Efficiently, he cleared the room and building, then took his leave of Duncan. She heard the door close and the bar drop into place. Isabel waited, not wanting to reveal her presence and remembering Gunna’s instructions to remain until everyone else left. Before she climbed down from her perch as quietly as she could, she risked one more look. What she saw stopped her.
Duncan sat slumped forward on the stool. Suddenly his body shook and shuddered until he fell to the floor. The same fire that had filled his hands took over his body and he writhed in agony as it burned him without destroying him. She could see he fought against it, clenching his jaw and moaning as wave upon wave of terrible pain coursed through him. He rolled to his side, curling himself into a ball, but another wave forced him to his back again.
Until his legs were exposed she hadn’t realized he wore only a loose robe, not unlike the one he’d given her but in a sturdier fabric. The fire appeared in his legs, setting his skin on fire, making it blister and burn. She hurried to him before she even knew she’d decided to help him.
But how?
Whatever controlled him was inflicting the very injuries and ailments on his body that he had taken from those he’d healed. Shaking her head, she watched as he clutched the parts of his body he’d laid hands on in the ritual. Was the power he hinted at destroying him bit by bit? Her tears poured out as she watched in helplessness, and reached for him.
He opened his eyes and stared at her. “Get out,” he begged through clenched teeth. “Now!”
She crouched down, unable and unwilling to leave him. Touching his face, she fell back from the fiery heat. The tips of her fingers reddened as though she’d touched a scalding cooking pot or iron poker in the fire. How could he live through such a thing?
“Duncan,” she whispered. “How can I make this stop?”
“You cannot,” he forced out. “Nothing can.”
The tremors seized him again and he moaned in agony in the silence of the barn. She sobbed, trying to think of something that could help him or ease his pain.
“I beg you, Isabel. Go now.” Then he was lost to the fire that burned him but did not destroy him.
She scrambled away, climbing to her feet and stumbling to the place where she’d entered. Without looking back again, she shoved the board aside and climbed out. Isabel could not return to the house sobbing and hysterical as she was, so she crept away toward the stream, her mind confused over what she’d witnessed. Just before she reached it, she was grabbed from behind, dragged into the bushes and thrown to the ground.
“What happened in there?” Godrod asked, his hand wrapped around her throat, slamming her head down. “What is going on, whore?”
Out of control, she cried and babbled what she’d seen—the fire in Duncan’s hands and in his eyes, the strange voices and face, and his ability to heal with his touch. She failed to keep any of it in. If Godrod believed what she’d seen or not, he didn’t say. He simply kept throttling her and slapping her until she told it all. When she’d finished the tale, he released his grip and tossed her aside.
“If I go back to Sigurd with such a story, he will have me see to you before he kills me. If yer lying to me, bitch, I will make ye pay for it. Ye will beg for death to end what I will do to ye,” he threatened.
She crawled away, trying to find a place to hide from him, from everyone, from everything, but he grabbed her ankle and dragged her back. With his foot on her stomach to hold her down, he reached for the ties on his trousers.
“No reason not to use ye while I have ye.”
He fumbled with his laces as Isabel watched in horror. Unable to fight back and utterly confused by what she’d seen, she gave up, throwing her arms over her face. He knelt down, spreading her legs and pushing her gown out of his way, chortling.
Isabel held her breath and waited for the pain.
Nothing happened. Opening her eyes, she watched as Godrod fell over to one side, landing on the ground next to her. She scrambled backwards to get away from him, and only then did she realize what had happened. Harald stood there with a long club in his hand. Looking from him to Godrod, she saw the gash in the side of his head from Harald’s blow.
“Come now,” he said, holding out his hand to her. “Gunna is overwrought with worry about you.”
“How?” she got out before she began to shake and tremble.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and guided her back along the path to the house.
“Duncan?” she asked as they passed by the barn where . . . it had happened.
“He wanted you protected, Isabel. That is why he ordered you to remain within. He knew someone was following you.”
Duncan had known about Godrod? “Is he dead?” she asked, wondering whether dead or alive was the better thing once Sigurd heard of it.
“I did not kill him. The others will move him to the edge of the village where he will awaken with a terrible pain in his head.” Harald stopped and gazed down at her. “If he returns, I will kill him.”
She shivered, understanding the man would do anything necessary to protect Duncan—anything. She dug in her heels and made him stop.
“I want to see Duncan,” she demanded now that her thoughts began to clear. “He needs help.”
“There is nothing that can help him this night,” Harald said softly, tugging her along. His strength was too much for her and she found herself walking in spite of wanting to stop. “Do you not think I would have done it if there was something to be done?”
She allowed him to take her to the house, knowing the truth of his words. “How does he survive such a thing. He was on fire.” Her mind rebelled at what she’d seen happening to Duncan. “And the pain of it. It could drive a man mad.”
’Twas Harald who stopped then, turning to face her. “Do not speak of this to Gunna. She has never seen what it costs him.”
