Page 184 of Forbidden

Duncan jerked his shield into place, but not quite as quickly as before. It was as though his arm had been deadened by the punishment it had already received.

Erik grinned like hell unleashed. The sword whistled and slashed blow after blow onto Duncan’s shield, driving him backward toward a wall. Once within reach of the wall, Duncan’s weapon would be as harmless as a handful of stones. There would be no room to swing the hammer if his back was to a wall.

Another sword slash sent Duncan to his knees. The hammer faltered in its song. Erik surged forward, sending the sword in a vicious arc meant to cleave Duncan in two.

Abruptly, the hammer whipped with renewed force—and it came from the opposite direction, less than a handspan off the floor.

Chain wrapped around steel chausses. Duncan yanked, jerking Erik’s feet from beneath him. He hit the floor with a force so great his helm flew off and his breath was knocked from him.

With a hoarse cry, Duncan pulled his battle dagger and knelt astride Erik before he could recover. Unable to breathe, much less to fight, Erik looked into the eyes of the dark warrior who would soon kill him.

A mailed fist raised, a dagger gleamed, and steel flashed downward while a woman’s scream wrenched the silence.

At the last instant, Duncan turned the blade aside.

The dagger struck the wooden floor with such power that the blade slammed all the way through the heavy plank and broke from the haft.

“I can’t kill one who looks at me with Amber’s eyes!” Duncan raged. “I give him to you, Dominic. Do to him what you will!”

With that, Duncan stood and threw the dagger’s heavy haft across the hall. It smashed into a far wall with enough strength to chip stone. A vicious snap of Duncan’s wrist called the chain back from Erik’s ankles, freeing him.

Amber started toward both men, only to be restrained by Cassandra’s hand.

“It isn’t done yet,” Cassandra said tautly. “Now we will see if Dominic le Sabre is truly fit to wear the Glendruid Wolf on his mantle.”

The harp Ariane held sounded an odd chord as her fingers abruptly relaxed. It was the only outward sign that she had been in the least moved by what she had seen.

Dominic drew his sword and slid the tip between the chain-mail hood and Erik’s chin.

For a long time the two men measured each other.

“I would prefer an alliance to a funeral,” Dominic said finally.

“Nay,” Erik said, his voice hoarse.

“If you die, your father will be stirred from his clan rivalries. There will be war between the Glendruid Wolf and the clans of the north.”

“And the Learned will be first to fight,” Cassandra vowed. “I will lead them myself!”

No one who heard the Learned woman’s voice doubted her.

“You will lose,” Dominic said. “King Henry won’t let his northern borders go to Saxons and Scots.”

“Perhaps he won’t have a choice,” Erik said.

“Perhaps. But Henry has held every bit of land he has fought for.”

Erik said nothing.

“If Ariane is jilted,” Dominic continued, “there will be war as well. Baron Deguerre is a proud noble. King Henry is most pleased with the match.”

Ariane stiffened subtly but said not one word.

“Aye,” Erik said fiercely. “But if you have allies in the north, you might win that war against Henry and Deguerre.”

Dominic nodded slightly and waited, not easing the pressure of the sword point at Erik’s throat.

“If you have no allies, you will lose,” Erik pointed out, “for you will be caught between two enemies—me on the northern border and Baron Deguerre’s allies on the south.”