Heart of the Flame Page 10

  Haven had just paused there, her hand raised as if she meant to knock.

  "Oh."

  It was a gasp of startlement, but she recovered herself at once, giving him a cool glance. He could smell the fresh night air on her skin and in her hair. She wore one of Ariana's cloaks over her chemise, the dark blue wool contrasting richly against the fiery waves of her hair.

  "I saw light beneath the door and I--well, I did not mean to disrupt you."

  "You haven't." Behind him in his chamber, a night candle guttered with a fatty spit of sound. "It is late for you to be yet awake and walking the corridors."

  "Yes, I know. I..." She shrugged. "I could not sleep."

  "Nor I, although that is hardly unusual." His brow creased as he took in the sight of her windblown hair and night-kissed cheeks. "You've been on the battlements."

  Her chin went up a notch, evidently assuming his curiosity was censure instead. "Was that another area of your keep that's forbidden to me? I didn't know. Please excuse me."

  "Haven, wait. I did not mean--" He broke off and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Do you think we might ever manage a simple conversation without locking horns?"

  She glanced down at his teasing remark, but the smile on her lips was weak, haunted somehow.

  "Is anything wrong? You seem upset."

  "No, it is nothing. I should not have bothered you--"

  He reached out and caught her by the arm. "What is it? You obviously came to my door for a reason. Tell me what this is about."

  She shrugged, but distress stormed in her eyes. "I may have...I remembered something about that night. I have no idea if it is important or nay."

  "Why don't you let me decide that. Come in, Haven."

  He held the door open with his forearm and gestured her inside. She entered warily, her eyes sweeping the chamber. They settled on his disheveled desk and the collection of texts that lay in various stages of perusal atop the wide surface of the working space. Kenrick strode around her to discreetly close the journals he had been studying in the moments before her arrival.

  "Tell me what it is you remember," he said as he stacked the thick volumes and set them aside.

  She was clearly disturbed by what she recalled, for her usual fiery demeanor was quelled a bit as she regarded him from across the room. She swallowed, then began to recount the events of that fated night. Most of it was familiar to Kenrick, details he had gleaned from his observation of Greycliff Castle and his talks with the village folk.

  Haven told him how she had gone to the keep that day with herbs for Elspeth. The raid came in the dead of night, and while she could not say why she had been delayed there for so long that she was present for the attack, Haven did recall new details of the hell that was unleashed on Rand and his family.

  "Everything happened very fast. The fires came first, the stables and outbuildings, then, amid the chaos, the raiders moved into the keep itself. There was screaming and bloodshed...many deaths dealt in the blink of an eye."

  "Did you see any of them?" Kenrick asked, loath to press her, but he needed to know. "Was one of them--their leader, mayhap--a tall man with fair hair? He might have sent his lieutenant to do the deed instead. A mercenary with dark features and a crest bearing dragon insignia?"

  Haven shook her head. "I could not say. It was difficult to see anything...the smoke, it was everywhere. 'Twas so hard to breathe."

  She closed her eyes and he could tell that she was reliving the moment again, right there, before him. The horror of it drew a deep tension into her face, creasing her brow and lining the corners of her mouth in taut whiteness. She exhaled a sharp breath and met his gaze once more.

  "Something was said by one of them. Something...confusing."

  "Go on."

  "They were looking for something. They wanted to know where to find it."

  Kenrick's every muscle stilled, tensed. "Do you know what it was they wanted?"

  "No."

  "Do you know if they found what they sought?"

  "No," she said, a measure of agitation lacing her voice. "All I know is that they were looking for something, and they shouted for him to tell them where to find it. They said it wasn't too late--that he could he could still save them if he gave it up."

  "Save who?" Kenrick asked, his stomach knotting in dread.

  Haven turned a somber look on him, her mouth quivering. "His family."

  Kenrick's answering oath was low and bit from between clenched teeth. "The soulless bastards. Did he tell them? Did Rand give them what they wanted?"

  She shook her head. Her voice was very quiet. "I don't know."

