Mistress of the Storm (20 page)
They shared a modest evening meal, then everyone settled for the night. Everyone but Duncan, who paced his house awaiting 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
A
s 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.
s 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.”
“And me?” Isabel stared at him, pushing away the intoxicating smell. “How am I part of this?”
“I asked for you as Thora’s dowry.”
She choked and when he would have tried to help her, she backed away from him. “You bargained for a whore as your wife’s dowry? Sigurd would have settled great wealth on you for marrying her.”
“You are not a whore,” he said through clenched teeth, angrier than she’d ever heard him before.
She knew what she was but did not argue. “I am ready.”
If she was Thora’s dowry, he would legally own her as soon as the marriage was consummated. “When do you seal your vows to her?”
“The day before the moon grows full again.” Perfectly timed, she thought. It fit her plans, too.
“Where will I stay?” She wanted everything clear between them.
“With me.” When she would have refused, he cut her off. “It is the safest place for you—the one place Sigurd will not go.”
“And Thora? What has she said on the matter?”
“Sigurd has trained her in wifely duties as well as he trained you to yours,” Duncan explained. “She will say nothing, for she has no right to say who I may or may not share my bed with.”
With few exceptions, a man could take any woman who would have him, or any that he owned, and his wife had no right to stop him or to refuse his attentions because of it. Concubines and bed slaves were commonplace and only a man’s wealth determined how many he could afford and support.
But Isabel had no intention of going along with Duncan’s plan. Once he took Thora’s maidenhead, Isabel would be gone forever. Her reason for living as a whore would be over, for Thora would be Duncan’s legal wife and protected by his name and his honor and his wealth.
And Isabel would be dead by her own hand.
The door opened and closed and Margaret joined them in the main room of her house, ending all further talk. Duncan thanked Margaret for her hospitality and took his leave, holding out his hand, expecting Isabel to take it.
“I will meet you back at the farm,” she said.
“I will take you there.” He let out a frustrated breath and she took a perverse pleasure in being difficult. “Seek out Harald if I am not there when you arrive then.”
He left and she thanked Margaret herself. The woman pressed a small sack in her hand—some bread and cheese to eat on the walk back. Though some were already about their business, the streets were quiet and deserted. Making her way out of the village, Isabel found the path and walked back to Duncan’s farm.
She would return to him.
At least he did not have to drag her back screaming or bound. For that Duncan was thankful. But he’d hurt with every word she’d said and every question she’d asked. And when she did not rise to his bait, he wanted to beg for her forgiveness and tell her everything. The ride back across the miles to his farm gave him time to clear his mind and prepare to deal with the coming week.
He had promised Thora they would spend time together in the coming week to prepare her for their joining, so he could not wait for Isabel to arrive. Asking Harald to watch for Isabel, he took Thora for a ride to see his lands. When he looked for Isabel as everyone gathered for the evening meal, he did not see her. Gunna set the food up for the large group in the empty barn and the meal was pleasant enough. No one seemed to hold his arrangements against Thora and they accepted his explanation that she would be in charge of his household very soon. Sigurd sat back, watching everything and everyone with a keen eye. Duncan wondered if he could make it all work out as he’d planned.
Only when he returned to his bedchamber did he find Isabel, asleep in the chair. He tried to ease his arm behind her to carry her to the bed, but she startled at his first touch and clutched the arms of the wooden chair so he could not move her. It would take time he did not have to put her at ease in his bed again.
“Sleep in the bed, Isabel.”
“Nay,” she said in a husky voice, heavily laden with sleep.
“Isabel, I told you I will not force myself on you.”
She seemed to consider his words, but he suspected it was the cramp in her neck that convinced her to move into the bed. She did so without removing her clothing. With guilt lying heavy on his heart, he did not argue.
He stayed on his side of the bed and she on hers, but morning found him wrapped around her body, holding her tightly. She opened her eyes and pushed her way free just as he woke up. They parted, neither seeing the other during the day, nor during the evening meal but only as night fell. She lay in his bed when he arrived.
His body ached for her, his heart bled for her pain, but he would not ask her to join with him. If he did, he was no better than Sigurd, using her against her will. He went to sleep hard and woke up every morning the same way. He lived aroused, craving the comfort only she could offer. But more than the physical pleasure, he wanted her love to see him through the end of things.
The night before he would seal his vows with Thora, he woke in the dark of the night to the sound of her crying into the pillow. He touched her shoulder and she turned without hesitation into his arms, molding herself to him, trapping his erection between their bodies. He kissed her forehead, trying to comfort her but she lifted her face and his mouth touched hers.
That was all it took to ignite the fire that burned between them, in spite of anger and hurt and betrayal. She opened to him, taking off the garments she wore until they lay naked, skin against heated skin. He knelt over her and kissed her, open-mouthed and hungry for the taste and feel of her. Duncan moved his mouth over her neck, licking and tasting every inch of her, moving down and down until he reached the center of her pleasure. He spread her legs, lay between them, then opened the folds of heated flesh so he could drive her mad one last time.
“I am sorry,” he whispered against her skin. “I am sorry.”
Each time he said the words, he kissed her intimately there, finally finding the hidden bud that lay deeper between the folds and suckling on it. She arched, her body tightening and spasming, until she screamed out her release. He waited for her to calm before beginning anew.
She tried to see to him, but he pressed her back on the bed and continued bringing her release until she could do nothing but moan and sigh. Morning found her sound asleep, lying across his unrequited body. But his heart was lighter for the pleasure he’d given her. He went out to get water to wash with and returned to find her gone.
The tension built within him throughout the day. All those who lived on the farm knew the effects of the moon on him. Those who had come to witness their vows blamed it on a bridegroom’s nervousness. If he continued to search for someone in the shadows, no one commented on it at all.
Soon, Duncan and Thora had exchanged vows and rings and the women escorted her to his house. He sat waiting, listening to the bawdy jokes and suggestions from the men until Gunna signaled Thora’s readiness for his visit to her.
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