by Lara Adrian
Everything on the trencher looked acceptable. Nothing seemed amiss.
Kenrick took the vessel of wine and poured a bit into an empty cup sitting on the edge of his desk. It swirled in the bottom of the tankard, deep red, fragrant with mulling spices and nothing more.
"I trust everything meets with your approval." Belatedly, he realized Haven was watching him with a quizzical, somewhat insulted gaze. "I bring a peace offering, but you examine it as though you expect I might poison you."
Kenrick gave a vague shrug of his shoulder as he set the cup of wine back down on the desk. "An unfortunate force of habit."
"Oh?" she asked, one dark amber brow arching on her forehead. "And who is it you trust less with your stomach, my lord--your cook, or me?"
He met her teasing smile and gave her a wry smirk of his own. "Let's just say a man learns to be cautious when he spends half a year in an enemy's dungeon. The only thing less enjoyable than the daily beatings was the rancid food I was forced to ingest. I might have gladly taken a dose of poison over the maggoty bowls of gruel that de Mortaine provided."
His tone was light, but in truth, he really did not want to think about his months of captivity abroad. He certainly did not want to discuss with Haven the seemingly endless torture and solitary confinement he endured.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, offering sympathy he did not want or need.
Kenrick shrugged. "I survived."
He turned his attention eagerly back to the tray of food. The meal she brought was a sore temptation to his empty stomach, and so he began to eat.
"My thanks for the supper," he said as he wolfed down a succulent chunk of the beef. "I'll take the tray back down to the kitchens when I am through."
It was an abrupt dismissal, one he was somewhat reluctant to give when Haven was standing before him in the firelight glowing from the solar's hearth. Her pretty face and glossy auburn hair were gilded in warm hues, her green eyes bright as gemstones. The simple gown she wore seemed to skate over her figure, hinting at the soft curves of her shoulders and bosom, and caressing the gentle flare of her hips.
She made an exceedingly enticing picture.
Too much so, when thoughts of her were never far from his mind's reach. To see her now, alone with him in his private quarters after a long day on the road, set in motion a swift and particularly distracting calculation.
From where she stood, no more than an arm's length separated them. Less, were he to take the slender hand that was presently tracing a whorled knot at the edge of his desk, and haul her to him. Beyond her to the right, some five long strides, was an upholstered bench situated near the fireplace. Past that, it was precisely nine paces to the threshold of the adjoining chamber, where his large bed stood.
Fewer than twenty steps lay between Haven standing anxiously near the door and Haven lying beneath him on a cloud of sable furs and soft down coverlets.
In spare moments, he could have her unlaced and undressed, gloriously bared.
Damn and damn!
Curse this importunate proclivity to see patterns and solutions with every glance. With a growl of frustration, Kenrick reached for the cup of wine and downed it in a single gulp.
"It must be difficult for you."
Haven was peering at him in question, and for a moment he wondered if the wicked musings of his mind had been evident on his face.
"I can see that it still troubles you--your imprisonment. To think you were there half a year. It must have been unbearable."
"That was not what I, ah..." He cleared his throat. "Aye, well. It was worse in the beginning. After a while, one day blended into another."
"But to endure that time, never certain what day might be your last..."
"Is that not what being born and living is--enduring our existence without knowing when the end might come?" He permitted a teasing, cynical smile when she glanced up at him, her brow creased. "Anyway, I realized early on that my captor did not want me dead so much as he wanted to loosen my tongue. And weaken my mind."
"Why would he do that?"
"Because I had information he needed."
Her gaze slid to the assortment of papers, maps, and writings that littered his desk. "Did you give it to him?"
"He managed to obtain some of what he sought--too much, regrettably--but not all."
"And whatever it is you fear was lost to him at Greycliff," Haven said, "will now help lead him to the Dragon Chalice."
Kenrick met the too-shrewd gaze she turned on him, careful to maintain an air of casual disregard. "I told you, the Dragon Chalice is a myth."
"Yes, that is what you told me." Unblinking, she stepped closer to him. "Much of my memory was scorched away that night, but do you reckon the fever robbed me of all good sense as well?"
In the wake of his answering silence, she blew out a sharp sigh and shook her head.
"The men who killed your friends went there for a reason. You've asked me what it is they were looking for, but I think you know. Why were Rand and Elspeth and their child killed, Kenrick? Tell me what it was that cost them their lives that night."
"I did," he replied, voicing his regret aloud for the first time. The burden of it had never seemed so heavy. "They're dead because of me."
"What happened?"
Kenrick felt his mouth twist with wry reflection. "Before I was captured by Silas de Mortaine, I served as a Knight of the Temple of Solomon. My duties for the Order involved reporting on various holy sites--chronicling purported miracles and other unexplained occurrences in England and abroad. These reports, I would later learn, had been commissioned by one of the Order's most influential, and dangerous, patrons."
"Silas de Mortaine?" Haven guessed.
Kenrick nodded. "He was paying handsomely for my work, and once I heard the first mention of the Dragon Chalice--an enchanted cup thought to be rent in four pieces and scattered across the realm--I realized that my findings were less harmless reports than detailed maps that might aid de Mortaine in claiming the treasure."
