A Storm of Passion (13 page)

“Breac brought some of the healer’s oil. May I ease the pain of your hours of practice before…?”

She did not specify before what, but they both knew how this would end. His cock surged at her words, anxious for any touch she would give, and his voice cracked as he accepted her offer. “Oh, aye,” he said.

She slid from the bed, and he heard her moving toward the hearth and back to take something from the table next to his bed. Then she tugged the bedclothes down and out of her way. His cock sprang up.

“Turn over and put your hands under your head,” she ordered. He moved quickly and positioned himself as she said.

The oil was hot as she drizzled it along his shoulders and arms and down his back. Not hot enough to be painful, but hot enough to soothe the pulls and strains of overdue exercise. When she used her hands to spread and massage the balm over his skin and into his sore muscles, he swore he let out a groan of pleasure. His cock surged against the bed, waiting for her touch there. But she moved slowly, working her strong hands over his arms and across his shoulders, applying more of the oil to his back.

The soreness from overwork eased in the muscles beneath her touch, but others increased in a different sort of ache he anticipated her soothing later. The strokes down the backs of his thighs and lower legs became stronger, pressing and releasing, moving down along the bones and back up to his arse. She did not ignore that either, her hands rubbing and pressing, relieving the tightness in every place she touched.

His muscles relaxed, and his head spun from her attentions, or maybe from holding his breath as she moved her hands over his skin. Then without a word of warning, she climbed over him, resting on his arse and sliding on the oil she’d rubbed there. Her legs gripped his hips as she reached up and worked the oil into his shoulders.

But all he could focus on was the heat between her legs as she sat over his arse. She lifted, and her legs slid along his hips as she moved. She rested back, and her legs slid once more. It was driving him insane. Just at the moment he decided he could take no more, she ordered him to turn over.

He eased up, letting her ride the movement and his body as he turned until he faced her. The torture increased because now she sat astride his cock. He inhaled deeply and let it out, trying to keep from thrusting into her as she reached over for the bottle of oil and poured it on his chest. Her hands moved over his chest, spreading it up on his shoulders and down onto his belly. Her slippery fingers grazed the head of his cock as it lay caught between their bodies, and he gasped at the sensation.

The smell of the herb-infused oil permeated the air, and he breathed in the scent of it as she teased his nipples and the sensitive skin on his stomach. She moved down until she sat nearer to his ankles and worked more oil into the skin of his thighs. As she poured the oil down the length of his legs, she spilled it over his erect cock and her own thighs, and his cock surged as he thought of the feel of her hands on it.

She massaged his thighs, having him raise each leg so she could encircle it, much as she had his rod that first time. When she’d finished working on each leg, she used the oil to slide her way back up his legs and position herself on his thighs again.

“Where did you learn such things?” he asked, his voice hoarse with desire now.

She did not answer until she wrapped both hands around his cock and spread the oil with her hands and fingers from head to sac. “I stayed with a man who liked such things.”

If he’d expected remorse or some softer reaction about it, he should have known better. Moira had whored to live while he’d whored to live well, and he thought that she accepted her life better than he accepted his.

“I like it as well,” he whispered as he tried to stay coherent instead of losing himself to it. “Do you?”

“I would please you,” was her only response.

He wanted to show her that it could be more than just payment for her food or her clothing or her yet remaining alive in his protection. Connor reached down and held her hips. “Straighten out your legs,” he said, guiding her to a different position over him.

When he could reach her legs, he smoothed the oil down her thighs just as she had, mimicking her caressing strokes and hoping to ease the pain in her bad leg, stopping just before he touched the mass of curls at the junction of her thighs and listening to her breathing become affected by his touch. At least she did not try to fake her state of arousal while they did this. He lifted one leg higher to rub down to her feet, and she lost her balance and slid off him completely, losing her grip of his cock. Her body luckily landed in the middle of the bed rather than on the floor. Connor laughed then, for in spite of her seriousness, it was funny and unexpected.

“Will I have to tie you on?” he asked, as he lifted her back over him.

This time, he eased back to sit against the wooden headboard of the bed and moved her closer to him. With his knees raised, he kept her there. Now he retrieved the bottle of oil and poured some on her chest, spreading it first with the back of his hand and feeling her arch against it. He took the tips of her nipples between his finger and thumbs and rolled them until they tightened in his grasp and her body bucked on his. She slid against his cock once, and then twice, and he’d had enough.

Connor lifted her and placed her over his cock; the slipperiness of the oil on their legs and his cock let her settled on him quickly. Once there, she tossed her head back, and he pulled her closer and kissed her face and her neck, gently rubbing his face down and using his tongue along her skin. He wrapped her in his arms; their chests rubbed over each other’s, making her nipples harder as she moved against him.

