A Storm of Passion

by TERRI BRISBIN

  What would it be like to live the life of a normal man?

  Chapter Seventeen

  September’s full moon arrived on a day that was as tumultuous outside as he felt within. Storms rose on the seas and battered the keep and village. The atmosphere among the people was tense, for all knew that their lord succeeded or failed by the Seer’s visions. Now it was Diarmid who raged, in spite of the visitors present or his Seer’s assurances that all would proceed as usual and another powerful ally would be at his side by morning.

  Connor had decided that he would have Moira held some other place during the vision, but Diarmid made it clear she was to watch from her place, chained to the wall. He’d also said he wanted her chained naked there, but Connor convinced him that he would not permit it. Wisely, Diarmid did not make it an issue, but he was testing Connor every step of the way. To ensure she was not trapped when the blindness and pain took over after the vision, he’d hidden a key in her pallet so she could remove the hated collar and chain if he could not.

  Then it was the afternoon of the vision, and Diarmid took his place of honor within the room and brought forth those seeking the Seer’s help. Connor spotted the man he’d planned to help, if he could control the gift, as he entered the chamber.

  This time he did not wait for the power to flow; he looked deep inside and called it forth. When he knew the strength of it, he sat in his chair and glanced around the room. The worry was clear on Moira’s face as he nodded to the chosen man to come forward, instead of waiting for others to approach.

  He reached out for the man’s hand and willed the vision.

  Connor felt Diarmid’s surprise as he did not lose consciousness this time, but experienced the change from man to Seer awake. His voice was no longer his own, the words tumbling out on their own, and the sight in his eyes left him then as his vision began to rise and move away from the keep in response to the man’s request.

  The power surged through his body, and he felt as though he were driving a team of unbroken horses, turning and twisting, pulling tighter to direct it and riding it out when it moved in the direction and speed that he wanted. He laughed out loud as he gathered the power and made it work to his will instead of being dragged as it went.

  Cadwallen was from Wales, the site of Norman and Viking incursions along with the usual strife between the Welsh princes, and he sought more advice on seeking his place among the factions than he did about destroying this one or that one. Connor saw the faces of those worthy and unworthy to be called friend or lord and spoke quietly to the man about the choices that faced him. This vision was as clear and precise and powerful as the last one, but it lasted longer and he could see and hear the people as he brought them to mind.

  Soon, all of Cadwallen’s questions were answered, and he released the man’s hand. Stepping back, Cadwallen bowed to him and then went to Diarmid to offer his thanks and first pledge of loyalty.

  And Connor waited.

  Staring across the room at where Moira should be, he could see nothing but the shadows getting stronger and stronger. His voice had become his own again, but he yet waited for the punishment to begin. Ranald clapped his hands, ushering everyone out of the room until he was alone there with Moira. The power waned, and his blood cooled from its heat. The chambers grew darker and darker, and Connor knew he could not stop it.

  His heart slowed then; he counted the beats as it did so. Then, when he was unable to fight it any longer, his heart stopped beating, and the darkness claimed him.

  As quickly as it happened, it was over, and his heart beat anew. Now only the pain and blindness were left for him to experience, and so he waited.

  “Seer?” she whispered from across the chamber. “Seer?”

  He sat motionless in his chair, and she could see his eyes begin to change—from the milky glowing of his vision to the complete black of his blindness—until she knew he could see no more. She worried her lower lip with her teeth, and she braced herself to watch him go through the terrible changes and pain as he changed back from Seer to…Connor.

  It was so much harder, this, for her heart had softened toward him since the last vision, and, may the Fates help her, she cared about him and the torment he would suffer now. But nothing happened.

  “Connor?” she called softly. “Can you hear me?”

  He opened his eyes then, and the fires burned within them, yet he did not buckle from pain. He tilted his head and turned in her direction.

  “Moira?” he said. “Tell me what you saw.”

  He stood and walked carefully across the chamber toward her, but she noticed that he waited to hear her voice before going farther—to follow it. She thought on what she’d witnessed and realized the differences from the other times immediately.

  “You only spoke to one man,” she said. “You recognized him without touching his hand. This vision was longer,” she added.

  “Clearer, more powerful,” he added. “There is a key in the back corner of your pallet. Use it to remove the collar and chain.”

  She knelt down and searched under the covering of the rush-filled pallet for the key. Finding it, she unlocked the collar and let it hang against the wall. He’d not told her of his plan to do that. Moira walked over to him and waved her hand in front of his eyes. He did not respond; his eyes remained burning orbs that could not see.

  “There is no pain? How is that possible?” she asked. He startled then, not realizing she was as close as she was.

  She reached out and touched his cheek then. The skin was his; the glow was gone. Though she felt bold, she dared not go near his eyes, for even looking at them for too long hurt.

  “No pain. I can feel my eyes blazing, but it is a cold feeling and not the fiery pain I have had all these months.” He laughed then and reached for her, hugging her to his body and spinning around…in relief, no doubt. He stumbled then, and she led him over to the bed.

  “Did your heart…?” She could not get the words out, but he nodded.

