A Storm of Passion

by TERRI BRISBIN

  He turned the corner and entered Diarmid’s great hall, in which every possible inch of space was filled with some or another person Diarmid sought to impress or influence. Looking over the crowd, he nodded to those who noticed him first. Then Diarmid saw him and called out his name, pointing everyone’s attention in his direction.

  Uncomfortable now with the adulation he’d come to expect after his visions proved true, Connor understood what bothered and worried him the most now: if his gift disappeared tomorrow, of what value would his life be to Diarmid and those around him? He’d conveniently never considered such a thing, but these last several months, with their disturbing changes, forced him to face it. Making his way to the front, he climbed the few steps up to Diarmid’s table, where only the most privileged sat.

  “Connor,” Diarmid called. “Come and sit here in the center of my table so that all may speak with you.”

  He forced a smile and sat where Diarmid directed, feeling part of a farce. He didn’t remember feeling that way until just months ago. Before, he’d enjoyed it for the pleasure and privilege it brought him.

  Now, he saw the hollowness and falsity in it: each man there vied for the morsels Diarmid would throw his way, firmly caught in his web of power. He’d barely sat down when the man next to him grabbed his arm.

  “My lord Connor,” he began. “’Twas just as you described to me, to us.” He nodded at Diarmid. “Lord Diarmid’s men accompanied me back to my lands and routed out my enemies.” He lifted his cup in salute. “I pledge my fealty to you, Lord Diarmid!”

  Connor accepted the acknowledgment, but he did not know the man’s name. “I do not remember meeting you, sir,” he explained. “What is your name?”

  “I am Anakol of the North Island.” Looking from him to Diarmid, Anakol frowned. “You do not remember?”

  “I have very little memory of the days of the visions,” he said. “And less of the people involved.” Turning to his other side, he decided it was time. “Is that not right, Lord Diarmid?”

  “Aye, it has ever been so with his visions,” Diarmid agreed swallowing a mouthful of ale and nodding. “Since they began.”

  Luckily, Anakol was inquisitive and followed with a question of his own. “How long has the Seer been under your protection, my lord?”

  “His visions began almost seven years ago,” Diarmid said, slapping him on the shoulder. “And they grow stronger each time.”

  “And when did I come to your attention for the first time, my lord? You have never shared with me how you came to know of my visions?” Connor asked, drinking his own ale then and smiling.

  Diarmid was well ahead of him in drinking the potent ale he liked so much and began telling the tale Connor had heard before. This time, he gave heed to the small details he’d ignored all those other times.

  “An orphan, you be, Connor,” he said, nodding somberly at him. “A foundling over in Argyll. The couple that found you on their doorstep raised you as their own and came to Mull to live with the wife’s family.” Diarmid drank again. “Good farmers, they were.”

  They had died just after Connor came to live here with Lord Diarmid. Strange that he had never thought of that before.

  “They said that when you had seven years, you began to tell them things that would happen and you were right!”

  “When I was seven?” he asked. “I do not remember that at all.”

  “Nay, you were but a wee child then. It happened again when you were ten and four. Surely you remember that?” he asked.

  Connor laughed then. “That I do remember,” he looked at Anakol. “I announced that our neighbor’s daughter would give birth to a boy.”

  Anakol shrugged.

  “No one kenned about her carrying yet, until I told them,” Connor explained.

  Diarmid laughed, too. “I’d heard stories of such a gift as this, and when his parents made his ability known to me, I decided to bring him here and have him tutored in writing and reading and in numbers. When he reached twenty and one,” Diarmid placed his hand on Connor’s shoulder in a gesture that anyone watching would take as fatherly, “his gift made itself known to him and us.”

  Why had he never realized it before? The first vision at seven, the next at ten and four, and then the full power of sight at twenty and one.

  Seven and three are numbers sacred to the Sith, Moira had revealed.

  Diarmid shook his head as though he’d just figured it out as well. “This is your seventh year of visions, Connor. Soon they will reach their full strength. Imagine your abilities when that happens!”

  It had been accidental in timing, but he met Steinar’s gaze across the table as Diarmid uttered those words and beheld a hatred so strong it shocked him. As fast as he’d seen it, Steinar pulled it back within himself and presented an amiable smile to him.

  Anakol, still impressed at being the one who received the benefits of the Seer’s power, added his own good wishes. “To seven more years of visions such as these!” he said loudly.

  He would unchain Moira and give her his own dagger if he had to face seven more years of this hell. He could not say so, though; instead he nodded and drank the rest of his ale. Soon, the food was served: great roasts of beef and mutton, along with loaves of bread made of the finest milled flour, wheels of cheese, sauces to cover the meats, and more dishes than he’d seen on Diarmid’s table.

  “From my bounty,” Anakol explained, “to Lord Diarmid’s table, in thanks for his help and his protection.”

  Connor ate some of everything offered in the feast. Anakol leaned over as he reached for a cup of wine and spoke in a low voice to him.

  “Diarmid told me of your request, and I willingly obey,” he said, bowing his head.

  “My request? Remind me of it, Anakol.”

