by Nora Roberts
Blaine of Kendrick blocked the door.
For one heart-stopping moment their gazes met and held.
“Let me pass,” Willow said breathlessly.
“Not so quickly.” His face was grim, his voice hard. This was a different Blaine from the man who had made love to her in a firelit cottage all through the night. This was the Wolf of Kendrick, a single-minded warrior, intent on his own personal victory at any cost.
His gaze narrowed upon the necklace clutched in her fingers. He reached for it, but Willow thrust her hands behind her back.
“I found it first! You cannot take it from me, Blaine.”
“It is not the one to find it first, but the one to possess it last that marks the winner of this contest.” His tone was low and heavy.
“Blaine, please…”
The desperation in her voice as well as the distress in her pale face struck him like a dagger straight through the heart. In his mind, the small boy who’d had to fight to live circled and screamed. Take it. Take it.
Blaine swallowed, torn by the image, by the too vivid memories of hunger, thirst, exhaustion, of never knowing whom to trust, of never being able to count on anyone but himself.
“Don’t make me do this, Willow.” He advanced toward her until she was backed into the chamber once more, all the way against the wall, her hands still behind her, still clutching the necklace.
Her face was lifted to his, proud, defiant, as lovely as a star. How he wanted to bury his fingers in that rich cloud of glorious hair…
“Willow—”
“You’ll have to take it from me if you want it. Go ahead, Blaine, take it.”
Take it, take it.
He swore and lunged out in anger, then froze as she flinched, her eyes bright with fear.
Fear. Of him.
Agonizing shame flooded him, and remorse. Remorse so heavy it was like a vise around his soul. Slowly he brought his hand up, and it came to rest gently upon the softness of her cheek.
“Do you think I would ever hurt you, Willow? For anything?”
She stared wonderingly into his eyes, unable to believe what she was hearing.
Blaine’s chest was so heavy that the words came with difficulty. “Come, let us leave this accursed place.”
“Do you promise—you will not take it from me by force, or trickery, or—”
She saw the flash of pain cross his face then, the grief in those unfathomable dark eyes. Willow sucked in her breath. She had hurt him, wounded him someplace deep inside.
“You have my word,” he said in a harsh tone.
“Blaine, I didn’t mean—I just wanted to be certain—”
“Don’t apologize. You’re right not to trust me. But let me say it plainly: the necklace is yours, my lady. I will even accompany you back to that dungeon to see that Lisha keeps her word and releases your father.”
She shook her head, dazed. “But what about Princess Maighdin? Won’t you need…to find another prize?”
“I can always find another prize.” His mouth was grim. “I know of one even now, one worth infinitely more than this bauble. But for the first time in my life,” he said slowly, “I don’t know if I can attain it.”
As another tremor rocked the marble floor beneath them, Blaine glanced sharply around, then caught Willow in his arms. “Now, will you come with me, before—”
A huge rumble vibrated throughout the fortress, a roar like thunder. Even as he held Willow close as if to shield her with his body, the floor began to sway even more violently, and this time it didn’t stop.
“Blaine, it’s giving way! The fortress—it’s buckling!”
He was already pulling her toward the door. They staggered together as they reached the stairway and the floor rolled yet again. From high above, a chandelier full of candles crashed down, rumbling through the Great Hall below. The dank stone walls and ceiling began to crack.
“Run!” Blaine clamped his arm around her waist as together they raced down the swaying stairs.
Even as they reached the Great Hall, one wall collapsed with a crash. Bats began to swoop, rousted from the rafters by the commotion. Suddenly Willow smelled smoke, and a moment later they saw flames spiraling through the solar.
Fear tore at Willow as they ran for the doors. She clutched the necklace in one hand and Blaine’s powerful fingers in the other as she nearly matched his giant strides with her own swiftly desperate ones.
