Mistress of the Storm (12 page)
Instead of plunging his hardness deep into her and seeking his own pleasure, he urged her back to life, kissing his way along her legs, over her stomach to her breasts. Isabel thought herself emptied but his kisses and caresses refilled her hollowness and her sated body began to answer him again. The hours melded together as their bodies did, blurring in a tumultuous night of temptation and satisfaction when every pleasure of the flesh was offered and accepted. So dawn found them tangled in complete exhaustion and fulfillment.
Duncan fell asleep before she did, for no matter his urging to do otherwise, Sigurd’s warnings lay imbedded too deeply to ignore. Though her body dragged her toward it, she could manage only to drift in and out of sleep, never quite letting go while Duncan was there. Only when his arm encircled her body and he dragged her close with a whispered order to take her rest did she finally give in and follow him into sleep.
When she next opened her eyes, the sounds of men working in the nearby fields made her realize the lateness of the hour. However, her body would not follow her mind’s commands to rise and dress and seek Duncan out. Her muscles ached from their intense joinings throughout the night. He had warned her of what he wanted and he had done it, for in their passionate bouts he had taken her every way a man could take a woman and she had lost track of how many times and where his body ended and hers began.
Isabel knew the true danger in that situation—she would never survive with her defenses intact if he continued to make her feel that way. If her pleasure mattered to him, she understood what would happen—she would lose her ability to remain separate and to consider him only a task. Truthfully, it had already begun. As she began to fall asleep again, she offered up prayers that she could be strong in her resolve.
Now that mutual pleasure seemed his intent, Isabel knew she must begin her work on Sigurd’s plan and discover some weakness to use against Duncan. As much as she might regret it, that was the only way to satisfy Sigurd.
And Sigurd must be pleased or too many would suffer.
Isabel slept for several more hours, clutching tightly to the memories of being held close to Duncan’s body, until she knew she must rise and be about Sigurd’s business. Dressing in the clothing Duncan had given her, she left the bedchamber and found Ornolf and Gunna outside waiting for her.
Duntulm Village
Sigurd strode around the main chamber of his house not even trying to hide his anger. Duncan had taken Isabel away so swiftly, Sigurd had not been able to make arrangements to follow her. Lord Davin, the fool!, would only say that Duncan’s lands were near Uig and that gave Sigurd little to go on. He sent out two men by boat to Uig to track her if she showed her face in the village. If they did not find her there, they would begin searching the nearby farms for any sign of her and continue until they located her. She would know what to do then.
Once he discovered the man’s secret and the nature of his importance to Davin, Sigurd would be able to control him. One more added to the growing numbers who would support him when he overthrew Davin and took command of his lands and power. All in time for the Norse king’s return to the island from his voyage south. The king recognized and rewarded strength, and with Sigurd’s display of it, he knew he would be granted the whole of the isle in the king’s name.
He chortled, completely satisfied his plan could not and would not fail. The slut knew how to follow his commands and soon the knowledge he needed would be in his hands. She did it because she thought it the only way to protect his daughter and he would let her think that for as long as it worked. He knew she thought she would stop whoring for him once Thora was settled in marriage, but he had no intention of ending an arrangement that was so lucrative and beneficial . . . for him.
He called out for a cup of wine and one of his servants crept over and handed one to him. Sigurd backhanded the stupid wench for being so slow, then drank it down. His empty cup was filled quickly, proving that dumb, ignorant creatures only learned through pain. Some, like Isabel, learned only after extensive rounds of punishment. As with all of them, he’d determined just the right mix of pain and threats to Thora to keep Isabel useful.
Once granted the king’s favor, he would arrange a favorable marriage for his daughter, send her off to live elsewhere, and continue to bend Isabel to his will. If punishment and pain were the only effective tools once Thora was married, so be it.
Sigurd peered out the window, looking up at Duntulm Keep, knowing it would soon be his. His plan, put in place years ago, would come to pass. Though moving slowly went against everything in him, he knew it was the best way. Just as he had bided his time to get Isabel’s mother to wed him after she first refused him, he would be patient. All things would come to him.
If he had to kill a few people or use Ariana’s daughter to whore her way to the information he needed, so be it. Ariana’s attempts to avoid marrying him had simply caused a delay in his plans. Ariana was rotting in the ground with her first husband and her only daughter was using her flesh to obtain secrets for him. It seemed fitting somehow.
He swallowed down the last mouthful of wine and wiped his sleeve across his mouth to remove any excess.
Within weeks, a month at the longest, his plans to take control of Skye would be done. He would rule it for the Norse king. Sigurd would rise in esteem and power, and those who opposed him along the way would be dead.
