A Storm of Passion by Terri Brisbin Page B

blocking his movements with his height and bulk, he pushed his hand between her legs and rubbed hard against her.
    “See, over there,” he nodded toward the door with his head, never taking his hand away. “They are so ready for you that they drool at the mention of your name, Ceanna.”
    She knew whom he meant and would not give him the satisfaction of turning to look. He pushed his fist in harder until she gave in and turned her head. One of the men made an obscene gesture with his hand, and the other laughed at it.
    “I am told you are not pleasuring my Seer. Once he tires of your refusals, you belong to me.”
    “My lord?” Ranald called out then, surprising both of them with his interruption. “He is ready.”
    Diarmid dropped his hand and straightened his shoulders back, gaining his full height and looking every bit the warlord and master of the lands that he was.
    “Seer, who would you speak to first?” he asked as he walked to the center of the room.
    Moira let out the breath she was holding and fought to stay upright. Sweat poured down the edges of her face and down her neck and back from the reminder of what had been stopped that day. No matter how calmly she’d brushed off Dara’s concerns about her condition after Connor’s intervention, she would never survive what Diarmid’s men planned to do to her next.
    Rubbing the sweat from her brow with the back of her sleeve, she noticed the terrible shaking in her hands and clasped them together in front of her. She was such a fool!
    If all it took to keep her in the safety, such that it was, of the Seer’s chambers was for her to pleasure him, then that was what she must do. It would be no different than that time months before and no different than the dozens before him. That day in his bed had been nothing to fear and one she could repeat, once her leg healed more. Right now, she could not move with the ease she needed to repeat what gave him such pleasure before. Soon though…
    Everyone grew quiet as, one by one, the men chosen by Diarmid walked up to the Seer and held out their hands to him. After hearing about this, Moira watched now to see how the visions would come. ’Twas the fourth man introduced to him that caused the change to happen. Luckily, she was tall for a woman and could see over most of their observers’ heads to the raised chair where he sat.
    His body grew rigid and then shook for several seconds before calming. The Seer’s head fell back, and he mumbled something she could not understand, tossing his head side to side until he sat straight in the chair once more. Now he seemed to fill with an unexplained strength and vitality; his face radiated some force from deep within. But it was his eyes that changed the most.
    Moira had seen the final step of this, when the fires of hell would engulf his eyes and they would burn without extinguishing for hours, but this was different and seemed to cause him no pain. The darkest part of his eyes changed and whitened, while the green circles resembled the strange green curtains of light that sometimes lit the night sky, flickering and moving as though alive. He grasped the man’s hand tighter and pulled him close.
    “What truth do you seek from me?” he asked in a voice not his own.
    Moira shivered at the spectacle—some power not of this world was using him now, and she tried not to watch. But her eyes remained locked on him as he transformed yet again. This time, his face smoothed and appeared younger, without any sign of the torment or despair she’d witnessed there this last sennight. If she could believe what she was seeing, he began to resemble someone else, someone less physical and more…something other than human. She shook her head, not ready to accept what her eyes could see.
    Ranald approached from his other side and placed a slate tablet on the flat arm of the chair and a piece of chalk into his hand. The man chosen now shook visibly as he tried to speak his request. It took