They bolted out of the fortress as if pursued by a demon, which in a sense they were, as the Troll King exacted his vengeance by destroying the very lair that his spirit had haunted for centuries. The horses were rearing and neighing, but the destrier quieted when Blaine hoisted Willow into the saddle and then vaulted up behind her.
“Moonbeam!” Willow cried. An instant later Blaine had the mare untethered and was dragging the terrified creature by the reins as he spurred the destrier back through the bog.
Ensconced safely in front of Blaine in the saddle, his hard warrior’s body pressed against her, Willow glanced around to see the towers of the fortress collapsing inward, and great arcs of black smoke and orange flames shooting toward the sky.
Then they were galloping through the bog, racing away from the doomed fortress, and Willow no longer looked back.
She leaned against Blaine, content to let him guide the destrier and the mare as she slipped the precious necklace deep into the pocket of her cloak. And she looked ahead, beyond the return journey through the Perilous Forest—wondering now what the future would hold.
8
“LOOK AT HER,” Artemus whispered, as he poured Lisha a goblet of wine in the kitchen of his cozy cottage. From her seat upon the bench near the hearth fire, the enchantress glanced at the girl curled in a velvet-cushioned chair near the window of the darkened room. Only the firelight glowing from the hearth illuminated her pale face as she gazed out at the wintry darkness.
“That’s all she does every night, and most days, too. Stares out the window. Watching for him,” Artemus spat angrily. “I swore to her I wouldn’t interfere, but by all that is holy, Lisha, I’m going to send that scoundrel a nightmare he’ll never forget.”
“You will do no such thing.” Lisha accepted the goblet he handed her and took a sip, then smiled up at him.
“Sit down, darling. Pay attention to me. Willow’s troubles will soon sort themselves out, you’ll see.”
He allowed her to pull him down onto the bench beside her and moodily took a sip of his own wine. “Is this your enchantress’s intuition, or have you seen something in that looking glass of yours?”
“I’ve seen something,” she purred, and smiled as his face lit up.
“Blaine of Kendrick? He’s going to die some horrible death? Get eaten by a dragon, or torn to bits by a boar, or—”
“No, don’t be silly. That would not make Willow happy.”
“It would make me happy,” he grumbled.
Lisha sighed. “If I’d known you would work yourself into such a tizzy over all this, I’d have never begun this chain of events in the first place.” She placed their wine goblets on a small silver-edged side table and took both of Artemus’s hands in hers.
“Do you forgive me?”
“I married you, didn’t I?” He kissed the tip of her turned-up nose. Lisha smiled and snuggled closer.
Much had happened since the day that the sorcerer’s daughter and the Wolf of Kendrick had stolen the Necklace of Nyssa from the Troll’s Lair. Lisha, seeing that event in her looking glass, had realized that she was going to have to release Artemus from the dungeon one way or another, and she had immediately whisked herself down to confront him.
In the course of the discussion, much had been cleared up between the two of them. Artemus had told her most sincerely that he had meant to call upon her after the Melwas Ball, that he had wanted to call upon her, but he’d been afraid she had kissed him the way she had at the ball only because she had drunk too much of the powerful wine that they’d both
enjoyed that evening. He’d thought she would laugh if he, a simple sorcerer with limited powers and only a small degree of fame and fortune, came to call upon so great a beauty and so powerful a woman as Lisha the Enchantress.
He confessed that he had not so much as taken a moonlit stroll or even an innocent summer picnic with any woman since the death of Willow’s mother some ten years earlier, and he was, well, er, shy, he’d finally admitted—at least he was when he wasn’t under the influence of strong spirits.
Lisha had seen the truth in his face, and she’d been ashamed of her hotheadedness. She’d always had a regrettable temper. When he hadn’t called upon her in the weeks after their wonderful dance and that heavenly kiss in the garden, she’d thought he was as capricious and unreliable as all the other men in her life—and that hurt, because she’d thought, and hoped, that Artemus possessed a glimmer of something special.
