9
ERIK waited for Duncan and Amber in a chair of riven oak whose seat was softened by a loose cushion.
Despite luxurious wall hangings and a roaring fire in the central hearth, the great hall of Sea Home’s manor house was cold.
Each time a violent gust of wind forced icy air through chinks in the manor’s thick timber walls, the tapestries stirred.
Though the carved wooden screens were placed so as to turn the drafts from the manor’s main door, torch flames leaped and wavered when the door opened, as it just had.
The flames of the central fire bent and whipped in the draft.
Their dance was reflected many times over in the eyes of the rough-coated wolfhounds that lay at Erik’s feet, in the peregrine’s unflinching glare from the perch behind the oak chair, in Erik’s own eyes…
and in the ancient silver dagger that he was turning slowly in his hands.
A door bar thumped home as the main door was shut once more. Moments later the leaping flames shrank to their accustomed size. Sounds of hurrying footsteps accompanied the low urging of Alfred’s voice as Erik’s knight approached the great hall.
Without a word, Erik stared at the three people who had barely beaten moonrise back to the keep. Egbert looked sheepish. Amber appeared flushed with more than the cold wind that had sprung up. Duncan looked like what Amber had named him—a dark warrior.
In the silence that stretched and stretched, Erik watched the three people, ignoring Alfred entirely. In defiance of Erik’s usual good manners, he invited no one to sit on the chairs that had been dragged close to the fire for warmth and ease.
It was very clear to Amber that Erik was holding on to his temper by a bare thread.
“You seem to have brought winter with you,” he said.
Despite Erik’s nearly tangible anger, his tone was mild. The contrast between his voice and the dagger gleaming wickedly in his hands was alarming.
“The geese,” Amber said. “They have just come to Whispering Fen.”
The news did nothing to soften Erik’s expression. Yet his tone remained the same, calm to the point of flatness.
“Ahhhh. The geese,” Erik murmured. “Cassandra will be pleased.”
“By an early winter?” Duncan asked.
“It must be reassuring to have one’s every though turned to truth,” Erik said without looking away from Amber, “while mere mortals must depend upon such slender reeds as trust and honor.”
The blood left Amber’s face. She had known Erik for her entire life, yet she had never seen him quite like this. She had seen him angry, yes, for he had a volatile temper. She had even seen him in a cold fury.
But never with her.
And never this cold.
“You may retire now, Alfred,” Erik said.
“Thank you, lord.”
Alfred vanished with the alacrity of a man fleeing demons.
“Egbert.”
Erik’s voice was like the flick of a whip. The boy jumped.
“Yes, lord?” he said hurriedly.
“As you slept the afternoon away, you will have guard duty tonight. Go to it. Now.”
“Aye, lord!”
Egbert left with impressive speed.
“I believe,” Erik said thoughtfully, “that I’ve never seen the boy move so quickly.”
Amber made a sound that could have meant anything or nothing at all. She was still absorbing the fact that Erik knew Egbert had spent much of his time asleep.
She wondered if Erik also knew that she and Duncan had ridden off alone.
“He is frightened of you,” Amber said.
“Then he is smarter than I guessed. Smarter than you, certainly.”
Amber flinched.
Duncan took a step forward, only to stop when Amber grasped his wrist in an unspoken plea.
“How was your ride?” Erik asked silkily. “Chilly?”
“Not at first,” Duncan said.
“The day was beautiful,” Amber said quickly.
“And how was your special place, Learned maid? Was it beautiful, too?”
“How did you know?” she asked in a strained voice.
Erik’s smile was that of a wolf just before it leaps.
Abruptly Duncan wished he were wearing a sword or carrying the hammer. But he had neither weapon. He had only the certainty that Erik, for all his moments of charm and laughter, could be a deadly enemy.
With careful movements, Duncan took off his mantle and draped it on a trestle table to dry.
“May I?” he asked, reaching for Amber’s mantle.
“No. I—that is, I’m—”
“Afraid your laces aren’t fully tied?” Erik finished gently.
She gave him a fearful look.
The expression that came over Erik’s face didn’t make Amber feel any more easy. He was in a savage humor.
“What, no protestations of innocence?” Erik asked in a soft voice. “No reassurances that you didn’t leave Egbert sleeping in a field while two horses cropped grass nearby?”
“We—” Amber began, but Erik’s voice overrode hers.
“No soft cries that honor hasn’t been outraged and trust breached, along with your maidenhead? No blushes—”
“Nay, that’s not—”
“—and stuttered little pleas that—”
“Enough.”
The flat promise of violence in Duncan’s voice shocked Amber.
The hounds around Erik’s chair came to their feet in a bristling, snarling rush. The peregrine’s hooked beak opened in a shrill, savage cry. Unknowingly, Amber’s nails dug into Duncan’s wrist.
