Forbidden (5 page)

Amber threw on a mantle of green wool and fastened it with a large silver pin in the shape of a crescent moon. Ancient runes ran down the crescent, giving texture and grace to the beaten silver. When she set aside the board barring the door and stepped into the twilight, the pin shimmered as though made to gather light and hold it against the coming night.

No sooner had Amber closed the door behind her than Cassandra appeared on the path from the forest. She was afoot, wearing her customary robes of scarlet embroidered at the edges with blue and green, but twilight turned the colors nearly black.

Her pale, almost colorless hair was plaited and concealed beneath a headdress of fine red cloth. The cloth was held in place by a ring of woven silver strands. The sleeves on her dress were long and deeply flared at the cuff.

Despite a lack of family that equaled Amber's, Cassandra looked every inch a highborn lady. Older than Amber, wiser, Cassandra had raised Amber as though she were her own. Yet Cassandra made no move to embrace the child she had raised. She had come to the cottage as Stone Ring Keep's wise woman rather than as Amber's friend and mentor.

Uneasiness prickled along Amber's skin.

“Where is Erik?” Amber asked, looking beyond Cassandra.

“I asked to see you alone for a time.”

Amber smiled with a brightness she was far from feeling.

“Was Maid Marian's hunt successful?” she asked.

“Very. Was yours?”

“I didn't go hawking.”

“I refer to your quest for information about the man Erik found asleep within the Stone Ring,” Cassandra said mildly.

Saying no more, Cassandra watched Amber with penetrating gray eyes. Amber had to fight not to fidget or mumble the first words that came to her mind. At times Cassandra's silences were as unnerving as her prophecies.

“He hasn't awakened since morning,” Amber said, “and then only for a few moments.”

“What were his first words upon awakening?”

Frowning, Amber cast about in her memory.

“He asked me who I was,” she said after a moment.

“In what language?”

“Ours.”

“Accented?” Cassandra asked.

“No.”

“Continue.”

Amber felt as though she were being quizzed on a lesson. But she didn't know what the lesson was, didn't know the answers to the questions, and feared true answers in any case.

“He asked if he was a prisoner,” Amber said.

“Did he? An odd thing for a friend to ask.”

“Not at all,” Amber retorted. “Erik had bound him hand and foot to my bed.”

“Mmmm,” was all Cassandra offered.

Amber said no more.

“You have few words,” Cassandra said.

“I follow your teaching. Learned,” Amber replied formally.

“Why are you so distant?”

“Why are you quizzing me like a stranger caught within the keep's walls?”

Cassandra sighed and held out her hand.

“Come,” she said. “Walk with me in the hour that is neither day nor yet night.”

Amber's eyes widened. Cassandra rarely offered to touch anyone, especially Amber, to whom touch was often painful and always uncomfortable.

Except for the stranger. His touch had been purest pleasure.

“Cassandra?” Amber whispered. “Why?”

“You look hunted, daughter. Touch me and know that I am not one of your pursuers.”

Hesitantly, Amber brushed her fingers along the other woman's hand. As always, a sense of fierce intelligence and deep affection flowed from Cassandra.

“I want only joy for you. Amber.”

The truth of Cassandra's words flowed through the touch like a bright scarlet ribbon.

A bittersweet smile curved Amber's lips as her hand dropped to her side. She doubted that Cassandra knew what a joy touching Duncan was to Amber.

And if Cassandra had known. Amber doubted that she would wish more of it for her pupil.

When the wise woman turned and walked slowly toward the moonlight pooled in the meadow just beyond the cottage. Amber followed, walking by Cassandra's side.

“Tell me about the man you have chosen to call Duncan,” Cassandra said.

The words were as soft as twilight, but the command just beneath them was not soft at all.

“Whatever he was before he came to the Stone Ring,” Amber said, “he knows none of it.”

“And you?”

“I saw the marks of battle on his body.”

“Dark warrior…”

“Yes,” Amber whispered. “Duncan.”

“Is he a brute, then?”

“No.”

“How can you be so certain? A bound man can do little save try to free himself by strength or guile.”

“I cut his bonds.”

Cassandra's breath came out in an audible rush as she crossed herself.

“Why?” she asked in a strained voice.

“I knew he meant me no harm.”

“How?” Cassandra asked, fearing the answer even as she demanded it.

“The usual way. I touched him.”

Hands clasped, Cassandra stood, swaying like a willow in a slow wind.

“When he came to you,” she asked in a strained voice, “was it night?”

“Yes,” Amber said.

In shades of darkness he will come to you.

“Are you mad?” Cassandra asked in a horrified tone. “Have you forgotten? Be therefore as sunlight, hidden in amber, untouched by man, not touching man. .”

