by Nora Roberts
“But where is Sir Gryford?” he called after her.
“Dead,” Lianna called back. “Dead!”
It was a blur to her, the mad dash down the perilous slopes, across the bailey, through the gates. The gates had already been raised while Ambrose’s men hoisted their banners, gathered their armor, and prepared to ride out, and the guards manning the portcullis merely stared in shock at the princess and the knight who flew after her.
Back in the courtyard, Ambrose stared after the dark-haired girl on the huge destrier as she galloped like the wind away from the keep.
His eyes followed her, wasting precious seconds as he memorized that slim, lovely figure riding hard as a soldier on an urgent mission.
A terrible pain assailed him, a pain unlike any he had ever known. Only his tremendous self-discipline overcame the grief that rent him, and he tore his gaze from his fleeing bride at last and turned his attention to the men under his command.
“To Lansdowne Point!” he shouted. The world was a bleak, ugly, faithless place, but he could not escape his duty. Or his fate.
He spurred his destrier toward the gate as horses sidled, banners lifted, swords smote the air, and with one shout, one voice that roared through woods and cliffs alike, his men surged in a faceless sea behind him.
It was nightfall when Lianna and Sir Emmett neared the Hill of Rivalen. She was by now too weary and weak even to glance at her surroundings, and she heard as if from a great distance her companion whistle, then whistle again. As if conjured up from the very air, a troop of ten men materialized through the trees, closing around them.
“The princess of Penmarren seeks the refuge of her cousin, Prince Constantine,” the young knight barked to the fierce, heavy-bearded men.
Warriors, Lianna noted with a shiver. They had the tough and seasoned look of formidable men, a true match for even Ambrose’s experienced troops. Her throat was thick with silent sobs, her heart heavy as the darkening sky.
She was escorted to a tent at the crest of the hill and ushered inside.
Constantine, golden-haired, strong, fit, and handsome, hurried to embrace her.
“Cousin! I am sorry to see you looking so weary. Are you ill? You’re shaking,” he said sharply. “You must be starved. There’s bread and soup…”
“No, Constantine, nothing. I want nothing—only your ear. You must listen to me!”
“Yes, Lianna, I shall. But first you must sit. And eat. You’re trembling.”
He drew her in, tried to pour her wine and offered her bread, but Lianna clutched at his tunic and demanded that he be silent.
“There is no time. You must call off this battle. And come with me now to find Ambrose—to help me explain.”
Constantine’s thin face puckered in concern. “Have you gone mad, Lianna? Yes, I shall find Ambrose. At dawn. We will converge, his army and mine, and I will teach him not to threaten my uncle and steal my cousin…”
“No.” Through a swimming weariness and despair, Lianna’s determination rose. She pushed her wild hair out of her eyes and seized Constantine’s arm. “No, no battle! I don’t want this war. I don’t want to return to Penmarren. I love Ambrose.” The words rushed out, frantic and fevered. “I love him, do you hear me? You must come with me—not to fight him—but to make peace!”
Constantine stared down at her pale, desperate face, stunned into silence.
“Peace? With the Barbarian?” he asked at last, incredulously, and then caught her as she swooned, falling straight into his arms.
In the thickest, blackest hours of the night, the small party reached the pass that led to Lansdowne Point. Once they had traveled the narrow pathway cutting through the hillside, they would come to an open plain in sight of where Ambrose’s men were encamped.
There were few sounds, save the hooting of an owl and the scurrying of unseen creatures in the dense brush. A light snow began to fall as Lianna and Constantine, Sir Emmett, and five of Constantine’s soldiers rode silently along the narrow track beneath moon and stars.
It was just as they emerged upon the plain that the night exploded with the sounds of charging horses, and danger suddenly vibrated through the frosty air.
A dozen men surrounded them, swords drawn, glistening in the silvered moonlight. Drawing in her breath, Lianna found herself gazing into her husband’s cold, furious face.
“Ambrose,” she managed to whisper, a catch in her throat.
Constantine had forced her to eat a few morsels before they’d departed, but the strain and exertion of the day and the long, arduous hours in the saddle had left her weak and aching.
