Medieval 02 - Forbidden

hair is,” Amber muttered.
    As she bent down to retrieve the comb, her hair fell across the stranger’s bound right hand. Long, powerful fingers clenched in her hair, holding her captive.
    Amber froze, then stared into piercing hazel eyes that were only a few inches from her own.
    Not gray. Thank God, not the gray of Dominic le Sabre’s! I haven’t lost my heart to a man who is already wed .
    “Who are you?” demanded a deep male voice.
    “You have your wits! You have slept for two days and I feared—”
    “Two?” he interrupted.
    “Don’t you remember?” Amber asked softly, stroking the hand whose fingers were wrapped in her hair. “There was a storm.”
    She waited hopefully.
    “I remember nothing,” he said.
    Amber didn’t doubt it. All that came to her from touching the stranger was the depth of his confusion.
    “I—remember—nothing!” the stranger said violently. “By God’s holy blood, what has happened to me?”
    There was fear as well as confusion in his voice. He tried to get up, only to realize that he was bound hand and foot. He could move his fingers and his head, but no more. He was so surprised that he released his grip on Amber’s hair and began straining at the cords binding his right arm.
    His sword arm.
    “’Tis all right,” Amber said, reaching for his hand.
    “I’m bound! Am I a prisoner?”
    “Nay, it’s just—”
    “What in the name of Jesus and Mary is going on!”
    She touched the stranger’s clenched hand. She sensed fury at being bound, turmoil at lack of memory, fear at his own helplessness; but nowhere did she sense any desire to hurt her.
    “I wish you no harm,” Amber said soothingly. “You’ve been ill and out of your senses.”
    She might as well have been talking to the wind. The man’s muscles bunched as he fought against his bonds. The wooden supports of the bed creaked and cords bit into his flesh, but none of the bonds gave way.
    A feral snarl rippled from his throat. His body bucked and covers flew off as he struggled to free himself. Cords cut into flesh until blood flowed. He kept fighting.
    “Nay,” Amber said urgently. “Stop!”
    She threw herself across the stranger’s body and hung on to him as though he were an unruly horse, trying to hold him still so that he wouldn’t hurt himself any more.
    The shock of being surrounded by a soft, fragrant woman and a wild fall of golden hair was so startling that the man stopped struggling for an instant.
    It was all Amber needed. She brushed a kiss across his naked chest, further shocking him into stillness. Then she touched his lips with her fingers as though to stop his cries.
    “Lie still, my dark warrior. I will free you.”
    A shudder went through him. He counted each heartbeat in the savage agony hammering inside his head. Slowly, with a visible act of will, he forced himself not to fight against his bonds.
    The feel of Amber’s hands on his bare skin sent another shudder through him, as did the silky fall of her hair across his groin. His heart raced with more than the brief fight to free himself.
    Then he saw the ancient silver dagger she had taken from her belt.
    “Nay!” he said hoarsely.
    Abruptly he realized that the dagger was to be used on the knots rather than on him. With a groan, he stopped struggling. When the force of his blood slowed, the pain in his head subsided.
    Amber looked up from her work and smiled encouragingly.
    “I’m sorry you were bound,” she said. “You were…not yourself.”
    Whomever that might be .
    “No one knew how it would go with you when you awoke,” she added.
    The man let out a long breath as his right hand was freed. The other bonds gave way quickly to the flashing dagger. Before the sweat of his brief battle had dried on his body, he was free.
    “I’m sorry,” Amber said again. “Erik insisted that you be tied for my safety. But I know you won’t hurt me.”
    A shake of the stranger’s head was his only answer. For the space of several breaths he lay and watched Amber, trying to understand what had happened to him.
    All he knew for certain was that the less he moved, the less his head hurt.
    “Ill?” he asked after a few moments. “I’ve been ill?”
    Amber nodded.
    “What kind of illness is it that leaves a man with no memory, nothing—not even his own name!”
    A chill lanced through Amber. She sheathed the dagger with trembling hands.
    This can’t be what Cassandra prophesied .
    I haven’t been reckless. I haven’t