"What did you do?"
"Without divulging too much of my work, I took my concerns about de Mortaine to my superiors. They knew he was a ruthless man, with unchecked power, but they were enjoying his substantial contributions too much to turn him away. They commanded me to submit my findings to him or be banished from the Order. It wasn't the first time my eyes had been opened to the greed and duplicity of my fellow man. But I swore it would be the last."
"So you left the Templars."
"Yes. I left that very night, with the whole of my work as well. I came home to Clairmont--it was little better than a year ago--and I made the Chalice my own quest."
"What about Rand?"
"Soon after I returned to England, not long before I would be captured and imprisoned by de Mortaine, I entrusted Rand with a crucial piece of my findings. It was a metal seal: two rings intersecting, with a small cross at its center. Although I know not how it might be used, I am certain it is a key I will need to find another of the Chalice pieces."
"Another?" Haven was frowning slightly, looking up at him in expectant silence.
"Aye," he said. "Silas has already recovered one of the four."
It was an unfortunate truth, and one he hoped would help mask his careless slip.
There were just two parts of the Dragon Chalice yet to be found. Another resided in this very keep since Kenrick's rescue two months past. The golden cup bearing the Stone of Light, or Calasaar by its Anavrin name, was presently kept under Kenrick's close watch.
Too late to make it seem a subconscious effort, Kenrick reached over and began organizing his work, shuffling his diagrams and unencrypted notes into a neat stack. He turned them over, face-down on the desk.
Haven's expression was soft, understanding. "I won't betray your trust, Kenrick. You needn't hide your work from me."
"I merely remove the temptation. You've heard too much already. Trust me when I say you are better off not knowing any more of what's contai
ned here. Too many lives have been forfeited. No doubt more will be spent before it is ended."
She absorbed that news with a sober look. "I had no idea drawings and words could be so dangerous."
"Dangerous enough to take down kings," Kenrick replied. "Perhaps entire realms."
"Is that what Silas de Mortaine seeks, to claim a king's throne?"
"He wants power. Wealth. Immortality. Everything the Dragon Chalice promises. And he is being aided by forces nearly beyond comprehension," Kenrick divulged with more than a little gravity.
"What are you saying?"
"The men who serve him--beasts whose origin can only be the darkest brand of magic--have no regard for human life. Nor does he."
Haven's gaze had taken on a haunted quality as he spoke. She seemed to fade somehow, the candlelight flickering in unseeing pupils that were growing large against the pale emerald hue of her eyes. She looked a bit unsteady.
Kenrick reached out to her, holding her arm in a gentle but firm grasp. "What is it?"
She blinked as if to clear away a thought that had taken her unawares. "I don't know. Something you said seemed familiar..."
"You are remembering things, aren't you?"
An uncomfortable expression skittered across her features. "I...I am not sure. Some things seem so close to the surface--fleeting details, words, faces--yet other things dance just out of my reach. You cannot know how frustrating it is to know little more than your name and a few scant details of a past that seems so incomplete, so unfamiliar."
"Give it time, Haven. All will come back to you, I am certain."
She nodded slowly, glancing down at her hands which had begun to fidget with the long tail of the braided girdle circling her hips. "In truth, that is partly why I am here tonight. I wanted to speak with you."
"Oh?"
"You said once I was stronger, you would let me leave." At his grunt of acknowledgment, she rushed on. "My shoulder is healing well and my memory, as you say, will surely restore itself given time. You told me that when I was better, you would provide me a horse and escort so that I could go back--"
"Out of the question."
"--back to where I belong," she finished, dropping the end of the belt and scowling at him now. "How can it be out of the question? Did you or did you not make such a promise to me?"
"I did."
"And now you will break it?"
"There have been developments of late. Greycliff's attackers are on the move. They've been leaving a trail of death and destruction behind them, and now they are getting closer to Clairmont."
She started pacing, concern etching her brow. "All the more reason for me to leave. If I am in danger anywhere, surely it is here. I don't wish to wait around for them to find me. I may not survive them a second time."
"Nothing will harm you here."
"How can you be certain of that? You've said yourself these men are dangerous--that they will stop at nothing to get what they are looking for."
"Aye."
"Then how can you know that I am safe here?"
Kenrick reached out to her, halting her in the midst of another agitated step. He caught her stubborn chin and gently turned her face up toward his. "You are safe because I will protect you. With my sword arm and my life, Haven. No one will do you harm without first coming through me. And I will not permit that to happen. Do you understand?"
She closed her eyes, dark brown lashes shadowing her flushed cheeks. "You are the one who does not understand. Your protection is another sort of threat to me."
"I offer it willingly, without a price to be paid, now or later."
"I know." When she lifted her lids, slowly daring to meet his gaze, her green eyes smoldered with verdant fire. "And that is precisely why you are a threat to me, Kenrick. I fear you are a threat to my heart."
Kenrick's exhaled oath was as bemused as it was blasphemous. With great effort, despite that he wanted to bring her close, he held Haven away from him to search her eyes for answers.
