Medieval 02 - Forbidden

bedding. Linen and soft wool and luxurious fur, rich curtains of cloth pulled aside for the day. Nearby was a table with a chair, an oil lamp, and, astonishingly, a handful of what appeared to be ancient manuscripts.
    Duncan looked back to the girl who had attended his illness, a girl who was familiar and unknown at once.
    Amber’s clothes were like the bedding, wonderfully rich, soft, warm, and colorful. At her wrists and neck, amber gems gleamed in costly shades of warm yellow and gold.
    “You live far better than most cottagers,” Duncan said.
    “I have been fortunate. Erik, heir to Lord Robert of the North, watches over me.”
    Amber’s affection for Erik was clear in her voice and in her smile. Duncan’s expression darkened, making him look every bit the formidable warrior he was.
    For an instant, Amber wondered if she hadn’t been a bit too hasty in untying him.
    “Are you his leman?” Duncan asked.
    At first Amber didn’t understand the blunt question. When she did, she flushed.
    “Nay! Lord Robert is a—”
    “Not Robert,” Duncan interrupted curtly. “Erik,the mere mention of whose name makes you smile.”
    Amber smiled widely.
    “Erik’s leman?” she repeated. “He would laugh fit to choke at the thought. We’ve known one another since we were no bigger than goslings.”
    “Does he give costly gifts to all his childhood friends?” Duncan asked coolly.
    “We were both students of Cassandra the Wise.”
    “So?”
    “So Erik’s family befriended me.”
    “At some expense to themselves,” Duncan said pointedly.
    “Their gifts, though generous indeed, do not strain Lord Robert’s wealth,” Amber said in a dry tone.
    As Duncan opened his mouth to question Amber further, he realized that he was reacting with far too much jealousy over a maid he had just met.
    Or had he ?
    He was quite naked in her bed. Her hands weren’t hesitant to touch him. She had neither blushed nor turned away when the bed covers went sliding in disarray, revealing his nakedness. Nor had she been in any great haste to cover him again.
    But how did one delicately ask a maid if she was his betrothed, his wife, or his leman?
    Or, God forbid, his sister ?
    Duncan grimaced. The thought that he and Amber might be close in blood appalled him.
    “Duncan? Are you in pain?”
    “No.”
    “Are you certain?”
    He made a harsh sound. “Tell me…”
    His voice and his courage faded. The sensual heat in his blood did not.
    “Yes?” Amber said encouragingly.
    “Are we related by blood?”
    “Nay,” she said instantly.
    “Thank God.”
    Amber looked startled.
    “Is Cassandra one of those whom you call Learned?” Duncan asked, changing the subject before Amber could pursue it.
    “Yes.”
    “Is that a tribe or a clan or a priesthood?”
    At first Amber wondered if Duncan were toying with her. Any man who was found inside the Stone Ring asleep at the foot of the sacred rowan was certainly one of the Learned!
    The thought was like a balm. She had heard many things about Duncan of Maxwell, the Scots Hammer, but never had it been so much as hinted that he was one of the Learned.
    Whatever or whomever the stranger she had named Duncan had once been, he was now a different man, riven from past Learning by a bolt of lightning.
    Frowning, Amber tried to find the words to describe her relationship with Cassandra and Erik and the few other Learned whom she had met. She didn’t want Duncan to look at her with superstition or fear, as some of the simple folk did.
    “Many Learned are related by blood, but not all,” Amber said slowly. “It is a kind of discipline, like a school, but all those who attempt to learn aren’t equally apt.”
    “Like hounds or horses or knights?” Duncan asked after a time.
    She looked puzzled.
    “Some are always better than others at what they do,” he said simply. “A few, a very few, are far better than any.”
    “Yes,” Amber said, relieved that Duncan understood. “Those who can’t be taught say that those who can learn are cursed or blessed. Usually cursed.”
    Duncan smiled wryly.
    “But we aren’t,” she said. “We are simply what God made us to be. Different.”
    “Aye. I have met a few people like that. Different.”
    Absently, Duncan flexed his right hand as though to grasp a sword. It was a movement made without forethought, as much a part of him as breathing. He didn’t even notice the act.
    Amber did.
    She remembered what she had heard about the Scots Hammer, a