“I can’t kill one who looks at me with Amber’s eyes!” Duncan raged. “I give him to you, Dominic. Do to him what you will!”
With that, Duncan stood and threw the dagger’s heavy haft across the hall. It smashed into a far wall with enough strength to chip stone. A vicious snap of Duncan’s wrist called the chain back from Erik’s ankles, freeing him.
Amber started toward both men, only to be restrained by Cassandra’s hand.
“It isn’t done yet,” Cassandra said tautly. “Now we will see if Dominic le Sabre is truly fit to wear the Glendruid Wolf on his mantle.”
The harp Ariane held sounded an odd chord as her fingers abruptly relaxed. It was the only outward sign that she had been in the least moved by what she had seen.
Dominic drew his sword and slid the tip between the chain-mail hood and Erik’s chin.
For a long time the two men measured each other.
“I would prefer an alliance to a funeral,” Dominic said finally.
“Nay,” Erik said, his voice hoarse.
“If you die, your father will be stirred from his clan rivalries. There will be war between the Glendruid Wolf and the clans of the north.”
“And the Learned will be first to fight,” Cassandra vowed. “I will lead them myself!”
No one who heard the Learned woman’s voice doubted her.
“You will lose,” Dominic said. “King Henry won’t let his northern borders go to Saxons and Scots.”
“Perhaps he won’t have a choice,” Erik said.
“Perhaps. But Henry has held every bit of land he has fought for.”
Erik said nothing.
“If Ariane is jilted,” Dominic continued, “there will be war as well. Baron Deguerre is a proud noble. King Henry is most pleased with the match.”
Ariane stiffened subtly but said not one word.
“Aye,” Erik said fiercely. “But if you have allies in the north, you might win that war against Henry and Deguerre.”
Dominic nodded slightly and waited, not easing the pressure of the sword point at Erik’s throat.
“If you have no allies, you will lose,” Erik pointed out, “for you will be caught between two enemies—me on the northern border and Baron Deguerre’s allies on the south.”
“Do you relish the thought of war?” Dominic asked curiously.
“No. Neither do I relish seeing my sister turned into Duncan’s whore.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “The witch was not without a part in Duncan’s betrayal.”
“Losing Duncan is a greater punishment for Amber than you can imagine,” Erik said.
“And you? How will you be punished for arranging things so that Duncan would be forsworn?”
“Watching what comes to Amber will be my punishment. It will be suitable in ways only the Learned can comprehend.”
Dominic flicked at glance at Cassandra. She nodded once, but it was the pain bracketing her mouth that told Dominic what he needed to know. He turned back to Erik.
“And Duncan’s punishment?” Dominic asked softly. “For you wish to punish him, too, I suspect.”
A falcon called wildly from beyond the walls, triumph and fury at once.
Erik’s smile was as cruel as the falcon’s cry.
“Erik!” Amber cried. “No! Duncan doesn’t understand! You can’t scourge him for that!”
“Duncan will be the first to know his punishment,” Erik said gently, never looking away from the Glendruid Wolf. “And he will know it too late to do anything but rage at himself for the fool that he was.”
Silence filled the hall while Dominic measured Erik with eyes like quicksilver.
“Will Duncan survive this ‘punishment’?” Dominic asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Can he survive?”
“I don’t know.”
Delicately Dominic allowed a bit more of the broadsword’s weight to rest on Erik’s flesh.
“What do you know, proud lord?” Dominic asked softly.
“That Duncan and Amber are joined in ways that defy measure. In denying her, he denies himself. In humiliating her, he humiliates himself. In hurting her—”
“He hurts himself,” Dominic interrupted curtly. “A man can survive hurt. A man can’t survive in the Disputed Lands with no money to buy knights.”
“Amber is in Duncan’s very blood,” Erik said flatly. “Tell me, Glendruid Wolf, how long can a man live without blood? How long would he want to live?”
Dominic looked at Duncan. The Scots Hammer’s back was turned. Quite plainly he had no further interest in what passed between Dominic and Erik.
