Free A Storm of Passion by Terri Brisbin Page A

woman.
    It wasn’t until the pressure in his chest hurt that he realized he was holding his breath. One man climbed out and held out his arms as the other lifted the woman from the boat. Connor could see her wobble on the wooden platform and one man grab for her before she fell. He found his own hands clenching the edge of the wall. Releasing his grip on the cold stone and the breath he held inside, he fought the urge to run down to the dock to confront her. Instead, once he recognized the anger and tension bubbling inside, he called out to the guard at the stairs to have her brought to him in his chambers, rather than in the hall as planned.
    Making his way down the tower stairs to his room, he tried to sort through the pressure plaguing his every step and every breath. Instead of sheer rage at her attempts to end his life, curiosity pulsed through him. His fists tightened and relaxed over and over again until he reached his chambers and entered. Ranald followed a few steps behind, aware, as always, of his every move within the keep.
    “Lord Diarmid wants her turned over to his men for questioning,” he said as Connor sat on the carved chair. “He said this idea of yours to keep her close is too dangerous.”
    “Tell Diarmid we have an agreement,” Connor ordered. His clenched jaws sharpened his words. “When I am done with her, she is his to do as he pleases.” He grabbed Ranald’s arm as the man turned to leave. “But she is mine first.”
    The bow of his head was a reluctant one, but Connor knew Ranald would convey the words and the message to Diarmid. He glanced over at the newly placed spike in the wall and the chain attached to it. She would be kept here until he found out what he needed to know. The collar and chain were for his protection and hers, for Diarmid’s displeasure over her attack was well known and his people would take action on their own with the confidence of his approval.
    The commotion outside his door pierced through his thoughts, and he stood as the door opened, pushed so hard it slammed against the wall and bounced back. Connor stood as the two men sent to his homestead half dragged, half carried the woman in and brought her before him. Her cloak was torn, and he noticed blood dripping from her lip as she staggered a few steps. He walked over to her, noticing the slats still encircling her leg and the way she awkwardly balanced herself.
    “What happened to her, Ennis?” he asked.
    “My lord, the crowd saw her and tried to…well, take her from us,” Ennis explained, with a nod at the other man.
    Considering that neither stood less than six feet tall and had the bulk and strength of seasoned warriors, the confession startled him. Had Diarmid arranged this to void their agreement? Or were so many so angered by her actions that they acted on their own? He thought not.
    He watched as she raised a trembling hand and wiped the blood from her mouth. The hood of the cloak covered most of her face, hiding it from him. He remembered his last sight of her—so bruised and battered that he could not tell if he’d met her before or not. Other than this new injury, he wondered at her appearance and her identity. The name Ceanna and the fact that she’d worked as a laundry woman did not bring any particular woman to mind.
    “Take off the cloak,” he ordered, sitting down on his chair once more and preparing himself to meet his attacker.
    Ennis grabbed the hood, dragging it off her head and exposing a mass of brown curls. He would have continued to simply pull at it if the woman had not tugged the laces and freed it from her. The cloak fell to the ground around her feet, and she raised her head to meet his gaze.
    “You!” he choked out once he saw her face. He had crossed the distance to her before he even realized he’d stood. Connor searched her face for the truth, but there was none to see there.
    “They said your name was Ceanna,” he growled. So angry at her deceit that he could feel