A Storm of Passion (16 page)

Connor pushed her off then and climbed from the bed to face Diarmid on his feet. It gave her the chance to put Connor between her and the lecherous Diarmid. Damn him, he noticed the protective move, even though Connor had made it look casual. She did not attempt to cover herself from his gaze, for it would make things worse with a man like this one.

“Not to serve you here?” Diarmid asked as he stared at her body. It made her skin crawl, but she dared not move.

“I told you, Diarmid: she gives me ease. Since she can still walk and breathe and move as you saw so well, I do not seek others.”

“You always sought other women, Connor. It was not about keeping one with you; it was about using as many different ones as you could during this time.”

Connor stalked away around the screen—trying, she knew, to draw Diarmid away from her—but Diarmid reached out and grabbed her thigh, wrapping his large, strong hand around it, and pulled her to the side of the bed. Tempted to fight back then, she slid along until he lifted her hips off the bed with his grasp. She could not imagine what he was doing until he leaned over and sniffed.

“Ah,” he whispered to her, “freshly used cunny.” He sniffed again. “Warm and wet and ready for a man’s prick.”

“Diarmid?” Connor said quietly. “Touch her, and our arrangement is over.” Then his voice dropped into a tone she could only describe as dangerous. “Take her, and I will kill you for it.”

The battle lasted only a few seconds, for he was the Seer and she knew that to Diarmid she was not worth losing him or angering him over. Diarmid dropped her, and she scrambled back away from him.

Connor held out a cup to Diarmid and motioned for him to sit, in the chair of visions. Apparently mollified by such an honor, Diarmid forgot about Moira and drank the wine.

“You must have had a purpose for coming here. Did I miss your call or not appear as you have ordered?” he asked, taking a sip of his.

“You are different somehow.”

“I would think you would be pleased not to have my rages and outbursts disturb your well-run keep, my lord,” Connor added for good measure. “’Tis a simple matter: I slake my raging hunger on her and find ease.”

“Only one?” he asked again.

“When she ceases to please me, you will be the first to know.”

“I should have killed her,” Diarmid said, drinking the last of his wine.

“Worry not, my lord. She but amuses me.”

Diarmid’s face lost its lust-filled expression and studied Connor for a moment. “Nay, Seer. She has done something to you. There is no edge; there is no anger in you this time.” Diarmid put the cup down on the carved flat arm of the chair. “Can you still sense the building up of the power within you?”

“I can,” he answered. It was unlike the recent months somehow, but it was there, building stronger and stronger as the full moon approached.

Diarmid beckoned Connor to him. When Connor stood close, Diarmid leaned over to him. “If she has done something that will weaken you or your visions, I will kill her. I will cut out all the parts of her you seem to like and the ones I think you waste and then kill her.”

Connor did not say a word. Diarmid was at his most dangerous when he grew quiet.

“Your value to me is your power of vision, Connor. For it, I forgive much: your impudence, your rages, your demands, that bitch in your bed. But, mark my words well, for if she has done something to you and, by easing your needs somehow diminished your gift, neither of you will live to tell of it.”

The lord of Mull pushed Connor out of his way and walked to the door of the chamber, where Ranald stood watching and listening. Diarmid strode out, and Ranald reached in, with a nod, to pull the door closed behind him.

Connor stood in the silence for a few more minutes, trying to feel the power within him, trying to gain a sense of the limits and expanses of it as it pulsed to life. He did not doubt for one second that she had caused a change in him, but it was not the one Diarmid feared. Instead, with her every acceptance of his body into hers and her satisfying the beast that raged within him, she somehow freed the power inside him.

By this time of the month, as the moon grew to fullness, he’d been so caught up in the pain and the desire in his blood that he could focus on nothing else. But this time…

He poured more wine in his cup and walked toward the bed, to the woman who had brought death to him when she sought justice for her family, yet continued to give him reasons to live and the desire to control his power.

For the first time ever, he had a better sense of which of those presented by Diarmid had true need as well as a true heart. Of the twelve men Diarmid had presented to him, only one was blameless in the situation he brought to the Seer. Only one. He could bring the man and his quest to mind just by thinking of him—an occurrence he’d never caused to happen before.

And he would try to cause it to happen this time.

If he only had two more visions, two more months, he wanted to gain what control he could, if he could, before the last one took him. Her movement drew his attention.

“Do you wish to bring other women to your bed, Seer?” she asked. She stood naked and unashamed before him, her body healing and stronger with each day. But it was her heart and soul that were slower to restore.

