Mistress of the Storm (4 page)
He had promised to help Isabel in any way he could as long as Thora obeyed him and behaved as a daughter should. If that was the only way she could help Isabel, she would do so. And for the last year she had. She only hoped that her small lapse that day would not cause her father to turn his back on her sister.
Thora could not bear the thought that Isabel would be harmed because she could not keep her part of the bargain. She considered all the possibilities of how she could aid Isabel herself while Erlend guided the cart and horse through the hills away from the coast. When they reached the farmstead, she’d come up with nothing—except to continue to obey her father and allow him to chart the path of her life.
If that would help her dearest sister, that was what she would do.
It was exactly what she would do.
Chapter Four
Duntulm Keep
D
uncan woke from the first deep sleep in months to find his bed empty and Isabel gone. He raced to the battlements to search below for her, seeing her on the beach, pleased that she did not enter the sea to wash his scent from her skin as she had so many times before. He stood above watching her, experiencing a panic and sorrow he could not explain.
uncan woke from the first deep sleep in months to find his bed empty and Isabel gone. He raced to the battlements to search below for her, seeing her on the beach, pleased that she did not enter the sea to wash his scent from her skin as she had so many times before. He stood above watching her, experiencing a panic and sorrow he could not explain.
That was remarkable in itself, but the fact that his skin was alive once more was even more so. The rough surface of the stone wall scratched his palms as he slid them along it. The chill in the morning air raised gooseflesh and he felt the tightness of his skin as it puckered and his hair rose. His stomach growled its hunger for the first time in months and he laughed aloud at the amazing sensations.
He was alive, more alive than he’d been in so long and he knew for certain she was the cause of it. He must keep her at his side to find out the extent of her influence on the curse he bore. Caught up in things that should be mundane, he missed her standing and leaving the small stretch of beach below. When he realized she was gone, he ran to the other side of the roof and gazed down on the small village, seeking out any movement on the narrow pathways between cottages and outbuildings that would give away her position.
Finally! She moved slowly along the path to the south, heading for the cottage that sat separate from the rest, far enough away to almost be outside the village. Even from a distance so far he saw her shoulders were slumped forward. Once more, waves of pain and sorrow echoed across the space between them and his heart ached in response.
His intentions of meeting with the men from Orkney disappeared as the need to discover the source of her pain overwhelmed him. Had he hurt her during the night? He remembered relentless passion and pleasure. Overwhelmed by it, he might have hurt her and not realized it. A whore would never mention such things.
His feet were running before he knew where, the sharp stones that covered the roof tearing into the skin on the soles of his feet. Only when Ornolf blocked his path did he skid to a stop.
“Out of my way, old man,” Duncan said, trying to push his way around his servant.
“Ye cannot leave yer chambers naked as the day ye were born, Duncan. And clean the blood from yer feet or it will leave a trail.”
Only then did Duncan realize his feet were bleeding. And they hurt! A mystifying and wondrous—and unexplained—change. He laughed again, the thrill of the pain rushing through him.
“Fix them,” he ordered as he sat on a stool in his chambers.
Ornolf worked quickly, wrapping Duncan’s feet with strips of linen, then shoving short boots on over them. Every wince was cause for celebration. Without a word being said, Ornolf handed him clothes and helped him dress. It took only a few minutes, but those were minutes Duncan did not wish to waste. He ran through the keep and the yard and the gate and finally, stood in the shadows observing as Sigurd spoke with the young woman he’d brought to the feast the evening before. The exchange between them was nothing like the glances Duncan had witnessed between Sigurd and Isabel. These were filled with soft feelings and concern while those were of ownership and possession.
How could a man treat one so lovingly and the other so callously?
Thinking on the matter would not change a thing, for the world was made up of men such as Sigurd—hard men whose only concern was making their way in the world, reaching above themselves with others paying their way. Men who sold their own brothers into slavery to gain from it. Men who would change allegiances and fight for whomever promised the greater reward.
