A Storm of Passion (2 page)

When that release happened, it was like nothing he’d ever felt before in his numerous encounters with unremembered women. Her body shuddered inside and out as she milked his cock, and he thrust one final time, filling her, taking her, claiming her, marking her with his seed. He spilled deep within her, resting his head against her breasts and listening as she moaned out her own peak, feeling the outpouring of heat and wetness inside her that mixed with his seed.

Once he regained his senses, he was panting and still within her body. Not wanting to separate, he realized that more than just the need to fuck had eased within him. For a moment, he’d felt a satisfaction that always remained out of his grasp. In that final second when his seed spilled, he felt a calmness and peace in his heart that he could not explain. Remaining still, Connor listened to Moira’s racing heart, yet hammering within her chest.

When her heart and breathing slowed, he lifted his head to look at her. Repletion made her features soften, made her look younger and more relaxed. Although his cock was still inside her, he allowed her hips down to the bed’s surface, and he moved up until he was level with her face. She’d not uttered a word other than her name. He knew nothing about her except that she was different from every other woman whose charms and heat and passion he’d sampled.

Her lips were swollen, but he could not resist the urge to taste them once more. Leaning down, he slid his mouth across hers softly, so as not to bruise them. Then he claimed her mouth in a leisurely kiss, one meant to sooth and ease rather than to inflame. When his tongue touched hers and she shifted restlessly under him, he knew they had not ended their passionate encounter, but had only just begun something he did not understand.

His cock did, for it lengthened and hardened within her, regardless of his intentions or plans. And his attempts to go slowly and savor the taste of her and scent of her skin did not last either, for passion flared hotly, and he took her another time without pause, without hesitation and without understanding how it could be this way between them.

Connor was only able to slow down after a third and a fourth time, and only after he’d claimed her body and marked her not only with seed but with his mouth and teeth too many times to remember. And each time he reached his release and she screamed or moaned out hers, that same strange sense of peace filled him.

He tried to think on it hours later, when darkness filled the room and she dozed at his side under the warmth of furs and blankets in his bed. Spent from the hours of passion between them, Connor began to fall under the spell of sleep. And as his body relaxed next to hers, his breathing matching her slow, deep pace, he realized what that elusive feeling was.

Home.

When he was deep within her, stroking her desire and forcing them to that peak of satisfaction, his heart felt like it had found the home he never thought he would have.

She fought against the lethargy trying to claim her and waited until his breathing was slow and easy and she was certain he slept before trying to slide out of his embrace. The Seer never kept a woman in his bed for long; indeed, most never spent the night there, so she felt confident that he would not miss a body next to him. Moira slid quietly across the wide surface of the bed and down from it, walking slowly in the darkened chambers, trying to find her clothes and shoes without the benefit of lamp or torch to light the way.

In a few moments, she’d dressed and made her way to the door. Turning back, she waited to see if he woke before she tried to leave. Though it was never her intent to bed him, only to get into his chambers to see the lay of it and to discover a hiding place for use in her plan, she did not hesitate to allow him to believe she was there to see to his needs. And then, when she’d thought that taking him in her mouth would be the fastest way to get through it, she’d looked into his eyes and had been caught up in the web of his desires…and something more.

Moira had witnessed dozens of women approach him in the very same manner and end up in his bed and no worse for the experience. He drew them to him as flies to honey, and always just before one of his visions.

‘Twas said that he was irresistible then, even enchanted. ’Twas said that no woman could refuse him. ’Twas said he was kind to the women he bedded, sometimes giving them baubles or a few coins to ease their way. She’d learned the truth of several of those rumors in the last hours.

Just as she’d learned early in her quest for vengeance that a woman with nothing had only one thing to barter.

Moira had no qualms over using her body to gain whatever supplies or information she needed. Surprised by how men lost their minds when a woman opened her legs or took their pricks into her mouth, she’d used it to find out the identity of the Seer and where he lived. More recently, it had gotten her a place to work in the laundry here and kept her fed and alive while planning her attack. The sex that had just happened between them was simply that. Currency of the fleshly kind.

