Mistress of the Storm

by TERRI BRISBIN

  She rose up on her knees and pulled her gown and tunic and shift off in one movement, baring herself to him. As she crawled to the edge of the bed, he watched how her body moved and arched, the curves of her hips and arse tempting him with each passing second. Her breasts, full and rose-tipped, made his hands ache, but he controlled himself, knowing her touch would be the answer to his prayers.

  Isabel slid off the bed and came to stand before him, reaching out to touch his erect flesh first. Her hand encircled it and he let out the moan of pleasure he’d held in from the first moment he’d kissed her. She never let go as she slid around him, her skin kissing his, warming his, arousing his. Each moment, each touch seemed to awaken a new feeling. Every inch of him craved her touch.

  She stood behind him and released his cock, caressing every part of him with her hands and her body. She rubbed herself across his back and his arse, moving as though dancing around him, arching and sliding over him, this way and that, until she stood before him once more. His skin warmed as though the numbness had never been. The blood flowed into it, heating and nourishing it, making him want her so much it nearly overrode his control.

  Nearly.

  She took his hardened flesh in her hands again, and he finally lost control. With a growl, he lifted her onto the bed and filled her with himself. Her hands never stopped caressing him even as he thrust into her softness over and over. Her body opened to him, much as he suspected her heart had, welcoming him into her depths, allowing him his way and taking the pleasure he offered. Duncan felt her tightening around him and took her hands in his, entwining their fingers and stretching her arms out above her head. She arched against him, drawing him in deeper, until he could go no further. Her taut nipples teased his chest, her hips canted and her legs wrapped around his, holding him inside and tight as she reached for the promised satisfaction.

  “Isabel,” he growled as his seed threatened to spill. “Isabel,” he whispered into her mouth as he kissed her, opening to her and tasting her as his cock filled her.

  She tasted his mouth, then suckled on his tongue as he thrust it into her much as he did his cock. Aroused and ready, he waited for her to abandon control, to find a full measure of gratification in their joining. When she began to scream against his mouth, he moved harder and faster into her until his seed spilled and he moaned in unison with her release.

  Neither one moved for some time. Panting and sweating, Duncan tried to move from on top her so she could breathe easier, but she held him with her legs. He smiled for the first time in many days, and kissed her gently, touching her mouth and lips, then her cheeks and neck. The muscles of her inner walls rippled around his flesh and she gasped as another release took her. Arching against him she gasped again and again until her body collapsed beneath his.

  As they lay there still joined in the quiet aftermath of passion, he realized a number of differences between that time and the others.

  He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted her, more even than in those days before the ritual. He’d felt nothing like that before, not with any other woman and not with Isabel until now.

  Her love gave him control of the power that seethed just below his skin. It was not gone as it had been in previous months after the ritual finished; it remained, banked yet ready to flare to life . . . how and when he knew not.

  The last thing he realized as they recovered together was that, in the end, her love changed nothing, for he felt death approaching swiftly.

  He had three weeks left and so much to do before he died.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “If it could be so”—Duncan began to ask, watching her face as she heard the rest of it—“would you stay with me?”

  Her eyes widened and he watched as hope flared, then faded in only an instant. Had he not been observing her, he would have missed it. She laughed and leaned up on her elbow to look at him.

  They had not left his bed yet that morn, and he did not intend to until Ornolf returned with the information Duncan needed about her. Sent days ago through the glen and down the path she’d pointed out, Ornolf had sought out her childhood home and village and anyone who would remember how Sigurd came to be married to her mother. Duncan had suspicions but needed them confirmed or denied before he approached Sigurd.

  “Was that aye or nay?” he asked. Reaching out he tangled his hand in her hair as he liked to do, drawing her head closer so he could kiss her mouth once more.

  “Duncan, can we not simply enjoy the time we have together and not think of the rest of it?” She returned to that irritating habit of deflecting questions she did not want to answer. He took her face in his hands and gazed into her eyes.

  “Was that aye or nay, Isabel? ’Tis a simple question needing only a simple answer from you.”

  She sat up and slid away, hanging her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for her shift before saying anything. Without turning back to face him, she gave only a curt nod in response.

  “But why would you want a whore living here with you?” She shook her head. “Nay, please do not pursue this, Duncan. I must return to Sigurd and you must go on with your life.”

  “I could buy you from him,” he blurted out.

  “He will beggar you, demanding more and more until you have nothing. And for what? Pleasure? Me?” She laughed, a caustic sound. “I am not worth what he will ask for.”

  “Why do you not let me decide that?” he prodded.

  “So you plan to pay Sigurd’s price and take me away from him, away from whoring then?”

  “Aye, that is what I would like to do,” he suggested.

  “I beg you not to jest about something . . . so . . .”

  “Promising? Hopeful?”

  “Foolhardy? Impossible?”

  “Why? I have coin to meet his demands,” he said. “We could—” Her distraught expression stopped him. He reached out to her, but she moved away.

  In a flash, he knew she’d been asked the same before.

  “Did someone try to take you from Sigurd? Someone before . . . this?”

