A Storm of Passion

by TERRI BRISBIN

  “So, my lord, I will see you at table,” he began.

  Steinar seemed to accept the dismissal, but then he turned back and grabbed Connor’s arm. “This month, I want the vision, Seer. Not one of the weaklings Diarmid wishes to bow and scrape before him. Me.”

  “I do not decide who is gifted, my lord. Surely Diarmid has explained it to you,” he offered.

  “Diarmid has explained things to me and others have as well. I know the secrets you keep from my lord and brother and suggest that I need the vision in order to keep those facts away from his view.”

  “I know not of what you speak, my lord,” Connor said. What could he know?

  “There is the fact that your servant is making arrangements to spirit your love slave away from here.”

  “Not spirit, my lord, ship. I have need on my farm, and she is strong.”

  “There is the gold you have been hoarding.”

  “Almost all of that has been through Lord Diarmid’s generosity,” he insisted, believing he could explain any claim of Steinar’s.

  “Ah, I do not think you will be able to explain this one, Seer, for the information I have says that the Seer is,” he paused, and Connor saw movement to his right and turned to face Steinar there.

  “Blinded by the visions,” Steinar finished, from just in front of him. Startled, Connor stumbled back to move away.

  “If my brother knew, he would begin to doubt that your visions will continue much longer. I see”—he laughed at the play on words—“no reason to inform him as long as I am the recipient of the next vision.”

  Connor decided it was better to placate him now, for his vision was weak, as Steinar had demonstrated by his tactic of tossing something to feign movement.

  “I can only try, my lord.”

  Steinar clapped him on the back and motioned to Ranald to go. “’Tis all I ask from my brother’s loyal Seer.”

  Connor thought the threats were over and he could avoid the meal when Steinar called out as he left.

  “Cadwallen has mentioned not only his beautiful daughter, but his strong, young son, both of whom he would offer into your service in thanks. I will tell him you accept them.”

  The door closed, and Connor swore bitterly. He searched around a bit and found his cloak. He hit a bench he could not see as he turned back to find the door. It was like walking on a moonless night; the shadows were stronger than the clear parts of his sight still.

  “Where are you going, Connor?” Moira asked.

  “Get that off your neck and stay quiet. I must find Cadwallen and warn him to leave here.”

  “Please wait for Breac to return, Connor,” she said, as he heard the chain hit the wall and saw her form move in the shadows. “Wait for him to accompany you.”

  “I know these halls well enough to make my way, Moira. I will be back before Breac returns.”

  He went to her and kissed her mouth before leaving. Then, he opened the door, nodded to the guard, and walked to the stairway that led to the main floor.

  He never made it.

  It was several hours later when they found him unconscious at the bottom of another stairwell, the same one where Gillis had perished.

  He had played it to perfection. Obviously guilty of not only the secrets he’d accused him of, but many more, the Seer had decided to take matters into his own hands. Unfortunately for Connor, Ranald’s information about the Seer’s blindness was correct. With explicit instructions not to kill him, yet, his man had caused Connor to lose his balance and fall into the stairway.

  The situation was set up just the way he liked to see it—either way, he was the victor. If the Seer did die, Diarmid suffered. If the Seer did not die, he would be injured enough not to be able to have a vision next week. If the Seer did have a vision, he would be the recipient of it. His standing would improve, and Diarmid’s would weaken.

  Now, all he needed was Diarmid’s return to put the final piece into action. His next target would be his half brother. He’d decided that it would be easier to simply remove him from this equation than to fight him for the position.

  With his Seer gone, Diarmid’s allies would scatter, and Steinar would take over.

  Nothing caused by the vision ever hurt this much.

  Connor tried to open his eyes, but his head screamed in pain every time he tried. His arm hurt, his leg throbbed, and his back spasmed with any attempts to move. Even his face hurt.

  He could hear whispered words swirling around him, but he did not hear the one voice he wanted: Moira’s. Connor drifted back into the darkness and waited until he felt stronger and could try again. The next time he woke, the room was darker and he could open his eyes, but still the one person he wanted to see was not there. Finally, the third or fourth time he woke, he called out her name.

  “Moira?”

  “I am here, Connor,” she said in a shaking voice; then more whispers surrounded him.

  “Stop that damned whispering, and tell me what is happening,” he ordered.

  ‘Twas Breac’s voice that answered now. “Lord Diarmid is on a murderous rampage. He is searching for those responsible for your injuries.”

  “I fell?” he asked, unsure of what had occurred.

  “Pushed, more likely, considering your visitor just prior,” Breac answered. “Moira said she told you not to go.”

  Now Connor answered to his servants?

  “Where is she?”

  “Diarmid has been here several times since he arrived back, and ’tis safer for her to remain…”

  “Chained?” he finished.

  “Aye.”

  “I am sorry, Moira. Breac, help me up,” Connor said as he struggled to sit up.