Yet, as she made her way to leave him, she knew that for the lie it was. This had become something much different, more dangerous, than joining with a man to get something in return.

If she’d been prepared for this unexpected opportunity, if she’d had her dagger with her when she went seeking a look at his chambers and kept her reason about her while with him, then her life’s task would have been a joyful end to the spirited bed play between them.

Her body ached within and out, from their vigorous efforts, and even now the muscles in that place between her legs throbbed from the aggressive attention he’d given there with hands and mouth and teeth and prick. Tempted for one heart-stopping moment to crawl back into his bed and allow him his way one more time, Moira shook off the clutching feeling that surrounded her and walked to the door.

Sighing, she slid the bar from its brackets on the door and placed it on the floor next to it. It might be months before she got this chance again. Mayhap, she would never get this close to him, and her goal would be thwarted. Opening the door just a crack, she looked outside the chamber to see if anyone waited. Seeing no one, she crept out and pulled the door closed behind her. She leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, she closed her eyes and remembered the last hours.

He was a challenging lover, demanding everything from her while taking nothing that she would not give, instead driving her to heights of pleasure she’d not experienced before. Oh, her body enjoyed the results of desire and lust, but she was always careful to never let it affect her mind or her soul or her heart…or her purpose.

Moira made her way down the long hallway away from his chambers, her head tilted down to avoid anyone getting a clear look at her, should she pass someone. It wasn’t until she reached the small room she shared with several other women that the feeling of dread turned her stomach. Almost as though some veil or stupor was lifting from her, horror and shame covered her as she remembered her actions with the Seer.

What had seemed and felt so right just moments ago now screamed out its treacherous truth at her. Falling to her knees on the straw pallet in the corner she called her own, she doubled over in pain as she realized that she had done more than simply allow him to take his ease on her body. She’d enjoyed it and, for those hours, had lost herself in the passion he offered, never once thinking about her real purpose there.

Her stomach clenched and burned, and her chest pounded in pain as her body and will became her own once more and she knew the genuineness of the rumors about the Seer’s true powers. He could ensorcell women into losing their abilities to think and choose freely. He ensnared her into his trap of pleasure and passion, and she’d gone willingly, never even fighting back or struggling, losing sight of everything important to her.

He plied her body with his kisses and his caresses and his forceful mastery of all things sexual, bending her will until she’d forgotten why she was standing outside his door. Worse, she’d revealed her real name to her enemy without thought of the consequences of such a revelation.

What power could he have that could make her lose the memories of her family’s fates? How could she allow her body to betray her into reveling in the time spent wrapped in his arms, surrounded by his body and the comforts of his bed?

Falling onto her pallet and tugging her thin blanket over her shaking body, Moira sought the inner strength and focus that had kept her alive over these last six years. She ignored the aching between her legs that now served to remind her of the ecstasy they’d shared. She ignored the places on her skin that now wore the mark of his possession. Instead, she brought to mind the horrible images of her mother’s and father’s bodies the last time she’d seen them. Anger began to bubble deep within her, seething and pulsing until she gagged at its strength.

Now, the reason she sought the Seer was clear to her. He must pay for his part in the destruction of her family and all she held dear. He must lose his life in exchange for those he caused to lose theirs. And now, he must suffer for showing Moira a side of herself that she had never wished to see: the woman who loved life and wanted all the passion it offered. Because he tempted her with what could be but never would, he must not be allowed to live.

‘Twas gossiped in hushed voices among the servants of the keep that he grew weary after each vision and disappeared into his chambers, sometimes for days, to recover. Now that she’d tasted his true power, she knew that his weak time would be the only safe time for her to approach him again. She would watch, from a distance, disguised and out of his sight, and wait for her best chance.

Turning onto her side and curling into a ball, Moira whispered her oath over and over again until sleep finally claimed her.

His blood for theirs.

