Heart of the Flame Read online

  They had reached a dead end.

  * * *

  Perched on the edge of the bed, Haven held her full glass of wine and watched as Draec le Nantres sampled the tray of food she had served him. Reclining near the hearth like a negligent prince, he was on his second helping of claret and having the devil of a time keeping his smoky, sensual gaze from fixing on her body as he listened to her plans for their covert alliance.

  All lies, of course.

  Her brazenness was purely illusion. Not much different than the diaphanous gown and velvet cloak, both crafted of Anavrin magic, and meant to conceal the drab attire she wore since her flight from Clairmont. She had given Draec le Nantres a picture of invitation, of willing alliance, and so far, he was taking the bait. But there was still a chance her plan could fail.

  She needed to stall him for time, give the herbs a chance to be absorbed and work their own magic on his muscular limbs and dangerous mind.

  To her good fortune, le Nantres was a man of great appetite. To her chagrin, that appetite did not restrict itself to just food and wine. He wanted her, and had been making that point quite clear as the hours wore on in the private chamber of the inn.

  "You are making me feel like a glutton, lady. Won't you come down by the fire and join me in this meal? It is quite delicious."

  Haven gave him a coy, if calculated, smile. "I'm content to watch you enjoy it. Besides, as I've told you already, I took my supper before you arrived."

  The noise he made in the back of his throat was something of a growl, sulky, yet full of masculine confidence that made her wonder if any woman had ever denied the rogue what he wanted. "A taste, at least. Then we can discuss the more pleasant aspects of our alliance."

  She lifted a brow, but did not move from her seat across the chamber.

  "Nay?" he asked with idle amusement. "Very well, stubborn minx. I will bring the decadence to you."

  With strong, elegant fingers, he plucked a glazed berry from its sauce of rich, baked honey, then got up from his position on the floor to approach her. His gaze was dark with a powerful sensuality that seemed accustomed to the chase--and to conquest. But there was the slightest falter in his otherwise flawless stride.

  He did not seem to notice, she thought, more the better.

  He reached the bed and seated himself beside her, one hand braced behind her, the other holding the sweet dark berry at her lips. He gave her a wickedly handsome smile that dazzled when he was but a breath away from her on the mattress.

  "Open your mouth, beauty, and taste the sinful treat you would deny yourself."

  Her eyes on his, Haven obeyed the deliberately sensual command. The pungency of pennyroyal was evident to her trained palette, its subtle flavor filtering through the thick honey sauce. She betrayed nothing of her thoughts as she chewed the berry under his close scrutiny.

  "Hmm?" he grunted, evidently pleased at her compliance. His voice was as dark and warm as silk. "You know, I could be content watching your enjoyment tonight as well."

  He stroked his fingers along the length of her arm and Haven sidled away. "There are still a few things we must make clear," she said. "Things I must know before I am comfortable to...proceed with our arrangement."

  He leaned back, his blunt chin going up in consideration. "What more do you need to know? We have agreed to help each other--you will assist me in finding the other Chalice stones, and I will see you returned to Anavrin, whole and hale, once I claim the Dragon Chalice for my own."

  "Yes," Haven said, "that is our agreement. But you are asking me to place a great deal of trust in you. How can I be assured that you will uphold your promises to me?"

  His mouth pursed thoughtfully. "You wound me, lady. I realize some would question my methods, call me a scoundrel, but I do have some honor. I am a fair man--so long as I am getting what I require in the bargain."

  "And what, precisely, do you require in our bargain?"

  "You help me find the remaining Chalice stones--and assist me in obtaining the one held by Silas de Mortaine--and I will see you back to your homeland." He chuckled, and when he spoke there was a faint slur in his words. "Until that time, there iss naught to bar us from enjoying each other's company...iss there?"

  He scowled suddenly, no doubt alerted to the vague thickening of his devil's tongue. She would need to distract him lest he discover her intent too soon.

  "There is something I would know," she said, turning to face him on the edge of the bed. "Why would you risk going against Silas de Mortaine to get the Chalice? He is a formidable man with a great deal of power, both here and in Anavrin. He already has one of the sacred Chalice stones, and he has a good number of my clan at his command. To defy him is to court death. You must know that."