“Why . . . ?” Her words faded as she realized the tie that bound Gunna and Harald to Duncan. “He healed her?” Harald turned away before answering her, but she did not need to hear it to know it was true. “What happened to her?”
“I will not tell you his secrets or hers, whore.” Harald gasped as he spoke the word, then looked away for a moment.
“Isabel,” he went on, “Duncan knows you spy for Sigurd and will take anything you learn back to him. You’ve already told him”—he nodded toward where Godrod lay—“too much. I will not see you put Duncan in more danger.”
They arrived at the house to find Gunna waiting within, pacing and wringing her hands.
“Oh thank the Almighty, Harald found you,” she cried out as Harald closed the door behind them. “When I heard them talking about an intruder on Duncan’s lands, I feared for you, Isabel.”
Harald let go of her and turned back to the door to leave. “Stay inside now, Isabel,” he warned. “Until Duncan orders otherwise.” The expression in his eyes told her that would not happen soon.
How long would it take for him to recover from what had happened to him? If his ability to heal was tied to the full moon, had it happened before . . . and would it again?
“You too, Gunna,” he added in case either of them thought to leave.
Isabel said nothing more as Harald exchanged a wordless message with Gunna before leaving. Looking around the room, Isabel realized she’d never lost control of herself as she had in the last hours. Priding herself on being the one to direct things, she began to shake as it all came back to her. Gunna pulled her to sit at the table, then handed her a cup of wine.
“Aye,” Gunna whispered to her. “It happens every month or so when the moon grows full.” She answered Isabel’s questions without even hearing them.
Isabel lost hold of the cup and dropped it. Gunna knew much more than Harald thought and, for some reason, she hid it from her brother. But did she know Isabel’s true purpose there, which seemed no secret to Duncan or Harald? She reached out and righted the cup before placing her hand on Gunna’s. The woman had been nothing but kind to
her and she would not see her repaid by more deception.
“Speak not of it, Gunna,” she warned.
“You should know the truth about him.” Gunna poured more wine into Isabel’s cup, then met her gaze. So much pain lay behind those kind eyes.
Isabel would not add to it. “You should not trust me,” she admitted boldly. “I cannot be trusted.”
“Duncan would not have brought you here if he did not,” Gunna challenged.
Isabel stood then and shook her head. There seemed no other way to make the woman understand other than to speak plainly about it. “Duncan brought me here to ease his need for pleasure during the weeks before the full moon. He needs sex. He needs sex from many women and decided a whore might be able to accommodate him with fewer questions or expectations than other women would. He told me that much.”
Every word was true, but the admission did not have the effect she’d hoped for. Gunna pressed her lips together and shook her head, as though refusing to believe would make it all false.
“He also knows, as does Ornolf and Harald, that I am supposed to report back everything I learn about him and the power he has and how it works.”
“It uses him up and is killing him, Isabel. That is how it works.”
Isabel gasped at the words, motioning to Gunna to say no more, but she continued heedless of the warning.
“He thought it such a gift at first, you know. He was able to save people from death and illness. Each month he could lay his hands on someone and heal them—how could that not be a good thing?” Gunna drank some from her own cup, pausing but not done yet.
“But each year has seen the power grow and its cost grows, too. His needs, as you said, have become excessive and uncontrolled. What you saw after his healings, the burning, is worse each month and the emptiness deepens and lasts longer.”
Isabel could not help herself. “Emptiness?”
“Aye. After he heals, he is afflicted with whatever he drew out of the people he’s cured. Then the power burns it out of him, leaving him unable to feel for days and days.”
That explained the burns appearing on his arms and legs and the other injuries he’d suffered while she watched. Isabel thought back to the first time they’d met, in Lord Davin’s hall, and she remembered that he’d seemed shocked when he’d looked at her. He’d asked her to touch him, to caress his skin, and he was surprised in some way. Had that been when his ability to feel had returned?
“More than just being able to feel, his emotions are wiped clean and he becomes like an empty shell.”
Too far into the explanation, Isabel had to hear more. “Where did this power come from? Can he not control it?” she asked, damning her soul forever, for she knew Sigurd would be told what she learned. She had no choice.
“No one knows, for he was a foundling and raised by those who discovered him abandoned some miles from Uig.” Gunna shivered and drank more wine. “I have sought for knowledge about him or this terrible curse, just as he has, but can find nothing more than a few strange tales. Nothing that can explain it.”
A commotion began outside the house and they ran to the door to see what was happening. It opened just as Gunna reached it, revealing a disheveled and exhausted Duncan. Gunna shook her head and cried out his name, just as he sank to his knees. Harald was there in a moment and helped him inside.
“Duncan! How did you get this far so soon?” she asked, revealing to her brother she knew more than she’d ever let on to him. “Harald, bring him. Isabel, turn down the bedcovers. Ornolf, help him!”
They moved wordlessly, carrying out their tasks, and Isabel could see each of the others was shocked by Duncan’s presence there so soon after the ritual had been concluded. Within minutes, Duncan lay on his bed and managed to drink some watered wine before fading off to sleep.