"What have you done to me, lady? I see you and I stand enchanted. I touch you and I want to possess you. God's blood, but when I kiss you I feel...for the first time a long time, I feel--"
"Alive," she whispered, as though knowing his very thoughts.
He held her face in his palms, stunned by the intensity of emotion shining back at him through her eyes. "Yes. Alive." With a tender touch, he smoothed his fingers over the silken softness of her cheek and forehead, tracing the elegant arch of her brows. "So," he murmured, emotions churning inside him. "What are we to do, my lady?"
She pressed her cheek to his chest. "I don't know. Please understand that I cannot stay here. Not any longer."
"Where, then? To Cornwall? What awaits you there?"
"I don't know--I don't know!" She heaved against him as though to thrust him from her heart as she was pushing him from her arms. "But I don't belong here. This much I do know. I feel it."
"Nay. What you feel is fear. There is naught here that will harm you."
She shook her head and tried to move away from him, toward the door. "I'm sorry. I must go."
He let her get only as far as to lift the latch before he took three long strides and was standing directly behind her. He pressed his palm to the rough wood of the panel, closing it and meeting very little resistance.
She would not face him. She froze where she stood, her spine held rigid before him, her breath coming fast and shallow. Kenrick brought his free hand up between them to trace the spiraling wave of a lock of her hair. He petted her gently, wanting only to soothe her.
Nay, in truth he wanted to do more than soothe. So much more.
He inhaled the scent of her, his voice low and rough as he spoke very near her ear. "You wish to leave and I have promised you that you could. Now I find I have no wish to let you go."
"Kenrick," she whispered, little better than a sigh. "Please..."
He smoothed his palm along the delicate line of her shoulder, and down the slender length of her arm. Her hand was still on the latch. He wrapped his fingers around hers and coaxed her grasp to loosen. "I would keep you here to know that you are safe--that I might protect you--but that is only a partial truth. I would keep you here because it is what I desire. I desire you, Haven."
"No," she barely whispered.
He spoke over her feeble objection, intent to rid himself of the burden of feeling that had been weighing him down for days. Ever since Haven had so unexpectedly entered his life. "You intrigue me more than any woman before--more than anything I've ever known. You have bewitched me with a foul brand of magic, my lady." A self-mocking laugh hissed between his teeth. "I like to think I am a man of some reason, but all my logic scatters when it comes to you. I hate this weakness you've put in me, but it is there, and I'll be damned if I can deny it."
She dropped her chin down, pressing her forehead to the slab of thick oak that barred her exit. The sigh that sifted past her lips might have sounded of defeat had she not then slowly turned to face him. Her emerald gaze was heavy-lidded, but lit with a fire that stirred him at his core.
"I cannot let you go, Haven." He bent his head toward hers, eyes fixed on the verdant spark that beckoned him nearer even as her mouth trembled around a soundless protest. Kenrick stroked his fingers along her cheeks, his slow, praising caress coming to rest at the silky softness of her parted lips. "I want you to stay, lady. God, how I just...want you."
"Kenrick."
His name was naught but a threadbare whisper breathed against his lips as he dipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers. Only the merest brush of contact, he kissed her tenderly, calling up every measure of control he possessed to keep from claiming her with the urgency his body demanded.
Haven's lips were nectar sweet, pliant beneath his.
Heat coiled deep in his loins.
Blood pounded through his veins, primal and unfettered.
He, the saint, the scholar, the stoic one, was all but lost--to the tentative sampling
of a simple kiss.
"Do you know how much I want you?" he murmured, breath panting, arousal licking at him like live flames. "Do you know what you do to me? God's blood, my lady, you must feel it."
Her answering gasp, the sudden quake of her limbs, told him all. Teasing, testing, he kissed her again, playing the tip of his tongue along the seam of her mouth. With his coaxing, she parted for him, permitting him past her lips with a moan that nearly undid him where he stood.
The soft fabric of her cotte rasped under his palms as he slid his hands down the length of her graceful spine. She shivered in his arms, a deep tremble that echoed the passionate tempest building within his own body. His fingertips brushed the crisscrossing laces that bound her bodice together.
He toyed with one of the little knots, easily loosening it, and all the while lavishing her with kisses that trailed from her lips, to her ear, to the warm column of her delicate neck. Haven's scent filled his nostrils, the twining perfumes of lavender soap and sensual woman proving an intoxicating blend. He breathed her in as he tasted the satiny softness of her skin, delighting in the low mewls of pleasure that fanned so warmly against his ear with her every gasp and sigh.
The second knotted lacing slipped free a moment later. Two remained, but already the snug bodice gave a bit in his hands. Haven's arms wrapped about his neck. She arched into him, and Kenrick pulled the network of binding laces until they slackened even more.
She was so incredibly soft, so passionately alive, this enigmatic lady who burned like fire in his embrace. Kenrick stroked her hair, marveling in the burnished tendrils that felt softer than silk against his hands. Possessively, he coiled his fingers around one glossy auburn wave, and pulled Haven deeper into his embrace. She opened her eyes to peer up at him in the firelight, her gaze dusky with desire, shadowed by the heavy fringe of her lashes.