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“I'll miss you.”

Amber's words were so soft that Erik almost didn't hear them.

Duncan did hear. The new evidence of affection between Erik and Amber irritated Duncan.

“I'll still live part of each year at Stone Ring and Winterlance,” Erik said, “married or no.”

Amber simply smiled, shook her head, and said, “You have done a grand job preparing Sea Home.”

“Thank you. Talking to knights who came back from the Holy Land gave me many ideas.”

“Not to mention the Normans,” Duncan said. “They are masters of motte and bailey construction.”

“Aye. I don't intend to lose my land, to the Norman usurpers.”

“Are you expecting trouble soon?”

“Why do you ask?” Erik said sharply.

“Your laborers have the look of a long, hard summer behind them.”

Erik watched Duncan for the space of several breaths. There was nothing about Duncan's posture or eyes that suggested a man asking questions for a hidden purpose.

Far from it. Duncan was one of the most open men Erik had ever encountered. He would have staked a great deal on Duncan's basic honesty.

In fact, Erik already had.

Leaving Duncan with Amber had been a calculated risk, even with Egbert's constant presence. But in all the days of enforced closeness. Amber had learned nothing that suggested Duncan was a Norman wolf disguised as a nameless Saxon sheep.

“Of all my father's holdings. Sea Home is the most vulnerable to Norman interference,” Erik said bluntly. “My cousins also covet it.”

“Because it guards the sea approach to the Disputed Lands?” Duncan asked.

“Does it?” Erik asked gently. “Your eyes see very far in this stew of rain and cloud.”

Amber gave Erik a wary look. Whenever he took that special, gentle tone of voice, wise men looked for a place to hide.

“There would be no other reason to have a keep here at the edge of unproductive salt fens,” Duncan said. “There is no narrowing of the sea, no cliffs, no river passage, no natural ramparts, nothing to use against an enemy but what you build yourself.”

“Apparently strategy was part of your learning in the time that you don't remember,” Erik said.

“All leaders should know how to choose the time and the place of their battles.”

“Were you such a man?” Erik asked softly. “Did you lead others rather than follow?”

Afraid not to speak, afraid to speak. Amber held her breath and waited for Duncan's answer.

“I think… yes,” Duncan said.

“You don't sound certain,” Erik retorted.

“It's difficult to be certain without memory,” Duncan said crisply.

“If you remember, tell me. I have use for men who can lead others.”

“Defending Stone Ring Keep?”

“Aye,” Erik said. “The Norsemen covet it as much as they covet Winterlance.”

“And Sea Home is coveted by Normans.”

“So is Stone Ring Keep.”

A chill came over Amber. The challenge in Erik's voice was subtle, but unmistakable. Memories of her conversation with Erik on the night that Duncan had been found echoed through her.

Then the rumor is true? A Norman granted his Saxon enemy the right to rule Stone Ring Keep?

Aye. But Duncan is no longer Dominic's enemy. The Scots Hammer swore fealty to Dominic at the point of a sword.

“Your father is lucky to have a strong son,” Duncan said matter-of-factly. “It's the nature of men to fight for honor. God, and land.”

“Especially land like Sea Home,” Erik agreed. “It's the richest of my father's holdings. The pastures fatten many cattle and sheep. The sea yields fresh fish all year. The croplands are fertile. Waterfowl abound in the fens and deer are thick in the forests.”

Duncan heard the clear love of land in Erik's voice and knew a swift stroke of jealousy.

“It would be a fine thing to have land,” Duncan said softly.

“Oh, no,” groaned Erik in mock despair. “Not another lout in armor pining to take Sea Home from me!”

“Sea Home? Nay,” Duncan said, smiling. “The land around Stone Ring Keep is more to my liking. Higher, rockier, wilder.”

Amber closed her eyes and prayed that Erik would see in Duncan only what she was seeing— a man speaking the truth among people he considered his friends.

“I prefer the salt wind and the cry of sea eagles,” Erik said.

“You have them, and Stone Ring Keep besides,” Duncan said.

“So long as I hold them, yes. In the Disputed Lands, a man's future is only as long as his sword arm.”

Duncan laughed. “The gleam in your eye says you don't regret being tested.”

“You have the same gleam in yours” Erik retorted.

Amber opened her eyes and let out her breath in relief. Erik was teasing Duncan as he would a friend.

“Aye,” Duncan said. “I love a good fight.” “Nay,” Amber interrupted firmly. “I'll not have it.”

“Have what?” Erik asked with transparent innocence.

“You are planning to have Duncan join your battle games.”

“Are you willing?” Erik asked Duncan. “Give me a sword and I'll show you.” Fear lanced through Amber. Without thinking, she leaned forward and wrapped her fingers around Duncan's wrist. The warmth and sheer maleness of him swept through her. She ignored her response, for the fear that drove her was equally strong.

