8
“THAT—that wouldn’t be wise,” Amber said raggedly.
“On the contrary, precious Amber. It would be the wisest thing I have ever done.”
“But we shouldn’t—we can’t—”
The slow drawing of Duncan’s fingertips over Amber’s lips scattered her words and her thoughts. She could sense his desire so clearly that it made her tremble.
And even more clearly she sensed his restraint.
“Duncan?” Amber asked, confused.
“I won’t take you,” he said simply. “I don’t know what I did to you in the past that you fear my desire now, but I do know that you fear it.”
“It is not—what you—dear God—you must not take me!”
“Hush, precious Amber.” Duncan sealed her lips with a gentle pressure of his thumb. “I won’t take you. Do you believe me?”
Amber felt the truth in Duncan, a certainty even stronger than the passion that burned within him.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I believe you.”
A long, low breath that was almost a groan came from deep in his chest.
“Thank you,” Duncan said. “In the past, no one would have questioned my oath. But here…here I must prove my worth and honor all over again.”
“Not to me. I sensed your honor and your pride very clearly the first time I touched you.”
Duncan gave Amber’s mouth a tender, brushing movement of his lips that was almost too light to be called a kiss.
“Come,” he said softly, holding out his hand. “Walk with me.”
Amber laced her fingers through Duncan’s and trembled at the banked fires of passion that burned so intensely in his body.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To find a place of shelter.”
“The wind isn’t cold.”
“Not while we wear our mantles,” he agreed.
What Duncan left unsaid rippled through Amber in a wave of unease and anticipation combined.
The murmuring of sea and grass and wind followed both of them to the base of a low rise. There man had once smoothed a circle to raise tall stones within. Though the builders had long since vanished, the grassy circle and stones remained.
“This place is sheltered,” Amber said. “Unless you fear the stones?”
For a moment Duncan closed his eyes. Senses that slept within him until times of danger quivered to alertness at his prodding, found nothing of concern, and sank into timeless sleep again.
Amber, whose hand was still joined with Duncan’s, watched him with amazement. Because of Cassandra’s teaching, Amber knew that if ancient evil had ever lingered near the circle of stones, the evil had long since fled from the place.
And so did Duncan, who had never been taught.
He must be an unknown knight. I am silly to keep fearing he is the Scots Hammer, enemy of Erik.
“There is nothing to fear in the stones,” he said after a moment.
“You are Learned,” Amber said.
Duncan laughed. “Nay, my golden witch. I’m simply a warrior who fights with everything available, including my head.”
Amber started to quarrel about being named a witch before she realized that he had used the term with affection rather than with accusation. When she saw that Duncan was watching her with amusement and approval in his vivid hazel eyes, she decided that she liked being his “golden witch.”
“That’s what Learning is,” Amber said absently. “Using your head.”
“In that event,” Duncan said, looking around the circle of stones, “I learned during the holy crusade what every hound is born knowing—danger has a special scent and feel.”
“I think there is more to it than that.”
“And I think there is less.”
Duncan glanced sideways at Amber. She was watching him with luminous golden eyes and an intensity that made him want to ravish her both tenderly and very thoroughly.
“Come, my amber delight.”
“Ah, so I’m a delight now rather than a witch. You must be Learned!”
The smile Duncan gave Amber was like a caress.
“Delightful witch,” he said in a low voice. “Sit against this stone with me and we’ll argue about what is Learned and what is simply common sense.”
Smiling, Amber answered the tug on her hand by settling into the grass beside Duncan.
The stone he had chosen to shelter them from the fitful wind was taller than a man.
Its face was seamed by time and salt air.
Within blade-thin crevices on the stone’s surface grew gardens so tiny that a man could scarce see the moss bloom.
Yet bloom it certainly did. Growing things thrived on the surface of the stone, weaving a thick, vibrantly colored mantle over much of the ancient monolith.
Amber tested the moss with her fingertips, then closed her eyes and settled back against it with a sigh.
“How long do you think the stones have waited thus?” she murmured.
“Not half so long as I’ve wanted to do this.”
Amber’s eyes opened. Duncan was so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath and see the individual splinters of color in his hazel eyes. She drew back slightly, wanting to touch the clean line of his mouth beneath his mustache.
“Nay, lass,” Duncan said. “There is nothing to fear.”
“I know. I just wanted to touch you.”
“Did you? How?”
“Like this.”
Amber’s fingertip traced the rim of Duncan’s upper lip. The keen thrill of pleasure that coursed through him at her touch was as much a reward to Amber as the intimate rush of his breath caressing her fingertips.
