Heart of the Flame Read online

  "Go after her," Braedon said, confirming Kenrick's look with grave nod of his head. His mouth twisted as he glanced in the direction of the fallen shifter. "I'll manage this offal without you."

  Without further word or delay, Kenrick lunged for the open door of the barn.

  A field hand stood outside near the fenced yard. He glanced at Kenrick's fierce expression, then gestured toward the path leading to the steep castle motte. "She headed up that way, 'lord."

  But Kenrick had already spied her fleeing form on the road. He ran to his mount and vaulted astride it. A jab of his heels sent the white charger into a full gallop on the dusty path. He would catch up to her quickly, save that Haven suddenly veered off the path and into the forest ridge that ran along one side of Clairmont's property.

  "Haven, wait!" he shouted to her, but she paid him no heed.

  With an oath, Kenrick urged his horse into a faster pace, hauling on the reins when he reached the place where Haven had disappeared. His feet hit the soft earth with a thud as he jumped down to follow her on foot. A section of ancient stone fence had been toppled in this spot. Kenrick leaped over the lichen-covered rubble and stretched his legs into a sprint as he chased after Haven.

  The forest thicket was dense with new spring growth. Heavy ivy twisted on the ground, crisp green leaves crushing underfoot. The tightly woven ground cover proved a boon, aiding Kenrick in quickly spying Haven's path through the bramble and farther into the woods. She had run with aimless haste; Kenrick tracked her with careful expedience.

  And he found her soon enough.

  He spotted a bright patch of blue among the verdant expanse of the forest. Resting her back against a moss-patched slab of boulder, Haven's shoulders fair shook, her chest rising and falling with the swift breaths she took into her lungs. She heard his approach and immediately jumped to alertness. Her head pivoted toward him, the loose strands of her hair flying about her like auburn fire.

  "It's all right," he told her. "You don't need to run from me. It's all right."

  She moved away from the rock, a cautious look flashing in the wildness of her eyes. She took a hesitant step, and for a moment Kenrick expected her to begin her flight anew. But she did not.

  "Kenrick," she cried, and launched herself toward him.

  He caught her in his arms and held her close, his heart racing, clenching tight as a fist to feel her clinging to him with such need. Such undeniable trust.

  Kenrick lifted her face and pressed his mouth to hers. It was a chaste kiss, one of comfort and understanding. Of reassurance that she was safe with him.

  "Are you all right?"

  She did not seem capable of speaking. A strangled sound caught in her throat, but she gave him a small nod.

  "Jesu Criste," he swore against her heated brow. "Don't ever run from me like that again."

  She burrowed deeper into his embrace. Never had he felt this vulnerability in her, this total trust that he would protect her, and that she would accept that protection. He realized suddenly that she was trembling. His fiery lady, who seemed to fear nothing short of death itself, was shaking with a tremor that seemed rooted in her very core.

  "Why did you come down here?" he asked, his own voice unsteady as he held her. "Why would you risk such a thing?"

  "I had to warn you."

  "Warn me of what?"

  She clung to him a bit tighter, her arms wrapped about his waist as though to never let go. "Last night, after I returned to my room...I thought I saw something outside the keep. I...felt something. Something cold and dangerous that seemed to be reaching out for me through the dark. It was him, Kenrick. I didn't know it last night, but when I saw him back there, after he attacked you--"

  "You've remembered something."

  Kenrick did not ask it of her, for there was no need. He had read her expression in the barn, just as he could now read the source of her distress in every quiver of her limbs.

  "Something has come back to you, hasn't it?"

  "Yes." The whisper was but a trace of sound that he felt more than heard.

  "There is no need to fear the memories, Haven. They cannot harm you."

  She twisted her face away from him, squeezing her eyes closed as if the memory of that fiery night seared her just to think on it. "You don't know...you cannot know..."

  "Tell me. You must tell me what you remember."

  When she finally spoke again, her voice was quiet but steady with certainty. "He was there, Kenrick. That man--he was one of the raiders who attacked Greycliff."

  "Is he the one who attacked you?"