“Do you wish me to, Moira? Should I seek others to fill your place?” he asked her in reply, without giving her an answer.

For weeks she’d accommodated his every whim and wish of the flesh, without hesitation and without ever speaking of her own needs or desires, only to repay him for keeping her alive. Oh, he could tell what she liked from the way her body responded to his caresses or to his mouth or his cock, but only lately, from the time she saved him from despair during the storm, had he any sense that she wanted to be part of it.

Now was her chance. If she said the word, he would not take her again. If it meant the pain and the fire these last two months, then so be it. Too many had been manipulated into serving him, and it had to end. He walked close enough to see the color of her eyes and watch them as he asked her again.

“Does this,” he nodded to the bed, “does it matter at all to you?”

The moment drew out and out until he feared hearing her answer. She lifted her face to him, and he noticed her bottom lip quivered and that she tried to speak once, twice, thrice before words escaped her. But it was not what he expected to hear after all.

“Damn you, Seer,” she said in an angry burst, as she pummeled his chest with her fists. “It does matter!” She turned and walked away from him, but stopped and returned to the spot in front of him where she’d begun. “It does matter, and I want to hate you for making it so.”

Her fists clenched and released several times before she spoke again. “I do not want you to find others to take my place.”

Then she began to cry. He could sense the struggle and the cost to her for such an admission. To surrender all of her hatred, carefully nurtured over the years to keep her focused on her quest and to give her a reason to live, and to begin to accept that she did not want to kill him—nay, that she wanted him instead—was a heavy price on her soul. Only if her heart desired him could she find peace with it.

He knew that, but did she?

Connor dragged her against him, rubbing her back and holding her tightly while she released the tears.

“I told you it would have been better for both of us had you succeeded the first time. I think that trying to live is harder than waiting to die.”

He took her to his bed then, but only to hold her near to him. Soon, sleep overtook them, and Connor had dreams of a kind he’d never had before: he saw himself holding a bairn, he saw himself making love to a woman he knew was his wife, he saw a life stretching out for years and years before him. He did not know what the dreams meant, for dreams were signs to those who could interpret them, but he let them come and allowed the hopefulness of them to seep into his soul.

What would it be like to live the life of a normal man?

S
eptember’s full moon arrived on a day that was as tumultuous outside as he felt within. Storms rose on the seas and battered the keep and village. The atmosphere among the people was tense, for all knew that their lord succeeded or failed by the Seer’s visions. Now it was Diarmid who raged, in spite of the visitors present or his Seer’s assurances that all would proceed as usual and another powerful ally would be at his side by morning.

Connor had decided that he would have Moira held some other place during the vision, but Diarmid made it clear she was to watch from her place, chained to the wall. He’d also said he wanted her chained naked there, but Connor convinced him that he would not permit it. Wisely, Diarmid did not make it an issue, but he was testing Connor every step of the way. To ensure she was not trapped when the blindness and pain took over after the vision, he’d hidden a key in her pallet so she could remove the hated collar and chain if he could not.

Then it was the afternoon of the vision, and Diarmid took his place of honor within the room and brought forth those seeking the Seer’s help. Connor spotted the man he’d planned to help, if he could control the gift, as he entered the chamber.

This time he did not wait for the power to flow; he looked deep inside and called it forth. When he knew the strength of it, he sat in his chair and glanced around the room. The worry was clear on Moira’s face as he nodded to the chosen man to come forward, instead of waiting for others to approach.

He reached out for the man’s hand and willed the vision.

Connor felt Diarmid’s surprise as he did not lose consciousness this time, but experienced the change from man to Seer awake. His voice was no longer his own, the words tumbling out on their own, and the sight in his eyes left him then as his vision began to rise and move away from the keep in response to the man’s request.

The power surged through his body, and he felt as though he were driving a team of unbroken horses, turning and twisting, pulling tighter to direct it and riding it out when it moved in the direction and speed that he wanted. He laughed out loud as he gathered the power and made it work to his will instead of being dragged as it went.

Cadwallen was from Wales, the site of Norman and Viking incursions along with the usual strife between the Welsh princes, and he sought more advice on seeking his place among the factions than he did about destroying this one or that one. Connor saw the faces of those worthy and unworthy to be called friend or lord and spoke quietly to the man about the choices that faced him. This vision was as clear and precise and powerful as the last one, but it lasted longer and he could see and hear the people as he brought them to mind.

Soon, all of Cadwallen’s questions were answered, and he released the man’s hand. Stepping back, Cadwallen bowed to him and then went to Diarmid to offer his thanks and first pledge of loyalty.

