Medieval 02 - Forbidden

friend.
    “Aye,” Duncan said. “I love a good fight.”
    “Nay,” Amber interrupted firmly. “I’ll not have it.”
    “Have what?” Erik asked with transparent innocence.
    “You are planning to have Duncan join your battle games.”
    “Are you willing?” Erik asked Duncan.
    “Give me a sword and I’ll show you.”
    Fear lanced through Amber. Without thinking, she leaned forward and wrapped her fingers around Duncan’s wrist. The warmth and sheer maleness of him swept through her. She ignored her response, for the fear that drove her was equally strong.
    “No,” Amber said urgently. “You nearly died in that storm. It’s much too soon for you to fight unless there is real need.”
    Duncan looked down into her anxious golden eyes and felt something taut within him loosen. She had avoided his touch for days, yet she cared for him deeply. Her emotion was so clear to him that he barely refrained from kissing away the lines of fear around her full mouth.
    “Don’t worry, precious Amber,” Duncan whispered against her cheek. “I won’t be thrashed by ill-trained knights.”
    Duncan’s humor, passion, and supreme self-confidence flowed through the touch to Amber. He wasn’t the least afraid of testing himself against the best Erik had to offer.
    In fact, Duncan was anticipating it with the pleasure of a hungry wolf looking over a sheepfold.
    Reluctantly Amber loosened her hold on Duncan’s wrist. Though she no longer held him, her fingertips lingered on his wrist with a hunger that was reflected in the shadowed depths of her eyes.
    Duncan saw the yearning in her gaze and felt fire flare through his loins. His fingers curled over hers, holding them, needing the contact with a force he couldn’t question.
    Erik watched with a combination of wonder and unease.
    “You told me,” Erik said to Amber, “but I didn’t truly believe. Touching him doesn’t hurt you. It…pleases you.”
    “Yes. Greatly.”
    Erik looked from Amber’s face, pleasure and unhappiness combined, to Duncan. There, defiance and pleasure were mingled, making him appear warrior and lover both.
    “I do hope,” Erik said distinctly to Amber, “that Cassandra finishes casting the rune stones before I’m forced to decide between what pleases you and the safety of the Disputed Lands.”
    Fear rippled through Amber. She closed her eyes and said nothing.
    Nor did she pull her fingers away from Duncan’s clasp.
    A shout from one of Erik’s knights came through the mist. As one, Erik and Duncan turned. Four knights were riding out from the stables toward the place where Erik waited. Three of the knights were familiar to Erik. The fourth wasn’t.
    Duncan straightened and leaned forward as though to see better through the seething mists. Three of the knights were unknown to him.
    The fourth made shadows stir and condense into something that was neither memory nor forgetfulness.

6
    C LOUDS separated, allowing pale gold sunlight to stream over the rain-drenched land. The green of grass and trees became incandescent. Pale stone gleamed like pearl. Bark was an ebony richness. Water drops gathered on every surface, making the land shimmer as though with secret laughter.
    Amber shared none of the land’s hidden amusement. She had felt Duncan’s memories twitch and shiver, a dragon awakening deep within his shadows.
    “Who is the fourth man?” she asked Erik.
    “I don’t know,” he said.
    “Find out.”
    The sharp demand in Amber’s voice surprised Erik. What surprised Duncan was the feel of her nails digging into his wrist.
    “Is something amiss?” Erik asked.
    Belatedly Amber realized what she had done. If the fourth man was indeed from Duncan’s past—and if Duncan was indeed the enemy she feared—she had put him in danger with her incautious demand.
    “No,” Amber said, making certain that her voice was calm. “I’m simply wary of new warriors in the Disputed Lands.”
    “So is Alfred,” Erik said dryly.
    Amber’s smile was a brief shadow of her usual one, but only Duncan noticed.
    Only he knew of her nails biting into his flesh.
    “Who is Alfred?” Duncan asked.
    “One of my best knights. He is the one on the white stallion, next to the stranger.”
    “Alfred,” Duncan said, memorizing the man.
    “Alfred the Sly,” Amber corrected.
    “You’ve never forgiven him for calling you a sorceress,” Erik said wryly.
    “He had the Church believing him.”
    Erik shrugged. “The priest was a fat old