  The room swam around his head, and colors and sounds followed it for several minutes. Agnes gave him some brew that smelled like pitch but settled his stomach and eased the dizziness. Through it all, Moira said not a word.

  Then when he would have gone to her side, he heard the door slam open against the wall. Diarmid charged in, and came around the wooden screen looking for him. Steinar followed a few paces behind. A look of concern floated on his face, but Connor saw the truth in his eyes.

  “What happened, Connor?”

  “I fell, my lord,” he said. “A bit of clumsiness, ’tis all.”

  Breac and Agnes stood back, forming a wall in front of Moira, keeping her out of sight as much as they could.

  “He said his visions had taken his s…strength, brother.” Steinar nodded grimly then. Connor caught the suggestion in his stutter—a warning to him.

  “Still weakened by the last vision, Connor? Over two weeks?” Diarmid asked, forgetting that he demanded Connor speak of that to no one.

  “My lord,” Connor began, glancing at Steinar, to remind him.

  “I found him unstable on his feet when I came to invite him to table,” Steinar said. “Cadwallen wished to say his farewells, but the Seer had not been out of his room since his visions.”

  “The healer has been here to treat me,” Connor said, pointing to the variety of bottles and jugs and powders on his table. “Agnes is following all of her instructions, my lord. My strength will return, and I will be ready for the visions.”

  Diarmid appeared content for the moment, but he shook his head then. “I will put more guards on your door. And since you cannot come to table to meet my guests, I will bring them here.”

  “Very well, my lord,” he said, ready to agree to anything to get rid of all of them.

  Diarmid took another look around the chamber, so upset by the possibility of losing his Seer that he said nothing about Moira. A welcomed first time for that. Then, with a wave to Steinar, he left, calling out orders for more guards at the door and down the hall.

  “The quiet is good,” Connor said, as he moved to the edge of the bed. “The ringing in my ears is lessening as well.”

  “You could have been killed.”

  Moira’s voice was different, and he watched as Breac and Agnes moved away so
that he could see her. Her face was a ghostly white, and her eyes looked huge. She looked more angry than upset, and he waited as Breac unlocked the collar.

  “You daft, damned man, you could have been killed,” she repeated. His servants were fighting not to smile at her words. He dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

  “Breac, wait,” he said. “Did you get them to the farm?” He’d only just remembered Breac’s task when he’d had the accident.

  “Aye, they are safe.”

  Connor nodded, glad at least for now. He listened as his servants left, and then he walked over to Moira. She stood, twisting her hands in front of her, but once more he sensed her anger.

  “Would you have mourned my death, Moira?”

  She narrowed her eyes when she looked at him then, but she said neither aye or nay to his question. He was pushing her, he knew it, but time was short and he hoped that her heart was open to him now. Forgiveness was the largest step she needed to take. The next one could not be as far or as difficult.

  He hoped.

  It had not been difficult for him, for once he watched her begin to be the person she should always have been, he began to fall in love. Then, when each time she chose him over another choice, he knew it deeper inside himself.

  But he could not and would not ask her for the declaration he was now willing to make to her, for it would bind her to him and he would not be here to honor such a bond.

  She took the first step, and then he met her halfway.

  “Next time, you need to listen to me,” she ordered.

  “Next time?” he asked. Did she realize what she said?

  “You know he plots your death, Connor. Give him not the chance to succeed in it.”

  “My death approaches quickly, Moira.”

  She flinched at his words. “Do not say that to me,” she whispered. “I cannot think that you are right in this.”

  “Honor my wishes in this. Follow my instructions, and all will be well,” he said. He would allow her to believe what she would, but make all the preparations and plans he knew he must have in place.

  He stepped back as she raised her hand to his face, not certain of her intent, but she laughed then and touched a spot on his chin that hurt. Leaning closer, she kissed it.

  “Where else does it hurt? What can I do to ease your pain?”

  The words had meant something else for so long now between them that his cock answered her question, readying itself to be eased. She looked at his groin as his trews tented and shook her head then. “Do you never tire of such things?” she asked.

  “With you? Nay, Moira. I will never tire of you, as long as you give yourself to me willingly. I will not force you to come to me or use false reasons between us.”

  She kissed him gently on his mouth, and he winced as his torn lip pulled. “I will not force you either, Connor,” she said, making light of his injuries in a way he knew she did not feel.

  She led him to the bed and helped him undress. They spent the night comforting each other, and by the time the dawn’s light crept into his room, she admitted that she would mourn his loss. But every time he tried to speak of his love, she stopped him.

  “After Samhain, we will speak on such matters.”

  “After Samhain then,” he said, knowing for certain that he would not be there to tell her.

  The next days passed both too slowly and too quickly for them. Diarmid brought his guests to meet Connor, encouraging this one or that one as the one to choose. Connor flexed his powers over those days, testing them, using them in small ways, and then deciding who would receive the last vision.

  He kept Breac busy, and began moving things from his chambers back to the farm where Dara and Pol could use them. His strongbox held gold accumulated over the years, and he divided it so that both Moira and those dependent on the farm would be cared for.

