A Storm of Passion (10 page)

Another sin laid on his soul. Innocents of another kind whose blood he would shed. And fool that he was, he’d managed to never see the truth or look too closely in his time of need or wonder what became of them when his interest waned.

It took hours to complete the feast; course followed course, wine and ale flowed, and no one in Diarmid’s keep left without a belly full of good food and strong spirits, all at Anakol’s expense. Except Connor, for his appetite had fled upon hearing of Anakol’s daughters.

Finally, sometime after night had fallen, the hall began to clear, and Diarmid dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Content to be away from it, Connor walked out, delayed only by a word shared here or there on his way. The guard nodded as he entered his chambers.

He listened to the silence as he stepped into the room. Agnes sat sleeping in a chair near the corner, but Breac was gone. He’d seen one and then the other in the hall tonight, taking their meals and returning here, as he’d ordered, to keep watch over Moira until his return. He shook Agnes’s shoulder gently to wake her and sent her back to the chambers she and Breac, the only servants here who were loyal to him, shared. Connor closed the door and dropped the latch.

The light of the low fire in the hearth threw shadows on the walls, and he walked over and crouched down in front of her. She’d not moved much since he’d been here last, except that she slouched down against the wall and had drawn her knees up and rested her head on them. Spying pieces of wood near the door, Connor knew that Breac had removed the splints from her leg.

In the darkened corner, he could not tell how badly she’d damaged her neck, but she wore a clean gown and tunic. He moved quickly and as quietly as possible over to his bed, pulling off his own tunic and trews and placing the gold chains and pin back in the wooden strongbox where he kept them. He lay under the bedclothes, enjoying the ease of one of the very few nights when the need to satisfy his lust did not rule his body and soul. Come the dark of the moon, the growing power would stir the lust in his blood and make a calm night’s sleep impossible for him.

But, this night was made for sleep.

An hour or so later, he was still awake.

Moira’s words about the stories of his past and Diarmid’s version of his life, as well as his own memories, swirled around in his thoughts until he thought he would go mad. He sat up, with the intention of finding some wine to soothe his way to sleep, when he heard her for the first time.

Sounds she would never make awake—whimpering, crying, and muttered words begging for…something—echoed through his chambers, tearing at his heart and twisting his gut until he stood before her. He tilted his head, trying to hear her words, but then she began to weep, the sobs welling up from deep within her and shaking her body as they escaped.

Even though he knew her intent was his death, even though he could feel the place where her dagger had plunged into his chest, and even though he understood that she sought vengeance from him, Connor found he was unable to ignore the pain he heard and saw in her. Though not intentional on his part, her downfall was his fault; his words had caused the destruction of the life she should be living. Uncertain about what it all meant, he only knew he needed to offer her some comfort for the pain she suffered now.

He went to the headboard of the bed and took the leather cord from it. The key slipped in quietly, and the collar fell open. He lifted it from around her neck and let it drop onto the floor next to her. She did not rouse until he slid his arms beneath her legs and around her back and picked her up off the floor.

“Seer?” she asked in a voice hoarse from screaming. “What are you doing?” He leaned over and placed her in his bed; then he climbed in with her and arranged the warm blankets and furs over them.

“I am going to sleep,” he answered, gathering her into his arms and turning her onto her side. Leaning his head on hers to keep her still, he waited for her to settle. The last thing he expected was for her to speak.

“The night you found me at your door,” she said softly without moving. “What did you do to me?”

He tried to think of a way to explain it to her, but she spoke again. “’Tis said you cast a spell, a love spell, on any woman you want to draw to you, Seer.”

“It is something that happens before the visions, Moira. The power grows within me and causes my blood to surge with lust. It also casts a wide net and attracts any willing woman to my bed.”

She turned in his arms then, facing him. Pain yet filled her gaze, and her face showed the tracks of many, many shed tears. “And the women, they do not object to this? Does your power make them forget themselves?”

He frowned then, and she lifted her hand to his brow and touched it. ’Twas the first time she had willingly touched him without intending to kill him.