  She covered her face with her hands and cried, in aching, empty sobs shocking him with their suddenness and their sounds. Isabel quieted as quickly as she’d begun, wiping the tears from her eyes and cheeks and pretending he’d not just witnessed her deep sorrow.

  “Your pardon, Duncan. I do not know why that happened.” She walked over to the small table and poured a rather large cup of wine, drinking it down in a few mouthfuls and staring off into the corner of the chamber for several minutes before returning to him.

  He wanted to know more. He wanted to ease her pain. He wanted to keep her, but he knew the futility of promising her a future with him.

  “I should not pry,” he offered. “I am just curious about your arrangement with Sigurd.”

  “Curiosity can be a dangerous thing. Let it be, I beg you.”

  The more he learned about her—how she thought and her true nature—the more he knew to his marrow that she did not willingly whore and spy for Sigurd. There was something so important to her, she continued playing the whore for him.

  “Tell me, Isabel.” Plain words.

  She sighed, but did not speak. Walking toward him, she stopped and picked up the shift she’d dropped.

  “Do you call Lord Davin your true friend?” she asked as she pulled her shift over her head and stood next to the bed.

  He nodded.

  “The cost of having me will be no less than Davin’s life and that of his family.” She walked away, picking up blankets and covers tossed aside during their bedplay and laying them neatly on the bed. “I could not live with the thought that I caused another death.”

  Duncan heard truth within her words and decided he would pursue that admission later. He climbed out of the bed, heedless of his nakedness, and followed her. “Mayhap there is another way. Mayhap Sigurd needs something else from me?”

  She stopped moving around the chamber and faced him. Bleakness was all he could see in h
er eyes. “Aye, because of me and my words to Godrod, he will know the power you have within you and he will seek to use it to his best interests. Mistake not my warning, Duncan. His target is Lord Davin and Sigurd will use me to gain control of your power for his own aims.” She glanced away. “And I am not worth that man’s life.”

  He stared at her, for she’d given him more information in that short exchange than she realized. Sigurd would kill her if he knew she’d revealed his ultimate goal to Duncan, though it did not take much in the way of conjecture to know Sigurd aimed high and few were higher in the king’s regard than Davin. No lord on Skye was richer, in land and wealth and connections, than he.

  She took in a deep breath and looked as though she had more to say on the subject, but she stopped herself. Duncan would have asked her another question, but he was interrupted by a loud knocking at the door of the house. Ornolf called out, identifying himself.

  Duncan watched as she dressed quickly, pulling on her stockings and shoes, twisting and tying her unruly black locks in a thick braid and leaving the chamber to open the door. She was gone before he could follow and by the time he’d pulled on trousers and a shirt to greet Ornolf, she was halfway across the yard, never slowing or looking back at him.

  Duncan had deeply disturbed her and gotten her to share some of Sigurd’s secrets. She’d confirmed his and Davin’s suspicions and warned him enough to be able to prepare Davin for what Sigurd had planned.

  Ornolf waited for him in the other room. “I would not have disturbed you if not for a good reason, Duncan.” He walked over and sat at the table. “Isabel looked upset when she left.”

  Duncan glanced out the door and watched her. She strode across the yard and leaned against the fence. Haunted was a better description of the way she’d looked when she left. He did not want to leave her alone, but he hoped Ornolf’s words would give him a better idea of how to help her.

  They discussed for hours what Ornolf had found, stopping only when Gunna arrived to make their meal. Isabel remained outside, not venturing back to the house nor too far from where she perched outside. Duncan continued to observe her all the while hearing Ornolf’s explanations and suggestions. Though everyone walking through the yard called out a greeting to her, she barely acknowledged them.

  Sigurd was proving more dangerous than Duncan had ever imagined, more ruthless and more conniving, too. His stomach turned as he listened to the tale of Isabel’s mother and discovered Isabel did indeed have a sister. One who lived like a princess with their father while Isabel was kept in a meager cottage and forced to earn her living on her back. Black fury filled him and he wanted to hit something or someone as he learned far more than he’d bargained for. At the end of all the talking, Duncan remained convinced he could win Isabel’s freedom and protect Davin and his family. But could it be done in time?

  Ornolf was given his instructions and would leave at first light for Duntulm with Duncan following the next day after all the arrangements had been made.

  Isabel did not answer the call to their meal, remaining where she’d been since Ornolf’s arrival, waving off any attempt on Gunna’s part to attract her attention. After suffering from Gunna’s pointed looks and gestures and with a bowl of the still-warm stew in his hand as a peace offering, Duncan headed outside to talk to her.

  In many ways, it felt as though she was drowning all over again. Isabel stood where she’d been for the last couple of hours, unwilling and unable to return to him for fear he would ask those questions and make her want to think happiness was possible. For her. For him. Shaking her head and kicking the dirt at her feet, she could see no way out of the mess.

  Though he might claim to have already known she was sent by Sigurd to spy on him, Isabel had said too much about Sigurd to Duncan. If he used that information in dealing with Sigurd, her stepfather would know whence it came and she would pay with her life. And that meant Thora would be at his mercy. Isabel shivered even thinking about that possibility.

