Forbidden (9 page)

“In any case, we left your mount with him,” Amber said. “And instructions to wait for us.”

“Are you certain the lad can read?”

“Better than he can write, according to Cassandra.”

“Does he write?” Duncan asked, surprised.

“Badly. Erik despairs of ever making him skilled enough to tally a keep's crops, animals, and taxes.”

“Then why doesn't he send the boy back to his father?”

“Egbert has none,” Amber said. “Erik found him by a cart road. His father had been killed by a falling tree.”

“Does Erik make it a habit to pick up and care for stray people?”

“If they can't care for themselves, someone must.”

“Is that why you cared for me?” Duncan asked. “Duty and compassion?”

“Nay.”

Amber remembered what it had felt like when she first touched Duncan, a pleasure so great it shocked her into snatching her hand back. Then she had touched him again. And lost her heart.

“It was different with you,” Amber said in a low voice. “Touching you pleased me.”

“Does it please you still?”

A telltale wash of color across her cheeks silently answered Duncan's question.

“I'm glad,” he said. “Very, very glad.” With subtle pressures of his arms, Duncan gathered Amber even closer to his body. The hunger for her that was never far beneath his thoughts flooded his body with anticipation, even as his conscience railed him.

He shouldn't seduce her until he had more answers to the dark questions from his past. Unknown vows haunted him. And yet… and yet.

It was surpassingly sweet to ride through an autumn land with slanting yellow sunlight warming his face and an amber fairy relaxed within the circle of his arms.

“The sun,” Amber murmured. “What an unexpected glory.”

She lifted her arms and pushed the wool cowl from her head. The indigo cloth fell in folds over her nape and shoulders, allowing the gentle golden warmth of the sun to bathe her.

“Aye,” Duncan said. “It is indeed glorious.”

But it was Amber rather than the sunlight that Duncan praised.

“Your hair,” he murmured. “ 'Tis a thousand shades of golden light. I've seen nothing more beautiful.”

Amber's breath caught as a fine shiver went over her body. The hunger in Duncan summoned her. She wanted nothing more than to pull his strength around her like a loving mantle, shutting out the world, giving herself to him in a secret silence that no other person could violate.

Yet she must not give herself to him.

Heart and body and soul.

“Amber,” Duncan whispered.

“Yes?” she said, stilling a shiver of response.

“Nothing. I simply like whispering your name against your bright hair.”

Pleasure expanded through Amber. Without thinking, she lifted her hand to touch Duncan's cheek. The faintly rough texture of his skin where beard lay just beneath the surface pleased her. The strength of his arm around her waist pleased her. The heat and resilience of his chest pleased her.

Duncan pleased her to the center of her soul.

“There is no man like you.”

Amber didn't know she had spoken the thought aloud until she felt a tremor ripple through Duncan's strength.

“Nor is there a woman to equal you,” he whispered as he kissed the palm of her hand.

When Duncan bent to put his cheek against Amber's hair, the delicate scent of sunlight and evergreens swept through him. She smelled of summer and warmth, of Scots pine and a clean wind.

The fragrance was uniquely Amber. He could not get enough of it.

Amber heard the hesitation in Duncan's breathing, sensed the piercing pleasure that he took from her simple presence, and longed to be free of prophecy.

But she was not.

“A pity the warmth won't last,” Amber said raggedly.

Duncan made a questioning sound as he nuzzled a wisp of hair that lay against her neck.

“Erik was right” she said, her voice quick, almost frightened. “A storm is coming. But it simply serves to make the sunlight more precious.”

Reluctantly Duncan lifted his head and looked to the north. A thick line of clouds loomed there, held back by a southerly wind. Overhead, the sky was a sapphire bowl arching above fells whose rocky peaks wore a pearly cowl of cloud.

“It won't storm by sunset,” Duncan said. Amber said nothing.

“Perhaps by moonrise,” he added, “but I think not.”

Duncan looked over his shoulder once more. Behind them a narrow crease cut into the rugged highlands that rose between Sea Home and Stone Ring Keep. The crease was the beginning of Ghost Glen, named for the pale-barked trees clinging to its steep sides, and for the haunting wail of autumnal winds.

No other rider was following Duncan and Amber down the ridge they had just descended. No other rider was visible ahead, where land and sea mingled to make Whispering Fen. The way they would take to the fen was unmarked, known only to the amber girl who fitted so perfectly in Duncan's arms.

There had been no sign of habitation at all on this side of the ridge. No cart road, no smoke lifting above a clearing, no plowed fields, no drystone fences, no deer parks, no mark of axe on trees. Small, steep-sided, stitched together by the fey conversations of a brook. Ghost Glen held neither hamlet nor farm nor walking paths. It was a place of ancient forest and primeval silence.

