Heart of the Flame Page 8

  "That's not true."

  "Which, lady? That you were not warned away from this part of the tower, or that the pink staining your cheeks right now is not the stamp of a guilty conscience?"

  "Both," she protested. "Neither!"

  He scoffed, one tawny brow arching skeptically.

  "I knew you permitted no one within your private chambers, but I knew not where they were."

  "And the blush that still rides high on your cheeks? What is it, if not the outward acknowledgment of wrongdoing?"

  Faith preserve her, but she would never admit to him that any heat that resided in her face was caused from the unsettling nearness of his body. He could not know that she found it hard to breathe when she was gazing into the changing pools of his blue eyes, which turned so easily from placidity to turbulence.

  He would be the very last to hear that she thought him heartbreakingly beautiful--beyond handsome, for that seemed a feeble word to describe a man like Kenrick of Clairmont.

  Instead she held herself as rigid as a lance, forcing herself not to quirk so much as an eyelash when he moved ever closer, awaiting her reply.

  "If not guilt, my lady, pray tell, what might it be?"

  He reached out then, and for one breathless instant, she thought he might intend to repeat his brazen behavior from the day before. His fingers hovered very near her face, calling a deeper heat to fill her cheeks as she anticipated the uninvited seduction of his touch.

  He held her gaze for too long, then his long fingers slowly curled into his palm as though denied their will. With an exhaled oath, he lowered his hand to his side.

  "Do not let me find you up here again, Haven. Am I clear?"

  She made no effort to curb her biting tone. "Perfectly, my lord."

  "There is something more," he said when she turned to take her leave of him. Haven hesitated, pivoting warily. "What occurred between us in the garden yesterday--"

  "'Twas nothing," she said, glancing down, unable to hold his gaze.

  "Nothing," he echoed, the low tone of his voice sounding skeptical, almost offended. "You should know that I am not in the habit of fondling my guests, Lady Haven. I had no right to be so bold, let alone do so before one of the keep's gossipy maids."

  "Enid," Haven whispered, recalling the befuddled look on the kitchen servant's face as she had unwittingly interrupted them amongst the herbs and flower beds. "The maid's name is Enid."

  Kenrick frowned, clearly unfamiliar.

  "Sir Thomas--your guard on the postern door--wishes to court her, but he is too anxious to ask and she is too meek to realize his interest in her."

  "Is that so?"

  Haven nodded. "The child Ariana went to visit yesterday is Sir Thomas's daughter, Gwen. She had a mishap in the bailey yesterday and your sister wanted to look in on her and bring her a treat from the kitchens."

  He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, considering her with a look of intrigue and surprise. "You put me to shame, Haven. Here but a handful of days and already you know more of my keep than I do."

  "I know that the folk of Clairmont seem uneasy in their lord's company. They fear you, I think."

  "Do they now?" Kenrick studied her, neither confirming or denying her observation. "What about you, lady? Do you fear me as well?"

  "No," she answered, fighting to ignore the niggle of unease--of heated awareness--that coursed through her as he advanced the few paces that lay between them.

  He wanted to intimidate her, she realized. From his crowding masculinity to his snapping blue gaze, he worked to make her tremble like the rest of the folk in the keep did in his presence.

  But she saw through him in that instant. Holding his piercing stare, Haven glimpsed the solitude within him; a man who strove so hard to push everyone away.

  In truth, she knew the same emptiness within herself.

  "I think you have made your point here, my lord," she told him, refusing to let him cow her. "Now, by your leave, the midday meal is being served and I have asked one of the maids to save me a trencher in the kitchens."

  "That's ridiculous," he said, as though scenting her small lie. "Granted, I may not be the most hospitable host, but I'll not leave a guest of mine to eat in the kitchens with the hounds. You will dine at the dais as any guest should expect to do--at the side of Clairmont's lord."

