Mistress of the Storm

by TERRI BRISBIN

“Do you fear reaching it, Isabel?” he teased.

  “Aye.”

  He laughed and reached up to cover one of her hands with his. “How do you travel from Duntulm?” Surely she must have ridden before.

  “I do not leave Duntulm.”

  Her words stymied him. “Not even when Sigurd returns to his farm?”

  Her silence answered him. He thought back to her original question. “My farm is to the north of the hills surrounding Uig.”

  “You live near the bay?”

  “Aye.”

  “We could have taken a boat,” she whispered.

  Her tone was disgruntled, again the first time she’d allowed anything but compliance to enter her words.

  “You are at home in the water, but I am not,” he explained. “Hold on until you are at ease.”

  The mists swirled around them as he guided the horse along the path into the hills that headed south and east toward Uig and his farm. It would take most of the day to reach it, but all he could think on was the coming night. Though she held on tightly, she did not relax or lean against him.

  The sun tried to burn off the thick fog, but the day remained dreary and cool as they covered the miles. She did not say a word or ask him to rest, but sagged behind him when he stopped a few hours later. He lifted his leg over the horse and jumped to the ground, turning back to help her.

  Heavens protect her, she sat alone on the back of the huge animal and had no idea how to get off. Her legs were numb from hours of clenching the sides of the mighty beast while trying not to fall off. Duncan stood watching her with amusement at her discomfort. She struggled to lift her leg over the horse as he had, but her muscles chose the wrong time not to obey her commands and she ended up toppling off and falling. Duncan broke her fall, cushioning her as she landed on the ground.

  Isabel lost her breath but soon realized she was straddling his body. Her gown and cloak were twisted around her, exposing her legs almost to her hips. She pushed up on her arms, shook her head to get the hair out of her face and gazed down on him. His eyes were closed and she was not certain whether she’d knocked him unconscious or not. Reaching down, she touched his cheek with her hand and rubbed her thumb along his jaw.

  His lips curved ever so slightly, into the hint of a smile, and his eyelids twitched as he tried to keep them closed. He was pretending! Bedeviled, she leaned over and kissed him. It was a simple, gentle kiss that said nothing of passion. But his reaction was swift and she found herself on the ground with him covering her, his eyes lit with lust and his body hardened and ready to take her.

  As quickly as it had appeared, he banked the heat in his gaze and rolled off her. Holding out his hand, he helped her to her feet and dusted the dirt and mud from her cloak. He was unlike any man she’d met before—one who would ignore his body’s readiness to couple and delay his own pleasure for . . . for what she knew not.

  Isabel looked around the area where they’d drawn to a stop and noticed he seemed familiar with the place. He led the horse to the nearby stream to drink, then let it graze. He pointed to a thick stand of trees where she could see to her own needs, and when she returned, he offered her a skin filled with ale, and pieces of bread and cheese.

  She thought him stranger with every action he took.

  What man would see to such tasks when a woman was there to perform them? He did, and did it with good cheer when another man would have been swiving her on the ground where they’d fallen. She remained a bit apart and watched as he tended to his horse and saw to his own needs, leaving her alone.

  Isabel walked a wide circle around him, eating the food he’d given her as she tried to work the pain and tightness from the muscles in her legs and her back. She was stiff from riding for longer than she ever had before. Worse was the knowledge she would have to get back up on the horse and continue their journey.

  He did not hurry her, though he could have. He watched as she walked by him, offering the skin to her as she passed. Duncan knew they needed to leave soon, but he noticed the way she limped as she took each step. He waited until she seemed to move with less pain, before calling to her.

  Their journey would last several more hours, along the stream and into the hills, but staying south and east of the Quiraing escarpment. His farm was not large and he did not rely on its income or crops, but it was his. If everything else he owned disappeared on the morrow, the farm would remain his.

  Isabel passed him once more on her circuitous path and he handed her the skin of ale. As she drank deeply from it he noticed the way she tilted her head back and the lines of her graceful neck. Her hair fell in waves over her shoulders and, after handing it back to him and walking away, he also noticed the sway of her hips as she moved. Touching her, kissing her, or simply being with her freed his body and heart and soul from the damage wrought by the curse he bore.

  When the horse had been watered and grazed, Duncan put the remnants of their meal back in the sack and tied it and the skin on the saddle. As she approached once more, he nodded and tried to ignore the funny expression she made at the news that it was time to get back on the horse.

  “You are still not at ease on his back,” he said, as he held out his hand to her.

  A shake of her head was her only response.

  “Here. Go up first and I will sit at your back.”

  She did not take his hand at first, but it was only a momentary hesitation. He realized she didn’t hesitate to obey his words long enough to be considered a refusal. He wondered at that as he helped her climb into the saddle.

  The horse shifted as she sat and she splayed out across his neck, grasping his mane as she did. Though terror filled her eyes, she did not utter a word of complaint or refusal. ’Twas clear to him she had been trained, like a hound, never to refuse an order and that her will did not matter.

  Like a good whore.