“Did you forget yourself? You were here with me, you felt the power, you smelled the scent my body uses to call women.” He leaned up on one elbow and searched her face for the truth. “Ah, but you seem to be the one woman who can resist it. It did not overpower you that night or the other time it happened.”

She met his gaze then, and he knew she was remembering the night he brought on his own release while she watched. Then, she closed her eyes, and he wondered if her strange questions were at an end. But they were not.

“Make me forget myself, Seer. Spin your magic spell and make me forget,” she whispered.

“Moira, you need to sleep,” he said, trying to turn her back away from him.

“I need you to make me forget the things I learned today. I beg you, make me forget.”

The desperation and the pain in her voice drove him to the insanity of trying to stir the desire that the visions forced into his blood. And, if he thought on it, he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her body and forget his own sins for a brief time. “We will both face more sins on the morrow, Moira.”

“For now, Seer. Just for now. Take my thoughts and memories from me.”

H
e knew he could bring it forth; he’d done it before when he was foolish and full of himself and had no idea of the torment it would later bring him. Closing his eyes, he began to breathe deeply and think about the feel of her skin, the taste of her essence, the smell of her arousal, the sounds of the moans and gasps she would make as he took her and the sight of her face as she found that moment of physical ecstasy. Soon, the earthy smell began to pour from him, surrounding them both with the scent of pleasure.

“Ah,” she whispered, taking in a deep breath and then another. “’Tis your scent that does it.”

He watched as she inhaled his scent and felt the heat in his body rise. More scent escaped, and this time she did not resist its call. As she moved in his embrace, his body responded to her nearness and growing arousal. He’d searched for her for months, even trying to find what they’d had with other women, but now she was here and willing and had placed herself in his hands.

Slipping his hand between the edges of her gown and tunic, he gathered them up and slid them higher and higher, past her thighs and hips, until he could touch her there, in the place where she would give off her own scent and he would answer its call. Her body responded to him, but would she go through with this? He pressed one finger in between her legs to test her readiness and found her dripping in wet heat.

“Moira, open your eyes,” he whispered. Her legs relaxed instead, and he smiled, touching her now with two fingers. She arched against his hand. “Your eyes, Moira. Open your eyes.”

Leaning back so that the light of the fire lit her face, Connor could see only a frosty white where the gold-flecked green should be. With another breath and more scent flowing, her eyes turned completely white, and he knew that Moira was lost and the woman in his arms was his now without question or hesitation…or choice.

He tossed back the covers so that he could undress her, and she moved restlessly against him as he did it. His cock stood hard and large, his desire for her spiraling out of control in a way he’d not experienced before. His body knew the pleasure that would be between them this night, and he felt everything in him tighten in anticipation as he finally laid next to her and brought her naked body to touch his.

Having a care for her injured leg, he lifted it up onto his hip to steady it and to open her to his touch. She lay quietly there, letting him caress and stroke her legs and the place between them as he wanted to.

One finger then two, in and out, softer and rougher, slower then faster until her body spread open more. He turned his hand and used the back of it against the swelling folds, heating them with his caresses and waiting for her to open more to him. When she spread herself wider, he slipped in three fingers to fill her and tease her until she swelled and began to rub herself against him. Then he whispered to her.

“Touch me, Moira.” He guided her hand up to wrap around his shaft. “Touch me.”

As she encircled it with her fingers, he leaned over and kissed her mouth, tasting her lips and then sliding his tongue inside to plunge as he would soon do with his cock between her legs. He moved down, all the while enjoying the feel of her hands working him, imitating his hands as she moved hers harder and then softer, slower and then faster. When he reached her breasts, he licked one nipple and then the other, teasing them with his teeth and grazing them with the edges until they became taut and hardened for him to suckle. She gasped at each pull and tug on them, arching against his hand each time and tightening her grasp on him.

He wanted to be inside her now—he needed to fill her and take her and feel that moment of home that he’d ached for since their last time together—but he wanted to give her what she needed first. He rolled her onto her back and climbed between her legs. She whimpered as she lost hold on his cock, but he soothed her with his mouth, kissing her breasts and down her belly. Sliding down until he lay flat between her legs, he kissed the inside of her thighs and on the crest of her hips and across her belly, smiling now as she writhed beneath his mouth.