  "What does it matter my reasons?"

  "If I am to ally myself with you, I would have you tell me."

  "You say that to defy de Mortaine is death?" Le Nantres' expression had become very grim, troubled by unspoken demons that writhed within the dark green depths of his gaze. "To allow the Dragon Chalice to slip through my fingers is death to me. What man would not be tempted by the lure of immense power--of eternal life?"

  "There are some."

  "Clairmont?" Draec scoffed. "Can you be so sure? He has gotten closer than anyone to deciphering the riddle of the Chalice. What drives him to it if not the promise of its many gifts?"

  "I suppose he thinks he is doing what is right, what is just, by keeping de Mortaine--or anyone else--from using the Chalice for their own designs. Mayhap he also enjoys the challenge to be found in so intriguing a quest."

  "Ah," Draec purred. "The thrill of the chase. Few men can resist that. I wonder, lovely Haven, how long did Clairmont have to chase you before he caught you?"

  Haven shifted slightly where she sat, feeling Draec's gaze narrow on her in measured observance. He pinned her with his piercing green eyes, but already his pupils had begun to round under the lulling spell of her herbs. Still, he was a big man, a seasoned warrior whose honed body might resist such an affront. She only hoped he would succumb before his masculine patience wore out.

  "If I allowed myself to be chased and caught, it did serve to bring me closer to my enemy and his secrets. You here on the Outside often fail to consider that silk is sometimes stronger than steel." Haven offered le Nantres a considering smile that felt too tight on her lips. "Anyway, as you say, what matter his reasons for seeking the Dragon Chalice? Every man will have his own cause for wanting the power it wields. Kenrick of Clairmont is no different than the rest of your breed."

  Le Nantres gave her a lazy look that belied his keen perception. "Did I not know better, shifter, I would think I detect a note of bitterness in your voice. I thought your kind was immune to such mortal emotions."

  Haven thrust out her chin and spoke in a curtly superior tone. "Disdain is what I feel for the days I was held little better than a prisoner in his keep."

  "A prisoner garbed in pretty gowns and sparkling jewels," Draec drawled, plainly remarking on the way she looked when they met so unexpectedly outside Clairmont's walls.

  "They knew not who I was."

  "And now they do?"

  "Yes, they know."

  "I am surprised Clairmont and my old friend Braedon did not kill you on the spot. They will, once they learn you have sided with me."

  "All the more reason for us to put our alliance to work without delay," Haven replied. "I do not belong here on the Outside. I will not be safe until I'm back in Anavrin."

  "And so you shall be, lady. Once the Dragon Chalice is mine." Draec raised his wine to his lips and drained it in one swallow. He set the empty glass on the floor beside the bed a bit clumsily, then leaned back on the mattress, propped by his bent elbow. "Tell me what else you know about Kenrick of Clairmont and his quest for this treasure."

  "I can tell you that he believes he knows where another of the stones is hidden."

  "Where?" Draec asked, not bothering to hide his impatient interest. "Did
he give you the location?"

  "No. But I saw his writings, and I was able to conclude what he'd been guessing at."

  "Tell me. Damn it, name the place!"

  "Land's End," she relented after a moment, praying he would swallow her lie as readily as he swallowed the herbed wine. If he did, and if she should fail in her plan tonight, at least she would be sending le Nantres leagues away from Kenrick's true destination. "There is a small church on the promontory of the cliffs. Clairmont means to search there for one of the Chalice stones."

  "This is the truth?"

  "I swear it on my life," Haven vowed, prepared to accept the consequences. "But even if he is correct in his deductions, he will fail to find the stone, for he is missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. Something you claim to have."

  "That's right." Draec's chuckle was deep with appreciative humor. He inclined his head in a courtly show of respect. "I have the seal, and now I know where it belongs. You see, Haven? This is why we make an ideal team."

  She shared his smile, but hers hid a wary sense of calculation. "Show me the key."

