Mistress of the Storm

by TERRI BRISBIN

  She turned slightly and said over her shoulder, “I have never stayed with a . . . with anyone like this, so it all feels like a dream.” She tried to explain her own confused feelings. “This will end, Duncan, as it must and I will return to Duntulm. But I did not mean to ruin your plans by reminding you of such things.” She carefully leaned into him. “How can I make this up to you?”

  Instead of easing the tension between them, Isabel felt a momentary stiffness in him before he relaxed in the saddle again. Did he have other plans? Or did he think to negotiate with Sigurd for additional time with her? Something was wrong, for he urged the horse faster so she would hold on.

  They rode along in an uncomfortable silence until they reached the place where the path dipped down as the stream quickened and tumbled over a ledge. The waterfall created by the rushing water collected in a small pool where the ground leveled out once more. He stopped near it and climbed from the horse’s back, helping her dismount.

  Whenever she was near water, Isabel’s spirit calmed. She walked to the edge of the pool and crouched down to feel the water. It was cold, but not as frigid as the sea. She cupped her hands and dipped them in, lifting water to her face. Isabel drank, then did it again, quenching her thirst before turning to see where Duncan was.

  He stood off a few yards watching her. She filled her hands and offered water to him. ’Twas his turn to hesitate but he soon accepted her gesture. He knelt next to her and let her bring the water to his mouth. Though some spilled down the front of his shirt and tunic, he drank most of it. She repeated it until he waved her off, though still no words were exchanged.

  Watching the splashing water, she wanted to enter the pool, but he forestalled her.

  “Come,” he said abruptly as he mounted the horse again. “This is not the place I wanted you to see the most. It lies another hour or so from here.”

  She did not argue, but climbed back up, trying not to let her fear of the horse show. There was anger in his eyes, and she knew she’d caused it somehow. How could she make it better between them? Isabel decided to watch for an opportunity and be ready to appease him.

  What she did not want to admit to herself was she cared that he was upset. The realization struck her in the silent moments as the horse plodded on toward the surprise. Just as he did not have to take his whore on an outing to please her, she should not care why or what he did or did not do, so long as the coin was paid.

  But she did.

  Could she allow him to know it?

  Before she could come up with dozens of reasons not to, she leaned into him, grasped his hands, and said quietly over her shoulder, “I thank you for taking time for this excursion when you have other matters to see to, Duncan. I have angered you in some way and beg pardon for whatever thoughtless thing I said or did.”

  He hugged her to him, the heat of his body warming hers. “I cannot tell if that apology is coming from the whore or the woman.”

  Ignoring the warnings sounding in her mind and mayhap answering the guilt she felt over reporting to Godrod, she revealed a bit of herself to him. “The woman,” she whispered, admitting the truth. She did care, damn her weak heart, that she’d hurt him when he was being considerate. Regardless of their arrangements, she did care.

  “You did nothing, Isabel,” he said softly, his words tickling the skin of her cheek. “Difficult times are coming and my bad humor is about that, not about you.”

  “Is there something I can do?” she asked. “To ease these difficult times.”

  He’d bought her for sex, but he wanted more than just that from her. He wanted explanations and reasons she might not even know she had inside her. He wanted to know why she was different. Why she whored and spied for Sigurd when he would have shared his secret with her if she’d only asked?

  He’d known for days she was being watched. Strangers in the small village were noticed quickly and their questions about him had alerted him to their search for her. He did not want to believe she was a spy, but he felt it was the truth. Sigurd had agreed to let her go for a month because he would gain more than the gold paid in return for her.

  “Just your presence eases me,” he said, in spite of his suspicions.

  ’Twas the truth. Having her near seemed to temper the effects of the coming full moon and its ritual. Since months before, the weeks prior to the full moon were filled with unsatisfied physical needs and fear of the approaching power. This month, she gave him release and relief from the burgeoning sexual needs the rising power caused within him. Somehow, she made it possible for him to gain control over the impending storm. He did not understand why it was she who had the ability when dozens and dozens of others had not, but simply holding her eased his mind and body, and allowed him to feel the normal desires of a man for a woman.

  He lifted her hand and kissed the palm of it. “We approach the glen I spoke of, but the path becomes steep. Hold on,” he advised her. When she leaned against him, grasping his hands again, he laughed.

  “How can you be so fearless about swimming in the sea and so frightened of horses?” he asked. Duncan did not expect an answer, so her words surprised him.

  “I fell from one once and was nearly trampled. I cannot rid myself of that fear.”

  Another admission from the woman. What had happened between them that she felt at ease admitting such things to him? He gathered her closer so she did not shift as the horse descended the final part of the path leading into the glen, hoping his gesture comforted her. He knew the moment she took in all around her for she gasped at the sight in front of them.

