Mistress of the Storm

by TERRI BRISBIN

  His people would have seen him go after her and would know not to follow them. Harald and the men knew her purpose there, for certain, and Gunna at the least suspected it. Isabel had caught her surreptitious glances, but did not want to speak of such things to such a young and innocent woman.

  He took a step toward her and then another, and she found it difficult to breathe and impossible to move. How would she survive such an onslaught of sensations and pleasure if that happened every time they joined? Over the next weeks, every shred of control that she’d built up would be stripped away. She would be left with no way to protect herself, her heart and soul, from the damages of the life she led.

  She’d sworn never to lie to herself and she just had. The control she’d fought so hard to develop as a defense was stripped away whenever she was in his presence. For whatever reason, she could no more play the whore with him than she could refuse him. What would become of her once they finished? What would happen to her with the next man and the next and the ones after those?

  He stood but a few paces from her. He lifted his hand up and loosened his cloak, tossing it to the ground at his feet. Isabel’s body heated at the knowledge he would take her on it. The blood raced through her veins and her skin began to ache for his touch. Her breasts swelled and the sensitive folds in that place between her legs grew moist and throbbed at the thought that he would put his mouth there to lick and suck until she screamed out her release.

  He tugged his tunic over his head and reached for the ties on his breeches. Her feet moved toward him before she could think. Her usual way of planning and carrying out a seduction was useless, for she followed her body’s commands and did what it wanted, pushing his hands away.

  Giving in to the inevitable and accepting that she could not defend herself against the draw of the man, Isabel reached out and took hold of the laces of his breeches and untied them. His indrawn breath excited her and she fell to her knees to do exactly what her body was urging her to do—pull his trousers down and kiss a path down his thighs as the fabric gave way. Consequences be damned, for she would have to deal with them later, at a time when she had no choice but to face them.

  Duncan had waited behind to speak with Gunna, to try to ease any fears she had about the woman he’d brought with him. He was not certain how to explain Isabel’s presence, for he doubted Gunna had been exposed to women like her before. She’d grown up in the small village of Uig, in a large protective family. She’d spent little time anywhere but within walking distance of the cottage where she’d been born.

  But, as she had so many times in the past, Gunna told him that Isabel was a lost soul. She would not explain more than that. She’d reminded him Isabel could become disoriented in the thick woods at the turn of the stream and he’d accepted her dismissal.

  However, he’d followed Isabel for his own reasons, too. He could tell she was still out of sorts from the journey, from waking up among strangers, and from being placed in the middle of a situation unlike any she’d experienced before. He’d made the final turn on the path and seen her ahead. She stood with her face lifted up to the sky and her eyes closed. A habit it would seem, for she stood just so on the beach when he watched her there.

  As she knelt before him, he noticed the dark smudges of exhaustion under her eyes and the paleness of her skin. The position accentuated the graceful lines of her neck, her shoulders, and the womanly curves of her breasts. His hands ached to touch them. His gaze went back to the evidence of her lack of sleep and he swore to himself if she gave any sign of reluctance, he would stop.

  But when she opened those earthy green eyes and met his gaze, he read her hunger and her need. Not to be the whore to him but to be the woman. His body was long since ready for her, ready to join with her and to claim her. Nothing, not even the strong winds swirling above and around them, not the threatening storm, would stop him.

  Duncan felt the touch of her tongue on his hot flesh. He shuddered, then leaned his head back and let the sound of the pleasure she caused echo through the glen.

  Thunder rumbled in reply and lightning flashed across the sky as she used her mouth up and down his prick. His hips arched, thrusting his flesh deeper into her mouth. He slid his fingers into her hair, freeing it to the wildness of the winds. She pushed him to the edge of release, then eased back, peering up at him from where she knelt on the ground before him.

  He did not want her like that, in a position of serving him; he wanted to be deep within her, making her scream as he pushed them both to satisfaction. Duncan knelt down with her, removing her cloak and adding it to his. Then he guided her onto the ground and knelt between her legs. She opened to him, her legs cradling his hips. Sliding her gown out of the way, he eased into her, watching every move of her mouth and her eyes to gain some understanding of the woman he wanted with a growing desperation.

  Her lips opened slightly and a breathy sigh escaped, making his blood heat. He surged forward, filling her until he could go no further, and his flesh swelled against the constriction of the throbbing muscles within her. He felt the sensations pulsing through him with each passing second.

  Her gaze met his and neither moved nor breathed as their bodies remained joined. Lighting flared again in the distance and the rolling rumbles of thunder grew closer and louder.

  Duncan smiled at her. “Not a good time?”

  “There is time,” she whispered as she returned his smile with one that made him want to possess her mouth. “The rains will not reach us for nearly an hour.”

  She’d spoken the words with such a tone of authority, it sounded to him as though she was ordering the storm to remain at bay. He leaned down and kissed her mouth. When she entangled her hands in his hair and held him to her, he tasted her deeply, enjoying the warm, wet heat of her mouth with his tongue the way his cock had.

