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Erik knew I wanted you… dawn after a lifetime of night.

The thought of being wanted like that again swept through Duncan. All that held him in check was his fear of hurting rather than arousing Amber with his touch. He wanted her hungry, not beaten, as wild for the joining of their bodies as he was.

A wave of heat burst through Duncan as he remembered what if was like to thrust into Amber, feeling her body close around him, holding him with tight, sultry perfection.

Breathing a word that was prayer and curse at once, Duncan speared his hand into Amber's hair until her scalp lay warm against his palm. The burning focus of his mind was desire. The corrosive shadows he held at bay served only to make the fire even hotter by contrast.

Amber awoke into a torrent of passion. She needed no candlelight to tell her who was lying next to her, his body hot and hard, his need too great to be described in words.

“Duncan. My God, your hunger…”

She tried to breathe, to talk, but all she could do was shiver as her own body changed to meet his with the speed of a falcon leaping into the sky.

“You tremble,” Duncan said roughly. “Pain or desire?”

She couldn't speak for the waves of his desire breaking over her. Then his hand swept down her body, seeking answers in another, surer way.

The sultry riches that greeted him nearly drove him over the edge.

He moved over her with catlike swiftness, opening her legs and thrusting into her even as she arched up to him. The hot perfection of the joining undid him. With a raw cry of completion, he poured himself into her.

But it wasn't enough.

He wanted to fuse their bodies together, wanted the fire to burn forever, wanted…

Amber.

Duncan lowered his mouth to hers and began to move again, driving into her, joining with her in the only way he would permit himself, burning with her in the heart of his fire.

And when neither could bum any longer, they slept in the ashes of their shared passion.

Their nightmares were also shared, a thousand cold shades of darkness and betrayal, vows that could not be kept without forswearing other vows, rage at what could not be undone, a primal hunger for all that could not be.

Slowly Amber withdrew until she no longer touched her sleeping husband. Eyes open, staring at the darkness. Amber drank to the last bitter drop the knowledge of what she had done to him and to herself.

The Glendruid Wolf had truly seen into Duncan's soul. Beyond all doubt, beyond all temptation, Duncan was a man of his word. And his word had been given to Dominic le Sabre.

Amber knew it now.

Too late.

If Duncan lets himself love me, he cannot permit our marriage to be set aside. He must turn his back on honor and on Dominic le Sabre.

Duncan of Maxwell, the Forsworn.

If he turns his back on honor, he will hate himself.

And me.

Twelve days later, Cassandra entered the luxurious room that served as Amber's prison.

Amber looked up from the manuscript she had been trying to decipher. Trying, and failing. Her mind was on one thing and one thing only.

Duncan.

“Ariane is here,” Cassandra said bluntly. “Duncan requires your presence in the solar.”

For a moment Amber became as still as death. Then she let out a long, soundless breath and looked around the luxurious bedchamber with eyes that saw only a thousand shades of darkness.

“Simon brought a Norman priest along with the Norman heiress,” Cassandra continued. “There is no doubt that your marriage will be set aside.”

Amber said nothing.

“What will you do?” Cassandra asked.

“What I must.”

“Do you still hope that Duncan will allow himself to love you?”

“No.”

But the flare of emotion in Amber's eyes said yes.

“Does he still come to you in the darkest part of the night, when he can bear his own hunger no longer?” Cassandra asked.

“Yes.”

“And when the hunger is spent?”

“Then comes anger at himself and at me and at the lies and vows that have trapped both of us. Then he doesn't touch me again. It hurts too much.”

“At least he has that much tenderness for you.”

Amber's smile was worse than any cry of pain would have been.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Though he doesn't know it, my pain hurts him, too.”

“You still hope he will someday come to love you?”

Long lashes swept down, concealing Amber's eyes.

“Each time we touch,” she whispered, “there is more torment beneath the passion, more darkness. Surely where so much emotion is, there is also a chance…”

“You will stay as long as you have hope,” Cassandra said.

Amber nodded.

“And then?” Cassandra asked. “What will you do when hope is gone and only a thousand shades of darkness remain?”

There was no answer.

“May I see your pendant?” the Learned woman asked.

Amber looked startled. After a moment of hesitation, she reached inside her robe to pull out the ancient pendant.

Transparent, precious, golden, it hung from the glittering chain. Yet for all its beauty, the amber had changed in ways so subtle that only a Learned person would see… darkness drawing a veil over light.

Cassandra touched the pendant with a fingertip that displayed a very fine trembling despite her best efforts at concealing the grief that raged beneath her Learned calm.

“You know that Duncan is destroying you,” the older woman said.

Silence was Amber's only answer.

“Drop by drop, bleeding in secret,” Cassandra whispered, “until there will be nothing left of light and life in you, only darkness.”

Again Amber said nothing.

“It is destroying Duncan as well,” Cassandra said flatly.

Only then did Amber cry out, denial and pain and the same rage that Duncan knew. For she was trapped with him, and each day was another shade of darkness wrapped around them. Day after day, until there would be nothing left of light and life.