So in an attempt to make him jealous, she’d taken a young lover and made no secret of it, but he’d gone and turned the poor boy into a toad, and then there had been that unfortunate business with the hawk.
Well, she’d overreacted. She’d admitted it to him in the dungeon that day as Willow and Blaine galloped headlong away from the Troll’s Lair, making their way back through the Perilous Forest.
She’d apologized. And set him free.
Artemus had insisted that she blink them both to the White Hog Inn on the outskirts of the forest by the time Willow and Blaine arrived there, so that he could tell his daughter as quickly as possible that he was free.
Lisha had agreed. They’d reached the yard of the inn just as Willow and Blaine rode up. In all the confusion and greetings and exclamations of relief, amid Willow’s happy tears that Artemus was safe and his joyous gratitude that she had surivived her dangerous quest and returned to him, amid Willow’s laughing and offering Lisha the necklace, and Lisha refusing it because the necklace wasn’t what she had really wanted after all—somehow, no one noticed Blaine of Kendrick slipping away, until he and his great black destrier were just gone.
Artemus had seen the hurt and desolation on Willow’s face when the Wolf was nowhere to be found, and so had Lisha. They had exchanged guilty looks, knowing that their own mistakes had had a far-reaching effect on the girl who had risked her life over their foolishness.
That was weeks ago, and there’d been no word from the Wolf of Kendrick since. During that time, Artemus and Lisha had been quietly married and feted at the court of King Felix and had set up housekeeping at the sorcerer’s cottage.
But though Willow had smiled over their happiness, danced at their wedding with several eager young knights and most attentive noblemen, they’d both seen the sadness that lay deep in her heart, a sadness that grew more apparent every day.
Then today a messenger had charged through the village, spreading word of the marriage of Princess Maighdin and a dashing young knight who had bested all others and won her hand.
Unfortunately no one seemed to have caught the name of the knight who had accomplished this feat.
The whole village was abuzz, but Willow spoke not a word.
She merely opened the chest where she kept the Necklace of Nyssa, gazed at it a moment, and then closed the chest very softly.
She’d curled up in the velvet-cushioned chair as soon as supper was over and the dishes washed, and she’d been staring out at the empty winter night ever since.
“I cannot bear to see her so unhappy.” Artemus sank back against the cushioned bench and let Lisha stroke his cheek. “Even when young Adrian went away to battle and then was lost to us, she wasn’t like this.”
“I know, darling, but—”
“She will get over him, won’t she, Lisha? You’re a woman. Surely you know about such things.”
“I never would have gotten over you,” the Enchantress said softly. Then she gave him a smile. “Come, let us retire. All will look brighter in the morning.”
“Of course it will. The sun will be up then. Truly, Lisha, what has that to say to anything…”
His voice trailed off as he allowed himself to be led to the chamber that he and Lisha shared.
Willow never even heard them call out good night. All her attention was focused on the trees lining the path outside the cottage because she thought she saw some movement there.
Yes. Something…or someone…was out there.
She froze in her chair as she saw the horse and rider coming up the cottage lane. A sliver of moonlight illuminated a familiar figure, tall and muscular. As he rode closer she could at last make out his face—a strong, hawklike face, unsmiling, his dark gaze fixed intently on the cottage.
Her heart leapt into her throat, and for a moment she was certain she wouldn’t be able to move from the chair. But suddenly she was flying toward the door, and she threw it open just as he raised his fist to knock.
For a moment neither of them spoke. They simply stared into each other’s eyes. Willow could have sworn that somehow he had grown even more darkly, impossibly handsome since the last time she had seen him.
Since the day he had vanished without a single word to her.
“What brings you here at this hour, sir?” she asked with all the coolness she could muster. “It is a late hour to be calling.”
He smiled, and her heart flipped over. “You know full well what brings me here, Willow.” He pushed his way inside and drew her after him.
“Why are you sitting in the dark?” he demanded.
