Forbidden Page 6

  “You make no more sound than a butterfly,” Duncan said.

  “It’s a dreary day for butterflies. The rain is like buckets upended.”

  Amber shook water from her hooded mantle, shrugged it off, and hung it on a peg to dry. The other mantle, the one she had kept dry beneath her own, she kept folded over one arm. When she turned back to Duncan, he was pulling an outer tunic into place. The costly green wool was sewn with embroidered ribbons in gold and red and blue at the hem.

  “You look like a thane,” Amber said admiringly.

  “A thane would have a sword.”

  She smiled despite the fear that had become her constant attendant since talking with Erik four days ago. Each day Duncan revealed his warrior heritage in many ways, but never more so than when he was taken by surprise.

  And each day was another drop in the pool of fear that grew uneasily in Amber. She could not bear to think of what Erik would do if Duncan proved to be the Scots Hammer rather than a bold knight looking for a worthy lord to serve.

  If he is my enemy…I will hang him where I find him.

  “Is this clothing more comfortable than the last?” Amber asked in a strained voice.

  Duncan stretched his arms and flexed his shoulders, testing the width of the fabric. It was tight, but better than the first tunic Amber had brought. That one barely had taken his head through the neck opening, much less the breadth of his chest and shoulders across the back.

  “It’s much better,” Duncan said, “though I fear it would give way in a battle.”

  “You’re among friends,” she said quickly. “There is no need to fight.”

  For a moment Duncan said nothing. Then he frowned as though searching for a memory that was no longer there.

  “I hope you’re right, lass. I just keep feeling…”

  Heart in her throat, Amber waited.

  With a throttled curse, Duncan abandoned the hunt among the shadow memories that mocked and teased him, retreating as soon as he approached.

  “Something is not right,” he said flatly. “I am a man out of place. I know it as surely as I know that I breathe.”

  “It has been only a handful of days since you awakened. Healing takes time.”

  “Time. Time! God’s teeth, I have no time to stand around like a squire waiting for his lord to sleep off a night of folly. I must—”

  Duncan’s words ended as though cut off by a sword. He didn’t know what he had to do.

  It was worse than a fox gnawing at his vitals.

  He struck his fist against his hand and turned away from Amber. Though he said nothing more, tension radiated from him like heat from a hearth fire.

  When Amber approached and stood close, his nostrils flared at the evergreen freshness of her scent.

  “Be at peace, Duncan.”

  A warm, gentle hand caressed his fist. He flinched subtly, surprised. She had been very careful not to touch him since he had stolen that single, hungry kiss from her. Just as he had been careful not to touch her again.

  Duncan told himself that he was wary because he had no way of knowing whom Amber had been to him in the past or would be in the future. They might very well be lovers separated by conflicting vows.

  Yet the instant Duncan felt the sweetness of Amber’s brief caress, he knew the real reason he hadn’t touched her again. The torrent of passion and yearning she aroused in him was like nothing he had ever felt for a woman.

  The passion Duncan understood, for he was a healthy man in the presence of a girl whose very scent made him harden in a wild rush of blood. But the hungry yearning to hold and be held was as new and unexpected as his lack of memory.

  The surprise that came each time Duncan confronted the depth of his response to Amber was what finally had convinced him that he had never felt such passion for a woman before. Just as the fact that he kept reaching for a sword told him that he had worn one in his unremembered past.

  “Duncan,” Amber whispered.

  “Duncan,” he repeated sardonically. “A dark warrior, am I? But there is no sword at my side, no cold weight of metal to keep me company when danger calls.”

  “Erik—”

  “Aye,” Duncan interrupted. “The all-powerful Erik, who is your protector. The great thane who decreed I would go unarmed for a fortnight, yet still his squire lounges ever within reach of your shout.”

  “Egbert the Lazy?” Amber asked. “Is he still about?”

  “Dozing in the shed. The fowl are quite put out to share their roost.”

