Mistress of the Storm (5 page)
So many thoughts filled Duncan’s head, he could think of little else. He was like a man knowing he is about to starve whose need for food soars above the reality of how much his stomach can hold. Duncan craved the sensations she caused—he wanted to feel again. After knowing the complete emptiness he faced, he wanted his heart and soul to be satisfied and full.
“The cost matters not to me. I will have her.”
“Duncan! That is what he is hoping for,” Davin warned. “Let Ornolf do the bargaining. One thing you must consider. If you wish to keep her for longer than one night, or make it more permanent, you must find another place. My wife would object to you keeping her in our home.”
“And her wishes matter?” Duncan asked the question already knowing the answer—Edda mattered more than life itself to Davin.
“Any smart man with a wife who wishes for peace in his home abides by her wishes. You would know that if you had a wife.”
The heartfelt words hung between them. Davin loved his wife. There was no mistaking the soft feelings he had for her or the lengths to which he would go to make her happy. Duncan could never have one—not since he changed from a normal man into something driven by unknown forces and was still changing with each phase of the moon. He would never lay claim to a woman when he knew not whether he would survive the next ritual or the one after that.
What wife would endure the endless women in his bed he needed each month to ease the wild craving in his blood?
None. So he had none.
“And you are nothing if not a smart man,” Duncan said, trying to ease the strain between them. “Come, at least I can arrange for a leman to see to some of my needs.”
They were almost at the gate when Davin stopped him.
“Have a care around this man, Duncan. Though no one has complained, there is something strange about him.”
“The way he whores out his stepdaughter?”
“The way others support him for no discernible reasons,” Davin countered. “Her skills in bedplay may be good, but men would not back him for only that.”
Duncan could think of no reply, so he remained silent, his mind slipping back to memories of that night with Isabel. Still, a bit of pleasure should not influence a man’s loyalty as Davin’s words indicated was happening. To most men, one woman was the same as the next.
“How many men did you send with the king, Davin?”
“Half of them . . . and Askell.”
The king had taken many hostages from among the families of those ruling the western islands and Skye to ensure their loyalty and their help in strengthening his claim and control over those lands so distant from the rest of the Norse holdings. With his only son accompanying Magnus south, Davin would do nothing to further upset his wife and would do even less to anger the king.
“So you are relying on those men who stand with Sigurd for defense?”
“Aye.” Davin nodded. “More than I would like.”
“Watch your back,” Duncan advised. “And send to your cousins in Orkney and over in Lewis for men you can count on.”
“I have already, though I like how you think.”
“I will try to learn what his plans are from Isabel.”
“She may only be a pawn in his plans and not know what he is about.” Davin had a soft spot in his heart for the gentler sex.
“I suspect she knows much and I plan on finding out whatever I can. You are not the only one who owes a debt of honor.”
Their lives had been entwined since they were but boys and they’d saved each other more times than he could remember. Davin had not shunned him when the strange power had begun and had protected him from those who would misuse it. Davin was his only true friend, more like a brother; Duncan owed him loyalty and more. He would do what he could to protect Davin and his family from Sigurd’s machinations.
Even if it meant not having the one person he thought might save his own life.
Chapter Five
S
igurd was determined, Isabel realized. No amount of questioning or cajoling had made a difference. When he was intent on something, he accomplished it. And when Sigurd wanted to bend her to his will, he did. His command to be dressed and ready at sunset was not to be ignored or refused.
igurd was determined, Isabel realized. No amount of questioning or cajoling had made a difference. When he was intent on something, he accomplished it. And when Sigurd wanted to bend her to his will, he did. His command to be dressed and ready at sunset was not to be ignored or refused.
They walked in silence, Isabel following several paces behind him, never acknowledging anyone they passed. Harder to ignore were the whispered comments as they entered through the gate and made their way to the hall. A guard spoke to Sigurd, who told her to follow the guard to a different place to wait.
’Twas not unusual—whores were not welcome in the homes of the nobleborn. Only Sigurd’s high standing and Lord Davin’s need for his men made her presence less an outrage than it might have been. Without raising her head, she followed until they reached a small chamber near the stairs that led to the tower. He stopped and stepped aside for her to enter. She prepared herself for the inevitable groping or touching that happened when she passed too close to a man, but he did nothing. Glancing up, she understood why.
Duncan stood across the small chamber, watching her every move, never giving away any sign of his mood. It was the first time they’d looked at each other since that night filled with passionate abandon, but there was no hint of desire in his gaze.
“My lord,” she said softly, dropping low before him. He might not carry a title, but he moved in higher circles than she or even than Sigurd, so courtesy was a good first step.
Though he might not remember, her body surely did, for with each step he took closer, more heat raced through her—along her skin where every inch had been his to touch and taste and thrill, through her body and into her core, which throbbed in anticipation of his possession. Isabel began to slow her breathing, to regain the control that seemed to disappear when in his presence and to calm the raging heat that threatened everything. His hand before her eyes offered help to stand. She stood by her own efforts and nodded to him.