When it looked as though she would be ordered elsewhere, Isabel sat in the chair next to his bed and ignored the others. Gunna, bless her, won the argument and they left Isabel at his side with instructions about his care and warnings about disturbing him. They remained in the other chamber for a short while, whispering amongst themselves so she could not discern their exact words, but she did not miss the tone of their conversation.
Harald wanted her gone.
Ornolf remained neutral.
Gunna argued in her favor.
When they all left without dragging her with them, Isabel knew Gunna had gotten her way. She smiled at the young woman’s spine of steel. When it came to doing something she thought was the right thing to do, she would even defy her brother.
An hour passed and Isabel dozed, exhausted by all that had happened. Duncan lay without moving or making a sound. As she sat watching him, she finally felt the dirt in her hair and on her skin from Godrod’s attack. She poured water from a jug kept near the hearth into a bowl and tried to clean herself. With a brush, she eased the tangled knots from her hair and removed as much of the dirt and leaves as she could. A full bath would have to wait. As she returned to her chair, she found Duncan watching her.
“You wear the mark of a man’s hand on your throat once more, Isabel,” he said softly.
The tears welled and spilled over, making tracks down her cheeks. She did not want to lie to him any longer, nor did she want to be the instrument of his downfall. Too much was between them to pretend otherwise.
“You disobeyed me,” he accused.
Her body shuddered at the words and what usually followed. She could not believe he would seek retribution against her for leaving the house or going to the barn. But mayhap he would?
“Did you find what you sought?”
She slid to her knees and clasped his hand to her chest. “Send me back now, Duncan. I do not wish to play this out any longer. I cannot.”
He did not move his hand and she wondered if the numbness had set in. She stroked the skin of his hand and arm and saw no response at all. Knowing more than she had a moment ago and realizing the danger in discovering more, she begged him again. “Send me back. Tell him you are not pleased. I will take the risk of his anger over—”
“Over betraying me to him?” he finished. “ ’Tis true, Isabel. I cannot feel your touch on my skin. I will not be able to for some days, though I suspect fewer than last month.”
“Why? Why is it different this time?” she asked before she thought about it. Damn her curiosity!
“Because of you.”
He stared at her as though seeking the answer to a riddle, a dispassionate gaze that watched her every move, looking for information. No warmth or wanting dwelled there, only emptiness. It seemed a stranger looked back at her. His claim that she was the reason for the change in him felt false.
“Why me?” she asked.
“I brought you here hoping to find out the answer to that simple question.”
“And have you discovered it?” Isabel held her breath, waiting, hoping, praying for something that would help her not betray him to Sigurd.
“Not yet, though I am seeing threads of a bigger web each day.”
The man lying before her was not the same one who’d shown her kindness and consideration or the one who’d made her melt with overwhelming, breathless desire and pleasure. This man was a stranger and it frightened her.
“Let me go,” she pleaded again, touching his hand.
He moved his lifeless gaze to the place where their bodies touched and shrugged. “I’d hoped it would be different, more different, but I fear even you may be too late.”
Isabel leaned her head down on the bed and let out everything that was inside her. The guilt, the shame, the loss and grief, the fear, the helplessness, even the hatred. All of it poured out in a torrent not unlike the storm that had followed them from Duntulm. Through it all, he did not speak or reach out to her, but he did not shun her or order her away. Much as the power burning within him had purged him of all emotion and sensation, the tears washed her clean.
She fell asleep where she lay, never knowing he reached out t
o her in her grief.
He touched but could not feel.
Chapter Fifteen
He wanted it to hurt, but it did not.
Watching her collapse and cry out sobs reaching down to her soul should make him sad or angry. Instead, he watched and felt nothing. She finally fell into a fitful sleep and he reached out to touch her, resting his hand on her hair, then her head.
Nothing. He could feel nothing under his hand.
At least the pain had relented. The burning agony had eased within him only a short time after the ritual finished, unlike the hours and hours he’d suffered the last two months.
Isabel sighed, drawing his attention. She mumbled something in her sleep, not as she did when the nightmares took over, but words of pleading and supplication that would have caused pity in anyone else hearing them.
But not in him that night.
Duncan suspected but did not understand what linked their fates together. Though he was not sure of the reason, he was certain of the connection. Finding that the lake on his lands was the same one she’d fallen into as a child was too significant to be coincidence. Watching whatever inhabited that lake accept her into its depths convinced him she was more than simply a woman, just as he was somehow more than just a man.
Unfortunately, one other thing he knew for certain—he would die with the next ritual.
His heart had slowed and stopped for longer than last time, for he’d counted the seconds and waited for it to beat again before he lost consciousness. Next time, the power would burn him out completely, leaving nothing but his empty body behind when it was done. That knowledge did not bother him. He thought on things he needed to do before it happened.
He must deal with Sigurd and find a way to free Isabel from him. He must learn her reasons for staying with the man and letting him use her as he did. Duncan was missing something critical there, for a woman filled with the vitality and passion for life he’d found in her would not easily fall into being the pawn of one such as Sigurd.
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