  He’d found the place by accident months ago, but had not returned because of the disturbance he felt there. He felt it again as they entered the hidden valley, but the excitement pouring from Isabel tempered it for him. Without explanation, her presence made a difference. The path led along the stream, which emptied into a small lake. As though untouched by weather or storms, the hills of the glen remained green and blooming. But those hills were unlike any others he’d seen in his travels around Skye, the other islands or even the Scottish mainland, for they looked sculpted, as though flat layers of earth had been cut and stacked in ever-narrowing piles until they formed cones.

  They rode along the path until they reached the lake. From there the ruins of an ancient stone tower were visible to them. Like a guard tower, it sat high above on a ridge overlooking the glen, though no one had ever claimed possession of it. If he approached from the road that led to Uig some miles away, the tower seemed to warn travelers of the strange place. He reined in the horse and climbed off its back, then helped Isabel down.

  Without hesitation, she walked away from him, heading for the edge of the lake. Wonderment filled her expression as she gazed this way and then that, taking in every aspect of the glen. Though the same forboding he’d experienced before began again, her sense of excitement and interest pushed it away and Duncan followed her.

  “How did you find it?” She turned around and around, making him dizzy.

  He grabbed her and stopped her, but the expression in her eyes, the way they seemed to glow, caused the healing power to rise within him.

  It tickled his skin from inside, pushing and testing its way, seeking a release. Duncan shook his head, surprised at the feel of it, how it tempted and teased him to call the power forth and not wait until the full moon only days away. More frightening was that he wanted to bring it to the surface, to share its power with her, in that place.

  “I walked for days when I received these lands, to learn the extent of them, and stumbled into this place.” He looked back along the path to confirm something before speaking. “It is like a hidden world. Very few have found their way here without me to guide them.”

  Isabel walked toward one end of the lake without looking back at him. Her expression when she turned spoke of something important. “This is it!” she cried out, glancing from the lake to him and back again. “This is it!”

  He thought she was confused until sh
e ran to his side and grabbed his hand. “This is the lake where I fell in!”

  Duncan found it difficult to believe, considering she was a wee bairn when the accident had occurred and could not possibly remember its location. But when he glanced at the lake and noticed the flickering lights that seemed to approach where she stood by its edge, he began to think otherwise.

  “Do you remember where you lived?” he asked.

  She did not notice the lights under the surface, but crouched at the lake’s edge and dipped her hand into the water. “’Tis warm! Come and feel it, Duncan!” she urged, laughing.

  Her face took on a shimmering glow and he wondered over the origins of the place. As she moved her hand through the water, the lights gathered, much like fireflies in the air. Still, she did not see them.

  How could he? He shuddered from the power of something preventing him from moving to the water’s edge. He could not ignore it . . . or pass through it. Strange though, for he swam in the sea and in other lakes, never feeling anything like that barrier before.

  “Do you see the lights there, Isabel?” he asked.

  She shielded her eyes from the sun’s light above and searched the surface of the water. “Nay. I see nothing but beautiful, clear water.”

  She laughed again in childlike delight and he could not resist smiling. She was a carefree, younger, vibrant Isabel. One who must have existed before she began selling herself for secrets. One before the world, and Sigurd, changed her. One he’d liked to have known.

  “May I swim?” she asked, her gaze serious.

  “If you can stand the cold. You do not need my permission, Isabel. ’Tis the reason I thought you might like to come here.”

  She began peeling off her clothing, each layer flying through the air to land haphazardly around her on the ground. He would have helped except she moved too quickly for him. So Duncan stood aside and watched as her naked body was revealed to him. He knew every inch of her flesh, having kissed or tasted or touched it all during their time together, but seeing her exuberance aroused him as never before.

  Isabel barely paused by the edge, dipping in her foot, then diving in. The lights spread out, as though shifting aside, for her to enter, then swarmed around her body as she moved through the water. She swam deep and he watched as she melted into the water. Even the bright sunlight that chased away the clouds did not make her visible below the surface and Duncan took a pace toward the edge.

  Just as had happened when he’d watched her from the battlements above when she swam in the sea, he began counting out the seconds she remained too deep to see. He tried to get closer, but that barrier held him away. Finally, she broke through the surface, laughing in delight. Pushing her hair from her face, she looked around until she saw him and swam with sure strokes toward where he stood.

  “Join me, Duncan,” she called to him, holding out a hand. “ ’Tis warm.”

  For a moment she looked like a mermaid of legend, or one of the sirens in those ancient Greek stories, luring men into the sea and to their deaths. For longer than a moment, he wanted to take her hand and follow wherever she led. How could he explain to her what he felt? ’Twas like the barrier he’d felt deep within her when he’d tried to heal her. Frustrated that he could not find or understand the connection that existed, he waved her off.

  “Enjoy the water,” he called, crouching down to watch her from his spot on the shore.

  The wench pushed herself onto her knees, exposing every part of herself to him and flung herself backwards into the water, flipping her feet up and leading with her head. He wanted her, his cock hardened and ready, and every squeal of enjoyment she made caused his body to ache and burn to have her.

