“How did you know about the storm?”
She blinked and looked at him. Was he jesting to distract her? “From years of watching the skies and from living on the island.” It was how she always explained her ability. Most never asked past that basic question.
“It is more than that.” His gaze was intense.
For a moment, she thought he could hear her thoughts and know the truth or lies within her. Dare she tell him the truth? Even if he did not believe her explanation, would he sense she was being honest with him?
“I have never spoken of this to anyone,” she began. Another sip of wine eased the tightness in her throat. Isabel had to dredge up memories that were long hidden away. Ones that could cascade into others she did not want to think on.
“Go on.” He watched her over the rim of his cup.
“When I was a child, we lived near a lake.”
“You and Sigurd?”
Isabel looked away. She hated to be coupled with him, even mentioned in the same breath, but that was her lot in life . . . for now, at least. “Nay. My mother and I, I think.”
Truly, she did not remember the exact timing or how old she’d been, for she was just a wee one and all her memories bled together in a blur. But it was before Sigurd entered their lives, she knew that.
“Go on,” he urged as he stood and leaned against the wooden beam over the hearth, listening but not watching. The tension between them did not ease and she knew he was paying close attention to every word she spoke.
“My mother always warned me to stay away from the lake, but I wandered from home one morning and somehow found my way there. I remember hearing sounds and seeing flickers of light and color near the water and I went to see what they were. I fell in.”
Isabel could feel the cold water swirling around her as her garments soaked up water and their weight dragged her down. If not for the lights and the voices in the water she would have been terrified. Could she tell him of the voices?
“Could you swim? Did someone see you fall in?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nay. I was too small. My mother kept me close to her, except for that day.”
In her dreams, she saw those glimmers of light and heard the voices that swirled like music around her. She called on them to calm her and to help her block out what was going on around her.
“What happened?” he asked, interrupting her reverie.
“I only remember someone being in the water next to me, pushing me back up toward the sunlight. It was a woman and she lifted me onto the shore and told me not to fear the water. She said she lived in the water, so I would always find it to be my friend.”
He said nothing. Isabel knew how silly her words sounded, but her story would seem even more so before she finished. “I was but a bairn and that’s all I remember. Ever since then, water soothes me. I can sense storms approaching. Other things like that . . .” She trailed off waiting for him to laugh. She looked up when silence met her words. His expression was not one of disbelief at all, but rather curiosity.
“It heals you?” He walked over to her and examined her face.
She raised her hand to the place he stared at, feeling for some bruise or injury she’d not felt before. Isabel shook her head. “Nay. Not heal so much as strengthen and refresh.” She tried to make sense of how she felt after being in the sea or even, as that day, after being caught in a shower.
“It makes no sense.” She shrugged and met his gaze. “I cannot explain more than that.”
“The bruises around your eyes from too little sleep and the hard ride here are gone. I wanted to know.” His gaze moved to her lips and her breath caught.
His words were not demanding, nor did he scoff at her explanation. His ways were simply as different from other men as she knew herself to be from other women. Good thing that, for her stomach chose that moment to rumble almost as loudly as the circling thunder above them.
“Do you never eat your fill?” he asked, as she put her hand over it to muffle the sound.
“I . . . I . . .” What could she say? She had little time when with a man for anything but pleasuring him. If that included food, to be consumed or to be used to tease his other appetite, she ate it or used it. But it was not her place to ask to eat once a man had paid Sigurd for her use.
Isabel stumbled over words to answer his question, but Duncan already knew the answer: she did not. She never sought to fulfill her own needs, never spoke her own mind and never sought or expected anything a whore would not. For someone who had not yet two score in years, she had learned the limits of her life and did not question them. But from the expression in her eyes, he knew she wanted to burst out of it in so many ways.
“Come,” he said as he walked to the door of the chamber and opened it. “We should see what Gunna has left behind for us.”
She hesitated but he sensed it was more because he’d surprised her with his actions than because she objected. From watching her, he was certain her desires were never considered first. Though he’d promised their time together would be no different from her time spent with other men, Duncan wanted it to be different. He watched as she walked past him, the robe gliding over her, covering everything yet hiding nothing from him. His hands twitched, wanting to touch the lush fabric and her but he grabbed the shirt she’d discarded instead and pulled it over his head.
“Gunna does not live here?” she asked as they walked into the larger of the three chambers in the house. “This house is big enough for many people.”
“I wish them to live elsewhere. Fear not, their house is comfortable and large enough for their needs.”
She turned to face him, her cheeks flushed and a frown wrinkling her brow. “Your pardon,” she whispered.
Her constant apologies, offered for every real or imagined offense, angered him. It was not, however, anger at her but rather anger for her. Duncan had watched horses being broken, being stripped of their desire for freedom and forced to obey their masters without thought. She reminded him of such animals. Worse, though, was the growing need within him to find out the sources of her fears and to protect her from them.
Sigurd was only one he knew, but there had to be others. Other people who pulled the strings of her life, who made her dance to their tune whether she wished to or not. Isabel never complained, never rebelled against the things Sigurd obligated her to do.
