Free A Storm of Passion by Terri Brisbin Page B

the blood pounding in his veins, he fisted his hand in her hair and tugged it so she would have to look up at him. “Is it?”
    He thought she would remain silent, for it took her a long time to speak, and though he could tell she struggled to stay on her feet, she did not fight his grasp.
    “It matters not,” she whispered in that voice that had haunted his sleeping and waking hours for months now.
    Connor flung her into the guards’ grasp and grabbed a cup of wine from the table nearby. Filled with rage and confusion, betrayal and disappointment, he drank it down and tried to regain control of himself. Caught between wanting to strike her down for her deception and wanting to throw her on the floor and slake his body’s need for her, he ordered Ennis to chain her and leave. Not daring to watch, he walked back to his chair and leaned on the back of it until the men had completed their task.
    He’d slipped up when he recognized her, for no one but he knew that Moira, the woman who had given him such pleasure, and Ceanna, the laundry woman who tried to kill him, were the same person. If Diarmid suspected it, he would not hesitate to use her in whatever way he wanted and to control Connor since he would know of his desire for her. When the door closed, he drank the last of his wine and turned to face her.
    “It matters not to a dead woman,” he said as he examined her from head to toe.
    Because of her height and the short length of the chain, the only way she could stand upright was if she remained leaning against the wall. Even a step away would force her to bend to keep from choking on the iron collar. The heavy metal ring already scraped the skin of her neck, and there would be new bruises to join the fading ones soon. Her mouth still bled from whatever blow she’d received, yet her eyes burned brightly at him, as though daring him on.
    “But if you want to live, you will give me the truth.”
     
    Moira watched as he struggled not to hit her and then as he turned away and let his men chain her to the wall in the corner of his chambers. He’d recognized her in an instant, but for some reason, he’d acted as though he did not know her name. Now, his men had gone, and they were alone. She wanted to meet him face to face and on her feet, but her legs trembled and threatened to throw her face down on the floor. The splint, its pieces of wood loosened by the jostling of the crowd on her way into the keep, hung in pieces around her leg, and she dared not put any weight on the healing limb.
    Already the chain was stretched to its full length, and it gave her no room to maneuver. Soon, if the dizziness in her head told her anything, the decision on how to get down on the floor would be out of her control. Grasping the chain for support and to keep it from gouging her neck, she slid down along the wall, easing her leg straight out before her. The last foot or so was a rough drop, but at least she landed without more injury. Moira released her hold on the chain and shuddered as it clattered on the stone wall at her back.
    He’d watched her every move, but never said a word. Now, seated and able to regain her breath, Moira used the edge of her sleeve to wipe the blood from her mouth and face. Someone in the crowd had shouted her name, and everyone had surged toward her. She felt the new bruises on her leg and the ones on her arms and shoulders, caused by the guards’ tightened grip as they dragged her ever forward, beginning to throb even now.
    Was that the worst of it then? She couldn’t help shifting against the wall as the Seer stood again and walked toward her. On her feet, she was almost even to him and could probably fight off some of the blows to come, but on the floor, she was the perfect target for his strong, agile legs if he chose to kick. The journey today had taken any strength she’d managed to save out of her, and Moira closed her eyes so she would not watch the blow as it came.
    “So, is it Ceanna or