  Her legs were stiff from standing, but she did not want to go inside. Ornolf’s arrival did not bode well for her; she could read it in his eyes as he entered the house.

  Drowning. She was drowning.

  She’d thought much about it, and the visit to the lake, since Duncan had questioned her about it. Remembering that day brought back only memories of how it felt to sink below the water and tumble down, down, down into the black depths. Her chest hurt from trying not to breathe. It hurt even thinking about it. Then all the pain disappeared when the old woman appeared in front of her and spoke to her with calm words. The water turned from icy chill to warm and comforting, and sparkling lights illuminated the depths around her.

  That day, someone had saved her. Today, no one would.

  No one could now.

  Danger pressed on her from all sides and she doubted she would escape with her life. No phantom woman would appear and lead her to safety.

  So lost in her thoughts was she that until Duncan spoke her name, she did not know he stood beside her. Isabel gathered her strength and turned to him, a soft smile lying to him as she did.

  A bowl of Gunna’s stew gave off its appealing aroma and her stomach growled at the smell. They’d spent all night and most of the day in bed and had not even broken their fast before she ran out to escape him. He held the bowl out to her in one hand with a spoon in the other and a contrite expression on his face.

  “Gunna said you must eat this,” he lied.

  She loved him for the way he allowed her her pride in the small matter of accepting the food from him. She took it and spooned the first bite into her mouth to avoid crying.

  “Her food is the best I have ever tasted,” she praised. “With the simplest of ingredients, she creates a wonderful meal.”

  “I tried to get Davin to hire her as his cook, but he refused.”

  Another lie, but a sweet one—offered to ease her discomfort. They stood in silence as she ate every bit of the stew. Finally, she could hide from him no more.

  “Is your business with Ornolf completed?” she asked, keeping her gaze on the horses within the enclosure.

  “Aye.”

  “I should help Gunna clean up the meal. I was not much help with the laundry yesterday.” Isabel smiled, remembering she’d left half the wash in the basket. And left the basket in the yard, too. Since there was no sign of either, she assumed Gunna and one of the men must have finished the task when she and Duncan were otherwise occupied.

  She turned to go back to the house, but her legs cramped and she stumbled. He reached out to her and she took his hand, allowing him to help her through those first few wobbly steps. Even when her legs moved smoothly, she held on to him, savoring a gesture so simple and yet so priceless.

  Another bowl of stew, a huge chunk of bread, and a cup of ale sat waiting on the table for her and Isabel could not refuse. Gunna smiled as she ate the food, but Isabel did not miss several scowls aimed in Duncan’s direction. Soon, the dishes were done and everyone left Duncan and Isabel alone.

  During the week when he had not needed her, Isabel had begun sewing and repairing garments to keep herself busy. Wondering if she should even try she looked at Duncan. The intensity of his gaze warned her of his intentions, but not soon enough for her to escape him.

  “I would speak to you, Isabel,” he said softly, as though the volume of his voice could belie the seriousness of the topic he wished to discuss.

  They’d stepped into a quagmire earlier and she feared he would drag them back into it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sigurd was an evil bastard.

  Ornolf had discovered Sigurd was playing both ends against the middle, misleading Isabel and her half sister in order to keep them both in his control. The younger one had been groomed to be sold to the highest bidder for her virginity while the older one whored and spied to ease his way over his enemies.

  A neat arrangement kept in place by fear and love.

  The younger one had been convinc
ed Isabel had rebelled against him and taken to whoring as a way to shame and humiliate him for imagined wrongs. To Isabel he threatened to use Thora in the same way unless she did his bidding . . . and whoring. A promised good marriage for her sister was the prize held out to keep Isabel in line.

  And it had worked, letting the love they had for each other, and Isabel’s guilt over not being able to care for Thora herself after their mother’s death, apply just the right amount of pressure to keep both sisters obedient. Integral to his success, Sigurd managed to hold them apart enough so neither learned the whole truth of his plan to ruthlessly use them for his own ends.

  Duncan tried to explain it all to Isabel without destroying her, but still expose how she’d been used by the man who’d sworn to her dying mother to protect her.

  “I do not wish to speak of Sigurd, Duncan. You do not understand,” Isabel said, trying to stop him before he started.

  “Then make me understand why you do what you do for him,” he countered.

  “I beg you not to pursue this.” She twisted her hands and shook her head. “I am a whore, there is nothing else to it than that.”

  He reached out to lift her face so she would meet his gaze, but she startled as though expecting a blow. Still, she did not trust him. She held steady the second time as he guided her face up with a finger beneath her chin.

  “You are so much more than that, Isabel. You do not have to do this any longer, if you’d just let me help you.”

  She slapped away his hand and glared at him—unthinkable actions just weeks ago, he realized. She was coming to trust him; she just did not do so willingly or fully.

  “Why does it matter to you? Have you not received a full measure of service during my time here? Have you not fucked me in every way a man can fuck a woman? Have I not obeyed your every command and fulfilled your every need?”

  “It matters,” he said, remembering his threat, or promise rather, of the things he planned to do with her. And he had, they had. “You matter.”