  “He spoke of the need to appease your appetite of the other kind. Two of my daughters will be sent in less than a sennight to ease your pain.”

  “I cannot offer marriage, Anakol, and would not insult you or your honor with less,” he tried to refuse graciously, the shock of this undermining his control.

  Anakol nodded once more, unaffected by such a claim. “It will be their honor to serve you, Lord Connor, for as long as you have need of them. It is a fair exchange for the lives of their family.”

  In about a sennight, he would rage like a ravening beast, fucking any woman Diarmid sent knocking on his door. He knew it, Diarmid knew, and apparently Anakol knew it as well. His attempts to resist that call in his blood increased his pain and agitation until he wanted to throw himself off the battlements to escape it. Or drink herb-laden wine that could calm it for a few hours.

  If Anakol had not spoken so frankly, Connor would never have known that this was how Diarmid kept his supply fresh. An arrangement made without his knowledge, but in his name. One that provided the endless, nameless bodies he needed.

  Another sin laid on his soul. Innocents of another kind whose blood he would shed. And fool that he was, he’d managed to never see the truth or look too closely in his time of need or wonder what became of them when his interest waned.

  It took hours to complete the feast; course followed course, wine and ale flowed, and no one in Diarmid’s keep left without a belly full of good food and strong spirits, all at Anakol’s expense. Except Connor, for his appetite had fled upon hearing of Anakol’s daughters.

  Finally, sometime after night had fallen, the hall began to clear, and Diarmid dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Content to be away from it, Connor walked out, delayed only by a word shared here or there on his way. The guard nodded as he entered his chambers.

  He listened to the silence as he stepped into the room. Agnes sat sleeping in a chair near the corner, but Breac was gone. He’d seen one and then the other in the hall tonight, taking their meals and returning here, as he’d ordered, to keep watch over Moira until his return. He shook Agnes’s shoulder gently to wake her and sent her back to the chambers she and Breac, the only servants here who were loya
l to him, shared. Connor closed the door and dropped the latch.

  The light of the low fire in the hearth threw shadows on the walls, and he walked over and crouched down in front of her. She’d not moved much since he’d been here last, except that she slouched down against the wall and had drawn her knees up and rested her head on them. Spying pieces of wood near the door, Connor knew that Breac had removed the splints from her leg.

  In the darkened corner, he could not tell how badly she’d damaged her neck, but she wore a clean gown and tunic. He moved quickly and as quietly as possible over to his bed, pulling off his own tunic and trews and placing the gold chains and pin back in the wooden strongbox where he kept them. He lay under the bedclothes, enjoying the ease of one of the very few nights when the need to satisfy his lust did not rule his body and soul. Come the dark of the moon, the growing power would stir the lust in his blood and make a calm night’s sleep impossible for him.

  But, this night was made for sleep.

  An hour or so later, he was still awake.

  Moira’s words about the stories of his past and Diarmid’s version of his life, as well as his own memories, swirled around in his thoughts until he thought he would go mad. He sat up, with the intention of finding some wine to soothe his way to sleep, when he heard her for the first time.

  Sounds she would never make awake—whimpering, crying, and muttered words begging for…something—echoed through his chambers, tearing at his heart and twisting his gut until he stood before her. He tilted his head, trying to hear her words, but then she began to weep, the sobs welling up from deep within her and shaking her body as they escaped.

  Even though he knew her intent was his death, even though he could feel the place where her dagger had plunged into his chest, and even though he understood that she sought vengeance from him, Connor found he was unable to ignore the pain he heard and saw in her. Though not intentional on his part, her downfall was his fault; his words had caused the destruction of the life she should be living. Uncertain about what it all meant, he only knew he needed to offer her some comfort for the pain she suffered now.

  He went to the headboard of the bed and took the leather cord from it. The key slipped in quietly, and the collar fell open. He lifted it from around her neck and let it drop onto the floor next to her. She did not rouse until he slid his arms beneath her legs and around her back and picked her up off the floor.

  “Seer?” she asked in a voice hoarse from screaming. “What are you doing?” He leaned over and placed her in his bed; then he climbed in with her and arranged the warm blankets and furs over them.

  “I am going to sleep,” he answered, gathering her into his arms and turning her onto her side. Leaning his head on hers to keep her still, he waited for her to settle. The last thing he expected was for her to speak.

  “The night you found me at your door,” she said softly without moving. “What did you do to me?”

  He tried to think of a way to explain it to her, but she spoke again. “’Tis said you cast a spell, a love spell, on any woman you want to draw to you, Seer.”

  “It is something that happens before the visions, Moira. The power grows within me and causes my blood to surge with lust. It also casts a wide net and attracts any willing woman to my bed.”

  She turned in his arms then, facing him. Pain yet filled her gaze, and her face showed the tracks of many, many shed tears. “And the women, they do not object to this? Does your power make them forget themselves?”

  He frowned then, and she lifted her hand to his brow and touched it. ’Twas the first time she had willingly touched him without intending to kill him.

  “Did you forget yourself? You were here with me, you felt the power, you smelled the scent my body uses to call women.” He leaned up on one elbow and searched her face for the truth. “Ah, but you seem to be the one woman who can resist it. It did not overpower you that night or the other time it happened.”