  “Turn to face me,” she said, changing the subject. “Let me see to the fit.”

  Slowly Duncan complied.

  Amber tugged at a lace here and there, tucked in a stray fold of cloth, and handed over the beautiful indigo mantle that she had brought through the rain from Stone Ring Keep.

  “For you,” she said.

  Duncan looked down into the golden eyes that watched him with such transparent eagerness to bring him ease.

  “You are very kind to a man with no name, no past, and no future,” he said broodingly.

  “We have been over that many times to no avail. Unless…are you remembering more?”

  “Not in the way you mean. No names. No faces. No deeds. No vows. Yet I feel…I feel that something both grand and dangerous is waiting for me, just beyond my grasp.”

  Amber’s slender hand settled on Duncan’s fist again. She sensed no memories looming from his past, no condensing of the shadow memories that swirled and faded, only to be reborn, taunting and hinting. Everything was as it had been.

  Especially the sensual hunger for her that pervaded Duncan’s being as deeply as the shadows of his lost memory.

  Knowing of Duncan’s need made a curious kind of heat uncurl throughout Amber’s body. It was as though an invisible fire lived in the pit of her stomach, waiting only for the breath of Duncan’s desire to burst into flame.

  Amber told herself that she must lift her hand and not approach Duncan again, but her hand remained where it was, touching him. Such contact was a sweet, subtle drug. The joy it gave her should have terrified her, yet it only lured her even more deeply.

  “Life is both grand and dangerous,” Amber said in a low voice.

  “Is it? I don’t remember.”

  Duncan’s barely restrained emotions lashed through Amber, a seething mixture of frustration, anger, and impatience.

  With an act of will that left Amber aching, she forced herself not to thread her fingers deeply into Duncan’s hair and hold him until pleasure at her caresses overcame all other emotions. Yet she couldn’t prevent herself from touching Duncan just a little.

  So little.

  Just her fingertip tracing the clenched power of his fist.

  “Has it been so bad for you here, then?” Amber whispered unhappily.

  Duncan looked down at the bent head of the girl who had done nothing to earn his anger and much to earn his gratitude. Slowly his fist uncurled. Just as slowly he caught Amber’s right hand in his own. Her body jerked subtly at his touch.

  “Don’t be afraid, golden fairy. I won’t hurt you.”

  “I know.”

  The certainty in Amber’s voice was reflected in her eyes. Duncan was too pleased by her trust to ask why she was so confident. He lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss.

  The sound of Amber’s breath rushing out made Duncan’s heartbeat speed. He had meant only to kiss her hand, but her response was an irresistible lure. He turned her hand over, cradling it in his palm while his lips found the pulse point of her wrist and brushed it repeatedly.

  When his lips parted and the tip of his tongue traced the fragile blue vein, her heart’s blood visibly raced in response to the caress. Desire arced through Duncan like a bolt from an invisible storm.

  Yet the gentleness of his caress never varied. He remembered too well Amber’s retreat when he had tried a bolder kind of love play.

  “Duncan,” Amber whispered. “I…”

  Her voice vanish
ed as a sensuous shiver took her. Being touched by Duncan under any circumstances was a piercing pleasure. Knowing the full force of his passion for her while being kissed so very tenderly by him was like being wrapped in delicate, consuming fire.

  Duncan lifted his head and looked down into the dazed golden eyes of the girl who was as much a mystery to him as his own past.

  “You come to my lure like a falcon to its master’s call,” he said in a deep voice. “You burn for me and I for you. Were we lovers in the time I don’t remember?”

  With a small cry Amber jerked her hand free and turned her back.

  “I was never your lover,” she said in a strained voice.

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “’Tis true just the same.”

  “God’s teeth,” Duncan hissed. “I can’t believe that! We are too strongly drawn. You know something about my past that you aren’t telling me.”

  Amber shook her head.

  “I don’t believe you,” he repeated.

  She spun back to Duncan with a speed that made her clothing flare.

