A Storm of Passion

by TERRI BRISBIN

  He paused and lifted her legs over his shoulders and tongued her again, sliding over the folds, over the engorged bud, nipping at it and licking it until he took it in his mouth and sucked on it hard. Her body bucked then, but he did not stop. Stroking in and out of her ass, he used his mouth and teeth and even his chin to press against her and bring her, force her, to the edge of release. Her taste drove him mad, and he continued touching, stroking, pulling, tugging, licking, and biting on her sensitive folds until she arched and arched and then spasmed against his mouth, falling over the edge where he’d held her into that mindless release she’d begged for.

  She moaned as the pleasure took her, and he waited, with his thumb still pressing and stroking and his mouth tasting the essence of her satisfaction, until the strongest waves passed and her body shuddered with the next and the next and the next. As the tension in her body eased, he slipped out of her, lifting his head and moving back until he could kneel between her legs. The musky scent of her arousal and the glistening place between her legs spoke of her body’s readiness, and he waited for hers to be the only smell between them.

  Moira looked down and watched as he climbed over her. Though she ached and craved more of his touch and the oblivion he’d given her, she could feel her head clearing and noticed the tiny ripples of pleasure pulsing through her body, from her breasts to her core. He let his hand graze over the hair between her legs, tickling and enticing her with one touch.

  He leaned down then and kissed her mouth, the musky taste of her own release on his face. She licked his mouth and lips and chin, watching him shiver as she opened her mouth widely and sucked his tongue. His prick lay hard between them, resting in the wet folds and rubbing there as he moved.

  Moira felt every touch now as he caressed her again, teasing the tips of her breasts and making her arch against him by twisting her nipples between finger and thumb. Gasping at the pleasure, she knew oblivion was gone, and she had to face giving herself to him without the benefit of the nothingness his scent brought the first time.

  “I want you to remember,” he said, rubbing his face against her breasts, chafing the sensitive skin there and making her throb inside. “Forget everything else, Moira, but remember this.”

  She wanted to say no. She wanted to resist or try to lose herself and her guilt once more, but he would not give that to her this time. He reached down and spread her open, placing the thick head of his prick at the opening to her core.

  After watching him abstain from the other woman and knowing how his blood burned as he gave off his scent, she waited for him to plunge into her womb and take his long-withheld pleasure on her. Instead, he eased inside her, inch by excruciating inch, drawing back, and then a bit more and a bit more, until she grabbed him with the inner muscles of her woman’s channel and, placing her hands on his hips, drew him into her.

  Fully. Completely. Until there was no space between them and she could not ignore or forget what he did to her. She held her breath as he pulled himself back out and began his torturously slow pace again. She was ready to beg for him to take her. Deep. Hard. Fast.

  “I do not wish to hurt you, Moira. Let me go slowly,” he said against gritting teeth.

  She wanted to erase all who had gone before him even while he tried not to hurt her. “You will not hurt me, Seer. You have eased the way; now enter.”

  He did then, just as she’d asked. He thrust in until he touched her womb and then slid back, not leaving completely but not inside enough. Then he thrust deeper and did not pull out as far. Again, he filled her completely with his length and girth and began to move relentlessly against her. She felt the tension grow throughout her once more and let her body enjoy the friction and the resulting wetness that eased it.

  She felt the tremors within just as she felt his prick grow harder and his sac tighten as it slid against her folds. Opening her legs and tilting her hips, she took him, all of him, and tightened her muscles to hold him firmly. He resisted, sliding out against her grip, only to drive deeper the next time. He was close now, and she watched his face as he released within her.

  The warm spray of his seed began and filled her as he pumped in and out. Her body held onto his prick, drawing out every bit of release until he lay spent on her. She waited for him to remove himself from her. Instead, he remained there, deep inside her body, gathering her under him so that he still covered her.

  Something was unusual this time. There had been a moment the first time they joined, even the other times that same day and night, when a spark ignited and a flash of something unknown existed between them. This time she felt as though she’d been watching it happen without it truly touching her soul. Had he noticed the difference?

  Warm from his body covering her and exhausted from the terrible day of disclosures and weaknesses laid bare, she felt herself drifting off to sleep as they were. But he had to know the truth first.

  “It meant nothing, Seer,” she whispered, already halfway to sleep. “Simply scratching an itch.” He raised his head then, staring hard into her eyes as he shook his head in reply.

  “Nay, Moira,” he said, dragging out her name in a way that made her feel his mouth on that place between her legs once more. She tightened her legs together as he whispered to her. “Nothing between us can ever be simple.”

  The Seer rolled her onto her side then, slipping out of her and making her feel empty in a way she did not want to feel. Curling up behind her, he surrounded her with his body, and soon she felt him relax into sleep’s grasp.

  Tired beyond measure, she let it come and take her, praying the oblivion she needed would be found there. And when it wasn’t and her sleep was torn apart by the faces of the dead and the voices of the betrayed, he held her tighter and whispered her name over and over, like the chant of a wisewoman calling forth the spirits to guide her.