  He angled his hips and thrust again into her welcoming flesh. Ignoring the winds and thunder, he slid in slowly and withdrew at the same pace, trying to bring her to the edge of release. He paused and rolled, guiding her up over him. As she straddled him, he reached down and teased the sensitive bud that lay hidden inside the folds of flesh.

  She arched at every caress, every touch of his fingers, and her deeper muscles clenched his cock. Isabel’s legs tightened around his hips as she lifted her body up, then plunged down to slide on his length. Clouds swirled above them, the patterns of dark and light mixing, making it appear as though she moved slowly over him. Her black hair outlined her body and her green eyes caught every burst of lightning, reflecting it back at him, giving her an otherworldly appearance.

  He ignored the thunder. He ignored the winds. He ignored everything that was not Isabel, forcing them past caution and into the oblivion pleasure offered. She tossed back her head, crying out as her body shook and spasmed around his, causing his own release in that moment. The storm answered back. Lightning rippled through the thundering mass overhead and Duncan wondered once more about her affinity to water and her knowledge of storms.

  She collapsed on him and he wrapped his arms around her, caressing her back as she, as they, regained control and their breathing returned to a slower pace. He remained within her, despising the feel of his cock gradually withdrawing from her heat. They lay in silence for a few minutes, but the storm grew louder and wilder around them.

  “We have to go,” Isabel said as she straightened up. Still straddling him, she gathered the length of her gown and tunic and pushed herself to stand. “I was wrong—the rains are coming now.”

  Duncan shielded his eyes and looked in the same direction she did, but could see nothing to indicate the rain would commence.

  Isabel did not hesitate—grabbing his tunic and tossing it to him. “We must hurry.”

  He climbed to his feet and tugged the shirt back into place. As he tied his laces, she shook out their cloaks and held his out to him. Instead of putting hers on, she began to walk away from him, back toward the farm. Duncan felt the first drops as he caught up w
ith her.

  As he watched she leaned her head back and let raindrops land on her face. Then she laughed and ran off ahead of him on the path. Her speed was no match for his, so he took her by the hand and led her, half running, half walking, along the narrow dirt path. Before they reached the outbuildings that might shelter them from the worst of it, the skies opened and torrents of rain poured down.

  For a moment, he felt as though he was a child again, racing against the rains, trying to get home before a storm. Memories swirled in his mind much like the clouds—gray and white, dark and light, clear and muddied—as he tried to remember exactly what had happened. He had been thinking back on those tender years for some time, for it was difficult to face the end of one’s life without contemplating the earliest and happiest days of it.

  With each step he took, holding her hand like the anchor it seemed to be, joyful memories flooded through him. His friendship with Davin, finding and saving Gunna, discovering his ability to heal others. The good things in his life. It was as if the rain washed away the fear and the doubt and the pain of all he’d lost and all he would lose if things proceeded as he thought they must.

  For a moment none of that mattered, for her strength flowed into him and refreshed his spirit and his soul. If he was the one known for his healing powers, what was she?

  They raced along, finally reaching the fence that marked the first of his fields. Soaked through to the skin, they ran to the door of the house and twisted out of their cloaks, letting the water drip on the ground. Duncan opened the door to check if anyone was within. When he found no one, he peeled off his clothes, then hers, and carried her inside.

  He would have laid her on his bed, but she fussed about ruining the linens, so he set her on her feet and found a drying cloth. Wrapping her hair in it first, he drew out all the excess water, then rubbed the rest of her dry. He would have done it for himself, but she pulled the linen from his hands and dried him. Though it was not meant to, the feel of the fabric over his skin pushed him to arousal once more.

  He would have taken her in that moment, but he remembered her exhaustion from the journey. To pursue her again would be cruel. Duncan told himself he had a month of her time and her attentions and he did not have to rush with her, but his body wanted more—and worse, his soul did, too.

  She watched him in silence as he took the cloth and tossed it in the corner of the chamber. He walked around her, moved the blankets and furs from the bed and offered her his hand. As always, she did not hesitate to accept it. Duncan settled her in the bed, tucking the covers around her. She undid it all by lifting them for him.

  “Nay. I want you to rest,” he explained. His cock disagreed, surging as he gazed down on her body in his bed.

  A frown marred her face, her brows raised and her lips downturned. If he did not know the amount she’d cost him, he would have thought her a lover instead of a paid companion in his bed. He was about to tell her of the dark smudges beneath her eyes that gave away her exhaustion when he realized they were gone. Her skin was unmarred.

  How could that be? The sound of the storm outside drew his attention as thunder rumbled around them. He spoke his question before he could stop the words. “What are you?”

  She began to speak. “I am”—

  He knew what her words would be before she uttered them, so he spoke them with her. “A whore,” he finished. “But you are more than that, Isabel. And I would know the rest of it.”

  He knew there was more to her than simply what she did for Sigurd. Duncan could feel something deep within her that hinted at a sharp mind and a caring heart. Something she hid and protected from everyone. And something without which she could never be whole.

  “Stay there,” he ordered in a calm voice. “The storm rages and everyone has sought shelter for the coming night. I would have answers from you now.”

  Then, to give himself time to sort through all the questions he had for her, he left, planning to return with wine and food.