“Leave off harrying her,” Duncan said, ignoring the threatening animals.
He opened his mouth to add that discussing Amber as though she were a virgin was ridiculous, and nobody knew it better than Duncan. But a look at Erik’s feral, wolflike eyes convinced Duncan to be careful how he stated the truth.
“Amber’s maidenhead is as intact now as it was this morning,” Duncan said flatly. “You have my vow on that.”
In a silence outlined by the leap of flames, Erik turned the dagger over and over in his hand while he studied the dark warrior who loomed in front of him, ready for battle.
Yea, even eager for it.
Abruptly Erik understood. He threw back his head and laughed like a tawny devil.
The hounds settled their ruffs, stretched, and sprawled at ease once more, yellow eyes reflecting fire. A sweet whistle from her master cooled the peregrine’s ire.
When quiet had been restored, Erik gave Duncan a look of masculine sympathy.
“I believe you,” he said.
Duncan nodded curtly.
“You don’t have the relaxed air of a man who has spent the afternoon—and himself!—lying between a woman’s soft legs,” Erik added.
Duncan said something profane beneath his breath.
“Come to the fire, warrior,” Erik said, struggling not to show the smile concealed within his beard. “You must be stiff as a sword with chill. Or is that the only part of you still warm?”
“Erik!” Amber said, embarrassed.
He looked at her bright cheeks and smiled with a combination of affection and amusement.
“Little Learned innocent,” Erik said gently, “there isn’t a man or woman in the keep who doesn’t know where Duncan looks—and who looks back at him.”
Amber put her hands to her hot cheeks.
“’Tis a source of much betting among the men,” Erik said.
“What is?” Amber asked faintly.
“Whether you or he will break first.”
“It won’t be Duncan.”
Amber didn’t understand how much the tartness in her voice had given away.
Erik understood immediately. So did Duncan. While Erik gave in to laughter, Duncan went to Amber and hid her flaming face against his chest.
The contradictory currents Duncan’s touch revealed—prowling hunger, rue, laughter—were oddly comforting to Amber. But nothing was as reassuring as knowing that Duncan again welcomed her touch.
He had all but turned himself inside out to avoid contact with her on the way back to Sea Home.
With a sigh, Amber leaned against Duncan. Silently she drank the heady wine of his presence, letting it drive out the cold that had come over her when she heard the geese descending.
“Touching,” Erik said dryly. “Literally.”
“Leave off,” Duncan retorted.
“I suppose I must, but I haven’t been quite this amused since you accused me of wanting Amber for myself.”
Her head snapped up. She looked at Duncan, startled.
“You didn’t,” Amber said.
“Oh, but he did,” Erik countered.
Amber made an odd sound.
“Are you laughing?” Erik asked.
“Ummm.”
He frowned at her.
“Do you think it so unreasonable that a maid might be drawn to me?” Erik asked, offended.
“Nay,” Amber said quickly.
Erik raised his eyebrows.
After a moment Amber lifted her head and looked at the dark warrior who held her quite gently.
“But,” Amber added, “’tis absurd to believe that this maid would ever allow any man to touch her, save one.”
“Duncan,” Erik said.
“Aye. Duncan.”
“That is to be expected between a man and his betrothed,” Erik said matter-of-factly.
As one, Duncan and Amber spun and stared at Erik.
“My betrothed?” Duncan asked carefully.
“Of course,” Erik said. “We will announce it tomorrow. Or did you expect to seduce Amber with no thought to her honor—and mine?”
“I have told you,” Duncan said. “Until my memory returns, I can’t ask for Amber’s hand.”
“But you can take the rest of her, is that it?”
Duncan’s face darkened.
“The people of the keep are whispering,” Erik said. “Soon they will be talking openly about a foolish maid who lies with a man who has no intention of—”
“She has not—” Duncan began.
“Leave off,” Erik snarled. “It will come as surely as sparks fly upward! The passion between the two of you is strong enough to taste. I’ve seen nothing like it in my life.”
Silence was Duncan’s only response.
“Do you deny this?” Erik challenged.
Duncan closed his eyes. “No.”
Erik looked at Amber. “I needn’t ask you about your feelings. You look like a gem lit from within You burn.”
“Is that such a terrible thing?” she asked painfully. “Should I be ashamed that I have finally found what every other woman takes for granted?”
“Lust,” Erik said bluntly.
“Nay! The profound pleasure of touching someone and not feeling pain.”
Shocked, Duncan looked at Amber. He started to ask what she meant, but she was talking again, her words urgent, driven by the tension that vibrated through her.
“Passion is part of it,” Amber said. “But only part. There is peace as well. There is laughter. There is…joy.”
“There is also prophecy,” Erik shot back. “Do you remember it?”