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amber, untouched by man, not touching ' ”
    Erik glanced broodingly at the stranger and then at the girl who was indeed like sunlight captured within amber, colors of golden brightness defined by a single dark truth: simple touch could cause her great pain.
    Yet he was going to ask her to touch the stranger. He had no choice.
    “I'm sorry,” Erik said, “but if spies of Dominic le Sabre or the Scots Hammer are abroad in Stone Ring Keep's land, I must know it.”
    Slowly Amber nodded.
    “But most of all, I must know where the Scots Hammer himself is,” Erik continued. “The sooner Duncan of Maxwell is dead, the safer Lord Robert's holdings in the Disputed Lands will be.”
    Again Amber nodded, yet she made no move to touch the man who lay senseless at her feet.
    “No man gets to this stranger's age without having a name of some sort,” Erik said reasonably. “Even slaves, serfs, and villeins have names. 'Tis foolish to fear Cassandra's prophecy.”
    The pendant on Amber's palm burned like trapped flames. She stared at it, yet saw only what she had seen before. Sacred ring. Sacred rowan. Shades of darkness. “So be it,” Amber whispered. Clenching her teeth against the pain to come, she sank to her knees by the fire and laid her palm against the stranger's cheek.
    The pleasure was so sharp Amber cried out and snatched her hand back. Then, realizing what she had done, she slowly reached for the stranger again.
    Involuntarily, Erik moved as though to protect Amber from more pain. Then he controlled himself and stood watching, his mouth flattened into a thin line beneath his short, tawny beard. He disliked causing Amber any discomfort, but he disliked the thought of killing a stranger needlessly even more.
    The second time Amber's hand touched the stranger, she didn't flinch. With a soft sound she settled more closely to him. Closing her eyes, shutting out the rest of the world, she savored the purest pleasure she had ever known.
    It was like being suspended in a pool of sweet fire, caressed by warmth, knowing the heart of light.
    And beyond the golden warmth of the pool, knowledge lay in shades of darkness. Waiting.
    Amber gave a low cry. She could think of few men who would have such a certainty of their own prowess in battle. Dominic le Sabre and Duncan of Maxwell were two. A third was Erik.
    A great warrior lies beneath my hand, light and darkness, pleasure and pain, soul mate and deadly foe in one.
    “Amber.”
    Slowly she opened her eyes. The look on Erik's face told her that he had called to her more than once. Intent, tawny eyes watched her. His concern for her was tangible, and warming. She forced a smile despite the turmoil seething beneath her calm surface.
    She owed Erik so much. His father had given her clothes, the cottage, men to work the land, and land for men to work. Erik trusted her as though she were a clansman rather than a waif with neither parent nor sibling to call her own.
    And she knew she was going to betray Erik's trust for a stranger who might well prove to be Erik's foe.
    Having touched the stranger. Amber could not deliver him to death at Erik's hands. Not until she was certain that the man was whom she feared.
    Perhaps not even then.
    He could simply be a stranger, known to no one.
    The thought was as seductive as a hearth fire on a winter day.
    Aye! A stranger. Other knights have come to the Disputed Lands. I have heard their tales of being tested in the Saracen crucible. They were confident of their own might.
    This man could be such a warrior.
    He must be.
    “Amber?”
    “Leave him here,” she said huskily. “He belongs to me.”
    The temptation to continue touching the stranger was very great. Reluctantly she withdrew her hand. The emptiness she felt at the loss of touch dismayed her. Until that instant she wouldn't have described herself as lonely.
    Erik let out a long, relieved sigh as he realized that touching the stranger had unsettled Amber, but hadn't caused her true