But there was hope and determination in her face when she gazed across her horse’s graceful head at the tall warrior before her, sitting his destrier with such unconscious grace.
“I must speak to you.”
“There is nothing for either of us to say.” He spoke over his shoulder then to William, one of the dozen knights. “Take this woman to the camp and guard her well. She is my hostage now.”
But before William could spur his mount forward, Lianna slipped down from the saddle and ran toward Ambrose’s destrier.
“My lord, I won’t go with him. I must speak with you—alone. We come in peace—”
“Peace!” He gave a fierce bark of laughter.
“William, take her away from here before I can no longer be responsible for what I do. I can’t bear the sight of her!”
The words cut her to the quick, and Lianna choked back a cry. Her eyes pleading, she reached up to try to touch him, implore him, but he wheeled his horse away from her so abruptly that she stumbled.
Instantly Constantine vaulted from his saddle and was at her side. “You are nothing but a damned barbarian,” he said to Ambrose as he steadied Lianna, slipping an arm around her waist. “I told her it was no use trying to—”
Before he could finish, Ambrose had leapt to the ground, grabbed him by the throat, and shoved him up against a tree.
“My only question is should I kill you here and now, or wait until full battle begins.” His voice was a murderous snarl. Suddenly the tip of his sword pressed ever so lightly against the prince’s throat.
“Ambrose—no!” In vain Lianna tried to pull him off Constantine, but she may as well have tried to uproot an oak. “Listen to me. He comes in peace! Please, if you’d only listen to me—”
But even as she tried to pull Ambrose off Constantine, her cousin suddenly shoved him back with a flashing burst of strength. The next instant, Constantine’s sword hissed out, and the two men faced each other, both of them white-lipped with fury. Every man present drew his sword and eyed his enemy.
An eerie silence filled the air. Lianna’s heart thudded as the twin scents of danger and death wafted about her.
One last time she tried to reach the man who held her heart, who owned it forever, if only he knew.
“Ambrose, stop being…such a fool. I never wanted…this. I knew about the army, yes, but that was before. Before I came to Blackenstar, before I fell in love with you—I wish you could only know how much I love you…”
He spun toward her, a stunned expression in his eyes. But at that same instant Constantine lunged, his sword swinging in a deadly arc straight at Ambrose.
“No!” Seeing the danger, Lianna hurled herself forward, knowing only that she had to protect Ambrose from the deadly blow. Constantine cursed and tried to turn aside the thrust, but the blade slashed through her cloak, and she gasped as the point pierced her flesh.
Lianna went down in a heap, darkness swimming before her dazed eyes. Pain burned at her shoulder, and warm, sticky blood flowed down her arm, soaking her gown and cloak.
“By all the saints! Lianna! Lianna, no!” Ambrose swept her up from the stony earth and cradled her like a doll in his arms. As long as he lived he would never forget the sight of her taking the blow that had been intended for him. Her face was still and white, whiter even than the snow that fell so lightly, like wisps of lace, melting upon her
cheeks and eyelashes.
Constantine stood frozen. The sword fell from his numb hand. “Cousin!” His blue eyes blazed with a stark fear. “May the devil strike me blind, I never meant to hurt you.”
“Of course…you didn’t. My father…would be most…displeased,” she managed to mutter with a bleary smile, but her glazed eyes were trying to focus upon Ambrose, upon his handsome face, ashen now in the starlight, his gray eyes studying her with undisguised fear and shock.
“Don’t worry, my…lord…my…love. It is…nothing…it would take more than a simple wound to make me leave you,” she whispered, and, reaching up, gently touched his beloved face.
Ambrose couldn’t speak. Tears scratched at his eyes. Still cradling her, he tore off her cloak and tossed it on the ground, then carefully lowered her upon it. He ripped her gown at the shoulder to reveal the wound, and his shoulders sagged with relief as he saw that it wasn’t deep, certainly not fatal. As Constantine came forward to clutch Lianna’s hand, Ambrose ripped a wide strip from his own cloak and began to bind up the wound, as gently as he could, despite her slight moans and grimaces.
