by Nora Roberts
“You’ll have to excuse my poor hospitality, princess.” There was mockery in his tone as he lowered her feet to the ground, then, still supporting her with his arm, tossed his cloak down upon the floor. “I can’t offer you a feast, but like it or not, you’re going to eat what’s put before you.”
Erinn shivered as she sank down upon the cloak he had draped across the stone floor. Even through its thickness the floor felt cold, so very cold.
“And no arguments this time,” he added with a scowl. “You’re no good to me dead.”
“Are you always…so charming when inviting ladies to share your table?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded faint and weak. How she wished she could sound fierce and fearless instead. It was humiliating to show weakness before him. To make up for it, Erinn frowned at him as he drew a bundle from the folds of his cloak.
“I’m not known for my charm. And even if I were, I wouldn’t waste it on a witch of Marlbury,” he replied almost absently as he handed her a hunk of hard cheese and an equally hard chunk of some thick, grainy bread.
Erinn no longer cared if the food was tainted with poison or some kind of potion. She attacked it with single-minded determination. She didn’t even hesitate when he pushed the wine flask into her hands, but grasped it and drank deeply of the sweet dark wine, which burned its way down her parched throat.
It wasn’t until she’d finished the last crumb of bread and cheese and drained the flask that she realized he was watching her. To her surprise, his expression was not hard as it had been before, but thoughtful, and searching.
It made him look different. Less harsh, and younger. And even more attractive.
None of that, she told herself, tensing. Are you forgetting who he is? Tynon, who struck down Braden in the garden. Who wounded Cadur at the Battle of Three Rocks.
Too bad he didn’t look like the heartless monster she had always pictured him to be. He looked to be no older than Braden, surely not yet having reached his thirtieth year, and yet there was something careworn in his eyes, an odd weariness in that darkly handsome face.
It would be easier to despise him if he was homely or pompous or stupid as a troll, she thought in irritation. Still, she did despise him. With all her heart.
“Why are you staring at me?” she demanded. She felt stronger now, her spirit restored by nourishment.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Staring is rude.”
“Many men must stare at you.” He grimaced. “Or do you pretend to be unaware of your beauty?”
Beauty? She possessed beauty? Erinn had all she could do not to gape at him. She had never glimpsed it in herself, and if the few men she had been allowed to converse with alone paid her a compliment she dismissed it as casual flattery to the king’s daughter.
Of course, Stirling of Chalmers had told her that her eyes were exquisite, though she considered them quite ordinary. She’d assumed he was exaggerating for the purpose of getting her to let him kiss her, and since she’d been eager to try that herself, she’d not questioned him. She knew her fair hair to be of a pretty color, and it was soft, that was true, but it fell straight to her waist and refused to curl. How many nights had she practiced curling spells, all to no avail?
He was trying to trick her.
“Flattery will not get you what you want.” She folded her hands primly before her. “I told you, I can’t help you.”
“If the great witch Erinn can’t help me, surely no one can.”
“It’s out of the question. I’d be a traitor to Marlbury, to my own family.”
“If you don’t help me,” he leaned toward her, and now there was only grim ruthlessness in his eyes, none of the thoughtful appraisal she’d glimpsed before, “I’ll marshal my forces and lay waste to your precious Marlbury.”
“You wouldn’t—”
“Smoke from the fires will blot out the sky,” he cut her off sharply. “And the land will be scorched, every dwelling and building set afire, every animal killed or herded across the border. I swear to you, witch, I’ll see your people starve.”
Erinn scrambled to her feet, nearly blinded by a red haze of fury and despair. He would make Marlbury suffer—and it wasn’t Marlbury’s fault! And she couldn’t stop him any more than she could reverse the spell.
How did I ever feel a moment’s compassion for him? she wondered frantically, the blood pounding in her temples. He’s a monster.