“Erik required that I touch the stranger.”

“You should have refused.”

“I did, at first. Then Erik pointed out that no man gets fully grown without a name. Therefore, the prophecy holds no—”

“Don't presume to teach a falcon how to fly,” Cassandra interrupted angrily. “Did the man know his own name when he awakened?”

“No, but that could change at any moment.”

“By Mother Mary's sweet smile, I have raised a reckless fool!”

Amber wanted to defend herself, but could think of nothing to say. When she was away from Duncan, the recklessness of her own actions in touching him appalled her.

Yet when she was with him, no other action seemed possible.

As one, both women turned around to go back to the cottage. As one, they stopped.

Erik was standing a few feet ahead of them.

“Are you proud of your work?” Cassandra asked him acidly.

“And a good evening to you, too,” Erik said. “What have I done now to earn the sharp side of a Learned woman's tongue?”

“Amber has touched a man with no name who came to her in shades of darkness. Brought, I might add, by a young thane with no more brains than a drystone wall!”

“What would you have had me do?” Erik asked. “Gut him as though he were a salmon to be salted?”

“You could have waited until I—”

“You do not rule Stone Ring Keep, madam,” Erik interrupted coolly. “I do.”

“Just so,” Cassandra said with a thin smile.

Erik let out an explosive breath.

“I respect your wisdom, Cassandra, but I am no longer yours to order about like a squire.”

“Aye. And that is as it should be.”

“We are in agreement on that, at least.”

But Erik smiled as he spoke.

“Since it is impossible to undo that which has been done, what do you suggest we do?”

“Try to bend events so that life rather than death follows,” Cassandra said succinctly.

Erik shrugged. “Death always follows life. 'Tis the nature of living. And dying.”

“ 'Tis the nature of my prophecies to be accurate.”

“In any event, the prophecy's requirements haven't been met,” Erik pointed out.

“He came to her in—”

“Yes, yes,” Erik interrupted impatiently. “But her heart and soul and body aren't his!”

“I can't speak for her soul or body,” Cassandra retorted, “but her heart is already his.”

Erik shot Amber a surprised look. “Is that true?”

“I understand the prophecy's three requirements better than anyone,” Amber said. “All three have not been met.”

“Perhaps I should gut him like a salmon after all,” Erik muttered.

“You might be gutting yourself at the same time,” Amber said with a composure she didn't feel.

“How so?”

“You need to be in the north to hold Winterlance against the Norse raiders. Yet if you don't stay here, you will lose Stone Ring Keep to your cousins.”

Erik looked at Cassandra.

“You need no prophetess to tell you of your cousins' ambitions,” Cassandra said dryly. 'They were so certain that Lady Emma would die without conceiving an heir for Robert that they had already begun fighting among themselves as to who would rule Stone Ring, Sea Home, Winterlance, and all the rest of Robert's estates."

Without a word, Erik looked to Amber.

“Duncan thinks of himself as a powerful warrior,” Amber said to Erik. “He could be very useful to you.”

She gave Erik a shuttered look, wondering if he was truly listening or merely humoring her. There was no way to tell short of touching him. In the moonlight his eyes had the veiled gleam of a wolf's.

“Go on,” Erik said to Amber.

“Give him time to heal. If his memory doesn't return, he will vow fealty to you.”

“So you think he is a Saxon or Scottish free lance looking for a powerful lord?”

“He would not be the first such knight to come to you.”

“ Tis true enough,” Erik muttered.

Cassandra started to object again, but was cut off by Erik.

“You may have a fortnight's grace while I search out the stranger's past,” he said to Amber. “But only if you will answer one question.”

Amber waited, breath held.

“Why do you care what happens to the man you call Duncan?” Erik asked.

The calmness of his voice was at odds with the intensity of his eyes.

“When I touched Duncan…” Amber's voice died.

Erik waited.

She clenched her hands within her long, loose sleeves and tried to think of a way to tell Erik that she suspected he had within his grasp one of the finest warriors ever to be born of human woman.

“Duncan has no memories, as such,” Amber said slowly, “yet I would vow on my soul that he is one of the greatest warriors ever to hold a sword. And that includes even you, Erik, whom men call the Undefeated almost as often as they call you the Sorcerer.”

Cassandra and Erik exchanged a long look.

“With Duncan on your side, you could hold Lord Robert's land against Norsemen, Normans, and cousins combined,” Amber said flatly.

“Perhaps,” Erik said. “But I'm afraid that your great, dark warrior belongs to Dominic le Sabre or the Scots Hammer.”