“I
told you I wanted wine, not ale,” he shouted.

Swinging his arm across the surface of the table, Connor swept the goblet with the offending drink to the floor. The metal cup bounced several feet, splashing the dark liquid over the table linens and the clothing of several guests, before coming to a rest. He just did not care. Several servants came running to both fill his request and clean up the mess he’d made. Angry yet, Connor settled back in the chair and drank the wine he’d finally been served.

His head pounded, the fierceness of the pain growing by the minute, it seemed. He’d had no rest for days, unable to quell the need in his blood and unable to find the one wench who’d satisfied him those months before. Now, his body burned and his head ached without respite.

Moira. Moira.

He could smell the scent of her, and his tongue remembered the taste of her essence at just the thought of her name. Even his skin ached to touch her again. And his cock stood hard and large as the memory of the hours spent with her flooded back. Reaching under the table, he tugged on his trews to loosen their hold on him.

Refusing to remain here where all could see his rage and do nothing to assuage it, he pushed back from the table, and with a curt nod to Lord Diarmid, he strode down from the dais and off to his chambers. Servants and visitors alike jumped out of his way, or he pushed them, as he covered the length of the main floor, climbed three flights of stairs, and walked down the hall to his corner chamber.

Two months had passed since he’d found her at his door, and he’d not had another moment of the peace or satisfaction of spirit or desire he found with her. His body ached for release, and no amount of fucking and no number of women could quench the desires that burned through him. And aye, he’d tried to drown the memory of her out of him, using any potent drink or concoction he could find, without success.

He pushed his hair back out of his face and searched the darkened corners of the hallway, praying and hoping like some lovelorn idiot that she would reappear and ease the torment growing inside of him.

Seeing no one, he raised his hand to push open his door, when it opened from the inside. Only Ranald, Lord Diarmid’s spy and his attendant, stood there waiting for him. Pushing past him, Connor went to the table and poured a cup of the potent ale he kept there. No matter how much he drank, he could not rid himself of the memories of his time with Moira.

“My lord,” Ranald said, bowing to him and stepping back. “I found her.”

Connor stopped swallowing before he stopped drinking and choked as the ale poured into his mouth. Dropping the cup and wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, he crossed the chamber in two paces. He grabbed Ranald by the tunic, twisting it in his grasp as he pulled him up to face him.

“You found Moira?” he growled. “Where is she?” He shook the servant for not answering quickly enough, but when Ranald clutched at his throat—the one Connor was tightening his hold on—Connor released him and let him breathe. “Where?”

Ranald was not by nature a stupid man, and most likely he knew, from their time together as master and servant, that Connor was at the end of his control. Wisely, he took but a few quick breaths and answered.

“She awaits you, my lord. In your bed,” he stuttered, pointing to the tall, wooden screen that separated his bed from the rest of the chamber.

Connor raced around the end of the screen and stopped before his bed. There, a young woman lay, naked and legs spread, opening and rubbing her womanly flesh, flesh that glistened in readiness for his pleasure. She had brown hair and green eyes, but a quick glance told him that was where the similarities ended. Rubbing his eyes with his hands, he shook his head.

“Get her out of here, Ranald,” he ordered without looking.

“My lord,” the girl said, her voice soft yet laden with the huskiness of desire. “I will do whatever you need. I can please you in many ways.”

When the sound of her voice grew closer, he dropped his hands only to find her kneeling at the edge of the bed and reaching for his belt. He shoved her away and nodded his head toward the door without saying another word. Ranald came forward, draping a cloak over the girl’s nakedness, and led her out, whispering instructions the whole way. From the glazed expression in her eyes when he first looked upon her and from her complacent manner, Connor suspected that his efficient, if incorrect, servant had drugged her.

He sank on the bed and held his head in his hands. These last eight months had been hell, pure and simple. His life was falling apart, and there seemed to be no way to slow it down. Diarmid, who had accepted—nay even encouraged—his eccentric and outlandish behavior, now looked on with a suspicious glint in his black eyes at his seer. Connor was not certain of the extent of Ranald’s reporting to Diarmid, but surely the nobleman knew much about both the increasing power of the visions and their new and dangerous cost to him.

