Mistress of the Storm (11 page)
Isabel could not. She simply could not break the first rules that Sigurd had beaten into her just because the woman offered her a taste of kindness. A change while there would result in a slip when she returned to Duntulm. Someone would be insulted by her words or her glance or her presence and the punishment would be harsh.
Isabel withdrew from the conversation and waited for Gunna or the woman to move on. Unfortunately, the child, a girl of about five years, reached out and touched the skirt of Isabel’s tunic, tracing non-existent patterns in the fabric to amuse herself. Wisps of pale hair encircled the girl’s face, giving her an angelic appearance. Something else Isabel would never have in her life—a child.
She’d given little thought to the reasons behind her apparent barrenness, for in her life it was a good thing. She’d never gotten pregnant in spite of the dozens, nay hundreds, of times men had spilled their seed within her. As the child drew nearer, ignorant of everything about her, Isabel felt a longing within unlike any she’d felt before.
A child. A home. A place of her own and a person who depended on her alone.
Grief for all the things that could not be broke free, forcing her feet to run away from such thoughts and the people who caused them. Gunna’s voice calling out to her went unheeded as she ran, tears blinding her path, her chest tight, unable to expand and breathe. She followed the same route back into the hills and did not stop until she could go no further.
She stared out at the expanse of water before her, trying to understand what had happened. Since the first moment she’d met Duncan, her control had been slipping. A small crack here, another there and soon she could not keep her soul hidden behind the wall that she’d built to protect herself from the life she led and the things she did. If it continued, if she allowed it to happen, she would be destroyed by the time she returned to Duntulm.
Sigurd would be waiting, expecting her to reveal the secrets she’d gathered, then move on to the next unsuspecting man she would draw into Sigurd’s web of deception and control. She’d known for some time that he would never let her go, never let her stop, for she was too valuable a part of his machinations.
If she knew for certain Thora would be safe and settled regardless of her own obedience—or disobedience—to his dictates, she would end her life and be glad of it. Isabel would give in to the impulse to dive under the water and never come to the surface again, finding peace and safety in the depths.
When the tears ceased and she regained her sense of control and balance, she understood what she needed to do to survive the latest challenge. No matter the reasons for his kindnesses, no matter the expectations he had for the next weeks, Isabel must remain what she was—a high-priced whore who drove men crazy with lust and used their passion against them. That path was much clearer to her than the quagmire Duncan offered her.
She made her way back to his farm and into his house and found the clothing she’d brought with her. Removing the garments he’d given her, she put the whore’s gown and tunic back on, feeling a sense of control returning to her. She arranged her hair so it appeared to threaten to tumble free at any moment and she rouged her lips. The roughness of the inner layer of fabric teased her nipples to tighten and she felt her body prepare itself for what she knew would come. She would make it happen the same way she always did and she would control the situation, control the man, and seduce his secrets from him.
When Gunna returned and Isabel opened the door of the chamber to help her prepare the meal as she’d planned, it was Isabel the whore who entered the main room.
Gunna’s gasp stung only for a moment, until Isabel reminded herself that it must be the ways of things. Duncan’s eyes widened as did each man’s as they entered to share the meal, but their reaction did not sway her from her purpose. Though she did not ignore the others, she made it clear that Duncan could have all she offered whenever he wanted it.
They all took their leave after eating; only Gunna remained behind to clean up and ready the evening meal. Duncan left without saying a word to Isabel through the whole meal, which suited her. Once the men departed, she offered her help but Gunna refused, never meeting her gaze. Waves of hurt and confusion poured off the young woman, but it was for the best. Ignoring reality was a mistake and not one Isabel was willing to knowingly make.
The evening meal proceeded the same way and when everyone left to go to their own dwellings, including Ornolf, Isabel went to the bedchamber to prepare herself. She’d seen the signs of Duncan’s arousal—his erect cock visible through his trousers when she looked. The scent he gave off when his passions were high filled the room, even if she seemed the only one to notice.
She peeled off her clothing, lay on his bed and began to touch herself to ready her body for him. It took little time; knowing what would happen between them aroused her. Even so, when he opened the door and saw her there, the fingers of one hand holding open the folds between her legs and the fingers of the other sliding in and out, drawing forth her body’s moisture and rubbing it along them, he stopped and stared.