If only I could do magic. I’d…I’d… She knew exactly what she’d do. She would tear one of those bronze sconces out of the wall by sheer will and send it crashing straight at Tynon of Bordmoor. If only she could…
Tynan rose, eyeing her warily, as Erinn fixed her gaze not on his handsome face but on the sconce nearest the door. She stared at it, stared harder than she’d ever stared at anything. Her eyes squinted with the effort, she felt her heart thundering, and her fingertips tingled until they grew numb. Everything in the room save that sconce was blotted out—the flickering candles, the dim, musty shadows, and the single mullioned window, broken and leaking in slanted bars of moonlight. She saw none of it—only the sconce, as her eyes narrowed and she concentrated every drop of her energy upon it.
Fly! Fly! she ordered it silently. Fly right at him, strike him down! To her amazement the sconce suddenly detached itself from the wall and hovered in the air. Fly, fly! she willed it again. Fly hard and fast—strike that man where he stands.
The sconce flew with dizzying speed—but straight at her. She ducked just in time, only to see it circle and swing back toward Tynon. But it was now moving so slowly, he didn’t even have to duck. He watched it come, floating lazily through the air, and reached out a hand, effortlessly grabbing it.
Erinn could have wept. The one bit of magic she’d managed to summon faded as abruptly as it had begun. The sconce remained motionless in Tynon’s grasp.
“What was that all about?”
“Nothing. I was merely…” Her voice trailed off. “Amusing myself.”
“You Marlburys are a strange lot,” he muttered. “If you’re going to use magic, I suggest you do it for something worthwhile. Like breaking this damned spell that surrounds my home.”
His home. The keep was a place of arms, wealth, and weaponry—not a home, not like Marlbury Castle was to her.
Or was it?
“I suppose you’re going to tell me you miss your brother?” she said coldly. She saw the tension run through him.
“I do.”
“And…Marguerite?”
“Of course. I’m worried about them.”
“I’m worried about my brother, too.”
“Don’t expect me to apologize for that.” His lips twisted.
“And don’t expect me to lift a finger to help you.”
“I expect you to do whatever I tell you to do—if you want to go home again one day and find it as you left it.” He crossed the distance between them in three quick strides and towered over her.
Erinn held her ground with an effort. The flickering candlelight and wavery silver moonlight revealed enough of his expression to make her draw in her breath. There was no trace now of the man of quiet reflection, of weariness, the man with pain in his eyes. This was a man who cared for nothing but his own needs and wants, a man accustomed to commanding, and to being obeyed. A man who no doubt took to the battlefield the way a bird takes to the sky.
His eyes blazed into hers, knocking her breath out of her lungs. They held a depth of determination that Erinn had never seen before, not in anyone, not even her brothers.
“Tell me you’ll help me.” The words were all the more dangerous because they were low and softly spoken.
“You’ll get no help…from me—”
“Damn you!” His hands seized her arms, pulled her close. For a moment Erinn struggled to break free, but she quickly realized how useless that was. He was far too strong for her. He could break her in two if he chose, and he looked at this moment as if he did choose, as if that would plea
se him above all else.
“I’m warning you. If you don’t want to bring bloodshed and grief and destruction upon your people and to see your castle dismantled stone by stone—”
“No!”
“Then you’ll do what I ask. Now, before another day—”
“Listen to me,” she burst out, terrified of telling him the truth, yet panicked of what he would do if she didn’t. “I have to tell you something…confess something. And it’s the truth. It isn’t fair to make Marlbury suffer.”
“You are wasting time.”
“No, listen, please. Don’t punish Marlbury—it’s my fault. Only mine.”
“So it will be on your conscience when my men ravage your fields.”
“No!” She felt tears burning her eyes. “I can’t lift the spell,” she gasped in misery. “Even if I wanted to. I…I…”
“You what?” His fingers tightened on her arms. “Tell me!”
“I can’t do magic!” she cried.
Stunned amazement crossed his face, but it was immediately replaced by disbelief—and anger. “More lies.” He shook her. “All the world knows of Erinn of Marlbury’s powers.”
