His held breath released when an older, regal-looking woman with silver-stranded auburn hair waving to her shoulders answered. Amberose herself.
Chapter 20
Johns bowed, keeping his eyes focused on hers. "Greetyou, FirstLevel Writer Amberose. I am Klay Saint Johnswort, MasterLevel Actor in Druida City."
Her blue eyes narrowed, squarish jaw flinched. "I know of you," she stated shortly. "And I presume you've seen my script." Her lips pursed, then thinned, and narrow vertical lines remained.
"No," he replied, then went on, "Blakely Wattle and Lily Fescue were, perhaps, not the best people to receive the only copy of your work."
A deeper frown, then a snappish, "Why not?"
"Wattle couldn't interest producers," Johns stated. "He hasn't the best reputation. And of the, ah, prospective cast, he showed it to Lily Fescue first."
"I authorized that. You don't like her?"
Sip a breath in, keep the concerned expression. "She is a … challenging … actor to work with." Lopsided smile. "But we are professionals, after all. In any event, that's not why I contacted you. T'Spindle experienced a couple of thefts on his properties, including the Primross Theater, and thieves stole the script from Lily Fescue's dressing room."
"What! When? Wattle hasn't been in touch!"
"He fell ill. The script went missing a week and two days ago." Johns couldn't stop himself from clearing his throat, but hoped the woman didn't notice his nerves, and spoke smoothly, "However, I believe I am the most concerned of those who know of your play in finding the lost script."
"Are you? Why?"
"Firewalker is closing."
"Is it? I hadn't heard. This whole thing sounds rotten. I still have contacts in Druida City theatrical circles, I'll check it out."
"Sure, call the T'Spindle or the Druida City guards—"
She hissed. "That would stir up rumor, would it not? Perhaps catapult all sorts of unknown people into searching for my script. I do not want that. I will call a chatty friend and listen to gossip."
"It's rumored to have been sold," he said, heard her grind her teeth.
"Who knows who has it?"
"No one I know," Johns stated.
"I do not want my work circulated widely, the plot revealed …"
"No one could match your language, your fabulous writing, your technique," Johns soothed.
She shrugged, but her expression eased. "I will discover what I can of this and scry you later, since you are in Druida City and I am not." She paused, then ended grudgingly. "Thank you for the information on this matter. I will keep you in mind." She cut the call.
No time to finesse getting a copy of the script, dammit. And exactly when would "soon" be? He hated waiting for calls.
Giniana dragged through the standard three weekend days, the following day and the next morning when she released Blakely Wattle and got paid by him, and finished the Spindle staff physical evaluations. Now she'd only be on call for standard Healing at the Spindles … but that would include a Cooking-For-No-Times class starting later in the week and facilitated by FirstFamily GrandLady D'Spindle. Giniana would have to be on hand during the lessons to handle any cuts, scrapes or slices.
She ended work at T'Spindle Residence mid-morning, sent Amberose's scry information to Johns, then returned to her cottage. She knew the moment she drew on a thin sleepshirt and fell onto her bed that she'd sleep the whole afternoon and evening until she could grab a quick meal just before she left for her night job at the Daisys. But the image that followed her into sleep showed Klay’s caring face.
When the long summer evening light dimmed and she awoke, she stretched every muscle in her body and let the exhaustion and sleep fogginess slough away slowly. Let herself rest in the moment, gently rise to consciousness. She'd overburdened herself, rushed through life instead of savoring it.
And she forgave herself for doing that, murmured her mantra, only for a little while more. She'd done evaluations on Thrisca every day, of course, and having Melis as her Fam perked up the older cat. She'd definitely been eating better.
If everything continued as is, and no financial crises came up, Giniana should be able to pay the full fee for Thrisca's Time Healing a day before it occurred at the end of this week, Midweekend Day. She wouldn't have to make the decision to desert the Spindles for the Willows or have the other option of a huge fee hanging over her head for months. True blessings.
