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Then his resolve hardened. He would not taint his honour for the want of a good rutting.
    Steel control was an old friend. He’d used it time and time again to trap grief and rage while he planned and executed vengeance when a swift killing would not suffice. He’d never imagined himself in a position where he’d need, or want, to trap the fires of passion and desire, but they were as much elements of man’s nature as any other emotion. He could foresee no problem. Now that his mind was truly made up, the rest would follow. It was as simple as that.
    Her fingers moved through the fur of the rug he’d laid over her, and Krayne knew she was coming around. With a decisive movement, he drew his dirk.
     
    Amber fought against consciousness. She didn’t want to be pulled from the sweet lull of darkness. Here, she didn’t have to struggle against walls crushing her lungs, horrid little monsters nibbling her flesh, nightmare visions of Stivin begging for help while she looked on helplessly.
    But she couldn’t stay. She was being dragged to the surface. Her lids opened sluggishly, then rounded wide and alert at the black-haired beast looming over her. Firelight glinted off steel and she would have screamed, but it felt as if her heart had jumped into her throat.
    “Dinna fear.” The oak-smoked burr eased the pitch of terror, enough so for her to recognise the beast as Krayne. He sheathed the blade and showed her the raven curl he’d hacked off. “I need this fer yer uncle.”
    Amber nodded, heart still throbbing against her ribcage, vaguely wondering if it was worth her time and effort to protest the futility of his actions once more. Then she became aware of her surroundings. “The pit…Where am I?”
    A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I thought ye might be more comfortable here.”
    Relief bought him a return smile, but it didn’t last. Although the shock was gradually ebbing, the piercing silver of his eyes kept her blood high. She pressed a hand to her chest in a protective gesture, and gasped. Her eyes dipped, then shot straight up to his and froze.
    Where was her gown?
    What had he done?
    “Nothing yet.” Krayne answered the accusation in her eyes with a gravel-hard voice, then promptly spun about and strode away.
    Nothing yet. A shadow crossed her heart and chilled her blood. He will be back, and he won’t find me lying half-naked in bed.
    Krayne Johnstone might have saved her from the hell pit, but she wasn’t that grateful.
    He stopped and turned beneath the open archway that led into the adjoining chamber.
    What now?
    He was just standing there, looking at her. His jaw was so tightly clenched, she imagined she could hear his teeth crunch. The wolf looked ready to pounce.
    Wiping a hand across her forehead, Amber made a brave show of crumpling before his eyes, managing to pull the fur over her as she slumped down on the bed.
    “Christ.” He hurried back.
    “I’m fine,” she whispered, rolling her head away so she didn’t have to meet his eyes. “Please leave me. I fear that black pit has sapped my strength.” She turned a little to peer at him from beneath half-lidded eyes.
    “Rest.” The word rumbled warmly with concern.
    She closed her eyes and concentrated to slow her breathing. Finally she heard him move, the padded footfalls of his leather soles fading to silence, then a squeak as a door opened. Amber gave it a few more moments, then rolled onto her front and up on her elbows, glancing this way and that, but ready to drop into feigned slumber at the slightest sound.
    The bold stamp on the room and superb, if sparse, furnishings told her she was in the laird’s bed. The thick pelt of an exotic brown bear covered the window. Various forest creatures had given their fur to warm the stone floor. The bed was made from birch rather than pine, stained a rich brown and stood high off the ground. A sturdy chair and writing table of the same stained birch completed the decor.
    She lifted herself