Forbidden (4 page)

“Come heaven, come hell,” Amber said in a low voice, “I will protect you with my life. We are… joined.”

Duncan's eyes narrowed as he realized that Amber had just given him a vow that to her was every bit as binding as any that lords might make among themselves. The fierceness with which she was prepared to defend him against the darkness that had claimed his memory both reassured Duncan and made him smile.

She was so fragile-looking, a handful of sunlight and softness, a fragrant breeze, a sweet warmth.

“Are you another ruthless Boadicea, to lead men into battle?” Duncan teased gently.

With a small smile. Amber shook her head.

“I've never held a broadsword. They look like great, clumsy things to me.”

“Fairies weren't meant to wield swords. They have other weapons.”

“But I am not a fairy.”

“So you say.”

Smiling, Duncan traced the long fall of Amber's unbound hair.

“Odd to think that you are mine and I am yours…” he murmured.

Amber didn't correct Duncan's misunderstanding, for there was a curious difference in his touch now. It sent tendrils of sweet, secret fire through her.

“Only if you wish it,” she whispered.

“I can't believe I would forget such a fey, beautiful creature as you.”

“That's because I'm not beautiful,” she retorted. “To me you are as beautiful as dawn after a long winter's night.”

The genuine belief in Duncan's voice and eyes was reinforced by his touch. He was not paying her courtly compliments. He had spoken what was to him the simple truth.

Amber shivered as Duncan's thumb outlined the curve of her parted lips. He felt her response and smiled despite the headache that had returned with the renewed beating of his blood. The smile was nakedly male, frankly triumphant, as though he had been given an answer to a question he hadn't wanted to put into words.

Duncan's other hand slid deeply into Amber's hair, both caressing and chaining her. Strange sensations coursed from his touch. Before she could put a name to them, she found herself stretched across his chest, her lips against his, and his tongue within her mouth.

Surprise overcame the other feelings racing wildly through Amber. Instinctively she struggled against Duncan's heavy embrace.

At first his arms tightened. Then slowly, reluctantly, he loosened his grip on her just enough so that he could speak.

“You said you were mine.”

“I said we were joined.”

“Aye, lass. That's what I had in mind. Joining.”

“I meant—that is—”

“Yes?”

Before Amber could answer, the excited yaps and howls of a pack of hunting dogs burst into the clearing that surrounded her cottage. She knew without looking that Erik had come to check on the stranger who had been left in her care.

Erik would be furious that Amber had disobeyed him and untied the man who had no name.

Duncan sat up in a rush, then groaned at the hammer blow of pain behind his eyes.

“Lie back,” Amber said quickly. “ 'Tis only Erik.”

Duncan's eyes narrowed, but he did as she asked, giving way to the firm pressure of her hands on his shoulders.

An outraged squawking and screeching from the yard announced that Erik's hounds had discovered the chickens. As Amber opened the front door, the hound master blew on his horn, calling the dogs back to order.

The youngest hound in the pack didn't come to the command. The half-grown dog had just discovered an old goose. Certain of an easy rout, the hound romped forward with delighted barks. The gander arched its long neck, lowered its head, spread its wings, and hissed menacingly.

The hound kept coming.

“Erik,” Amber said, “call him off!”

“It will do him good.”

“But—”

The rangy, rough-coated dog attacked. The gander's right wing came down in a blur of motion. The hound was knocked off its feet. Crying in surprise and pain, the dog scrambled upright and raced back to the pack, tail tucked low.

Erik laughed so hard it upset the peregrine riding on a perch on the pommel of his saddle. Silver bells on the trailing ends of the jesses jangled harshly, telling of the bird's disturbance. The falcon flared its narrow, elegant wings and gave a sharp, piercing cry.

Erik's answering whistle was as high and wild as the falcon's. The bird cocked her head and whistled again. This cry was different, as was Erik's whistled response.

The falcon folded its wings and was quiet once more.

Swift glances passed among the squires and knights who were hunting with Erik. His uncanny way with wild beasts was a matter of much speculation among the people. Though none called Erik sorcerer to his face, men whispered it among themselves.

“Be easy, my beauty,” Erik said softly.

He stroked the bird with his bare hand. His other hand wore a thick leather gauntlet for protection when the falcon rode his wrist.

“Robbie,” Erik said to the hound master. “Take the hounds and my men off to the forest. You're disturbing Amber's peace.”

Amber opened her mouth to say that wasn't true. A glance from Erik silenced her. Without a word, Amber waited until the hounds, horses, and men rode back into the forest in a flurry of noise and motion.

“How fares the stranger?” Erik asked bluntly.

“Better than your hound.”

“Maybe next time Trouble will come when Robbie sounds the hunting horn.”

“Doubtful. Half-grown males have much passion and little brain.”

“I'd be insulted if I weren't fully grown,” Erik said.

Amber widened her eyes. “Are you? Since when, my lord?”

A smile flashed and faded on Erik's handsome face. Silently he waited for Amber to speak of the fully grown male who lay within her cottage.

