“You are more beautiful than I have words to tell you,” Duncan whispered.
“Then touch me and I shall know.”
“Aye. And so shall I.”
As Duncan spoke, his hand moved and a long finger slid smoothly, deeply, inside Amber, testing the truth of her desire. She stiffened and whimpered as though he had taken a whip to her.
But it was pleasure rather than pain Duncan had called from Amber, and he knew it as surely as she did. A delicious heat welled up around his caressing finger and spilled into his palm.
Her desire, her response, her need.
Hers, not his.
Duncan made a hoarse sound of hunger and relief. Slowly he withdrew from Amber’s willing body.
“No,” she said. “Duncan, I—”
Her voice broke as he traced the soft petals that were no longer concealed by golden curls. She had opened for him like a flower, and like a flower she was beautiful to him. The scent and textures of her desire enthralled him. He probed again, and again knew the liquid fire of her response.
Then Duncan’s touch was gone and Amber was alone, drawn on a rack of unfulfilled desire. She cried out in protest.
“Patience,” he said in a low voice. “I want to be as naked as you.”
But Duncan’s hands showed little patience as they stripped away his remaining clothes, watched by eyes as yellow as flames.
Amber’s eyes widened as he turned back to her. He was fully aroused, overwhelmingly male, and his powerful body gleamed with hunger for her.
“Amber?”
“Were you like this in the Stone Ring?” she asked faintly.
“Aye.”
She let out a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding.
“I see. Then we shall fit together very well this time, too.” Then Amber added beneath her breath, “Though I don’t see how.”
With a sound that could have been a laugh or a groan, Duncan lowered himself to the bed.
“I shall see to the fit,” he said. “’Tis a poor warrior who can’t slide a sword properly into its sheath.”
As Duncan settled between Amber’s legs, brushing against her, the heavy currents of his passion poured over her, making her tremble.
“Are you frightened?” he asked.
“Touch me and find out.”
Duncan reached down between their bodies, but it wasn’t his hand that parted the soft petals of Amber’s desire. The sleek heat that he discovered made his heartbeat double.
“You must tell me if I hurt you,” he said huskily.
The only response possible to Amber was an upwelling of heat, a bud of passion swelling until it burst. Liquid fire washed over him, telling him silently of her welcome.
Duncan let out a breath that was also a groan and eased into her a bit more.
Amber’s breath tore. The feel of her own body stretching to accept his presence was exquisitely exciting. The feel of Duncan’s harshly leashed passion was a sweet torment. He was taking her so slowly, as though to assure her and himself that there would be no pain in this joining.
“Am I hurting you?” Duncan asked as he pressed just a bit more deeply into Amber.
“Nay,” she said raggedly. “You are killing me so sweetly.”
“What?”
“Dear God,” she whispered.
Duncan felt the sensuous shivering deep within Amber, knew the hot rain of her passion licking over him, and fought not to lose control. Sweat gleamed from his forehead to his heels, yet he did not speed his slow claiming of her body by one whit.
Another delicate shudder took Amber, giving her to the dark warrior who was seducing her into a passion she hadn’t believed possible.
Yet even that wasn’t enough. She needed Duncan. All of him. And she needed him right now.
Heedlessly her nails dug into his hips, demanding a deeper joining.
“Do you want more of me?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, “yes and yes and yes. Duncan, please.”
He smiled darkly and pressed deeper.
Slowly.
A low moan was torn from Amber’s throat. Her hips moved in a seeking as old as Eve. The scent and silky fire of her passion caressed Duncan. He could not contain a single, burning pulse of response. She was so hot around him, so welcoming, so tight.
And he had not yet finished his claiming.
“Are you certain I’m not hurting you?” Duncan asked hoarsely.
A broken sound of pleasure was the only response Amber could make.
“Look at me,” he said.
Amber’s eyes opened slowly. They were golden, smoldering, almost wild. The sight of them drew another hot pulse from Duncan. She felt it as clearly as he did.