The land was both savage and oddly innocent, removed from the strife of the Disputed Lands. Had Duncan not seen standing stones grouped in solitary glades, he would have sworn no other person had ever passed this way.

Yet people had lived here once. Some named them Druids. Some named them sorcerers. Some named them not men at all, but devils or gods.

And some—the few who might know—called those vanished people Learned.

“Egbert won't follow us,” Amber said as she felt Duncan twist to look behind once more.

“How can you be sure? He is lazy, but not blind. We left a trail.”

She hesitated, wondering how to explain to Duncan the combination of knowledge and instinct that made her so certain they were safe from intrusion here.

“Egbert can't follow us,” Amber said. “Even if he weren't afraid, he wouldn't be able to see where we went.”

“Why not?”

“He isn't Learned,” she said simply.

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Egbert would see obstacles and turn aside, certain that no one could pass the way we did.”

A cool breath blew down Duncan's spine as he remembered how impassable parts of the trail had looked… at first.

“That's why I made you leave your horse,” Amber added.

“It wasn't Learned?” Duncan retorted dryly.

She laughed and shook her head, making sunlight gleam and run like liquid amber through her hair.

“Whitefoot'is used to my ways,” Amber said. “She goes where I guide her.”

“You see a path,” Duncan said.

It wasn't quite a question, but Amber answered anyway, shrugging.

“I'm Learned.” Then she added with a sigh, “But, according to Cassandra, I'm not very Learned and never will be unless I settle to it and stop roaming the wild places.”

“Like this one?”

“Aye.”

Duncan looked at the smooth curve of Amber's cheek and wondered how he, who had never been taught, had managed to see both obstacle and trail. Before he could ask Amber, she was talking again.

“Despite my failings as a student, I have absorbed enough Learning to walk a few of the ancient trails. Ghost Glen is my special place. I've never shared it with anyone. Until now.”

Her quiet words went through Duncan like distant thunder, as much felt as heard, a tremor of the earth itself.

“Amber?”

Duncan's voice was low, aching, nearly rough. She sensed the leap of sensual hunger in him. She also sensed a nameless yearning that pervaded him as surely as sun pervaded the day.

“What is it?” she whispered, turning to Duncan.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“To count Cassandra's geese.”

Hazel eyes searched Amber's face.

“Geese?” he asked.

“Aye. They come here from the north in the autumn, pulling winter behind them like a bleak banner.”

“ 'Tis early for geese, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Amber said.

“Then why are you looking for them?”

“Cassandra asked me to. The rune stones foretold an early, harsh winter. If the geese are here we'll know Cassandra cast the stones correctly.”

“What do your serfs say?” Duncan asked.

“They say the signs are mixed.”

“How so?”

“The sheep are growing very thick coats, yet the birds still call from the trees. The sun is still warm, yet joints and old wounds ache. The good priests pray and dream their dreams, yet none agree as to God's answer.”

“Signs. Prophecies. Priests. Dreams.” Duncan grimaced. “It's enough to make a warrior's head ache. Give me a sword and a shield and I'll make my own way, come what will—or what has.”

The open wound of Duncan's lost memory drew harsh brackets on either side of his mouth. Amber traced the lines with a fingertip, but she was unable to reach past Duncan's pain and anger.

Unhappily she turned away, facing the wild green glen once more. On both sides of the path, rowan trees clung to gray rock cliffs like fallen angels. The few berries that had been overlooked by birds glowed in ruby bursts at the ends of branches. Ghostly birches thronged in creases and crowded ridge lines. Their leafless branches lifted to the autumn sky in silent query about the lost summer and the winter to come.

Ahead and to the right, a low circle of reclining stones marked an ancient place. A larger, more ragged circle of standing stones loomed on an oddly attened ridge line.

An eagle's high, untamed cry pierced the silence. The call was repeated one, twice, thrice.

Duncan tilted back his head and returned the wild whistle with uncanny accuracy.

The bird of prey wheeled aside as though reassured of Duncan's and Amber's right to be within the fey glen. As they watched, the eagle rode a transparent torrent of air to the far side of the ridge and disappeared.

“Who taught you to answer the eagle's question?” Amber asked softly.

“My mother's mother.”

“She was Learned.”

“I doubt it,” Duncan said. “We had none we called Learned.”

“Sometimes, in some places, it is safer to have no name.”

Neither Duncan nor Amber spoke again until they had followed the hurtling silver creek into a small dale and down to the restless sea. The grasses of the marsh were equally alive, combed by a fairy wind.

