Forbidden (21 page)

“Nay. 'Tis inevitable.”

“We can't,” she whispered, understanding what he intended. “Can we?”

“We must. We will. Watch me as I watched you. Learn how much I cherish you.”

Slowly Duncan slid down Amber's body, turning his face from side to side, caressing her with his lips and his words.

“Take me to the place where there are no shadows, only fire,” he said. “Give me the flower that blooms more beautifully each time.”

Amber had no defenses against Duncan's aching need. Nor did he. It was a passion more complex than any he had ever felt. It was an emotion whose name he did not know, for he had never guessed such a feeling existed.

It was thirst in the midst of sweet water, need in the midst of plenty, hunger in the midst of a feast.

He could not get close enough to her.

Tears filled Amber's eyes and overflowed onto her cheeks. Never had she thought to be cherished so sweetly, tiny kisses and secret tastes, his breath warm against her breasts, her navel, her thighs.

Then Duncan's mouth discovered her, tasted her, circled the bud that was the burning center of her passion. The unexpected caress was like lightning transfixing her, startling a cry from the back of her throat.

“Precious Amber,” Duncan said, shivering with a torrent of desire. “I swear I can feel your passion like lightning transfixing you.”

Delicately he caught her tender bud between his teeth. She cried out his name with each slow movement of his tongue. Then she could speak no more for she had no breath, she was splintering, crying, dying, consumed by an ecstasy that had no beginning and no end.

In the midst of fire he came to her, and they burned together in a place where there were no shades of darkness, only fire.

Amber looked out upon the great hall. There were still many serfs, freeholders, and villeins standing about. Only a few of them had expressions that suggested they were still waiting for their seneschal's attention.

“Are you finished, my lord?” Amber asked.

She had left Duncan long enough to translate a particularly difficult fragment of a manuscript so that Cassandra would have it when she returned from the north. But as soon as the translation was done, she had sought out Duncan.

When Amber wasn't with him, she felt uneasy, as though he would somehow be taken from her without warning.

“Come sit beside me,” Duncan said, holding out his hand. “I'll be finished soon.”

The instant Duncan touched Amber, she sensed some of the tension leave both of them. At the moment, his memories weren't stirring. He was concentrating only on the present and his duties as Erik's seneschal.

While Amber sat beside Duncan on the raised dais in the great hall, he listened to complaints, resolved them, and listened again. As he listened, he caressed her hand, recalling for both of them the pleasure and peace they had found in the hours before dawn, when their interlocked bodies had defeated the memories which stalked Duncan like a pack of wolves.

“Has it been a tedious morning?” Amber murmured.

“I have come to believe that all pigs should be hamstrung,” Duncan muttered as the next vassals stepped forward.

Amber saw who the petitioners were and hid her smile.

“Ethelrod must have let his pig root about in the Widow Mary's garden again” Amber said.

“Does it happen often?” Duncan asked.

“As often as Ethelrod and the widow lie with each other.”

Duncan gave Amber a sideways glance.

'The pig is quite fond of Ethelrod, you see," Amber said in a voice that carried no farther than her husband.

“No, I don't see,” Duncan muttered.

“The pig follows Ethelrod like a faithful hound.”

Duncan's smile was a white flash beneath his mustache.

“I begin to comprehend,” he said. “Does Ethelrod have an enclosure stout enough to hold a pig?”

“No. Nor can he afford one. He is but a serf.”

“Do they wish to marry?”

“The widow is a freeholder. If they marry, any children they have would be serfs.”

Frowning, Duncan watched the couple who stood so uneasily in front of their new seneschal.

“Does Erik lack for serfs?” Duncan asked very softly.

“Nay. He is a strict lord, but not harsh,” Amber said. “No one flees his service.”

“Has Ethelrod been a faithful vassal?”

“Aye. He has never shirked.”

“How is he thought of by the people of the keep?” Duncan asked.

“They bring their problems to him sooner than they bring them to the priest or to the lord of the keep.”

Duncan kept Amber's hand within his as he turned back to address the couple standing in front of him.

“Widow Mary,” Duncan said. “Other than Ethelrod's status as serf, have you any objection to him as a husband?”

The woman was so startled by die question, it took her a moment to answer.

“Nay, lord. He be a hard worker and a kind man to those as is weaker. But…”

“But?” Duncan said encouragingly. “Speak woman.”

'That pig of his will nae see the inside of my cottage save it enter on a roasting spit!"