She sipped in cautious optimism with the heavy scent of summer flowers—full summer soon to fade to autumn, and Giniana felt Thrisca would live through the following winter, and more winters to come, Healed by D'Willow.
Now, as Giniana ate eggs and porcine strips and the FamCats watched, Thrisca sitting tail curled while Melis bounced around the dining room, her FamCat addressed Giniana in a stronger voice, Summer nights are very good for hunting. We will be ranging further into the estate tonight, and will patrol humans' favorite gardens for pests.
We will hunt and eat and sleep WELL, Melis added.
Yes, We will sleep well in the gardens in the morning and when We wake, We will get special catnip pillows as payment from Spindles at T'Spindle Residence. D'Spindle told Me to come tomorrow morning. Thrisca licked one forepaw, then the other, and groomed her claws. We will also check out the Residence inside and the closer grassyards around it.
Many peoples will admire Us! Melis enthused.
Knowledge exploded in Giniana's mind that the Fams would be gone all morning. Except for any Spindle emergency, she had the day off. Klay St. Johnswort only had an evening show tomorrow. He had most of the day off, too.
They could make love and sleep late into the morning. Eat a leisurely breakfast, a meal she'd prepare from her no-time here in the cottage.
We ate earlier, but would like another portion of food before You leave, Thrisca stated.
"Absolutely," Giniana said, aware the back of her brain buzzed with plans. She automatically finished her food, gave the cats their late dinner, set the dishes to cleanse, then dressed in loose clothing for the Daisys.
After a few minutes of petting each Fam, and some playtime with Melis, she held the front door open for them to leave and watched them trot away.
Alone. Now, and in the morning, all morning. With free time she wouldn't fill with work at a HealingHall, or even any consultation with Danith D'Ash.
She would cherish the day, and the man.
On the public carrier to the Daisys, she acknowledged that Klay had been an immense support, with Flair as well as emotionally. And she valued that personal connection with him more than anything else.
He'd given her much more than she had him, their relationship tipped in unequal scales that way. But she could offer him a bit more now. More time with him, more sex with him, and, hopefully, more intimacy, learning of each other out of bed.
When she reached the Daisy Residence, she walked into a tense visit of T'Daisy's sister, Morifa, arguing with the Family, and heard Raz Cherry's name mentioned in a demand.
Ructions involving an actor—Raz Cherry—from Morifa who liked to bed actors and who moved in theatrical circles.
And Giniana’s lover, Klay, was deeply embedded in that world. He'd acted normally around her—or, rather, hadn't acted at all. Been sincere. Even when they'd gone to the Thespian Club for sex, they'd only walked through the usually empty lobby.
She hadn't ever been with him in his professional setting. Her throat tightened at the very thought of it and she stood stiff and still in the hallway outside the sitting room where the Daisys argued instead of taking the staircase to the nursery and her charge, baby Maja.
Morifa Daisy slammed into Giniana as she stomped from the room, snarled, "You flitch of a servant. You get out of my way!" and stormed out of the Residence, slamming the door behind her. Giniana's windmilling saved her from falling, and she absently whispered a couplet to remove the pain and any bruising of her body from the contact with the furious woman.
Meanwhile, she heard st
riding around the sitting room and moved forward to check on her employers. Neither GraceLord T'Daisy nor his wife appeared as if his sister had pushed or slapped them. Good.
"I print what I believe to be newsworthy," T'Daisy grumbled. "Even in the society column and the play reviews. And Raz Cherry is brilliant in his role and I won't say differently because he cut off his association with Morifa."
"Of course not, dear," D'Daisy soothed. She took his hand. "And here's Healer Giniana to mind the baby for us tonight, a blessing." D'Daisy stood tiptoe and kissed her HeartMate's jaw. "Let's take a lovely walk down by the stream and talk about widening that slow part into a pond …"
T'Daisy, a large-boned man in his mid-twenties who'd begun to put on weight since he'd inherited the title, made more rumbling sounds but nodded to Giniana and let his wife lead him out of their house.