Chapter Twelve
T
he next days passed by at a dizzying pace and Duncan was never gone from Isabel’s side for very long. Though careful to be discreet when near his people, he missed no opportunity to swive her. He sought pleasure at any time in most any place where he knew no one would see them.
he next days passed by at a dizzying pace and Duncan was never gone from Isabel’s side for very long. Though careful to be discreet when near his people, he missed no opportunity to swive her. He sought pleasure at any time in most any place where he knew no one would see them.
She laughed, remembering a few exceptions to that thought.
Yesterday, she’d stood at the fence watching the horses within the yard being trained when he’d walked up behind her. With a quick glance to ensure no one was paying them any heed, he helped her climb onto the first rail of the fence, bunched her skirts up out of his way and pulled her onto his hard cock. After the shock of such a thing passed, she found his arms surrounding her, under her skirts, and his hands playing between her legs. It took little time to heat her blood and less time to find his way deep within her flesh. The difficult thing had been not screaming out in pleasure when he drove her relentlessly to satisfaction.
Duncan seemed to like to have her before him when they tupped. He used his hands to tease and torment her to release after release before spilling his seed. Like a stallion to her mare, he would bite her neck as he plunged as far and as hard as he could into her heated, readied flesh.
Once, he’d entered her in that other place, pushing his way in slowly, his hands teasing moisture from her cleft that he used to ease the tightness as he moved farther and deeper within her. It brought about a maddening level of pleasure, one that left her unable to move or to focus her thoughts while he pleasured her.
As she waited for Gunna on the outskirts of the village, thinking on the ferocity of such joinings made it hard to breathe and harder yet to ignore the way her body ached for more. If he should appear, she feared she might throw him to the ground and demand he satisfy the growing need she had for him. Waving her hand to cool her heated cheeks, she wanted to laugh at the turn of events and attitudes. She’d sworn not to be swayed by his passion and now was completely a prisoner of it. What kind of whore was she to forget that passion and pleasure were commodities to be bought and sold and not savored?
Well, the weeks would at least provide pleasant memories to enjoy when she needed them. She stood, expecting Gunna when she heard someone approach on the path back from Uig. One look at the flush in her face, and the woman would know what she’d been thinking. All those living on Duncan’s lands and in his house turned a blind eye to their actions, but they all understood what was between them.
Isabel turned to greet Gunna and found instead one of Sigurd’s men. Surprised, though she should not be, she greeted him, trying to erase her disdain and gather her control.
“Godrod.” She nodded to him as he walked closer. His eyes flickered back and forth like a rodent looking for its next meal. When they came to rest on her, examining her flesh like it was meat, she fought not to shiver or show the fear that raced through her veins.
“Isabel,” he greeted her but continued to search the area around them. “It was difficult to find ye.” He tilted his head and pushed his matted hair from his gaunt face. Where Sigurd had bulk behind his strength, Godrod had height and a wiry, muscular frame.
“He has kept me close to him,” she said. “He only allows me this far and not into the village.” A lie, but a necessary one to cover the fact she’d made no attempt to contact Sigurd. She glanced back over her shoulder as though worried he would arrive.
“Getting the full worth of his coin, eh?” Godrod said with a leer. “Keeping ye on yer back and well-plowed, I would think, after what he’s paid for ye.”
She longed to slap him, but he spoke the truth—a whore was worth nothing unless she was on her back with her legs spread. Still, his words stung. Isabel nodded in reply.
“Sigurd grows impatient for news.” He rubbed his hands together. He liked to use his fists on her when she was slow in answering Sigurd’s questions or doing his bidding. Godrod knew how to cause pain with his blows and yet leave few marks—a useful skill when bruises would raise questions. Her ribs ached just then, reminding her of his abilities and his duties for Sigurd—he was an enforcer.
“I have learned little,” she revealed. “The only thing I have heard is that he is a healer of some sort.” She took a step away, trying to move out of his range, but he followed her.
“That does not sound like much to pass on to Sigurd, whore. When he is unhappy, we all suffer.” He entwined, then stretched his fingers; the crackling sounds startled her. “Are ye certain there is no more?”
He took a menacing step closer and Isabel watched his hands. Not as fast as Sigurd, Godrod was more deadly. She’d been forced to watch him kill a man with those hands, so she knew the danger that was always ready to strike out.
“Something is going to happen next week, when the moon reaches fullness,” she confessed hurriedly. Her stomach threatened to rebel, but she forced out what she knew. “He can heal people during the full moon. He will have some kind of power. I will know more after that.”
He surrounded her before she could even think, his immovable arms encircling her chest, forcing the air out and not allowing another breath in. He clutched her throat in one hand while he wrapped the other in the length of her hair and yanked her head back against his chest, his fetid breath making her want to retch.
“I think yer lying to me, whore. Sigurd said ye might not cooperate and gave me permission to get information out of ye however I please,” he threatened. Godrod arched his groin against her back, letting her feel the erect cock that would be his weapon.