  "What makes you think I brought it with me?"

  Now it was Haven's turn to laugh. "You would never entrust it to someone else, nor would you risk leaving it out of your sight, where anyone could steal it back from you. Let me see it."

  "Later, perhaps," he said, then stretched out on the bed. She started to get up, but his arm snaked out and he seized her by the wrist. His tug was playful, but firm. "Join me, Haven. You have been tempting me sorely all evening with that witchy gown of yours. Patience never was one of my virtues."

  She had not intended for things to progress so quickly, but she let him pull her down beside him on the bed. As she stretched out to face him, her free hand worked to loosen her braided silk girdle. The long length of cording slid out from beneath her hips, and she tucked it at her back on the mattress, holding le Nantres's dragon green gaze all the while.

  "Isn't that better?" he asked when she had settled in before him.

  "Yes, this is...nice."

  His chuckle was sly and not a little alarming. "I'm not a fool, you know. And you are not a skilled liar, lady."

  Haven's face must have registered her jolt of anxiety, for Draec's grip suddenly tightened on her wrist. "What game do you play?"

  "I do not--"

  He thrust her arm up and over, holding fast to her and pinning her to the bed with the hard length of his body. "You do, Haven. And I do not like--uhhh!"

  A shudder wormed its way through his body and down the punishing muscles of his arm. He squeezed his eyes closed, and when they opened, he seemed unable to focus. "Damnation...what is this?"

  He released her wrist as if he had no choice, rubbing his eyes and gripping his temples in both hands. He groaned, his face twisting into a grimace.

  "You'd better lie down," Haven told him, quickly extricating herself from his reach.

  He fell back on the bed, his brow sheened with perspiration. "My ears are ringing...mouth is...bone dry." He licked his parched lips. "Christ, I need a drink."

  "Nay," Haven said, easing him back down when he tried to rise from the mattress. "You have had enough wine, I reckon. Lie down now, and relax."

  No longer needing the illusion of her seductive garb, Haven released it. She stood before him in the simple kirtle and slippers that she had taken from Clairmont Castle.

  "What have you...done?" le Nantres croaked. He shook his head, scowling, then blinked at her in sudden, dawning understanding. "Witch," he snarled through bared teeth. "You...have drugged me."

  Haven said nothing, merely worked in all haste to secure him while he fought the effects of the herbs. She slid off the bed with her girdle trailing in her fist, then ran to his right side. He gave little resistance as she took his hand and tied it to the tall post of the bed. With the long tail of the braided rope of silk, she fit his other wrist likewise to the opposite post.

  Draec jerked against the makeshift shackles, jostling the heavy bed, but the tether held fast.

  "Let me up...damnation! Let--me...up!"

  Satisfied with her work, Haven paused to look down on his supine body which dwarfed the big mattress. The snarling dragon emblem on his tunic seemed to glare up at her, eyes blazing with a fury matching that of the warrior who bore the beastly symbol on his chest. Le Nantres growled in outrage, but he could do little else when the intoxicating potion she fed him was speeding through his system.

  "I think you would be better advised to rest a while, Sir Draec."

  "No--damn you!" He struggled some more, futile rage that spent precious strength.

  "The herbs I put in your food and wine will not kill you, but they will make you sleep, and your head will be terribly sore come the morning."

  "Can't sleep...the beast...'twill swallow me..." He thrashed his head on the bolster, fighting invisible demons with a fear that seemed very real. "Cannot see...cannot...breathe."

  "The herbs have already taken hold of you," she said, hearing the nonsensical murmuring as he writhed on the bed. "Rest now. You only make the herb work faster when you fight it."

  He gave a half-hearted attempt to rise up off the mattress, but seemed not to have the strength. He fell back down with a frustrated expulsion of his breath. "Foolish chit! You're letting de Mortaine win," he said, anger flaring in his sharp green eyes as he struggled to speak through the hazing effect of the herbs. "You have no idea...he will destroy...I need...must have the Chalice..."