  “For a moment or two longer. I felt the last beat, and blackness covered me.” He lifted her hand and placed it on his chest. “But it beats once more.”

  “How did this happen?” she asked again. “No pain. No burning.” His face paled just then. “Do you feel like you will collapse or faint?”

  He fell back on the bed, and she guided him onto it. Had the effects just been postponed and not prevented somehow?

  “I need to rest,” he said. He reached for the piece of fabric that he covered his eyes with, and Moira helped him tie it in place. He laid quietly, and she thought on the other differences in today’s vision.

  “You controlled it.”

  “Aye,” he answered softly. “We will speak on this later when I can see you and know we can talk without being heard.” He moved over and pulled her next to him. “Lie with me, Moira. Keep me safe until I can see you again.”

  He fell asleep almost immediately. The vision, and controlling it, had sapped his strength, and his body needed rest to regain it. But what had prevented the pain?

  Through the hours while he slept, she watched over him. When Breac or Agnes brought food, she fed him. When he tossed and turned, caught in some disturbing dream or another, she gathered him close and held him. And when he spoke in his sleep about his regrets about the past, about the pain he’d caused, about not caring enough soon enough to make a difference, she knew one more truth.

  Forgiveness had found a place in her heart, and she wanted to give it to him.

  Three days passed before he rose from the bed and stayed out of it, but the blindness was as profound as before. It was not until its tenth day that Connor knew he had not staved off all the effects of the visions, and though he may have controlled them, he had not stopped his spiral downward toward the end.

  Moira remained at his side, and he noticed more changes in her as the time passed and she cared for him, even dismissing Breac and Agnes from their duties. She helped him bathe, kept him company, and held him in th
e darkness when each passing day did nothing to lessen it.

  They spoke of the differences between the last months and this one, but the only thing he could pick out that was not the same was her place in his bed. At first, he gave it no heed, but then he thought on it more and realized that, indeed, without the lust raging in his blood, he’d been able to prepare and take control. Though she thought the idea that their swiving had mitigated the effects of the visions on him was daftness brought on by the blindness, he began to think it was part of it.

  He’d known there was something different, something important about her and about being with her. What if she was the reason he had no pain? What if she was integral to finding out more? What if the damned Fae planned this too? That the woman who wanted him dead because of his gift could be the one who could help him escape it?

  When his sight did not return and the new moon approached, Connor worried. There would be so little time to prepare for the visions on Samhain. So little time to make the arrangements he needed to, and so little time to convince Moira that his next vision would be hers.

  Ranald kept his secret this time, but only because Diarmid had been called away to counsel with Earl Magnus of Orkney. Steinar had not the time nor interest in the Seer when his brother was absent, preferring to see to his own pleasures and concerns. So, it gave them the time and privacy to enjoy the newly found tenderness Connor discovered she had for him.

  “Moira? Are you done with your mending yet?” he asked.

  It was the twelfth day after the vision, only two until the new moon, and though he was beginning to see shadows moving amidst the darkness, he could not see yet. She’d said the fiery appearance was changing, but no hint of his eyes, nor his sight, were present yet.

  “Are you bored?” she asked. “I could use you to measure the new trews Agnes asked me to make. Though Breac is much larger than you, I could…guess at his size,” she replied, her voice getting louder as she approached.

  “I do not want you estimating Breac’s size,” he muttered. He held out her hand and brought it to his cock. “Here, feel there, and you will not have to guess.”

  His cock hardened under her hand, and he smiled as she began to move it along his length, outlining it with her fingers. “Should I get my measuring strings?” she asked, her voice growing husky. “I may be able to tell you your exact size,” she leaned over and whispered then. “Or I may have to check it twice to make certain I was accurate.”

  He did not remember her ever being this playful when it came to their joinings. It would end that way, he had no doubt, but it was always something he initiated and she followed his lead. This, this was unusual.

  “Do you need to feel more of it to decide, wench?” he asked, loosening his belt and guiding her hand inside them. When she took him in her hand, he thrust against her palm.

  “Mayhap I need a better view of it?” she asked. He could not lift his hips and slide the trews down fast enough, so she tugged them lower.

  He waited to see how far she would take this, and he was surprised at her boldness. He felt her breath on his skin just before he felt her tongue move over his length. Connor could not catch his breath since without his sight he had to wait to feel every step she took in this dance of mating. There was a measure of excitement in not knowing what she would do or touch or taste next.

  His body was not his own, but hers to command as she kissed and licked and sucked her way along him. His cock received much attention, but there was not a part of him that was neglected before she breathlessly spoke the thing he most wanted to hear.

  “Take me, Connor,” she whispered, and she climbed over him, her shift and gown long taken off and her naked skin hot next to his.

  He swore to all the saints in heaven that he would make this time the best for her. Instead of need driving them relentlessly or his desire being in charge, she wanted this, she’d asked for this, and he would make it good.

  He used every ounce of his strength to bring her to release before seeking his own, pushing her over that edge twice before succumbing to her demands to enter her. Then he did as she asked, whatever she asked, slower, faster, deeper or not, with hands and mouth and body. He fulfilled her desires and her demands until she cried out against his mouth as their bodies joined.