  She slowly shook her head, then gave a weak shrug of confusion. "I don't know. I don't think so...but that face--I'd seen him before. Back there, in the barn, as he was dying, he looked at me as though he had seen me before as well. He reached for me. Faith, but I swear he looked right through me."

  Kenrick gathered her close, resting his cheek against the delicate shell of her ear. "Think on him no more. He cannot hurt you now."

  "He was at Greycliff, I'm certain of it. He was one of the men who killed your friends."

  Although it had not taken Haven's confirmation to convince him of that fact, Kenrick's blood seethed anew when he thought of Rand and his family being butchered by beasts like the one lying dead in the lambing barn. "I will see every last one of his kind dead at the end of my blade," he vowed.

  "His kind," she murmured, a note of distress catching in her throat. "Kenrick, there is a name for his kind."

  "Shapeshifter," he said. "I know what he is--what he was. That cur back there is one of several such men under the command of Silas de Mortaine. I have seen them change from man to beast, even mirroring the form of another man."

  Haven's grasp on him loosened, then slowly broke away. She pulled out of his arms to take a handful of steps back, holding herself as though to ward off a deep chill. "Faith, Kenrick, but you speak of this with such calm acceptance. Have you no idea the power de Mortaine holds if he commands this brand of magic? How do you expect to fight enemies like these?"

  "With steel and will. The same as any other battle."

  "This is not a simple battle. You know that." She pivoted to look at him, her pretty face marred with scratches gained in her flight, her sensual mouth lined thinly white with anxiety. "Kenrick. I do not think this is a battle you can win."

  Her doubt made him bristle. "I will, or I'll die trying."

  A look of sadness passed over her features. "My dear, foolish lord. Don't you see?" She caught her lip between her teeth but seemed unable to bite back the little hitch in her voice. "That is verily what I fear the most."

  Kenrick stared at her through the small space of coolly shaded forest that separated them. He had never seen her look more vulnerable, nor more openly caring of him. Her body trembled, but despite the small quiver of uncertainty that gripped her, Haven held herself with the regal poise of a woodland queen.

  He had told himself--and her--that he would not touch her again, but that pledge fell away like an autumn leaf drifting on the wind.

  Three paces brought him to the place where she stood.

  With reverent fingers, he tilted her chin up and gazed softly into her eyes. There was no need for words. Kenrick dipped his head down and brushed his lips over hers, kissing her with tender care and an affection that ran deeper than he thought possible. Slowly, they parted, only to join again, mouths meeting with sweet abandon and an honest need that neither was able--or willing--to deny.

  "I don't want to let you go," Haven murmured against his lips.

  "Nor I you," he admitted, his voice thick and husky, little better than a growl. "But we cannot stay out here. You will be safer behind Clairmont's walls. Besides that, I am unfit to hold you so long as I wear the taint of that creature's blood on me."

  With great reluctance, he pulled away. Their hands remained joined, fingers laced together, clinging tight.

  "Come with me, Haven. It is not safe out here. Let me take you back to the keep
now."

  The invitation smoldered with meaning, but he could not hide his desire for her. Feeling the danger that had been so close to them that morning only made him yearn more deeply for the comfort of his lady's embrace.

  For the warmth of her sweet curves nestled against him, skin on skin.

  She knew what he asked of her; those quick green eyes were dusky with understanding. She gazed at him in silence, then moved toward him with a welcoming acceptance that nearly undid him where he stood.

  Chapter 19

  They rode within the weight of a knowing silence from the village back to Clairmont Castle. Perched sidesaddle behind him, Haven clung to Kenrick's firm waist, her cheek pressed against the solid warmth of his back. There was comfort in his nearness, an indescribable sense of belonging.

  Of trust.

  Despite all she had seen that morning, she felt safe with him.

  Despite the shadowy pull of memory that lapped at the edges of her mind like a dark, rising tide, she felt certain that no ill would befall her. Nothing evil could touch her when she had Kenrick holding fast to her, his strong fingers caressing the sensitive skin of her wrist while he guided the horse up the motte and into the shelter of Clairmont's inner bailey.