“Can you take more of me without pain?” Duncan asked.
“There is no pain when you lie within me, only pleasure.”
The husky whisper of Amber’s voice was as sweet to Duncan as the secret movements of her body and the heady scent of her passion, more exotic than sandalwood and myrrh.
“Lift your legs and wrap them about me,” he said in a low voice.
When Amber did, the pleasure heightened.
“Hold on to me,” Duncan said. “Hold tightly and hard.”
Amber started to ask why, but the feel of him slowly, completely, filling her body took away words, took away thought, took away everything but piercing ecstasy. With a shivering, broken cry, she gave herself to the pleasure of being fully joined with her dark warrior.
“Can you feel how much I want you now?” Duncan asked through clenched teeth.
“I can feel you within me. All of you.”
“Is there pain?”
“Nay. ’Tis a pleasure so intense it’s frightening. Your desire and mine together.”
Smiling rather fiercely, Duncan slowly began to withdraw from the silken depths he had taken with such excruciating care.
“Nay,” Amber said almost frantically. “I need you!”
“No more than I need you.”
Her breath broke as Duncan returned, sliding deeply into her, filling her once more. He repeated the movement with a restrained power that was all the more exciting because Amber so clearly knew the wildness of his desire.
A strange, fey shimmering spread out from their joined bodies. Amber’s eyes widened as she felt herself being consumed by a fire both tender and fierce. She began trembling helplessly.
“Duncan, I am coming undone. I cannot—”
Amber’s voice splintered. Her body convulsed delicately, repeatedly, and each motion served only to draw him more tightly to her, increasing the ravishing fire.
Duncan drank the rippling cry from Amber’s lips as her release washed over him, caressing him with each deep, hidden pulse of ecstasy. Every breath he took was infused with her passion.
For sweet, agonizing moments, Duncan held himself motionless above Amber as he savored the certainty of the pleasure he had given to her.
When he could bear no more, he began to move with increasing power. Every motion he made within her brought forth more silky pulses. Her face was taut, drawn with effort as she flew higher and higher, spurred by the potency of his body driving into her.
Suddenly Amber arched and shivered, transfixed by wild ecstasy. The rippling cry she gave was Duncan’s name. She clung to him with all her strength, for he was both the storm and the shelter surrounding her.
The sleek, primal heat of Amber tugged at Duncan, caressing him, promising him a pleasure greater than he had ever known. He felt control slipping away and fought against it, for he wanted to hang suspended forever between the certainty of her ecstasy and the anticipation of his own.
“You are perfect,” Duncan said hoarsely. “God help me, I want you more than I want anything, even my own memory.”
Then he could endure no more. With a groan of surrender, he let go his savage restraint and poured himself into the amber witch whose passionate depths matched his so completely.
15
; FULLY dressed for battle, Simon rode his huge war stallion up to Blackthorne Keep at a swift canter. On one side of him rode another knight in chain mail and battle helm. On Simon’s other side he led a dark brown stallion that was fully as big as his own mount.
The brown stallion was riderless, his saddle empty of all but a sheathed broadsword and a long, teardrop-shaped shield. On the shield was a drawing of a black wolf’s head, sign of Dominic le Sabre, the Glendruid Wolf.
All around horses and men swirled the cold, silent mists of autumn. The horses thundered over the lowered drawbridge that opened into Blackthorne Keep’s inner bailey. Moments later cobblestones rang beneath the three stallions’ steel-shod hooves.
A woman appeared at the forebuilding’s stairs, looking anxiously toward the bailey. When she saw the riderless stallion, she picked up her rich green skirts and raced down the steps. Her cowl slipped off, revealing hair as red as flame, and like flame, her hair lifted on the wind as she ran across the bailey.
Heedless of the danger of being trampled, she went right up to the horses. With each rapid motion of her body, the tiny golden bells she wore shivered and sang.
“Simon!” she cried. “Where is Duncan? What has happened? Why do you have his war-horse?”