“No,” Amber said urgently. “You nearly died in that storm. It's much too soon for you to fight unless there is real need.”

Duncan looked down into her anxious golden eyes and felt something taut within him loosen. She had avoided his touch for days, yet she cared for him deeply. Her emotion was so clear to him that he barely refrained from kissing away the lines of fear around her full mouth.

“Don't worry, precious Amber,” Duncan whispered against her cheek. “I won't be thrashed by ill-trained knights.”

Duncan's humor, passion, and supreme self-confidence flowed through the touch to Amber. He wasn't the least afraid of testing himself against the best Erik had to offer.

In fact, Duncan was anticipating it with the pleasure of a hungry wolf looking over a sheepfold.

Reluctantly Amber loosened her hold on Duncan's wrist. Though she no longer held him, her fingertips lingered on his wrist with a hunger that was reflected in the shadowed depths of her eyes. Duncan saw the yearning in her gaze and felt fire flare through his loins. His fingers curled over hers, holding them, needing the contact with a force he couldn't question.

Erik watched with a combination of wonder and unease.

“You told me,” Erik said to Amber, “but I didn't truly believe. Touching him doesn't hurt you. It… pleases you.”

“Yes. Greatly.”

Erik looked from Amber's face, pleasure and unhappiness combined, to Duncan. There, defiance and pleasure were mingled, making him appear warrior and lover both.

“I do hope,” Erik said distinctly to Amber, “that Cassandra finishes casting the rune stones before I'm forced to decide between what pleases you and the safety of the Disputed Lands.”

Fear rippled through Amber. She closed her eyes and said nothing.

Nor did she pull her fingers away from Duncan's clasp.

A shout from one of Erik's knights came through the mist. As one, Erik and Duncan turned. Four knights were riding out from the stables toward the place where Erik waited. Three of the knights were familiar to Erik. The fourth wasn't.

Duncan straightened and leaned forward as though to see better through the seething mists. Three of the knights were unknown to him.

The fourth made shadows stir and condense into something that was neither memory nor forgetfulness.

Clouds separated, allowing pale gold sunlight to stream over the rain-drenched land. The green of grass and trees became incandescent. Pale stone gleamed like pearl. Bark was an ebony richness. Water drops gathered on every surface, making the land shimmer as though with secret laughter.

Amber shared none of the land's hidden amusement. She had felt Duncan's memories twitch and shiver, a dragon awakening deep within his shadows.

“Who is the fourth man?” she asked Erik.

“I don't know,” he said.

“Find out.”

The sharp demand in Amber's voice surprised Erik. What surprised Duncan was the feel of her nails digging into his wrist.

“Is something amiss?” Erik asked.

Belatedly Amber realized what she had done. If the fourth man was indeed from Duncan's past— and if Duncan was indeed the enemy she feared— she had put him in danger with her incautious demand.

“No,” Amber said, making certain that her voice was calm. “I'm simply wary of new warriors in the Disputed Lands.”

“So is Alfred,” Erik said dryly.

Amber's smile was a brief shadow of her usual one, but only Duncan noticed.

Only he knew of her nails biting into his flesh.

“Who is Alfred?” Duncan asked.

“One of my best knights. He is the one on the white stallion, next to the stranger.”

“Alfred,” Duncan said, memorizing the man.

“Alfred the Sly,” Amber corrected.

“You've never forgiven him for calling you a sorceress,” Erik said wryly.

“He had the Church believing him.”

Erik shrugged. “The priest was a fat old fool.”

“That 'fat old fool' laid hands on me.”

Erik turned toward Amber so quickly that his horse started in alarm.

“What are you saying?” he demanded.

“The priest sought an alliance with the devil through carnal knowledge of me,” Amber said. “When I refused him, he tried to take by force what I wouldn't give.”

“God's teeth,” Duncan hissed.

Erik was too shocked to speak. Abruptly his features flattened beneath his beard, pulling his mouth into a thin line.

“I will hang that cursed priest where I find him,” Erik vowed softly.   "

Amber's smile was chilling. “You won't find him this side of Judgment Day.”

“What do you mean?”

“Several years past, the priest Went to the Stone Ring with darkness in his mind. Lightning came. When it left, it took the priest to the very hell that so fascinated him. Or so Cassandra tells me…”

“Ah. Cassandra. A very wise woman indeed,” Erik said, smiling like a wolf.

“The priest,” Duncan said harshly to Amber. “He didn't harm you?”

“I used the dagger Erik gave me.”

Duncan remembered the silver dagger she had used to cut his own bonds.

“I wasn't wrong to be wary of you, was I?” he asked dryly.

Amber smiled at Duncan, a smile as warm as her other one had been cold.

“I would never harm you, Duncan. It would be like harming myself.”

“But I,” Erik cut in, “have no such problem. I will most certainly 'harm' any man who forces himself on Amber.”