“That might be true. But not if Duncan's memory doesn't return.” Amber drew a deep breath. “Then he is yours.”

Silence spread while Cassandra and Erik considered Amber's suggestion.

“Such a ruthless little thing,” Erik said, grinning. “You would have made a fine peregrine.”

And he laughed.

Cassandra did not. “Are you certain Duncan won't regain his memory?”

“No,” Amber said.

“What if he does?” the other woman asked.

“He will be either friend or enemy. If he is a friend, Erik has an invaluable knight. A risk well worth taking, surely?”

“And if he is an enemy?” Erik asked.

“At least you won't have on your soul the cowardly murder of a man struck senseless by lightning.”

Erik turned to Cassandra. “Madam?”

“I like it not.”

“Why?”

“The prophecy,” she said curtly.

“What would you have me do?” he asked.

“Take the stranger out into the Disputed Lands and leave him naked to find his own way.”

“Nay!” Amber said before she could stop herself.

“Why not?” Cassandra said.

“He is mine.”

The fierceness in Amber's soft voice shocked the others. Erik glanced aside at Cassandra. She was watching Amber as though she had never seen her before.

“Tell me,” Cassandra said warily. “When you touched him, what was it like for you?”

“Sunrise,” Amber whispered.

“What?”

“It was sunrise after a night as long as time.”

Cassandra closed her eyes and crossed herself.

“I will consult my rune stones,” she said.

Amber let out a sigh of relief and looked hopefully at Erik.

“I will wait a fortnight, no more,” Erik said. “If your Duncan is revealed as my enemy during that time…”

“Yes?” she whispered.

Erik shrugged. “I will treat him just as I would any other outlaw found skulking about my keeps. I will hang him where I find him.”

Duncan spun toward the soft, unexpected sound. The movement drew the folds of his new under tunic tightly across his body, outlining its muscular lines in swaths of pale linen and shadow. As he turned, his right hand went to his left side, fingers grasping for the sword that wasn't there.

When the cottage door opened to reveal only Amber, his hand relaxed.

“You make no more sound than a butterfly,” Duncan said.

“Ifs a dreary day for butterflies. The rain is like buckets upended.”

Amber shook water from her hooded mantle, shrugged it off, and hung it on a peg to dry. The other mantle, the one she had kept dry beneath her own, she kept folded over one arm. When she turned back to Duncan, he was pulling an outer tunic into place. The costly green wool was sewn with embroidered ribbons in gold and red and blue at the hem.

“You look like a thane,” Amber said admiringly.

“A thane would have a sword.”

She smiled despite the fear that had become her constant attendant since talking with Erik four days ago. Each day Duncan revealed his warrior heritage in many ways, but never more so than when he was taken by surprise.

And each day was another drop in the pool of fear that grew uneasily in Amber. She could not bear to think of what Erik would do if Duncan proved to be the Scots Hammer rather than a bold knight looking for a worthy lord to serve.

If he is my enemy… I will hang him where I find him.

“Is this clothing more comfortable than the last?” Amber asked in a strained voice.

Duncan stretched his arms and flexed his shoulders, testing the width of the fabric. It was tight, but better than the first tunic Amber had brought. That one barely had taken his head through the neck opening, much less the breadth of his chest and shoulders across the back.

“It's much better,” Duncan said, “though I fear it would give way in a battle.”

“You're among friends,” she said quickly. “There is no need to fight.”

For a moment Duncan said nothing. Then he frowned as though searching for a memory that was no longer there.

“I hope you're right, lass. I just keep feeling…” Heart in her throat. Amber waited. With a throttled curse, Duncan abandoned the hunt among the shadow memories that mocked and teased him, retreating as soon as he approached.

“Something is not right,” he said flatly. “I am a man out of place. I know it as surely as I know that I breathe.”

“It has been only a handful of days since you awakened. Healing takes time.”

“Time. Time! God's teeth, I have no time to stand around like a squire waiting for his lord to sleep off a night of folly. I must—”

Duncan's words ended as though cut off by a sword. He didn't know what he had to do. It was worse than a fox gnawing at his vitals.

He struck his fist against his hand and turned away from Amber. Though he said nothing more, tension radiated from him like heat from a hearth fire.

When Amber approached and stood close, his nostrils flared at the evergreen freshness of her scent.

“Be at peace, Duncan.”

A warm, gentle hand caressed his fist. He flinched subtly, surprised. She had been very careful not to touch him since he had stolen that single, hungry kiss from her. Just as he had been careful not to touch her again.

Duncan told himself that he was wary because he had no way of knowing whom Amber had been to him in the past or would be in the future. They might very well be lovers separated by conflicting vows.