The only time the terrible cost had not driven him to his knees was the day after he found Moira and took her to his bed. He had no idea of why, but when the visions finished, the pain and burning had been bearable for the first time in months. He wondered if there was some connection; however, he had no way of knowing without her. And she had disappeared like the fog on a warming day, never to be seen or found in the keep or on the island.

Lifting his head, he heard Ranald moving around the chamber. Pushing off the bed, he walked around the wooden screen and stopped. Ranald stood by the door, speaking in a low voice with Diarmid, the lord of the keep, a powerful chieftain in the isles that lay to Scotland’s west.

“My lord,” he said, walking forward, out of the shadows.

“Connor.” Diarmid nodded as he met him nearer to the door. “I would speak to you.”

Diarmid’s glance told Ranald to leave, and the man did so without hesitation. When the door was closed behind him Diarmid, a leader among King Magnus’s many powerful earls, cocked his head and inspected Connor from head to toe.

“Are you well? You did not seem so at table,” he began. “I know you chafe under this constant watch, Connor, but I…”

Connor held up his hand, shaking his head at what was to come…again. “I appreciate your concern for my welfare, Diarmid, but there have been no attempts in the last two months.”

With the power of Sight, he had become a valuable asset to this lord, and, in exchange for care, comfort, protection, and wealth, Connor served only him. Apparently someone wanted to stop that arrangement, and whether Connor or Diarmid’s influence with both the Norwegian and Scottish kings and many other island chieftains was the true target, they knew not.

“My men have been searching for those connected to the assassins.”

“Aye, I know that, but two months is longer than the intervals since the attacks began. I should be safe now.”

“You and I both know that the effort was planned ahead and in concert with others, Connor. Though none of the three we captured talked before they died, I am beginning to understand and suspect that there is a web connecting them. A few more weeks…”

“I will go insane in a few more weeks, Diarmid,” he swore.

Turning away, he sought the cup of ale he’d dropped. Ranald had cleaned up the spillage and set a new one there for him. Filling it near to the rim, he glanced at Diarmid, who shook his head. He drank most of it before stopping.

“Is that wise?” Diarmid asked.

“It is necessary, Diarmid.”

“I thought that the women eased your pain before the visions. Is that not true now?” He could feel Diarmid’s dark scrutiny. “Is there something I should know?”

Connor did not meet the astute man’s gaze for a moment, trying to bring the pain that stabbed his head and the heat in his veins under control. It was worse, and it was growing even more painful. Although refusing the women who showed up at his door these last weeks seemed a good idea to him, his “gift” thought otherwise. It seemed foolish to him to continue to bed women when none could satisfy him, but the pressure building warned him of the dire results of such forced celibacy.

Like some cruel joke played by ancient gods against mortal men, each time he used the power of the visions, he suffered with repercussions he could not have imagined when the power first asserted itself within him. Now each vision of the past or the present or some unknown future brought devastating consequences: he was going blind.

Somehow he’d managed to keep the worst of it to himself. The effects lessened over days, but each time the power flowed, the blindness lasted longer and was more complete. The first time it happened, now just over ten months ago, it had almost seemed like his imagination rather than a real event. Then, each time, it worsened, and it now lasted for several full days, the cone of darkness around him larger and deeper with each occurrence.

And the power flowed more freely as well, stronger and stronger, both luring him and allowing him to see deeper into the past and further into today and beyond and drawing more women to him daily, while reaping its terrible price on him.

“The visions grow stronger, Diarmid, and so too do their effects on me. I suffer from pains in my head for days after being gifted with a vision.”

“So that is the reason for your seclusion afterward? I thought,” he said, walking closer and lowering his voice, “I thought that you might be losing your…gift.”

