Mistress of the Storm (6 page)
Turning onto her back, she floated, watching the moon and stars above, hearing only the sounds of the water as it surrounded her head with calm. Unlike the small lake where she’d grown up, the sea was cold and she could not tolerate it for long. Unable to stand its chill, she rolled and dove under once more, all the time offering up the prayer she always did—to whatever god would listen. As before, she did not know for what she prayed, only that she did. One word echoed through her thoughts as she began to swim to shore.
Please.
The litany of words added to that one had grown and grown and not even a holy sister spending all of her days in secluded, silent prayer could have voiced them all. So Isabel held onto only that one, hoping that any god powerful enough to answer her would know and understand the rest.
She walked the last few yards to the beach and gathered her hair in her hands to wring the water from it. As she made her way to the pile of clothes she’d left behind, she saw him, standing there watching every step she took.
Duncan had followed her as she fled from him—unsure whether his crude words had frightened or aroused her. They were true, every one of them, and they were only the beginning of what he wanted to do to her. A few weeks would never be long enough. Months would not, but he did not have more than another two if what he suspected came to be.
Duncan had only wanted to find out if she would go with him of her own will and not because Sigurd ordered her to do it, so he’d had her brought to him while Ornolf met with Sigurd. And he’d watched her reaction. Though she’d tried to remain calm, he heard her heart racing, saw her skin flush with arousal when the scent flowed from him.
He felt the fullness of his own arousal—his skin aching once more for her touch and experiencing the pain of his earlier injuries on the field. It felt remarkable after the numbness had begun creeping back in.
Though she’d put him off with questions meant to distract him, he could tell she wanted him as much as he wanted her. She’d used no whore’s tricks.
She rose from the sea like a goddess of old, her skin tightened from the cold. Duncan could see how her nipples puckered as she walked toward the place where she’d dropped her gown. He was rock hard, fighting the urge to run to her and do at least some of the things he’d told her about earlier. But that would undo what he had followed her to accomplish.
He fought his wayward desire. Mayhap he should run into the frigid water to cool the desire rushing through his blood.
“My lord?” she whispered. Her voice shook from the cold seeping into her muscles. She waited for him, pausing in the act of picking up her clothes.
Duncan walked to her side, picking up her gown as he passed it. Gathering it up he tugged it over her head, noticing it was not the same one she’d been wearing at the keep.
“Are you mad? Swimming in the sea at night and when it is so cold?” He rubbed his hands over her arms, trying to ease the cold from her skin. Unfortunately, it brought her into his arms and he wanted nothing more than to ease her to the ground and fill her with his aching flesh.
“It soothes me.”
So, she had been disturbed by his invitation. Good, for he, too, was bothered by the thought of having her at his beck and call for the next few weeks. Most likely, though, for reasons different from hers.
Duncan wrapped his arms around her, absorbing the cold from her body and wondered at her admission. She entered the sea every time she left the keep and left a man’s bed—except for his that first time. He’d watched her do it, countless times, wondering at her reasons and her ease in the sea, regardless of the change in seasons or the growing iciness of the water.
“Drink wine,” he barked. “It has remarkable medicinal properties.”
“You said you had things to do, my lord,” she said, easing out of his arms. She walked away and gathered the rest of her things together.
“You left abruptly.”
She paused then, before turning to face him. He did not feel the overwhelming sadness he’d sensed that first morning after, but ’twas almost as though he could feel her emotions. Usually that sensitivity was reserved for the ritual, but with her, it seemed to occur naturally. As he watched her face, he felt ripples of confusion and fear and wonder passing through her.
“I did, my lord.” She schooled her expression and the whore’s face appeared, one he hated to see on her features. Her eyes went blank, her lips pursed temptingly, her skin flushed, all to increase her sexual attractiveness to men. “Have you changed your mind?” She rolled her shoulders, which made her breasts appear larger. Her nipples were still taut against her thin gown.
“Do not do that!” he said, shaking his head. “Do not play the whore with me, Isabel.”