  Chapter Eight

  She’d failed.

  And that failure would cost her dearly.

  Isabel gazed around the chamber, twisting her fingers in the bed linens. Tears burned in her eyes as she contemplated the price of the misstep.

  Had Duncan been warned to be watchful for Sigurd’s machinations? Did he know she was there more to lure him into Sigurd’s net than into her bed?

  If he discovered and exposed Sigurd’s dealings, Lord Davin would take action against her stepfather, even call for the earl’s or king’s justice against him. If that happened, she would be turned out or worse, and all Sigurd’s properties would be forfeited. Thora would pay for the failure.

  Drawing in a slow breath, Isabel gathered her thoughts and focused. She was smart. She could control the situation. She thought back on their exchanges and tried to remember when she could have slipped up with Duncan. They’d spoken so little, she could not pick out a mistake.

  She needed to dress. Handling him while sitting or lying naked before him would not work. In spite of his command to remain where she was, she scrambled out from under the covers and sought a garment to wear. Sigurd had told her to take few clothes, expecting she would spend most of her time pleasuring the man or waiting in his bed for his return. Without knowing how long her stay would be, she’d followed his instructions.

  She found her sack but could find no other gown. The only one she had was rain-soaked, outside until she could hang it to dry. Opening Duncan’s trunk, she found one of his undershirts and began to pull it on.

  The door behind her opened. Duncan held two cups in his hands and stood watching her tug his shirt over his head. Without saying a word, he kicked the door closed with his foot and placed the cups on the table near the hearth.

  “If you dig a bit deeper, you will find something warmer than that.” He gestured with his chin at what she wore.

  Now that he’d given her permission, she opened the wooden trunk and searched through the layers of clothing, guided by his voice.

  “Not that. To the left. You are looking for something green.”

  She found a green garment, dark in hue as the forests around them. It was made of a soft fabric she did not recognize. Unable to resist the feel of it, she rubbed her hands over its surface and found it pleasing. She slid it out and stood, shaking it and holding it before her.

  “A robe,” he said, walking closer. “It will keep you warm while here in my chambers.”

  Isabel slipped off the undershirt and let the robe slide over her. It caressed her skin, making her shiver, as it fell over her body. She could not stop from touching it, wrapping it around her fingers and sliding them over its soft texture.

  “It was a gift from the East,” he explained, his eyes not missing a thing as the fabric clung to her and displayed every curve of her body. “I had no use for it until now.”

  Isabel startled at the revelation. Was she the first woman he’d brought to his home? It simply could not be! And she a whore. Sigurd had discovered Duncan had no wife and no family to speak of, but she wondered why not. He was in his prime years, in good physical condition and wealthy. He should be setting about starting his own family. Truth be told, he should already have children.

  “My thanks for allowing me to wear it,” she said.

  “It is yours,” he offered.

  Isabel smiled. No one gave her gifts, for Sigurd made it clear anything of value should be given to him, in safekeeping for her. Though she treasured a small trinket—a pin a man had made himself for her—she’d managed to hide from Sigurd, any other valuable object or jewelry disappeared from her possession as soon as it arrived at her cottage. The robe would always remind her . . . of the kindness she was certain Duncan meant by it.

  But she understood she should not read more meaning into it than just that—a kindness shown. Too many times since her nightmare had begun, she’d thought someone, some man, would come along and save her from the life she lived. Someone would value her for herse
lf and not only for the pleasure she could give.

  The first time she believed a man who’d promised to take her from Sigurd, then left without keeping his word, she was devastated. The second time, she thought she knew the man and thought he meant what he said, but when faced with Sigurd’s anger, the man abandoned her. The punishment from Sigurd crushed any remaining traces of hope she might have been foolish enough to hold in her heart. It was clear that to try again was worse than foolish—it would be dangerous to her and to Thora.

  Lost in her thoughts, Isabel realized she had not thanked Duncan properly. She swallowed down the wisps of hope that would not die and accepted the gift.

  “My lord, you are a generous man to give me something so valuable.” She bowed her head, waiting for an indication he expected pleasure in return for the magnificent garment. Truly, she would not mind giving him release to thank him for it. She stepped closer and reached out her hand, stroking his manhood, which seemed to always be ready for joining.

  “If this is in exchange for the gift,” he began as he removed her hand from his hardened flesh and stepped away from her, “then I would like something else for it.”

  Isabel reached down to remove the garment so they could join. He did seem to prefer that to finding release in her mouth or with the play of her hands. So be it.

  “You misunderstand me, Isabel.” He stopped her from removing the garment and handed her one of the cups, pointing to a chair near to the hearth. The entire chamber was a luxury, with an additional hearth to keep it warm. “I wish answers from you.”

  She fought against the inclination to gasp or appear nervous before him. Taking a sip of wine to keep from blurting out anything she would regret, she was surprised to find it to be of high quality. She sipped again, enjoying the flavor of a wine she rarely was given a chance to savor. “I will answer your questions, my lord.”

  He stared at her for a moment and she could feel the bile grow in her gut. He must know her true purpose.