The Glendruid Wolf looked at Amber. The paleness of her face and the stark fear in her eyes told him more than he wanted to know. Dominic sheathed the sword with a smooth, powerful stroke.
“You owe me your life,” Dominic said. “Use it to help Duncan. I must have him alive and in power at Stone Ring Keep. It is the only way war can be avoided.”
Erik said nothing.
“I am merciful only once with the same man,” Dominic said coolly. “If war comes, you will die. You have my word on it.”
Motionless on the floor, sword still in his hand, Erik took the measure of the Glendruid Wolf. Erik knew he could attack Dominic, possibly kill him—and surely die himself—or he could accept the terms as offered.
“If Learning can help Duncan,” Erik said, “he will be helped.”
Cassandra’s soft laughter shocked everyone.
“Indeed, lord, you are fit to wear the Glendruid Wolf,” she said coolly.
Dominic lifted a black eyebrow and said only, “You have seven days to find a solution to Duncan’s problem. Then I will put my seal on the annulment and let the devil take what he will.”
“Just seven days?”
“Yes.”
“Done.” Erik came to his feet in a lithe surge, sword in hand.
Simon leaped forward with a quickness that was as surprising as Erik’s had been. Smiling slightly, Erik sheathed his sword and turned to Dominic.
“You have my oath,” Erik said. “Amber will verify it.”
“It isn’t necessary,” Dominic said.
“It will assure the Learned that my oath is freely given, and as such, should be honored by all Learned.”
Dominic lifted a black eyebrow. Silently he decided that the next time Meg chose to lecture him on the subject of the Learned, he would listen more attentively.
“Sister,” Erik said, holding out his hand.
“Go,” Cassandra said softly to Amber. “Take the gift the Glendruid Wolf saw fit to give.”
Amber walked forward on unsteady legs. Instead of taking Erik’s hand, she threw her arms around him and held him as though he were an anchor in a storm. Erik held her in return, feeling her tears hot against his neck.
“I love you, brother,” Amber said.
“As I love you, sister, I will be good to my oath.”
“Yes,” Amber said, shaken by what she felt pouring into her from Erik. “I feel it raging in you. You want this very badly.”
Slowly she released him. Even when they were no longer touching, she stood very close to her newly discovered brother.
Yet it was Duncan whose every move Amber’s eyes followed. She wanted to go to him, to hold him, to assure herself in an elemental way that he truly was alive.
But Duncan hadn’t looked at her since he had spared Erik’s life.
Simon sheathed the sword he had drawn the instant Dominic had sheathed his own. Duncan slung the hammer over his shoulder in rest position. Dominic went to Meg and smiled down at her reassuringly.
Cassandra watched it all with a ruthless smile.
“Odd, isn’t it, Glendruid Wolf?” she asked.
“That Erik’s life was spared?” Dominic asked.
“Nay. That all of you accept the word of a girl who is being deeply wronged.”
Dominic shrugged. “I have only to look at Amber to know that she wouldn’t bet
ray Duncan.”
“Aye,” Cassandra said in a low voice. “You know what the proud warrior refuses to acknowledge. Amber loves Duncan.”
“She helped to betray him.”
“Without that ‘betrayal,’ Duncan would be hanged and we would be at war. Bleak death rather than rich life.”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me,” Cassandra said, “in what way did Amber truly betray her dark warrior?”
“Ask Duncan,” Dominic said quietly. “He is the one whose back is turned to her. He is the one who wishes for both wife and leman.”
“Duncan,” Cassandra said.
There was that in her voice which could not be denied.
Abruptly Duncan turned to face the Learned woman.
“Let Amber go,” Cassandra said simply.
“Never. She is mine.”
Cassandra’s breath came out in an aching sigh. When she spoke again, her voice was soft. And it carried through the hall like the sound of a sword being drawn from a steel sheath.
“Amber said exactly the same thing to me,” Cassandra murmured, “and in exactly the same way, when I suggested taking you back to Stone Ring before you recovered your senses.”
