Mistress of the Storm

by TERRI BRISBIN

  “Hush now,” she warned in the only way she could. “This is nothing more than what you paid good coin for. I am very good at what I do, so you may feel there is more, but there is not.” Isabel sat up and reached for her shift, trying not to see the shock and hurt in his gaze. “If you’d like me to pretend there is, I can do that as well.”

  He did not move for a few seconds, then climbed to his feet and gathered his clothing to dress. They did not speak again until he brought over the leather sack that had been tied to the horse’s saddle. Food. He’d brought food for them. Another considerate action that made her regret her words. Still, she could not allow him to think she was affected by their time together, regardless of the things he did for her.

  Strange, she’d thought her heart was deadened a long time ago, but it ached in her chest, making her regret not telling him how much his actions meant to her. Not telling him that what had just happened between them was extraordinary. Not telling him she’d never initiated sex with a man because of her own needs and desires before the time spent with him.

  Telling him any of those things would result in nothing good and so many things bad. She could not risk it. She reacted politely as he took out bread and cheese and some leftover fowl from last evening’s meal and shared it with her. Isabel even managed to speak to him about the journey there without breaking down and crying. She was a good whore indeed.

  “Tell me of your childhood,” he said quietly as she gathered up the remnants of their meal and placed them back in the sack. “If this is the lake you told me about, you must have lived close by.” He stood staring at the lake’s surface and did not turn to face her.

  She walked to him and placed her hand on his arm. He turned.

  “Truly, this is the same one I told you of, Duncan. I remember the look of this place, the way the water felt, the smell of the plants and grasses growing here even now.”

  “Your home then was in which direction from here?” he probed.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I am curious, Isabel,” he answered. “An unseemly curiosity is at the root of my questions.”

  He lied to her. She knew it, could see, and hear it. However, if she lied to him, she could hardly hold him to task for lying to her, could she?

  “Did you enter as we did from the north? Or from the other end of the glen?”

  Isabel looked around her. She walked several paces away from him, examining the path and the lake and how it was positioned. She’d been but a wee girl when she’d wandered into the place—no more than three or four years had she at the time—but it truly did look familiar to her.

  “I think there is a small path over there.” She pointed it out to him.

  Walking in that direction, she passed by a large collection of boulders and made her way to the bushes behind them. There was a path hidden by the overgrown bushes, one that she believed was the one she’d followed into the glen all those years ago.

  “It is here,” she called out to him. But he was at her side already. Crouching down he looked through the brush. He glanced back at her and nodded. “There is a path. It is difficult to believe this is the same lake you fell into, but it would seem so.”

  She laughed then, a mix of nervousness and relief. A part of her childhood that had confused and frightened her for years had been solved. The other part, about the woman in the water who’d saved her, would always remain a mystery. Or perhaps that figure had been conjured up by the imagination of a young child who’d faced death and survived it. Or mayhap she’d dreamed it in a time when she’d needed to be rescued?

  Isabel looked back at the lake and caught sight of flickering just beneath its surface. With the sun’s rays playing over the swirling waters, she could not tell if it was the light being reflected or something else. Surely not . . .

  “Did you see it?” he asked, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun.

  She noticed he did not approach the lake’s edge. “See what?” Isabel walked close to the edge and studied the water. If something had been there before, ’twas gone. “Nay, nothing.”

  They stood in silence, farther apart than ever before due to the lies that lay between them. He was interested in her early years and would not admit it. She wanted him with a dangerous desperation she could not accept or admit. They played to a draw that day, in spite of the pleasure given and taken, and in spite of visiting that magical place.

  “We should go soon, Isabel. There are not many hours of light left.”

  She nodded her acceptance, though it meant climbing on his horse again to get back to his farm. The time she’d spent in the water had refreshed her and she felt little of the fear that had controlled her all the way there. Duncan helped her to climb up and then sat behind her. If she dozed off on the ride back, she did not remember. She only knew his strong arms encircled her and for a short time she felt safe from all the dangers that lay before her.

  Duncan knew in the marrow of his bones they’d shared more than just a joining of their flesh beside that lake. Isabel wanted him and gave of herself to him. More than just an even exchange, she’d reached out to him for the first time without his beginning their encounter.

  In the days and nights they’d spent together, not once had she refused him a full measure of her passion, not even when playing the whore she thought herself to be. No matter when he touched her or how he took her, she responded eagerly. But he’d watched the wanting and longing in her eyes grow and overwhelm her control as she took what she wanted of him. He’d watched as she offered something of herself while they made love. Only when he began to tell her about the coming days did she change and become the whore once more. He caught sight of a man in the shadows off in the distance as they rode back to his farm and realized what she’d done.

  She’d stopped him from revealing something she would have to tell Sigurd.

  She shifted in his arms, murmuring in her uneasy sleep about the waters in the lake. He guided her back against his chest and let her settle before urging his horse to a faster gait. Though the watcher kept his distance, Duncan did not know what his plans were or whether they were in danger. He would set his own guards in place to keep the stranger at bay until after the ritual. No one would get close enough to frighten her again.

