Page 7 of Forbidden

Clenching her teeth against the pain to come, she sank to her knees by the fire and laid her palm against the stranger’s cheek.

The pleasure was so sharp Amber cried out and snatched her hand back. Then, realizing what she had done, she slowly reached for the stranger again.

Involuntarily, Erik moved as though to protect Amber from more pain. Then he controlled himself and stood watching, his mouth flattened into a thin line beneath his short, tawny beard. He disliked causing Amber any discomfort, but he disliked the thought of killing a stranger needlessly even more.

The second time Amber’s hand touched the stranger, she didn’t flinch. With a soft sound she settled more closely to him. Closing her eyes, shutting out the rest of the world, she savored the purest pleasure she had ever known.

It was like being suspended in a pool of sweet fire, caressed by warmth, knowing the heart of light.

And beyond the golden warmth of the pool, knowledge lay in shades of darkness.

Waiting.

Amber gave a low cry. She could think of few men who would have such a certainty of their own prowess in battle. Dominic le Sabre and Duncan of Maxwell! were two. A third was Erik.

A great warrior lies beneath my hand, light and darkness, pleasure and pain, soul mate and deadly foe in one.

“Amber.”

Slowly she opened her eyes. The look on Erik’s face told her that he had called to her more than once. Intent, tawny eyes watched her. His concern for her was tangible, and warming. She forced a smile despite the turmoil seething beneath her calm surface.

She owed Erik so much. His father had given her clothes, the cottage, men to work the land, and land for men to work. Erik trusted her as though she were a clansman rather than a waif with neither parent nor sibling to call her own.

And she knew she was going to betray Erik’s trust for a stranger who might well prove to be Erik’s foe.

Having touched the stranger, Amber could not deliver him to death at Erik’s hands. Not until she was certain that the man was whom she feared.

Perhaps not even then.

He could simply be a stranger, known to no one.

The thought was as seductive as a hearth fire on a winter day.

Aye! A stranger. Other knights have come to the Disputed Lands. I have heard their tales of being tested in the Saracen crucible. They were confident of their own might.

This man could be such a warrior.

He must be.

“Amber?”

“Leave him here,” she said huskily. “He belongs to me.”

The temptation to continue touching the stranger was very great. Reluctantly she withdrew her hand. The emptiness she felt at the loss of touch dismayed her. Until that instant she wouldn’t have described herself as lonely.

Erik let out a long, relieved sigh as he realized that touching the stranger had unsettled Amber, but hadn’t caused her true pain.

“God must be listening to my prayers,” Erik said.

Amber made a questioning sound.

“I need skilled warriors,” Erik said. “The Scots Hammer is only the first problem I must face.”

“What else?” Amber asked, concerned.

“Norsemen have been seen just north of Winterlance. And my dear cousins grow restless once again.”

“Send them to fight the Norsemen.”