The vassals who had remained to watch their new seneschal at work laughed. The running battle between the widow and the pig was a source of much amusement at the keep.

Smiling, Duncan switched his hazel glance to the serf who stood uneasily in the great hall, his cap in his gnarled hands and his ill-shod feet flat as a cart bottom.

“Ethelrod, have you any objection to the widow as a wife?” Duncan asked.

Red crept up the man's bearded cheeks to his weathered forehead.

“Nay,'s-sir,” he stuttered. “She be a f-fine lass.”

“Then the solution to the problem of the pig becomes clear,” Duncan said. “The day you wed Widow Mary, you will no longer be a serf.”

Ethelrod was too stunned to do more than open and close his mouth.

“Sir Erik's present to you on your wedding day,” Duncan continued, “will be enough wood to build a stout swine pen.”

A shout compounded of laughter, approval, and celebration went up in the great hall. In less than a fortnight, the vassals had come to fully approve the keep's seneschal.

Before the commotion had settled, Duncan stood up, drawing Amber with him.

“Come and ride with me,” he said “I find I enjoy your knowledge of the keep and its vassals as much as I need it.”

“Where shall we ride this time?”

“Where we have ridden every day since we wed,” Duncan said, nodding to the vassals as they cleared a way for him through their ranks.

“The southern trail through Wild Rose hamlet and the fields to the forest,” Amber said, smiling. “ Tis my favorite ride. Wild Rose creek sounds like laughter.”

Only two horses waited out in the bailey. There were so few fighting men left at Stone Ring Keep that Duncan refused to put them to work as an unneeded escort when he and Amber rode out over the keep's land. No outlaws had been seen or heard within half a day's ride of the keep since one of their kind had been hanged by Erik.

Duncan lifted Amber onto her horse, then mounted his own. As always after settling into the saddle, he checked the position of his sword and that of the hammer. To Duncan, the gestures were as natural as breathing.

Side by side, the two horses clattered through the bailey and thumped over the stout wooden drawbridge. As they rode. Amber answered questions concerning the history of the various fields, who tilled them and how well, who was freeholder and who was serf, who was well and who was ill.

“I don't think you ride out along this path to hear the creek,” Amber said finally as they rode into the forest.

“I ride out to have you teach me about the keep.” “And Hawk Hill, which lies close to our way, is a good viewpoint to look out upon the keep's land,” she said. Duncan nodded.

“You will make Erik a fine seneschal.”

“I would make him a better warrior.”

“He doesn't doubt your mettle,” Amber said.

“Then why won't he use me at Winterlance, where Norsemen are rumored to be thick as summer grass in the fields?” Duncan asked angrily.

“You are more valuable to him here. Only Saturday last, one of his cousins was sniffing about the vassals, testing their will.”

Duncan grunted.

“By now,” Amber said, “Erik's cousins know that Stone Ring Keep has a new seneschal who is much respected by the vassals.”

When Duncan didn't answer. Amber looked at him unhappily. He was glancing around with narrowed eyes, as though searching for something.

And his hand lay on his sword hilt.

“Duncan? Is something amiss?”

He started and looked toward Amber. Her heart stopped, then quickened fiercely.

For an instant he hadn't known her.

Duncan looked down at his partially drawn sword and then over his shoulder. Behind them, fanning out from the point where cart path and forest merged, the keep's fields lay darkly beneath a peaceful sky.

Beyond the fields, clouds lay against the fells like languid harem girls awaiting their lord's pleasure. Over all poured the sun, its rich golden light a healing benediction.

Turning in the saddle, Duncan looked ahead. The lord's forest still wore an autumnal blaze of yellow and red and orange. Frost-killed weeds clung in brittle disarray to rocks and fallen limbs. Leaves dried by three windy, rainless days swirled around the horses' fetlocks as they walked side by side along the cart road.

When Duncan showed no sign of answering her question. Amber braced herself in the stirrups and leaned toward him. Fingers that trembled slightly closed over the wrist of his sword hand.

Nothing came to Amber through the touch but the savage conflict within Duncan's mind.

“Do you know me?” Amber asked, her voice urgent.

Duncan's eyes focused on her and he laughed in surprise. He picked up her hand and kissed her palm.

“I know you as well as I know my own heart,” he said.

“But a moment ago you looked at me as though I were a stranger!”

Amusement faded from Duncan's eyes, leaving only the shadows that haunted him relentlessly.

“A moment ago,” he said, “I was lost in shades of darkness.”

Amber made an unhappy sound.

