Heart of the Flame Read online

  She settled back against the embrasure and for long moments contented herself with watching the doe, until a disruption somewhere out of earshot drew the deer to attention. It raised its head, scented some alarm, then bolted out of sight.

  If only I could do likewise, Haven thought wistfully.

  Soon, she would. As soon as she was able, she would make her own escape. She would flee across that flowering field and into the cover of the woods, the same as the doe had done. She drew a breath of the crisp morning air and could almost taste freedom.

  A rap on the chamber door behind her brought her thoughts back within the walls of her comfortable prison. "Enter," she said, listening for the now familiar snick of a key turning in the iron lock. She did not bother to turn around as the panel opened, unwilling to drag her gaze away from the endless beauty that lay so close, yet just beyond her grasp. "How far do Clairmont's borders stretch?"

  She had expected to hear Lady Ariana's pleasant voice from across the room where she had entered, presumably returning with hose and slippers. Instead, a man answered Haven's query, the dark and familiar sound of him much too close for her peace of mind. "Farther than the eye can see from this chamber."

  It was him--Kenrick, the golden lord of this place.

  Her savior turned gaoler.

  Haven's spine went rigid at once and she nearly dropped the comb in her haste to scramble out of the window. Pivoting, she put her bare feet on the floor and scooted off the deep-set embrasure to stand with her back pressed against the stone of the wall.

  "I didn't mean to startle you."

  "You did not," she replied, straightening as fully as she could and telling herself it was surprise, not fear, that sent her blood racing as she looked upon him. He caught her unawares, entering unannounced, and intruded further by striding to the very window where she stood. He gazed out for a brief moment, then looked pointedly at her.

  "You are trembling, Haven."

  Was she? The knowledge jolted her to her core.

  "'Tis a chilly morn," she said by way of excuse as she inched away from his unwanted presence.

  In truth, there was no bite in the air at all. If her body quivered when she stood beside Kenrick of Clairmont, she doubted she could blame the weather. Nor would she deign to credit it toward awareness of him as a man, despite that she could not tear her gaze away from the broad line of his shoulders, and the schooled expression of his striking face. There was a restrained power in his every move, a keen intelligence in his cultured voice.

  "You know, before bringing you here, I had inquired after you in the village in Cornwall."

  "So you told me when I awoke to find myself in your keeping, my lord."

  "The folk there said you lived alone. That you have no husband or family. They said you had arrived in Cornwall not more than a year before, and that you plied your skill with herbs to make your living." He paused, as though testing her with his silence. "One or two folk might have called you a witch."

  "A witch, am I?" She scoffed at that, finding more amusement than insult in the crude assumption. "The folk of that town are simple men with simple minds. Are you as well, my lord?"

  Nay, he was not. She knew the instant the words left her mouth that this knight with the smooth, cultured voice was not an addlepated slab of brawn and handsome looks. His blue gaze was too shrewd, even as it casually perused her form. He was clever, and he was wise. A dangerous combination when paired with the sheer strength of his warrior's body, which she imagined could easily hold her in more complete restraint than any tightly tethered bonds.

  "Do you think I cursed your friends in some manner? Is that why you have taken me prisoner here--to wring a confession from my forked witch's tongue?"

  A wry smile played at the corner of his mouth. "I intend no such thing, Haven. Nor do I mean to hold you a prisoner in my keep. But I do want--nay. I need you to tell me all that you know about the attack on Greycliff."

  She turned away from his probing gaze. "We have been through this already. I cannot tell you things I do not recall."

  His voice was gentle, even while she braced herself for harsh male anger and intimidation. "Rand and Elspeth were my friends, Haven. What happened to them--what happened to you as well--was a cowardly act of brutality. I want to make sure the man who did this, and all those in league with him, never get the chance to hurt anyone again. He is evil, Haven. It's important that he be stopped, in any way possible."