  She met his gaze then, and he knew she was remembering the night he brought on his own release while she watched. Then, she closed her eyes, and he wondered if her strange questions were at an end. But they were not.

  “Make me forget myself, Seer. Spin your magic spell and make me forget,” she whispered.

  “Moira, you need to sleep,” he said, trying to turn her back away from him.

  “I need you to make me forget the things I learned today. I beg you, make me forget.”

  The desperation and the pain in her voice drove him to the insanity of trying to stir the desire that the visions forced into his blood. And, if he thought on it, he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her body and forget his own sins for a brief time. “We will both face more sins on the morrow, Moira.”

  “For now, Seer. Just for now. Take my thoughts and memories from me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  He knew he could bring it forth; he’d done it before when he was foolish and full of himself and had no idea of the torment it would later bring him. Closing his eyes, he began to breathe deeply and think about the feel of her skin, the taste of her essence, the smell of her arousal, the sounds of the moans and gasps she would make as he took her and the sight of her face as she found that moment of physical ecstasy. Soon, the earthy smell began to pour from him, surrounding them both with the scent of pleasure.

  “Ah,” she whispered, taking in a deep breath and then another. “’Tis your scent that does it.”

  He watched as she inhaled his scent and felt the heat in his body rise. More scent escaped, and this time she did not resist its call. As she moved in his embrace, his body responded to her nearness and growing arousal. He’d searched for her for months, even trying to find what they’d had with other women, but now she was here and willing and had placed herself in his hands.

  Slipping his hand between the edges of her gown and tunic, he gathered them up and slid them higher and higher, past her thighs and hips, until he could touch her there, in the place where she would give off her own scent and he would answer its call. Her body responded to him, but would she go through with this? He pressed one finger in between her legs to test her readiness and found her dripping in wet heat.

  “Moira, open your eyes,” he whispered. Her legs relaxed instead, and he smiled, touching her now with two fingers. She arched against his hand. “Your eyes, Moira. Open your eyes.”

  Leaning back so that the light of the fire lit her face, Connor could see only a frosty white where the gold-flecked green should be. With another breath and more scent flowing, her eyes turned completely white, and he knew that Moira was lost and the woman in his arms was his now without question or hesitation…or choice.

  He tossed back the covers so that he could undress her, and she moved restlessly against him as he did it. His cock stood hard and large, his desire for her spiraling out of control in a way he’d not experienced before. His body knew the pleasure that would be between them this night, and he felt everything in him tighten in anticipation as he finally laid next to her and brought her naked body to touch his.

  Having a care for her injured leg, he lifted it up onto his hip to steady it and to open her to his touch. She lay quietly there, letting him caress and stroke her legs and the place between them as he wanted to.

  One finger then two, in and out, softer and rougher, slower then faster until her body spread open more. He turned his hand and used the back of it against the swelling folds, heating them with his caresses and waiting for her to open more to him. When she spread herself wider, he slipped in three fingers to fill her and tease her until she swelled and began to rub herself against him. Then he whispered to her.

  “Touch me, Moira.” He guided her hand up to wrap around his shaft. “Touch me.”

  As she encircled it with her fingers, he leaned over and kissed her mouth, tasting her lips and then sliding his tongue inside to plunge as he would soon do with his cock between her legs. He moved down, all the while enjoying the feel of her hands working him, imitatin
g his hands as she moved hers harder and then softer, slower and then faster. When he reached her breasts, he licked one nipple and then the other, teasing them with his teeth and grazing them with the edges until they became taut and hardened for him to suckle. She gasped at each pull and tug on them, arching against his hand each time and tightening her grasp on him.

  He wanted to be inside her now—he needed to fill her and take her and feel that moment of home that he’d ached for since their last time together—but he wanted to give her what she needed first. He rolled her onto her back and climbed between her legs. She whimpered as she lost hold on his cock, but he soothed her with his mouth, kissing her breasts and down her belly. Sliding down until he lay flat between her legs, he kissed the inside of her thighs and on the crest of her hips and across her belly, smiling now as she writhed beneath his mouth.

  Spreading her legs, he slid his hands beneath her and lifted her to his mouth. She gasped and tossed her head from side to side as he tongued the folds there, sliding in deeper and then higher to find the bud that would make her scream in pleasure. He licked around it, teasing it from its folds until he could suckle on it as he had the tips of her breasts. With his hands beneath her, he used his thumbs to open her and hold the womanly layers apart for his further exploration. Rubbing some of the wetness from within her down into the crevasse between the globes of her bottom, he stroked against the puckered opening, using her wetness to ease his way inside.

  Her body arched again, but with his thumb inside her he pressed down and stroked, using his fingers to make her cleft weep. Sliding deeper inside both places, he watched as her body responded—her legs tightened, her breasts swelled, her face and skin grew flushed, and her core throbbed against his hand even as the muscles of her ass tightened around his thumb. She lifted her head and looked at him with those vacant eyes, her body no longer her own but under his control.

  “Seer,” she whispered once more before letting her head fall back.