Though she was surprised by his words, she did not lose the vapid expression or whore’s stance, offering herself to him without a word. “But that is what I am, my lord. A whore whose time and attentions you are buying. Do not mistake our arrangement for something it is not.”
For some reason, Duncan knew the warning offered by her was speaking to her own fears. She was trying to convince herself of it, not him. He only knew it for the lie it was and something much more important was building between them.
“I will keep that in mind, Isabel. Now, let me see you to your cottage.”
“I can make my way there, my lord. I have before.”
The implication being that she would again, without him.
He did not want to think on that, nor did he want to think about her being with another man now that he had found her. There would be time before he had to deal with it all.
“Until the morning then,” he said. He had no intention of letting her make her way back alone, but she did not need to know that. Once she was in her cottage, he would return to complete the negotiations with Sigurd. Ornolf was keeping the man occupied for him until he returned.
She nodded, then walked past him, not waiting for him and not looking back to see if he followed. He dogged her steps, remaining far enough back she would not hear or see him, but close enough to reach her if she needed him. He did not fool himself that she was not used to watching out for herself.
In less than an hour, Duncan was seeing to those tasks he’d mentioned to Isabel—things needing to be done before he left in the morning. Sleeping was not one of them.
Chapter Six
W
hen Duncan arrived at the cottage, Isabel stood at its door waiting for him. From the look in her eyes, she had slept as little as he had. Sigurd was nowhere to be seen, which was exactly what Duncan had ordered when paying the exorbitant amount of gold coins asked in exchange for having Isabel to himself for the next month.
hen Duncan arrived at the cottage, Isabel stood at its door waiting for him. From the look in her eyes, she had slept as little as he had. Sigurd was nowhere to be seen, which was exactly what Duncan had ordered when paying the exorbitant amount of gold coins asked in exchange for having Isabel to himself for the next month.
“Is that all you bring?” he asked, nodding at the small sack in her hand.
“Aye, my lord,” she said, eyeing the horse he rode with a skeptical expression.
“Give it to me then.” He held out his hand. He secured the sack to the front of the saddle and turned back to her. “Now, come up.”
For a moment she looked as though tempted to refuse. She walked around the horse, a large, powerful gelding, and watched it closely. Duncan released a foot from the stirrup and positioned it so she could use it to climb up behind him. He leaned over and reached for her hand.
“Put your foot there and give me your hand,” he directed.
“I do not like horses, my lord.”
It was the first time he’d heard her express a preference and it startled him. She hadn’t uttered a word no matter what he had asked her to do with him during that bliss-filled night, but a horse had wrung the confession from her. Before he could offer any reassurances or words of encouragement, she gathered the length of her gown in one hand and took his with the other, hefting herself onto the horse.
Though he controlled the horse’s movements, the animal shifted to accommodate their combined weights and he heard her gasp with each side-step, clutching at his back. He calmed the animal, then helped Isabel to settle behind him. Duncan touched his feet to the horse’s sides and they were on their way.
He felt her hands fluttering as she tried to find something to hold onto, something sturdier than the layers of clothing she held. Lifting his arms, he told her to wrap her arms around him. There was no hesitation as she did as he suggested, but he felt the tension in her body. She sat straight up, not adjusting to the horse’s gait as they left the village and keep behind.
“How far is your farm?” she whispered.
“Do you fear reaching it, Isabel?” he teased.
“Aye.”
He laughed and reached up to cover one of her hands with his. “How do you travel from Duntulm?” Surely she must have ridden before.
“I do not leave Duntulm.”
Her words stymied him. “Not even when Sigurd returns to his farm?”
Her silence answered him. He thought back to her original question. “My farm is to the north of the hills surrounding Uig.”
“You live near the bay?”
“Aye.”
“We could have taken a boat,” she whispered.
Her tone was disgruntled, again the first time she’d allowed anything but compliance to enter her words.
“You are at home in the water, but I am not,” he explained. “Hold on until you are at ease.”
The mists swirled around them as he guided the horse along the path into the hills that headed south and east toward Uig and his farm. It would take most of the day to reach it, but all he could think on was the coming night. Though she held on tightly, she did not relax or lean against him.