“That is the lie, the only lie,” she went on desperately. “I have no powers—at least, none worth mentioning.” Her voice trembled with bitterness. “If I could do magic, don’t you think I’d have struck you down with a spell the moment you stepped into the garden? My mother could have. She once turned an entire troop of men into rabbits as they were about to attack my father’s camp. And she—”
“I’m not interested in your mother. I’m interested in you. You have a reputation as great as hers, you were the one who sent a hawk of victory circling the battlefield at Llachland Point, swooping down over your father’s troops as if in salute, and it was then that the battle turned, just when I had him beaten.”
“It was an accident that the hawk flew over. It wasn’t my doing. But Braden and Cadur let word out that it came from me so as to encourage our men.”
His eyes narrowed. “And the time that a lightning bolt sent a tree crashing over onto my camp before the engagement at Dunck Wood? It killed a dozen men—a sign, my knights believed, of imminent defeat. That was not your doing either?”
“No, I had nothing to do with it. But Braden and Cadur wanted to inspire fear in your soldiers, and hope in our people and they decided that by spreading tales of my powers we would…would…”
“Say it,” Tynon ordered harshly as her voice trailed off.
“We would finally intimidate and defeat the llachlanders once and for all,” Erinn finished defiantly.
And the truth of her words was apparent in her vivid, beautiful face.
It all made sense. Perfect sense. Yet it had never crossed his mind. Erinn of Marlbury’s powers were legend. It had never occurred to anyone to doubt the veracity of all those tales. So all these years…
Numb, Tynon stared at the woman before him, the woman no longer struggling to escape his grip. He had breached the moat and braved the soldiers of Marlbury for naught. This slender woman with her golden hair, delicately sculpted features, and mesmerizing eyes was no more magical than he was. She couldn’t lift the spell that imprisoned the keep any more than a mouse could fly.
She was afraid; he could see that in her eyes. Yet she held her head high and searched his face, no doubt wondering what he would do with her now. He wondered, too, even as frustration built inside him.
If Erinn hadn’t cast the spell, who had? And who could break it? That was all he could think about, all he must think about.
So why was he staring into those vibrant green eyes as if hypnotized by their luminous depths? Why was he still holding on to this woman who was useless to him, utterly useless.
Suddenly her gaze shifted past him, and those lustrous eyes widened. And stared. True alarm showed in her face, and Tynon released her and wheeled around just as a huge red-bearded man slipped into the chamber, a cudgel gripped in his fat hand.
As Tynon watched, another man joined him, this one short and wiry, with straggly tufts of hair and a sallow face crisscrossed with scars. His gray tunic was ragged, but the knife he clenched gleamed like new.
Outlaws, by the look of them, Tynon thought swiftly. More and more they plagued the llachlands. If he wasn’t always having to fight Marlbury, he reflected with bitterness, he could clear the scavengers from Bordmoor once and for all.
“I don’t suppose they’re f-friends of yours?” Erinn breathed at his side.
“Never set eyes on them before.”
Erinn’s heart skipped a beat as the two men glanced first at Tynon and then at her. The glint in their eyes made her queasy, and she knew instinctively that they were not men who would aid her in escaping Tynon. From the unsavory look of them, she had no doubt she’d be far worse off in their company even than in the llachland duke’s, and with a little shudder she inched closer to him without even realizing she did so.
“Ho, ho, what have we here?” the red-bearded man muttered in a guttural tone.
“I smells a lady. A mighty pretty lady,” the other smirked, and in the blink of an eye they had somehow positioned themselves so that they were blocking the chamber door.
“Keep quiet—and whatever happens, stay out of the way,” Tynon ordered in a low tone, and then he strode forward, placing himself squarely between Erinn and the two men, one hand resting lightly upon the hilt of his sword.
4
“GET OUT.”
It was the warrior duke who addressed the intruders, and even they froze for a moment at the harshness of that commanding voice. They scanned the dark-haired giant—his braced stance, the firm mouth, the eyes that glittered like polished marble in the dank keep—and for a moment their courage deserted them. But only for a moment. Then they stiffened their resolve, remembering that he was only one man and they outnumbered him. Teeth clenched, they tightened their grips on their weapons and held their ground.