  * * *

  Kenrick held out his arm in a gallant sweep of motion, gesturing for Haven to walk ahead of him to the stairwell. She complied in careful silence, although he could see that the thought of enduring a meal at his side in the great hall was about the least thing she cared to do.

  In truth he did not exactly relish the idea himself.

  After his pawing of her in the gardens, and his near repeat of the error there in the corridor, he wondered if he could trust himself at all when it came to the bewitching beauty in his charge. He had been more gruff with her than he intended, desire and suspicion clashing like twin blades when he found her alone, sneaking about at the top of the tower stairwell.

  He did not fully trust her--God knew, there were not many he permitted into his confidence--but that did not keep him from wanting her.

  To endure an entire meal with her tempting presence beside him on the dais would be a hellish test of his will. It was too late to rescind his challenge, as she began a haughty march ahead of him to the stairwell.

  Kenrick hesitated but a pace behind her, wondering again at Haven's presence in the far tower, her supposed accidental arrival at the very door that sealed from prying eyes and grasping fingers the tangible proof of the Dragon Chalice's existence.

  Could she possibly know what he kept within that chamber?

  Impossible, he thought, scowling as he considered the many ramifications of such knowledge. Besides himself, only Ariana and Braedon knew the truth. So it must remain, for all their sakes.

  But it was hard to dismiss Haven's anxious expression when he had found her there, as if she sensed the power of what she had nearly stumbled upon.

  Suspicion flared as Kenrick considered the flame-haired beauty who had come so unexpectedly into his charge. He told himself it was dark curiosity, and no small amount of mistrust, that had him watching her with such keen interest as he followed her down the spiral steps to the bustling great hall.

  Chapter 10

  Although her past remained a muddled pool in her mind, Haven felt sure that she had never experienced so conspicuous a moment as her entrance to Clairmont's great hall on the arm of the keep's enigmatic lord. The large banquet room was set for the midday meal, with cloth covered tables and wooden benches situated in rows to fill the floor of the hall.

  Many of Clairmont's residents--servants, knights, and common folk--had already been seated. All but a few turned looks of surprise and intrigue on the unlikely pair as they strode uneasily into the hall.

  Murmured questions passed from ear to ear in their wake: Where did she come from? Who is she? What does he mean to do with her?

  All things Haven herself wondered as Kenrick guided her in brooding silence up the long midway that passed between the assembly. At the head of the aisle was the elevated platform of the dais and high table.

  Ariana occupied one of four large chairs at the dais table. To her left sat her husband. The hulking warrior spied them at once, his pale gray gaze under his raven's-wing brows observing her with a careful intensity similar to that which Kenrick possessed.

  Haven's step faltered only slightly, for the same tremor of wariness she had felt upon first seeing Braedon le Chasseur in Clairmont's bailey the other day assailed her anew. The closer Kenrick brought her to the dais, she could not dismiss that there was something about Braedon's face--his very presence--that triggered a subtle warning in the back of her mind. Not quite a memory, but a niggling familiarity nonetheless.

  Ariana seemed recovered of the ailment that kept her abed late that morn. She smiled as she held the dark warrior's hand atop the table, her slender white fingers
laced between his large tanned ones in a decidedly affectionate manner. The pair rose as one when Kenrick and Haven reached the dais.

  Ariana embraced her brother with a warm kiss on the cheek. "This is a pleasant surprise. I cannot recall the last time you dined with us here in the hall."

  When the stoic lord merely grunted in acknowledgment, Ariana turned to Haven and caught her hand in a quick, friendly clasp. "You are looking better and more healthy every day. 'Tis good to see your recovery progressing so well."

  "Thank you," Haven murmured. "I am eager to be hale again."

  Very eager, she silently amended, thoughts of her promised release never closer from her mind than when her senses still thrummed from her encounter with Kenrick in the tower.

  "I was told you were under the weather today," she said to Ariana with friendly concern. "Is aught the matter?"

  Beside his lady wife, Braedon tensed. "You didn't tell me you were ill, love. What is it?"

