A Storm of Passion (17 page)

Just over two weeks remained until the next full moon and Samhain. And neither of them expected disaster to strike as it did next or in the way it happened.

S
teinar’s arrival at the door of his chambers surprised him. He did not ever remember Diarmid’s brother seeking him out without his brother’s presence, so he did not know what to expect. Connor would have preferred to have Breac in the room, but they’d sent him and Agnes off to arrange for Anakol’s daughters to travel to his farm.

In spite of Diarmid’s agreement to send them there, Connor had just found out that the girls were still in the keep and under Diarmid’s
care
. He had to move quickly, and since his vision was not completely returned, it meant having Breac handle it. So, for now, he must see to Steinar alone. When he opened the door, seeing Ranald at Steinar’s back did not comfort him in the least.

“Good morrow, my lord,” he said.

Steinar, he knew, enjoyed being called “lord” though he had not the right or title to it…yet. If anything happened to Diarmid and Steinar could present himself as the man most capable of taking control, his claim as chieftain would be upheld by the Earl of the Orkneys and isles. A good thing for Steinar and those who supported him, but a bad thing for anyone in places of authority or privilege placed there by Diarmid. A bloodbath would follow Diarmid’s death, as Steinar cleared his path of anyone he deemed a danger.

Connor knew he’d long been in that group.

Steinar swaggered in, glancing around the room, his eyes lighting first on his chair and then on Moira. He nodded at her and studied him before he spoke. “My brother said she is to be chained at all times, Seer. Why is she not?”

“Lord Diarmid does not extend his control to what happens in my chambers, my lord,” he answered. “She cannot serve my needs chained to the wall.”

Everyone in the keep knew that Diarmid did what was needed to keep his Seer pleased. A matter such as an unchained woman in his room was not something he would bicker about.

“Still,” Steinar said. “She was dangerous enough to try to kill you, and almost succeeded. I would see her secured while I am here.” Steinar nodded to Ranald. “Chain her.”

Connor knew better than to object and give Steinar any reason to question his loyalty or his actions. He did take his eyes off the dangerous young man as Ranald ran to do his bidding, and Moira did not fight Ranald. Once the chain clattered against the wall, Connor nodded at Steinar.

“Diarmid bade me watch over you while he is away, and I am concerned that you have not been at table since your vision. Nearly two weeks spent only in this room,” Steinar said, walking around the chamber, inspecting the tapestries, the luxurious carpets on the floor, the large bed, and the slave now chained to his wall. “Cadwallen yet remains, waiting for the opportunity to thank you for the vision he was granted.”

“The visions tire me, my lord. Diarmid knows it takes some time for me to regain my strength.” Connor tilted his head, watching Steinar’s movements with the outer edges of his eyes, the only parts that yet worked. “If it pleases you, I will join you at table this day.”

“You are alone here?” he asked. “Where is that manservant you keep? What is his name?”

Connor did not doubt for a moment that Steinar knew every detail it was possible to know about Breac, Agnes, and anyone else who served him, rather than Diarmid, in this keep.

“Breac is seeing to some errands for me, my lord, and should return shortly. Have you need of him for some task?”

Steinar stood behind him now. “Ah, he is taking Anakol’s daughters to your farm, is he not? They were a lovely show of gratitude from Anakol for the vision he received. Lovely,” he repeated. “You should have tried them when they first arrived, Seer.” He laughed then, and it sent shudders through him. Steinar turned toward Moira again, and Connor held his breath. “They will most likely be a disappointing thing to a man of your tastes now.”

“So, my lord, I will see you at table,” he began.

Steinar seemed to accept the dismissal, but then he turned back and grabbed Connor’s arm. “This month, I want the vision, Seer. Not one of the weaklings Diarmid wishes to bow and scrape before him. Me.”

“I do not decide who is gifted, my lord. Surely Diarmid has explained it to you,” he offered.

“Diarmid has explained things to me and others have as well. I know the secrets you keep from my lord and brother and suggest that I need the vision in order to keep those facts away from his view.”

“I know not of what you speak, my lord,” Connor said. What could he know?