  "I do not see how I can help in that. It is as I told you, the attack is a blur in my mind. The details are..." She shrugged, but inside she was assailed with violent flashes of memory.

  Sounds clashed with images, all of it hurtling dreamlike through her mind. She felt hands close around her throat. She shook her head, dispelling the vision before it could take root.

  "I'm sorry, but the details of that night are lost to me."

  She could not tell if he believed her. He watched her intently, saying nothing, then, finally: "I will not demand your cooperation in this, Haven. I know what it is to be a prisoner in truth, for I spent half a year in a madman's dungeon. He devised many creative ways of coercing information out of me--at times, I thought he might eventually be successful. When the torture was at its worst, I might have told him any lie to make it cease. I'm not going to do that to you. I don't want falsehoods from you, Haven. I cannot afford them."

  There was an earnestness in his voice that took her aback. Had he come in raging and bellowing or with fists at the ready, she would have been more prepared. She would have been further convinced that the voice inside that warned of danger was correct. She found she did not know quite what to make of him.

  "You were at Greycliff the night my friends were killed. The stab wound in your shoulder, the bruises that still linger at your neck from where your attacker strangled you--do you realize how close you came to dying yourself?"

  "Yes," she murmured. "And I am grateful to you for helping me like you did."

  "Then help me stop these beasts. There is an evil at work here that you would not wish to understand. Help me thwart it. Will you do that, Haven?"

  "I have already told you as much as I know."

  "You have yet to tell me what you were doing there that night. What brought you to the keep?"

  "Lady Greycliff had sent for me."

  A slice of memory opened in her mind. Haven saw the day clearly at first, she at work in her cottage preparing herbs, mixing dried sage and pennyroyal and sewing the blend into a small brewing packet. "I had been to see her often in the days before. She was...not well, and had requested an herbal of me."

  He gave an understanding nod. "Elspeth often suffered headaches. There was little to help her when they were at their worst."

  "Yes," Haven agreed. She saw no point in mentioning that it was melancholy, more than headache, that ailed the fragile lady in what would be her final hours. "I delivered what she wanted, and found her in quite a state. Her husband was away--gone for a sennight on estate matters to one of their holdings near Penzance. The lady herself was to have joined him but she was too ill to make the journey. I arrived at the keep and gave her my herbal, then sat with her a while--easily hours, until I saw she was improved."

  "So then the raid on the keep occurred while you were there with her?"

  She shrugged, not certain of the details. "No. That is, I don't think so. I remember it was dark. Perhaps I went back to check on her? I do not recall the precise timing. Things become...hazy."

  "What about Greycliff himself? Rand must have been there, too. Had he returned from his trip while you were there?"

  "I don't know."

  It was the truth; Haven could not recall specific facts from that fated night. Once darkness fell, once the flames and ash had begun to close in around her, she could make sense of little. She knew only the violence of the night's events, and the understanding that an entire family had been lost amid the carnage.

  Just thinking on it, she could nearly feel the p
unishing vise of fingers at her throat, choking her whilst the smoke burned her eyes and seared her lungs.

  In her mind's eye, she saw the white slash of a grimace--the stark baring of teeth in a vicious snarl as her attacker squeezed the very breath from her.

  "I need your help, Haven. I need you to tell me whatever you can about the man--or the beast--who attacked you at Greycliff Castle. Anything you can recall: what he looked like, what he might have said, if he took anything with him from the place...it is important that I have those answers."

  "I'm sorry," she whispered, forcing herself to meet Kenrick's frank blue gaze. "There is nothing more I can say. I have told you all I remember right now."

  For a long while, he said nothing. He merely studied her at too close a range, his intensity scorching her. Then he quirked a tawny brow in impasse.

  "Very well, then."

  He granted her leave from his questioning, but it was hard to mistake the lingering glint of suspicion in his eyes. He did not believe her, but true to his word, he would not force her into submission. She did not credit that he would afford her overmuch reprieve before he returned with more questions. For now, she would take what she could get.