She concentrated to gather her control, protecting her from the damage he could do. Damage that was far more dangerous than any Sigurd could mete out. Isabel knew Duncan wanted her, knew he would have her, several times before the sun rose again, but in order to escape unscathed, she must seek that place of emptiness within her where she could hide her soul.
“Isabel,” he whispered. The sound felt like a stroke across her skin as he repeated it. How could a sound be physical? Yet every word he spoke felt like a touch of his hand or his mouth.
“My lord,” she repeated, using courtesy to prevent familiarity from battering down her defenses so early in their encounter.
Apparently unwilling to allow her such refuge, he took her hand and lifted it to his mouth, kissing the back of it, then turning it to expose her palm. Her nipples tightened and pressed against the scratchy fabric of her gown as he first kissed, then licked, the sensitive skin of her wrist. As he kissed down the length of her arm, she realized how defenseless against him she was. Frightened by her inability to control her reactions to him, she did the unthinkable and pulled out of his grasp.
She waited to see if he would strike her for such insolence, but he did not. Instead, he smiled and stepped back. That the smile did not reach his eyes worried her, but it was too late to give in.
“If you wish me to return to your bed, you must speak with—”
“Your father?” he asked, interrupting her.
Was that what he thought? “He was my mother’s husband,” she explained for the first time ever.
Not my father.
She cursed under her breath, turning away for a moment. She’d never responded to anyone’s questions about Sigurd and never spoke about any rumors or stories of how their arrangement had come about. She must not speak on it now. “Sigurd. You must speak to Sigurd.” Isabel turned back to Duncan in time to see him frown.
Not my father.
She cursed under her breath, turning away for a moment. She’d never responded to anyone’s questions about Sigurd and never spoke about any rumors or stories of how their arrangement had come about. She must not speak on it now. “Sigurd. You must speak to Sigurd.” Isabel turned back to Duncan in time to see him frown.
“Ornolf is speaking to Sigurd and making the arrangements with him.” Duncan stepped closer, never taking his gaze from hers. “And I am speaking to you.”
Would she ever be at ease with him? No man wanted to speak to her. They wanted her mouth to be doing something other than spilling words.
“Speak to me?” Her palms grew damp. “About what?” Her breath caught. Looking around her, she noticed there was no bed in the chamber, just a small table and two stools. The guard had shut the door behind her and the room began to close in on her.
“I wish your . . . company over the next few weeks,” Duncan said in an even tone.
“Company? Do not call it what it is not, my lord.” Better to have the truth between them. “I will pleasure you, if you wish, my lord, but it will not take weeks.”
He laughed then, the gesture making his face come alive and the sound of it forcing a smile to her own lips. How did he do that to her? No other man had made her resolve so fluid and changing.
“I do not think I could survive your pleasure for all the time I plan to be with you, Isabel.”
Confused, unused to feeling out of control, Isabel knew she did not like it. He seemed to be teasing her and commanding her presence all at the same time. Was his servant truly bargaining with Sigurd at the moment? Sigurd would not be happy to be relegated to dealing with an underling and he would take out his anger on her when next he could.
“I am traveling to my farm and will remain there for some weeks. I wish you to accompany me there.”
So many thoughts filled her mind in that moment—why, where, how, and why again. What did he mean to do with her for
some weeks
? Would Sigurd consent to such a thing? With enough gold crossing his palm and promises of influence, Sigurd would sell his soul . . . or hers.
some weeks
? Would Sigurd consent to such a thing? With enough gold crossing his palm and promises of influence, Sigurd would sell his soul . . . or hers.
“And if I decline your invitation?” She truly had no choice, but wanted to watch his reaction to measure his control.
“It is your choice. Though I confess, I will be disappointed if that is your decision.”
She sensed he would allow her to refuse. But what then? Face Sigurd and the consequences? Mayhap if she spent some time with Duncan she would not feel so overwhelmed by him and by his power to distract her from everything. Mayhap it would be less of a shock to her and she could regain control and see him as she saw every other man—someone to pleasure in order to avoid the consequences of not doing as Sigurd commanded.
“You think your servant can convince Sigurd of this?”
He laughed again. “You have a habit of answering my questions with questions of your own. Do you never speak your own mind?”
She let that go unanswered for the truth of it was no, she did not. In those encounters it was best to simply deflect questions so the man thought she only considered his requests and interests and never her own. It went better that way.
Dare she accept? How would Sigurd get messages to her? Was it safe to leave the keep and village with the man? On a farm, out somewhere on the isle, she was more defenseless and less able to call on others for assistance as she had when . . . She shook her head to avoid thinking on that night.
“Nay? You will not?” he asked, misunderstanding her gesture. His face lost its smile and his eyes darkened.
“Nay!” She touched his hand. “I will go with you,” she agreed. “If Sigurd allows it.”