  Or like the Seer, weaving his webs and casting his spells.

  The sounds of the keep coming to life began just as the first sign of dawn’s light crept into his chambers the next morning. He knew, because he had not slept at all through the night. Thoughts plagued him, and confusion haunted his attempts to rest. And worse than those, the sounds of the dreams that captured Moira during the dark of the night made it impossible to sleep.

  If he had to lay a bet about her, Connor would gamble his gold pin that yesterday was the first time since her family died that Moira allowed emotions to cloud her path or rule her decisions. So strong was her control over them that he could almost feel the barrier she’d built to keep them tightly enclosed while she sought out only one thing: his death.

  Looking over at her as she slept peacefully for the moment, he thought on what he knew about her. If she was, as he suspected, nigh to ten and eight years old, it would mean that she had watched her family massacred before her eyes when she was about ten and two.

  Six years of pursuing him. Six years of living alone. Six years of using her body to pay her way to this keep and to gain her chance to kill him.

  She was the worst of his sins he had to face.

  The others before her were nameless, faceless victims of his visions, ones like the latest ones on Anakol’s isle whom he would never recall and never remember because of the way the visions occurred.

  Moira’s destruction was on his soul—if not because of her need to avenge the lives of her loved ones, then for the sin of forcing her return here to Diarmid’s keep. A return because he needed answers. A return that exposed her to worse danger than she’d already faced here. A return that forced her to see the emptiness and futility of her life’s purpose now that it was known there. Worse, now he needed the release and the relief her body could give him as the days until the next vision became fewer.

  He felt more guilt over bringing her here and exposing her to danger than he did about his need for her. He pushed it away for now, for he had less choice in this situation than she. He never asked for this power to be bestowed on him. He may have enjoyed the results, but ’twas ne
ver his choice.

  When he was a child, the life ahead of him had been clear: he would follow in his father’s path and learn to work the farm they owned, never dreaming that Fergus was not his father and a different life awaited him on Mull.

  Moira shifted, drawing his attention for a moment, but she showed no sign of waking yet. He put his hands behind his head and watched her sleep.

  The changes in her from the first time she shared his bed were striking. Her hair was the most obvious, for Diarmid’s men had cut it off after they caught her. Dara told him she tried to repair the different lengths left by trimming it all short. Her skin bore marks of her punishment, for a scar ran the length of the side of her face, near her hair, and her nose showed signs of being broken and placed back in its position.

  The worst of it he’d felt and not seen, for the darkness covered the scars on her back and shoulders and legs from the beatings she’d received, but his hands could feel them as he touched her. He’d gotten a glimpse of them when she climbed naked from his bed the first day here, but not enough to tell the extent of them. Her leg was broken when she had been kicked by her captors after she would not answer their questions, as Ranald had reported to him. If he’d lain unconscious for one more day and had not intervened when he had, she would have been dead.

  As he would have been if something had not stopped her from continuing her attack.

  Another part of the puzzle he would have to find and sort. The other thing plaguing him this morn was that something was not the same between them during this bout of bed play and the last. Was it because she came to him under his influence and not her own as she had the first time? Was it because she seemed unaffected when he took his pleasure and entered her overwrought body? For whatever reason, the release he received was pleasant, but not the satisfying one from before. Would he never be able to enjoy a woman’s favors without using his power to bring her to him?

  She mumbled something in her sleep. A name? A place? He leaned over to listen when she said it again.

  Quinag? Was that a place or someone’s name? He had access to Diarmid’s maps, so he could find out.

  Seumas Mac Neacail. Her father or brother? A Scot’s name to be sure. Not a Norse one like so many in the isles, but he knew not if it was from the mainland or another of the isles to the south.

  Moira rolled to her side and curled next to him, not touching him but so close that she could. Connor noticed her thinness, now so apparent that the bones of her hips and ribs were prominent where womanly softness had once been. She’d lost much flesh after she’d been beaten.

  He closed his eyes and realized that he could not allow her to be harmed again. He wanted her alive and well. He wanted her in his bed. He wanted her to forgive him for his part in her family’s deaths. He wanted to take the pain from her eyes and the sorrow from her soul.

  Most of all, he wanted to give her her life back.

  All of it was impossible or nigh to it, but before his end, he wanted to make certain that she would live. If it made reparations for a few of his sins, then it would give him some peace as he faced the uncertainty of his own survival.

  When next he looked at her, she stared back at him. Not certain which Moira would greet him, he waited and watched as she became aware of her place in his bed.

  Her throat burned and her neck stung from the collar tearing into her skin, but otherwise she felt uninjured. Physically at least, for she doubted if she could ever remove the stain from her soul now. Moira slid her arms under the clean linen sheets and enjoyed the warmth for a moment more before pushing back the blankets and furs and climbing out.

  Her leg, now unsupported by the wooden slats, felt weak and ached, but she tested it under her weight and walked to the other side of his bed to find her clothing. The Seer said nothing; he simply watched her from his place in the bed, as she picked up the gown and tunic tossed on the floor next to him. Her skin tingled from the coolness in the chambers, for even in these summer months, the winds off the seas kept the stone keep cool. And this room was even colder, as there was no way for the sun to warm it.