For the man and woman poised on a low rise above the fen, the sound of wind and marsh was that of score upon score of people whispering, murmuring, sighing, confiding… a thousand hushed breaths stirring the air.

“I know now why it is called Whispering Fen,” Duncan said quietly.

“Until the winter geese come, yes. Then the air resounds with their honking and whistling, and the fen whispers only in the smallest hours of the night.”

“I'm glad to know it this way, with the sun turning the tips of marsh grass into candles. 'Tis like a church in the instants before the mass is chanted.”

“Yes,” Amber whispered. “It is exactly that. Filled with imminence.”

For a few moments Duncan and Amber sat in silence, absorbing the special peace of the fen. Then Whitefoot stretched her neck and tugged at the bit, wanting the freedom to graze.

“Will she wander if we dismount?” Duncan asked.

“Nay. Whitefoot is almost as lazy as Egbert.”

“Then we will rest her for a time before we start back.”

Duncan dismounted and lifted Amber from the horse's back. When he set her on her feet, her fingers caressed his cheek and the thick, dark silk of his mustache. He turned his head and kissed her hand with a tender, lingering heat that shortened her breath.

When Amber looked up into Duncan's eyes, she knew she should draw away. She didn't have to be touching him to be certain that he wanted her with a wildness that equaled the eagle's cry.

“We should start back very soon,” she said.

“Aye. But first…”

“First?”

 “First I will teach you not to fear my desire.”

“THAT—that wouldn't be wise,” Amber said raggedly.

“On the contrary, precious Amber. It would be the wisest thing I have ever done.”

“But we shouldn't—we can't—”

The slow drawing of Duncan's fingertips over Amber's lips scattered her words and her thoughts. She could sense his desire so clearly that it made her tremble.

And even more clearly she sensed his restraint.

“Duncan?” Amber asked, confused.

“I won't take you,” he said simply, “I don't know what I did to you in the past that you fear my desire now, but I do know that you fear it.”

“It is not—what you—dear God-—you must not take me!”

“Hush, precious Amber.” Duncan sealed her lips with a gentle pressure of his thumb. “I won't take you. Do you believe me?”

Amber felt the truth in Duncan, a certainty even stronger than the passion that burned within him.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I believe you.”

A long, low breath that was almost a groan came from deep in his chest.

“Thank you,” Duncan said. “In the past, no one would have questioned my oath. But here… here I must prove my worth and honor all over again.”

“Not to me. I sensed your honor and your pride very clearly the first time I touched you.”

Duncan gave Amber's mouth a tender, brushing movement of his lips that was almost too light to be called a kiss.

“Come,” he said softly, holding out his hand. “Walk with me.”

Amber laced her fingers through Duncan's and trembled at the banked fires of passion that burned so intensely in his body.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To find a place of shelter.”

“The wind isn't cold.”

“Not while we wear our mantles,” he agreed.

What Duncan left unsaid rippled through Amber in a wave of unease and anticipation combined.

The murmuring of sea and grass and wind followed both of them to the base of a low rise. There man had once smoothed a circle to raise tall stones within. Though the builders had long since vanished, the grassy circle and stones remained.

“This place is sheltered,” Amber said. “Unless you fear the stones?”

For a moment Duncan closed his eyes. Senses that slept within him until times of danger quivered to alertness at his prodding, found nothing of concern, and sank into timeless sleep again.

Amber, whose hand was still joined with Duncan's, watched him with amazement. Because of Cassandra's teaching. Amber knew that if ancient evil had ever lingered near the circle of stones, the evil had long since fled from the place.

And so did Duncan, who had never been taught.

He must be an unknown knight. I am silly to keep fearing he is the Scots Hammer, enemy of Erik.

“There is nothing to fear in the stones,” he said after a moment.

“You are Learned,” Amber said.

Duncan laughed. “Nay, my golden witch. I'm simply a warrior who fights with everything available, including my head.”

Amber started to quarrel about being named a witch before she realized that he had used the term with affection rather than with accusation. When she saw that Duncan was watching her with amusement and approval in his vivid hazel eyes, she decided that she liked being his “golden witch.”

“That's what Learning is” Amber said absently. “Using your head.”

“In that event,” Duncan said, looking around the circle of stones, “I learned during the holy crusade what every hound is born knowing—danger has a special scent and feel.”

“I think there is more to it than that.”

“And I think there is less.”

Duncan glanced sideways at Amber. She was watching him with luminous golden eyes and an intensity that made him want to ravish her both tenderly and very thoroughly.

“Come, my amber delight.”

“Ah, so I'm a delight now rather than a witch. You must be Learned!”