Circling his legs behind and around her, he pushed into her and listened as she exhaled in time with his thrusts. He liked having his hands free, for he could hold the globes of her arse in them and urge her higher, or forward, or faster. She seemed to enjoy the movements, for he felt her woman’s channel swell and tighten around him. He leaned away only far enough for him to slide his hand between their bodies and found the part of her that hardened as he did.

She gasped as he touched her there, separating her nether folds and rubbing her until she ached even more. Moira wondered when he would take control over this, and now he had, for he began to move deeper and harder with her, filling her and making her want to reach that mindless moment when all control was lost and only passion existed between them.

In spite of her lingering doubts, in spite of years spent hunting him down, Moira found that his kindness made her question everything she had believed until this moment. He pressed harder, and she released the moan she fought to keep in. He lifted his head then and gave a laugh, a pleasant one that made her want to smile.

This was good between them.

Regardless of all else, this was good.

“Kiss me, Moira,” he whispered, as he moved his mouth up her body, kissing and suckling his way over the tops of her breasts, over her neck to her mouth.

She opened to him, and he took her mouth in a heated kiss. He turned his face, tilting back and forth, tasting and touching until she could not breathe on her own. His exhales were hers, his movements were hers, his pleasure was hers.

His prick grew harder within her, filling her more, and she felt the ripples of her release begin inside. He cursed and then lifted and rolled with her body until he was on top and thrusting relentlessly into her.

Something deep inside tightened and ached and throbbed, and every movement of his flesh against hers teased and tickled until she could only feel it…feel him. But the best of it remained just out of her reach. He leaned his head against her shoulder, lifted her hips, and plunged in until he touched her womb.

Withdrawing until she whimpered at the emptiness, he thrust back in forcefully and then out again. He moved faster and harder and deeper against her until she could not breathe, and everything in her came loose. She held on tightly, her arms around his neck as he pushed her to that place she sought, and then farther still.

Her body shuddered and shook as he continued, deep and hard. Her legs tightened and clutched at his, her core felt molten from the friction inside, and the muscles there spasmed around him, bringing on his release, too. He arched into her, and she lost herself and her doubts and her fears to the bliss that filled her body and soul. He emptied into her, and the heat of his release warmed her deepest flesh. A moment later, they both fell back, replete and satisfied.

She could not move, so he did, climbing off the bed, finding something to clean the oil away from their still-slick flesh and then gently wiping her skin until it was removed. After he wiped the rest from his skin, he helped her to the center of the bed and laid next to her in the silence of the night.

“Was that your power?” she asked, when she could put her words and thoughts together again.

“Nay, that was you and me,” he replied.

That was her biggest fear now, that he had not only touched and controlled her body just then, but her soul and her heart, and it had come to pass. After years of keeping them separate and safe, she’d begun to lose them to the man, not the Seer, in only a matter of days.

“H
e treats her more as leman than criminal,” the man explained to Steinar. “She is not chained and lives in his chambers like an honored guest, eating the finest foods, doing no work except servicing the Seer’s needs.”

“The Seer protects her from Diarmid as well, my lord,” said the second one. “When Diarmid wanted to question her last week, he refused to allow it. Diarmid sputtered and yelled and turned red in the face—you know how he does that,” he nodded at the others, “and the Seer stood there and refused.”

At just that moment, the Seer and his bitch walked out of the keep and waited by the door. He could not see the woman’s face, hidden as it was in the hood of her cloak, but everyone in the keep knew that the Seer put his cock in only one woman now, so it had to be her.

“Be gone now; here comes my brother,” Steinar said, watching Diarmid’s approach. “Gather whatever knowledge you can find and bring it to me,” he ordered as they turned heel and left.

“Steinar,” Diarmid called out. “I need six of your men to accompany Connor.”

“Six men, Diarmid? Where is he going, and when?” Steinar asked. The usual destination was the farm on the south side of the isle, reached easiest by boat. Though Diarmid believed it to be owned by a childhood friend of the Seer, Steinar had discovered that Connor bought the land and paid for the buildings and cattle and animals to stock it, in truth making it his though it was held under another’s name. “And for how long?”

“Wherever he tells them to go and for however long it takes,” Diarmid barked back at him. “And when I give you an order, brother, ‘tis not your duty to question the reasons for it.”

Tired of being the one who carried out every whim or wish of the damned Seer, Steinar crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “You let your pet order you around as though he was lord here,” he snarled. “Who is the master, and who is the whore?”

‘Twas a mistake to allow his anger to gain control of his words, for Steinar never saw the punch coming. One moment he insulted Diarmid, and the next he lay in the dirt with Diarmid standing over him. Hatred surged through his veins as he climbed to his feet and brushed the dirt from his back.

“Six men. Now,” Diarmid repeated, never even waiting this time for Steinar to acknowledge the order, for he spat on the ground and walked away. “As long as he serves me faithfully, I will humor his requests,” he called back to him.