Duncan watched the cart carrying the daughter leave and Sigurd stride off in the direction of the keep, no doubt to meet with Davin to curry more favor or find ways to do so. After waiting until he was certain Sigurd was not coming back, Duncan walked the last few paces to Isabel’s door. He knew which of the small dwellings was hers after watching her from high above as she made her way there . . . more times than he could explain or care to think on.
He placed his hands on the doorframe and leaned his head against the door, trying to calm his racing heart and his breathing. Waves of anguish poured over him from within, forcing him to his knees. Gasping for breath, the affliction pierced his heart and caused storms of pain in his head. The feelings reminded him of the beginning of the healing ritual—the part when he was still conscious of his own body, before the power flowed through him and erased all that he was. But the power did not build or flow, only the pain.
Pushing himself to his feet, he knew he needed to get to Isabel. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Lifting the latch of her door, he eased it open and peered into the darkened cottage. He fought against the ever-increasing waves of pain, trying to see into the shadows, hearing the sounds of weeping echo in the tiny dwelling.
Isabel was crying, weeping so deeply he thought her physically wounded. She lapsed into coughing, then vomiting from the intensity of her cry. When he would have stepped inside, something stopped him from going to her. Clearly she thought herself alone and his interference might not be warranted or welcome. He realized he knew nothing,
less
than nothing, about the woman other than her skills in bedplay. He suspected much, but knew nothing about her family or her connections in Duntulm.
less
than nothing, about the woman other than her skills in bedplay. He suspected much, but knew nothing about her family or her connections in Duntulm.
In spite of feeling her pain and her sorrow, he stepped back and closed the door. The action did nothing to ease the suffering he felt, but he could not help her if he did not understand. He knew in the heart and soul he could now feel that he wanted to help her. He wanted to understand what she was to him.
He wanted her.
As he walked away, the pain lessened but did not dissipate completely, leaving an ache in the pit of his stomach he suspected would continue until her pain was gone.
He stopped as the revelation struck him.
He’d never felt the power flowing in his veins between full moons before. He’d never wanted to let it flow, to unleash his ability to heal bodies and souls, because of the terrible cost he paid for its exercise. Yet, he’d stood in her doorway wanting to heal her, wanting to erase the anguish that lived deep within her. Wanting to take her pain into himself and banish it.
Duncan shook his head, trying to clear the confusing burst of thoughts and desires and needs from his mind, unable to sort through it all after the months of emptiness. To call forth the power he had was courting disaster. To even think of such a thing frightened him.
He must discover more about her. He gazed up at the sun, estimating it to be mid-morning. He smiled at that, since he’d not slept past dawn in ages, but his soul filled and his body satisfied and exhausted, he’d not wanted to wake. Then he’d rolled over to pull her body beneath his and seek that moment of perfect satisfaction and peace . . . and found her gone.
He took and released a deep breath. Ornolf was excellent at gleaning information, so Duncan would set him on that task. His usual caution reared then and he knew he must find out more about her before allowing her close enough to discover the truth of his curse and his ability.
Walking back to the keep, he knew the moment something changed. All the pain that had flowed into him disappeared as though the flame of a lamp had lost its oil and gone out. It was not diminished, but extinguished as though never there. Breathing did not hurt. Existing did not hurt. The pain was gone, mimicking the moment in the ritual when he came back to himself and the person involved felt nothing. He felt nothing, too, but knew that moment was simply a pause before all the pain that had been drawn out flooded into him.
This time, it did not.
Quickening his pace and filled with an anticipation he’d not known for months, he made his way to his chambers and sent Ornolf off on various tasks. When the men visiting from Orkney arrived to share his noon meal, he thought he might discover something about his origins. He had never known his family, only that he’d come from Orkney originally. But, by nightfall, he’d learned little or nothing except that the Earl of Orkney had a truthsayer, a man who was called on to determine the truth whenever it was in question.
Not one of them could give more information than that, and with the earl about to sail south in the king’s company, Duncan had no time to pursue the matter. Ornolf suggested sending someone north and he gave his permission, even knowing it could take months to find out more.