“You like that,” she said, delighted at the discovery.
Duncan’s breath caught as another caress skimmed his lip, sending a tongue of fire through him.
“Aye,” he said huskily. “I like that. Do you?”
“Like touching you? Yes. Too much, I fear.”
“There is no place for fear between us.”
The rush of Duncan’s breath was replaced by the smooth heat of his mouth against Amber’s. He felt the hesitation in her.
Then he felt the subtle yielding as she allowed the kiss. His heartbeat speeded as fire searched through his body.
Yet Duncan did no more than increase the pressure of his mouth on hers just a bit. It was barely enough to part Amber’s lips for a skimming caress from the tip of his tongue. But it was enough to make her sigh and yield more of her mouth to the gentle kiss. Again he delicately traced her lips.
“Duncan,” Amber whispered. “You are…”
His tongue moved again, this time more deeply.
Breath and words caught in Amber’s throat. The gliding caress along the sensitive inner side of her lips was as delicate as a butterfly’s wing. If she hadn’t been touching Duncan, she would have thought that he was as gentle as a butterfly, too.
But she was touching him. She felt the banked heat of his fiery hunger. The contrast between his actions and his intense need should have frightened her.
Instead, it beguiled her as no caress could have.
“Truly I am safe with you,” Amber whispered.
“Always, my golden witch. I would sooner cut off my own sword hand than harm you.”
When Duncan’s arms eased around her, Amber made no move to withdraw. He lifted and settled her across his thighs with a slow movement that was also a caress, telling her that he was frankly savoring her warm weight in his lap.
“Open my mantle and put your hands inside,” Duncan said softly.
Amber hesitated.
“Do you not want to share my warmth?” he asked.
“I’m afraid to.”
Duncan’s eyelashes lowered. The sadness that went through him drew a low cry from Amber.
“You don’t trust me,” he said. “What did I do to you in the past that you so fear me now? Did I force myself on you?”
“Nay,” she whispered.
Then she whispered it again and again, torn by his uncertainty and grief, the wound to his self-esteem that she did not believe his vow that she was safe with him.
She couldn’t bear to hurt him so.
Unbidden, Amber’s hands slid into the opening of Duncan’s mantle. With a need she couldn’t conceal, she fought through clothing until she could feel once more the living heat of his naked skin against her own. The small consummation drew a low cry from the back of her throat.
Baffled, Duncan looked at Amber’s closed eyes and taut features as she experienced the textures of his body. When he realized that simply touching his naked skin was such a keen pleasure for her, he was both shaken and violently aroused.
“Amber?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “It is myself I fear, not you.”
She lowered her head against Duncan until her breath could bathe what her fingers were caressing.
“It is myself…”
Her whisper merged with the heat of her mouth against Duncan’s throat. A current of fire ripped through him. The feel of Amber’s tongue caressing his skin was so sweet and unexpected that it made him groan.
“Every touch I give you, even the least…” Amber whispered.
Her tongue stroked Duncan as delicately as a cat’s. His whole body tightened in response.
“See?” she whispered. “I touch you and you burn. I feel you burning and I burn as well. Then I touch you again and the flames leap higher.”
“By God’s holy blood,” Duncan said hoarsely, finally understanding the source of Amber’s fear. “You want me as much as I want you.”
Her smile was bittersweet. She let out a ragged breath.
“Nay, Duncan. I want you more. Your desire and my own combined.”
“That’s why you’re afraid?”
“Yes. I fear…this.”
Again Amber touched Duncan’s flesh with the tip of her tongue, savoring the taste and warmth of his body, the smooth texture, and most of all the rapid, heavy beating of his blood just beneath his skin.
“Don’t fear it,” Duncan said, his voice low and almost rough. “Passion such as this is a gift from God.”
She laughed sadly. “Is it? Is it a gift to see Paradise from afar, and know that you must never enter?”
One of Duncan’s hands slid beneath Amber’s cowl. His fingers eased into her loosely braided hair until he held her securely. A steady pressure of his palm turned her head up so that he could look into her golden eyes.
“We can taste Paradise without breaching its coral gates,” Duncan said.
“Is that possible?”
“Aye.”
“How?”
“Follow me. I’ll show you.”
Duncan closed the scant distance between their mouths. Amber’s lips parted at the touch of his tongue. She felt again the delicious sensation as he skimmed the inside of her lips.
Then the touch of his tongue became firmer, more insistent, prowling the edges of her mouth, seeking entry to the warm darkness just beyond his reach.