“We came here…Constantine and I…to stop the battle…”
“Quiet. Don’t try to talk now. Save your strength.”
Lianna felt herself sinking into dizziness and a thin, dark fog. The wound, the shock of it—added to her weariness from the grueling ride and her tormented heart—was exacting a toll. She felt herself weakening, slipping away. She fought to focus upon Ambrose’s face.
“Listen to me…”
“No. Be silent. It doesn’t matter, Lianna.”
“Constantine, tell him…” she begged, even as she closed her eyes, letting the heavy blackness take her.
Dimly, through her faint, she heard Constantine begin to tell Ambrose that they had indeed come in peace, that Lianna had ridden to the army’s encampment and begged Constantine to call off the attack.
“She convinced me that she wants to remain with you. To remain the duchess of Blackenstar. I had gathered an army to rescue her, but she would barely take time to eat a single bite of bread—that though she was weary of riding all through the afternoon and evening. She wanted only to bring me to you…to explain to you…”
His words rose, fell, faded. In their place came the fairy song. Her grandmother’s voice. The faint tinkle of the lost spell.
Catch yourself a falling star
And love will blossom where you are
Watch ’til dawn’s new sun peeks through.
“William, prepare a litter.” Ambrose’s voice broke through, sending the pieces of the spell spinning into murk once more, just as she was about to grasp them all. “We’ll take her back to my tent.”
“No.” Half sitting up, Lianna forced her eyes to open and clutched at his arm. “We must stay here. Here. ’Til dawn.”
“Lianna, let him take you into the tent. You’ll be warm, there are blankets—” Constantine began, but she shook her head weakly. Her gaze was locked upon Ambrose.
“Did you catch…the falling star?” she whispered.
He looked puzzled a moment, then suddenly nodded. “The star-brooch. You threw it to get my attention.” He dug it out of the pocket of his cloak and stared at it. Catch a falling star. He shook his head and wrapped her cloak back around her, fastening the brooch in place once more. He lifted her so that she was nestled against him, his strong arms enfolding her. “It is safe. And so are you. Or you will be, once we get you out of this cold.”
“No. We must stay…’til dawn. The spell…I feel it, Ambrose. My grandmother’s spell. It is coming back to me…all of it. But we cannot leave here now, we must watch for…there it is!”
Ambrose followed her joyful gaze and saw, in a dazzling sweep of white, the shooting star that blazed through the blackness above and danced in a flash across the midnight sky.
“Comes the night of a falling star,” she murmured, placing her hand upon his chest, “send a heart’s wish from afar. Then a kiss of love that’s true…will banish evil’s curse from you.”
The words tumbled out softly, pure and sweet and true as new snow. Ambrose drew her closer. He didn’t fully understand, he only knew that this sable-haired princess had tried to save his life, that she was gazing at him with love glowing from her beautiful eyes. And he knew he couldn’t go on for a single day without her.
“A kiss of love that’s true,” he repeated, and thinking of how close he’d come to losing her, he tightened his arms and leaned his head down toward hers.
The kiss was deep, sweet, and gentle as the dawn. All the coldness vanished. Pure warmth flowed between them, heat and light and tenderness that brought the sheen of tears to her eyes.
“A kiss of love that’s true…will banish evil’s curse from you,” Lianna repeated the spell against the warm slant of his mouth.
They stayed there throughout the long, chill hours of the night. The soldiers brought blankets, and Constantine built a fire, and then all of Blackenstar’s knights retreated. Constantine and his party went with them, leaving Ambrose and Lianna there upon the plain, with the moon and the stars as their companions, snuggled together while the hours tiptoed toward the dawn.
Early morning came at last, naked and sweet and golden against a shimmering lilac sky, and they watched it together, snug in each other’s arms.
As Lianna gazed at the peaceful glow of color in the sky, as the chill of night faded and the new day began, the words came to her, softly, easily, every single one of them.
Breathlessly she murmured them, her eyes fixed upon the sun.
Comes the night of a falling star
Send a heart’s wish from afar.
Then a kiss of love that’s true
Will banish evil’s curse from you.
Catch yourself a falling star
And love will blossom where you are.