  Kenrick absorbed the news with a mixture of regret and hope. He knew Greycliff was a strong man, with strong ideals. His word was his bond, and he had given his pledge to keep the seal a secret, to keep it safe. But the thought that he might have done so at his own family's peril put a sick and gnawing remorse in the pit of Kenrick's gut.

  He had asked so much of his friend. Too much.

  "Is there anything else you remember of that night?" he asked Haven, putting aside emotion to better deal with the facts as he was presented them. "Have you told me everything now?"

  "Yes, that is all that I know," she answered.

  She walked toward where he stood, pausing within arm's reach. Her gaze strayed over his desk, past the neat stack of journals to an item that lay near the edge, half-hidden beneath some parchments. The fine gold chain of the pendant glinted dully in the meager light of the solar.

  "That necklace," Haven said, frowning as she moved to retrieve it from the desk. "I remember it...This was Elspeth's."

  "Yes."

  "I never saw her without it."

  "Nor did I," he answered soberly, watching as Haven carefully handled the broken chain and the simple gold filigreed heart that slid along its length. "I found it lying in the cemetery at Greycliff, the same day I found you there."

  She glanced at him only briefly, then returned her attention to the fragile gift Rand had given his wife as a token of his love. "One of the links is broken."

  "Yes. It must have come apart in a struggle, or after..." Kenrick let his grim speculation trail off, not wishing to think about what his friends had endured. "I have cleaned it, and I've tried to repair the chain, but it's very delicate. My hands are clumsy, better suited for the sword or the pen."

  "May I try?" She turned a hopeful, determined look on him. "I would like to, if you don't object."

  "Of course. Do what you can. There is a small hammer right there, if you need it."

  Haven bent over his desk, her face screwed in concentration. As she examined the broken link, Kenrick fetched her a new candle and lit it from the fire. "It may help if you warm the metal, to make it more pliable."

  She accepted his advice and his assistance with an easy agreeability, her focus trained wholly on her work. Kenrick caught himself smiling as he watched her, for he could appreciate that sort of focus.

  He could appreciate far more about her as well, watching her elegant fingers manipulate the tiny chain. Her eyes held fixed on her work, unblinking and sharp. Her lips pursed slightly as she looped the severed end of the chain back onto the broken link, then brought the candle close. She heated the section of chain in the wobbly flame, then drew it away.

  As she reached for the little mallet, a lock of hair slipped from behind her ear. She swept it back, but the fiery tress was stubborn. It fell back down along the side of her face.

  Before he could stop himself, Kenrick was reaching out. He caught the springy tendril of molten silk in his fingers and gently lifted it away. He heard her indrawn breath, saw her nimble hands falter with the pendant.

  "So you can see better," he said, hooking the lock back where it belonged and holding it there with probably too much pleasure.

  "Thank you," she whispered, resuming her restoration of the chain, and working in haste he thought. "What will you do with this once it is repaired?"

  "I'll
return it to Greycliff, where I found it. That is where it belongs, with Elspeth."

  "She must have meant a great deal to you, to take such care."

  Kenrick considered the casual comment with a small twist of irony coiling in his heart. "She did. She was the wife of my closest friend."

  And there had been a time, long ago....

  He shut out the thought before it could take hold, refusing to dwell on regrets or things never meant to be.

  Elspeth's heart belonged to Rand, and always had. He begrudged them nothing--now or then--for the love they shared.

  His infatuation with the fragile Elspeth had been his own dark secret, one full summer of agony as he watched Rand charm the pretty maiden into becoming his bride.

  Kenrick had been a sober youth of fourteen, already engrossed in his pursuit of learning and study. He had been a mere boy, reserved and awkward, particularly when compared to his friend, the rakish jester Randwulf of Greycliff.

  He had never breathed a word of his feelings for Elspeth--not to a soul. That same year, he left for his studies at the church, and, not much later, the Templars. As it turned out, neither calling had suited him. The more he learned, the more he became aware of greed and corruption. His faith had crumbled along with his vows.

