Page 207 of Forbidden

Without a word, Duncan leaped off, vaulted into Whitefoot’s empty saddle, and went forward again. Whitefoot minced and flattened her ears, but didn’t refuse the trail. Within moments she was over the ridge and out of sight.

An eagle’s majestic cry came through the mist like a shaft of light. Duncan answered as he had before, the hunting call taught to him long ago.

The eagle did not cry out again.

“I knew Duncan could find the way!” Erik said exultantly. “Learned or not, I knew it! The rowan wouldn’t give Amber an inferior mate.”

“Thick-skulled, stubborn, proud,” Cassandra muttered.

“Courageous, strong, honorable,” Erik amended dryly, remembering what Amber had once told him. “In short, a good man.”

Cassandra crossed herself, breathed a silent prayer, and urged her own mount forward.

The white stallion refused the trail.

So did Erik’s mount.

So did Simon’s.

Of the three, Simon was the only one who was surprised. What surprised him more was that even when he dismounted, he couldn’t find the trail Duncan had followed. Mist swirled, lifted, teased, confused, concealed…and Simon found himself back where he had started.

Neither Erik nor Cassandra fared any better. Ghost Glen was as it had always been to them.

Closed.

Duncan didn’t notice that no one had followed him down the ridge into Ghost Glen. He knew only that the way became clearer with each step forward.

Without a thought to safety, Duncan urged Whitefoot to greater and greater speeds. Soon the mare was galloping swiftly down the glen, leaping brooks and fallen branches, skirting sacred circles, devouring the ground as though she had been born to run through the glen’s ancient stillness.

Gradually, almost secretly, the rhythmic pounding of hooves was consumed by the myriad cries of geese. Calls lifted and tumbled, soared and turned, stirred by a restless wind. Answers stitched over other calls, other answers, countless wild voices weaving a tapestry of sound over marsh and sea.

A standing stone loomed out of the mist ahead. Duncan knew what the stone would look like when it was only a handspan away, knew what the thick cushion of growing things felt like at the stone’s feet, knew that there of all places in the world Amber would be waiting for him, remembering as he remembered what it had been like to burn together in a golden fire that knew no pain, only passion.

Duncan kicked out of the stirrups and dismounted with a knight’s skill, landing on his feet, running. But it wasn’t a sword he held in his hand, nor was it a war hammer. It was a pendant as venerable as the land itself.

And it burned as only hope could.

“Amber!” Duncan called.

Nothing answered but thousands upon thousands of geese rising into the mist, black wings beating fiercely.

“Amber, don’t hide! ’Tis Duncan!”

Heart hammering, Duncan stood at the foot of the ancient stone, listening for an answer.

It never came, though he called until his throat was raw.

Stunned, Duncan stood without moving, holding the pendant that had unlocked so much. But not enough. He had been so certain that Amber would be there, waiting for him.

So certain.

And so wrong.

Then he saw her from the corner of his eye, standing in front of the ancient stone. Her image wavered as though seen through water.

“Amber,” Duncan cried, reaching out to draw her close.

But his fingers touched only mist-drenched stone.