The smile Duncan gave Amber was like a caress.

“Delightful witch,” he said in a low voice. “Sit against this stone with me and we'll argue about what is Learned and what is simply common sense.”

Smiling, Amber answered the tug on her hand by settling into the grass beside Duncan. The stone he had chosen to shelter them from the fitful wind was taller than a man. Its face was seamed by time and salt air. Within blade-thin crevices on the stone's surface grew gardens so tiny that a man could scarce see the moss bloom.

Yet bloom it certainly did. Growing things thrived on the surface of the stone, weaving a thick, vibrantly colored mantle over much of the ancient monolith. Amber tested the moss with her fingertips, then closed her eyes and settled back against it with a sigh.

“How long do you think the stones have waited thus?” she murmured.

“Not half so long as I've wanted to do this.”

Amber's eyes opened. Duncan was so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath and see the individual splinters of color in his hazel eyes. She drew back slightly, wanting to touch the clean line of his mouth beneath his mustache.

“Nay, lass,” Duncan said. “There is nothing to fear.”

“I know. I just wanted to touch you.”

“Did you? How?”

“Like this.”

Amber's fingertip traced the rim of Duncan's upper lip. The keen thrill of pleasure that coursed through him at her touch was as much a reward to Amber as the intimate rush of his breath caressing her fingertips.

“You like that,” she said, delighted at the discovery.

Duncan's breath caught as another caress skimmed his lip, sending a tongue of fire through him.

“Aye,” he said huskily, “I like that. Do you?”

“Like touching you? Yes. Too much, I fear.”

“There is no place for fear between us.”

The rush of Duncan's breath was replaced by the smooth heat of his mouth against Amber's. He felt the hesitation in her.

Then he felt the subtle yielding as she allowed the kiss. His heartbeat speeded as fire searched through his body.

Yet Duncan did no more than increase the pressure of his mouth on hers just a bit. It was barely enough to part Amber's lips for a skimming caress from the tip of his tongue. But it was enough to make her sigh and yield more of her mouth to the gentle kiss. Again he delicately traced her lips.

“Duncan” Amber whispered. “You are . . ”

His tongue moved again, this time more deeply.

Breath and words caught in Amber's throat. The gliding caress along the sensitive inner side of her lips was as delicate as a butterfly's wing. If she hadn't been touching Duncan, she would have thought that he was as gentle as a butterfly, too.

But she was touching him. She felt the banked heat of his fiery hunger. The contrast between his actions and his intense need should have frightened her.

Instead, it beguiled her as no caress could have.

“Truly I am safe with you,” Amber whispered.

“Always, my golden witch. I would sooner cut off my own sword hand than harm you.”

When Duncan's arms eased around her. Amber made no move to withdraw. He lifted and settled her across his thighs with a slow movement that was also a caress, telling her that he was frankly savoring her warm weight in his lap.

“Open my mantle and put your hands inside” Duncan said softly.

Amber hesitated.

“Do you not want to share my warmth?” he asked.

“I'm afraid to.”

Duncan's eyelashes lowered. The sadness that went through him drew a low cry from Amber.

“You don't trust me,” he said. “What did I do to you in the past that you so fear me now? Did I force myself on you?”

“Nay,” she whispered.

Then she whispered it again and again, torn by his uncertainty and grief, the wound to his self-esteem that she did not believe his vow that she was safe with him. She couldn't bear to hurt him so. Unbidden, Amber's hands slid into the opening of Duncan's mantle. With a need she couldn't conceal, she fought through clothing until she could feel once more the living heat of his naked skin against her own. The small consummation drew a low cry from the back of her throat.

Baffled, Duncan looked at Amber's closed eyes and taut features as she experienced the textures of his body. When he realized that simply touching his naked skin was such a keen pleasure for her, he was both shaken and violently aroused.

“Amber?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “It is myself I fear, not you.”

She lowered her head against Duncan until her breath could bathe what her fingers were caressing.

“It is myself…”

Her whisper merged with the heat of her mouth against Duncan's throat. A current of fire ripped through him. The feel of Amber's tongue caressing his skin was so sweet and unexpected that it made him groan.

“Every touch I give you, even the least…” Amber whispered.

Her tongue stroked Duncan as delicately as a cat's. His whole body tightened in response.

“See?” she whispered. “I touch you and you burn. I feel you burning and I burn as well. Then I touch you again and the flames leap higher.”

“By God's holy blood,” Duncan said hoarsely, finally understanding the source of Amber's fear. “You want me as much as I want you.”

Her smile was bittersweet. She let out a ragged breath.

“Nay, Duncan. I want you more. Your desire and my own combined.”