Duncan looked past Amber to the cold wolf's eyes of the young lord.

“You will note. Sir Erik, who is holding and who is being held,” Duncan said flatly.

Amber looked at her own hand, her fingers clenched on Duncan's wrist, her nails biting into his hard flesh.

“I'm sorry,” she said, snatching her hand back.

“Precious Amber,” Duncan murmured.

He held out his hand, smiling. Without hesitation, she put her fingers in his.

“You could stick silver daggers into me,” Duncan said, “and I would ask only for more of your sweet touch.”

Amber laughed and colored, ignoring Erik's look of concern and the disbelief on the faces of three of the four knights whose horses were trotting closer.

“Do you understand, now?” Duncan asked Erik.

There was a challenge in Duncan's voice that Erik could not mistake.

“You have no claims of family or clan or duty on Amber, nor any intent other than to see that she is protected,” Duncan continued. “When my memory returns, I will claim the right to woo Amber for my wife.”

“What if your memory doesn't return?” Erik asked.

“It must.”

“Really? Why?”

“Until I know what obligations I carry from my past, I can't make new vows. And I find that I must.”

“Why?”

“Amber,” Duncan said simply. “I must have her. Yet I should not offer marriage until I know myself.”

“Amber?” Erik asked, turning toward her.

“I have always been Duncan's. I always will be.”

Erik closed his eyes for an instant. When they opened, they were clear and cold.

“What of Cassandra's warning?” he asked gently.

“There are three conditions. Only one has been met. Only one will be met.”

“You sound very certain.”

“I am.”

Amber smiled with a bittersweet beauty that was haunting. She knew that Duncan wouldn't take her unless he remembered his past.

And if he did remember, she was afraid he wouldn't have her at all.

Enemy and soul mate.

“1 wonder if prophecies can be so neatly divided and thereby neutralized,” Erik muttered. “Or if it even matters.”

“You speak in circles,” Amber said.

“Both of you,” said Duncan.

The other two ignored him.

“Death always flows,” Erik said. “Rich life is always a possibility. Remember that. Amber, when you are offered a choice between a rock and a hard place.”

With that enigmatic advice, Erik turned away to face the knights who were riding up alongside him.

Silently Duncan watched while greetings were exchanged among Sir Erik's knights. Three of the men he looked at briefly but without great curiosity.

The fourth man was different. Duncan stared at him intently, feeling almost certain that he had met the knight before. Almost certain, but not quite.

He would have questioned the knight, but a stark sense of danger sealed Duncan's lips. It was the second time since the Holy Land that Duncan had felt such a warning deep within himself.

Duncan couldn't remember what the other time had been, but he knew that it had occurred.

If the fourth knight recognized Duncan, he didn't show it. In fact, other than an incisive glance from eyes like black crystal, the knight had shown little interest in Duncan at all.

Duncan couldn't say the same. He kept staring at the knight's features half revealed beneath his helm. The blond hair and high, sharply carved cheekbones plucked at chords of memories within Duncan.

Candles and voices chanting.

A sword unsheathed.

No, not a sword. Something else.

Something living.

A man?

Duncan shook his head fiercely, willing memory to stay rather than to slip back among the shadows.

Green flames.

No, not flames.

Eyes!

Eyes as green as spring itself. Eyes burning with a thousand years of Glendruid hope.

And other eyes as well. A man's eyes.

Eyes black as midnight in hell.

A knife blade cold between my thighs.

A chill coursed through Duncan. It was a memory he could have died happy without ever recalling—the instant he had felt an enemy's knife blade slide cold between his thighs, threatening to castrate him if he so much as twitched.

Duncan's eyes narrowed as he looked at the fourth knight. The man had eyes as black as midnight in hell.

Was he once my enemy?

Is he my enemy still?

Wary, motionless, Duncan strained to hear whatever message the shadows would grudgingly yield. Nothing came to him but two conflicting certainties.

He is not my enemy.

He is dangerous to me.

Slowly Duncan straightened in his saddle, forcing himself to look away from the unknown knight. As Duncan moved, he realized that he was holding on to Amber's hand as though to a sword on the brink of battle.

“I'm sorry,” he said in a voice that went no farther than her ears. “I've crushed your fingers.”

“I'm not hurt,” she whispered unsteadily.

“You're pale.”

Amber didn't know how to tell Duncan that it was the stirring of his memories rather than his harsh grip on her hand that was causing her pain. Her thoughts beat as frantically as birds caught in a hunter's net.

Not now!

Not with so many knights nearby. If Duncan is the enemy I fear, he will be killed before my very eyes.

And then I shall go mad.

Just before Duncan released Amber, he lifted her hand to his mouth. When his breath and mustache brushed over her sensitive fingers, it gave her a pleasure so great that she trembled.

