Heart of the Flame Page 22

  "Here it is," Ariana brightly announced as she returned to the chamber, pendant in hand.

  The necklace sparkled with the rich jeweled hues of verdant emerald, honeyed topaz, and dazzling crystal. Each stone was cut into a teardrop shape of graduating sizes, the smallest one nearly the length and width of her thumbnail.

  "This belonged to my mother, and several previous ladies of our line. According to family lore, it was once worn to London court and nearly lost the same evening, when Queen Eleanor herself enviously remarked upon its beauty."

  Haven could not offer praise enough for the precious heirloom that was draped about her neck by Ariana's nimble fingers and suddenly bobbing suspended between Haven's breasts.

  "Perfect," Ariana pronounced, standing back to admire the crowning touch. In the mirror, her pleased expression suddenly changed to one of concern. "Haven? What is it?"

  "Nothing," she replied, finding it difficult to form words when her tongue was suddenly so thick. Moisture seemed to spring from out of nowhere to mist her eyes, blurring everything in the room.

  Ariana's spontaneous embrace did little to help the matter. Haven's vision swam. She swiped at the wet tracks that coursed down her cheeks. "I don't...I don't know what's happening to me," she murmured, unable to stanch the flow.

  "Hush now," Ariana whispered, her voice sounding oddly constricted too. "You mustn't cry. If you keep this up, you will have me crying, too!"

  She gave a strangled little laugh, and suddenly both women were sniffling and wiping at their tears.

  "Enough of this foolishness. Enough!" Ariana ordered, although she seemed equally hard-pressed to recover herself. "We'll be gathering for supper in a short while and it simply will not do for you to make your stunning arrival with puffy, red-rimmed eyes."

  She reached out and took Haven by the hand, steering her toward the wardrobe. "Come and help me decide what I should wear. I am plotting a seduction of my husband for this evening, and I need to find something suitably irresistible."

  Haven returned her friend's impish smile, more than content to put her troubling thoughts aside for a while and play along.

  * * *

  "Damnation!"

  Kenrick fumed at his carelessness, watching a stain of black ink begin to spread across the page of his open journal. His tunic sleeve had tipped the small well of ink before he could stop the error.

  He blotted at the seeping pool as it ran across the page, but it was useless. His last two hours of work were wasted. The calculations and drawings he had been attempting to transcribe into his journal were now rendered illegible by the widening edges of the black mark that soaked into the parchment like so much spilled blood.

  With a roar that went deeper than any irritation at a ruined set of figures, Kenrick picked up the journal and heaved it against the adjacent wall of the chamber. The leather-bound book cracked apart on impact, pages fluttering as it dropped like a dead weight to the floor.

  "Focus," he chastised himself, vaulting out of his chair and raking his fingers over his scalp in abject frustration.

  He had been thinking about her.

  Haven had left his solar chamber several hours ago, shut out by his deliberately cool demeanor and the thick oak door that sealed him off from the rest of the keep, yet her presence lingered.

  After what he had learned about her from Rand, Kenrick did not want to think about Haven any more. He did not want to see her. God knew, he did not want to crave her as he had when he'd found her in this very room earlier that day.

  He had ravished her like a beast, slaking his passion and his anger on her body, but still he burned for her.

  In his mind, she was his enemy. She was a shifter spy and a cold liar. If what Rand had told him were true, then Haven's heart was as black and evil as death itself.

  He could scarcely believe she might be in league with Silas de Mortaine. Knowing her as he did, it seemed impossible to reconcile so heinous a truth.

  Haven had seemed so genuine and kind. She had become so much a part of Clairmont in the short time she was there recuperating from her injury and the loss of memory that kept her from knowing who--and what--she truly was. Kenrick could hardly deny that she had become a part of his life as well.

  Had it all been a cruel mistake of fate, or merely part of a shifter game contrived to aid her in a bigger plan?

  His mind worked hard to reject the idea...or perhaps it was his heart that struggled to accept he could have been so blind.