  He reined in, then dismounted and helped her down. A squire took the horse's lead and walked it to the stable, while two others rushed over to assist Kenrick in removing his tunic of chain mail.

  "Tell the servants to send a bath to my chamber," he instructed one of the attending youths.

  "Is everything all right, my lord?" asked the boy. He was staring at the bloodstains on Kenrick's tunic and mail, blood that told the tale of a death served but a short while ago. Then his glance slid to Haven and the scratches that marred her cheek and brow from her abandoned flight. "What happened, my lord? I pray your injuries are not grave."

  "The blood belongs to another man," Kenrick assured him, wrapping his arm protectively around Haven's shoulders. "Send for the bath, and a flagon of wine as well. Go on, lad, and be quick with it."

  With an obedient nod, the squire loped off to carry out the order.

  Haven knew it was unseemly to cling to Kenrick like she was, but after what she had seen, she needed his support. His strength was reassuring in ways she could not explain, and the mere presence of him--his touch alone--banished all dark thoughts the way no balm ever could.

  She cocooned herself in his embrace as they crossed from the stable yard to the keep. Despite the intimacy of the picture they must have displayed to the folk, no one murmured a single untoward word. A few pairs of eyes glanced up in curiosity, peering in quizzical speculation at their lord and the unlikely woman under his arm, but not so much as a whisper followed their ascent up the short steps to the tower.

  To the sanctuary of Kenrick's private solar.

  Although he had not said as much, Haven knew where he would lead her once they were behind the closed door of his chamber.

  She knew it the instant before he kissed her in the forest glen. She knew it when he asked her to return with him to the castle. And she knew it now, as they strolled through the entryway of Clairmont's majestic fortress.

  Almost unconsciously, Haven paused, drawing herself out of Kenrick's warmth. Doubt niggled at the edges of her mind, warning bells that tolled a dim alarm. There would be no turning back once she took the first step that led to his bedchamber.

  "Kenrick..."

  She meant to deny him, but the words would not come. Only dark thoughts seeped into her mind, clawing at her with renewed force now that she was separated from him and standing apart in the cool shade of the corridor.

  "I will keep you safe," he said quietly. "My sword arm and my life. That was my vow, Haven."

  "Yes."

  She closed her eyes, hearing the sincerity of his promise. Believing it. Savoring the sweetness of what she had found in the arms of this warrior with a poet's soul.

  When she lifted her lids, it was to see Kenrick waiting patiently before her. He extended his hand out to her, his strong fingers cutting through a nimbus of sunlight that poured down from a high arched window at the end of the corridor.

  Kenrick of Clairmont, the unreadable, unreachable lord, wanted her.

  He needed her, perhaps as much as she needed him, if the intensity of his gaze told her true. His blue eyes captivated her in a stare that was both strong and vulnerable at once. He said nothing, merely reached out to her in wordless entreaty.

  Haven slipped her fingers through his and climbed with him up the circling stairwell.

  The solar at the top of the towering keep was locked as always, Kenrick's private quarters and the secrets he protected within barred from all. He paused there and withdrew a key from his baldric to free the iron latch, which fell open in his palm. He pushed open the thick oak door and led Haven within, his easy grasp on her hand a steady reassurance as he brought her into the large chamber.

  The pale radiance of morning lit the broody solar from between the slats of half-opened shutters. A thready spring breeze drifted in, riffling the pages of the journals and ledgers that lay on the large desk nearby. Haven watched as a loose sheet of parchment lifted on the slender breeze and skated to the edge, a hairbreadth from slipping to the floor. Knowing that Kenrick was ever protective of his work, sensitive that no one observe what he studied, Haven waited for Kenrick to release her and attend the desk and its neat array of documents.

  But he paid little mind to the errant parchment...or anything else. His focus seemed unerringly fixed on her as he guided her into the center of the sanctuary that so few were permitted to breach.

  And so long as he was touching her, holding her in the simmering intensity of his gaze, Haven paid heed to little else as well.