Duncan watched for Isabel to appear at the feasts held each night over the next sennight, but she did not. Nor did the man called Sigurd. As the newly returned sensations began to fade in his body and soul and the cold detachment spread again, terror of going back to that empty state became his only emotion. He sought out Davin for advice on how to handle the task of arranging to take Isabel as his leman.
He might not yet know why she was different or how she managed to bring about such changes in him, but he could not let her slip from his grasp. He rarely called in favors, but Davin owed him many and it was nothing compared to what he could request. If not for Duncan’s ability to heal anyone from injury or illness, Davin’s wife and firstborn would be dead. Procuring a leman was nothing by comparison.
He found Davin training with his men outside the wall and joined them for a few hours, hours in which he learned his ability to feel was diminishing by the day. Every hour since he’d bedded Isabel sensations and emotions were being stolen from him.
“Come, Duncan,” Davin said, handing his sword to one of the young boys in training, “Walk with me.”
Davin also held out a scrap of linen for Duncan to use. Glancing down, Duncan noticed the cuts on his arms and legs that he had not felt before. When they reached the small beach, he tugged off his boots and walked into the seawater to wash away the blood. The saltiness in it did not bother him, though Davin winced as he saw to his own injuries.
Another change. Duncan walked from the water and waited for Davin on the sand. They sat down and Duncan accepted the flask offered by Davin. Swallowing a mouthful of the powerful brew, Duncan thought on how to begin.
His friend, always perceptive, said, “So, you want my help in getting this woman?”
Duncan laughed and nodded. “That obvious, am I?”
“Aye.” Davin met his gaze and shrugged. “Though you have sought out women before, this one is different. You seem to care about finding her and having her.”
Duncan ran his hands through his hair and nodded. “I cannot explain it, but I know I need her.”
Davin shoved him and laughed.
“Nay, not in that way, though aye, in that way too.”
“You are not alone in wanting her in your bed,” Davin added. “Every man who has had her bargains with Sigurd to get her again. Does she offer something any other woman could not give you?”
Pushing himself to stand, Duncan tried to explain it to the man who was the closest thing he had to a friend.
“She has undone some of the changes.” He spoke boldly, not trying to explain more than that.
“Undone them? But, look at the wounds you sustained just this morn because you cannot feel. How is that changed?”
“I could feel. Last week after spending the night with her, my skin hurt, my appetite returned, my emotions . . .” He paused. “And more, I wanted her, Davin. I wanted her.”
Davin looked over the sea toward the outer islands and remained silent for a few minutes. He never responded in haste, a quality that kept him out of many battles and other troubles when others plunged in headlong.
“Did my cousin’s men tell you anything? Is there some link between you and their earl’s truthsayer?”
Duncan kicked the sand at his feet toward the water. “Nay. I think not, though Ornolf is sending someone north to learn more.”
“The full moon approaches. Will she be . . . enough?”
The only appetite that remained when all else was burned out at the full moon’s rising was his need for countless, nameless women in his bed. And though he sought and used any and every woman who arrived at his door, he remembered none of them, only the emptiness that resulted from it.
“I know not, Davin. I know only that she is different. And tied to this somehow.”
“You know I will do whatever you need. I am in your debt.” Davin stood and began walking. “Her stepfather asked to see you.”
Duncan grabbed his friend and pulled him around so they were face-to-face. “He did? When?”
“He is not a fool. He has waited until he knows you are frantic to have her and will make it worth his while for you to get her.”
“Where is he?”
“I told him to speak to you before the evening meal. He will be there.”
“Will she?” Duncan asked before thinking about revealing so much to his friend.
Davin laughed and slapped him on the back. “He is a good merchant. Surely he will put the goods on display before telling you the cost of them . . . of her.”
Other books
Mostly Harmless by Douglas Adams
Hell or High Water by Unknown
The Highlander's Yuletide Love by Quigley, Alicia
The Way to Her Heart by Amy Reece
Staked by Sandra Edwards
A Gift for a Lion by Sara Craven
A Billionaire Punishes Part 1 (Erotic Romance) by Nic Saint
No Place for a Lady by Joan Smith
The Missing Person by Alix Ohlin
Wild Cherry by K'wan