  Moira watched in silence, seeing more than he wanted her to, but never saying a word about the things he did. The day before Samhain, he brought out the map he’d found to show her where her village had been and how to return to that area. Such sadness filled her eyes that he rolled the parchment back up and put it away.

  They spent what time they could together, and each time they joined, Moira seemed a bit more frantic, as though realizing their time was coming to an end. She would not allow him his words of love, and when he asked if she could receive his last vision, to give her peace about the past, she became so upset that he had to swear not to do so.

  It mattered not, for he had already made his decision; he only waited for the rise of the moon, just after midnight on Samhain to carry out his plans.

  The irony struck him again when he realized that as his powers were ending, he’d learned more about using them since meeting her than he had since they began more than six years ago. And if not for Moira forcing him to see the reality of his life, the misuse of his gift, and his need to make reparations, he would have never even tried.

  The night before Samhain, when Diarmid brought the last few men to meet him, the unexpected happened, and he was able to “see” some parts of Diarmid that he’d never known before: the most important thing he learned was that not only was Diarmid aware of Steinar’s plans and his shadowy manipulations, but he was pulling the strings to bring Steinar down.

  And he enjoyed informing Steinar of that when he came to remind Connor of his demand. Word would spread by dawn that Steinar had broken with his half brother and had been exiled from Mull and the surrounding isles.

  Finally, midnight approached, and everything that could be done had been put in place. Now, there was nothing left to do but wait for it all to play out to its conclusion.

  Chapter Nineteen

  She woke to discover him sitting by the hearth, staring off at nothing. Climbing from the bed, she realized that midnight had passed and it was Samhain, the day when the veil between the Sith world and the mortal world was at its thinnest and the Sith were able to walk the earth.

  “Sleep, love,” he said softly, and she felt compelled to do just that, in spite of her curiosity about what he was doing and her fear that something was about to happen. Sleep dragged her away, and when next she opened her eyes, the faint light of dawn pierced through the darkness and through the open window high in the wall.

  “Connor,” she whispered. “Are you here?”

  He walked around the screen and stood by the bed. Something was different about him. Something was dangerous about him. His eyes had changed somehow, but it was the look within those eyes that took her breath away.

  “Aye, love,” he said, climbing onto the bed and peeling the bedclothes back to expose her naked body to his sight. “I am here.”

  The first touch of his strong hands encircling her made her shiver in anticipation of what was to come. She moved closer and opened her legs to let him in. With little prelude, for her body had prepared for him at the sound of his voice, he filled her emptiness with his flesh. Spreading her legs, she urged him in deeper and felt his hardness touch her womb and swell, filling her to her core and taking her breath away.

  He did not move, but only remained there, while he kissed her mouth gently, tasting her and stroking her with his tongue until she ached for more. He took her mouth and then began to take her body for his own. Slowly, so slowly she nearly screamed out a protest, he slid back until she felt the emptiness, and then he filled her at such a pace that she nearly impaled herself on him.

  “Hush now, Moira,” he whispered as he slid in to fill her once more. Then, leaning back on his heels, he lifted her until she rested on his thighs. She only realized how this position opened her more fully to his touch when he slipped one finger into her cleft and touched the sensitive spot there even while his manhood filled her channel. She arched against it, swelling and throbbing until she could feel the tension pulling her from inside. And, damn him, he stopped moving his finger and only held it there as her body pulsed around it. Her release was close, but he did not allow it yet.


  She closed her eyes, enjoying every touch, every stroke, every caress as he bent forward and teased her with his mouth and his tongue and his hands. He brought her close to release two—nay three—more times before he called her name and met her gaze with those eyes that spoke of something more than human within him. Staring into hers, he moved closer and thrust deeper and deeper still until she moaned out her pleasure at the cascade of sensations moving through her body. From inside her core, through her hips, through her womb, to her heart, she ached for him, and she began to match his movements so that they moved together toward that moment when she could let go of restraint and revel at his flesh possessing her.

  Then her breath caught in her chest, her body surrendered to his, and she lost everything of herself as somehow they merged and melted into one being.

  No longer a quest and a searcher.

  No longer a seer and an enemy.

  No longer man and woman, Connor and Moira.

  Just one body that breathed together and one soul that began and ended in each of them.

  She wrapped her arms around him and held on as he thrust himself into her flesh and spilled his seed there. Wave after wave of pleasure and heat shot through her as her body shuddered around his, spasming on and on around him until she drew out the last drop of his release.

  Moira collapsed in his arms, overwhelmed by the connection she’d felt between them in that moment and unable to understand how it could be that way between them. Connor kissed her mouth so softly it made her cry when he lifted away from her.

  “I love you, Moira,” he said, putting his finger across her lips. “Deny me not the chance to say that to you.”

  Her heart filled in that moment, but she could not find the words to say what she found there. The tears flowed freely now as he slid from her body and climbed off the bed.