A tremor ripped through Duncan. It was so small that only someone looking for it would have seen it.
Cassandra was looking for it with a falcon’s predatory eyes.
“Tell me,” Cassandra said distinctly. “Will dishonoring Amber salve your honor…or only wound it more?”
Duncan said nothing.
“Let her go,” Cassandra said.
“I will not.”
Cassandra smiled with a savagery that made Dominic’s hand itch to hold a sword once more.
“Will not?” she repeated mockingly. “Nay. You cannot let Amber go.”
Duncan neither moved nor spoke.
“Once I thought I would destroy you when you finished flaying Amber’s soul from her body,” Cassandra said. “Now I know I will not.”
“Mercy from the Learned witch?” Duncan asked, his voice as mocking as hers.
“Mercy?”
Cassandra laughed. It was worse than her smile.
“Nay, dark warrior. I would rather you survive and learn too late what you have done.”
Duncan became still.
“Then,” Cassandra said, “I will watch your soul die in the same way you are killing Amber’s…one cruel breath at a time.”
21
AMBER lay awake in the luxurious bed that had been hers since she had married Duncan. Each time the wind shifted or sleet rattled against stone or a voice drifted up from the floors below, her heartbeat doubled.
Then she would hold her breath, listening with every fiber of her being for the sound of footsteps approaching her door.
Duncan will come to me tonight.
He must.
Come to me, dark warrior. Let me touch you in the only way you allow yourself to be touched.
Let me be one with you once more.
Just once.
I can touch your soul if you will let me.
Just once…
But none of the sounds Amber heard were those made by Duncan climbing the spiral stone stairway to her bedchamber.
As the night lengthened and the autumn sleet beat against stone, Amber understood that she would remain alone in the storm. Duncan would not come to her on this night of all nights, when nearly dying at Erik’s hand had renewed his appreciation of life, of living, of simply being alive.
Tonight Duncan would be vulnerable to his amber witch in ways he didn’t want to be.
She knew it.
And so did he.
Abruptly Amber sat up and threw the rich bed coverings aside. The fine, fragile linen of her nightdress glowed with ghostly light, reflection of the dying hearth fire. The amber pendant she wore had the shuttered gleam of banked coals.
Her eyes gleamed in the same way, veiled by a darkness that had nothing to do with night.
Amber whirled her mantle around her shoulders, pulled the cowl into place, and set off for the bedchamber of the lord of the keep. She needed neither candle nor lamp to light her way. Duncan’s presence was a fire burning against the night, as certain a guide to him as dawn is to the day that follows.
The path to Duncan could have been through a strange forest or a tangled glen, and it would have been the same to Amber. Clear. Certain.
No one was about in the hall. The voices of the sentries from the battlements above were the only noises not made by the storm. Amber’s feet moved soundlessly over the wood of the floor. Her mantle lifted and fell around her ankles with every swift step.
No squire slept outside Duncan’s door, for he hadn’t had time to choose among the young, wellborn boys who were eager to be trained in the ways of war by the legendary Scots Hammer. Indeed, the door to the lord’s bedchamber was half open, announcing the confidence of the warrior who slept within.
A glance around the room told Amber that Duncan must have gone late to bed. Flames still leaped within the hearth. Candles still burned in their sconces. On a chest near the bed, an oil lamp burned at low ebb, sending the scent of rosemary through the room. Next to the lamp, a battle hammer lay in readiness, gleaming coldly with reflected fire.
The golden light of the candles wavered when Amber walked in and shut the door quietly behind. Duncan didn’t stir. Nor did she expect him to do so. Though untrained, Duncan had a Learned warrior’s appreciation of when danger was nearby.
And when it was not.
Amber’s mantle slid to the floor with a hushed sound. Her nightdress followed, settling like a cloud over her mantle. Her golden hair shimmered with firelight. Golden amber gleamed between her breasts. Making no more noise than a candle flame, she eased into bed beside Duncan.
