Might,” Amber interrupted fiercely. . “—come if she is foolish enough to give all three to a man with no name,” Erik finished coldly.

“You make no sense,” Duncan said.

Erik's smile was as savage as the yellow of his eyes.

“Have you remembered anything more of your past?” he asked Duncan bluntly.

“Nothing useful.”

“Are you the best judge of that? You who have neither memory nor name?”

Duncan's mouth thinned and he said nothing at all.

“God's teeth,” Erik hissed.

For a time there was a taut silence.

“What have you remembered, useful or not?” Erik asked Duncan.

“You heard before I fought Simon.”

“Tell me again.”

“Green eyes,” Duncan said curtly. “A smile. The scent of spices and herbs. Hair the red of flames. A kiss and a wish for God to be with me.”

Erik glanced quickly at Amber, who was still standing close to Duncan.

Touching him.

“Ah, yes,” Erik said. “The Glendruid witch who cursed you.”

“Nay,” Duncan said instantly. “She didn't curse me.”

“You sound very certain.”

“I am.”

“Amber?” Erik asked softly.

“He is telling you the truth.”

Duncan smiled slightly as he smoothed a wisp of Amber's golden hair back from her face.

“ 'Tis sweet to be championed by you,” Duncan said, smiling down at Amber. “Your faith in my honesty is humbling.”

“What she has is more certain than faith,” Erik said flatly. “Scrying truth by touch is Amber's gift.”

“And curse,” she whispered.

“What do you mean?” Duncan asked.

“Just what I said,” Erik retorted. “If I question a man while Amber touches him, the truth is clear to her no matter what lies he may speak aloud.”

Duncan's eyes widened, then narrowed thoughtfully. “A useful gift.”

“It is a sword with two edges,” Amber said. 'Touching people is… uncomfortable."

“Why?”

“Why does the moon shine less brightly than the sun?” she asked bitterly. “Why is the oak mightier than the birch? Why do geese cry out the coming of winter?”

“Why are you distressed?” Duncan countered, his voice gentle.

Amber looked away from him to the hounds gathered with eyes of fire around Erik's feet.

“Amber?” Duncan asked softly.

“I—I'm afraid you will be put off by my—by what I am.”

He caressed Amber's cheek with the backs of his fingers, turning her face toward him again.

“I told you once that I had a penchant for witches,” Duncan said. “Especially beautiful ones. You're touching me now. Have I told you true?”

Amber's breath caught as she looked into the smoldering hazel of Duncan's eyes.

“You believe what you are telling me,” she whispered.

Duncan's smile made Amber's heart turn over with joy. He saw the change in her expression and bent down to her without realizing what he was doing.

“Erik is right,” Duncan said. “You burn.”

Erik came to his feet in a surge that scattered hounds left and right.

“It's a pity you don't remember your past,” Erik said distinctly. “It will make life a foretaste of hell for Amber.”

“For Amber?” Duncan said. “How so?”

“Do you think she will enjoy being your leman rather than your wife?”

“She isn't my leman.”

“God's blood,” Erik exploded, “do you think I'm as big a fool as you?”

“Erik, don't,” Amber said urgently.