Heart of the Flame Read online

  Ariana pivoted, nearly gaping. "You know about that?"

  "Your brother told me he had once been a prisoner to a madman's torture. He said he spent half a year there."

  "Yes," Ariana replied. The remembrance put a note of regret in her otherwise happy gaze. "He endured so much at the hand of Silas de Mortaine. Although he was beaten and tortured, my brother's scars are born on the inside. I doubt we will ever know the whole of it, for Kenrick keeps his feelings close. He is not one to open himself to others, or to admit his emotions. It has ever been the way with him, from the time he was a boy."

  In some inexplicable way, Haven felt she understood what it was to conceal one's feelings. It seemed dangerous to her somehow, forbidden, in a manner she had not the words--or the memory--to explain.

  She was less eager to admit that she might have anything in common with Kenrick of Clairmont. Nor did she expect he required a bit of sympathy or tender regard, least of all from her. If he shielded any part of himself from others, Haven guessed it was likely by his own design, for it seemed to her that the careful, remote knight did little without a calculated purpose behind it.

  "Braedon helped me deliver my brother from his captors," Ariana was saying as they approached a bend in the path that led around the side of the large fortress, toward the front of the inner courtyard. "It turned out I was quite over my head, thinking that I could negotiate alone for Kenrick's release. I had no idea what I'd gotten involved in, only that my beloved brother--my one true hero in all the world--was in harm's way and I had to save him."

  "'Twas brave of you to try."

  Ariana dismissed the praise with a vague wave of her hand. "I can claim no such thing, merely that I was desperate to see Kenrick released. Braedon's courage is what truly saved him...and me as well. In order to rescue my brother, Braedon had to face Silas de Mortaine, and Draec le Nantres, a man who had been Braedon's friend until greed and his allegiance to de Mortaine persuaded him to betray that bond."

  "What happened?"

  "Before I knew him, Braedon made his living as a tracker for hire. He was called The Hunter, for that was what he did: retrieve outlaws or missing loved ones for a price. He was paid well, but it was not always the noblest of professions," Ariana confided. "Through his work, he ran across more than a few dangerous men--on both sides of the arrangement. One of those treacherous few turned out to be Silas de Mortaine."

  They paused on the path, and Ariana lowered her voice as though reluctant to speak of the villain in anything more than a whisper.

  "De Mortaine hired Braedon to locate and apprehend a thief who had stolen something of great value from him. Braedon completed the task, unaware that it was a trap. Silas de Mortaine intended to kill him from the start, a fact that was well known by one of Braedon's own men, Draec le Nantres. It ended in a ruthless slaughter. Braedon survived, barely, but he lost many of his friends that day. He never went back to the life he once knew." Ariana's expression was grave as she held Haven's unblinking gaze. "These same men later took Kenrick prisoner. And they are also responsible for the raid you alone survived at Greycliff."

  "Faith," Haven breathed, a shiver of black dread worming its way up her spine as her own murky recollection mingled with the horror Ariana had just described.

  "I'm sorry, Haven. I hope I haven't upset you in telling you all of this."

  "Nay. You haven't upset me," she replied. "These are things I need to know if I am to remember what I have lost to my fever."

  "We are here to help you in any way we can." Ariana laid her hand atop Haven's in a gentle show of friendship. "But we need your help as well."

  Haven nodded, accepting the kind gesture with a smile. She wanted to ask more questions, despite her fear of the answers, but a sound from the bailey drew Ariana's attention. There was the grating sound of clashing steel, then the mingled hoot of men's voices going up from an apparent gathered crowd.

  "What is this about?" Ariana mused, frowning in curious speculation. Another metallic crash sounded, followed by a collective gasp of interest and awe. "Come, Haven. It sounds like Braedon is training the guards this morn. Let's go and have a look. I'll introduce you to my lord husband."