“There is the fact that your servant is making arrangements to spirit your love slave away from here.”

“Not spirit, my lord, ship. I have need on my farm, and she is strong.”

“There is the gold you have been hoarding.”

“Almost all of that has been through Lord Diarmid’s generosity,” he insisted, believing he could explain any claim of Steinar’s.

“Ah, I do not think you will be able to explain this one, Seer, for the information I have says that the Seer is,” he paused, and Connor saw movement to his right and turned to face Steinar there.

“Blinded by the visions,” Steinar finished, from just in front of him. Startled, Connor stumbled back to move away.

“If my brother knew, he would begin to doubt that your visions will continue much longer. I see”—he laughed at the play on words—“no reason to inform him as long as I am the recipient of the next vision.”

Connor decided it was better to placate him now, for his vision was weak, as Steinar had demonstrated by his tactic of tossing something to feign movement.

“I can only try, my lord.”

Steinar clapped him on the back and motioned to Ranald to go. “’Tis all I ask from my brother’s loyal Seer.”

Connor thought the threats were over and he could avoid the meal when Steinar called out as he left.

“Cadwallen has mentioned not only his beautiful daughter, but his strong, young son, both of whom he would offer into your service in thanks. I will tell him you accept them.”

The door closed, and Connor swore bitterly. He searched around a bit and found his cloak. He hit a bench he could not see as he turned back to find the door. It was like walking on a moonless night; the shadows were stronger than the clear parts of his sight still.

“Where are you going, Connor?” Moira asked.

“Get that off your neck and stay quiet. I must find Cadwallen and warn him to leave here.”

“Please wait for Breac to return, Connor,” she said, as he heard the chain hit the wall and saw her form move in the shadows. “Wait for him to accompany you.”

“I know these halls well enough to make my way, Moira. I will be back before Breac returns.”

He went to her and kissed her mouth before leaving. Then, he opened the door, nodded to the guard, and walked to the stairway that led to the main floor.

He never made it.

It was several hours later when they found him unconscious at the bottom of another stairwell, the same one where Gillis had perished.

He had played it to perfection. Obviously guilty of not only the secrets he’d accused him of, but many more, the Seer had decided to take matters into his own hands. Unfortunately for Connor, Ranald’s information about the Seer’s blindness was correct. With explicit instructions not to kill him, yet, his man had caused Connor to lose his balance and fall into the stairway.

The situation was set up just the way he liked to see it—either way, he was the victor. If the Seer did die, Diarmid suffered. If the Seer did not die, he would be injured enough not to be able to have a vision next week. If the Seer did have a vision, he would be the recipient of it. His standing would improve, and Diarmid’s would weaken.

Now, all he needed was Diarmid’s return to put the final piece into action. His next target would be his half brother. He’d decided that it would be easier to simply remove him from this equation than to fight him for the position.

With his Seer gone, Diarmid’s allies would scatter, and Steinar would take over.

Nothing caused by the vision ever hurt this much.

Connor tried to open his eyes, but his head screamed in pain every time he tried. His arm hurt, his leg throbbed, and his back spasmed with any attempts to move. Even his face hurt.

He could hear whispered words swirling around him, but he did not hear the one voice he wanted: Moira’s. Connor drifted back into the darkness and waited until he felt stronger and could try again. The next time he woke, the room was darker and he could open his eyes, but still the one person he wanted to see was not there. Finally, the third or fourth time he woke, he called out her name.

“Moira?”

“I am here, Connor,” she said in a shaking voice; then more whispers surrounded him.

“Stop that damned whispering, and tell me what is happening,” he ordered.

‘Twas Breac’s voice that answered now. “Lord Diarmid is on a murderous rampage. He is searching for those responsible for your injuries.”

“I fell?” he asked, unsure of what had occurred.

“Pushed, more likely, considering your visitor just prior,” Breac answered. “Moira said she told you not to go.”

Now Connor answered to his servants?

“Where is she?”

“Diarmid has been here several times since he arrived back, and ’tis safer for her to remain…”

“Chained?” he finished.