The sun tried to burn off the thick fog, but the day remained dreary and cool as they covered the miles. She did not say a word or ask him to rest, but sagged behind him when he stopped a few hours later. He lifted his leg over the horse and jumped to the ground, turning back to help her.
Heavens protect her, she sat alone on the back of the huge animal and had no idea how to get off. Her legs were numb from hours of clenching the sides of the mighty beast while trying not to fall off. Duncan stood watching her with amusement at her discomfort. She struggled to lift her leg over the horse as he had, but her muscles chose the wrong time not to obey her commands and she ended up toppling off and falling. Duncan broke her fall, cushioning her as she landed on the ground.
Isabel lost her breath but soon realized she was straddling his body. Her gown and cloak were twisted around her, exposing her legs almost to her hips. She pushed up on her arms, shook her head to get the hair out of her face and gazed down on him. His eyes were closed and she was not certain whether she’d knocked him unconscious or not. Reaching down, she touched his cheek with her hand and rubbed her thumb along his jaw.
His lips curved ever so slightly, into the hint of a smile, and his eyelids twitched as he tried to keep them closed. He was pretending! Bedeviled, she leaned over and kissed him. It was a simple, gentle kiss that said nothing of passion. But his reaction was swift and she found herself on the ground with him covering her, his eyes lit with lust and his body hardened and ready to take her.
As quickly as it had appeared, he banked the heat in his gaze and rolled off her. Holding out his hand, he helped her to her feet and dusted the dirt and mud from her cloak. He was unlike any man she’d met before—one who would ignore his body’s readiness to couple and delay his own pleasure for . . . for what she knew not.
Isabel looked around the area where they’d drawn to a stop and noticed he seemed familiar with the place. He led the horse to the nearby stream to drink, then let it graze. He pointed to a thick stand of trees where she could see to her own needs, and when she returned, he offered her a skin filled with ale, and pieces of bread and cheese.
She thought him stranger with every action he took.
What man would see to such tasks when a woman was there to perform them? He did, and did it with good cheer when another man would have been swiving her on the ground where they’d fallen. She remained a bit apart and watched as he tended to his horse and saw to his own needs, leaving her alone.
Isabel walked a wide circle around him, eating the food he’d given her as she tried to work the pain and tightness from the muscles in her legs and her back. She was stiff from riding for longer than she ever had before. Worse was the knowledge she would have to get back up on the horse and continue their journey.
He did not hurry her, though he could have. He watched as she walked by him, offering the skin to her as she passed. Duncan knew they needed to leave soon, but he noticed the way she limped as she took each step. He waited until she seemed to move with less pain, before calling to her.
Their journey would last several more hours, along the stream and into the hills, but staying south and east of the Quiraing escarpment. His farm was not large and he did not rely on its income or crops, but it was his. If everything else he owned disappeared on the morrow, the farm would remain his.
Isabel passed him once more on her circuitous path and he handed her the skin of ale. As she drank deeply from it he noticed the way she tilted her head back and the lines of her graceful neck. Her hair fell in waves over her shoulders and, after handing it back to him and walking away, he also noticed the sway of her hips as she moved. Touching her, kissing her, or simply being with her freed his body and heart and soul from the damage wrought by the curse he bore.
When the horse had been watered and grazed, Duncan put the remnants of their meal back in the sack and tied it and the skin on the saddle. As she approached once more, he nodded and tried to ignore the funny expression she made at the news that it was time to get back on the horse.
“You are still not at ease on his back,” he said, as he held out his hand to her.
A shake of her head was her only response.
“Here. Go up first and I will sit at your back.”
She did not take his hand at first, but it was only a momentary hesitation. He realized she didn’t hesitate to obey his words long enough to be considered a refusal. He wondered at that as he helped her climb into the saddle.
The horse shifted as she sat and she splayed out across his neck, grasping his mane as she did. Though terror filled her eyes, she did not utter a word of complaint or refusal. ’Twas clear to him she had been trained, like a hound, never to refuse an order and that her will did not matter.
Like a good whore.