  If all he heard were true, Haven would be the worst sort of betrayer, a fact he meant to prove out that night at the feast.

  Kenrick had not let Ariana or Braedon know about Rand's arrival at Clairmont, or the damning information his friend had delivered. The servants knew only that there would be a guest at the supper that evening; Rand had been given a private chamber in the keep where he was bathing and resting after the weeks spent living on the run. If Greycliff saw Haven before Kenrick was prepared, he knew his old friend would stop at nothing to finish her on the spot.

  While Kenrick understood, indeed, shared some of that killing rage, he needed to handle the matter in his own way, on his own terms.

  He slid a glance across the solar, to a corner where a long tapestry hung, suspended on polished wooden rings. Ten strides brought him before the colorful length of embroidered silk. He reached out, and clutched a handful of fabric in his fist. A quick jerk of his wrist brought the piece down in a crumpled heap at his feet.

  A narrow stretch of darkness lurked behind the tapestry, the stairwell it had concealed climbing steeply up to the top of the tower keep...to the locked and forbidden chamber that contained a secret of otherworldly, deadly power.

  "On my own terms," Kenrick growled low under his breath.

  Stepping into the wedge of inky blackness, he took the long flight of hidden steps three at a time.

  Chapter 24

  Haven could scarcely contain her anxiety as the summons went out to announce the evening's supper. She had rather hoped that Kenrick would come to fetch her personally, for despite his coolness that afternoon and the worry that continued to assail her over what she would confess to him that night, she longed to see him. But she understood from Ariana, who had obtained it from one of the servants, that he was occupied with pressing matters in his solar and had asked to not be disturbed until the meal was called.

  "It is better this way, actually," Ariana told her on the side as they quit Haven's chamber and descended the spiral stairwell from the family quarters above. "Now when my brother sees you it will be before a room filled with scores of people. It will drive him mad to sit near you at table and not be able to touch you for some long hours. I expect this meal will pass as the most trying one he's ever had."

  Haven permitted a nervous laugh as they neared the bottom of the stairs. "I don't know how you come by your wisdom," she said, smiling conspiratorially at her accomplice in this endeavor to bewitch their unsuspecting lords. "But I do hope you're right."

  Ariana winked. "Fear not, dear friend. You will make my brother the envy of every man in the hall this eve."

  "Not every one," Haven replied, taking in the beauteous sight of Ariana garbed in exquisite indigo sendal.

  The wispy silk gown traced her curves as though sewn to her form. Long skirts, nearly sheer, so fine was their weave, fell in fluid motion to the floor around her dainty leather slippers and in a train behind her. Edging the hem of the elegant skirt and the long bell sleeves of its sky blue overtunic was an embroidered braid of cream satin, sewn with gemstone beads and pearls. With Ariana's every graceful step along the corridor toward the great hall, the gown's luxurious adornments twinkled gaily, catching in the torchlight of the keep.

  Everything about the dress was a study of perfection on Ariana, including the daring neckline of the bodice, cut to expose just the right amount of decolletage, flushed pink with the same glow that radiated from Ariana's serene face.

  "Lord Braedon will be enchanted, to be
sure," Haven said, eager to see Ariana's effect on her brooding warrior of a husband.

  "I warrant there are times when a woman must call upon every bit of magic she possesses, wouldn't you agree?"

  Haven returned her friend's smile, though inwardly the jest was lost on her. Her mind was racing forward to the end of the evening, when she must face the inevitable.

  She had to tell Kenrick tonight. There could be no more delaying, no more wishing for the opportune time when it might never come.

  She loved him.

  He commanded her heart, and she needed him to know that. He needed to know everything. She would tell him all tonight, after the meal was ended and they were assured time alone.

  She would lay bare all her secrets, and pray he would find a bit of acceptance--a bit of mercy--in his heart.

  "Here we are," Ariana said as they arrived at the entryway of the banquet chamber. "Are you ready to make your entrance, Lady Haven?"