  "Oh, 'tis nothing," the lady replied with an easy wave of her hand. "I told Mary not to make a fuss. A little bedrest was all I needed. I am fine, truly."

  The dark knight brought her fingers to his lips, placing a tender kiss on the back of her delicate hand. "You are certain that's all it was?"

  "Aye, husband. I am well, I promise you. Never better."

  Haven watched the loving exchange of glances that passed between the couple, feeling a bit awkward to be sharing the moment in Kenrick's brooding presence. She knew not how she would survive the duration of the meal when just standing beside him put a flutter of anxiety in her pulse.

  "Two more place settings, please," Ariana requested of an attending servant who had come to pour wine at the dais. "This way, Haven. You may sit next to me."

  Haven smiled, and allowed Ariana to lead her to one of the unoccupied chairs on the dais. To her dismay, Kenrick assumed the last, which meant he would have to lean across her to speak to either Ariana or her husband. Perhaps he would keep to his aloof ways and say nothing for the whole of the meal, Haven thought with fleeting hope.

  Already he was too close to her, his large athletic frame engulfing the stiff-backed chair, his muscular arms crowding into her place at the table. His thigh rested so near her own she could feel the heat of his body emanating through the many layers of fabric that clothed her. She had a right to be offended, at the least incensed, having been made to endure his unseemly command that she dine beside him as his guest.

  His guest, indeed.

  Regardless of what he claimed or pretended, Kenrick would keep her there as long as he pleased, in whatever capacity he pleased. He would keep her under his careful watch for as long as it took him to decide whether or not he needed the information she had lost with the scorching of her memory.

  Haven stewed on that notion while Kenrick and Ariana's husband discussed a theft that had occurred in a nearby village. Some artifacts from a chapel had been stolen--details Haven all but tuned out, her mind suddenly slipping back toward the night of the raid on Greycliff. She did not permit herself to venture too far into the darkness of those events, for there was a veil of pain and terror that hung between her conscious mind and the memories that lay charred and forgotten by the searing trauma that she had endured.

  The edge of that veil was lifting, moment by moment, each hour since she had awakened from her fevered slumber. She did not want to know what lurked behind it. She was not sure she could bear the terror of the truth.

  "Haven...?"

  Ariana's voice broke her out of the dark fog. "I'm sorry, were you speaking to me?"

  "Yes," she said, smiling despite the note of concern in her blue gaze. "I asked if you wanted to try some of Cook's fish soup. It is one of his best dishes."

  Haven nodded, and belatedly accepted the bowl of aromatic soup. "Thank you. I was just...thinking."

  "You're distressed," Ariana observed, gently regarding her as she lowered her voice to a private tone. "You were thinking about the attack, were you not?"

  "Yes."

  "Have you been able to recall anything more? Anything at all?"

  "Nay. Only what I have already told you." She let out a little sigh, and shook her head. "I don't think I want to recall much of it. I don't think I will be able to forget again, once the memories return completely."

  Ariana's mouth flattened grimly, and she covered Haven's hand with her own. When she spoke there was no surprise in her voice, only a grave understanding. "There are dark forces at work, Haven. Very dark. You cannot know how fortunate you are that you survived to be here at all."

  "Why would they attack Greycliff? What did they want?"

  "That is what I had hoped you might answer for me," Kenrick interjected. "They were looking for something in Rand's possession. I need to know if they found it."

  She shook her head. "I don't know what the attackers wanted. Why is it so important to you?"

  He leaned back, a forbidding look in the taut lines of his face. His untrusting silence only made Haven more impatient.

  "You won't tell me anything, but you expect--nay, you demand--my cooperation?"

  An air of quiet tension stretched across the dais, a deliberate stillness that sparked Haven's anger. She looked from Kenrick's stoic expression, to Braedon's dark visage at the other end of the table, then to Ariana's gentle but withholding gaze beside her. Even she, who had been Haven's only friend since she had awakened in this strange place, would say nothing more.