  She led Haven around the side of the tower keep, to the inner bailey where a large group of knights had assembled. It quickly became apparent that the training involved only two men, the pair of them sparring in the center of the gathering. Above the heads and shoulders of the more than two-score spectating guards, Haven caught the occasional flash of sun-kissed steel and the good-natured goading of the pair of opponents as their blades struck and grated in mock battle in the yard.

  "This is an unusual event," Ariana remarked with a look of surprise. "That's my brother's voice I hear."

  Haven had already concluded the same, her ear immediately discerning Kenrick's deep, rolling timbre from the rest of the shouts and murmurs of the other men. She walked with Ariana toward the center of the yard, weaving her way through the circle of men in armor who parted slightly to permit the ladies a better look.

  Haven's gaze rooted at once on the sight of Clairmont's golden lord, sparring before the crowd of gathered knights and castle folk. Like his opponent, he wore only breeches and boots, his tunic having evidently been stripped off earlier and now held for him by one of the attending squires. Bare-chested, his bronzed skin gleaming under the brilliant rays of the noonday sun, Kenrick was a fascinating vision of flawless masculine form and disciplined athletic strength.

  Haven stared in silent awe at the concert of well-honed muscles that bulged and stretched as he raised his sword above his head, then swung it in a practiced arc toward his opponent. The strike was met with like agility from the man who sparred with Kenrick, a tall, dark-haired warrior who himself seemed built of steel and unerring, deadly skill.

  The blades clashed together and held, grating force against force, neither man eager to give quarter, even in mock combat. The dark knight grinned through the spiky hanks of his raven hair that drooped into his face as he pressed against Kenrick's blow.

  "I thought you said you were out of practice, brother."

  Kenrick's answering chuckle held not so much as a trace of fatigue.

  "I am," he replied, but then he flicked his wrist and lunged forward with his blade, putting the other man immediately on the defense of another well-placed thrust.

  The raven-haired knight parried the blow and came around again, relentless. This time Kenrick deflected the oncoming blade, drawing a startled gasp from a trio of young maids who had since joined the crowd of spectators. The girls tittered behind their hands to one another, three pairs of eyes fixed on the skirmish in unabashed interest.

  Haven suddenly felt no better than the fawning girls, for when Kenrick glanced over and saw her standing there with Ariana, she warmed with the onslaught of an instant, feverish blush. She quickly looked down, feigning interest in the patch of sparse grass at her feet.

  "Shall we call a draw?" she heard him say to his opponent.

  "Very well. If you wish a draw, brother, then call it."

  "Nay, my stubborn lords. I will call the draw," Ariana interjected from where she stood at Haven's side.

  Her arch command was softened by the jesting look in her eyes, and in the wry tilt of her mouth. Haven glanced up in time to see the two men lower their blades, both grinning like boys and sweating like field hands. One of the squires rushed forth with a towel for each man, obediently waiting as they swabbed off then took their tunics from another of the attending youths.

  "Haven," Ariana said as the dark knight strode forward, shrugging into his simple shirt, "I would like you to meet my husband, Braedon."

  As he drew near and the tunic settled over his head and shoulders, Haven caught an unhindered glimpse of his face. She took an instinctive step backward, struck by the presence of a terrible scar that slashed a jagged line down the full length of his left cheek.

  "Lady Haven," he murmured in greeting, his deep voice rumbling lik
e banked thunder.

  "M-my lord."

  Haven covered her rude reaction with a quick bow of her head, hoping neither he or Ariana had noticed her surprise.

  But there was something more than merely the scar that set her pulse into a lurch, she realized the longer she stood before him. There was something lethal in him. Something that raised her instincts on alert, warning of a danger she could not fully comprehend.

  Ariana seemed to know no such wariness around the man who was her husband. She embraced him lovingly, petting his glossy black hair and raising herself onto her toes to place a kiss on his stern mouth.

  Haven brushed aside her unsettled feeling and smiled as Ariana recounted her morning to her husband. She was telling him of her plans to visit Sir Thomas's little daughter when Kenrick strode up, still mopping his short golden hair with the length of toweling.

  "Good morrow, Lady Haven," he greeted her with a nod.

  "My lord."

