Heartmate (19 page)

She ran to the stoop, jerked the door open, and slammed it behind her.

Her blood thundered in her ears, more from the fear he was right than the minor exertion. She stared, but didn't see anything but an image of both of them as entwined lovers.

“Do you always run from challenges?” His voice easily penetrated her door, making her jerk with surprise.

Ire flared in her. “Always from danger,” she said, raising her voice.

“I can help you get over that.”

She didn't see it as a fault.

She spun to the door and opened it again. He stood in the grassyard, a wicked smile on his face, hands on his hips.

She simmered, gestured to herself. “Look at me. I'm smaller than average, of common birth, an orphan with no Family name and no relatives. I'm insignificant in this world. Nothing. Avoiding danger not only makes sense, it works!”

Though his face softened, a molten, caressing look entered his eyes. “You're not nothing to me. I couldn't admit it before, but you are my HeartMate.”

She scowled and crossed her arms. “I don't want to be a Noble. Your life includes too much obligation, and is too public. All I want is a simple life, surrounded by an easy man and a large Family.”

The fire of desire in his gaze transformed to flickering anger. Instinctively she stepped back and took hold of the doorknob.

“We're HeartMates.” Now it was he who flicked a hand down his large body. “I will suit you.”

“You . . . don't appear to be an easy man.”

His eyes narrowed. “Sorry. But we have much in common. I, too, am an orphan, without Family—”

“That's not what I want—”

“I've been even less than middle class, I grew up Downwind.” He prowled forward. “I want a large Family. A new Family. With you.”

She whirled and stepped back inside, then shut the door again, refusing to hear any more.

Once more she stopped just over the threshold. She stood for several moments, but did not hear him leave. His knock jolted her.

“Danith, Miz Mallow. I would like to get to know you.”

“No.”

His sigh was audible. “No, again. Unfortunate that you know we are HeartMates, but I didn't tell you myself. That will be taken into consideration when brought before the Councils. Common Council, NobleCouncil, perhaps even the FirstFamilies Council.”

Danith gnawed her lip.

“Holm Holly has registered your Testing as a Noble. That will generate some publicity. I will send a Healer to tend you, causing more talk. With my claims before the Councils, everyone will talk.”

He tapped on the door again. “Let me in. Let us get to know each other on an
informal
basis.”

Danith muttered under her breath. “You will leave when I request it?”

“Of course. I am an honorable GreatLord.”

She opened the door, but wrapped her arms around herself and kept a wary distance from him.

He strolled in, once again reminding her of Zanthoxyl. His hands were in the pockets of his black trous. He glanced around her home, slanted a look at her, and closed his eyes, tilting his head back. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply.

Danith froze. Danger swirled around her. Sensual danger.

A flush came to his cheeks. His hands fisted in his pockets. When his eyes opened, they were heavy-lidded. “Nice. Not ugly like my Residence. Warm. Welcoming. You.”

Her heart picked up beat.

Now he looked around with a lingering gaze. He smiled. Once more it was a genuine, engaging smile. Deep inside, Danith felt an attraction to him on more than a physical basis and squelched it.

“Where is the HeartGift?”

Danith gestured to the closed bedroom door. He walked to it. With a deep breath that expanded his large chest, he opened the door.

“Take it with you,” Danith said, averting her eyes from the tangle of jewels pulsing with sexuality on the bedsponge.

“I don't think so.” He snapped the door shut. “I touch that bedsponge and you'll be under me.”

Danith trembled. She compressed her lips at an image of them as lovers. “I don't have anywhere else to sleep.”

He went into the mainspace and saw the too-short divan. “I see.” He looked at her, desire in his eyes. “Come with me.”

“No.”

“You're going to fight me on this.”

“Yes.”

His lips curved. “A ‘yes' at last. This time I would have preferred a ‘no.' As you wish.” He rolled his great shoulders.

Danith lifted her chin, knowing he took his winning for granted.