His body reacted, but she witnessed disappointment in his expression before lust took control. Like any man, he watched as she opened wider and spread the folds, moaning softly with every touch. She knew where to touch, how to touch, whether it was her own body or another’s, to bring forth the heat and pleasure. And so she did, enticing him to approach. Step by step he came closer and closer until his legs touched the side of the bed. Her fingers never stopped teasing herself, making the flesh throb and ache for more, readying it for the pleasure his cock would give her once he plunged deep inside.
She lifted her hips, angling them so he could see more as she moved her fingers and began to tease the tips of her breasts. Rubbing the nipples between her fingers and thumbs, she pulled on them, moaning each time and arching her hips to invite him in. Yet he did not move toward her. The essence of arousal filled the chamber and she breathed it in deeply, allowing its intoxifying scent to add to the anticipation.
As she watched, he loosened his laces and let his trousers drop. One tug and he removed his shirt, tossing it aside. He slid his hands down, lifting his hardened flesh forward, offering it to her, but as she began to move toward him, he climbed between her legs. Instead of his cock, he pressed one knee between her thighs, rubbing against the flesh she’d readied. Though it felt good, true release hovered just a bit away as she lifted her hips and rubbed against him.
She waited for him to offer his cock and when he did not, still staring at her with an inscrutable expression, she leaned up to take hold of it. As her hands curled around its length and she massaged the sac and balls beneath it, he reached out, taking her head in his hands and guided her mouth to it.
Though her body screamed for release, she was trapped. Sliding him into her mouth, she suckled on his cock, then drew back to tongue her way along its length. His hands held her face there, so all she could do was take it in, sliding it deeper and deeper as he thrust forward. Isabel grabbed his thigh to keep from falling and tried to rub his knee and the hard muscle of his thigh against her heated flesh, but he would not relent.
It was another lesson. She was a whore and only his pleasure mattered. As he fucked her mouth, thrusting into her throat with each movement, she understood and let him. He grew thicker and harder and she knew his seed would spill in only moments. He held her there, and she swallowed as it burst forth from him, sucking until he was drained. He withdrew and leaned back on his heels.
“Finish it,” he ordered in a gruff, sex-filled voice.
“Would you not like to . . .” she began, lifting her hips to offer her body to him. In truth, she wanted to seek the release he’d refused her thus far.
“Finish it yourself. Now.”
Chapter Eleven
D
uncan watched her with a sense of profound disappointment which confused him. She was a whore, trained to it, and one who could not or would not see that she was so much more. He reminded himself he’d bought and paid for a woman who would be able to keep up with his increasing sexual needs over the next weeks.
uncan watched her with a sense of profound disappointment which confused him. She was a whore, trained to it, and one who could not or would not see that she was so much more. He reminded himself he’d bought and paid for a woman who would be able to keep up with his increasing sexual needs over the next weeks.
That she was more than that somehow had obscured his perspective and his idea of how the weeks would unfold. But if he’d thought he could change her, he was learning that he was wrong.
Upon her return from the village, Gunna had told him of Isabel’s behavior, told him about her abrupt departure and the incident with the woman and child. He remembered the way Isabel walked around Duntulm—head down, never engaging or speaking to anyone who crossed her path. Avoiding others, staying in her place. Never presuming to sit amongst the respectable, but only among those who served them.
Watching her service him once more, emptying his seed into her mouth, had given him no satisfaction. Though watching her touch herself would have excited him to another bout of pleasure at another time, it had left him unsatisfied and uninterested. Though he’d ordered her to see to her own pleasure, he climbed off the bed and walked to the table, which held a jug of wine.
From the looks of it as he glanced back, satisfaction eluded her as well.
Her movements became frantic, her fingers plucking at the nub of flesh that refused her efforts to arouse it. He realized she would continue because he’d ordered her to do it. Shaking his head, he poured some wine and drank it down.
“Cease, Isabel.” He said it softly but his words seemed louder in the quiet chamber.
He did not look at her just then for he wanted to give her a chance to regain her control and her composure. At the sound of her approach, he held out the second cup without a word. Her hands shook as she took it from him.
“Is this the way you wish it to be between us?” he asked.
“It cannot be any other way,” she answered. “I am what I am, just as you are.”
The thought that he might have been mistaken about her, that he might have seen or felt something more because he needed or wanted to see more, crept into his mind. Were his needs causing him to think wrongly that she knew more than he did about his situation?
