A Storm of Passion Read Online Free PDF Page A

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