Mistress of the Storm (17 page)
Chapter Eighteen
S
igurd was an evil bastard.
igurd was an evil bastard.
Ornolf had discovered Sigurd was playing both ends against the middle, misleading Isabel and her half sister in order to keep them both in his control. The younger one had been groomed to be sold to the highest bidder for her virginity while the older one whored and spied to ease his way over his enemies.
A neat arrangement kept in place by fear and love.
The younger one had been convinced Isabel had rebelled against him and taken to whoring as a way to shame and humiliate him for imagined wrongs. To Isabel he threatened to use Thora in the same way unless she did his bidding . . . and whoring. A promised good marriage for her sister was the prize held out to keep Isabel in line.
And it had worked, letting the love they had for each other, and Isabel’s guilt over not being able to care for Thora herself after their mother’s death, apply just the right amount of pressure to keep both sisters obedient. Integral to his success, Sigurd managed to hold them apart enough so neither learned the whole truth of his plan to ruthlessly use them for his own ends.
Duncan tried to explain it all to Isabel without destroying her, but still expose how she’d been used by the man who’d sworn to her dying mother to protect her.
“I do not wish to speak of Sigurd, Duncan. You do not understand,” Isabel said, trying to stop him before he started.
“Then make me understand why you do what you do for him,” he countered.
“I beg you not to pursue this.” She twisted her hands and shook her head. “I am a whore, there is nothing else to it than that.”
He reached out to lift her face so she would meet his gaze, but she startled as though expecting a blow. Still, she did not trust him. She held steady the second time as he guided her face up with a finger beneath her chin.
“You are so much more than that, Isabel. You do not have to do this any longer, if you’d just let me help you.”
She slapped away his hand and glared at him—unthinkable actions just weeks ago, he realized. She
was
coming to trust him; she just did not do so willingly or fully.
was
coming to trust him; she just did not do so willingly or fully.
“Why does it matter to you? Have you not received a full measure of service during my time here? Have you not fucked me in every way a man can fuck a woman? Have I not obeyed your every command and fulfilled your every need?”
“It matters,” he said, remembering his threat, or promise rather, of the things he planned to do with her. And he had, they had. “You matter.”
“Have I not done what you really brought me to do? I let you use my body to find relief from the terrible need that your power forces on you. I have done your bidding and now I want to return to Sigurd.” Her voice rose and he heard a brittleness in it that said she was near to breaking.
“You want to return to the man who uses you to rid himself of his enemies? To the man who will kill my friend to raise himself in the king’s regard?” he asked, going to the door of his bedchamber and leaning against the wall to watch her. She had not moved from her seat at the table and he noticed her fingers clutched the edge of the table, her knuckles white with effort.
“Mayhap I was mistaken about that.” Her eyes darted to him and away as he watched her try to come up with some explanation for her lapse. “I am only a woman. He does not share his business with me.”
Her denial did not work. Though Sigurd would not have shared such important details with her, Duncan had no doubt Isabel—strong, reliant, intelligent Isabel—listened well and put the pieces together.
Whether it was the Healer pushing forward or him simply understanding her better, he felt her terror and the pain within her. In that moment, he remembered part of the ritual when the power flowed through him. Isabel watched from her hiding place but the Healer knew she was there and called to her. She’d held the damage so deep within her soul that to release it would be the end of her. Walling it up had protected her and allowed her to survive the horror of her life.
He must stop probing. He must allow her her defenses. If his plans to neutralize Sigurd did not work, she would have to face the man . . . alone. If he showed her the truth, too much truth at one time, it would leave her worse than he’d found her.
Duncan stood away from the door and nodded. “You are right, Isabel. You are his pawn, one of his many pawns, and he would not confide his plans to you.”
Though she wanted to believe his acceptance of her denial, a flicker of doubt darkened the green of her eyes. Her fear pushed the questions from her thoughts and she nodded back.
“You must be tired from standing out there so long. I am ready for bed. Join me?” He held his hand out to her.
She gave him a smile, the placating one she used too often, and shook her head. “I am too restless to sleep. I have some sewing to do, unless you have need of me?” The whore was back.
“Sew then, sleep when you are ready.”
Though he expected his own racing thoughts to keep him awake, Duncan fell asleep quickly. Sometime later he woke to the pleasurable feel of her mouth on his cock, urging it to life. He stretched his body, pushing further into her mouth as his flesh responded to her practiced touch. However, once he was fully awake, he recognized her frantic movements and knew it was not about pleasure—it was about assuaging the terrible fear that grew inside her.
She massaged the sac under his erect flesh and suckled the length of his cock, her expert mouth and tongue dragging him toward release. He tried to touch her but she shifted on her knees, moving just out of his reach. The whore had joined him in his bed, not the woman. And she would not stop. So Duncan offered her the only thing he could to help her.
Oblivion.
He closed his eyes and let the scent pour over her, hoping to give her a short time of mindless bliss instead of the pain the questions had caused, sending her into the frenzy of seeking sex to mask it.
She lifted her mouth from his flesh and met his gaze, understanding what he was doing. Closing her eyes, Isabel inhaled deeply of the scent, allowing it to take control of her. Her eyes, when she opened them, were vague, with no color present. She inhaled again and smiled at him. Without a word, she returned to his cock, allowing him to touch her.
And he did, making certain to give her release before he allowed his seed to spill.
Duncan lay awake for hours after, searching through his mind for solutions to the many problems facing him. Her words, spoken in hushed tones, surprised him. He had thought her sound asleep in his arms.