Connor considered how to answer. Truth be told, he did not know the answer to that question. Only tales passed down could explain what happened to him. There was no one who knew exactly how his power worked or the reasons behind these more recent changes to it. Was he losing his gift? Of what value would he be to Diarmid if that happened? Taking a deep breath in, he realized the only prudent thing to do was bluff through it until he had more of an idea of what the situation really was.

“The visions seem stronger and come more often, as you know, Diarmid.”

Of course he knew, for as the frequency and strength increased, he’d arranged for more of his cronies and potential allies to benefit from Connor’s visions. When the portents changed and a vision approached, Lord Diarmid filled his keep with those whom he sought to influence and control and exposed them to Connor’s powers. Though Connor could not completely control the choice of the recipient of his gift, he could feel when those requesting were true of heart—the one common element among those who received a vision in answer to their question.

“But these effects seem stronger and to plague you more viciously each time. Is there aught that can be done?” Lord Diarmid asked.

Find that damned wench!
his body and head screamed out in silence.

“Nay, Diarmid. Nothing that I am aware of,” he said, drinking down more ale. “Your healer has attempted every pain concoction she knows. Your priest prays incessantly for me, though for my demise or my improvement, I know not which. I have searched for years for someone who could tell me more of this gift and found no one.” He rubbed his forehead again and squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. “I know of nothing else to try.”

“And the girl you sought. You thought she might be somehow connected to this?” Diarmid’s eyes darkened, and his face emptied of all expression, a sign he’d come to know in the years he’d spent here.

“Nay, Diarmid. She but provided me with several hours of vigorous bedplay, and I sought more of it…her,” he forced out a laugh. “She had certain skills….” He let his words drift off, allowing Diarmid, who also liked variety in his bed, to think what he would. “Better even than when I paid good coin for it. What better way to take my mind off the pain?”

Diarmid smiled then, and nodded. “I have my men searching for her, Connor. If she returns to the island or the keep, she is yours….” Smacking him on the shoulder, Diarmid walked to the door. “First, at the least,” he said then. “With such high praise from you, I will have to try her as well.”

Jealous rage pierced him, tearing through his blood and making his jaws clench in possessive fury. But, to give Diarmid so much information about her importance to him was to hand the lord another weapon with which to control him. Something he knew better than to do, for Diarmid liked very little in life more than controlling others and making them dance to his tune.

“Find her, and you will learn the truth of my words of praise, my lord. Now, I would seek some rest,” Connor said, opening the door for Diarmid.

“Have a care about the ale and wine, Connor. Should I send Ranald to you?”

“Nay,” Connor shook his head. “His service to me this day is done. He can seek his own rest.”

Diarmid stepped through the doorway and would have walked away, but Connor grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. There was one more thing they needed settled between them this night. Making certain no one lurked in the hallway, he spoke in a low voice.

“I will travel to my farm next week, Diarmid,” he said in a calm voice. “Ranald need not accompany me.”

“It is not safe for you to leave the keep, Connor,” Diarmid answered, shaking his head decisively. “We will talk of this when the identities of those trying to assassinate you are known.”

Connor stopped him when he would have walked away again. “I am not asking you this, Diarmid. I have been your faithful servant for years and have never given you reason to question my loyalty to you. I will only be gone several days, a sennight at the most.”

Diarmid looked as though he would argue, but he crossed his arms and nodded. “After the vision and with sufficient guards,” he ordered.

Connor tilted his head, appearing to acquiesce for the moment. That battle could be better waged with a clearer head than he had now.

“My lord,” he said, stepping back into his chambers.

Once Diarmid made his way down the hall, Connor closed the door and leaned against it as the pain flooded him. Trying to ride the waves of pain as they hit, Connor stumbled over to the large, wooden chest in one corner and opened it. After a few minutes of searching, he found the healer’s latest brew and poured a good measure of it into his goblet. Filling it with sweet wine, he swirled the mixture and then downed it in two swallows. Connor walked over to the chair and fell into it, for the effects of the drug would begin soon.