“Aye.”

“I am sorry, Moira. Breac, help me up,” Connor said as he struggled to sit up.

The room swam around his head, and colors and sounds followed it for several minutes. Agnes gave him some brew that smelled like pitch but settled his stomach and eased the dizziness. Through it all, Moira said not a word.

Then when he would have gone to her side, he heard the door slam open against the wall. Diarmid charged in, and came around the wooden screen looking for him. Steinar followed a few paces behind. A look of concern floated on his face, but Connor saw the truth in his eyes.

“What happened, Connor?”

“I fell, my lord,” he said. “A bit of clumsiness, ’tis all.”

Breac and Agnes stood back, forming a wall in front of Moira, keeping her out of sight as much as they could.

“He said his visions had taken his s…strength, brother.” Steinar nodded grimly then. Connor caught the suggestion in his stutter—a warning to him.

“Still weakened by the last vision, Connor? Over two weeks?” Diarmid asked, forgetting that he demanded Connor speak of that to no one.

“My lord,” Connor began, glancing at Steinar, to remind him.

“I found him unstable on his feet when I came to invite him to table,” Steinar said. “Cadwallen wished to say his farewells, but the Seer had not been out of his room since his visions.”

“The healer has been here to treat me,” Connor said, pointing to the variety of bottles and jugs and powders on his table. “Agnes is following all of her instructions, my lord. My strength will return, and I
will
be ready for the visions.”

Diarmid appeared content for the moment, but he shook his head then. “I will put more guards on your door. And since you cannot come to table to meet my guests, I will bring them here.”

“Very well, my lord,” he said, ready to agree to anything to get rid of all of them.

Diarmid took another look around the chamber, so upset by the possibility of losing his Seer that he said nothing about Moira. A welcomed first time for that. Then, with a wave to Steinar, he left, calling out orders for more guards at the door and down the hall.

“The quiet is good,” Connor said, as he moved to the edge of the bed. “The ringing in my ears is lessening as well.”

“You could have been killed.”

Moira’s voice was different, and he watched as Breac and Agnes moved away so that he could see her. Her face was a ghostly white, and her eyes looked huge. She looked more angry than upset, and he waited as Breac unlocked the collar.

“You daft, damned man, you could have been killed,” she repeated. His servants were fighting not to smile at her words. He dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

“Breac, wait,” he said. “Did you get them to the farm?” He’d only just remembered Breac’s task when he’d had the accident.

“Aye, they are safe.”

Connor nodded, glad at least for now. He listened as his servants left, and then he walked over to Moira. She stood, twisting her hands in front of her, but once more he sensed her anger.

“Would you have mourned my death, Moira?”

She narrowed her eyes when she looked at him then, but she said neither aye or nay to his question. He was pushing her, he knew it, but time was short and he hoped that her heart was open to him now. Forgiveness was the largest step she needed to take. The next one could not be as far or as difficult.

He hoped.

It had not been difficult for him, for once he watched her begin to be the person she should always have been, he began to fall in love. Then, when each time she chose him over another choice, he knew it deeper inside himself.

But he could not and would not ask her for the declaration he was now willing to make to her, for it would bind her to him and he would not be here to honor such a bond.

She took the first step, and then he met her halfway.

“Next time, you need to listen to me,” she ordered.

“Next time?” he asked. Did she realize what she said?

“You know he plots your death, Connor. Give him not the chance to succeed in it.”

“My death approaches quickly, Moira.”

She flinched at his words. “Do not say that to me,” she whispered. “I cannot think that you are right in this.”

“Honor my wishes in this. Follow my instructions, and all will be well,” he said. He would allow her to believe what she would, but make all the preparations and plans he knew he must have in place.

He stepped back as she raised her hand to his face, not certain of her intent, but she laughed then and touched a spot on his chin that hurt. Leaning closer, she kissed it.

“Where else does it hurt? What can I do to ease your pain?”

The words had meant something else for so long now between them that his cock answered her question, readying itself to be eased. She looked at his groin as his trews tented and shook her head then. “Do you never tire of such things?” she asked.