Medieval 02 - Forbidden

herself to Duncan beneath the sacred rowan. Suspected, but not known.
    She knew now.
    Too late.
    “Because you can’t truly love me until the shadows are gone,” Amber whispered, “and when the shadows are gone, you won’t love me at all .”
    Her hand dropped from his lips. Knowing sheshouldn’t, unable to resist, she brushed her mouth over his.
    “You make no sense,” Duncan said, searching Amber’s shadowed eyes. “Your fall addled you.”
    “Nay. It made me see clearly how I have wronged you in the name of protecting you.”
    “Wronged me? What nonsense. You called me from a terrible darkness.”
    Shaking her head slowly, ignoring the slow fall of her own tears, Amber forced herself to give Duncan what no longer could be denied.
    “Let go of me, dark warrior. Your past is all around you.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Let go of me,” she whispered.
    Puzzled, Duncan opened his arms, releasing Amber. She sat up and would have stood, but knew her legs would refuse to take her weight.
    Like Duncan, she was at war with herself, knowing what must be and rejecting it at one and the same moment.
    “Now that we aren’t touching, do you see?” Amber asked starkly.
    “I see only your tears.”
    “Then hear my words. The Glendruid witch is your childhood friend.”
    “I know. Meggie.”
    “The fair-haired, black-eyed knight who hates me so—do you know him?”
    Duncan glanced at Simon.
    “Aye. He is Simon, called…the Loyal!” Duncan finished, triumph clear in his voice. “Aye! I know him!”
    “And to whom is he loyal?” Amber asked softly.
    “His brother.”
    “Who is the brother of Simon the Loyal?”
    Abruptly Duncan came to his feet and faced the tall, powerful knight who was watching him withsword half drawn and eyes the color of winter rain.
    “Dominic le Sabre,” Duncan said.
    The knight nodded.
    “And who are you, dark warrior?” Amber whispered raggedly. “ What is your true name ?”
    Duncan closed his eyes and tried to speak. Shadows writhed as they fought against the bright memories flowing together, weaving a tapestry of knowledge fragment by shimmering fragment, until even a thousand shades of darkness could no longer conceal the burning pattern of the truth.
    When Duncan’s eyes opened once more, Amber was grateful not to be touching him.
    “I am Duncan of Maxwell, the Scots Hammer,” he said savagely.
    Again Dominic nodded.
    “I am Duncan of Maxwell, steward to Erik the Sorcerer in the very keep that you, my rightful lord, gave me to hold in fief for you.”
    Dominic would have spoken, but there was no chance. Duncan’s words were still falling like bitter rain. The pride, humiliation, and rage in him were strong enough to taste.
    “I am Duncan of Maxwell, a man brought to ruin by a witch with golden eyes and a lying tongue.
    “I am Duncan of Maxwell, the Forsworn.”

18
    W ITHDRAWN , silent, Amber watched while the last of the rude camp was loaded onto horses.
    “Can you mount unaided?” Meg asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Good. We wouldn’t want to hurt you again.”
    “And Duncan can no longer bear to touch me,” Amber said with outward calm.
    Reluctantly, Meg nodded. Her intent glance missed neither the pallor of Amber’s face nor the dark brackets of pain on either side of her mouth.
    “I have lived without touch before,” Amber said. “I will do so again.”
    “Before, you didn’t know…” Meg’s voice died.
    “Aye. Knowledge is my punishment.”
    The bleakness of Amber’s voice made Meg flinch in silent sympathy.
    “I’m sorry,” Meg said.
    “Don’t be. Better that I live untouched than be touched by Duncan now.”
    “He would never lift a hand to you,” Meg said quickly.
    “He wouldn’t have to. I can feel his fury like black wings beating against my soul.”
    Instinctively Meg held out her hand in a gesture of comfort, then remembered that pain rather than ease would flow from her touch. Her hand dropped to her side.
    “Duncan will soften,” Meg said. “I’ve never seen him so tender with anyone as he was with you before he knew that…”
    “That I was less than I seemed and he was far more?” Amber’s mouth turned down in a sad curve.
    “His temper is like a summer storm,” Meg said, “loud and even frightening, but it passes quickly.”
    “The rocky fells will melt and run like honey before the Scots Hammer forgives me for tarnishing his honor,” Amber said. “Such forgiveness would require great love. Duncan loves me