He watched as she took bowls from a shelf in the cooking area of the cottage and scooped some of the stew into them, giving herself a portion that was half as much as the one for him. He cleared his throat, gaining her attention, and nodded at the smaller amount. “That is not enough to sustain a bairn, let alone a woman. Double it.”
She did it quickly, obeying his command much as his horse did. Trained to it, she was. Duncan nodded and pointed at the stool nearest the table. “Sit and eat all of that.”
Once more, she followed his orders, scooping one spoonful of the stew after another into her mouth, barely pausing to chew it, until the bowl was emptied. He handed her a cup and she drank from it. As ordered. He’d found the key to her behavior and would use it until he found the secrets behind it, too.
Surprised that she would share the story about the lake in her childhood with him, Duncan wondered as they ate in silence, if she understood the significance of such a tale. The islands were rife with remnants and symbols of some ancient race who had lived there before the Gaels or the Norse ever did. Standing stones heralded their places of worship; strange hills marked entrances to places not usually seen and rumored to have no exit. Because he did not know the source of his power and had suspicions about its origins, a story such as hers was not too hard for him to believe. Had some spirit or sith who lived in the lake saved her life? Could he have some link to the sith as well?
Isabel finished her meal and Duncan decided to begin their time together as he wished it to be, not as she was trained to act.
“Will the storm blow over soon?” he asked, taking the last mouthful of wine from
his cup.
She looked up at the ceiling of the cottage and closed her eyes, appearing for a moment as though she was asleep. Then she shook her head. “It will storm through the night and end at dawn.”
Her wistful tone caused him to smile. Almost as though she longed for the rains and winds to continue for as long as possible, which in the case of weather on that isle could be days long.
“And what do you wish to do while the rains pour down?” He gave her a choice. “I do not care to be outside in the worst of it,” he admitted.
“Do you have duties to see to, my lord?” she asked, while gathering the bowls and cups together. “Must you leave here this night?”
He could not tell if she flirted or if she was now the curious one. “I am not your lord, Isabel,” he corrected. “I am just a man who wanted you.”
“And could pay the high price demanded for me,” she completed. “Surely you must be wealthy and powerful to pay that cost.”
Duncan watched her eyes light as she spoke. He sensed a game had begun. A counter move was needed.
“Aye, I am wealthy and powerful, but choose not to give the appearance of such. Unscrupulous men would seek to separate me from both if they knew,” he explained. Something flashed in her eyes as he made that statement and he recognized either guilt or surprise at his admission. “Again, what do you wish to do this evening while the rains make remaining inside so appealing?”
As she considered her words carefully before speaking he felt her retreating within herself, almost as if building a wall around her innermost thoughts and desires and needs so no one could touch them. The whore’s expression returned to her features and he wondered if she even knew when she used it.
“You,” she whispered in a husky tone. “I wish to do you.”
It was safer to retreat into the persona she knew and could control than to let him get closer, so Isabel did just that. Pleasuring him, even when she allowed herself to enjoy it, did not threaten her soul as did answering his questions. Already she’d revealed something she had never spoken of to another except her mother on that day and she could little afford to let out anything else she kept inside.
Having sex with him would be no hardship for he gave as much pleasure as he took. She shook her head so her hair tumbled across her back and over her arse and she stood taller, pressing her breasts against the luxurious fabric of the robe she wore. Then she did the one thing that seemed to make him lose control—she slid the tip of her tongue over her lips, drawing his attention and reminding him of all the ways she could and would use her tongue on his flesh.
His response was fast and almost furious as he crossed the few paces between them, pulled her into his arms and dragged her onto the surface of the table where they’d just shared a meal. When she tried to ease her hands free so she could touch him, he took them in one of his and held them above her head. Before she could say a word to him, he kneed her legs apart, pulled the robe and his shirt out of his way and thrust into her.
Isabel gasped in surprise, for he’d never done that in all their joinings. With no prelude and no attention to her at all, he shoved his cock until it could go no further and then relentlessly sought his own release. Her body adjusted to his, her inner walls relaxing as they accommodated his length and thickness, pouring out moisture to ease his way. Just as her body fell into rhythm with his movements, his cock hardened and released his seed into her. His breaths were shallow and quick, but he did not pause to relax after his release. Instead he withdrew from her and stepped away.
Lying exposed, her legs spread and his seed still escaping from within her, she felt like the whore she was. In a way, that was cold comfort, for she knew how to be a whore with any man. She drew her legs together and pushed up on her elbows to watch him for a sign of his next intended move. With another man, she would have cooed and coddled and complimented, but Duncan befuddled her. She eased the robe down and slid off the table’s rough surface, having a care not to catch the delicate fabric on it. When she raised her head, he was staring at her and she felt naked once more.
“Now that Isabel the whore has had what she wanted,” he began in a low voice.
His words hurt her for some reason she did not wish to examine too closely.
“What does Isabel the woman wish to do this evening?”
Chapter Nine
Truth be told, Isabel wanted to sink to the floor, huddle in a ball, and cry until she was spent. That rarely happened and it was not going to happen. She took in a deep breath and prepared herself for whatever he had planned for her.