  "Give me your hand, lady."

  Haven frowned up at him in question. "Why?"

  "Your hand," he repeated, impatience flaring in his otherwise calm voice.

  When she made no move to comply, he reached out and took her by the wrist. His fingers were warm and firm against her skin, his touch at once restrained yet commanding. With a subtle turn, her palm was open to him. He placed something in the center of it, then closed her fingers around a thin length of cold iron.

  It was a key.

  The very key to her chamber prison, she realized.

  "What do you mean by this?"

  "I give you choice," he said, his hand still cradling hers. He seemed to realize it at the same moment she did, for he withdrew his touch and took a step away from her. "I'm allowing you the freedom to decide where you go from here, Haven. You have nothing to fear from me or my kin. I'll not keep you prisoner; feel free to make Clairmont your home while your body continues to mend."

  "But this isn't my home," she pointed out, determined not to warm to the man or his gesture of apparent consideration.

  "You are welcome here as long as needed. You'll be fed and tended, and you will help my sister where she needs you about the keep. When you are fully mended, I will see that you are provided with a mounted escort back to Cornwall. In exchange, you have my protection, and the protection of Clairmont's guards."

  "Do you think I require protection?"

  He glanced to the bruises that ringed her throat, and down, to the bandage that wrapped her shoulder. "Someone tried to kill you, my lady. Don't think for a moment you are safe outside these walls."

  "And within them?" she braved in a bare whisper, sensing a different brand of danger the longer she was held in Kenrick of Clairmont's penetrating gaze.

  "You have my vow, Haven. No harm will come to you here. But I need your help as well. Trust me when I tell you that the lives of many--very likely all life itself--is at stake. What you know about the attack on Greycliff, what you may have seen, could prove immensely useful to me. Perhaps you will come to me with answers when you are ready."

  She said nothing, watching as he slowly, deliberately, withdrew from the chamber. He closed the door behind him, but no key turned in the lock.

  She wanted freedom, and now it seemed she had it.

  Haven uncurled her fist and stared at the black metal key resting in her palm. Although she did not fully trust the gift, Kenrick of Clairmont had just given her wings to fly from this unwilling captivity. So help her, she would waste no time in using it.

  Chapter 7

  For the next couple of days, Haven focused on her recovery. The fever had left her weak, sapping her breath and draining her limbs of much of their strength. To combat the effects of her injury, she rested often and used her waking hours to regain her stability. The freedom she had been granted by Kenrick was an added boon, for it afforded her the opportunity to walk about the castle and build needed strength in her legs.

  Ariana accompanied her most of the time, an easy companionship that Haven was genuinely enjoying. On this morning, with the sun a brilliant orb shining down from a clear blue sky, Ariana had decided a bit of fresh air was in order.

  She led Haven out of the tower keep by way of a side entrance used primarily by the kitchen servants. A guard stood his post at the door, armed with a deadly looking sword at his hip. He stepped aside as Ariana and Haven exited into the yard, lowering his head in deferential acknowledgment of the regal blond lady who greeted him warmly by name.

  "Good morrow, Thomas. How fares your daughter today?"

  "My lady," he replied, coming out of his bow. "She is mending well. The spill rattled her pride more than aught else."

  "Glad I am to hear it." Ariana's smile was sympathetic and fond as she turned to offer Haven explanation. "Some of the castle pages had been taking turns riding a pony about the courtyard yesterday morn when little Gwen, Sir Thomas's eight-year-old daughter, decided she wanted to join in. Evidently she took exception to the boys' taunting that she was too small and feeble to ride even a goat, much less the pony. She had them eating their words in no time at all. Unfortunately, the old bearded goat she rode out of the barn a moment later did not take kindly to helping prove her point."

  "Oh, dear," Haven remarked, imagining what had likely ensued.

  "Despite the brevity of her triumph, I don't expect Gwen will be mocked by the boys anytime soon. You know, Thomas, I suspect she deliberately chose the meanest of the goats on principle alone."