Duncan smiled once more and placed his hand on hers, the heat of that simple caress spreading into her body. “He will. I have something he wants.”
Isabel kept her face from reacting to his words. Did he know Sigurd’s plan? Worse, did he know her part in it?
Before she could choose careful words, he spoke. “Gold, certainly. And enough of it to satisfy his appetite for it.” He watched her as he said it.
“He likes gold.” She nodded.
Without a doubt, she knew he had not meant gold. The way his gaze flickered she knew he meant something else entirely. He had something Sigurd wanted, something other than gold, and he knew she was playing him to gain it.
Though she might have been insulted by such knowledge, in many ways it made it easier somehow. Nothing to entangle them. Nothing to fool them into believing it was more than a practical arrangement to benefit all of those concerned. Nothing more than a few weeks of pleasuring the same man rather than many different ones. Once the novelty wore off, it would mean simply bedding him and being done with it.
Her heart and soul knew better, sounding off a warning from within that there was much more at stake than just an exchange of flesh for coin.
“Do we leave now?” she asked, not knowing where his farm was.
“Nay, we leave at first light.” He stroked her hand and she understood he wished to bed her that night before leaving in the morning.
“Should I send word to gather my things?”
His fingers caressed her hand and her arm, tugging her ever so slightly in his direction. She could not take her gaze from the movements of his hand and, for a moment, she thought of him stroking her naked body instead of touching her through layers of cloth.
“Nay,” he said in a roughened voice. “You can pack for yourself and be ready at first light.”
“You do not wish to bed me now? This night?” she asked, completely confused and surprised. She knew he was aroused, the scent of it nearly intoxicated her. She thought . . .
“I wish to bed you, Isabel, but have matters to see to before I can leave on the morrow.”
She nodded, accepting but not understanding. “Very well, my lord,” she said, easing her hand from his grasp. “I will be ready at first light.”
“You do not believe me?” His voice was quiet with a hint of something she could not name. “Let me show you how much I want to . . . bed you.”
With no more warning, he took her by the shoulders and drew her to him, taking her mouth in a searing kiss. He claimed her mouth and possessed it, rubbing their lips against each other’s and tasting her deeply. His arms wrapped around her, holding her so tightly against him she could do nothing but fall into him. His mouth released hers and she sucked in a ragged and deep breath before he kissed her again . . . and again until she had no breath and no will to leave. Then he took her hand and placed it over the ridge of hardened flesh below his waist.
“I want you, Isabel,” he whispered as he kissed a path along her chin and jaw to her ear, where his breath heated her. “I do not intend to bed you this night, but soon I will take you in every way a man can take a woman. I plan on touching you, licking and tasting you, at all hours of the days and nights to come.”
Her body arched against his, moisture pouring from that place between her legs. Her flesh ached and throbbed at his words. Her fingers curled around his erection.
“And I will fuck you so deeply and so many times that you will forget where you end and I begin.”
Isabel was lost.
She wanted him.
She wanted all he promised, all he threatened.
But, she could not allow it.
Pulling away, she stumbled to the door, trying to escape the madness he created in her before she lost everything she’d worked so hard to gain. Her control slipped dangerously and she needed space and time away from him to ready herself for the challenge he presented.
“On the morrow, my lord,” she said, lifting the latch without looking back at him. “At first light.”
Isabel pulled the door closed behind her, ignoring the sound of his footsteps as they followed her, knowing she must get away or she would be the one begging for his touch that night. She followed the path around the hall and left the keep, making her way back to her cottage at a near-running pace. Sigurd would not be happy she’d left without his permission, but she did not care.
If it were not already dark, she would have gone to the sea and swum in its soothing waters. For longer than she could remember, she always sought out water when she was worried or upset. Since the arousal of her body did not lessen as she entered her cottage, she decided to go down to the shore, knowing sleep would be impossible. Taking off the costly gown she wore and putting on a plain one, she walked quickly to the path leading to the beach. Where other women feared the night, she relished it for she had nothing to worry over losing. The men of the village avoided her because they had to answer to Sigurd for anything done to her.
Though the half moon lit the sky above her and the glow of thousands of stars added to it, Isabel could feel a storm coming from across the sea. It whispered to her and she closed her eyes and let the breezes ease the tumult inside her mind and her soul. Breathing deeply, she cleared all of it away and focused her thoughts on the coming storm and the sounds of the sea at her feet. It took only moments for her to shed her clothes and dive into the water, going deep and swimming away from shore.
Sigurd had beaten her the first time he’d witnessed her skill at swimming. It had happened so long ago, she remembered thinking how much he cared and worried over her. Had her mother yet lived?
Returning to the surface, she kicked as hard as she could, pushing her body out of the water, landing with a splash. With another deep breath drawn in, she spun and dove again, skimming just under the water as she swam to the calmest place before the waves began to lap the shore.
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