“You said you needed what I offered, that you brought me here to pleasure you. You said you would need me in the coming weeks. Why?”
It was the first time she’d asked him a question outright.
Did he answer with the truth? Would she use it against him as he suspected?
“I change as the full moon approaches. My body will have needs I cannot deny nor control. I have powers I cannot control.”
He turned to face her then, searching her eyes for some sign she believed him.
She wore the blank expression he hated so much. The only sign she was thinking anything was the slight twitch in her left eye. “Powers?”
“Gunna told you I am a healer.” He walked closer to her and poured more wine in her cup. “My power to do that seems tied to the phases of the moon.”
She drank a mouthful before she met his gaze. “How do you heal people? I see no herbs or concoctions that most healers use. I do not understand.” He sensed she was speaking the truth.
“I do not know how it works. The power grows as the moon reaches its fullest and then wanes until the next full moon. It has been so for a number of years.”
He waited for her to laugh or to look at him as though he was the madman he sometimes felt he was, but she only watched through guarded eyes. “The power to heal someone,” she began. “How do you heal people?”
Suddenly, he knew he should not tell her more. A feeling swept over him, sending chills down his bones and making his flesh freeze. He’d told her enough. He walked past her and sat on the bed, drawing her attention there.
“I know little of how it works, only that it does.” He left his reply vague.
“Can we begin anew?” He nodded at the bed and held out his hand. The need in him grew each day and he had not lied about the ever-increasing appetite. Watching her and taking her as he had simply made him want her more. “I will ask nothing more of you than I paid for, save one thing,” he offered.
“And that one thing?” she asked, her expression guarded once more.
“Wear the garments I gave you when you leave this chamber,” he said. “The men . . .”
She hesitated only a brief second before nodding acceptance. That momentary pause signaled to him a slight change in her since they’d met. Before she’d obeyed every order implicitly.
Duncan walked to the bedside and took the green robe in his hand. Holding it out to her, he watched as she drew it on. It flowed over her skin and her body like water sluicing over her flesh and his body came to life as the robe covered almost every inch of her.
He wanted her. He wanted to pleasure her and satisfy her. At the moment, though, he realized he wanted to enjoy her company. To take her to bed felt too much like using a whore to him, so he pulled on a shirt and trousers and held out his hand to her, leading her out of the chamber and out of the house.
The moon’s light shone brightly, illuminating the area around them. Peering up at it, Duncan saw it was past its third-quarter mark and would soon gain its fullness. The power surged in his veins, urging him to call it forth. Was she so wounded, so injured in spirit and soul, she brought it close to the surface and made him, in spite of the terror of his power, want to risk all to use it for her?
He guided her along the path that led to one of the storage barns, the one he would use for the ritual in just days, but walked beyond it. Leading her up a small hill, he stopped where there was a view of his lands and the surrounding area. The stream flowing along his boundaries crept south and east, creating a waterfall not far from there, then it meandered through a scenic glen on its way to the bay. She might like to visit the waterfall.
“How much of this is yours?” she asked when they stopped.
It was such a clear night, he could see for miles from there. Unusual for the season, when misting fog was the norm. He pointed at another hill in the distance.
“That marks the end of my lands to the north,” he explained. “And that outcropping of trees to the south and east.” He owned extensive lands on Skye because of his gift. “When we crossed the stream on our journey here, we entered my lands.”
“You are a prosperous farmer then?” she asked.
“I can support a number of families on my lands, aye,” he replied.
“And do you? Support kin on your lands?” She looked away as though not attentive to his answer, but he could feel her interest.
“Not mine, but families.
“Tomorrow I think we should walk to the glen.” He pointed off in the distance toward it. “You will like it there.”
“Why?” she asked.
Duncan laughed as he took her by the hand and tugged her to walk with him back to the house. The air around them cooled quickly now that the sun had set. They’d not brought cloaks.
“If my memory is correct, there is a lake there.”
She walked in silence with him, back to the house. All the others had sought shelter for the night and only the sound of night birds floated on the air between them. Their footsteps sent small, loose stones scattering along the path before them.
“Do you have no other duties to see to?” she asked as they reached the main house.
“Ornolf is here and will see to things,” he explained.
He released her hand and allowed her to enter first. Closing the door behind them, he watched as she walked directly to his bedchamber. The green silk flowed over her and he watched as it touched her hips and her breasts . . . as he wanted to.