  They arrived just before dusk as Gunna was serving the evening meal. Isabel woke quickly and began to help her, while Duncan saw to his horse and had a few words with Harald about strangers and Isabel’s safety. If the man thought it strange Duncan set guards for his whore, he did not voice his opinion. He nodded and Duncan knew Harald would see to it.

  Conversation during their meal was sparse for everyone, save Isabel, knew what approached and the dangers of the ritual. All who worked the farm, save Gunna, had seen the ritual and its effects on Duncan and knew he would face it within two days. They finished eating, cleaned up, and left with very little chatter, allowing him time with Isabel. Though usually he would have been mindlessly swiving any woman who arrived at his door by that time in the month, Isabel’s presence had appeased his hunger and given him true satisfaction. It must be that which stemmed his need and allowed him rest when he usually paced ceaselessly in the days before the full moon.

  Sometime in the dark of that night, Isabel cried out in her sleep and turned to his embrace for comfort. A nightmare captured her and held her, terrifying her and making her sob. He heard words about the lake, the weight of her clothes, sinking into the depths and dying. He urged her to speak of what she remembered, but she only cried out more. The visit to the lake must have stirred up the child’s fears and memories.

  He wondered if she knew she cried in his arms. Duncan would like her to trust him as much awake as when she slept, but he understood too much stood between them. With no time left to seek out the reasons behind what she did and knowing he would not be there to see to her safety or prevent her return to Sigurd, a pain tightened around his heart. Strange that he’d finally found a woman he thought might accept the d
ifferences in him and be strong enough to love him through the coming ordeal, yet he had to pay for her time. A sound echoing on the wind brought him to full alertness.

  If he did not know better, it was laughter that floated outside the walls. A man’s. No. The laughter raced like the wind past his house, sounding like the tinkling of hundreds of bells, but also like a chorus of voices. Laughing, then fading off as quickly as it came.

  Tempted to curse the fates or whatever had condemned him to live and die without knowledge of his origins or the reasons for his powers, Duncan ignored the urge to investigate and slid back down next to Isabel. She moved closer, kissing his chest as she laid her head there. ’Twas an unconscious gesture but it touched him deeply. Clearly she did not have any reservations while asleep. If only . . .

  The laughter echoed in the chamber once more and Duncan decided not to draw its ire again. Turning to his side, he held Isabel tightly, wondering how she would react to what was to come and how it would change things between them.

  Would the changes she’d already wrought to his accursed body change his fate as well? Or was he as damned as he’d ever been? Two more days and he would know. As he felt the pull of the moon grow stronger, he wondered if the tides ever considered fighting back or if the fight was as futile as he thought it to be?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gunna cried twice during the noon meal and did not even put an evening meal on the table. Worse, she would not meet Isabel’s gaze at all.

  Harald stomped in and out of the house, whispering to Duncan and listening to his orders with a black expression in his eyes.

  Ornolf disappeared into the storage barn and did not come to eat with them.

  Duncan was the worst, for he carried the look of a man facing the gallows.

  And no one would speak to her about what was going to happen.

  The next day dawned stormy and dark, the sun not daring to peek through the clouds. All day, people arrived at the farm and Isabel watched as Ornolf greeted them and led them to the barn. Some walked on their own, but others were carried or carted in. A chilling thought struck her as the third group turned up on the path to the farm. They were all either ill, ailing, or injured in some way. They sought out the man called the Healer—Duncan. Icy shivers traced down her spine and she trembled with fear as she faced the coming night, not knowing what to expect.

  When she tried to speak to him, Duncan brushed her aside with an unusual indifference. And that worried her most of all. She found an extra cloak in his chamber, wrapped herself in it, and waited by the door to the house, watching the scene unfold through a crack in the shutters. Once she tried to follow Duncan out, but Harald and another man blocked her path, making it clear she was a prisoner, at least for the time being.

  As the moon began to gain prominence in the sky Duncan entered the house, motioning for Gunna to leave them in private and she complied silently.

  “Duncan—” Isabel began.

  He waved her to silence. “There is no time now, Isabel.” His voice took on a strange cadence. “I must . . . see to things and you must remain here.”

  “What will you do, Duncan? Tell me, I beg you.”

  He took her hands in his and she jumped from the heat in them. Almost too hot to touch, his skin seem to sizzle where it contacted hers. “I cannot speak of it now. You must obey my wishes in this. Stay here with Gunna and do not leave until Ornolf gives you leave to do so.”

  “But . . .”

  He released her without another word, the air around her losing the heat he radiated as he stepped to the door. She shivered and tried to reach for him, saying his name, but he left without another look or word. When she tried to follow, Harald took hold of the door and stopped her, allowing Gunna in but neither of them out.

  She tried to lift the latch, but it was held in place by something and would not budge. Isabel slammed her hands down on the table and let out a vile curse, startling Gunna so much she stopped crying.

  “Tell me, Gunna. Tell me what is happening,” Isabel begged.

  “I cannot,” Gunna said. “I am sworn to him, Isabel.”