  And while he was not immune to the allure of a pretty face and form, or the pleasures to be had in the company of a soft, willing female, he had permitted none to captivate him beyond a temporary passion.

  He was careful and distant, and always in control.

  Until recently.

  Kenrick watched her in studying silence, still holding the lock of her hair between his fingers and not trusting himself to speak let alone move.

  Haven said nothing, either. With a few taps of the small mallet, the broken pendant link was restored. She slowly straightened and met his gaze. The tendril swung back down along her cheek as Kenrick reluctantly released it.

  "There you are," she said, holding out her hand, the chain dangling from her fingertips. "I've fixed it."

  He took the pendant from her and set it down on the desk. "Thank you."

  A fetching blush crept into her cheeks as he considered how badly he wanted to touch her. He wanted to kiss her, though he had no right to desire such a thing.

  As she blinked up at him, a chill swept her from out of nowhere, making her shudder as though gripped by cold that he did not feel. She vigorously rubbed her arms, frowning in evident distress.

  "Kenrick," she whispered abruptly, "can I tell you something? Tonight when I was on the battlements, I...I'm not sure how to describe it, save that I feel as if something is happening to me. I think...faith, but I fear I may be going mad."

  For a long moment, Kenrick said nothing. She had never addressed him so informally, as a confidante. An intimate. That she did so now, when she confessed her fears and looked to him for reassurance, stirred something deeply protective in him.

  Something far too possessive.

  Despite the impulse to act on his feelings--to touch the satiny opalescence of her cheek, even if only to comfort her--he managed to hold himself in check.

  "You have been through a great deal, Haven. To be confused is only natural. But I have seen madness, and I can assure you that you suffer no such thing. Would that you didn't have to remember what happened at Greycliff--no one should be exposed to such a thing. But you survived. You are healing, and soon you will be well."

  She nodded mutely, then asked, "Are we in terrible danger if these men you seek turn their sights on Clairmont?"

  He would not lie to her. Not when she had already borne witness herself to de Mortaine's wrath. "It will be bad, yes. But if we are clever, and if we do not waste precious time, we may be able to stop them."

  "How? What do they want?"

  For a moment--one fleeting instant--he considered telling Haven the whole of it. But the knowledge could put her further in jeopardy, and there was also a cynical part of him that warned him not to divulge the stunning secrets of what he had found in his work for the Templars. Few knew about the Dragon Chalice and its power. Those who did were either dead, or set upon a course to claim it--whatever the price.

  Bad enough his work had involved Ariana and Braedon, and, tragically, Rand and his family.

  He would not put anyone else in jeopardy over the accursed cup and the lure of its dark, wondrous magic.

  "What they want is something they will never get so long as I am alive to stop them," he told Haven, holding her bewitching emerald gaze. "So long as you are under my roof, you need not fear them or their evil ways. You are protected with me, Haven. I give you my promise."

  She said nothing, merely looked at him as though she waited for his touch to comfort her. To his utter astonishment, she was the first to move, reaching out to place her palm lightly against his cheek.

  "Thank you," she told him quietly.

  Kenrick stared, incapable of speech so long as her touch lingered. He held himself very still, rigidly so, not daring to breathe as every muscle in his body tensed with the sweet warmth of her fingertips resting so tentatively on his skin.

  "I should leave you to your work."

  Relief warred with regret as she slowly drew her hand away.

  "Goodnight," she whispered, but Kenrick remained silent.

  He watched her step aside of him and cross the threshold to the corridor outside.

  His work did await--urgent work--but yet he remained transfixed in the doorway of his chamber, his gaze following Haven's lithe form as she padded softly away and into the darkened shadows of the keep's long hallway.

  When he looked down to the clenched fist of his hand, he found he had snapped his writing quill in two.

  Chapter 13

  Although her rest that night had been fitful, Haven rose to a morning filled with sunshine and gentle May breezes. Ariana greeted her shortly before noontide, making good on her promise to take her to the castle's garden for a day of ladies' duties about the grounds.