“That's why you're afraid?”

“Yes. I fear… this.”

Again Amber touched Duncan's flesh with the tip of her tongue, savoring the taste and warmth of his body, the smooth texture, and most of all the rapid, heavy beating of his blood just beneath his skin.

“Don't fear it,” Duncan said, his voice low and almost rough. “Passion such as this is a gift from God.”

She laughed sadly.

“Is it? Is it a gift to see Paradise from afar, and know that you must never enter?”

One of Duncan's hands slid beneath Amber's cowl. His fingers eased into her loosely braided hair until he held her securely. A steady pressure of his palm turned her head up so that he could look into her golden eyes.

“We can taste Paradise without breaching its coral gates,” Duncan said.

“Is that possible?”

“Aye.”

“How?”

“Follow me. I'll show you.”

Duncan closed the scant distance between their mouths. Amber's lips parted at the touch of his tongue. She felt again the delicious sensation as he skimmed the inside of her lips.

Then the touch of his tongue became firmer, more insistent, prowling the edges of her mouth, seeking entry to the warm darkness just beyond his reach.

“What do you… ?” Amber began.

She never finished asking what Duncan wanted, for his tongue glided between her teeth, taking her words and giving her fire in return.

The rhythmic slide and retreat and return of his tongue made fire lick unexpectedly through her body. Yet almost as soon as the heat bloomed within her, it faded, for the firm, provocative warmth of his tongue had been withdrawn.

The small sound that escaped Amber's throat flicked Duncan like a whip. The eager searching of her tongue for his was a stroke of pure flame in his loins. He laughed low in his chest and tightened his arms, drawing her even closer to the part of him that burned most hotly.

“Is this what you seek?” Duncan asked.

His tongue surged between Amber's teeth even as he rocked her hips against his. Her answering hunger made his head spin. She uttered a low sound and pressed even closer to the hot pleasures of his body. When he would have moved to bank the wild flames rising between them, her arms wrapped around his neck and her tongue sought his in a sensual duel that neither could lose.

Without releasing her mouth, Duncan lifted Amber and eased her down into the grass. Beneath her mantle, one of his hands tugged laces free. Suddenly he turned his head just enough so that his teeth could catch her lips in a series of gentle, burning bites.

A honeyed fire burst within Amber, dragging a moan from her. Duncan's teeth tenderly stinging her neck sent more heat through her flushed skin. When she felt him pulling her arms from around his neck, she protested.

“I know we must stop,” Amber said, “but not yet.”

“No, not yet,” Duncan agreed. “We have much farther to go before we turn back at the final gate.”

His mouth closed over hers once more. Gently, steadily, while his tongue teased and tormented her with promises of Paradise, he pulled her arms away from his neck and pressed them against her own body.

Amber didn't realize what Duncan wanted until she felt cool air wash over her breasts. Her mantle had been pushed to either side of her body, she was bare to the waist, and her arms were bound against her hips by half-shed clothing.

Duncan was no longer touching her. He was simply looking at her with eyes that blazed. She was beautifully formed, neither too full nor too small, warm and taut, with nipples the pink of wild rosebuds. He ached to hold each bud in his mouth, to caress it with his tongue, to test the creamy softness of her breasts with his teeth.

Between her breasts golden light pooled, caught within timeless amber. The pendant shimmered and rippled with radiance as though it were infused with Amber's very life.

He touched the pendant in silent greeting. Then he lifted his fingers and simply looked at the beauty that had lain hidden beneath heavy folds of clothing.

“Duncan?” Amber whispered.

She looked into his eyes and trembled at what she saw.

“Are you cold?” Duncan asked, seeing her shiver.

Amber trembled again, for his voice was like the rasp of a cat's tongue. She tried to answer his question, but her mouth was dry and her heart was beating frantically. Without Duncan's touch pouring his hunger into her, her own desire was being quenched by unease.

“Dinna worry, golden witch,” Duncan said thickly, bending down to Amber. “I will warm you.”

The searing heat of Duncan's hands and mouth on her breasts was both unexpected and fiercely arousing to Amber. As he kissed first one pink tip and then the other, they hardened magically. His mustache caressed the sensitive flesh while his tongue licked slowly, hotly.

Fire lanced through the center of Amber's body, setting aflame places that had been secret even from her.

Until Duncan touched her and she burned. When he finally lifted his head, the breeze found Amber's heated skin. He smiled to see her nipples tighten even more. His fingertips closed over the flushed pink tips of her breasts. He rolled the velvet flesh lightly, pressed sensuously. When heat bloomed just beneath her creamy skin, he felt as though he were being stretched upon a rack of fire.