Watch ’til dawn’s new sun peeks through
And all your dreams will fair come true.
She closed her eyes and saw her grandmother’s face, smiling, smiling.
The spell was complete.
“My heart’s wish,” she said, reaching up to stroke Ambrose’s jaw. “I spoke it last night—that you should only know how much I love you. I didn’t want to…but I gave you my heart, Ambrose the Barbarian. It is yours.”
“And I give you mine, my beautiful, brave, and very stubborn princess. My heart, my life, my love. Forever.”
A great rushing, flapping noise split the silence of the dawn, and, glancing up, they saw the sky grow black with crows. They swooped and darted, cawing and squawking, then wheeled away to the west, flying straight and fast and furious, leaving behind them an even deeper silence.
“The crows are gone from the keep.” Lianna spoke with quiet certainty. “The curse is lifted.”
“I hope that means we can leave this place now.” He grunted and stroked a finger along the curve of her cheek. “Your shoulder must be throbbing. You must be cold, sore, hungry. Ready or not, Princess, I’m taking you home.”
“Home.” Lianna laughed as he lifted her in his arms. The twinge in her shoulder was nothing. Compared to the joy in her heart, it was nothing at all.
She thought of the keep that had so alarmed her at first, the place where she now wanted most to be. Alone in her sweet-scented chamber, with a blazing fire and the deep featherbed—and Ambrose. The two of them—safe, together.
She knew that a chance for peace now would grow across the land.
“Yes, my darling barbarian.” Smiling, she wrapped her good arm around his neck as he began to carry her toward the camp and the horses and the men stirring from their sleep. “Let us go—home.”
EPILOGUE
“WHAT I DON’T understand is why this place is called Crow’s Keep.” Meeg glanced up from the five-month-old baby boy dozing in her arms and peered from Lianna’s glowing face to Ambrose’s beaming one. “I’ve seen larks, and doves, and gulls aplenty, but not a single crow in the fortnight we�
��ve been here.”
“They’re gone, banished—like all the other dark and ugly things in my life.” It was Ambrose who replied. As he spoke, he leaned down and stroked a finger across the baby’s cheek. His smile deepened as he stared at the dark fuzz of hair upon the boy’s head and studied his peacefully closed eyes. “Thanks to this little fellow’s mother.”
King Penmarren’s lips twitched in satisfaction. Constantine lifted his fair brows and smiled. But it was Lianna’s laughter that rang like soft golden bells through the sun-drenched castle garden.
“It was nothing, my lord,” she retorted. And turning to Meeg, she said in a loud whisper, “He must want something from me. Whenever it is so, he resorts to flattery. In the year and a half we have been wed, I’ve learned all his strategies.”
“All his strategies, eh?” King Penmarren leaned back in the deep-cushioned chair that had been brought out to the garden for him, a twin of the one in which Meeg sat cradling the future duke of Blackenstar. The fragrance of a thousand flowers filled the air. “So great and renowned a warrior must have many strategies, my dear. How clever of you to have learned them all.”
“Not all.” Ambrose suddenly tugged Lianna from the stone bench upon which she sat and pulled her into his arms. “Would you like me to demonstrate some you have not yet learned?” he asked in a low, silky voice directly in her ear.
“Why, yes. But later, my lord.” Her violet eyes sparkled. “This is hardly the time or place. We have guests.”
“Family,” he corrected her. “Not guests. They won’t mind excusing us. We have much to discuss—the entertainment for the banquet tomorrow. Jugglers or musicians. These things call for decisions.” He wrapped an arm around Lianna’s waist and glanced at each person in the garden. All chuckled and assured him that they were perfectly content to see him and Lianna excused.
“What more could we want now?” Meeg shifted the baby in her arms as Marthe entered the garden with a golden tray of refreshments, which she set down upon a carved stone table. “ ’Tis a beautiful day, like the May days of my girlhood. We have wine and cake and grapes. And I have this beautiful little one in my arms—happy and healthy.” Her sigh of contentment was mirrored by the grateful tears that shone in her eyes. “All is well. Never did I think it would turn out this way!”