Steinar nodded to the man who stood as his second in command. Though Steinar’s company of fighting men was a quarter of the size of Diarmid’s, he would gamble his life that they were better and stronger than any Diarmid would put in battle.

“Godrod,” he said. “My brother wishes to have six of my men escort the Seer this day. Choose the others and lead them yourself.”

Godrod bowed and would have walked away to carry out the orders, had he not stopped him with a hand on his arm. “If the opportunity comes, take it,” he said, meeting the soldier’s gaze. “At whatever the cost.”

The man nodded in understanding and ran off to gather the others needed. Steinar trusted that Godrod would never do anything that could be traced back to him, but he knew that if the situation was right, he would do what was necessary.

Steinar remained to watch the Seer approach Godrod and explain his task to him. The soldier took two of the men and left ahead of the others, while the Seer mounted a horse, pulled the woman up behind him, and followed the others out of the gate.

Godrod would give him a full reporting when they met that night, so in a short time, he would know more than Diarmid did about the Seer’s plans this day. In the meantime, he needed to speak to the men Diarmid had invited here for next week’s visions and plant some seeds of mistrust there for his use later.

Connor held her tightly, gathering her arms around his waist and controlling the horse with his legs. Other than the cloak and her gown, there was nothing between them as they rode out of the gate and away from the keep. He’d paid Ranald an exorbitant amount of gold to aid his efforts in getting Diarmid’s permission for this outing. Feigning the madness that was usual right after the new moon, with its shows of temper and anger, worked well even when he did not feel such things now.

When he’d returned to his chambers two days before and found her standing on the table that she’d pushed over against the wall so that she could look out the small, high window at the sun and the sea, he knew he must find a way to get her outside before she broke her other leg or worse. The plan this day came about from a casual comment Agnes made, revealing that she knew more about Moira than he did.

He’d been surprised to discover that she’d entrusted her true name and origin to Agnes. Moira had told Agnes about living near the sea and her love of being outside in the cool, salty air. From the maps he’d found in Diarmid’s collection, he knew that Quinag was a hilly peninsula far in the northwest of the Scottish mainland.

Now, they rode to a small inlet that he’d found a few miles away from the keep when he first arrived here. Other than the sea, there was only one path into it, and it was surrounded by the high cliff walls. A perfect place for so many things. It faced the south, so today’s sunlight should warm the small beach and the shallow waters caught there on low tide. Squinting up at the sun’s position, he estimated their arrival there as the tide was at its lowest.

She shimmied closer to him, cinching her arms tightly around him, afraid, she’d finally admitted, of riding on horses. Boats she did not fear. Carts or wagons, neither. But getting her onto the horse’s back just now had taken cajoling and pleading and a bit of threatening, too. He did not expect a smile from her, but he knew that her expression would lighten when she saw their destination.

They climbed into the hills and rode south until he could see the edge of the cliffs ahead of them. With a nod to the guards ahead, he guided the horse to the trail that led down to the beach. He heard her gasp as they made their way down the steep path, but soon they reached the bottom and it leveled out. Connor felt her head buried against his back and waited for Godrod and his men to finish searching for anyone or anything dangerous to him. Once the soldiers followed the path away and left them alone, he reached back to loosen her grasp.

“You are cutting off my breath, Moira. You can let go now.”

He managed to ease her hold enough to lift his leg up and over and slide off the horse. He took hold of her hands and pulled her off and into his arms.

“Open your eyes and see where we are,” he said.

He watched her face as she did as he told her. He held her facing the sea, and she turned in his embrace, taking in the water and the beach and the cliffs behind them.

“We are alone? Where are the soldiers?” she asked.

“Godrod and the others wait above for us. We have until the tide turns, which should be in about three hours.”

She almost smiled then; he watched as she caught herself and nodded at him instead. He sensed it was close for her, but she still kept up her guard in the light of day. Today, with the outing and the information he had to share with her, he hoped that would change.

He took off the leather sack he carried under his arm and tossed it on the ground. Then he lifted the wineskin from around her and threw it there too. Next, he tossed his cloak to form a covering for them to sit on and to keep the rough, large-grained sand off them. Connor turned and tugged the laces of her cloak and lifted it from her shoulders.

“Go. Walk a bit,” he ordered, knowing that this small inlet was at least four times the length of his chambers and would give her plenty of space to enjoy.

She looked at him and then at the expanse of beach before her, and she ran, hesitantly at first and then with more speed, down to the water’s edge and then along it to the point where the cliffs met the water. The sun glinted off the honey-colored streaks in her hair, and he thought he could see her smile after all. If only it was for him and not this small kindness that he could do for her.

Connor took the reins of the horse’s bridle and tugged him along until he got to the growth of trees in the corner of the cliff walls. Tying the reins, he left the horse to graze on the only patch of grass there while he opened the sacks and took out his bounty of food and wine and maps.