“Part of me constantly cries danger,” Duncan added grimly. “Part of me constantly scoffs. I feel like a haunch being gnawed by two wolves.”

He laced Amber's fingers between his. For a time they rode slowly, side by side, talking little, letting the brilliant colors of autumn brighten all shadows.

Duncan and Amber were still holding hands when a weighted net sailed out of the forest and wrapped around the Scots Hammer.

Instantly Duncan fought to free his sword hand, but only succeeded in tangling himself more tightly within the net's coils. Crying Duncan's name. Amber pulled out her dagger and leaned toward him.

Before she could slash at the net, a man appeared beside her and grabbed her wrist. The hatred that poured through the contact was more painful than anything she had ever felt. Amber gave a horrifying cry and fell senseless to the ground. Nor did she move again, even when Duncan called her name.

Duncan went mad.

He clawed at the net, ripping its tough fibers as though they were straw.

“Now!” cried the man who had grabbed Amber.

Two more men ran from the forest. One of them seized Duncan's left foot and heaved upward, sending him tumbling to the ground.

All three men jumped on their captive, trying to subdue him. Though one of the men was as big as Duncan, and the others hardly smaller, Duncan had a berserker's strength.

“Simon, grab his other arm!” Dominic said harshly.

“I'm trying!” Simon retorted through his teeth.

“God's blood,” Sven said, “he's strong as an ox.”

“Duncan!” Meg called. “Duncan! You're safe! Don't you remember us?”

For an instant Duncan hesitated, caught between past and present, held by a half-remembered voice.

An instant was all that Dominic required. His thumbs dug savagely on either side of Duncan's neck. The Scots Hammer kicked once, then fought no more.

When Dominic lifted his hands again, Duncan lay as senseless as Amber. Simon wasted no time in removing the net while Sven bound hands and feet as they became untangled.

“It is done,” Sven said. “Even a white bear couldn't break free of these bonds.”

“Take his feet,” Dominic said to Simon. “And remember—we ask questions of him, but offer no answers of our own beyond our friendship and his bewitchment.”

Simon bent and grabbed Duncan's feet.

“I still think,” Simon muttered, “we should just tell him and be done with the mummery.”

“Aye, but Meg said otherwise, and she is the healer.”

“God's teeth,” hissed Simon.

“And Hell's, too,” Dominic agreed.

Together, Dominic and Simon heaved Duncan facedown over his horse's back. Walking on either side, they quickly vanished into the forest. Sven bent, scooped up Amber, and followed at a trot.

Meg caught the remaining horse's reins and led it to the rough, hidden camp Dominic had made while he waited for the best moment to grab Duncan. With each movement Meg made, the tiny golden bells she wore at her wrists and waist chimed sweetly.

While Sven tied the horses, Meg went to where Duncan was lying motionless on the ground. As she knelt, Dominic came to stand nearby.

Only Simon noted that Dominic's hand was on his sword.

Meg put her palm on Duncan's chest. His heart beat steadily. His skin was warm. His breathing was even. She let out a sigh of relief and removed her hand.

“That was a nasty Saracen trick, husband.”

“Better than the butt of an axe handle,” Dominic said bluntly. “Duncan is dazed, that's all.”

“His neck will be bruised.”

“He is fortunate to still have his precious neck,” Dominic retorted.

Meg didn't argue. It was the simple truth.

“Dominic is the only lord I know,” Simon said, “who wouldn't have hanged Duncan out of hand as a traitor.”

With a muted chiming of bells, Meg stood and touched her husband's cheek.

“I know,” she said proudly. “That is why you are the Glendruid Wolf. You are strong enough not to kill.”

Dominic smiled and covered his wife's hand with his own.

“You had better see to the witch,” Sven said as he threw a blanket over Amber. “She's pale and cold as frost.”

Bells sang softly as Meg hurried to Amber, knelt, and touched her. Amber's skin was indeed cold. Her breathing was erratic, too shallow. Her heartbeat was too rapid.

Frowning, Meg turned to Simon.

“What did you do to her?” she asked.

“I grabbed her wrist.”

“Harshly enough to break bones?” Meg asked.

“No, though I wouldn't weep if I had,” Simon said. “The hell-witch deserves worse than a few broken bones for what she did to Duncan.”

“I saw it, lady,” Sven said to Meg. “He barely touched the girl, yet she screamed like a soul feeling the fires of hell for the first time.”

Meg tilted her head in the manner of someone listening to a distant sound.

“It fits,” she said finally.

