“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.
“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 t
he 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.
Turning onto her back, she floated, watching the moon and stars above, hearing only the sounds of the water as it surrounded her head with calm. Unlike the small lake where she’d grown up, the sea was cold and she could not tolerate it for long. Unable to stand its chill, she rolled and dove under once more, all the time offering up the prayer she always did—to whatever god would listen. As before, she did not know for what she prayed, only that she did. One word echoed through her thoughts as she began to swim to shore.
Please.
The litany of words added to that one had grown and grown and not even a holy sister spending all of her days in secluded, silent prayer could have voiced them all. So Isabel held onto only that one, hoping that any god powerful enough to answer her would know and understand the rest.
She walked the last few yards to the beach and gathered her hair in her hands to wring the water from it. As she made her way to the pile of clothes she’d left behind, she saw him, standing there watching every step she took.
Duncan had followed her as she fled from him—unsure whether his crude words had frightened or aroused her. They were true, every one of them, and they were only the beginning of what he wanted to do to her. A few weeks would never be long enough. Months would not, but he did not have more than another two if what he suspected came to be.
Duncan had only wanted to find out if she would go with him of her own will and not because Sigurd ordered her to do it, so he’d had her brought to him while Ornolf met with Sigurd. And he’d watched her reaction. Though she’d tried to remain calm, he heard her heart racing, saw her skin flush with arousal when the scent flowed from him.
He felt the fullness of his own arousal—his skin aching once more for her touch and experiencing the pain of his earlier injuries on the field. It felt remarkable after the numbness had begun creeping back in.
Though she’d put him off with questions meant to distract him, he could tell she wanted him as much as he wanted her. She’d used no whore’s tricks.
She rose from the sea like a goddess of old, her skin tightened from the cold. Duncan could see how her nipples puckered as she walked toward the place where she’d dropped her gown. He was rock hard, fighting the urge to run to her and do at least some of the things he’d told her about earlier. But that would undo what he had followed her to accomplish.
He fought his wayward desire. Mayhap he should run into the frigid water to cool the desire rushing through his blood.
“My lord?” she whispered. Her voice shook from the cold seeping into her muscles. She waited for him, pausing in the act of picking up her clothes.
Duncan walked to her side, picking up her gown as he passed it. Gathering it up he tugged it over her head, noticing it was not the same one she’d been wearing at the keep.
“Are you mad? Swimming in the sea at night and when it is so cold?” He rubbed his hands over her arms, trying to ease the cold from her skin. Unfortunately, it brought her into his arms and he wanted nothing more than to ease her to the ground and fill her with his aching flesh.
“It soothes me.”
So, she had been disturbed by his invitation. Good, for he, too, was bothered by the thought of having her at his beck and call for the next few weeks. Most likely, though, for reasons different from hers.
Duncan wrapped his arms around her, absorbing the cold from her body and wondered at her admission. She entered the sea every time she left the keep and left a man’s bed—except for his that first time. He’d watched her do it, countless times, wondering at her reasons and her ease in the sea, regardless of the change in seasons or the growing iciness of the water.
“Drink wine,” he barked. “It has remarkable medicinal properties.”
“You said you had things to do, my lord,” she said, easing out of his arms. She walked away and gathered the rest of her things together.
“You left abruptly.”
She paused then, before turning to face him. He did not feel the overwhelming sadness he’d sensed that first morning after, but ’twas almost as though he could feel her emotions. Usually that sensitivity was reserved for the ritual, but with her, it seemed to occur naturally. As he watched her face, he felt ripples of confusion and fear and wonder passing through her.
“I did, my lord.” She schooled her expression and the whore’s face appeared, one he hated to see on her features. Her eyes went blank, her lips pursed temptingly, her skin flushed, all to increase her sexual attractiveness to men. “Have you changed your mind?” She rolled her shoulders, which made her breasts appear larger. Her nipples were still taut against her thin gown.
“Do not do that!” he said, shaking his head. “Do not play the whore with me, Isabel.”
Though she was surprised by his words, she did not lose the vapid expression or whore’s stance, offering herself to him without a word. “But that is what I am, my lord. A whore whose time and attentions you are buying. Do not mistake our arrangement for something it is not.”
For some reason, Duncan knew the warning offered by her was speaking to her own fears. She was trying to convince herself of it, not him. He only knew it for the lie it was and something much more important was building between them.
“I will keep that in mind, Isabel. Now, let me see you to your cottage.”
“I can make my way there, my lord. I have before.”
The implication being that she would again, without him.
He did not want to think on that, nor did he want to think about her being with another man now that he had found her. There would be time before he had to deal with it all.
“Until the morning then,” he said. He had no intention of letting her make her way back alone, but she did not need to know that. Once she was in her cottage, he would return to complete the negotiations with Sigurd. Ornolf was keeping the man occupied for him until he returned.
She nodded, then walked past him, not waiting for him and not looking back to see if he followed. He dogged her steps, remaining far enough back she would not hear or see him, but close enough to reach her if she needed him. He did not fool himself that she was not used to watching out for herself.
In less than an hour, Duncan was seeing to those tasks he’d mentioned to Isabel—things needing to be done before he left in the morning. Sleeping was not one of them.
Chapter Six
When Duncan arrived at the cottage, Isabel stood at its door waiting for him. From the look in her eyes, she had slept as little as he had. Sigurd was nowhere to be seen, which was exactly what Duncan had ordered when paying the exorbitant amount of gold coins asked in exchange for having Isabel to himself for the next month.
“Is that all you bring?” he asked, nodding at the small sack in her hand.
“A
ye, my lord,” she said, eyeing the horse he rode with a skeptical expression.
“Give it to me then.” He held out his hand. He secured the sack to the front of the saddle and turned back to her. “Now, come up.”
For a moment she looked as though tempted to refuse. She walked around the horse, a large, powerful gelding, and watched it closely. Duncan released a foot from the stirrup and positioned it so she could use it to climb up behind him. He leaned over and reached for her hand.
“Put your foot there and give me your hand,” he directed.
“I do not like horses, my lord.”
It was the first time he’d heard her express a preference and it startled him. She hadn’t uttered a word no matter what he had asked her to do with him during that bliss-filled night, but a horse had wrung the confession from her. Before he could offer any reassurances or words of encouragement, she gathered the length of her gown in one hand and took his with the other, hefting herself onto the horse.
Though he controlled the horse’s movements, the animal shifted to accommodate their combined weights and he heard her gasp with each side-step, clutching at his back. He calmed the animal, then helped Isabel to settle behind him. Duncan touched his feet to the horse’s sides and they were on their way.
He felt her hands fluttering as she tried to find something to hold onto, something sturdier than the layers of clothing she held. Lifting his arms, he told her to wrap her arms around him. There was no hesitation as she did as he suggested, but he felt the tension in her body. She sat straight up, not adjusting to the horse’s gait as they left the village and keep behind.
“How far is your farm?” she whispered.
Mistress of the Storm Page 5