Simon’s stallion half reared as his rider pulled hard on the reins.
“Stay back, Meg!” Simon commanded. “If one of the horses steps on you, Dominic will have my head.”
“I’ll have more than that,” said a voice from the direction of the gatehouse. “I’ll have your heart on a roasting spit.”
Simon turned and saw his brother striding across the cobblestones.
Dominic’s mantle was long, as black as his hair, and devoid of any decoration save the large silver pin that secured the heavy cloth. Nor was more decoration needed to proclaim Dominic’s status. The pin was solid silver, shaped like a wolf’s head, and had uncanny crystal eyes that looked out on the world with ancient knowledge.
Wolf of Glendruid, lost for a thousand years, then found and given to a warrior who was not of the Glendruid clan.
Dominic walked past the restive stallions until he could stand between them and his wife. Only when Meg was safe did Dominic turn and address Simon.
“Is Duncan alive?” Dominic asked bluntly.
“Yes.”
Meg closed her eyes and said a prayer of thanks as Dominic’s arm went around her. He pulled her close and murmured something against her hair. She moved closer still, accepting her husband’s support.
“Is Duncan injured?” Dominic asked.
“Yes. And no.”
Silver eyes narrowed as Dominic measured the suppressed emotion vibrating within Simon.
Eyes of Glendruid green also studied Simon, for Meg had sensed the hatred that seethed beneath his outward calm. She had not seen him like this since he had accused her of poisoning Dominic shortly after their marriage.
Dominic turned and looked at the second knight. His helm concealed his fair hair, but not the winter paleness of his eyes. A slight motion of Sven’s head confirmed what Dominic already suspected.
No more should be said about Duncan of Maxwell where all ears could overhear.
“Come into the solar,” Dominic said.
A gesture from Dominic sent several grooms hurrying across the bailey to take the horses. A word to one of the squires who hovered in the background sent the boy running to another quarter of the bailey to have food brought from the kitchen.
No one spoke again until the privacy of the lord’s solar was reached. After mist-drenched mantles were removed and hung to dry, Dominic turned to his brother.
“Tell me how it goes with Duncan.”
“He has been bewitched,” Simon said flatly.
“The hatred in Simon was no longer disguised. It crackled in his voice like lightning.
“Bewitched?” Meg said. “How so?”
“He remembers nothing of Blackthorne, nothing of his vow of fealty to Dominic, nothing of his betrothal to Ariane.”
A single black eyebrow lifted, giving Dominic’s face a sardonic look.
“God’s teeth,” Dominic said. “That could be inconvenient. King Henry was particularly pleased to have found a Saxon match for the Norman heiress.”
“A safe match, you mean. As your vassal, Duncan is indirectly beholden to Henry,” Sven said. “I understand that the lord of Deguerre Hold was not pleased by the proposed alliance.”
Dominic’s smile was as savage as the savage wolf’s head pin he wore.
“Lord Charles,” Dominic said softly,” “dreamed of expanding his empire with his daughter’s marriage. Instead, Ariane’s wedding will solidify Henry’s empire.”
“And yours,” Sven said with satisfaction.
“Yes. Did you see sign of Charles’s men in the Disputed Lands?”
“Nay,” Sven said.
“Simon?”
“All I saw sign of was witchery,” his brother said grimly.
Dominic glanced sideways at his wife.
“Witchery is your realm, not mine,” he said, smiling.
“So speaks the Glendruid Wolf,” Sven muttered.
Dominic’s smile widened, but he made no effort to further question Simon.
“What kind of spell or enchantment do you suspect?” Meg asked her brother-in-law.
“Ask the hell-witch who lives in the Disputed Lands.”
“From the beginning, please,” Meg said.
It was a command as much as a request.
Simon took no offense. He had both affection and respect for the Glendruid woman who had saved Dominic’s life at great risk to her own.