Meg flicked a corner of the blanket back. Amber's wrists were tied neatly together in front of her.

“ Tis said that anyone's touch is painful to her,” Sven added.

“Aye,” Meg said.

Her fingers stopped short of Amber's wrists. There were no obvious marks of bruising, no sign of swelling. Nor was there any other injury visible on her body.

Yet Amber lay senseless, her skin cold to the touch, her heartbeat too rapid, her breathing too light.

After pulling Amber's mantle and the blanket more closely around her, Meg stood and went to check on Duncan again. When she would have knelt beside him, Dominic's hand shot out. He pulled her aside, putting her behind his broad back.

Now Meg was well beyond Duncan's reach, even if he were free to seize her.

“Leave Duncan be,” Dominic said. “He is like a stranger. He knows us not.”

“He knew me,” Meg said.

“Did he?” Simon muttered. “Or was he simply surprised to hear a woman's voice?”

“Ask him,” Dominic said curtly. “He is only pretending to sleep now.”

As Dominic spoke, he watched the knight who had sworn fealty to him… the knight who now watched Dominic with the eyes of a man half mad with hatred.

“What have you done to Amber?” Duncan snarled.

“Naught but pull her from her horse,” Dominic said.

“You touched her?”

Dominic shrugged. “I? No. Simon did. Most gently, if you think on the circumstances.”

“Let me see her!”

“No,” Dominic said distinctly. “I think you have seen far too much of your leman.”

“She is my wife!”

A stillness came over Dominic. “Is she? Since when?”

“Twelve days.”

Muscles bunched and strained visibly as Duncan fought his bonds.

With outward calm Dominic waited until Duncan was panting, sweating, and convinced that he was well and truly bound.

“I must be with Amber,” Duncan said urgently. “She is not like others. A stranger's touch can be a sword cutting her. Whether you meant to or not, you have sorely hurt her. Let me go to her.”

Dominic sensed Meg's movement behind him. He countered it, keeping her from Duncan's view.

The half step Dominic took put him into full sunlight. He swept off his battle helm and looked down at Duncan. The clear, bright light heightened the contrast between Dominic's black hair and his crystalline gray eyes.

On the shoulder of Dominic's black mantle, the eyes of the Glendruid Wolf gleamed as though alive, infused with ancient wisdom.

“Do you know me?” Dominic asked.

Duncan's only answer was a feral snarl.

“You have been bewitched,” Dominic said. “We are your friends, yet you have no memory of us.”

A shudder coursed through Duncan.

“Nay, I was but ill,” he said hoarsely.

“Do you remember the time before you came to the Disputed Lands?” Dominic asked.

“No.”

“Do you know that man?” Dominic asked, pointing to Sven.

Duncan looked. A expression of strain came to his face as he tried to rip shadows aside to get at the truth beneath.

“I…” Duncan's voice faded to a hoarse whisper. “I have no memory.”

“Do you know this woman?”

Dominic stepped aside, leaving Meg alone in a shaft of sunlight. Her loosely bound hair blazed like fire. Her matchless eyes were an intense, burning green given only to Glendruid women.

Duncan made an odd sound.

“Don't you know me, Duncan?” Meg asked gently. “Once, we chased butterflies together.”

An agonized expression crossed Duncan's face. Memories glittered like moonlight on disturbed water.

“You taught me to ride,” Meg continued, her voice soft, relentless, “to hunt, and to cast the lure for a falcon. We were betrothed when I was but nine.”

Abruptly memory flowed together—a face, a name, a childhood stitched through with a girl's laughter.

“Meggie?” Duncan whispered.

A smile transformed Meg's face.

“Aye, Duncan. Meggie. Of all the people in Blackthorne Keep, only you call me that.”

The mention of Blackthorne Keep made shadows within Duncan swirl and churn. He turned and looked at Simon.

“You talked of Blackthorne Keep when we fought.”

“Aye. Tis how I defeated you,” Simon said.

“Blackthorne…”

A shudder tore through Duncan's powerful body. More fragments of memory touched and wove together.

“Lord John,” Duncan said, looking at Meg. “My… father?”

“Your father,” she agreed. 'Though he wasn't free to wed your mother."

Duncan made an odd sound. “Somehow I remembered that.”

“John?”

“Nay. Being a bastard.” Duncan closed his eyes. “Meggie, for the love of God, let me go to Amber.”

The naked plea in Duncan's voice made Meg's throat ache.

“Hold a dagger to Duncan's throat if you must,” she said to Dominic, “but let me see into his eyes.”