  The herbs were dragging him under swiftly now; his eyes rolled in dazed slowness, shuttered longer and longer by the fall of his thick dark lashes. The tendons in his arms relaxed, slumping as the pull of sleep claimed him. One last epithet was lost midstream as his breathing deepened to a low snore.

  Faith, she had done it. The dragon lord was subdued.

  "Sleep well, le Nantres."

  Now to find the seal.

  Haven made a quick search of his person. She emptied the pouches on his sword belt, then ran her hand under his tunic, praying her instincts were correct, that he would keep the seal close to him at all times. Her fingers brushed over a cord of thin leather looped about his neck. She followed the line of it, to where it had slid in his struggles.

  Haven smiled when her hand closed around cool metal. She gave a hard tug and the object came free of its tether.

  She pulled the seal out into the candlelight, her gaze tracing the very pattern Kenrick had described to her all those nights ago. Twin circles overlapping, with a small cross floating at the heart of their intersection.

  Feeling hope rise from the ashes of her past mistakes, Haven seized the metal seal in her palm and dashed out the door.

  Chapter 29

  Putting Haven out of his mind had been difficult during his waking hours, but Kenrick found he could not bar her from his dreams. He dreamed of her smile, her thoughtful gaze, the beautiful face and siren's body that masked her witch's heart.

  By day, he held fast to his rage at her betrayal, at his own stupidity.

  She had proven him an utter fool.

  He, the man of reason, the student of logic and patterns, had been bested by pretty lies and false embraces. He should despise her, and in truth, a part of him did. That she was likely teamed with his enemies at this very moment was enough to fuel his anger ten times over.

  She was his enemy, he reminded himself harshly on those occasions when he felt his heart soften toward the woman who had seemed so lost when he found her, so vulnerable and in need of his protection.

  By day he forced his heart to harden and shut her out, but at night, when he closed his eyes and saw her there with him--fiery, sensual Haven, as she had been before he knew the truth--it was all he could do to keep from reaching for her. All he could do to keep from pulling her close and tasting her deceitful kiss one more time. He should have learned, for in the end it was always the same.

  Even in dreams she proved him her fool, laughing soundlessly as she faded to mist and sli
pped away through his grasping fingers.

  On this night, with Rand on watch in the tor chapel and Kenrick having made camp outside, Haven came to him in sorrow. He felt her touch brush softly against his cheek, drawing him into the dream. His slumbering mind saw her as clearly as ever, kneeling beside him on the soft grass, her mane of flowing auburn hair and graceful shoulders limned by silver moonlight.

  He would have thought her an angel if not for her tears.

  She said nothing as she gazed down at him, her eyes welled and glittering with moisture. One fat tear spilled over, rolling down the delicate slope of her face. He might have caught the errant droplet, but he willed himself not to reach out, not to touch, lest he lose her so soon after she had arrived.

  Her sadness confused him. It moved him, registering somewhere deep inside him, but she gave him no chance to question her.

  Slowly, silently, she bent down and brushed his mouth with a tender kiss.

  It had been just days since they had parted at Clairmont, a few scant nights since the last one they spent together, but to Kenrick, feeling her lips so warm against his own, it seemed he had gone a lifetime away from Haven's kiss.

  His hunger surged at once, desire arrowing through him like a spark igniting parched fields. But he did not let it rule him. He dared not rush the dream that felt so real, so right. He kept his hands at his sides, rigid in his control, as the midnight vision of Haven drew back to look at him in thoughtful silence.

  His breath caught as he gazed upon her and realized she wore nothing but the dark velvet of the evening around them. The tips of her breasts peeked out from beneath the fiery veil of her hair, which tumbled about her in long coppery waves. Her skin was pale, ethereal, luminescent. Her fingers were just a bit unsteady as she reached out to pull away the cloak that blanketed him on his makeshift pallet on the ground.

  She leaned into him then, slipping her flattened palms under his tunic and up his bare chest. Her touch was feather-light, but it inflamed him like a brand. She stroked every inch of his skin, as if memorizing him by feel, her nails grazing across the discs of his nipples, her palms curving around the bulk of his shoulders and down along his biceps.