Mistress of the Storm

by TERRI BRISBIN

  Isabel fell back, rushing away from the scene before her. The last thing she saw was Duncan taking Thora’s hand and lifting it to his mouth to kiss it. Pain, black and slashing, struck Isabel then, forcing the breath from her body. The air around her began to sparkle and she knew she was fainting. No one helped her. Many stepped away so they would not touch her as she fell again. The shouting of the crowd, congratulating the betrothed couple, woke her from her stupor only moments later.

  The crowd had grown and so she escaped down an alley between houses, making her way out of the village. When she reached the path that would lead her back to the farm, she knew everyone would be going there.

  She could not return there and watch Duncan marry her sister.

  Confused and desolate, she ran in the other direction, making her way along the narrow walkway to the south of the village where few people were. Small fishing boats lay on the sandy beach waiting for the tides to lift them back into the water. Fishermen worked on their nets, preparing them for the next catch, while the day’s catch was cleaned and taken to the village to be sold or fed to their families.

  She ran past them all, seeking the edge of the water where she could be alone to make some sense of it all. But standing there as the waves swelled onto the sand did not ease the pain in her heart or the confusion in her soul. Everything blurred around her and she stood in mindless agony. It was worse than anything she could have imagined.

  She had no idea how much time passed as she stood there unmoving. She had not the strength to think of what to do. Until someone pulled her back, she had no idea the rising tide washed around her, wetting her feet, her legs and much of her gown. Dragged to higher ground, Isabel recognized Harald, who held her upright as she swayed, ready to fall once more.

  “Come, Isabel.” He pulled and half carried her along the sand back toward the village street. She did not bother to stop him.

  He guided her down several small alleys until he brought her to the door of a small cottage. Harald knocked on it softly and waited for someone to open it. The woman was familiar in a vague way, but Isabel did not ever remember meeting her. ’Twas her name that brought back the memory of how she knew her.

  “Margaret, the Healer asks for your help,” Harald said.

  “Anything, Harald. I would do anything he asks of me.”

  Isabel glanced up, curious to know who would pledge such blind loyalty to him. It was the woman who’d thought herself increasing at the last ritual. The one Duncan had healed. Margaret moved back and let Harald take Isabel into the first chamber, then farther inside, gently seating her on a chair near the hearth.

  “Isabel needs a place to stay for now. Can she bide with you?” he asked.

  Isabel could see agreement in the woman’s eyes and it made her force words out. “I cannot stay here, Harald. Tell her why.”

  “Isabel . . .” He looked at her, then at Margaret.

  She was ready to tell the woman why she should not take her under her roof and risk her reputation when Margaret took her hand and rubbed it between her own.

  “You are chilled to the bone, Isabel. Let me get you into some dry clothes.”

  With a glance, she dismissed Harald and began to peel off the wet layers of clothing. In silent, efficient movements, Margaret got her undressed and into a clean shift. Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, Margaret then pressed a mug of steaming cider into her hands and urged her to sip it.

  Isabel wanted to refuse, but could not find the strength to do so.

  “Do you have need of something, Isabel?” Margaret asked. “Are you ill?”

  “I am not ill,” Isabel whispered.

  It was only that her worst fears had come to pass. Her heart had awakened from its slumber and been stolen by the man she’d feared would be her undoing. Worse, he’d taken her soul and betrayed the love she’d given him. After struggling for the last years to protect herself so she could survive and live, she no longer wanted to.

  Duncan had never been so tormented as he was when he saw Isabel in Uig. As he climbed from the boat, Sigurd pointed out his daughter Thora and led them to her, all converging at the same time in the same place.

  He read the surprise, then disbelief on Isabel’s face even across the distance between them and watched as she reacted to the news Thora must have told her. He’d paused for only a moment to try to find Ornolf or Harald but it was long enough for Sigurd to spy her speaking to Thora. Before he could intervene, Sigurd had tossed Isabel to the ground, then brought Thora to him.

  Forced to play the game out, he’d stood and accepted the girl as his betrothed, not allowing himself to seek out Isabel for fear of disavowing his well-laid plans in the face of her heartbreak. As the crowd began cheering the news, many approached to wish him well and it was some time before he could speak to Harald or Ornolf about her. She’d disappeared and he’d sent Harald searching for her, suggesting he look for her in the one place he knew she’d go—near the water.

  As they approached his farm, with Sigurd playing the proud father to his demure daughter, all Duncan could do was think about Isabel and worry about her condition . . . and compare her sister to her.

  He could find little resemblance between the two women other than their dark hair and light eyes. Separated by about four years, he guessed, neither of them looked at all like Sigurd. Thora smiled and acted interested in everything Duncan said, but he caught warning glances from Sigurd and fear in her eyes more than once on the journey.

  She’d been in the hall that night when he’d taken Isabel to his chambers, yet she gave no sign of recognizing him at all when he was introduced to her. That was what a respectable woman would do, of course, and she played her part well, ignoring his baser needs. Ignoring the fact he had taken her sister to his bed.