  "I am pleased to see you up and about. How fares your shoulder?"

  She glanced down, affected, just to be near him. "'Tis healing well enough."

  "We are trying to restore Haven's strength," Ariana offered, clinging to her husband's arm as her gaze volleyed thoughtfully between Haven and her stoic kin. One fine tawny brow began to arch in a manner Haven had observed not a short while ago, when Ariana had run into Enid on the garden path and lit upon a wicked plan. "Actually, Kenrick, I wonder if you might step in for me and finish the walk with Haven. My head is beginning to pound in this heat, and I have promised to look in on one of the knights' children who's taken ill."

  "Oh," Haven began, not the least bit eager to put herself in such close company with the brooding lord. "I'm sure that will not be necessary..."

  "Nonsense," Ariana said, smiling. "Kenrick, you wouldn't mind terribly, would you?"

  He shot her a look that said he could name a hundred things he would sooner do, but his voice betrayed none of his reluctance. "It would be my pleasure to walk with Lady Haven for a while."

  "Excellent," Ariana replied. "Perhaps you might show Haven the gardens. They have begun to bloom quite nicely just this past week alone."

  "The gardens?" Kenrick echoed.

  "Aye. A lovely idea, don't you think?" A teasing sparkle lit Ariana's gaze. "I trust you know where they are--just around the other side of the keep?"

  "I will manage," he said, studying his sister's bright expression with a scowl beginning to knit his brow. To Haven he said, "I wonder if my sister thinks I might take you to the dungeon instead?"

  Ariana shook her head at him in exasperation. With a sigh, she put her hand on his broad shoulder and rose up to kiss his cheek.

  "Be nice," she whispered next to his ear, and then she was off.

  Haven could only watch in bemused wonder as Ariana and her husband made their good-byes and strode away hand-in-hand, leaving her to the dubious company of Kenrick of Clairmont.

  Chapter 8

  Kenrick had not at all been of a mind to take a leisure stroll about the grounds--with or without his pretty guest at his side. His work awaited in his solar, along with countless other more critical tasks than this unwanted play of accommodating host that had suddenly been foisted upon him by his well-meaning sister.

  It was uncustomary enough for him to leave his studying behind to train in the yard, but he had awoken that morning with an itch to use his muscles. When Braedon had suggested a quick spar, Kenrick eagerly agreed.

  Rare or not, he had not expected his appearance in Clairmont's bailey to draw such an avid audience, least of all Haven. Her presence among the ring of spectators had jolted him in a most peculiar way, the beauty of her face and the nearly physical weight of her clear emerald gaze watching him through the crowd catching him unawares.

  Seeing her had put an unexpected tightness in his chest, and in points decidedly lower.

  Kenrick cleared his throat.

  "This way," he said to her, gesturing for her to walk at his side.

  Although his tone conveyed only the barest edge of impatience, Haven hesitated to move. "Really, you needn't trouble yourself to walk with me now. I'm sure you must have any number of things awaiting your attention--"

  "Nothing that will not remain when I return," he said, uncertain why he did not take her offered leave when it had been all the excuse he sought not a moment before. He lingered, perhaps because she seemed uninterested in his company. Averse to it. "Have you no wish to walk with me, demoiselle?"

  She considered his query for longer than he might have guessed, her small white teeth sinking into her lower lip as she stared up at him. She smiled then, slowly, and more polite than welcoming. "I would not presume to wish you here or away, Lord Kenrick. I meant only that the choice was yours."

  "Very well. Then let us walk, Lady Haven."

  She gave him a small nod, then began their stroll in thoughtful silence.

  It was difficult to imagine that the malodorous, half-expired waif he rescued on Greycliff's rocky promontory was the same maiden who strode so gracefully beside him, her spine erect and proud, her regal gait showing only the slightest hint of effort. Garbed in a silk cotte that accentuated her every curve, her fiery locks swept back in a loose braid and carrying the scent of floral soap and lush spices, Haven looked as fine as any noble lady. The sallow, helpless wildling was good and gone, as if it had never existed. In her place was a woman of exceeding appeal, and no small amount of mystery.