Without a word Dominic drew his battle dagger, knelt, and laid the blade across Duncan's throat.

“Be very still,” Dominic said calmly. “I value you, but I value my wife above all else.”

Duncan ignored the dagger, having attention only for the Glendruid woman who was kneeling close to him, attended by a muted murmuring of bells. Eyes the burning green of spring unleashed looked into Duncan's own eyes, seeing him in the uncanny way of Glendruid women.

For a long time there was silence but for the wind pulling bright autumn leaves from branches.

“Let Duncan go to her,” Meg said finally.

“Nay!” Simon said, his voice as fierce as his eyes. “Duncan was my friend and that hell-witch stole his mind!”

With a graceful motion, Meg stood and went to her brother-in-law. His fair hair gleamed like gold in the sun, but his eyes were slices of moonless night.

“Duncan is not bewitched,” Meg said.

Simon looked into the fathomless green of Glendruid eyes. Then he looked away to the girl who lay unmoving beneath a blanket.

“How can you say that? The hell-witch took his memory,” Simon said savagely. “ 'Tis as clear as day!”

“To practice the black arts thus would have left a mark on Duncan's soul that nothing save God could erase,” Meg said. “Duncan has no such mark.”

Simon looked back at Meg.

“Do you think,” she asked softly, “that I would knowingly set an enemy in our midst?”

“No.”

“Do you think I would put Dominic's life at risk in any way?”

“Nay,” Simon said. “Never.”

The certainty in his voice was reflected in his eyes. He knew to the depths of his soul that Meg loved his brother in a way Simon had never thought to see a woman love any man.

Meg saw Simon's faith in her and touched his cheek in brief thanks.

“Then believe me,” she whispered, “when I say that Duncan is not bewitched.”

“If it were anyone but you speaking…” Simon said, raking his fingers through his fair hair.

Meg waited.

With a resigned gesture, Simon turned away. “I'll bring the hell-witch to him myself.”

“Nay!” Duncan said violently. “Don't you understand? Your hatred wounds her.”

Simon looked at Meg.

“Duncan,” Meg said, “if we untie you, will you vow not to attack us?”

“As long as you don't further wound Amber, yes.”

Dominic put his hand on Meg's arm when she would have drawn her own dagger to cut Duncan free.

“Slowly, small falcon,” Dominic said. “We have had Duncan's word in the past and found it without value.”

When Duncan realized what Dominic was saying, he flushed with anger.

And then he turned pale.

“Am I forsworn?” Duncan asked starkly. “Do you know of any vow I have broken?”

Dominic saw the depth of Duncan's emotion and knew that whatever had happened since Duncan had come to the Disputed Lands, the Scots Hammer had not knowingly broken his word.

“Do you know me?” Dominic asked almost gently.

Duncan stared at the Glendruid Wolf as though sight alone could put together the elusive fragments of the past.

But it could not.

“I… should.” Duncan's voice was hoarse with effort. “I sense it, but…”

“You don't know me,” Dominic finished.

“No,” Duncan whispered.

“Then you are not forsworn,” Dominic said simply. “Cut his bonds, Meg. Duncan has given his word not to attack unless we harm the witch.”

Dagger in hand, Meg bent over the cords. No sooner had she cut through them than Duncan sprang to his feet and went to where Amber lay.

The coolness of her skin shocked an oath from him.

Hurriedly Duncan lay down beside Amber, lifted her slack body against his, and wrapped the blanket around both of them, trying to warm her flesh with his own.

“Precious Amber,” he whispered. “What has happened to you?”

There was no answer.

The Scots Hammer bent his head, hiding his face in the unbound gold of Amber's hair.

“I did but pull her from her horse,” Simon said, baffled. “I swear it.”

“It isn't your fault,” Meg said. “Whether Learned or Glendruid, a gift is also a curse.”

“I suspect that Amber's is more curse than gift,” Dominic said in a low voice.

“Are you saying that my touch alone did that to her?” Simon asked, appalled.

“Your touch told her of your hatred,” Meg said. “You have little trust in women, especially those with gifts.”

Simon didn't deny it. “I make an exception for you, Meg.”

“I know. I have seen it in you.”

“Are you smiling lovingly at my brother?” Dominic asked Meg in an ambiguous tone.

Simon gave Dominic a sideways, wary glance.

Meg laughed softly.

“Of all men who walk the land,” she said, “you have the least cause to be jealous.”

“Aye. But Simon is a handsome devil.”