  They crossed through the last line of hills separating his farm from the coast and he watched her reaction as they followed the path down to it. It was nothing like the opulence of his chambers at Duntulm, for he preferred the easy comfort of the smaller chambers and the privacy of separate buildings for those who lived and worked there. The needs that became irresistible each month made it necessary for him to have a place where no one else lived. Those needs grew within him even now, calling to the one woman who could save his body and soul.

  Margaret would see her safe until he could speak to her and try to gain her cooperation. Margaret was happy to help, just as anyone living in Uig who had benefitted from his ability to heal would be, if he asked. They kept his ritual secret and told no one who was not invited to it. They’d welcomed him into their midst and given him a place to call home, never treating him as the man without a name or a home that he was. And they would ignore Isabel’s past with only a word from him.

  They rode into the yard, where his men took the horses from them. Climbing down, he noticed Thora could ride well. Sigurd walked to her side and they spoke quietly as Duncan gave instructions about the sleeping arrangements and the news of his betrothal. Clearly, it did not sit well with those who knew Isabel, but they gave him their begrudging acceptance and went off to carry out the tasks he’d given them. In a short time, he saw Sigurd and Thora settled in Gunna and Harald’s cottage while arrangements were made for the rest of Sigurd’s men to sleep in the empty barn.

  Their vows would not be spoken until the next week, as close to the full moon as he could wait. The wedding would take place before five of the six witnesses who’d overseen the contracts. Davin had not returned to the farm with them, so Duncan would call on Harald who, as a freeman, could witness legal contracts and ceremonies. Gunna would hire a few women from Uig to help with cooking and preparing the wedding feast. Sigurd had asked him to delay so Thora could get accustomed to him before they married. Since Duncan had no intention of actually consummating the marriage, he agreed and made arrangements to take Thora riding in the morning.

  They shared a modest evening meal, then everyone settled for the night. Everyone but Duncan, who paced his house a
waiting word from Harald. The knock echoed across the empty chamber. In spite of expecting Harald to be angry, the blow came as a surprise. Shaking his head, Duncan tried to open his jaw to see if his friend had broken it.

  “Why, Duncan? Why did you have to treat her like this?” Harald asked.

  “Wait until Ornolf arrives, then close the door so we can speak unheard by others who might be about,” Duncan advised.

  Harald stepped back, but the anger did not fade from his expression. The way he kept flexing his hands and making fists with them, Duncan suspected he might strike again. For someone who had argued against Isabel remaining only weeks ago, Harald had clearly changed sides.

  A few minutes passed and Ornolf entered quietly. Motioning for them to sit at the table, Duncan kept his voice down in case Sigurd was skulking about outside. They would have little privacy in the coming days, so he needed Ornoff and Harald to understand their roles.

  “You found her?” Duncan asked Harald.

  “Aye, she is with Margaret now. Could you not have sent word?” He looked from Ornolf to Duncan.

  “Nay. I needed Ornolf with me and trusted no one else to carry such news. The betrothal needs to be public and official or it gains Thora nothing.”

  “And the bedding? Will that be public as well?” Harald challenged.

  Duncan could see no way out of the situation without sharing the whole truth with those two men. “There is no other way to tell you this, so I will speak plainly to you both. I need your word this will go no further. You cannot tell anyone. Not Gunna or Isabel or anyone.” When they gave reluctant nods accepting his conditions, he told them, “I will not survive the next ritual.”

  Neither spoke or looked at him or at each other. The silence was deafening and went on too long.

  “Each month I have noticed my heart slows and stops at the end of the healing. As the power to heal ends and I come back to myself, it slows to a halt. Last month I feared it would not begin again. Next time, I know it will not.”

  “Duncan—” Harald began.

  “But Duncan—” Ornolf said.

  “The power has reached its apex, burning more and more of me away each month. It is taking my life even as it gives others theirs back.”

  “You are certain?” Harald asked.

  “Absolutely. I have known it was coming for several months now, once I realized the pattern in it. Somehow Isabel was able to stave off the worst of the effects, but not to stop the curse’s relentless destruction.”

  “There must be some way to stop it,” Ornolf declared.

  “Old friend, you have led the way in seeking out information about the origin of my power. What have you found?”

  Silence met his question. He’d known the answer when he’d asked it—nothing. Other than some old folk tales about the sith, no one could explain his ability or how it worked. Messengers sent out brought back no information. Stories of sith curses were plentiful throughout the islands, but there was no way to find out more.

  “I wanted to protect Isabel and must protect her sister to do that.”

  “So you will marry her sister then?” Harald asked. Ornolf already knew the plan so Duncan explained the contracts to Harald.

  “I will and I have received Isabel as Thora’s dowry, so she belongs to me as soon as the marriage is—”

  “Consummated,” Harald finished, almost spitting the word out. “So you will sleep with one sister to claim the other?”

  Duncan ignored the jibe, telling them instead of how the women would be protected. “As my widow, Thora will be free to marry who she wants, with no interference from Sigurd. She will be a wealthy woman and want for nothing the rest of her life,” he explained.

  “And Isabel?”