“Sven and I parted ways at Sea Home,” Simon said. “He wanted to chase rumors of a fully outfitted battle stallion roaming the forest like a wild animal, eluding all men who attempted to capture him. A great stallion of darkest brown…”
Meg looked at Sven.
“Duncan’s stallion?” she asked.
“I suspected as much. I had heard Duncan whistling to him like a falcon. So I whistled through the forest until Shield came trotting up like a great hound, happy to be home again.”
Meg turned back to Simon.
“While Sven was combing the forest,” Simon said, “I chased rumors of odd comings and goings to Sea Home.”
Meg’s breath was released swiftly.
“That was a dangerous thing to do,” she said. “Sir Erik is reputed to be a sorcerer. Sea Home is ruled by him.”
Simon’s clear black eyes gleamed with concealed laughter. Being fussed and worried over by a woman was new to him. He discovered that he rather liked it.
Still smiling, Simon swept off his helm and set it on a trestle table next to Sven’s well-used helm.
“Sir Erik’s sorcery—if such existed—didn’t extend to knowing my mind,” Simon said. “He accepted my story of being on a private religious quest.”
Meg made a sound that could have meant anything, including impatience with her beloved brother-in-law.
“I had been there only a few days when a man and a maid rode up to Sea Home,” Simon said. “The maid was dressed in shades of gold and wore precious amber as though it were brass.”
“Amber?” Meg said intently.
“Aye. It was her name, too.”
Dominic sensed his wife’s sudden tension. He looked down at her in concern, but all her attention was on Simon.
“Amber,” Meg repeated. “Just that?”
“She was called the Untouched,” Sven said softly, “because no one, man or woman, was permitted to touch her.”
A stillness came over Meg.
“Continue,” she said to Simon.
“I think rumor overstated the matter,” Simon said sardonically. “Amber clung to her companion like ivy to a powerful oak.”
“Truly?” Meg asked, startled. “Then it couldn’t have been Amber the Untouched.”
Simon and Sven looked at each other. It was Simon who contradicted his lord’s Glendruid wife
.
“Perhaps not,” Simon said carefully, “but the knights and squires of Sea Home thought it was Amber, and they had known her for many years.”
“How curious.”
“Erik the Undefeated also called her Amber,” Simon added. “He used her to scry the truth of her companion’s thoughts.”
“Ah, that is why she was touching the man, to gain knowledge,” Meg said. “She is one of the Learned.”
“What are you talking about?” Dominic asked.
“Don’t you remember?” Meg said. “When you were planning various ways to take Stone Ring Keep, I told you about the Learned.”
Dominic frowned. “Aye, but frankly I didn’t credit the foolishness about sorcerers and shape-changers and prophecies and the like.”
Amusement danced in Meg’s green eyes. Her husband wore the ancient likeness of the Glendruid Wolf, yet had little patience for things he couldn’t touch, measure, fight, lay siege to.
Or make love to.
“In some cases, my lord,” Meg murmured, “that which cannot be touched is more powerful than that which can be touched.”
“A difficult truth for a warrior such as I,” Dominic said.
Meg nodded.
“But I have a very fine teacher,” he added, smiling. “I now know that the love of a Glendruid healer can take a warrior’s frozen heart, turn it inside out, and make it warm again.”
The smile Meg and Dominic exchanged reminded Simon of nothing so much as Amber and Duncan. The comparison made him both angry and uncomfortable.
“So,” Meg said, turning to Simon once more, “Amber was scrying her companion. Go on.”
Simon and Sven exchanged another glance.
“She may have been touching the man for the purpose of gaining knowledge,” Simon said in a clipped voice, “but she looked more like a maid with her lover.”
“What does it matter?” Dominic asked with growing impatience. “It is Duncan who concerns me, not some Celtic witch.”
“That is just the problem,” Simon retorted. “The witch’s companion was Duncan of Maxwell.”
Instantly Dominic’s posture changed. He became like a falcon spotting prey from afar, poised for the sudden stoop.
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