And Connor waited.

Staring across the room at where Moira should be, he could see nothing but the shadows getting stronger and stronger. His voice had become his own again, but he yet waited for the punishment to begin. Ranald clapped his hands, ushering everyone out of the room until he was alone there with Moira. The power waned, and his blood cooled from its heat. The chambers grew darker and darker, and Connor knew he could not stop it.

His heart slowed then; he counted the beats as it did so. Then, when he was unable to fight it any longer, his heart stopped beating, and the darkness claimed him.

As quickly as it happened, it was over, and his heart beat anew. Now only the pain and blindness were left for him to experience, and so he waited.

“Seer?” she whispered from across the chamber. “Seer?”

He sat motionless in his chair, and she could see his eyes begin to change—from the milky glowing of his vision to the complete black of his blindness—until she knew he could see no more. She worried her lower lip with her teeth, and she braced herself to watch him go through the terrible changes and pain as he changed back from Seer to…Connor.

It was so much harder, this, for her heart had softened toward him since the last vision, and, may the Fates help her, she cared about him and the torment he would suffer now. But nothing happened.

“Connor?” she called softly. “Can you hear me?”

He opened his eyes then, and the fires burned within them, yet he did not buckle from pain. He tilted his head and turned in her direction.

“Moira?” he said. “Tell me what you saw.”

He stood and walked carefully across the chamber toward her, but she noticed that he waited to hear her voice before going farther—to follow it. She thought on what she’d witnessed and realized the differences from the other times immediately.

“You only spoke to one man,” she said. “You recognized him without touching his hand. This vision was longer,” she added.

“Clearer, more powerful,” he added. “There is a key in the back corner of your pallet. Use it to remove the collar and chain.”

She knelt down and searched under the covering of the rush-filled pallet for the key. Finding it, she unlocked the collar and let it hang against the wall. He’d not told her of his plan to do that. Moira walked over to him and waved her hand in front of his eyes. He did not respond; his eyes remained burning orbs that could not see.

“There is no pain? How is that possible?” she asked. He startled then, not realizing she was as close as she was.

She reached out and touched his cheek then. The skin was his; the glow was gone. Though she felt bold, she dared not go near his eyes, for even looking at them for too long hurt.

“No pain. I can feel my eyes blazing, but it is a cold feeling and not the fiery pain I have had all these months.” He laughed then and reached for her, hugging her to his body and spinning around…in relief, no doubt. He stumbled then, and she led him over to the bed.

“Did your heart…?” She could not get the words out, but he nodded.

“For a moment or two longer. I felt the last beat, and blackness covered me.” He lifted her hand and placed it on his chest. “But it beats once more.”

“How did this happen?” she asked again. “No pain. No burning.” His face paled just then. “Do you feel like you will collapse or faint?”

He fell back on the bed, and she guided him onto it. Had the effects just been postponed and not prevented somehow?

“I need to rest,” he said. He reached for the piece of fabric that he covered his eyes with, and Moira helped him tie it in place. He laid quietly, and she thought on the other differences in today’s vision.

“You controlled it.”

“Aye,” he answered softly. “We will speak on this later when I can see you and know we can talk without being heard.” He moved over and pulled her next to him. “Lie with me, Moira. Keep me safe until I can see you again.”

He fell asleep almost immediately. The vision, and controlling it, had sapped his strength, and his body needed rest to regain it. But what had prevented the pain?

Through the hours while he slept, she watched over him. When Breac or Agnes brought food, she fed him. When he tossed and turned, caught in some disturbing dream or another, she gathered him close and held him. And when he spoke in his sleep about his regrets about the past, about the pain he’d caused, about not caring enough soon enough to make a difference, she knew one more truth.

Forgiveness had found a place in her heart, and she wanted to give it to him.

Three days passed before he rose from the bed and stayed out of it, but the blindness was as profound as before. It was not until its tenth day that Connor knew he had not staved off all the effects of the visions, and though he may have controlled them, he had not stopped his spiral downward toward the end.

Moira remained at his side, and he noticed more changes in her as the time passed and she cared for him, even dismissing Breac and Agnes from their duties. She helped him bathe, kept him company, and held him in the darkness when each passing day did nothing to lessen it.

They spoke of the differences between the last months and this one, but the only thing he could pick out that was not the same was her place in his bed. At first, he gave it no heed, but then he thought on it more and realized that, indeed, without the lust raging in his blood, he’d been able to prepare and take control. Though she thought the idea that their swiving had mitigated the effects of the visions on him was daftness brought on by the blindness, he began to think it was part of it.