  Her body sat rigid when he climbed up behind her. She didn’t relax or lean back against him as he guided the horse at an even pace along the stream that wound through the valley. Though his arms encircled her to hold the reins, she did nothing that either welcomed or hindered his embrace-of-a-sort. They rode in silence, covering the miles as the skies grew cloudier and the air cooled. Finally, as she drifted off to sleep for the third or fourth time only to awaken with a jolt, he whispered to her.

  “Lean back against me, Isabel. Sleep if you need to,” he urged.

  She did as he directed and soon he felt her body melt against his. He shifted her in his arms, so she rested more fully on him as the horse followed the path to his farm. It felt right holding her and caring for her. Keeping in mind that she was a whore being paid to accompany him home became difficult.

  Isabel slept through the rest of their journey. He woke her as they approached the lane that led to his house. At first she did not move, then she startled, sitting up straight and looking around as though she’d forgotten where she was.

  “Here is my farm,” he said.

  She stopped moving and asked, “How long have I slept?” Her voice was roughened by sleep and his body responded to it. “Your pardon, my lord.”

  Confused by the apology, he shook his head. “What have you done to beg my pardon?”

  “I should not have fallen asleep.”

  In other words, a whore did not sleep while with a man. Whores were not paid to sleep—they were paid to pleasure.

  “We must set some new rules between us, Isabel. A month is a long time to go without sleeping.”

  “A month?” she asked. “Sigurd agreed to a month?”

  Duncan heard the shock in her voice and saw it in her expression when she turned to face him.

  Any further discussion between them was forestalled when his arrival was noticed. Several men working in the yard called out greetings and he knew it would only be moments before—

  “Duncan, you should have sent word!” Harald exclaimed as he ran over to meet them. He stopped just a few paces away and stared at Isabel. Having visited Duntulm
several times recently he recognized her.

  “Isabel is my guest, Harald,” Duncan said, cutting off any questions before they could be asked. “Let the others know.”

  “Aye, Duncan,” the young man said, nodding. He would still ask questions, but understood to wait for a time more private to do so. The real problem would be Gunnhilde.

  Duncan slid off the horse and turned to help Isabel just as that young woman burst out of the house in her customary exuberant fashion and ran to him. She barely waited for him to step back and turn before she threw her arms around him in a rib-crushing embrace. The younger sister he never had, Gunnhilde was always filled with vitality and joy. Because she’d nearly lost her life in an accident, she valued her days. Seeing her made his heart glad.

  “Duncan! We did not know you were coming or we would have been ready,” she began. She released him and turned to call out orders to the girl who helped her in the house and to the younger man in the yard. “See to his—their—things, Gawen. Eara, make certain Duncan’s chamber is clean and his linens fresh.”

  “Ornolf follows a day or two behind, Gunna,” Duncan said, calling her the name he always used. “Worry not over the room.”

  “And who is this?” Gunna asked, as he’d known she would. He’d turned back to help Isabel from the horse and did not answer until she was on her feet and not wobbling.

  “This is my guest Isabel,” he said once more, making it clear that no one would treat her otherwise. “She will be staying for a few weeks.”

  Gunna did not hide her surprise. Her gasp was heard by the others in the yard. Though they would not dare to express it, she had no fear of showing her reaction. Duncan did not think she understood what Isabel was, but Harald did, as did the other men who stood by listening and watching.

  Harald walked over and put his arm around his sister’s shoulders, drawing her close to him. She said, “I meant no disrespect, Duncan. ’Tis just not your habit to bring guests with you.”

  Gunna understood more than he’d hoped she would.

  “Isabel, come, let me make you welcome in Duncan’s home.” Gunna held her hand out.

  Duncan turned to watch Isabel. Once more, after gaining his nod of permission, she obeyed, following Gunna into the house. Once they were gone, Duncan untied the sacks from the saddle and started to follow them.

  Harald stepped in front of him. “You bring her here, Duncan? Is that wise? The full moon approaches.”

  “I had no choice. She is involved in some way I do not yet understand.”

  “Has she told you something?”

  “Nay.” Duncan stared at the closed door. “But I will have weeks to find out what she does know.”

  Or what she is.

  “She is an outsider. ’Tis too dangerous to have her here now,” Harald warned, stepping closer so no one else could hear his words. “I cannot allow her to witness the ritual.”

  Davin had selected Harald for his trustworthiness and dependability. And his complete and utter devotion to Duncan for saving his sister’s life.

  “We will observe her and decide if she is a threat,” Duncan offered.

  “She is a threat,” Harald replied, stepping out of Duncan’s path. “I just do not understand why you want her here. Other than the obvious charms she offers.”

  “I have decided to bring one woman with me to see to my needs during this time. Who better than a woman who makes her living on her back?”

  Harald remained silent, not arguing or offering his opinion and Duncan worried over the trouble that could signal. They reached the door, but Harald remained there, not entering. “What about Gunna?”

  “Gunna will be who she is, Harald. She will try to adopt another lost soul and care for her.”

  “Is that what the woman is then? A lost and wounded soul who needs you to heal her, and Gunna to nurse her back to life?”

