by Nora Roberts
“I assure you, I don’t.” But even as she spoke the words, a horrible idea was forming in her mind. A suspicion that she tried to push away before it could even fully surface. No, no, it couldn’t be.
Those keen eyes raked her. They were harder than stone, so penetrating that she somehow fell back apace under their scrutiny. He advanced suddenly and caught her by the arms, his voice low, taut with controlled fury.
“Did you truly think you could do what you’ve done and I’d not act against you? Did you think I would sit idly by while you enchanted my keep with your damned dark magic?”
“What are you talking about?” Erinn burst out, panicked by his words and by the viselike hold he had on her. “I have enchanted nothing. I know of no keep—”
“Bordmoor Keep.” He bit the words out like nails. “I’d wager a fortune you’ve heard of that.”
Bordmoor Keep. Her eyes widened. Tynon’s keep? She stared up at him, her heart starting to thud and her breath catching painfully in her throat.
“You…are Tynon of Bordmoor?” To her consternation, her voice came out a whisper, hoarse and pitifully frightened.
She winced at the satisfied smile upon his face.
“Aye. You needn’t look surprised. You could hardly expect me to let you abscond with my home without so much as paying you a visit. In fact, princess, I’m going to do more than that. I’m going to see to it that you reverse that spell and give me back Bordmoor Keep.”
“You’re a madman. I’ve done nothing to your precious keep.”
“You’re lying!” he snarled, and yanked her closer.
“If…if it caught fire or something, it was because of your own carelessness or that of your servants. I…I’m glad that your keep is gone,” she lashed out at him, struggling uselessly against his far greater strength. “And I hope and pray that you will be destroyed as well—”
She broke off with a gasp as his hand went to her throat and the fingers tightened against her flesh.
“Enough,” he said softly.
Erinn’s breath came in short gasps. His hold was not yet painful, only taut, but the threat was clear. Hatred and terror warred within her, but she stayed perfectly still, fearing what he would do if she struggled, and wondering if Tynon of Bordmoor was truly mad.
“I think you are lying,” he continued, his gaze raking her.
“I am not.”
Her lips quivered. Tynan saw the fear in those glorious, widened eyes. He felt the tremors in her slender body, for the girl knew she was caught. Yet to his surprise she did not weep, or beg, or even whimper. She stood still, except for the trembling, and no word of appeasement came from her lips.
Reluctant admiration touched him. Yet he quickly reminded himself that she was no ordinary girl. She was a witch. Even now she might be planning some magical move of her own.
That was a risk he had to take. He had to get the keep back.
“You lie. If you did not cast the spell, who did?”
“That is…your problem, not mine.”
Even with his hand at her throat, she would not give an inch. Tynon’s mouth twisted. He dropped his hand and watched as her own flew to her throat. There would be no bruise, though the skin was delicate. He had not gripped her that hard. But her hands were shaking as she touched the place where his fingers had held her.
“Whether you cast the spell—which I would bet my sword and shield you did—or not, you are coming with me to undo it.”
“Coming with you…where?”
“Where do you think? We’re less than a day’s ride from there now. We’ll reach it well before sunset.”
He watched her carefully as he said this, as if expecting those words to mean something to her, but Erinn didn’t have any idea why they should. She only knew that she must have been asleep from the potion for a long while if they were so close to Bordmoor. The very name filled her with dread, and she had to swallow hard before she could speak again.
“Are we…still in Marlbury?”
“Not for long. We’re at the farthest edges of the border, about to enter the llachlands. Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to see the land your family has raided and tried to steal for a hundred years? The savages you have fought and slaughtered? Your brothers have seen it, but they’ve barely escaped with their lives every time they’ve attempted to conquer it.”
“My brothers will find me. And they’ll kill you in a most unpleasant way once they do. If you want to save your skin, you’ll let me go right now. Then maybe you can get away before they swoop down on you.”