He moved around the room casually, but she sensed he was noting every texture, every objet d'art, every book, every hologram.

He went into the kitchen and she heard a hissed breath. “Your scrybowl is disabled.”

“GreatSir Elder.”

There was muttering, a small clap of air. “Come here, please.”

She walked to the open threshold of the kitchen. A large flowered cloisonné bowl with a soft yellow background that exactly matched her walls sat on her counter.

He looked at her, a satisfied expression on his face. “A bowl from my Residence.” Gently he traced his finger around the rim, then dipped fingertips in the bowl and sent the water swirling. “Not mallow blossoms, but Ash. Come anoint it with your own energy and dedicate the scry image.”

She gestured him out of the kitchen. It was only big enough for one to comfortably work in.

His brows lowered, then he passed her as she stepped aside.

She concentrated on setting the image and initiating the spell. The metal didn't make it easy, like the porcelain did.

“I can help,” T'Ash said.

“No.”

This time he smiled. “No. You must encourage your Flair, nurture it, starting with minor tasks. The bowl will accept your spells. You have the power to work with it. And it is, after all, my bowl.”

“Crafted by you?”

His smile broadened. “Indeed.”

“Another gift.”

He matched her irritated gaze, gestured briefly. “You need a scrybowl. There it is. Will your pride make you refuse it?”

She felt more than irritation flare between them, but wanted nothing of it. “I have little pride. It is not a luxury an unwanted orphan can afford. You, I think, have more than you should.”

She saw he didn't like that and couldn't refute it. He turned abruptly to prowl her mainspace.

Focusing once more, she worked with the air and the water, the image and energy. Knowing she had the Flair to bespell the bowl made all the difference. For the first time in her life, she didn't use a programmed spell on a magical object, she created her own. And it felt wonderful.

When she left the kitchen, she saw him hesitate by the table where the two cards she'd drawn earlier lay in all their glory. She hurried to stop him, too late.

His mouth quirked again as he tapped the Lord of Blasers and the Lovers. “Good.” He hesitated, then touched his finger to the deck of cards. His breath hissed out, a shock rippled through his arm and down his body. The cords of his neck stood out.

He turned to look at her, pure passion glinting in his narrow gaze. When he spoke his voice was thick. “HeartMates. We two. Loving. Ecstasy. Forever.”

She sidled to the front door and watched him. He turned his head away, and silence enveloped them for a few moments, a quiet that seemed to spin a strand between them.

“You might have noticed that I revert to short Downwind speech when—emotionally charged.”

She didn't say anything.

Pansy mewed.

He looked up, a quick laugh broke from him.

Pansy was sitting, regal as a queen, on top of the bookcase. Once again she was draped in every glittering piece of jewelry she could insinuate on herself. The diamond earclip was back.

T'Ash walked over to her and held his hand up before her nose. She was easily within his reach. Danith would have had to use a stool to pick her cat up.

Pansy sniffed at his hand, then rubbed it, her loud purring filled the quiet between the people.

“Pansy, who would prefer to be called Princess, I presume.”

The statement jolted Danith from her complacency. “Princess?” She looked at her cat. “Surely not.”

“She is very beautiful. I thought so.” He shot Danith a glance. “Like her Lady.”

“Princess?”

“So Zanth says. She would prefer to be called Princess.”

Danith muttered.

“I've designed a collar of citrines for her, and later an EarthSun pendant.”

“No.”

“Rrrow!” The wail for attention came from outside the front door.

T'Ash crossed to it and opened it.

Zanthoxyl strolled in, the bag of jewels that Danith had returned to T'Ash clamped in his teeth.

Danith saw the open door and took advantage of it, ignoring the gentle clink of the gifts as the Fam lowered his burden carefully to the floor. “It's time for you to go.”

T'Ash's jaw tightened and he looked mutinous before stepping out onto the front sidewalk. “You won't come with me? Stay at my Residence?”

“No.”

He nodded shortly, and reached in a hand to grab her broken antique scry table.