He began to drag her toward a small wooded area just off the path and Isabel knew she must stop him. Sigurd had made certain she knew all about Godrod’s ways of coercing women, and men, into revealing hidden truths. He’d used that knowledge as a threat against her when she did not follow his orders. Godrod would force and tear his way into her, using and degrading her. Then he would repeat it until she either relented or died.
Isabel stumbled over a rock and managed to loosen his grasp enough to draw in a breath. “Cease this!” she whispered in a hoarse voice. “Duncan has me watched and he will know what you have done.”
In answer to her prayers, the sound of someone approaching on the path made him let her go. “Do not think to disobey Sigurd in this, whore.” He stepped back into the shadows of the trees but whispered another warning. “I will be back after the full moon. Do not disappoint me or ye will suffer for it.”
“Are you speaking to someone, Isabel?” Gunna asked as she came around the last curve in the path between them. “I thought I heard a man’s voice.”
Isabel shifted her gown and let her braid fall around her shoulders, obscuring what must be a hand-print on her neck from Godrod’s grasp. Positioning herself to block the road behind her, she gave Godrod a chance to hide himself from view.
“Nay, Gunna.” Isabel took one of the baskets from her. “I was but singing a tune I have been trying to remember.”
“Tell me the words,” Gunna said. “I may know the song.”
Isabel stumbled over some words, trying to concoct a lie to satisfy the woman, but she could not. She let out a breath. “There was a man,” she admitted.
“From the village? Duncan will not be pleased if someone has accosted you, Isabel.”
It amazed Isabel how that timid young woman could turn into a lion in her defense. But she did not want Gunna caught in the middle.
“I did not ask him, but he left as soon as you approached, so there was no harm done.” Holding the basket out before her, she pretended to look through the items Gunna had bought in Uig. “Did you find the candles you needed?”
Gunna did not answer her, so Isabel was forced to meet her gaze . . . her very knowing gaze. “I pray you, let it go,” Isabel begged quietly.
“Duncan said we should be back before noon, so we should hurry.” Gunna’s mouth curved into the smile that said she understood. As they walked she chatted about village gossip, naming this man or that woman and sharing the news about them as though Isabel knew them—or cared.
Isabel pretended attention, all the while watching for signs that Godrod was nearby. She knew his assignment—find her, follow her, watch her for compliance, send messages back to Sigurd, and give her orders. They’d done it before.
She hated it. Sharing the information she’d given him felt like betrayal of the worst kind. Of Duncan.
But it was only the first of many to come, she knew.
Sigurd would ask and she would provide the answers to save herself and to save Thora. Strange, she did not fear death itself, she only feared what would happen in those minutes or hours before dying. Spent with a man like Godrod, it would be like centuries of pain and torment before death released her. So, she would tell him whatever she could discover because she feared that kind of death more than anything else.
They reached the farm and Duncan stood waiting near the path. His horse stood next to him, a sack tied to the saddle. Isabel stopped without warning Gunna, who ran into the back of her and they tumbled to the ground. Duncan laughed as he helped them to their feet, but Isabel never took her eyes off the horse.
“You should give some warning when you plan to stop like that, Isabel,” he teased.
“Your pardon, Gunna.” Isabel picked up some of the things that spilled from Gunna’s basket when it hit the ground. “I did not expect”—she pointed to the horse—“that.”
Duncan helped Gunna inside, asking Isabel to wait on the path for him. She took several steps away from the monstrous beast and awaited Duncan’s return, praying he did not mean for her to ride it somewhere.
“The day is still fair and I’d promised you a visit to the glen.” Gathering the reins in his hand, Duncan mounted the horse.
“We need not,” Isabel said, as close to a refusal as she dared.
“The prize will be worth the ride there, Isabel.” When she did not rush to offer her hand to him to help her mount, he guided the horse to her and leaned down. “Trust me, sweetling,” he said with a mischievous smile.
Her fear of such animals kept her from joining him in that bit of merriment. Watching the glint in his eyes and the inviting way he held out his hand to her, she knew exactly how the devil tempted good souls into wicked behavior. Duncan had not been cruel to her and he was kind to Gunna, so Isabel accepted his hand and closed her eyes as he pulled her up to sit before him.
She did not open her eyes for some time, fearing the view from high up off the ground. At his prodding, she finally did and was gifted with a panorama of the expanding valley before them. He talked as they rode, explaining the changes of the seasons, the borders of his property, anything and everything to ease her fear.
“Mayhap I should teach you to ride by yourself?” he asked as they reached a split in the path and he guided the horse to the south. She clutched his arm.
“I have no need of such skill, Duncan. When I return . . .” Duncan’s eyes darkened and his jaws clenched together.
Isabel did not mean to anger him. He’d been nothing but kind to her, seeing to her every comfort and need while she stayed with him. Though she must reveal his secrets to Sigurd, she did not want to see Duncan hurt. She’d plainly ruined whatever pleasant time the excursion had been meant to be.
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.”
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