  In truth, she wasn't at all sure, but Ariana's eyes were bright with confidence, instilling a measure of the same in Haven. With anticipation sparking through her like tiny currents, she mustered her courage and came to stand in the open archway of the tall double doors.

  Before her in the hall, people milled about like bees at the hive, flitting hither and yon as they assembled to take their seats at the long trestle tables spread out across the floor. Haven's gaze pierced the crowd, straining to find the dais through the churning throng.

  At last there was a break in the press of bodies. A pathway cleared in her line of vision, and she followed it with eager eyes, holding her breath as her gaze traveled across the room and up, onto the raised platform of the head table.

  Kenrick was standing there. He was flanked by a small group of other men, Braedon and some of the Clairmont knights among them. But Haven only had eyes for the handsome, golden lord who ruled her heart. He saw her in the same moment she saw him. His intense blue stare reached to her from the distance that separated them.

  Haven's heart gave a little leap as their gazes locked.

  Something unreadable flickered in his silent regard--a momentary glint of surprise, mayhap desire, she wanted to believe--as his astute eyes took an obvious assessment of her attire. She stood there, anxiously waiting for his smile. For a welcoming lift of his hand, or some subtle warming of his features...anything but the stoic countenance that met her across that crowded hall.

  It did not come.

  He only stared at her, motionless and silent, his eyes cold, steady, piercing....

  Bleak with a certain measured expectation.

  Haven frowned, confused.

  But then he shifted slightly, and cold understanding began to dawn. That one small step he took, a deliberate movement, subtle though it was, drew her attention to a tall, broad-shouldered man who stood behind Kenrick on the dais. She saw a mass of thick chestnut hair crowning a harsh, hawk-like face that was only partway revealed through the distance. The face was a shadowed specter of another she had known--leaner, less jovial than it was meant to be.

  Still, there could be no mistaking it.

  She blinked, recognition instant despite the logic that told her it could only be a trick of the light. Her lips parted on a silent oath of wonder.

  And all the while Kenrick watched her, those crystalline eyes cutting through her like twin shards of razor-sharp glass.

  "Oh, no."

  Haven gasped the words, understanding now what this was about. Stricken with dread, she quickly backed away from the entryway. She took a handful of steps into the corridor, stumbling in her haste.

  Doubled over, her back pressed to the cold stone of the wall, she clutched her stomach, which was twisting into itself with a stabbing jolt of alarm.

  "No, no, no..."

  Ariana was at her side at once. "Haven? What's wrong?"

  "It cannot be." Like a stone tossed in a fathomless lake, her heart plummeted, sinking into a black, frigid void that knew no end. "No...not like this. Not now."

  She pushed away from the corridor wall, every instinct urging her to run. Had her feet not felt so leaden, her heart not so constricted in her breast, she might have done just that. As it was, she only managed another two paces before Ariana caught her by the wrist.

  "Haven, are you ill? For heaven's sake, tell me what's wrong."

  "Let me go. Please."

  Kenrick's sister held fast, worry knitting her forehead. "Not until you tell me what this is about. Let me help y--"

  "Please!" Haven hissed, urgent as she wrenched her hand from Ariana's well-meaning grasp. "Please, just let me be. I don't...I don't feel well," she improvised, lamely grasping for the first excuse she could find. "I need to be alone for a while."

  She didn't wait for Ariana's reply. Choking on panic, on bitter fear and stunned disbelief, she fled for the tower stairs.

  Chapter 25

  It was settled now.

  He had wanted his answer, and so, by God, he had it. Haven's guilt-stricken look the moment she spied Rand at the dais had said it all.

  She had betrayed him. Perhaps all this time, playing him for a fool. Pretending to be of feeble memory, lying to him about what had happened at Rand's keep those weeks ago. Using him to obtain information about his findings on the Dragon Chalice.

  A cursed shifter, deceiving him each time she kissed him, mocking him with every silken sigh and pleasured moan she had breathed beside his ear as they made love.

  And he, fool to the end, had been praying she would prove his suspicions wrong.