He’d known there was something different, something important about her and about being with her. What if she was the reason he had no pain? What if she was integral to finding out more? What if the damned Fae planned this too? That the woman who wanted him dead because of his gift could be the one who could help him escape it?

When his sight did not return and the new moon approached, Connor worried. There would be so little time to prepare for the visions on Samhain. So little time to make the arrangements he needed to, and so little time to convince Moira that his next vision would be hers.

Ranald kept his secret this time, but only because Diarmid had been called away to counsel with Earl Magnus of Orkney. Steinar had not the time nor interest in the Seer when his brother was absent, preferring to see to his own pleasures and concerns. So, it gave them the time and privacy to enjoy the newly found tenderness Connor discovered she had for him.

“Moira? Are you done with your mending yet?” he asked.

It was the twelfth day after the vision, only two until the new moon, and though he was beginning to see shadows moving amidst the darkness, he could not see yet. She’d said the fiery appearance was changing, but no hint of his eyes, nor his sight, were present yet.

“Are you bored?” she asked. “I could use you to measure the new trews Agnes asked me to make. Though Breac is much larger than you, I could…guess at his size,” she replied, her voice getting louder as she approached.

“I do not want you estimating Breac’s
size
,” he muttered. He held out her hand and brought it to his cock. “Here, feel there, and you will not have to guess.”

His cock hardened under her hand, and he smiled as she began to move it along his length, outlining it with her fingers. “Should I get my measuring strings?” she asked, her voice growing husky. “I may be able to tell you your exact size,” she leaned over and whispered then. “Or I may have to check it twice to make certain I was accurate.”

He did not remember her ever being this playful when it came to their joinings. It would end that way, he had no doubt, but it was always something he initiated and she followed his lead. This, this was unusual.

“Do you need to feel more of it to decide, wench?” he asked, loosening his belt and guiding her hand inside them. When she took him in her hand, he thrust against her palm.

“Mayhap I need a better view of it?” she asked. He could not lift his hips and slide the trews down fast enough, so she tugged them lower.

He waited to see how far she would take this, and he was surprised at her boldness. He felt her breath on his skin just before he felt her tongue move over his length. Connor could not catch his breath since without his sight he had to wait to feel every step she took in this dance of mating. There was a measure of excitement in not knowing what she would do or touch or taste next.

His body was not his own, but hers to command as she kissed and licked and sucked her way along him. His cock received much attention, but there was not a part of him that was neglected before she breathlessly spoke the thing he most wanted to hear.

“Take me, Connor,” she whispered, and she climbed over him, her shift and gown long taken off and her naked skin hot next to his.

He swore to all the saints in heaven that he would make this time the best for her. Instead of need driving them relentlessly or his desire being in charge, she wanted this, she’d asked for this, and he would make it good.

He used every ounce of his strength to bring her to release before seeking his own, pushing her over that edge twice before succumbing to her demands to enter her. Then he did as she asked, whatever she asked, slower, faster, deeper or not, with hands and mouth and body. He fulfilled her desires and her demands until she cried out against his mouth as their bodies joined.

His only regret was not being able to see her face, to see the moment when their bodies became one. Connor held her close until her body calmed. The tears on his skin were unexpected.

“Why do you weep, Moira?” he asked quietly. He used his fingers to wipe the tears from her eyes and off her cheeks. Then lifting her face to his, he kissed them away.

“I want to tell you something,” she said in a desolate voice. “I did not expect to be able to say these words to you.”

What was she planning to say? “Would it not wait until I can look on your face?”

“Nay.” He felt her shake her head. “In a way, this makes it easier for me.”

“Go on,” he urged. “Let me hear your words.”

“I have struggled with this for some time now, Connor,” she began. Did she even realize that she called him by name now and Seer no longer? “I was wrong to blame you for my family’s deaths. I know that you spoke the words, but I know now that you had no control over what you saw or what you said then.”

“Do you mean that?” he asked, afraid to believe that the forgiveness he needed from her was so close.

“Sometimes I forget and sometimes the memories haunt me, but I do forgive you, Connor.”

Just as though a weight was lifted from his shoulders, the darkness receded as well, and his sight began to return. Connected or not to her act of forgiveness, it was odd timing for it to happen if she’d not caused it. He could not see clearly, but enough to see the glow of something wonderful in her eyes. Her heart was healing, and he hoped he had time to make it whole before he lost the chance.

He kissed her then and enjoyed the moment of holding her and accepting her declaration. ’Twas some time later before either of them rose from the bed to see to their tasks.