Yet the instant Duncan felt the sweetness of Amber's brief caress, he knew the real reason he hadn't touched her again. The torrent of passion and yearning she aroused in him was like nothing he had ever felt for a woman.

The passion Duncan understood, for he was a healthy man in the presence of a girl whose very scent made him harden in a wild rush of blood. But the hungry yearning to hold and be held was as new and unexpected as his lack of memory.

The surprise that came each time Duncan confronted the depth of his response to Amber was what finally had convinced him that he had never felt such passion for a woman before. Just as the fact that he kept reaching for a sword told him that he had worn one in his unremembered past.

“Duncan,” Amber whispered.

“Duncan,” he repeated sardonically. “A dark warrior, am I? But there is no sword at my side, no cold weight of metal to keep me company when danger calls.”

“Erik—”

“Aye,” Duncan interrupted. “The all-powerful Erik, who is your protector. The great thane who decreed I would go unarmed for a fortnight, yet still his squire lounges ever within reach of your shout.”

“Egbert the Lazy?” Amber asked. “Is he still about?”

“Dozing in the shed. The fowl are quite put out to share their roost.”

“Turn to face me,” she said, changing the subject. “Let me see to the fit.”

Slowly Duncan complied.

Amber tugged at a lace here and there, tucked in a stray fold of cloth, and handed over the beautiful indigo mantle that she had brought through the rain from Stone Ring Keep.

“For you,” she said.

Duncan looked down into the golden eyes that watched him with such transparent eagerness to bring him ease.

“You are very kind to a man with no name, no past, and no future,” he said broodingly.

“We have been over that many times to no avail. Unless… are you remembering more?”

“Not in the way you mean. No names. No faces. No deeds. No vows. Yet I feel… I feel that something both grand and dangerous is waiting for me, just beyond my grasp.”

Amber's slender hand settled on Duncan's fist again. She sensed no memories looming from his past, no condensing of the shadow memories that swirled and faded, only to be reborn, taunting and hinting. Everything was as it had been.

Especially the sensual hunger for her that pervaded Duncan's being as deeply as the shadows of his lost memory. Knowing of Duncan's need made a curious kind of heat uncurl throughout Amber's body. It was as though an invisible fire lived in the pit of her stomach, waiting only for the breath of Duncan's desire to burst into flame.

Amber told herself that she must lift her hand and not approach Duncan again, but her hand remained where it was, touching him. Such contact was a sweet, subtle drug. The joy it gave her should have terrified her, yet it only lured her even more deeply.

“Life is both grand and dangerous,” Amber said in a low voice.

“Is it? I don't remember.”

Duncan's barely restrained emotions lashed through Amber, a seething mixture of frustration, anger, and impatience.

With an act of will that left Amber aching, she forced herself not to thread her fingers deeply into Duncan's hair and hold him until pleasure at her caresses overcame all other emotions. Yet she couldn't prevent herself from touching Duncan just a little.

So little.

Just her fingertip tracing the clenched power of his fist.

“Has it been so bad for you here, then?” Amber whispered unhappily.

Duncan looked down at the bent head of the girl who had done nothing to earn his anger and much to earn his gratitude. Slowly his fist uncurled. Just as slowly he caught Amber's right hand in his own. Her body jerked subtly at his touch.

“Don't be afraid, golden fairy. I won't hurt you.”

“I know.”

The certainty in Amber's voice was reflected in her eyes. Duncan was too pleased by her trust to ask why she was so confident. He lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss.

The sound of Amber's breath rushing out made Duncan's heartbeat speed. He had meant only to kiss her hand, but her response was an irresistible lure. He turned her hand over, cradling it in his palm while his lips found the pulse point of her wrist and brushed it repeatedly.

When his lips parted and the tip of his tongue traced the fragile blue vein, her heart's blood visibly raced in response to the caress. Desire arced through Duncan like a bolt from an invisible storm.

Yet the gentleness of his caress never varied. He remembered too well Amber's retreat when he had tried a bolder kind of love play.

“Duncan,” Amber whispered. “1…”

Her voice vanished as a sensuous shiver took her. Being touched by Duncan under any circumstances was a piercing pleasure. Knowing the full force of his passion for her while being kissed so very tenderly by him was like being wrapped in delicate, consuming fire.

Duncan lifted his head and looked down into the dazed golden eyes of the girl who was as much a mystery to him as his own past.

“You come to my lure like a falcon to its master's call,” he said in a deep voice. “You burn for me and I for you. Were we lovers in the time I don't remember?”

With a small cry Amber jerked her hand free and turned her back.

“I was never your lover,” she said in a strained voice.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“ Tis true just the same.”