“Why do you feel you have the right to simply walk into my home and ask me…oh!”
It was a long kiss and a hungry one. “That is why,” the Wolf of Kendrick said in a tender tone.
“Oh.” Still warm and dizzy from the kiss, Willow tried to understand. “But…the princess…”
“Is wed. To Rolf of Cornhull.”
For a moment she was overcome by dazzling relief, and then came the realization that brought her low. “I see. You have lost…because you didn’t have the necklace.” Her lower lip trembled. “I’m sorry. I would have given it to you. You may have it still, if you wish. I have no need for it.”
“Nor do I. I have no desire to give it to Princess Maighdin or to anyone else. As a matter of fact, I removed myself from this particular competition—stood back and watched them all make jackasses out of themselves. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied, I might have enjoyed the spectacle.” He gazed at her intently. “But I found I wasn’t nearly as interested in the contest—or in the prize—as I’d thought I was.”
His arms tightened around her, making it difficult to think clearly. He smelled of leather and horses and spice. He looked more weary and yet more handsome than any man she’d ever seen—and infinitely more dear. For the life of her, she realized with a small shock, she couldn’t remember a single feature of Adrian’s face.
“You…weren’t interested?” she asked dazedly. “Why?”
“I’ve had other things on my mind. Other things to attend to.”
“Oh. I see.”
But she didn’t see. She didn’t see why he was here, why he had kissed her in that way that made her head spin and her toes tingle, why he was looking at her as if he was memorizing her face to last him forever. Unless he was going away and he had come to say good-bye.
“You didn’t even say good-bye.”
He smiled and touched her hair, drawing his fingers gently through the length of her curls. “You mean back at the White Hog Inn? That’s because it wasn’t goodbye.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“I didn’t actually leave you, Willow. I just…went to attend to some business. And now I am ready to embark on a new quest.”
Her heart stopped. “What has that to do with me?” she asked quietly and shifted out of his arms. A thread of disappointment ran through her as he allowed her to move away. She lit some candles on the small table near the chair, fidgeted with a tasseled pillow on the low plum sofa, and turned back to him, her hands trembling a little as she smoothed
her skirt.
“This is only the second time I’ve seen you in a gown.” There was a glint of appreciation in Blaine’s eyes as he surveyed her pale lemon gown with the green embroidered flowers upon the sleeves. “You are almost as lovely as when you wore nothing at all.”
“Shhh!” She blushed and threw a quick glance toward the room where Artemus and Lisha had retired.
“I think it is time you ended this mystery and told me your business. Then you may continue along your way.”
He advanced on her, smiling. Those black eyes suddenly held a gleam of amusement—and perhaps, she saw in surprise, a trace of nervousness. “I agree, my beautiful imp.”
“I am not—”
“Will you be?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Blaine of Kendrick swallowed hard. “Will you be my beautiful imp? Mine. My woman, my bride, my wife.” Suddenly, to Willow’s astonishment, he dropped to one knee and took her hand in his, cradling it as if it were made of glass.
“I love you, Willow of Brinhaven. Will you consent to wed me and come to live with me? Before you answer, let me tell you,” he rushed on urgently, “that I have been granted a fine parcel of land by King Felix for services rendered to him some time ago, in the War of Two Winters.” He continued quickly, as if afraid she would refuse him before he could finish his plea. “I never had use for it before, but it happens to lie not more than half a day’s ride from here, and there is a fine manor house, and you would have servants, as befits the wife of Sir Blaine of Kendrick, and—”
“I don’t care about the land—or the manor house,” Willow whispered. She tugged him up to her, her eyes shining with joy. “Sir Blaine of Kendrick, I love you, too. I would live with you in that tiny little cottage in the Perilous Forest if you asked me. I would live with you in a tree.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he assured her, and kissed her again.
A long time later, when both of them could speak once more, and think somewhat clearly, they sat side by side on the bench before the hearth fire and spoke of all that was in their hearts.