“He is awake,” she said.

Erik's right hand settled on the hilt of the sword he always wore.

“His name?” Erik demanded.

“He doesn't remember.”

“What?”

“He remembers no names from his past, not even his own.”

“He is as cunning as a fox,” Erik said flatly. “He knows he is in enemy hands and—”

“Nay,” Amber interrupted. “He knows not whether he is Norman or Saxon, serf or thane.”

“Is he bewitched?”

Amber shook her head. The sudden weight and shimmer of her hair falling around her shoulders reminded her that she hadn't yet managed to bind the locks properly. Impatiently she tossed her head and pulled the mantle's cowl over her hair, concealing it.

“There is no feel of compulsion about him,” Amber said.

“What else did you sense?”

“Courage. Strength. Honor. Generosity.”

Erik's eyebrows rose.

“A saint,” he said dryly. “How unexpected.”

Color showed along Amber's slanting cheekbones as she remembered Duncan's distinctly unsaintly desire for her.

“There was also confusion and pain and fear,” she said crisply.

“Ah, he's human, then. How disappointing.”

“You're a devil, Erik, son of Robert of the North!”

His smiled. “Thank you. 'Tis nice to have my true character appreciated.”

Amber laughed despite trying not to.

'“What else?” he asked.

Her amusement faded. “Nothing.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The falcon's wings flared in swift reflection of its master's irritation.

“Why is he in the Disputed Lands?” asked Erik in a clipped voice.

“He doesn't remember.”

“Where was he going?”

“He doesn't know,” she said.

“Does he owe fealty to a lord or is he a free lance?”

“He doesn't know.”

“God's wounds,” Erik hissed. “Is he a fool?”

“Nay! He just doesn't remember.”

“Have you questioned him with your touch?”

Amber took a deep breath and nodded slightly.

“What did you sense?” Erik pressed.

“When he tries to remember, there is confusion. If he pursues, there is a blinding light, harsh pain…”

“Like lightning striking?”

“It could be,” she said.

Erik's eyes narrowed into amber slits.

“What's wrong?” he asked after a moment. “You've never been so uncertain before.”

“You've never brought me a man found senseless within Stone Ring before,” she retorted.

“Is that a complaint?”

Amber sighed. “I'm sorry. I've slept little since you brought him. It was very difficult to call him from the darkness.”

“Yes. I can see that in the shadows beneath your eyes.”

She smiled wanly.

“Amber? Is he friend or foe?” The blunt question was the very one that she had feared.

“Friend,” she whispered.

Then honesty and affection compelled her to add, “Until he regains his memory. Then he will be whatever he was before you brought him to me. Friend or enemy or free lance bound to no lord.”

“Is that the best you can do in assessing him?”

“He isn't a criminal or a beast to savage his own kind. He was gentle with me despite his fear.”

Erik grunted. “But?”

“But if he regains his memory, he might not consider himself our friend. Or he might be a long-lost cousin happy to find himself at home. Only he can say.”

“If he regains his memory…”

Silently, Erik stroked his peregrine's shining back while he considered the possibilities. A persistent sense of uneasiness threaded through his thoughts. Something was wrong. He knew it.

He just didn't know what it was.

“Will he regain his memory?” Erik asked.

“I don't know.”

“Guess,” he said succinctly.

A chill went through Amber. She didn't like to think of what would happen if Duncan's memory returned. If he were enemy and soul mate in one…

It would tear her apart.

Nor did she want to think of what it would be like for Duncan if he didn't remember. He would be restless, savage, driven mad by names never remembered, sacred vows never honored, a man forsworn.

It would tear him apart.

Amber's breath froze in her chest. She wouldn't cause such dishonor and anguish even to an enemy, much less to the man who had stolen her heart with a touch, a smile, a kiss.

“I…” Her voice died.

“Little one?” Erik asked, troubled by Amber's haunted golden eyes.

“I don't know,” she said in a shaking voice.

“So much ill could come. So little good.”

Rich life might grow, but death will surely flow.

 “Perhaps I had better take the stranger to Stone Ring Keep,” Erik said.

“Nay.”

“Why not?”

“He wears sacred amber. He is mine.”

The flat certainty in Amber's voice both surprised and worried Erik.

“What if he regains his memory?” Erik asked.

“Then he will.”

“You could be in danger.”

“As God wills.”

A surge of anger went through Erik. The falcon cried and his horse moved restlessly and champed at the bit. Erik curbed his mount and soothed his falcon without looking away from Amber's steady gaze.

“You make no sense,” he said finally. “I'll send my squires for the stranger as soon as we're through hawking.”

Amber's head came up defiantly. “As you will, lord.”

“God's teeth, are you possessed? I'm trying only to protect you from a man with no name.”

“He has a name.”

“You told me he didn't remember his name.”

“He doesn't,” Amber retorted. “I gave him one.”

“What is it?”

“Duncan.”

Erik's mouth opened, then snapped shut with a distinct sound of clicking teeth.

“Explain,” he demanded.