The time for trying to change her was over. The need for her surged in his blood even as the power did, pushing him to take her. Would it be different when the scent overwhelmed everything and called women to his bed? Would it affect her? As though she knew he was thinking of her and of what he wanted to do to her, with her, she turned and faced him.
Her eyes seemed to shimmer, changing in the low light of the hearth and glimmering from pale to bright and back again. The scent did that to women—lured them into a sensual oblivion so his needs came first and memory of what happened between them dimmed. Her body shuddered, the material swaying softly over her skin, over her breasts and erect nipples and across her stomach and hips. She would do whatever he wanted and needed, as any woman did when that part of his power was released. Whore or not, no woman could resist the call in his blood.
Then, the most extraordinary thing occurred. Isabel’s gaze cleared and she watched him step closer. He closed his eyes and wanted her, sending more of the scent across the chamber, swirling around her, calling to her.
Her eyes shimmered for a moment, before they cleared once more.
Duncan laughed. She could conquer the pull of his power as no other woman had before. He’d known there was something unusual about her from the first moment he’d seen her. Then, as she began to slide her hands over the fabric, and over her body, accepting the sensations he caused and heightening them, he realized she used his power as if it was an elixir capable of making their joining even more pleasurable. Her eyes closed and she leaned her head back, but her hands never stopped moving over the garment.
He flexed his hands, fisting them, then releasing them, trying to resist the call of her body to his and failing. Duncan crossed the chamber in a few paces and placed his hands on the fabric, pushing hers aside, feeling the smoothness of the silk and the curves of her body beneath it.
Isabel arched into his hands as he caressed her through the robe. Decadent arousal simmered in her body as she enjoyed every touch, waiting for something heated and dangerous to explode. She tried to remain still, but her body arched and shuddered as he slid his hands over her breasts and stomach. His fingers teased the hair between her legs through the silk and when she would have spread them for his further caress, he moved his hands to her thighs and then around to her bottom.
Her body took over then, inhaling the scent that poured from him, allowing it to take control of her senses. Time seemed to slow as he drove her mad with pleasure, even though they were yet clothed. Isabel understood it would not be like the last two times when he’d sought his own pleasure without regard for hers. As the change he’d referred to earlier took over, he could not deny either of them pleasure. What confused her was the power flowing from him, a power she could feel, one that called to something deep within her. She let go of all restraint and gave herself over to that call.
The feel of the silk as it moved over her made her ache. Her skin wanted more, her body wanted more and readied itself for all that would come. With her eyes closed, she felt every caress, never knowing where his hands would move next but falling under his power and control.
When he gathered the robe in his hand and touched her flesh without its sensual barrier, her body melted. His finger slipped into her cleft, sliding in deeper, touching the sensitive bud that lay within its folds. She clutched his arms, for her legs began to shake. His deep laugh sent shivers through her blood and she opened her eyes to watch his face. He was looking at her, his face intense in spite of the laugh. She gasped as he aroused her and made the moisture pour from her, his fingers bringing pleasure and pushing her toward satisfaction.
Her knees buckled, but he caught her, backing her up until she felt the bed behind her. He released her and Isabel fell backwards, the wide expanse of the bed catching her. When she thought he would step between her legs and enter her, instead he knelt between them and lifted them over his shoulders, opening that heated place to his scrutiny and his touch. She leaned up on her elbows to watch him.
His head dipped and she waited for the feel of his tongue there. Instead, only his heated breath touched her skin. Another second passed and still he did nothing, but her body did not care—her heart raced and her breath caught. She was ready to beg him when his tongue flicked deeply between the folds. With nothing more than that first touch, she screamed out as pleasure overwhelmed her and she found the satisfaction he’d denied her earlier. As she gasped out his name, he licked her again.
Her hips arched, trying to keep him there and she could see only the top of his head. He laughed, the sound vibrating through her. His only response was to find that swollen bud and tease it to life again. Isabel fell back, trying to stop him and urging him to continue at the same time. It was too much, too much. The center of her spun tighter and tighter until she believed she would shatter if he continued.
She did shatter, her body tightening and shaking as wave after wave of pleasure and bliss washed over her. But Duncan did not relent until she became a mindless, melting woman unable to form the words to make him stop. Only when her body gave out and a final keening scream filled the chamber, did he lift his head from her.
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