Though she tried to sound confident, as if she expected Braden and Cadur to thunder through the woods at any moment and run him through, Tynon only gave a harsh laugh and dragged her toward his horse.
She held herself rigid as he tossed her easily into the saddle and then vaulted up behind her. The day was fair and scented with spring. Honeysuckle hovered in the air and the sun shone warmly upon the rough craggy land, where a few patches of grass strained to grow.
On such a day as this, she might have enjoyed a picnic with her ladies-in-waiting. They might have sat in the garden with their sewing, eating apples and listening to the birds. And dreaming of spring.
But there were no birds here in this daunting spot. Only gnarled trees and hard earth, and a man whose arms enclosed her as he spurred his horse forward.
Toward Bordmoor.
Erinn was all too aware of those powerful arms around her as they rode, of his muscular torso at her back, his body intimately close to hers. Even through her cloak and gown, she felt the great strength of him, the warmth and power.
Never in her life had she felt so vulnerable and helpless. She’d always been carefully protected—guarded by her brothers as well as by her father’s men. No one had ever dared lay a hand on her, certainly not a man like this, the enemy of her family for a hundred years.
Now her body was pressed against his, as he took her ever closer to another land, the land of her enemies. And she had no one to rely upon except herself. She would be unable to lift whatever spell had been cast upon his precious keep, and…what then? What would he do to her then?
Her thoughts churned in a wild jumble. And she couldn’t stop thinking of Braden. Was he alive? Hurt? Who else had this monster harmed last night when he’d somehow breached the gate and the moat and sneaked into the garden?
Erinn clenched her hands before her, shivering despite the sun. She had to find a way to do something that her father and brothers and all the troops of Marlbury together never had done.
She had to best Tynon of Bordmoor.
3
PINK PLUMES OF color had just begun to unfurl across the late-afternoon sky as Tynon reined in his destrier atop a rocky hill.
The long ride had been a blur—an endless, aching, silent blur. Erinn and her captor had not exchanged one word during the entire journey—and not long into it, she had begun to regret her hasty refusal of food or drink.
She had no notion how long it had been—one day, two—since her last meal, but the hunger creeping through her left her feeling weak and overwhelmed at the thought of what lay before her. And crossing mile after mile of unfamiliar forests, rolling meadowland, and narrow, icy streams had proved disheartening, for she knew that every mile they traveled away from Marlbury Castle diminished her chances of an imminent rescue.
Through weary eyes, Erinn saw a river flowing below to her left, its water a crystalline, translucent green. Yet as Tynon of Bordmoor lowered her from the saddle and then sprang down beside her, it was away from the river that he turned her—toward a towering black fortress perched on an opposite hillside some little distance away.
She gasped as she gazed at it, silhouetted against a sky of dazzling blue that had begun to glow gold and pink with streaks of sunset.
That was Bordmoor Keep? But how could it be? The name had always struck terror into her heart, for it was known far and wide as a massive, impregnable fortress—a fortress where the duke
of Bordmoor kept his troops, his warhorses, his dreaded weapons, and his gold. Rumor had it that the keep was filled with tapestries and golden chests and riches far beyond those which Marlbury Castle had ever known, and she had always imagined it as a huge, terrifying stronghold where Tynon ruled from a throne studded with rubies and gold.
But this keep was a ruin. Its walls were scorched, black, and crumbling. They looked as if a mere breath would knock them over, and they were draped in smothering, decaying vines of ivy. The turrets were broken, the battlements no more than a pile of rock, and grime shrouded the mullioned windows. Huge rocks were strewn around the gates as though tossed by a giant, and the portcullis itself lay sideways with its giant spikes broken, rusted, and useless, as useless as the dry moat that surrounded the place, filled not with water but with dead and twisted weeds.
For one brief, dazed moment she wondered if her father’s forces had somehow succeeded in bringing about the destruction of their enemy’s stronghold, but then she knew this could not be. She would have heard—she would have known. There would have been days of celebrations and feasts, mass rejoicing throughout Marlbury if Bordmoor Keep had been brought to ruin.