Her body sat rigid when he climbed up behind her. She didn’t relax or lean back against him as he guided the horse at an even pace along the stream that wound through the valley. Though his arms encircled her to hold the reins, she did nothing that either welcomed or hindered his embrace-of-a-sort. They rode in silence, covering the miles as the skies grew cloudier and the air cooled. Finally, as she drifted off to sleep for the third or fourth time only to awaken with a jolt, he whispered to her.
“Lean back against me, Isabel. Sleep if you need to,” he urged.
She did as he directed and soon he felt her body melt against his. He shifted her in his arms, so she rested more fully on him as the horse followed the path to his farm. It felt right holding her and caring for her. Keeping in mind that she was a whore being paid to accompany him home became difficult.
Isabel slept through the rest of their journey. He woke her as they approached the lane that led to his house. At first she did not move, then she startled, sitting up straight and looking around as though she’d forgotten where she was.
“Here is my farm,” he said.
She stopped moving and asked, “How long have I slept?” Her voice was roughened by sleep and his body responded to it. “Your pardon, my lord.”
Confused by the apology, he shook his head. “What have you done to beg my pardon?”
“I should not have fallen asleep.”
In other words, a whore did not sleep while with a man. Whores were not paid to sleep—they were paid to pleasure.
“We must set some new rules between us, Isabel. A month is a long time to go without sleeping.”
“A month?” she asked. “Sigurd agreed to a month?”
Duncan heard the shock in her voice and saw it in her expression when she turned to face him.
Any further discussion between them was forestalled when his arrival was noticed. Several men working in the yard called out greetings and he knew it would only be moments before—
“Duncan, you should have sent word!” Harald exclaimed as he ran over to meet them. He stopped just a few paces away and stared at Isabel. Having visited Duntulm several times recently he recognized her.
“Isabel is my guest, Harald,” Duncan said, cutting off any questions before they could be asked. “Let the others know.”
“Aye, Duncan,” the young man said, nodding. He would still ask questions, but understood to wait for a time more private to do so. The real problem would be Gunnhilde.
Duncan slid off the horse and turned to help Isabel just as that young woman burst out of the house in her customary exuberant fashion and ran to him. She barely waited for him to step back and turn before she threw her arms around him in a rib-crushing embrace. The younger sister he never had, Gunnhilde was always filled with vitality and joy. Because she’d nearly lost her life in an accident, she valued her days. Seeing her made his heart glad.
“Duncan! We did not know you were coming or we would have been ready,” she began. She released him and turned to call out orders to the girl who helped her in the house and to the younger man in the yard. “See to his—their—things, Gawen. Eara, make certain Duncan’s chamber is clean and his linens fresh.”
“Ornolf follows a day or two behind, Gunna,” Duncan said, calling her the name he always used. “Worry not over the room.”
“And who is this?” Gunna asked, as he’d known she would. He’d turned back to help Isabel from the horse and did not answer until she was on her feet and not wobbling.
“This is my guest Isabel,” he said once more, making it clear that no one would treat her otherwise. “She will be staying for a few weeks.”
Gunna did not hide her surprise. Her gasp was heard by the others in the yard. Though they would not dare to express it, she had no fear of showing her reaction. Duncan did not think she understood what Isabel was, but Harald did, as did the other men who stood by listening and watching.
Harald walked over and put his arm around his sister’s shoulders, drawing her close to him. She said, “I meant no disrespect, Duncan. ’Tis just not your habit to bring
guests
with you.”
guests
with you.”
Gunna understood more than he’d hoped she would.
“Isabel, come, let me make you welcome in Duncan’s home.” Gunna held her hand out.
Duncan turned to watch Isabel. Once more, after gaining his nod of permission, she obeyed, following Gunna into the house. Once they were gone, Duncan untied the sacks from the saddle and started to follow them.
Harald stepped in front of him. “You bring her here, Duncan? Is that wise? The full moon approaches.”
“I had no choice. She is involved in some way I do not yet understand.”
“Has she told you something?”
“Nay.” Duncan stared at the closed door. “But I will have weeks to find out what she does know.”
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