Amber didn't know that color returned to her face in a rush and that her eyes suddenly burned like candle flames caught within transparent golden gems. Nor did she realize that she leaned toward Duncan with unconscious longing as soon as his touch left her skin.

The fourth knight noticed everything and felt as though someone had slid a knife blade between his legs. Never would he have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes.

Long, powerful fingers flexed around the pommel of his sword while black eyes measured Duncan for a shroud.

“I've found two warriors for you, lord,” Alfred said. “He and his squire are on a quest, but he is willing to stay and fight outlaws for a time.”

Erik looked at the fourth knight.

“Two?” Erik said. “I see only one, though God knows he's big enough for two. How are you called?”

“Simon.”

“Simon… I have two men-at-arms with that name.”

Simon nodded. It was hardly an uncommon name.

“Who was your last lord?” Erik asked.

“Robert.”

“There are many Roberts.”

“Aye.”

Erik turned to Alfred. The knight's features were as blunt as a fist, but he was a fine man in a fight.

“Not much for talk, is he?” Erik asked Alfred dryly. “Has he taken a vow?”

“He is talkative enough with that black sword he wears,” Alfred said. “He had Donald and Malcolm on their backs before they knew what happened.”

Erik turned back to Simon.

“Impressive,” Erik said. “Have you been blooded?”

“Aye.”

“Where?”

“In the Holy War.”

Erik nodded, unsurprised. “There is a Saracen look to your blade.”

“It drinks outlaw blood as readily as Turkish,” Simon said calmly.

Erik smiled. “And Norse?”

“The blade cares not.”

“Well, we have outlaws in plenty.”

“You have three less than formerly.”

Tawny eyebrows lifted in a combination of amusement and surprise.

“When?” Erik asked.

“Two days past.”

“Where?”

“Near a lightning-struck tree and a stream coming from a cleft in the mountainside,” Simon said.

“ 'Tis the boundary of Lord Robert's lands,” Erik said.

Simon shrugged. “It looked like no man's land to me.”

“That will change.”

In silence, Erik measured the knight for a long moment, taking in the well-used, well-made clothes and weapons, and the excellent lines of the horse Simon rode.

“Have you armor?” he asked.

“Aye. It is in your keep's armory.” Simon smiled oddly. “It was that which made me stay.”

“The armory? How so?”

“I wanted to know more about a lord who builds a secure well, barracks, and armory before he builds quarters for his own comfort.”

“Your accent tells me you spent time in the Norman lands,” Erik said after a moment.

“ 'Tis hard not to. They rule so much.”

Erik grimaced. “Too much. Why did you leave?”

“The continent is too settled. There is nothing for a landless knight to do but hone his sword and dream of better days.”

Laughing, Erik turned to Alfred and nodded his acceptance of Simon.

''What of the other man?" Erik asked.

“The Norseman is tracking outlaws,” Alfred replied.

“A Norseman?”

“He looks it, though he speaks our language. Pale as a ghost. Called Sven. Fights like a ghost, too. Never seen a man so hard to pin down, except maybe you.”

“He can be a ghost for all of me,” Erik retorted, “so long as he haunts outlaws rather than my vassals.”

Alfred laughed and then nodded toward Duncan.

“I see that I'm not the only one who went fishing for warriors and came up with a prize.”

A glance at Duncan was Erik's only response. Then he looked at Amber. Though he said nothing, she knew him well enough to understand that she wasn't to argue with whatever might happen next.

“He is an unusual man,” Erik said calmly. “Almost a fortnight ago, I found him near Stone King.”

A murmuring went through the knights, followed by a flurry of movement as they crossed themselves.

“He was sick unto death,” Erik continued. “I took him to Amber. She healed him, but not without cost. He remembers nothing of his life before he came to the Disputed Lands.”

Erik paused, then said distinctly, “Not even his name.”

Simon's eyes became measuring black slits as he looked from Erik to Duncan, and from there to Amber. Against the hundred shades of gray that were the mist and clouds, she burned like a shaft of sunlight.

“Yet he had to answer to something,” Erik continued. “Amber saw the marks of battle on him, knew the shadows veiling his mind, and named him 'dark warrior'—Duncan.”

A subtle tension went through Simon, a tightening of the body as though for battle or flight.

None noticed but Duncan, who had been watching the fair-haired, dark-eyed stranger out of the corner of his eye. Yet Simon was looking not at him, but at Amber.

“Are you especially skilled with herbs and potions?” Simon asked her.

The question was polite and his tone was gentle, but the bleak midnight of his eyes was neither.

“No,” Amber said.

“Then why was he brought to you? Is there no wise woman to heal men in the Disputed Lands?”

“Duncan wore an amber talisman,” Amber said, “and all things amber are mine.”

Simon looked puzzled.

So did Duncan.

“I thought you gave the talisman to me while I lay senseless,” he said to Amber, frowning.