  "She is a hard-headed one, that girl," he agreed with fatherly woe. "Has been since she was a mere babe."

  "Yes, she has," Ariana said, laughing with him as he permitted a prideful chuckle. "Tell Gwen I'll come down to visit with her later this afternoon. I'll bring her a sweet from the kitchen."

  Sir Thomas gave a warm nod, smiling. "She will be well pleased to see you, my lady. Thank you."

  Ariana guided Haven away from the keep and on, along the path leading toward the kitchen outbuilding at the back of the castle.

  "Poor Thomas has his hands full," she remarked to Haven as they strolled leisurely past the squat cooking house.

  "How so?" Haven asked.

  "Little Gwen's mother passed away in childbed nigh on two years ago, leaving her husband to raise the girl on his own. He is a good man, and he tries his best, but Gwen needs a mother." Ariana glanced to Haven with a sage look in her eye. "And just as badly, Sir Thomas needs a wife."

  "Why does he not take one, then?"

  "He is endeavoring to do so, I think, but the silly girl doesn't know what he's about," Ariana divulged in a hushed voice. "She works in the kitchens--a quiet maid named Enid. Sir Thomas bargained hard for his post at the postern door, and though he would never admit as much, I knew 'twas all so he could be standing nearby as shy young Enid makes her thrice daily rounds from kitchen to keep."

  Just then, ahead of them on the path, a slender woman came around the corner of the keep and began a mincing walk toward the kitchens. She kept her head low, the elongated sides of her linen mop cap all but hiding her face. Ariana put her hand out to still Haven on the path, her gaze meaningful as the girl approached.

  "Why, Enid. Good day," she called brightly.

  The maid glanced up at once, seeming startled to be noticed, let alone directly addressed. She froze and bobbed a quick curtsy. "Oh! Good morrow, milady. And...miss."

  "This is Haven," Ariana said, making introductions as the maid meekly drew close. "She is staying with us for a while as our guest, mending from a wound she took some days ago."

  Enid nodded and politely offered her greetings. "My lady."

  "I am glad I found you, Enid," Ariana interjected, her tone light and casually well-meaning. "We just passed the loyal knight on watch at the postern door
, and I couldn't help but notice that the poor man has not been relieved from his post for some hours."

  The maid's cheeks went pink with a sudden shy blush. "Sir Thomas, milady?"

  "Yes," Ariana said, smiling now. "That's right, Sir Thomas. With the sun so hot today, he must be parched for refreshment. Would you mind fetching him a cup of ale?"

  "Aye, of course." She looked mortified at the prospect, but immediately began smoothing her plainspun skirts and patting at her floppy head covering. "Aye. I'll fetch it at once, milady."

  When the girl had hastened away, Haven arched her brows at Ariana's crafty intervention. "You are wicked."

  "I am," she readily agreed, laughing as she hooked her arm through Haven's and began strolling with her once more along the path. "But I have a notion about the two of them, and I wouldn't presume to meddle where I wasn't sure it would be helpful. Besides, I only want everyone to be as happily matched as I am with my husband."

  It was not the first mention of her marriage that Lady Ariana had made in the time she and Haven had been getting to know one another. The mere thought of her husband seemed to light Ariana's features with an inner, luminescent glow. Her devotion was plain for anyone to see.

  "Have you been long wed?" Haven asked, curious to know more about the man who had so captivated the heart of her new friend.

  "Only a scant couple of months, though it seems we've been together always. Braedon and I were married at Clairmont soon after we brought Kenrick back from France this past February. He had run into some...trouble there."

  Haven thought back to what Kenrick had told her the last time she had seen him, when he had come to her and informed her that he would not keep her against her will. He had admitted, much to her surprise, that he knew what it was like to be imprisoned.

  "The trouble he encountered in France," Haven said. "Was that where he was held hostage?"