Medieval 02 - Forbidden

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.
     
    T HE 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