  His only regret was not being able to see her face, to see the moment when their bodies became one. Connor held her close until her body calmed. The tears on his skin were unexpected.

  “Why do you weep, Moira?” he asked quietly. He used his fingers to wipe the tears from her eyes and off her cheeks. Then lifting her face to his, he kissed them away.

  “I want to tell you something,” she said in a desolate voice. “I did not expect to be able to say these words to you.”

  What was she planning to say? “Would it not wait until I can look on your face?”

  “Nay.” He felt her shake her head. “In a way, this makes it easier for me.”

  “Go on,” he urged. “Let me hear your words.”

  “I have struggled with this for some time now, Connor,” she began. Did she even realize that she called him by name now and Seer no longer? “I was wrong to blame you for my family’s deaths. I know that you spoke the words, but I know now that you had no control over what you saw or what you said then.”

  “Do you mean that?” he asked, afraid to believe that the forgiveness he needed from her was so close.

  “Sometimes I forget and sometimes the memories haunt me, but I do forgive you, Connor.”

  Just as though a weight was lifted from his shoulders, the darkness receded as well, and his sight began to return. Connected or not to her act of forgiveness, it was odd timing for it to happen if she’d not caused it. He could not see clearly, but enough to see the glow of something wonderful in her eyes. Her heart was healing, and he hoped he had time to make it whole before he lost the chance.

  He kissed her then and enjoyed the moment of holding her and accepting her declaration. ’Twas some time later before either of them rose from the bed to see to their tasks.

  Just over two weeks remained until the next full moon and Samhain. And neither of them expected disaster to strike as it did next or in the way it happened.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Steinar’s arrival at the door of his chambers surprised him. He did not ever remember Diarmid’s brother seeking him out without his brother’s presence, so he did not know what to expect. Connor would have preferred to have Breac in the room, but they’d sent him and Agnes off to arrange for Anakol’s daughters to travel to his farm.

  In spite of Diarmid’s agreement to send them there, Connor had just found out that the girls were still in the keep and under Diarmid’s care. He had to move quickly, and since his vision was not completely returned, it meant having Breac handle it. So, for now, he must see to Steinar alone. When he opened the door, seeing Ranald at Steinar’s back did not comfort him in the least.

  “Good morrow, my lord,” he said.

  Steinar, he knew, enjoyed being called “lord” though he had not the right or title to it…yet. If anything happened to Diarmid and Steinar could present himself as the man most capable of taking control, his claim as chieftain would be upheld by the Earl of the Orkneys and isles. A good thing for Steinar and those who supported him, but a bad thing for anyone in places of authority or privilege placed there by Diarmid. A bloodbath would follow Diarmid’s death, as Steinar cleared his path of anyone he deemed a danger.

  Connor knew he’d long been in that group.

  Steinar swaggered in, glancing around the room, his eyes lighting first on his chair and then on Moira. He nodded at her and studied him before he spoke. “My brother said she is to be chained at all times, Seer. Why is she not?”

  “Lord Diarmid does not extend his control to what happens in my chambers, my lord,” he answered. “She cannot serve my needs chained to the wall.”

  Everyone in the keep knew that Diarmid did what was needed to keep his Seer please
d. A matter such as an unchained woman in his room was not something he would bicker about.

  “Still,” Steinar said. “She was dangerous enough to try to kill you, and almost succeeded. I would see her secured while I am here.” Steinar nodded to Ranald. “Chain her.”

  Connor knew better than to object and give Steinar any reason to question his loyalty or his actions. He did take his eyes off the dangerous young man as Ranald ran to do his bidding, and Moira did not fight Ranald. Once the chain clattered against the wall, Connor nodded at Steinar.

  “Diarmid bade me watch over you while he is away, and I am concerned that you have not been at table since your vision. Nearly two weeks spent only in this room,” Steinar said, walking around the chamber, inspecting the tapestries, the luxurious carpets on the floor, the large bed, and the slave now chained to his wall. “Cadwallen yet remains, waiting for the opportunity to thank you for the vision he was granted.”

  “The visions tire me, my lord. Diarmid knows it takes some time for me to regain my strength.” Connor tilted his head, watching Steinar’s movements with the outer edges of his eyes, the only parts that yet worked. “If it pleases you, I will join you at table this day.”

  “You are alone here?” he asked. “Where is that manservant you keep? What is his name?”

  Connor did not doubt for a moment that Steinar knew every detail it was possible to know about Breac, Agnes, and anyone else who served him, rather than Diarmid, in this keep.

  “Breac is seeing to some errands for me, my lord, and should return shortly. Have you need of him for some task?”

  Steinar stood behind him now. “Ah, he is taking Anakol’s daughters to your farm, is he not? They were a lovely show of gratitude from Anakol for the vision he received. Lovely,” he repeated. “You should have tried them when they first arrived, Seer.” He laughed then, and it sent shudders through him. Steinar turned toward Moira again, and Connor held his breath. “They will most likely be a disappointing thing to a man of your tastes now.”