“Now, now, friend.” Red-beard’s voice grated like rough stones scraped together. “No need to snarl. We’re simple travelers from Keege, looking for shelter from the night.”
“We mean you no harm,” his companion said with a smirk.
“You’re not welcome here.” Tynon spoke curtly. “Leave this place—now.”
Bristling, the wiry man took a step forward. “We go where we please.”
“Not here. Get out.”
Erinn scarcely dared to breathe. How calm he sounded. And utterly confident. Yet the two men gave no sign of being intimidated. They continued to grin and smirk, fingering their weapons as if they couldn’t wait to use them.
“If you don’t leave this place now, you’ll be sorry you didn’t.”
“Who are you to give us orders, eh?” the smaller man demanded.
“We don’t much like getting orders from anyone,” Red-beard said. “Maybe your woman puts up with it, but we’re not about to—”
“You fools, he’s the duke of Bordmoor,” Erinn burst out, unable to keep silent any longer. She stepped forward to Tynon’s side, extending her arm in a sweeping gesture. “And this is Bordmoor Keep. Leave now—quickly—and if you’re fortunate he won’t harm you.”
But Red-beard gave a grunt of laughter. “Duke of Bordmoor, eh? And Bordmoor Keep?” He threw her a scornful glance. “And I’m the High King himself.” He elbowed his companion in the midsection as they both chuckled. “Bordmoor Keep is a grand place—we’ve heard tell of it. Velvet curtains and golden goblets and a kitchen with stores to feed the entire llachlander army. And who might you be, wench?”
Erinn’s chin lifted. “If you must know, I am Princess Erinn of—”
“Enough!” Tynon thrust her behind him again. “Leave her out of this. All that need concern you is that if you don’t leave now, you’ll die where you stand. Both of you.”
Though he didn’t move, didn’t even draw his sword, there was no mistaking the threat he posed. His powerful warrior’s body, his hard and determined
face, those eyes that gleamed with such a fierce light. He wants a fight, Erinn suddenly realized. It hit her with a tingle of shock. He’s furious and frustrated about the keep, and itching to take it out on someone.
But the two men seemed undaunted. They were looking beyond him, at her. Erinn had no way of knowing that she was the first woman they’d seen in weeks who wasn’t old or gap-toothed. She had never realized that beauty shone upon her like the sun.
“You’re the one who’s going to die, you damned whelp.” The scar-faced man showed Tynon broken, yellowed teeth. “But methinks we’ll keep the woman alive—for a while,” he added, and suddenly, with a yell, he leaped forward, knife outstretched even as his companion lunged toward Tynon at the same time, swinging the cudgel.
Erinn had no time to do more than gasp as the two converged on him, but somehow his sword was in his hand in a flash. Steel glinted in the candlelight, cutting a blazing arc through the air. There was a sharp whistling sound and a strangled scream as the sword caught the wiry man in the shoulder.
He reeled backward, blood spurting, and his bellow of pain and rage seemed to echo through the empty keep, from ceiling to floor and into every corner.
Then Tynon dodged Red-beard’s cudgel and sliced the sword through the air again. With a grunt, the big man leaped back just in time.
Suddenly a third outlaw burst through the door. “What in bloody hell—” He broke off at the sight of his companions fighting for their lives against the strapping man in the black tunic. He surged into the fray, his shoulder-length muddy-brown hair flying as he clenched a dagger in each fist.
Erinn screamed as one of the daggers caught Tynon in the arm. Without thinking, she grabbed the stool, lifted it, and swung it straight at the outlaw.
It struck him full in the chest, and he toppled sideways, skidding into the wall.
“Get back, you little fool,” Tynon yelled at her, but even as he spoke the man he’d wounded seized Erinn from behind, wrapped an arm around her slender waist, and pressed the blade of his knife against her cheek.
“Stop right there, you, or I’ll cut ’er to ribbons,” the outlaw shouted, holding her fast.