“His name was Olaf,” she whispered into the darkness.
Duncan gathered her closer, letting his touch reassure her that he could hear her truth.
“Olaf’s father was a powerful chieftain from the outer isles and he sent him to Sigurd as part of their agreement. I was given to him for the time he stayed on Skye.”
Before Sigurd moved his sights on Duntulm, Davin’s seat, Duncan knew.
“I foolishly fancied myself in love with him and he assured me he felt the same way. When his father summoned him back, he asked me to go with him. I loved him—how could I refuse?”
Duncan let her speak without interrupting her, sensing she needed to prick the boil festering inside her soul. He felt her warm tears pooling on his chest as she continued.
“Sigurd discovered our plan and sent him home. Then he taught me the folly of trying to be something other than I am.”
Damn him, but Duncan had to know. “What did he do?”
“He had my leg broken to prove his point about love not being part of the game. He said a whore did not need to walk and swore to break the other if I tried it again. He brought men to my cottage to use me there just to prove his point. A broken and splinted leg did not seem to matter to them as they took their pleasure on me.”
Silence covered them as Duncan tried to calm his rage after hearing her words. His heart pounded in his chest, so she must know how it affected him. Her hand caressed him, as though seeking to offer him comfort. But the worst was yet to come, as he found out when she spoke once more.
“Olaf never reached his father. The story was put out that his boat sank during a storm in the Minch, but I know the truth of it. Sigurd described his death to me in great detail while Godrod saw to my leg.”
Broke her leg.
Duncan fought to remain still and hold her as she told him the truth he’d demanded and now wished he had not. How could she endure such things and be willing to return to that life? The real truth lay unsaid between them. Her real reason for staying in Sigurd’s grasp remained an unspoken thing.
She would never reveal it to him. Never ask for his help, because she’d seen Sigurd’s power over and over again, leaving her with no way out and no one to turn to without risking their death also.
A funny thing happens when you know your own death is impending, and there is no way to prevent it—it makes you want to do foolish things. The Healer within urged him to follow a certain path and Duncan understood it. His death would not be the meaningless end he’d thought, for he could find a way to make things right. For all Isabel had given him, he needed to do it. But would she cooperate with him and trust him to see it through?
“You stay to protect Thora.”
Isabel stiffened in his embrace, drawing in a shuddering breath and not speaking for some time. Would she deny the truth now that he had named it? Or could she trust him? His answer came in the bleak words she whispered.
“I would do anything to protect her. Anything.”
As he would do anything to protect the ones he loved.
Gunna. Harald. Ornolf. All the family he never had. He would do anything to keep them safe. Isabel was also part of that list and he would see her safe . . . and healed before he gave up his life to the power within him.
He gathered her closer and listened as her breathing evened and grew deeper until she finally slept. It came to him in the dark of the night and he rose carefully so as not to wake her, seeking out Ornolf to discuss the new plan of his.
To save Isabel he must save her sister first.
To save Thora, he must break Isabel’s heart.
To heal her broken heart and soul, he would give his life.
Love caused a man to do foolish things and he understood he was a man in love. Since he’d never expected to find it, Duncan savored the moment he realized he loved her. But he would not declare it to her for it would only add to her burdens. She bore too many already to bear another.
But he loved Isabel with every fiber of his being.
Seeing Ornolf off at dawn with his new instructions and knowing what must be accomplished in a short time, Duncan returned to his bed and to Isabel. He spent the day and the next night with her, never referring to anything she’d said and not asking any questions. He knew everything between them would soon change and understood she might well hate him.
He pretended he was a normal man with a woman he loved and who loved him—that all was well in his world. She might think she was the only one who could pretend, but he was a quick learner.
Isabel woke when he slipped back under the covers, his body warming hers as he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. She savored how safe she felt in his embrace. His soft snoring told her when he fell asleep, but she could not.
Too much had been revealed. So many rules had been broken over those last few weeks; rules that had taken so long and so much punishment to learn. He thought himself immune to Sigurd’s power, probably because of the Healer within him, but Duncan could die just as easily as Olaf had.
She slipped from the bed when she heard Gunna in the other room and went to help prepare their food. If anything had changed, she could not tell from the way the young woman greeted her and accepted her help. Keeping her voice down so she did not disturb Duncan, Isabel lost herself in the daily chores and did not think on anything more than that. Her gaze went to him when the door opened, wondering how things would be between them that morn.
She lost her breath at the intensity of his gaze.
His eyes burned but not with the fires of lust or desire. Something else shone there, something that warmed her, body and soul. Something she could not have. Turning away, she blinked back the tears and went to fill his bowl and cup. She placed them before him as he sat down without a word. She did not allow herself to look into his eyes again.
He did not let her walk away. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it and touching it to his cheek in a gesture so meaningful her tears threatened once more. The conversation around them faded away and in that moment she could almost believe they were living a life she’d never allowed herself to dream. She shook the thought away and returned to serving the others as they arrived to break their fast.
The meal was enjoyable. Talk about the day’s duties and the ongoing harvest of the fields surrounded them, but Isabel was aware of only Duncan. He touched her constantly—his hand on hers as they sat next to each other, his leg against hers when he shifted to allow Harald to sit on the other side of him, his arm around her waist and a soft kiss on her forehead when someone mentioned the laundry basket left in the yard. All of it felt perfect, as though such tenderness was a commonplace thing between a man and a whore.
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