The subtle smell of spices on Duncan’s skin told Amber that he had sought whatever peace could be found in a warm bath before going to bed alone. The same scent was on her own skin, for she, too, had sought water’s soothing embrace.
But what she truly wanted was an embrace less soothing, more fiery, Duncan locked within her body.
Deftly Amber drew the bed covers aside. Duncan’s bare back gleamed in the muted light. He was lying on his side, facing away from her. The naked power of his shoulders was both a lure and a warning.
Dark warrior, who could make the hammer sing as no other.
With the delicacy of a butterfly sipping nectar, Amber’s fingertips stroked from the nape of Duncan’s neck down the length of his spine. Though she had hungered to touch him, it was painful to her. Even while he slept, the savage conflict within his soul raged on, truth set against truth.
And you say you never betrayed me. Such fine calculations they must teach the Learned, all the ways to split hairs until nothing remains but dishonor.
My body knows you. It responds to you as to none other.
We are lost, witch. Your soul was sold to the devil a long time ago.
You’re a fire in my blood, in my flesh, in my soul.
Yet when all truths were weighed and measured, one remained against which there was no measure, the Glendruid Wolf’s words ringing like thunder through every silence.
Beyond all doubt, beyond all temptation, you are a man of your word. And your word was given to me.
For Duncan to go back on that word would be to destroy himself. To keep his word meant destroying Amber. Neither was bearable.
One was inevitable.
If I loved her, I could not do what must be done.
Pain that was both Duncan’s and her own lanced through Amber, cutting her, scoring her soul.
“As I feared,” she whispered, “it will destroy you.”
Were it not for the equally great need in Duncan to touch Amber, to lie with her, to lose himself within her until he was too spent to battle himself for a time…were it not for that, touching Duncan would have been as agonizing to Amber as putting her hand within the hearth fire.
As it was, touching Dun
can was a bittersweet torment that cut her until she bled.
And not touching him also cut her until she bled.
Drop by drop, bleeding into darkness.
And as I feared, it is destroying me.
Yet Amber didn’t lift her hand. Duncan’s skin was smooth, supple, warm. The layers of muscle on either side of his spine lured her. She stroked the resilient flesh with gentle sweeps of her hand, savoring the sheer power of him, ignoring the pain.
“You are strong in so many ways, dark warrior,” Amber whispered. “Why can’t you be strong enough to accept what can’t be changed?”
You’re a fire in my blood, in my flesh, in my soul.
Muscles shifted and coiled as Duncan rolled onto his back. His head turned toward Amber. She held her breath, but he didn’t awaken.
“If you could accept,” she whispered, “then you could love me despite all the truths known too soon and told too late.”
Duncan’s deep, even breathing remained unchanged. The amber pendant he wore shifted and gleamed with each breath.
Sighing, Amber gave in to the temptation to smooth her hand over the hair that curled so intriguingly across Duncan’s chest. The crisp mat tickled and aroused and pleased, making her hand tingle with heightened sensitivity.
Amber lowered her head, kissed Duncan’s shoulder, and laid her cheek on the muscular pad of flesh over his heart. The sound of his life beating so close beneath her cheek swept through her.
“If only I could touch you. Just once.”
Somewhere in his mind, Duncan was aware of Amber’s presence. She could tell by the change rippling through him, savage arguments fading, muffled by the sleek, sensual tide that was rising in him, called by her touch.
Though Duncan had allowed nothing but the most basic physical connection between himself and Amber since he had learned his true name, he had once enjoyed being stroked and petted by her. He had held his own arousal in check simply to savor a less urgent exchange of caresses with his lover.
In sleep, Duncan was enjoying being stroked again, absorbing Amber’s pleasure in touching him as avidly as dry ground absorbed a gentle rain.
“You, too, missed this,” Amber whispered. “You, too, hungered to share tenderness as well as wildfire.”
Relief shivered through Amber. She had feared that the darkness growing at Duncan’s core had eaten away all softness in him. She bent down to brush her lips over his skin once more.
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