Yet it had been brought to ruin. It was nothing but a broken and deserted pile of stones, decayed and sagging into the hillside like a smashed cake.
Behind her, Tynon’s fingers tightened on her shoulders.
“Change it back,” he said softly, “if you value your life.”
She whirled toward him. “You think I did this?” a hysterical urge to laugh nearly overwhelmed her.
She, who had once turned a squirrel into a wooden statue in the garden when she’d been trying to transform it into a deer, could no more bring down a fortress than fly across that bone-dry moat and swoop in through one of the windows in the tower. In her wildest dreams she couldn’t hope to achieve something like this.
But she managed to keep from blurting out that fact. If Tynon thought her powerful enough to cast such a spell, so be it.
“I wish I had been the one to do this to your precious keep.” She drew the fur-trimmed folds of her cloak around her with dignity. “But I’m afraid it never occurred to me. I suggest you try to find the witch—or wizard—who did it and ask him or her to—”
“I’m asking you. No, I’m telling you. Change it back. Now.”
“That’s impossible. For one thing, I don’t even know what it looked like originally, except for what I’ve heard, and—”
“That”—Tynon spun her around again and pointed at the keep with one hand, even as the other dug into her arm—“is what it looked like. As you damned well know. And that is what you are going to restore to me before this night is over!”
A chill swept through Erinn’s blood as she stared where he pointed. Sunset was swirling, glistening through the sky, gilding it in pink and silver and gold just beyond the damaged keep.
Except that the keep wasn’t damaged any longer. It now stood before her, glittering upon the hilltop as the sun dangled like a glowing orb behind it. The battlements and turrets were restored, the windows no longer obscured by grime. The fortress’s stone walls rose solid and strong, free of ivy, and sparkling like towers of silver in the dying light of day. The dry moat was now brimming with water, the gate upright, gleaming, and manned by stout soldiers in black tunics trimmed in silver.
Indeed, inside the yard of the keep she glimpsed people moving about, talking, carrying buckets or pushing carts, horses being led toward a stable, and as she watched, a young boy appeared on one of the parapets. He waved his arm over his head, and she thought she heard faint words upon the breeze: “Tynon! Tynon!”
She blinked, blinded by the setting sun, and suddenly the restored keep was gone and the blackened, crumbling one stood in its place. Then as she stared in wonder, the first reappeared, flickering in and out of her vision—now glistening in its splendid glory once more, bustling with life and activity, now the dark ruin—and then again restored—until the exact moment when the sun disappeared behind the distant gray mountains.
Instantly, the gleaming vision vanished and did not return. The keep she had first seen was back—its turrets broken, the boy vanished, the moat and yard barren.
And as dusk whispered through the air, it stayed that way.
“I don’t understand.” Her voice shook. Whether from lack of food and drink, or from weariness, or from the power of the spell she had just witnessed, she couldn’t say, but something had left her stunned and shaken.
She turned and peered into Tynon’s face. “What has happened?”
He was gazing at her, those intense eyes blazing in the dusk. She saw the shock settle over his face.
“You really don’t know, do you?” he said at last, and there was pain in the words. “I thought…I was certain…you didn’t cast the spell, did you?”
“I told you I didn’t.”
“By all the fires in hell!” His jaw tensed as he swung toward the ruined fortress once more. “But if not you—who? I know of no one besides the Royal House of Marlbury who would do something so evil.”
For a moment, seeing the desperation, fatigue, and pain that crossed his face, Erinn almost forgot who he was, who she was, and all that lay between them—an entire century of enmity. She thought how she would feel if her beloved Marlbury Castle was enchanted—changed, stolen from her, and transformed into a deserted ruin. She almost stretched out her hand to touch his arm, a sympathetic gesture that she quickly stifled, just in time.