  Try as he might to hold her at a cautious distance as he would any stranger, Kenrick found there was a stronger part of him that wanted to know her better, to examine her as he would any puzzle.

  Haven affected him simply by being, just as she did now, walking silently at his side as he led her past the bustle of the courtyard.

  "I trust you are being provided with everything you need," he said, his inquiry sounding stiff and formal, almost stern.

  "Yes," she answered. "I am."

  "Your wound is being looked after?"

  Haven nodded, sliding him a wary look that seemed to say she was less comfortable with his attempt at politeness than she might be with his gruff mistrust of the days before.

  "And you are being well fed?"

  At his further questioning, she paused, tilting her head to look at him. A small frown creased her brow. "Yes. I am regularly given more food and drink than I can consume."

  "Very good. Your health is important to me, Haven. I want you to see that I am taking good care of you."

  "Because you need something from me," she surmised, a note of challenge sparking in her eyes.

  He did not confirm or deny his reasons, for he saw little point in it. Not that Haven awaited his response. She crossed her arms before her and faced him squarely where they stood in the center of the sun-filled bailey. As she spoke, her voice rose with the spark of her ire.

  "Well then, my lord, let me assure you that I want for nothing. I am regularly bathed and fed. My chamber is never without a fire on the grate and fresh rushes on the floor. Lady Ariana has provided me with this fine gown and slippers...Why, every prisoner should know such fine treatment."

  Kenrick scowled, noting the furtive, curious glances tossed their way by some of the folk yet milling about the yard. None of Clairmont's subjects would dare such boldness, for since his return from captivity, Kenrick was regarded with a measure of caution--and not a little fear.

  It was a situation that suited him fine when his days and nights were spent in solitude and secret study of the treasure that consumed his every waking hour.

  Most everyone in the keep thought him bedeviled and best avoided, a fact that had not been entirely without design.

  It would have been easy to exploit his mad reputation in that moment, when he stood as good as publicly confronted by the fiery brazenness of his injured female charge. He could feel the eyes on him, the ears trained to hear their broody lord unleash an unholy wrath on the hapless fool who dared to pique him.

  For one
tempting instant, he considered doing just that. But anger was never his way, and to his surprise he found that Haven's challenge intrigued him more than anything else.

  Let the servants think it just another unpredictable facet of his nature that he allowed this woman to take him to task over an imagined slight. She had no cause to be angry with him, and he saw no need to goad her unnecessarily.

  Kenrick lowered his voice to a private level, holding her impertinent glare.

  "You are not a prisoner, Haven. I told you that not a couple of days ago, when I disposed of the bar on your door. I have not confined you to your chamber, have I?"

  "No," she replied archly. "My cage is a bit larger than that. Though not much, I expect."

  He stepped closer to her, until his tall shadow blotted the sun from her sparkling green eyes. "Is that truly what you think?"

  She gave him no immediate answer, holding her ground in stubborn silence.

  "I realize I might have treated you somewhat harshly at first, Haven. But you may trust me when I tell you that it was not my intention."

  Her pretty lips pursed in a moment of haughty consideration. "I find it a wiser thing to trust deeds over words, my lord."

  Kenrick smiled, taken aback. "As do I, my lady," he replied, in full agreement and amused in spite of his own defense.

  He flicked a glance over her burnished auburn head, his gaze searching the bailey for one of the young squires who served him.

  He found one of the boys toting a bucket of slops out of the stables. Kenrick caught the lad's eye with a commanding look and gestured him forth. Dropping his pail at once, the squire dashed over to receive his orders.

  "Aye, milord?"

  "Take word to the stable master: I will need a mount and escort available at all times, provisioned to ride as far as Cornwall on my instruction. Once this lady is healed and fit to travel, I will see her returned to wherever she wishes to go. Understood?"

  The squire bobbed his shaggy head. "Aye, milord. I'll go tell 'im what ye said."