  When he saw her in that emerald-hued gown, a confection befitting a goddess, it had taken every ounce of his control not to gape in dumbstruck, mortal admiration. Never had she looked more stunning.

  Never had she been more treacherous, for as he had glimpsed her across the distance of the great hall, bedecked in silken finery, her eyes more dazzling than the jewels that winked at the heavenly valley between her breasts, Kenrick had felt a deep and growing hope burn from some protected corner of his soul.

  Hope that what he felt for this woman--this temptress witch who could seduce him with a look--was forged of something stronger than mist and moonlight.

  In that flashing instant of time, he had entertained a wishful scenario where Haven was pleased to see Greycliff alive. Kenrick had imagined the warm smile she directed at him softly melting into astonishment when she spied the man whose family had taken her into their home as a healer and friend to Elspeth. Sheltered her and fed her, trusted her as one of their own.

  Much the way she had been accepted here at Clairmont.

  Kenrick had expected disbelief perhaps, shock certainly, when she laid eyes on Rand, whole and hale after her account of his horrific death at enemy hands.

  Disbelief he got, and shock as well. Whether a trick of his mind or something else, he could have sworn he saw a note of relief--uncomprehending, yet heartfelt and true--bloom in her eyes as she saw that Rand was alive. Whatever emotion played there, it had been quickly overridden by a look of unmistakable dread once she glanced back to Kenrick and met his studious, knowing gaze.

  Standing there on the dais after her sudden retreat, Kenrick exhaled a black oath. Time to have done with this business entirely. With murmured excuses, he quit the high table and stalked through the settling crowd of assembled castlefolk. Ariana met him halfway across the floor.

  "Kenrick, I am worried about Haven. Something is terribly wrong with her."

  "Aye, there is," he growled, his jaw clamped so tightly, it was a wonder the bones didn't shatter under the pressure of his rage.

  "I have never seen her in such a state. Someone should look after her at once."

  "Where has she gone?" he asked, hardly pausing for the answer.

  "To the tower." When he lengthened his stride, Ariana hurried after him. "Wait, Kenrick. I want to go with you."

  He threw a look over his shoulder, his commanding glare halting her in her tracks. "Stay, Ana. Go to your husband. Tell him no one i
s to come upstairs until I am through. Do you understand?"

  Worry bled to sudden wariness in his little sister's blue eyes. "You're upset with her. Why? What is happening?" She glanced toward the dais and drew in a sharp breath. "My Lord. Is that--? Rand...he is alive?"

  "Do as I ask, Ana. Tell Braedon to say nothing to Greycliff or to anyone else about what goes here. This matter is mine to handle."

  "Kenrick, I don't understand. How can Rand be standing here when Haven said--"

  "Nothing she has said--to any of us--means a thing."

  Ariana looked to him, her lips parting in an expression of doubt. "What do you mean to do to her?"

  "What I should have done the moment I first began to suspect her lies."

  * * *

  Haven fumbled with the last of the delicate laces of the gown, her fingers trembling, nearly useless in her state of utter distress. Breath hitching, she loosed the final fastening and shed the beautiful clothes like a snake coming out of its skin. It was all she could do, unable to bear the weight of the silk and velvet and beads when the press of her heart--her very soul--felt as onerous as a hundred stone weight.

  In her white chemise, her feet bared of the soft kid slippers Ariana had given her, Haven hurried to the coffer at the end of the bed and threw open the lid. Her old dun kirtle and woolen mantle were folded inside, washed and mended sometime during her stay at Clairmont. She took them out, carefully setting aside the lavender sprigs that she had crafted one of the sunny mornings she had spent conversing with Ariana in the castle's garden. The flowers were so tender, nearly sapped of all life after just a fortnight gone from their vine.

  How fragile this mortal world was.

  How easily its precious gifts could be lost.

  Tears threatened on that thought, but Haven held them at bay. She could blame no one but herself for what was happening now. She owned it all. What was lost to her tonight could not be measured, nor, she feared, could it be won back.