  Duncan bided his time, knowing she would see to him when she finished. Would the healing effect of the water be as noticeable in her as the last times? Would it erase the mark of a man’s hand on her throat and his scent from her hair? He had not missed those or the disturbance she felt because of them. If he asked her about it, she would lie or say nothing, so he did not bother. Instead, he waited and, aye, he hoped the water restored her.

  He stood and walked around the end of the lake, wondering if it truly was the same one she’d spoken of to him. Though most would question it, her tale of a magical woman rang true to him. The glen carried something in it that was older than time and a power stronger than any he’d felt before. Had he failed to notice it on prior visits because his own power was not as strong? Did he notice it now because his power was cresting or because she was with him?

  Regardless, he would never get the answers from Isabel. She seemed unaffected or unnoticing of the mystical presence in the waters though he could see them clearly. See them, but not approach too closely.

  She called his name and he turned to face her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Isabel climbed from the water, refreshed and feeling more alive than she had in a long time. The cooler air chilled her body, raising gooseflesh as Duncan walked toward her. The heat in his gaze warmed her even as his actions in taking her there warmed a heart she’d thought long-dead. She gathered her hair together and twisted the water from it so she would not get him too wet.

  He did not move, yet she could tell he wanted to come closer. The longing in his eyes and the way they glowed and sparkled called to something in her blood and she began to walk toward him. Isabel needed him. She needed him to wrap his arms around her and hold her as her past and her future threatened to collide in that place where she should have died and had not.

  She stood a pace away from him and let the desire she’d always controlled and hidden rise in her blood. Her body ached for him. Reaching across the distance she undressed him. He said not a word as she stripped his garments from him. Shaking from the cold air and the frank need pulsing through her, she fumbled with the ties to his trousers. He brushed her hands away and finished removing his clothing, then he stood facing her, as naked and exposed as she.

  When she reached out to touch his erect cock, he pulled her into his arms, just as she’d hoped he would. He possessed her mouth.

  She took over and kissed him the way she wanted . . . to within an inch of his life. He fell to his knees and she followed his body down, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. He managed to sit without disturbing her and guided her onto his shaft, inhaling sharply as she slid inch by searing inch until he filled her with all of him.

  The crisp hair on his chest tickled her breasts as she rubbed against him. Running her hands through his hair, she held his face to hers, never taking her tongue from his mouth, tasting, desiring, possessing him. He slid his hands down and lifted her up. She drew her inner walls tight until he moaned. She smiled against his mouth and did it again and again until she drove him as mad with wanting as she was.

  She did not relinquish control—over what they did or how quickly or slowly she moved—drawing it out until they were breathless and hot, unable to wait another moment. When his hands became frantic, touching her and making her ache and throb, and when he urged her on with words whispered into her mouth, she relented and began to seek release. She rocked against him, rubbing his cock inside her cleft and against that tight bud of flesh that swelled, waiting for release.

  “Let me?” he asked, his voice hoarse with need.

  He moved his hand between their bodies, reaching to touch the spot that would trigger the release they sought. She arched then, allowing him to slide his fingers down and down until he paused. Gazing at him as he touched her, she lost herself to the pleasure of it. One stroke, one caress and she shattered into so many pieces she thought never to find them all.

  Isabel screamed against his mouth, then threw her head back, letting her pleasure echo throughout the glen. He rubbed and played until she could scream no more, then turned her on her back and sought his own release, thrusting so deeply inside her, she lost track of where she ended and he began. Falling into the welcome oblivion of release, she took and took all
that he offered.

  Once she came back to herself, she held onto him, burying her face in his neck and inhaling the scent she craved; the one that poured out of him during arousal and joining as surely as he breathed. ’Twas something she’d never noticed with any other man. Aye, there was always the smell of spent lust and spilled seed, but his scent was nothing like that.

  “What is that scent?” she asked softly. Lifting her head, she sniffed the skin of his neck and face and found faint traces of it.

  “It is part of my power, Isabel. As the full moon approaches, my body needs release more often so the scent spills out, calling women to me.”

  Part of her longed to warn him off from speaking about his secrets, so she would not face the choice of betraying him, but she needed to understand what drove him to pay the staggering amount for her.

  “How many women?” she asked. She tilted her head up to see his face as he answered. One skill she’d developed was knowing if a man spoke the truth or not. A twitch of the eye, a lifting of the corner of the mouth, a glance off to one side all spoke of lies. She watched his expression as he answered.

  “The number would rival, I suspect, the number of men you’ve had in the last year or so, from what I have been told,” he admitted.

  That number was . . . it was . . . too many to think about, she decided.

  “So this is nothing more than flesh meeting flesh to you?” she asked, throwing a nod to the area around them and their bodies, which remained joined.

  “It began as such, Isabel,” he replied with an honesty she felt. “But I think it is changing into something different from what it has been before.” He withdrew then and her body screamed out at the loss of his flesh in hers. As he rolled off her, he pulled her along, tucking her beneath his arm and holding her close. “I—”

  She put her finger to his lips to stop him from revealing anything to her. Isabel knew she would tell Sigurd regardless of how much she might not want to. But, if Duncan did not admit anything . . .