Only darkness.

“He must not set you aside,” Cassandra said fiercely. “I have never wished death on anyone, but I wish death to the Norman bitch who—”

“Nay!” Amber said sharply. “Don't drag your soul into darkness over something I have done. You taught me to make choices and to live with those choices.”

“Or die.”

“Or die,” Amber agreed. “In any case, if it were not this heiress, then it would be another. We can't be slaughtering hapless maids, can we?”

Cassandra's laugh was as sad as her eyes.

“No,” agreed the Learned woman. “There aren't enough rich maids in the world to slay before your thick-skulled lord will awaken to the riches that lie within his grasp.”

Not touching, yet close in every other way, the Learned woman and her chosen daughter went down to the lord's solar. The sight that greeted them was illuminated by hearth, torches, and the misty Fight pouring through the solar's high window.

Duncan sat in the chair of riven oak. Simon was carving a cold joint of meat with his dagger and deftly piling the thin slices on a silver plate.

At first Amber thought no one else was in the room. Only when Duncan spoke did she realize that Simon was slicing up food not for himself, but for another.

“Lady Ariane” Duncan said, rising from the lord's chair, “I would like you to meet my weapon, a witch called Amber.”

A woman dressed in a gown of black wool turned around. In her hands was a small harp.

At first Amber thought Ariane was wearing a cowl of darkly shining black cloth embroidered with silver and violet threads. Then Amber realized that the cowl was Ariane's hair, thickly plaited and coiled. Silver ornaments gleamed in the midnight blackness, and amethysts glittered almost secretly with Ariane's smallest movement.

“Go to her. Amber,” Duncan said.

For a moment Amber couldn't force herself to move. Then her feet obeyed the commands of her mind rather than her heart. She walked up to the Norman heiress.

“Lady Ariane,” she said, nodding.

For an instant, curiosity animated eyes that were as richly violet as the gems woven into Ariane's hair. Then the woman's thick black eyelashes swept down.

When her eyes opened again it was as though a door had closed. Nothing of curiosity or any other emotion remained. The heiress's eyes were as cold and remote as the amethysts she wore.

“A pleasure,” Ariane said.

Her voice was cool, her words accented by her birth in Normandy. She made no offer to touch Amber in any way, even the most trivial brush of fingers in greeting.

Amber suspected it was Ariane's nature, rather than any special warning on Duncan's part about touching Amber, that kept the Norman aloof.

“You have had a long journey,” Amber said.

“A chattel goes where it is bidden.” Ariane shrugged gracefully and set the harp aside.

Chill fingers caressed Amber's spine. It was obvious that Ariane no more wanted the forthcoming marriage to Duncan than Amber did.

“Now you see why I require you,” Duncan said sardonically. “My betrothed's enthusiasm for the match reminds me that her father considers Saxons his enemy. God—or more likely the Devil—knows what Baron Deguerre thinks of Scots.”

Ariane neither moved nor spoke in response to Duncan. Within the pale perfection of her face, her eyes were the only thing alive; and they were alive only as a gem is alive, reflecting light rather than having light of their own.

“It reminded me of Dominic's marriage,” Duncan added.

Simon sliced through another bit of roast with a single swift stroke.

“Aye,” Simon said. “John gave his daughter as an act of vengeance rather than as a true joining of clans.”

“Exactly,” Duncan retorted. “I have no wish to wake up and find myself wed to a maid who can't give me heirs.”

Amber sensed the involuntary shrinking that went through the heiress who sat so still amid her splendor of rich black clothes and extraordinary jewelry.

Cassandra also sensed the Norman woman's inner flinching. She looked at Ariane with true interest for the first time.

Simon put a plate of meats, cheeses, and spiced fruits in front of Ariane. When his hand brushed her sleeve, she started and looked at him with the wildness of a trapped animal in her amethyst eyes.

“Ale?” he asked calmly.

“No. Thank you.”

Ignoring Ariane's refusal, Simon put a mug of gently seething ale in front of her.

“You're too frail,” he said bluntly. “Eat.”

Simon stepped back, no longer leaning over Ariane. She let out a ragged breath. When she reached for a sliver of meat, her hand trembled.

Impassively, Simon watched until Ariane chewed, swallowed, and reached for a bit of cheese. When she began eating that as well, he looked at Duncan.

“Lady Ariane needs rest,” Simon said. “We rode without pausing during the day. Nights were little better. After Carlysle, there was no shelter from the storms.”

“I won't keep her long,” Duncan said. He looked at Amber. “Take her hand, witch.”

Amber had known this was coming since she had heard Duncan's fears about heirs. Knowing, she had prepared herself. Her hand was steady when she held it out to Ariane.

The Norman girl's expression said quite clearly that she disliked being touched by anyone. She glanced at Duncan, saw no comfort, and took Amber's hand.

Despite Amber's preparation, the chaos of terror, humiliation, and betrayal that lay at Ariane's core nearly brought Amber to her knees.