  With the edge of his thumb, he tenderly dabbed at the scratch on her cheek. His hand lingered at her face, idly stroking the sensitive skin near her ear. Slowly, his fingers drifted toward her mouth. It took no coaxing for her to meet his touch with a slight brush of her lips; no persuasion at all for her to tip her head back and accept his gentle kiss.

  Kenrick's lips met hers with warm restraint, the soft caress of his mouth wringing a sigh of pleasure from somewhere deep inside of her.

  He broke away too soon, a look of anguish in his eyes. "My lady, this will change everything between us. I need to know you understand."

  "Yes," she whispered, fully willing to give him whatever he wanted of her. "I know what I am giving you, Kenrick."

  "Do you?" He searched her gaze with an intensity that stole her breath, his big, warm hands framing her face. "I would have you, Haven, and allow no one else to come between us. Now or later. The thought that there might be someone in your past, anyone who might rightfully claim you once your memory is restored--"

  "No." She shook her head, refusing to accept even the possibility. "There is no one else. I know it with every particle of my being. There is no one...save you, Kenrick."

  He stroked her brow as she whispered her assurances, his eyes darkened to stormy indigo, smoldering with such desire it left her legs weak beneath her.

  Tenderly, he bent his head and kissed her once more.

  Where their earlier encounters had been wild with a passion barely containable, now, when acceptance of what was to pass between them smoldered so surely in their gazes, they proceeded with measured care--with a slow and welcoming tenderness--that burned all the hotter for its patience.

  For long moments, they held each other thus, their kiss playing out, deepening in unhurried sweetness as the breeze danced across the floor and the sun stretched fingers of embracing warmth around them.

  Haven lost herself to the pleasure of Kenrick's kiss, to the power of the man who held her as though she would shatter in his strong arms if he did not have a care. In spite of the heat in his gaze, and the need that fairly thrummed through him and into her, Kenrick was tender and patient.

  He wanted her; there could be no doubting that. But their pace would be hers, and Haven
could think of no stronger spell than the one he seduced her with in that moment.

  Her head was reeling, her body fairly humming with the potent sensations he stirred in her with just one endless kiss. His fingers were firm against her nape, curving strong and warm on her skin as he pulled her closer to him. Dizzy with desire, Haven hardly heard the knock on the chamber door.

  "That will be the bath," Kenrick murmured across her lips, reluctance edging every word as he broke their kiss and put a small space between them. His gaze was hooded, lazily confident and deepest blue as he stepped back from her, then called for the servants to enter.

  In no time at all, the round wooden tub was set and steaming water poured to fill it. A decanter of warm mulled wine and two cups were placed on a hearthside pedestal. The group of servants completed their task in mindful silence, with quick efficiency, but even those spare moments out of Kenrick's embrace seemed to last forever.

  Already the cold of his absence was seeping into the core of her, the darkness of memories struggling to surface loomed like a chasm splitting wide before her, unsettling the ground beneath her feet. She turned away, battling the sudden rush of unpleasant thoughts--of disturbing recollections--that rose to assail her in the moments she was out of Kenrick's arms.

  Behind her she heard the soft scuff of retreating feet, then the quiet thud and snick of metal as the servants made their exit and the chamber door closed on their heels.

  Kenrick's hand brushed the back of her neck as he swept her unbound hair aside, baring her skin to his touch...to his kiss.

  "You are trembling, Haven."

  "Am I?"

  "Aye, lady. Like a leaf before a storm. Do you not wish to be here with me? God's love, how I want you--I need you--but I could never cause you any fear or distress."

  "No." She gave a weak shake of her head. "Never. 'Tis just..."

  "Tell me." His mouth seared the delicate hollow behind her ear, his low rolling voice driving the darkness of her thoughts back into the shadows.

  "The memories," she whispered, scarcely able to speak for the dizzying sparks of pleasure that ignited with Kenrick's every stroke of his fingers, every seductive press of his lips as he kissed a trail of heat along her neck and into the curve of her shoulder. "My memories are dark. They grasp at me sometimes. I can feel their claws sinking into me, dragging me down..."