“Don't—” Danith started.

He smiled coolly. “My mistake, my redress.”

The table looked delicate in his large hands. Despite the scry table, he managed a creditable bow. “I will send you a bedroll that will fit in here. Also expect a Healer to tend your shoulder; you've been favoring it. Merry meet.”

Danith glared at him.

“Merry meet!”

She said nothing.

He put down the scry table and crossed his arms, leaning against the doorjamb. “Merry meet.”

She met his gaze. He looked fully as stubborn as she was. And she wanted him gone. “Merry part,” she muttered.

His attractive smile flashed over his face. “And merry meet again.” He lifted the table with one hand and inclined his head. “Soon.”

 
 
T'Ash strode along, then slowed. The many things he
had to do and the lack of time pressed upon him. He couldn't afford to expend any extra energy, even energy given by the anger flowing through his veins.

He wasn't nearly as nonchalant as he'd acted. And he'd concealed the deep hurt and banked ire that had speared through him at her words.

Sucking in a breath of fresh sun-warmed afternoon air, he practiced calming exercises. Exercises he hadn't had to employ in years.

She wanted a fight. He wouldn't have expected that she'd be one to fight. But she was strong, and determined, and her Flair was powerful. He smiled grimly. It would be a good fight.

A testing of wills. He usually won fights.

He concentrated on using his muscles as he walked. And though he'd lost a few individual fights, he had won several personal wars; vengeance, acceptance by the twenty-four other FirstFamilies, reestablishing his GreatHouse, building his shop and reputation, honing his Flair.

He wondered if she had fought as much as he, but doubted it. She looked as if she still thought there were rules to fighting.

She'd probably faced a few battles, what with being a female only as high as his shoulder and an orphan without Family. But she wasn't in his class.

Class. The word hurt as much as being called a Downwind scruff. And he knew class would be an element in this conflict with Danith—his rank and wealth. She'd made that clear.

Being elevated as a new Noble would be rough for her. Jumping from middle class past GraceHouse class and up to GrandHouse class was rare. GrandHouses were usually at least three centuries old, except for the twelve highest GrandHouses that were included in the FirstFamilies, descendants of the founding colonists.

GrandHouse and FirstFamily society would expect her to act in a certain manner. When she married him, his rank as a FirstFamily GreatLord would bring her to the highest station of the Noble class. If she lacked the proper attitude, being accepted as a HeartMate by the Nobles would be a problem. Ah, well, he would stand with her.

But she was right. After she married him, she would never have the anonymity or the simple life she said she wanted.

He had obligations to his heritage, to his descendants, the twenty-five FirstFamilies, and to civilizing Celta itself. All Heads of households and their spouses were expected to participate in the Great Rituals, and Danith would be no exception. T'Ash frowned. Noble responsibilities would be one aspect of this tough battle with her.

The FirstFamilies interest in Danith as his wife would go beyond attention into greed. T'Ash lengthened his stride. Energy and power were always needed by the ruling class to shape the events of Celta. As his wife, titled GreatLady D'Ash, Danith's simple celebrations would be a thing of the past. With her strong Flair and affinity to animals, she would be ordered to the Rituals and expected at the Council meetings. She wouldn't like that.

Another facet of the fight to win her would be the nature of his own character. He knew he was nothing like the easy-going gallant who squired her now. She knew it, too. T'Ash had an introverted personality, tending toward brooding darkness. It was nothing he could completely reshape.

He could try to lighten his soul, and since Danith had entered his life, he'd felt nearly giddy with hopeful delight. He could work with that. Just being near her made him less gloomy, if no less complex. But she was a complex creature herself.

He frowned. The yearning for Family radiated from her—his greatest challenge in this rough courtship. He felt a touch of foreboding down his spine and hoped that this would not be his downfall. He would give her Zanth and promise her children. He could provide a few close friends with the Holly Family, but, in general, the FirstFamilies rarely were friends—more often allies or enemies.