The time here was actually just a bluff to give them a chance to speak away from the keep, where every word and action were observed and reported back to Diarmid or his brother. Even if they were watched from above by Godrod and his men, their conversation would be private. Other than Breac and Agnes, or Dara or Pol when they visited, he trusted no one.

So, he’d put on a farce for them these last few days, imitating his behavior of the last several months when the dizzying need for women struck him and his body and temper raged from the level of lust in his blood. Instead, he felt calmer than he had in almost half a year, and when his blood began to heat, coupling with Moira soothed it.

Strange that no other woman or no amount of women had ever been able to calm the effects of the power building within him before, but taking her to his bed and having her when the need began took away the fierceness and terrible pain and fury that usually plagued him until the full moon and the vision.

Stranger still, bringing her to her release without using his power brought him the satisfaction he thought he’d only dreamed those months ago. A brief moment of the scent used as a means to intensify their joining worked, but more than that interfered with the bond that happened between them and with the feeling of rightness he experienced when reaching his release while planted deep inside her. So far, since she’d not refused him, he’d not put his belief to the test.

Connor walked to the water’s edge and watched as Moira walked back and forth from cliffs to water over and over again, making him dizzy just watching her. After ten or more times, she finally noticed him and came running back to him. And better still, she did smile.

“This is a beautiful place,” she said, looking around at the beach and the sea. “How did you find it?”

He motioned to his cloak, and he helped her to sit on it. Handing her the skin of wine, he waited as she drank from it and then took a mouthful, too.

“When I first arrived at Diarmid’s keep, I had great freedom to come and go and to roam as much as I wanted,” he explained. “Well, as long as my lessons were done first and any work Diarmid wanted seen to. Then I would take a horse and ride and walk for hours. I found this from above and studied the tides and the pattern of them and came here often.”

She stared up at him for a moment and then nodded. “So you bring your women here?” she asked. The even tone spoke of no judgment or censure for the behavior, in her eyes—just acceptance.

Damn her!
The anger flared quickly, but he was able to put it back before striking out. “You are the first woman—actually the only person—I have ever brought here, Moira,” he explained.

Her eyes darkened then, and he wondered what she was thinking. Sometimes she would fall back into the silence of their first days, and he believed that memories plagued her from her past in those moments. But there were other times, like this one, when she seemed to be considering her place with him. Her question was a direct one, when she did speak.

“Did you bring me here to couple?” she asked, reaching for the laces on her gown. “Is that what you wish to do now?” She would be undressed if he did not stop her.

“That would be pleasing, Moira. Anytime I can have you naked in my arms is pleasing, but not now. I brought you here so that we can talk.”

She’d rather swive him or pleasure him in some other way, if it was her choice, she thought, as she looked out over the sea again. Talking to him or about him made her think about things she’d rather ignore or dream of things she would never have. So pleasure and mindless passion were safer paths to take. But, she could only imagine what he’d gone through to arrange this outing, so if he wanted to talk, she would talk.

Moira watched the set of his mouth and the way he clenched his hands and released them, and knew he wished to speak about her. Sighing, she waited, impatiently, for him to begin. When he closed his eyes and shook his head, she worried that it was bad news he had to share.

“I have been searching in Diarmid’s collection for the records of my visions,” he said.

Of all the things she’d thought of, that was not one of them. “Records? He keeps records?”

“Ranald does. Each month he writes down Diarmid’s version of what happened and the names of the people involved. I had never seen them until last week,” he said.

She watched as he opened the leather sack he’d brought and took out several sheets of parchment and a scroll. He held them out to her and then must have remembered that she could not read, because he pulled them back. “What do they say?”

He began to read some of the dates, some of them within months of her family’s massacre and others well after. He read out names of men, bits of wording that his visions revealed, instructions given in that very formal, almost musical rhythm he used when he was in the power of the visions. She recognized it, even if he did not. Finally, he pointed to a place on the parchment that meant nothing to her until he uttered the words that chilled her blood.

“I think that this is the vision that led to your family’s deaths.”

The sound of her own breathing grew louder and more frantic in her ears, and the blood pounded in her head and behind her eyes, until she grew dizzy from it. The air became heavy, weighing down on her until she felt herself falling back into the blackness.

The shadow over her moved, allowing the sunshine to touch her face for a moment or two. Then the cold water on her cheeks woke her from her stupor. The Seer helped her to sit up, but he sat behind her, supporting her so she would not fall again.

“Drink this,” he said, holding the skin to her lips and lifting it to pour some of the potent wine into her mouth. After three mouthfuls, he took it away. His voice was calm, but she felt his heart race as she leaned against his chest. He still held the parchment sheets in his hand, and Moira decided that hearing the rest of it sooner was better than waiting too much longer for it.