Spreading her legs, he slid his hands beneath her and lifted her to his mouth. She gasped and tossed her head from side to side as he tongued the folds there, sliding in deeper and then higher to find the bud that would make her scream in pleasure. He licked around it, teasing it from its folds until he could suckle on it as he had the tips of her breasts. With his hands beneath her, he used his thumbs to open her and hold the womanly layers apart for his further exploration. Rubbing some of the wetness from within her down into the crevasse between the globes of her bottom, he stroked against the puckered opening, using her wetness to ease his way inside.

Her body arched again, but with his thumb inside her he pressed down and stroked, using his fingers to make her cleft weep. Sliding deeper inside both places, he watched as her body responded—her legs tightened, her breasts swelled, her face and skin grew flushed, and her core throbbed against his hand even as the muscles of her ass tightened around his thumb. She lifted her head and looked at him with those vacant eyes, her body no longer her own but under his control.

“Seer,” she whispered once more before letting her head fall back.

He paused and lifted her legs over his shoulders and tongued her again, sliding over the folds, over the engorged bud, nipping at it and licking it until he took it in his mouth and sucked on it hard. Her body bucked then, but he did not stop. Stroking in and out of her ass, he used his mouth and teeth and even his chin to press against her and bring her, force her, to the edge of release. Her taste drove him mad, and he continued touching, stroking, pulling, tugging, licking, and biting on her sensitive folds until she arched and arched and then spasmed against his mouth, falling over the edge where he’d held her into that mindless release she’d begged for.

She moaned as the pleasure took her, and he waited, with his thumb still pressing and stroking and his mouth tasting the essence of her satisfaction, until the strongest waves passed and her body shuddered with the next and the next and the next. As the tension in her body eased, he slipped out of her, lifting his head and moving back until he could kneel between her legs. The musky scent of her arousal and the glistening place between her legs spoke of her body’s readiness, and he waited for hers to be the only smell between them.

Moira looked down and watched as he climbed over her. Though she ached and craved more of his touch and the oblivion he’d given her, she could feel her head clearing and noticed the tiny ripples of pleasure pulsing through her body, from her breasts to her core. He let his hand graze over the hair between her legs, tickling and enticing her with one touch.

He leaned down then and kissed her mouth, the musky taste of her own release on his face. She licked his mouth and lips and chin, watching him shiver as she opened her mouth widely and sucked his tongue. His prick lay hard between them, resting in the wet folds and rubbing there as he moved.

Moira felt every touch now as he caressed her again, teasing the tips of her breasts and making her arch against him by twisting her nipples between finger and thumb. Gasping at the pleasure, she knew oblivion was gone, and she had to face giving herself to him without the benefit of the nothingness his scent brought the first time.

“I want you to remember,” he said, rubbing his face against her breasts, chafing the sensitive skin there and making her throb inside. “Forget everything else, Moira, but remember this.”

She wanted to say no. She wanted to resist or try to lose herself and her guilt once more, but he would not give that to her this time. He reached down and spread her open, placing the thick head of his prick at the opening to her core.

After watching him abstain from the other woman and knowing how his blood burned as he gave off his scent, she waited for him to plunge into her womb and take his long-withheld pleasure on her. Instead, he eased inside her, inch by excruciating inch, drawing back, and then a bit more and a bit more, until she grabbed him with the inner muscles of her woman’s channel and, placing her hands on his hips, drew him into her.

Fully. Completely. Until there was no space between them and she could not ignore or forget what he did to her. She held her breath as he pulled himself back out and began his torturously slow pace again. She was ready to beg for him to take her. Deep. Hard. Fast.

“I do not wish to hurt you, Moira. Let me go slowly,” he said against gritting teeth.

She wanted to erase all who had gone before him even while he tried not to hurt her. “You will not hurt me, Seer. You have eased the way; now enter.”

He did then, just as she’d asked. He thrust in until he touched her womb and then slid back, not leaving completely but not inside enough. Then he thrust deeper and did not pull out as far. Again, he filled her completely with his length and girth and began to move relentlessly against her. She felt the tension grow throughout her once more and let her body enjoy the friction and the resulting wetness that eased it.