Her legs shook and she leaned against the table to regain her balance. He’d simply been teaching her a lesson by swiving her as most men did. He would have his way and seemed intent on breaking in to find what she hid behind her whore’s mask. She could not allow him to do that.
“Have I angered you in some way?” she asked. Always best to deflect and learn more before proceeding in the dark.
“If and when you act the whore, I will fuck you like you are one,” he replied in a calm voice that did nothing to ease her discomfort. “Like that.” He threw a glance at the table, reminding her of the mindless, selfish manner in which he’d taken her—seeking only his own release and having not a care for her. Like a man treated a whore.
With others, she knew not any other way and cared not, but he’d shown her something completely different in their previous couplings and that difference stung her.
What did he want from her? She was a whore and she needed to remain only that with him. The small weakness displayed when she’d explained about her affinity for water should never have happened. Did she dare tell him what she wanted? No one ever asked; Sigurd punished her for making any demands or requests. Watching Duncan as he stood with his hands fisted on his hips, she wondered if he would accept her words. Or was it simply a ploy to learn more of her weaknesses?
He raised his brow, waiting for her to ask for something. Thunder crashed outside as though prodding her on, so she took a deep breath and blurted out the thing that was uppermost on her mind.
“I would like to sleep,” she admitted, looking away and fixing her gaze on the floor.
Silence filled the space between them until his footsteps grew louder and closer as he paced across the stone paved floor. She could see his legs and the edge of his linen shirt as it hung over his thighs but feared looking at his face. She’d fallen asleep once while bedding a man and he’d complained to Sigurd, demanding his coins back. She’d learned the folly of sleeping and never repeated that mistake . . . until on the ride to Duncan’s farm.
The gentle touch of his fingers beneath her chin, lifting it so she had no choice but to meet his gaze, surprised her. Once more. “Then go now and sleep.” He nodded toward the other chamber and stepped away, no longer blocking her path.
Did she dare? Would she be able to sleep? Her blood raced through her veins; the heat of his fast and furious coupling lingered. So many questions plagued her she doubted she would indeed get any rest. And, when he did join her in that bed, he would expect her to satisfy his needs. Why bother then? Why even make the request and expose another part of herself, another weakness to him?
When she delayed leaving, he reached up and touched the skin below her eyes. “The bruising of exhaustion is back, Isabel. Seek your rest now.”
The kindness in his voice made her control waver, and other emotions threatened to burst through. She needed to get away from him, for her own sake. She took the first step and then the second before he spoke.
“In the coming days I will have need of everything you offer. I will need the passion and oblivion found in relentless pleasure, but not now. Sleep well.”
His words aroused her in an instant. The place between her legs, so recently used, throbbed in response and her nipples tightened. Her body ached for what he threatened and what he promised with his words, but her mind grew curious at what he’d said. What would happen to cause such things? Why would he need
physical release soon but not now? What could he mean by relentless pleasure? He had taken her so many times the first night they were together—could he mean to repeat that?
She never took her gaze from him while walking past him. He was a young man, vigorous and healthy, in the prime of his life, so she did not doubt he could repeat such a night over and over again. Isabel pushed open the door to the bedchamber and stepped inside. Other than the trunk of clothing, there were few belongings there to give her any clues or information about him.
Regardless of any respite offered, Isabel found herself thinking on her true task there—not only to seduce him with pleasure but also to find out his secrets so Sigurd could use them. Mayhap a night of good sleep would clear her mind. Then she could figure out how to discover why he had so high a standing with Lord Davin and what his value was.
She slid the luxurious robe off and climbed into his bed. Pulling the bedcovers up higher, Isabel closed her eyes and hoped sleep would come.
Duncan did not enter the bedchamber until he’d regained control of himself. He was appalled by the way he had used her. Knowing he’d been trying to make a point did not lessen the disgust he felt. Even when she had not resisted, even when her body had adjusted quickly to his invasion, even as he spilled his seed within her, he’d known he should not treat her so. But he had and she had taken him without complaint, her body growing wet and hot around his cock with each stroke.
He feared she was so used to being a whore to men’s desires and wants that the woman inside was lost forever. Though he was sure there was someone different within her, someone she most likely did not even know, it was folly to think he could change her in one day. He did not know why he wanted to do such a thing. His month with her would be over and she would return to Sigurd and his machinations. Duncan would face death alone.
Just because she seemed to stave off the effects of the curse that afflicted him did not mean she could banish the end result of it. His death grew nearer with each day and with each use of the power that began to bloom and beckon from deep inside his soul. He had spoken the truth to her about his growing need over the next weeks. With the full moon less than a fortnight away, he would soon become unmindful of things like consideration for her needs. The terrible power would seize control, exuding the scent that would pull her or any other woman within a short distance into his web of need and desire. Stronger with each passing month, it was reaching some apex and he knew with a frightening certainty that it must soon end and cause his death. From observing the progression of his abilities over the last months, and the resulting inability to feel any emotion, Duncan believed the culmination would come two full moons hence.
Mistress of the Storm Page 8