“God's teeth,” Duncan hissed. “I can't believe that! We are too strongly drawn. You know something about my past that you aren't telling me.”

Amber shook her head.

“I don't believe you,” he repeated. 

She spun back to Duncan with a speed that made her clothing flare.

“As you will,” she said angrily. “Before you came to the Disputed Lands, you were a prince.”

Duncan was too shocked to speak.

“You were a freeholder,” Amber continued.

“What are you—”

'“You were a traitor,” she said ruthlessly.

Stunned, Duncan simply stared at Amber.

“You were a hero,” she said. “You were a knight. You were a squire. You were a priest. You were a lord. You were—”

“Enough,” Duncan interrupted in a savage voice.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Well what?”

“One of those things is the truth.”

“Is it?”

Amber shrugged. “What else could you have been?”

“A serf or a sailor,” he said sardonically.

“No. You haven't the calluses for it. Nor the thick head, though lately I begin to wonder.”

Abruptly, Duncan laughed.

Against her will. Amber smiled. “You see? Whatever I tell you isn't the same as knowing. That you must do for yourself. No one can do it for you.”

Duncan's laughter stopped. For the space of several breaths he said nothing.

The temptation to touch him and discover what he was feeling almost overwhelmed Amber. She fought her own hunger, her own need.

And she lost.

Her fingertips smoothed lightly over Duncan's clean-shaven, cheek.

Anger.

Bafflement.

A loss so great it couldn't be described, only felt like thunder from a distant storm quivering through the air.

“Duncan,” Amber whispered painfully. “My dark warrior.”

He watched her with eyes that were narrowed, glittering the eyes of an animal caught within a trap.

“Fighting yourself only wounds you more,” she said. “Let yourself grow used to the life you have now.”

“How can I?” Duncan asked in a rough voice. “What of the life I left behind? What if there is a lord expecting me to honor my vow? What if there is a wife? Heirs? Land?”

When Duncan spoke of lord and land. Amber sensed the dark seething of his memory. No such response came at the mention of wife or heirs.

Her relief was so acute that Amber's knees weakened. The thought of Duncan bound by sacred vow to another woman had been like a knife turning in Amber's heart. She hadn't' known how great her fear had been until it was banished by the unspeakable certainty that lay beneath Duncan's elusive memory.

Pray God that his memory doesn't return. The more he remembers, the more I fear.

Enemy, not friend.

Soul mate.

In shades of darkness Duncan came to me. In shades of darkness he must remain.

Or die.

And that thought was even more unbearable than Duncan alive and bound to another woman.

The merlin's quick, shallow wing-beats brought it swiftly toward the lure Duncan was casting with smooth, powerful sweeps of his arm.

“Well done,” Amber said, clapping her hands in excitement. “You must have cast the lure many times before.”

The lure jerked, then resumed its steady circling. Instantly Amber regretted her words. For the last five days she had refused to discuss Duncan's past in any way at all. Nor had his memory returned, though it had been nine days since he had awakened.

After that first, swift look at Amber, Duncan concentrated only on the smooth circling of the lure, calling the winged predator down from the cloud-tossed sky. Without warning the small falcon stooped, hit the lure with deadly speed, and settled to the ground to feed, mantling its wings protectively over its “prey.”

Quickly Amber lured the merlin with a bit of meat and piercing whistles. After a few sharp protests, the falcon surrendered and came to Amber's wrist.

“Don't sulk, little beauty,” Amber murmured as she smoothed the jesses so that they hung evenly over her gauntlet. “You did very well.”

“Well enough to earn a true hunt?” Duncan asked.

She smiled. “You sound as eager as a falcon.”

“I am. I'm not used to being shut up in a cottage with only a wary maid and my own thoughts for company—or lack thereof,” he added ironically.

Amber winced.

Duncan had shown little interest in her prescribed course of rest, food, and more rest. When the cold rains came, it wasn't difficult to keep Duncan indoors, for all that he paced like a caged wolf.

But today, when the sun poured down until mist lifted in great silver flags from the land, keeping Duncan inside hadn't been possible.

“I was afraid,” she said.

“Of what? I'm not ice to melt in sunshine or rain.”

“I feared enemies.”

“Who?” he asked swiftly.

'The Disputed Lands are… disputed. Landless knights, ambitious bastards, second and third sons, outlaws. All of them roam, seeking prey."

“Yet you went to Stone Ring Keep alone to bring clothes for me?”

Amber shrugged. “I don't fear for myself. No man will touch me.”

Duncan looked skeptical.

“ 'Tis true,” she said. “It is known throughout the Disputed Lands that Erik will hang the man who touches me.”