  “Wait,” he said quietly, as she shook out the shift Agnes had given her to wear next to her skin. “I have asked for a bath.”

  The shift would be too wet to wear if she tended his bath in it, but she did not want him staring at the scars on her back. Putting it over her head, she tugged it on, hiding in some small way the damage wrought to her body when she failed to kill him.

  “The water will arrive shortly. Why are you dressing?” he asked.

  “I can wash you in my shift,” she replied. “Or do whatever else you wish while you have your bath.” She only just realized that he probably would want her to pleasure him while in his bath. Though after the disappointing joining she’d given him in his bed last night, she thought he would have called for that other girl to serve his needs.

  “The bath is for you, Moira,” he said. Sitting up, he sorted through the pile of clothing on the floor for his trews. “Agnes did her best to clean up things yesterday, but I thought you might like one this morn.”

  His eyes, now back to their full deep green color, were somber, and she did not see lust in his expression. This was such a different man than the one she’d watched for months here. ’Twould seem that the days between vision and the new moon allowed him some measure of peace and normalcy. His outbursts between new and full moon were legendary here, as was his appetite for women during that time—just as he’d explained last night, from what she remembered he’d told her about it.

  “For me, Seer? Why?” she asked, damning herself for asking as soon as the word escaped her mouth. “Your care of prisoners who continue to try to take your life is not what I expected.”

  “I have decided to keep you.”

  “Keep me alive? But for how long?” she asked again.

  “I said I am keeping you,” he repeated, climbing off the bed and walking toward her.

  Naked in the light of day, his size and shape were formidable. His body began with broad, strong shoulders, ones more expected on a warrior, not a courtier as he was. His chest was hard and muscular, and those muscles continued down onto his belly and thighs. A light sprinkling of pale hair covered that chest and belly and narrowed and darkened as it reached below his waist. His prick and sac, hung low and relaxed between his legs for the first time since she’d encountered him, gave a thorough hint of his size when erect.

  As men went, his body was better than most she’d seen. She looked away and glanced back once more. Truth be told, his body surpassed any she’d seen so far. The determination in his eyes scared her, and she backed up a pace or two, trying to keep some distance between them. She’d not pleasured him last night as surely he expected of her, and men, especially those not satisfied, could turn nasty in an instant. He reached out for her, and she put up her hand to stop him.

  “But why? I am prepared to…” she began, but could not say the words.

  Until yesterday she was prepared to die for her failed attempt on his life. Through the beatings and the rest, she prayed for death. She returned here knowing it would mean, either immediately or at some near time, her death. And discovering that Gillis died because of her certainly made her deserving of it. But when Breac held her over the wall and she faced death, not knowing at what moment the Seer or Diarmid would order her thrown to the ground, Moira had discovered that she wanted to live.

  “Die?” he asked, as though reading her thoughts. “I think you were, but things have changed. You have changed.”

  He lifted his hand and stroked the side of her face, and she tried to remain motionless beneath his touch. Such kindness was foreign to her. No one had shown her kindness without wanting something in return, and she knew he was no better or different from those in the past.

  “Not as much as you might think, Seer,” she said, stepping away from his touch. “I still want your death.”

  “Bold words from someone in your situation,” he said, fol
lowing her step away with one of his own, closer. He used the back of his hand this time, and she fought the urge to close her eyes and enjoy it. “I think part of you still wants someone to pay for the deaths of your family, but I suspect the other part of you is beginning to wonder about my role in it.”

  “Your words condemned them, Seer. That much I will never, can never forget!” She pushed his hand away and put the bed between them. “I will try again,” she promised, though the words did not strengthen her commitment the way she’d hoped.

  The knock on the door interrupted any reply he would make, and he ordered her to stay with a motion of his hand. He walked to open it, and she heard the sounds of his bath arriving. While standing out of sight next to his bed, she spied his eating knife on the floor next to the bed. It must have fallen from his belt as he undressed the night before. Not as sharp or as long as she wished, still it could…kill a man if used well.

  Grabbing it up, she waited for the noise to cover her actions and then tossed it onto the pallet in the corner, praying it would land in a spot out of sight so that she could hide it later. Praise the Almighty, it did! Then she stayed as he’d ordered until the bath was delivered. Just as the last buckets were brought in, she looked over to see two men peeking around the screen at her.

  “I thought Erlend said he kept her naked and chained to his wall,” the taller one whispered.

  “Look there, there are the chains!” the shorter one said. Then they both caught sight of her and looked to each other.

  “You have duties to see to,” the Seer called from nearer to the door, and the men turned away and quickly left the room. The door was closed, and she heard him drop the latch. “Come now, Moira,” he said quietly.

  She peeked around the screen to find him standing next to the largest wooden tub she’d ever seen. It stood filled halfway to the rim with steaming water, and several other buckets sat off to the side. A sheet was draped across and covered the bottom.

  “Naked and chained,” she said, repeating the men’s words.