  To Haven's delight, she had brought a basket of food and watered wine from the kitchens so they could break their fast outdoors. Munching on smoked fish and warm bread, the two women partook of their meal amid the flower beds and plots of herbs, both content to be away from the confines of the castle.

  Haven relished the open space of the garden. Among the rosemary and sweet woodruff there was a sense of peace. Her disturbing memories--and the queer feeling that had overcome her on the roof last evening--were banished by the fragrant air wafting off the spring flowers and the explosion of color that surrounded her on all sides.

  Seated on a turf bench across a small path from Ariana, Haven reached into the basket they shared and withdrew a sprig of mint from amongst the bundles of savory spices gathered for the evening's supper. She chewed a bit of the refreshing leaves and watched as Ariana trimmed a clump of bay laurel from a nearby shrub.

  With her memory returning in only scattered bits and pieces, Haven knew not where she truly belonged. Not in Cornwall, she felt nearly certain of that. And likely not here, either. But it was tempting to picture herself living out her days in a place such as Clairmont. The place did not quite fit her--much like her borrowed gowns and too-snug slippers--but there was a calm here she was beginning to enjoy.

  Clairmont held its own brand of enchantment, a thought clearly shared by Ariana, who glowed with serenity and life amid the flowers that surrounded her in the small garden. She was a woman at peace with her place in the world, and Haven envied her that feeling.

  "You seem quiet today," Ariana remarked after a time. "Does anything trouble you?"

  "Nay." Haven gave a vague shake of her head. "I am just thinking."

  "I hope you know that you can talk to me, Haven. We're friends, are we not?."

  Her welcoming smile set a twinge of emotion in Haven's heart. She recalled little of her past, but she had the keen feeling that there were few she counted among her friends. It seemed almost a foreign notion to her, something she had pu
rposely denied herself. She saw no reason to do so now. In fact, she was glad for the company. Glad to think she had at least one ally in this strange--if pleasant--landscape.

  "I was merely thinking how good it feels to be out of doors. I like these gardens very much."

  Ariana beamed. "They are my pride, if you want to know. I've planted all of these beds myself."

  "They are lovely."

  "You may clip some flowers for your chamber if it pleases you."

  "You wouldn't mind?"

  "Of course not," she replied, leaning over to give her hand a warm squeeze. "There are violets in the corner, and lily of the valley over there, shaded beneath the arbor--"

  Ariana paused mid-sentence, her expression brightening as the sound of horses' hooves pounded onto the cobbled bailey. "It must be Braedon and Kenrick. They've returned!"

  The two men had been out since before dawn, away on matters not divulged to Haven. Now Ariana got to her feet and brushed at the flecks of dirt and scattered greenery that had gathered in her lap. A pretty flush filled her cheeks, her smile wide and dazzling, evident joy reaching all the way into her sparkling blue eyes. She brought her thick, honey-blond braid over her shoulder, then hooked her basket of neatly gathered herbs onto her arm.

  "Will I suit?"

  Haven nodded approvingly. Ariana looked as fresh and promising as daybreak itself. Not that her lord husband would demand such perfection. From all Haven had seen of the lady and her beloved raven-haired warrior, she could greet him dressed in rags and ashes and he would beam at her with nothing short of husbandly pride.

  Ariana took a jubilant couple of steps, then abruptly turned back to look at Haven. "Well, are you coming?"

  It hardly seemed she could refuse, even though she dearly wanted to. The thought of seeing Kenrick again after her visit to his chamber last night brought a peculiar flutter to her stomach.

  As she strode alongside Ariana, Haven found herself smoothing the folds of her own skirt, which, she noted with some dismay, bore smudges of dirt and the trace stains of the berries she had collected. Her fingers had fared none the better, spotted purple in more places than not. Her hair shunned the obedience of the prim braid into which Ariana had attempted to train it that morn. Loose coppery strands blew on the breeze like streamers despite Haven's efforts to tame them back behind her ears.