  "You ask for my trust when none of you will give me yours."

  Ariana was the first to glance down in culpability under Haven's charge.

  "Kenrick," she said quietly, "Haven is right. She has lived a part of this, as we have. She is involved, whether you wish it or nay, brother. And if you do not tell her, I will. There was a time not long ago that I was the one kept in the dark over this quest of yours."

  "And the knowledge almost got you killed," he replied, not quite masking the devotion he felt for his only kin.

  "The knowledge of the Dragon Chalice wasn't what nearly claimed my life. It was those who seek it--the same dangerous men who slew your friends and might have done like to Haven if you hadn't found her to bring her here. She has a right to know."

  Like a silken thread catching on a thorn, Haven's mind snagged on two words Ariana spoke. "Dragon Chalice?"

  "A myth," Kenrick said, slanting a pointed look on his sister.

  "What of it?" Haven asked.

  For a long moment, no one said a word. Then Kenrick drew his gaze away from Ariana and her grim husband to settle instead on Haven. "There is an ancient legend that tells of an enchanted land of great and powerful magic. This mystical realm, Anavrin, owed its existence to a special cup known as the Dragon Chalice, which granted its bearer many gifts: limitless wealth, complete happiness, and life without end. These gifts and more belonged to Anavrin and its people, until a mortal man stole the Chalice away from them."

  Haven listened raptly, feeling doors creak open in the far corners of her mind. "I think I have heard of this treasure. It is...familiar somehow."

  "Perhaps Rand might have said something about it to you," Ariana suggested, looking from Haven to Kenrick in question.

  "Perhaps," he said, but there was little acceptance in his flat tone. "Only Haven can answer that for certain."

  "I don't know," she said in total truthfulness. "I would have no cause to keep it from you if I knew."

  Kenrick grunted as he began to eat his soup.

  "How is it you know so much about this legend?"

  "I have been studying it for nigh on ten years."

  "For what purpose?"

  "To see if there was any truth to the tale."

  "And is there?"

  He stared at her for a prolonged while, then shook his head. "No. There is no truth to it at all. The Dragon Chalice does not exist."

  At Haven's side, Ariana had grown quiet. She turned her full attention on her meal, which she finished in haste. Too soon, she and her husband we
re making their excuses to retire, a departure that left Haven alone with her inhospitable host.

  Even the servants seemed to pity her for her place beside their mysterious lord. They came and went from the dais with great efficiency, casting furtive glances at the woman who had come into their domain with no past--with barely a name--and who was being held in the keep as an unwilling witness to some horrible misdeed.

  Their curious looks said they, too, thought her less a guest than prisoner here, although none would dare to sympathize much less stoop to aid her. Not if it meant stirring the wrath of the man they claimed was either half mad or half lost to the dark arts.

  And now there was this fairy story that spoke of enchanted treasures and kingdoms made of mist and magic.

  "If you believe what you say about this Dragon Chalice, that there is no truth in the fable, then what has it to do with what happened to your friends at Greycliff? What has it to do with you and your sister, and the knowledge that you say nearly got her killed?"

  "Some men will do anything in pursuit of a dream."

  "Is that what the treasure is--a dream?"

  He shook his head. "It is a nightmare. A very deadly one that I hope to put to rest."

  "And so you study this legend every hour of every day, and keep it locked behind the double bolts of the chamber at the top of the tower stairs."

  She had meant it only as an observation, a casual remark on his habits and the goal that clearly drove him, but the look in Kenrick's eye was grave with warning. "There is a reason the folk here know to stay away from that chamber. You would be well advised to do likewise."

  "Do you mean to threaten me now, my lord?"

  "Call it what you will. I am in earnest, Haven. Do not cross me on this."

  "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it." She rose abruptly, and stepped away from her chair. "If you will excuse me."

  Kenrick motioned for one of the servants to come forth to the dais. "Lady Haven is finished with her sup. Please show her to her chamber."