  “As you will,” she said angrily. “Before you came to the Disputed Lands, you were a prince.”

  Duncan was too shocked to speak.

  “You were a freeholder,” Amber continued.

  “What are you—”

  “You were a traitor,” she said ruthlessly.

  Stunned, Duncan simply stared at Amber.

  “You were a hero,” she said. “You were a knight. You were a squire. You were a priest. You were a lord. You were—”

  “Enough,” Duncan interrupted in a savage voice.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  “Well what?”

  “One of those things is the truth.”

  “Is it?”

  Amber shrugged. “What else could you have been?”

  “A serf or a sailor,” he said sardonically.

  “No. You haven’t the calluses for it. Nor the thick head, though lately I begin to wonder.”

  Abruptly, Duncan laughed.

  Against her will, Amber smiled. “You see? Whatever I tell you isn’t the same as knowing. That you must do for yourself. No one can do it for you.”

  Duncan’s laughter stopped. For the space of several breaths he said nothing.

  The temptation to touch him and discover what he was feeling almost overwhelmed Amber. She fought her own hunger, her own need.

  And she lost.

  Her fingertips smoothed lightly over Duncan’s clean-shaven cheek.

  Anger.

  Bafflement.

  A loss so great it couldn’t be described, only felt like thunder from a distant storm quivering through the air.

  “Duncan,” Amber whispered painfully. “My dark warrior.”

  He watched her with eyes that were narrowed, glittering, the eyes of an animal caught within a trap.

  “Fighting yourself only wounds you more,” she said. “Let yourself grow used to the life you have now.”

  “How can I?” Duncan asked in a rough voice. “What of the life I left behind? What if there is a lord expecting me to honor my vow? What if there is a wife? Heirs? Land?”

  When Duncan spoke of lord and land, Amber sensed the dark seething of his memory. No such response came at the mention of wife or heirs.

  Her relief was so acute that Amber’s knees weakened. The thought of Duncan bound by sacred vow to another woman had been like a knife turning in Amber’s heart. She hadn’t known how great her fear had been until it was banished by the unspeakable certainty that lay beneath Duncan’s elusive memory.

  Pray God that his memory doesn’t return. The more he remembers, the more I fear.

  Enemy, not friend.

  Soul mate.

  In shades of darkness Duncan came to me. In shades of darkness he must remain.

  Or die.

  And that thought was even more unbearable than Duncan alive and bound to another woman.

  THE merlin’s quick, shallow wing-beats brought it swiftly toward the lure Duncan was casting with smooth, powerful sweeps of his arm.

  “Well done,” Amber said, clapping her hands in excitement. “You must have cast the lure many times before.”

  The lure jerked, then resumed its steady circling.

  Instantly Amber regretted her words. For the last five days she had refused to discuss Duncan’s past in any way at all. Nor had his memory returned, though it had been nine days since he had awakened.

  After that first, swift look at Amber, Duncan concentrated only on the smooth circling of the lure, calling the winged predator down from the cloud-tossed sky. Without warning the small falcon stooped, hit the lure with deadly speed, and settled to the ground to feed, mantling its wings protectively over its “prey.”

  Quickly Amber lured the merlin with a bit of meat and piercing whistles. After a few sharp protests, the falcon surrendered and came to Amber’s wrist.

  “Don’t sulk, little beauty,” Amber murmured as she smoothed the jesses so that they hung evenly over her gauntlet. “You did very well.”

  “Well enough to earn a true hunt?” Duncan asked.

  She smiled. “You sound as eager as a falcon.”

  “I am. I’m not used to being shut up in a cottage with only a wary maid and my own thoughts for company—or lack thereof,” he added ironically.

  Amber winced.

  Duncan had shown little interest in her prescribed course of rest, food, and more rest. When the cold rains came, it wasn’t difficult to keep Duncan indoors, for all that he paced like a caged wolf.