Ariane was a woman of great passion, and all of it was dark.

“Lady Ariane,” Duncan said, “are you sterile?”

“No.”                     .

“Will you accept your duty as my wife?”

“Yes.”

Amber swayed, fighting the savage emotions that lay beneath the Norman girl's rigid control.

“Amber?” Duncan said.

She didn't hear. All she could hear was the vast scream of betrayal that filled Ariane's core.

“Amber.” Duncan's voice was sharp.

“She is—telling the truth,” Amber said raggedly.

Then she let go of Ariane's hand, for she could no longer bear the grief and fury that filled Ariane's soul.

It was too like Duncan's.

“Daughter, are you all right?” asked Cassandra.

“What she feels is—bearable.”

Ariane looked at Amber with dawning outrage.

“You know,” Ariane said tightly. “You know. Cursed witch, who gives you the right to harrow my soul?”

“Silence,” Cassandra said savagely.

She walked swiftly to the two women, her scarlet robes burning vividly against the black of Ariane's clothes and the gold of Amber's.

“All that has been harrowed is Amber,” Cassandra said. “Look at her and know that whatever black fires burn you in secret have also burned her.”

Ariane went white.

“Know also that whatever your secret is,” the Learned woman continued, “it is secret still. Amber touches emotions, not facts.”

Silence stretched while Ariane gazed at Amber, seeing the pallor of her face and the strained line of her mouth.

“Emotions only?” Ariane whispered.

Amber nodded.

“Tell me,” the Norman woman said. “What do I feel?”

“You can't be serious.”

“Nay. I thought I no longer had feelings. What do I feel?”

It was the tone of simple curiosity that jarred Amber into replying.

“Fury,” Amber whispered. “A scream never voiced. A betrayal so deep it all but killed your soul.”

Silence stretched and stretched.

Then Ariane turned to Duncan with contempt flashing in her narrowed eyes.

“You have forced me to share what I have hidden even from myself,” she said. “You have forced her to endure what she never earned.”

“I have a right to know the truth of our betrothal” Duncan said.

Ariane made a cutting gesture with one hand.

“You have diminished my honor and the honor of the one you call your 'weapon' ” she said tersely.

Duncan's open hand slammed down on the arm of the chair.

“I have been betrayed by those I trusted,” he said in a clipped voice. “This is my way of being certain it doesn't happen again.”

“Betrayed,” Ariane repeated tonelessly.

“Aye.”

“We have that in common.” She shrugged. “But is it enough for marriage?”

“We have no choice but to marry.”

Duncan leaned forward, his eyes hard as stones.

“Will you be a faithful wife,” he asked coldly, “loyal to your husband rather than to your Norman father?”

Ariane studied Duncan's fierce expression for a long moment before she turned to Amber.

And held out her hand.

“Yes,” Ariane said.

“Yes,” Amber echoed.

“Will that change if I take Amber as my leman, living in my keep and sharing my bed whenever I wish it?”

Amber's Learned discipline shattered. Even as Ariane's relief and hope soared. Amber's emotions all but overwhelmed the truth of what she was learning by touch.

“Not at all,” Ariane said clearly. “I would welcome it.”

Duncan looked surprised.

“I will do my duty,” Ariane said in her cool voice, “but I am repelled by the prospect of the marriage bed.”

“Does your heart belong to another?” Duncan asked.

“I have no heart.”

Dark brown eyebrows lifted, but Duncan said .only, “Amber?”

Silence was Amber's answer. She was too busy trying to control her own seething emotions to speak.

Leman.

Whore.

Day after day, darkness condensing, destroying…

Everything.

“Well, witch?” Duncan asked.

Amber forced air into her rigid body.

“She tells the truth,” Amber said hoarsely. “All of it.”

Duncan settled back with a curt nod and an expression that was as bleak as winter itself.

“Then it is done,” he said. “We will be married on the morrow.”

As though in answer, a wolf's savage howl echoed from just beyond the keep's wall.

Amber and Cassandra spun toward the sound.

Even as they turned, another cry came, the scream of an outraged peregrine. Before the cry had faded, Erik walked into the great hall. He was alone but for the sword sheathed at his side. Beneath his long crimson cape he wore chain mail. A battle helm hid all but his dark gold beard.

Duncan came to his feet in a fierce movement. With one hand he swept up his battle helm from the, back of the chair. The hammer that was never far from his reach appeared in his other hand. Smoothly he put the helm on.

Like Erik, Duncan now was dressed from head to feet in links of steel.

“Greetings, Duncan of Maxwell” Erik said gently. “How is your wife?”

“I have no true wife.”

“Does the Church agree?”

“Aye,” Dominic said from the doorway behind Erik.

Erik didn't turn around. He watched Duncan with the unflinching stare of a falcon.

“Is it done, then?” Erik asked.

The gentleness of his voice made Amber long to scream a warning to everyone within the room.

“I have only to fix my seal to the document,” Dominic said.

Again Erik didn't look away from Duncan.