  Duncan reeled back from that revelation. Was that it? Did the healer within him recognize the need in her to be healed? He’d noticed it happening more and more as the months passed—his healing abilities leaking into the days between the ritual, which always occurred when the moon reached its fullness. Did his power simply want to heal whatever was broken within her?

  Relieved somehow at that explanation, he lifted the latch of the door and stepped inside. It was the main building on the farm and where his private chamber was located. The others slept elsewhere but the cooking and eating were done there. The house was not like others on most farms, for Duncan had designed it according to his needs and not the usual ones of a farmstead. He ducked his head as he entered and found Isabel sitting at the table while Gunna put food before her. A place had been prepared for him as well.

  No matter the time of day, Gunna had something cooking in the pot over the fire. Porridge in the morning and a stew throughout the day. Anyone stopping there would be given a hearty meal before they continued on their journey. Her task in life was to collect and care for those in need and she relished it. Truth be told, he’d encouraged her for she made him feel as though he had a home.

  Isabel did not raise her eyes from the table, nor did she begin to eat. Though he knew she must be famished from the day’s travel and meager rations, she waited without a word. He touched her hand and she startled, then recovered, allowing his hand to cover hers without moving it away.

  “Eat,” he whispered as Gunna prattled on without pausing for anyone to answer the questions she posed. She didn’t notice the silence, but he did. Isabel spoke not a word except to murmur her thanks when Gunna placed another cup or bowl within her reach or refilled the one before her.

  He ate, listening to Gunna’s lively chatter, picking out bits of news about the surrounding neighbors, about the villagers in Uig, and Gunna’s concerns. But he never took his eyes off of Isabel. He sensed she had closed herself off from him. Duncan asked a few questions of Gunna and watched as Isabel finished eating.

  “Has Gunna showed you my chamber here?”

  “Aye, my—” Isabel paused for a moment, not knowing whether or not to address him as lord among his people, who seemed more like his family than servants. All of them, from the field hands to the woman who kept house for him, treated him like kin, or the way Isabel thought kin would treat each other.

  The woman Gunnhilde stopped and stared at her then, and Isabel knew she’d misstepped in some way. She knew the young woman was special to Duncan, and he would not have told her of his arrangements or of Isabel’s true place there. Whores were a fact of life but were not tolerated in a man’s home or around his kin.

  Duncan squeezed her hand. As she dared a glance up at him he spoke softly, guiding her way. “Duncan.”

  “Aye, Duncan. Mistress Gunna showed me your chamber.” Isabel also realized Gunna wanted to please Duncan more than anything in the world, so she continued. “And it is most pleasing.”

  The woman smiled and nodded at Duncan.

  “I thank you for worrying over my comfort, Gunna,” Isabel said softly. The warm surroundings gave a sense of intimacy to their conversation that almost put her at ease, but she knew better.

  Every possible warning sounded to keep her from feeling too at ease there, among those people, with him. She needed some time and some space to gather her thoughts and her resolve. Looking around and then at him, she wondered if he would give her leave to go outside without him. Taking a chance, she rose from the stool and stepped away from the table.

  “May I walk for a bit?” she asked.

  Silence filled the house, only the crackling flames in the hearth making any noise. Isabel worried her lower lip, waiting for his permission, not daring to meet his gaze or to look at Gunna.

  “You are my guest, Isabel. You may come and go as you please,” he said quietly.

  She nodded and smiled at Gunna. “My thanks for the meal.”

  Then she fled, one slow step at a time.

  Chapter Seven

  Isabel left the house and followed the path away—the one they arr
ived on though she had no memory of the last half of the journey. Her body ached from the hours spent on the horse and each step she took began to ease the pains in her back and legs. She passed the men who’d been working in the fields and the one named Harald who’d spoken to Duncan in a frank manner.

  He knew who she was.

  He knew what she was.

  Isabel felt his gaze remain on her long after she walked by him, but she kept on walking. His attitude she understood, more than she comprehended Duncan’s. He confused her more with each encounter. A man buying a whore’s time for weeks? A man taking a whore to his home and among his people? None of that should have happened. She offered him nothing more than any other woman could—a night of pleasure, a bout of bedplay that would last for a few hours.

  She turned her face up to the sky and watched the clouds gather and swirl. The storm had followed them from the coast inland and would strike soon. She tried to determine how many hours of daylight were left, but the darkness of the growing disturbance above prevented that. The winds grew stronger, blowing down the valley and over the farm. As her hair whipped around her she closed her eyes and let the power of the storm surround her.

  The rains would be coming soon. They would be strong and would last for several days. She did not question how she knew—it had been part of her since . . . she could not remember when. Long-ago bits of memories came to her of her days as a child when she would warn her mother and their neighbors of the approaching rains. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Thinking back too far only made it harder to face the present.

  Opening her eyes she found Duncan standing just yards away from her.

  The winds caught his shoulder-length fair hair and blew it wildly. His amber eyes blazed like hot metal and she could feel wave after wave of desire pouring off him. Whatever feelings of lust he’d banked last evening, they were back in full measure. Clearly he was ready to claim that for which he had paid dearly. Looking around the area where they stood, she realized it was a secluded glen and not visible until one took the turn in the road to the east.