  But today, when the sun poured down until mist lifted in great silver flags from the land, keeping Duncan inside hadn’t been possible.

  “I was afraid,” she said.

  “Of what? I’m not ice to melt in sunshine or rain.”

  “I feared enemies.”

  “Who?” he asked swiftly.

  “The Disputed Lands are…disputed. Landless knights, ambitious bastards, second and third sons, outlaws. All of them roam, seeking prey.”

  “Yet you went to Stone Ring Keep alone to bring clothes for me?”

  Amber shrugged. “I don’t fear for myself. No man will touch me.”

  Duncan looked skeptical.

  “’Tis true,” she said. “It is known throughout the Disputed Lands that Erik will hang the man who touches me.”

  “I have touched you.”

  “Besides, you grumbled so about having to wear bed covers, like a Saracen…” Amber said, changing the subject.

  Duncan said a few profane words in the language he had learned in the Holy Land.

  “What does that mean?” she asked curiously.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Oh.” She sighed. “In any case, I wanted to make sure you were healed from all the effects of the storm before you went out.”

  “All?” Duncan retorted.

  “Almost all,” Amber said tartly. “If I waited for your temper to mend, I would be wrapped in winding sheets and on my way to the grave.”

  Duncan shot her a glittering hazel glance, but had the grace to realize she was right. He had been in a foul temper since morning, when he had awakened from dreams that seethed with shadows and sensual heat.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Bad enough that my memory of the past is gone. But having the past stand in the way of my present and future is more than I can bear with a smile.”

  “There is a future for you here, if you want it,” Amber said.

  “As a freeholder or squire?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s generous of you,” Duncan said.

  “Not I. Erik. He is lord of Stone Ring Keep.”

  Duncan frowned. He had yet to meet the young lord, but doubted that they would do well together. Amber was too fond of Erik for Duncan’s ease.

  As always, the depth of his possessiveness toward Amber bothered Duncan, but he was helpless to change it. Just as he was helpless to know why he felt as h
e did.

  We must have been lovers. Or wished to be.

  Duncan waited, testing his response the way a tongue tests a sore tooth. Cautiously. Relentlessly.

  Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.

  He felt neither a sense of right nor of wrong, as had been the case when he noted the absence of a sword, and the certainty that he had never felt so strongly about a woman before.

  “Duncan?” Amber said softly.

  He blinked and came back from his thoughts.

  “I don’t think I would be happy as a freeholder or a squire,” Duncan said slowly.

  “Then what do you want?”

  “Whatever I lost.”

  “Dark warrior…” she whispered. “You must let go of the past.”

  “That would be like dying.”

  Unhappily, Amber turned aside and hooded the merlin. The bird tolerated it calmly, satisfied for the moment by the recent flight and taste of blood.

  “Even the most fierce falcon accepts the hood without great complaint,” she said.

  “It knows the hood will be removed,” Duncan retorted.

  Amber turned and walked toward the mews that were nestled along one side of the cottage. Squire Egbert, more boy than man, came slowly to his feet, stretched, and opened the door for her to enter. When the merlin was safely inside, Amber shut the door behind her and waved the red-haired Egbert back to his idle counting of clouds.

  As soon as she and Duncan were beyond the reach of the squire’s eyes, Amber turned to her companion. Delicately she put her hand on his.

  “If you can’t have the past,” she asked in a low voice, “what do you most want?”

  The answer was immediate.

  “You.”

  A stillness came over Amber. Joy and fear warred within her, shaking her.

  “But that won’t be,” Duncan continued evenly. “I won’t take one maid without knowing what I might have vowed to another.”

  “I don’t believe you are joined to another woman.”

  “Nor do I. But I was born of an adulterous union,” he said distinctly. “I’ll leave neither bastard son to beg his way through the world, nor bastard daughter to become a nobleman’s whore.”

  “Duncan,” Amber whispered. “How do you know?”

  “What?”

  “That you were born a bastard. That one of your parents committed adultery.”