“How often do you see the vision of it?” she asked instead. “When did this begin?” She wasn’t asking for his sake, she told herself, only to satisfy her own curiosity.
“Every night at sunset—that is the only time the real keep appears. It lingers for only a moment or two, flickering in and out, until the sun sets behind the mountains.”
“And the rest of the time, it is…like that?” she asked, glancing again at the monstrous ruin.
Tynon nodded grimly.
“Who is that boy? The one on the parapet calling your name?”
“My brother, Rhys. He’s in there…and so is Marguerite…and I can’t get to them. They’re trapped—trapped in a vision, in a place that’s no longer part of this world.”
His mouth hardened as he once more rounded on Erinn, reached out, seized her arms. “But you can free them. And restore my home.”
She’d been wondering dimly who Marguerite was, but at this she drew herself back to the matter at hand and spoke firmly.
“I cannot do what you ask. You must look elsewhere if you want to find the culprit, and the solution. I can’t help you.”
“You can, witch, and you shall.” There was utter determination and a flicker of ruthlessness in his eyes that made Erinn swallow hard. “Perhaps you’re telling the truth and you didn’t cast the spell, but you can remove it. And you’re not returning to Marlbury until you do.”
“Don’t you think my father and brothers will come after me? You’re nothing but a fool! They will butcher you for having touched me. My brothers don’t allow anyone to lay a hand on me, least of all a filthy savage like you and—”
She broke off as he hauled her up against his chest, fury glittering in his eyes. She forgot to breathe as she found her face only inches from his, as those mesmerizing eyes burned like blue flames into hers.
“I have outwitted and outfought them at every turn—even with your help. For one hundred years they have sought to dominate my people, to take that which is mine—do you think I’m going to relinquish anything of it to them now? No, they will not find you—or me, princess. My soldiers are lying in wait to attack them should they dare to cross the border. They are outnumbered three to one. You will not be freed until you do as I command.”
“The day a princess of Marlbury takes orders from a llachlander of Bordmoor is a day you’ll never live to see,” she flashed back angrily, thinking how wrong he was about everything. It was the llachlanders who had tried to overrun Marlbury, to sn
are the lush farmlands and peaceful plains for their own use, to overpower her people and reduce them to little more than servants of a duke ruling from afar.
But even as she said the words, she swayed on her feet, and it was only the grip he had on her that saved her from tumbling forward. She saw the surprise in his face, and gritted her teeth, struggling against the weakness overtaking her in waves, but her knees buckled, and the next moment Tynon of Bordmoor had swept her up into his arms.
“Even a witch needs food and drink,” he muttered as he began to stalk toward his horse. “I’m damned if I’ll let you die on me.”
Then they were in the saddle once more, and the great steed was galloping down the hillside toward the ruined keep.
Lavender shadows of night stole across the sky as they passed the fallen gate and entered the rock-strewn courtyard. Tynon left his destrier, slung his pack over his shoulder, and once more scooped Erinn into his arms.
“Set me down. I can walk,” she protested, but he merely scowled at her and stalked toward the keep as if she hadn’t spoken. In truth, she wondered if she could walk another step—her throat was dry, her spirit and body drained, and in Tynon’s arms she found herself leaning her head weakly against his chest.
Yet her brain still worked, for it was filled with shock as they entered the portals of the great hall.
“Must we…stay in here?” she managed to utter, and he growled an incomprehensible sound of irritation.
“It’s my home, what’s left of it,” he added, and Erinn could barely suppress a shudder as she gazed at the fallen pillars, broken stairways, and worst of all, the rats scurrying through the empty, darkened hall.
No furnishings appeared in the keep—it might have been a cave. Yet Tynon moved swiftly, as surely as if those keen eyes of his could pierce the darkness.
He headed up a staircase, moving without apparent concern over several broken steps, then entered a narrow corridor and kicked open a door that revealed a huge stone chamber, empty but for the barren hearth, one three-legged stool, and half a dozen bronze sconces.