“I had to call him something. 'Dark warrior' suits him.”

“Duncan,” Erik said neutrally.

“Yes.”

In the distance a horn blew, telling of hounds being sent after birds, scaring them into flight for the hawks that rode on the arms of knights. The peregrine on Erik's saddle keened restlessly, recognizing the call to a hunt that had left her behind.

Overhead, a merlin's cry announced yet another hawk on the wing. Erik looked up, searching the brilliant sky with eyes that were the equal of any hunting bird's.

A small, fierce falcon shot down like a dark bolt from the blue, trailing silver jesses that flashed in the sunlight. Though the falcon's stoop ended behind a rocky rise, Erik had no doubt about the outcome.

“Cassandra will have partridge before I have mallard,” he said. “Maid Marian flies with her customary lethal grace.”

Amber closed her eyes and let out a soundless sigh of relief that Erik was no longer pursuing the uncomfortable subject of the stranger whom she had named Duncan.

“Cassandra will come to you at supper,” Erik said. “And so will I. Be here. See that the man you call Duncan is here as well.”

Amber found herself looking into the cold, topaz glance of the wolf that lived within her childhood friend. Her chin came up. She watched him through narrowed yellow eyes that were as cold as his own.

“Aye, lord.”

Erik's smile flashed beneath his dark gold beard. “Do you still have smoked venison?”

She nodded.

“Good,” he said. “I'll be hungry.”

“You're always hungry.”

Laughing, Erik urged the peregrine onto his wrist, set his spurs lightly to his mount, and galloped off into the forest. Sun struck golden fire from his hair and stormy gray from his mount.

Amber watched until there was nothing to see but the rocky rise. Just as she turned to go back to the cottage, the merlin rose keening on the wind, seeking other prey. Amber cocked her head, listening, but heard no sound of hoofbeats approaching. Unlike Erik, Cassandra would wait until the hunt was over to talk with Amber.

Relieved, Amber went into the cottage and shut the door quietly behind. Just as quietly, she lowered a stout piece of wood across the frame. Until she lifted that board, no one could enter short of chopping through the door.

“Duncan?” Amber asked softly. There was no answer.

Fear sank cold talons into her. She ran to the bed and yanked aside the curtain.

Duncan lay on his side, his body relaxed, his eyes closed. Amber put her hand out and touched his forehead. Her breath came out in a rushing sigh of relief. His sleep was deep, but normal.

The contrast between the powerful line of Duncan's shoulders and the pale lace on the linen bedding made Amber smile. Gently she brushed his hair back from his forehead, savoring the warmth and smoothness of his skin.

Duncan stirred, but not to turn away. Instead, he moved toward her touch. Blindly his hand found hers, circled it, and held on. When she would have withdrawn, his grip tightened. She sensed him awakening.

“Nay,” she whispered, stroking Duncan's cheek with her free hand. “Sleep, Duncan. Heal.”

He slid back toward sleep, but he didn't release Amber's hand. She kicked off her shoes and sat on the edge of the bed, fighting against the exhaustion that she had held at bay through the long days and nights since Duncan had been dropped naked on her doorstep.

She couldn't sleep yet. She needed to think, to plan, to find the single thread in the tangled tapestry of Duncan's and her own fate that would lead to enriched life rather than untimely death.

So much depends on his memory. Or lack of it.

So much depends on the prophecy.

Aye. The prophecy. I must be certain that no more of its words come true. I fear my heart has been given, but not my body, not my soul.

It must stay that way. I must not touch him.

Yet even as the thought came, protest welled up from deep within Amber. Touching Duncan was the greatest pleasure she, the Untouched, had ever known.

He is  to me.

Nay. Only the special touching of lovers is  between us. Then my body will remain my own.

Untouched.

The prophecy will remain unfulfilled.

Weariness finally claimed Amber. Her eyelids closed and she swayed forward, asleep before her head touched the bed. As her weight stretched along Duncan's side, he woke slightly, gathered her closer along his body, and fell back into a healing sleep.

Held within the very arms that were  to her. Amber enjoyed the most peaceful sleep of her life.

She didn't awaken until a wolf's harmonic howl rose into the twilight. Her first sensation was that of extraordinary peace. Her second was of a warmth like that of the sun behind her. Her third was the realization that Duncan's naked body was cradling her and his sword hand was cupped around her breast.

A curious heat shot through Amber. In its wake came a flush that made her cheeks burn. She began to ease out of Duncan's grasp. He made a sleepy, protesting sound and tightened his hand. She gasped at the sensations radiating from her breast.

Nay, this is the very kind of touching that is  to us!

Dear God, why is it so sweet?

The wolf howled again, calling kindred spirits to a twilight hunt.

As quickly as Amber dared, she eased from the bed. When Duncan threatened to awaken again, she soothed him with light touches and soft words until he lay quietly once more.

Letting out a long sigh of relief. Amber hurried from the bed. She had to be alone when she talked to Erik and Cassandra. It would be much safer for Duncan that way.