She felt the tremors within just as she felt his prick grow harder and his sac tighten as it slid against her folds. Opening her legs and tilting her hips, she took him, all of him, and tightened her muscles to hold him firmly. He resisted, sliding out against her grip, only to drive deeper the next time. He was close now, and she watched his face as he released within her.

The warm spray of his seed began and filled her as he pumped in and out. Her body held onto his prick, drawing out every bit of release until he lay spent on her. She waited for him to remove himself from her. Instead, he remained there, deep inside her body, gathering her under him so that he still covered her.

Something was unusual this time. There had been a moment the first time they joined, even the other times that same day and night, when a spark ignited and a flash of something unknown existed between them. This time she felt as though she’d been watching it happen without it truly touching her soul. Had he noticed the difference?

Warm from his body covering her and exhausted from the terrible day of disclosures and weaknesses laid bare, she felt herself drifting off to sleep as they were. But he had to know the truth first.

“It meant nothing, Seer,” she whispered, already halfway to sleep. “Simply scratching an itch.” He raised his head then, staring hard into her eyes as he shook his head in reply.

“Nay, Moira,” he said, dragging out her name in a way that made her feel his mouth on that place between her legs once more. She tightened her legs together as he whispered to her. “Nothing between us can ever be simple.”

The Seer rolled her onto her side then, slipping out of her and making her feel empty in a way she did not want to feel. Curling up behind her, he surrounded her with his body, and soon she felt him relax into sleep’s grasp.

Tired beyond measure, she let it come and take her, praying the oblivion she needed would be found there. And when it wasn’t and her sleep was torn apart by the faces of the dead and the voices of the betrayed, he held her tighter and whispered her name over and over, like the chant of a wisewoman calling forth the spirits to guide her.

Or like the Seer, weaving his webs and casting his spells.

The sounds of the keep coming to life began just as the first sign of dawn’s light crept into his chambers the next morning. He knew, because he had not slept at all through the night. Thoughts plagued him, and confusion haunted his attempts to rest. And worse than those, the sounds of the dreams that captured Moira during the dark of the night made it impossible to sleep.

If he had to lay a bet about her, Connor would gamble his gold pin that yesterday was the first time since her family died that Moira allowed emotions to cloud her path or rule her decisions. So strong was her control over them that he could almost feel the barrier she’d built to keep them tightly enclosed while she sought out only one thing: his death.

Looking over at her as she slept peacefully for the moment, he thought on what he knew about her. If she was, as he suspected, nigh to ten and eight years old, it would mean that she had watched her family massacred before her eyes when she was about ten and two.

Six years of pursuing him. Six years of living alone. Six years of using her body to pay her way to this keep and to gain her chance to kill him.

She was the worst of his sins he had to face.

The others before her were nameless, faceless victims of his visions, ones like the latest ones on Anakol’s isle whom he would never recall and never remember because of the way the visions occurred.

Moira’s destruction was on his soul—if not because of her need to avenge the lives of her loved ones, then for the sin of forcing her return here to Diarmid’s keep. A return because he needed answers. A return that exposed her to worse danger than she’d already faced here. A return that forced her to see the emptiness and futility of her life’s purpose now that it was known there. Worse, now he needed the release and the relief her body could give him as the days until the next vision became fewer.

He felt more guilt over bringing her here and exposing her to danger than he did about his need for her. He pushed it away for now, for he had less choice in this situation than she. He never asked for this power to be bestowed on him. He may have enjoyed the results, but ’twas never his choice.

When he was a child, the life ahead of him had been clear: he would follow in his father’s path and learn to work the farm they owned, never dreaming that Fergus was not his father and a different life awaited him on Mull.

Moira shifted, drawing his attention for a moment, but she showed no sign of waking yet. He put his hands behind his head and watched her sleep.

The changes in her from the first time she shared his bed were striking. Her hair was the most obvious, for Diarmid’s men had cut it off after they caught her. Dara told him she tried to repair the different lengths left by trimming it all short. Her skin bore marks of her punishment, for a scar ran the length of the side of her face, near her hair, and her nose showed signs of being broken and placed back in its position.