  “He brought me here because he thinks I can help him in some way.” Gunna’s eyes showed her shock at the news, so Isabel continued. “I was able to stop some of the effects over these last days,” she argued without knowing how accurate her statements were.

  “Harald will stop you.” Gunna looked at the door, then back at Isabel. She shook her head and motioned for Isabel to follow her into the small storage chamber located opposite the bedchamber. “Come this way instead.” She drew back a cloth, revealing a small door.

  Isabel reached to lift the latch. Gunna grabbed her hand. “Are you certain you wish to know the whole of it? Mayhap you should remain here as he—”

  “Nay, I will not stay here,” Isabel argued. Something terrible was heading toward Duncan and she needed to warn him. A horrible churning in her stomach unlike anything she’d ever felt told her so. She must go to him. She must . . . do something.

  “Stay in the shadows of the house until you reach the corner, then duck behind the fence. When you reach the barn, go to the back and find the third plank in the wall,” Gunna explained, handing her a dark cloak. “It slides apart and you can enter there, but Isabel, you must not reveal yourself or leave until everyone else has.”

  Isabel nodded, anxious to get to the barn as quickly as possible. Pulling the hood of the cloak down low around her face, she eased the door open and stepped outside. The moon’s light shone down, lighting the landscape and throwing shadows across the yard. Using them to hide her presence, she did as Gunna had instructed and made her way to the barn. Finding the back corner, she counted and found the loosened plank. Holding her breath, Isabel tugged it open only wide enough for her to shimmy through, then closed it behind her. A wall of wooden storage trunks provided cover as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness before moving.

  Ornolf’s voice broke the silence and she climbed up on one of the trunks to see into the open part of the building. The center part had been cleared of whatever goods or supplies were usually stored there. Those who were ill or injured were gathered in a small group with their families standing in another circle around them.

  Duncan stood in the center of them all, his eyes closed and his arms crossed over his chest. But it was his hands that caught her attention.

  They glowed like irons in the blacksmith’s fire!

  Covering her mouth with her hand to keep from gasping aloud, she watched as he began to change into someone, something, else. No one seemed surprised but she could not believe what her eyes saw.

  He took in a deep breath and opened his eyes. They glimmered and flickered like flames, brightening and burning until all the color was gone and only white could be seen. His face changed as well, with other features laying over his as though someone had placed a mask over it. The face was younger in some ways and much older in others as it melded with his own, making it appear as though several people lived in the same body.

  “The Healer is here,” he said, but the voice was not his.

  Isabel shook, fearing what she was about to see.

  “Take me to them,” he ordered. He held out his hands and Ornolf guided him to the nearest invalid, a man of about two score whose arms and legs had been badly burned. Duncan reached out and placed his hands on the man’s arms.

  She rubbed her eyes, not believing what she witnessed.

  Their flesh seemed to melt together, rearranging itself from burned and ravaged to normal skin. All traces of the burns disappeared as Duncan touched the man. Once the damage on his arms had been repaired, Duncan moved his glowing hands onto the man’s legs. Impossible though it was, the skin repaired itself under his touch.

  Isabel shook her head, denying what she saw each time as Duncan was guided from person to person. Her chest hurt from holding her breath and her eyes burned with tears as she watched him heal each one, drawing their injuries or their illnesses
from them and leaving them whole.

  He moved in utter silence. Only the sound of his deep inhalation as he began each healing broke the stillness. Ornolf stopped him once, but he looked out with those flaming eyes and set his gaze on a woman who looked whole. Duncan motioned her closer, but she shook her head, denying the need for his power until he said her name and revealed the truth of her condition to everyone present.

  “Margaret, ’tis not a bairn that grows in your womb. It will be the cause of your death,” he warned quietly.

  The woman began to cry and the sound of her desperate sobbing filled the barn.

  “Come to me.” His words sounded as though he pleaded with her to let him help.

  Margaret took one shaking step, then another until he could touch her, laying his hands across her belly and lower. She gasped and crumpled to the ground. Duncan knelt at her side and whispered reassuring words that only the woman could hear.

  Ornolf helped him to stand and tried to lead him away, but Duncan stopped once more and looked across the people assembled there. He shook his head, then turned in Isabel’s direction. She ducked lower so she could not be seen above the crates, but she could hear him approaching.

  “Duncan . . . Healer, you have done enough this night,” Ornolf urged. “Come away now.”

  “There is another here who is so broken her soul calls to me,” Duncan said. “I can feel the damage even now.”

  She held her breath then. He spoke about her, though no one knew she was there. How could he know? How could he feel such things? She fought to remain silent, to keep from answering his call and begging for his gift to be used to patch her soul and body back together. He would do it. He could, as she’d plainly seen. One touch of his hands and all the pain would disappear forever. She could be whole again.

  She could . . . never accept such a gift.

  Ornolf spoke to Duncan and she heard them move back to the center of the room. Risking a peek she watched as his hands lost the fire and his face became only his. Those who had been healed began to approach him, murmuring their thanks, trying to give him coin and goods in gratitude, but Ornolf guided them away.