  “As my property, my will stipulates her freedom is granted upon my death and I designated that she receive enough gold to see her settled comfortably wherever she wants to live. She will belong to no one save herself ever again.” He looked at the only two men he could call friends, other than Davin. “You will all be taken care of when it happens.”

  “And Sigurd simply prances away with all the gold you paid as Thora’s bride-price?” Ornolf asked.

  “A small price for the freedom and safety of Isabel and her sister.”

  The chamber was quiet as they thought on what he’d told them. He waited for any other questions.

  “Will you tell her? Of your plan?”

  “Nay. If Sigurd finds a reason to challenge the marriage or the agreement, all could be lost. I know she is hurt and does not understand, but she will.”

  “When you die?” Harald seemed intent on provoking him.

  “Aye, when I die.”

  “With Sigurd and the others here, will you perform the ritual?”

  “There will be only one person at the ritual this time. The Healer will call her when it is time.”

  They realized whom he meant at the same moment, staring wordlessly at him. He’d decided, or understood, who would receive the last healing at the same moment he’d recognized that love lived in his heart for Isabel and that she must be healed to be truly free when he died.

  Duncan could think of nothing else they needed to know, so he bade them seek their beds and keep his counsel. They must watch him play his part over the next days and stand by him in death. He laughed when he heard Harald whisper under his breath the easier thing would be to make certain Sigurd had an accident on his way back to Duntulm. Remembering Isabel’s story about the young man Olaf and his death, Duncan tucked away that idea to suggest it if his plans did not work as he wanted.

  He did not sleep that night and by dawn he was on his way to Uig to bring Isabel back to his farm. She would not be happy but she would obey him. He knew beyond a doubt she understood her place and would follow his orders. She would not forgive him for keeping all from her or for not revealing his true feelings for her, but she would be alive and she would be safe.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  As soon as the first sliver of sunlight entered the cottage through the small window sitting high in the wall, Isabel shifted on the cot where she lay. She remained unmoving as Margaret rose and began her daily tasks. After a few minutes, Isabel began to peel the covers back.

  “You need not rise yet, Isabel. Rest a while. I must go see to the cows.”

  “Do you live alone here?” Isabel asked. There was no sign of anyone else, but a woman who had believed herself carrying must have a man.

  “Aye, now I do,” she said quietly in a grief-tinged tone. “Though this was my husband’s house before it was mine.”

  She listened as Margaret moved through the small but cozy house, making her way out to the yard in the back where she kept some cows. Knowing she would never sleep, Isabel pushed back the blankets and stood, wrapping one of them around her shoulders to keep away the chill. The fire had gone out sometime during the night.

  She began to fold the bedcovers on the cot and also on Margaret’s small bed; it was the least she could do for the woman’s kindness to her. The back door opened and closed and Isabel sat on the cot, waiting for Margaret to come into the room. She began to ask her if she needed help milking the cows when she looked up and met Duncan’s gaze.

  Isabel wanted to be empty—she thought she was—but one look at him was all her stupid weak heart needed to begin pounding against her chest. ’Twas a good thing she sat, for she knew she would have fallen over otherwise.

  “Isabel.” He greeted, then crouched down next to her. “How do you fare?”

  No words would come to mind, then they all did. She was devastated. She was betrayed. She was ruined. She was desolate. But she would say none of them to him. She’d revealed the importance of protecting her sister and look what had happened.

  “You must return with me now,” he urged softly.

  “To your farm? Where Sigurd and my sister are?”

  “Aye, though there is nothing to fear from Sigurd now.”

  She began to laugh at his words,
softly then louder, until the sound bubbled out of her uncontrollably. She had forgotten many of Sigurd’s lessons, but she would never think herself safe from him until she was dead. Duncan took her by her shoulders, shaking her until she stopped laughing.

  “I will keep you safe now, and Thora, too,” he promised.

  “She will be your wife.”

  “Aye.”

  “And I will be what?” she asked, trying to understand what he expected of her in a household where her sister would rule.

  “You will be mine,” he said. “You are mine now.”

  “Your whore?” She watched as he searched for words. “I will not fuck my sister’s husband.” He needed to know that even whores drew some lines and he had crossed hers.

  He winced. “Come back and we will sort this out between us.” He stood. Taking her hands he pulled her up. “I will not force you to do anything, Isabel.”

  She smelled it then. The scent poured from him, as it did in the days before the ritual. Since they were in the small village, she would not be surprised if other women began to notice it soon. He held his hand out to her once more, waiting for her to take it. He needed her; his body needed hers. Or any woman’s to seek release and to control the coming storm within him.

  Isabel could not return before she knew why he believed he owned her and why he thought Sigurd no longer a threat. “Why am I yours now?”

  He looked around and found her clothes, handing them to her so she could dress.

  “I told you I would bargain for you to stay with me when I left for Duntulm.” He held out her gown, now dry, and watched as she dropped the blanket and pulled it over her head. More of the scent surrounded her and her body reacted in spite of her mind’s refusal.

  “You said you wanted me until the next ritual. Is that the nature of the bargain you struck with him?” She pulled the tunic dress over her head, trying to ignore his physical need for her.

  “I offered him that which he could not refuse and he agreed to give Thora to me in marriage.”