Hiding a smile and taking baby Maja to rock to sleep in the nursery, Giniana wondered if the couple would make love outdoors. Or in the gazebo at the side of the house. Or hurry back to their bed. In any event, she'd seen the gleam in D'Daisy's eyes, and the softness of affection, and the wish to comfort her husband. Because she loved him.
And they were HeartMates.
Giniana hadn't given HeartMates much thought. Before her time with the Spindles, she hadn't known any HeartMated couples. Both the Spindles and Daisys—noble houses who prized HeartMate bonds—were HeartMates. When one of the couple died, the other would pass within a year. She'd seen a little how true love and companionship worked, how they melded their lives together, and respected each other.
The Daisys had left the house hand-in-hand, the strong bond between them minimizing the conflict with his sister, comforting them both. In tune. HeartMates.
But the after-image in Giniana's eyes showed a tall, slinky, sophisticated woman against the open door, leaving in fury that her affair with an actor had ended before she'd decided she was done. Darkness, and more, disgust, swirled in Giniana as she contemplated the limited and nasty society of the theater.
Klay was an actor. If she continued to be with him, develop a relationship with him, she'd have to step into circles and a milieu she'd hated since childhood. She'd have to accept his profession, because his career was as integral to him as hers was to her. Could she ever accept a man who hated her being a Healer? No. And she shouldn't expect Klay wanting to be with her if she despised his profession.
But she liked him as he was. So far he hadn't acted with her. Could she live with him if he acted around others in social situations? Would he? Of course. They all did. Well, her parents and their ilk all did. The actors she'd met in T'Spindle Residence usually did.
Huge obstacle.
After struggling with her ideas and memories of actors all night, Giniana surrendered to her own instincts and scried Johns, requesting that he meet her at her cottage since she had the morning free. The way his eyes lit as he took her scry, his smile that they'd be together, reassured her as well as filling her with apprehension. They would have to address this issue, and sooner rather than later.
What was worse was that she could mentally discuss the issue, make plans based on such discussions, but, at the core, this problem tangled up all her emotions, and that didn't mean an easy solution.
When she arrived at T'Spindle Residence soon after dawn, Johns stood by the public carrier plinth and after the glider door opened, he reached in and set his large hands at her waist and swung her down. She heard sighs behind her from the other women on the glider, with an excited murmur of, "That's Klay Saint Johnswort!"
Not only warmth from the delight of seeing him splashed through her, but pride at being with him. Of course, at touch their intimate bond thickened and the emotions flowing between them clarified.
And in all her night deliberations, she'd nearly forgotten this, the link that wound between them so quickly and easily. So strongly. The bond that had felt good and right from the first, which she figured must indicate they … matched. An odd thought that she, who spent much of her life only living with a Fam companion, might match with a man.
But Johns stood looking down at her and had taken her hands. He'd said nothing, but now pushed satisfaction at being with her through that bond.
What would happen if the bond went away? Had she already come to depend upon it? Yes, a scary thought.
She squeezed his fingers and let go of one of his hands, and they walked through the wall door. Johns greeted the guards with a wave and a smile but didn't speak. The serenity of early morning silence enveloped them, settled the sparking attraction between them into a smooth rhythm.
Birds singing the day awake, the last nocturnal insect whirs sounding then fading, were acknowledged and cherished by both of them and Giniana became aware of her other senses. She understood that Johns often absorbed the sensual cues around him. Woodchips scattered across the path to her cottage released scent as she and Johns trod upon them, leaves turned lighter in the low-angled sunlight, and a thousand shades of green surrounded them.
At her cottage, she gestured the shieldspell away, opened the door and led him through the empty quietude to her bedroom and her bed, just big enough to hold two adults.
His palms curved around her upper arms, and she looked up, got caught by his gray-blue eyes and the tenderness in them. He smiled, touched the tab fastenings at the top of her shoulders and her loose tunic fell away. Another sweep of his fingers released her breastband, baring her torso. His gaze dropped from her face and his pupils widened, then his stare rose slowly and she blushed as she sensed him looking at her breasts, her collarbone, her throat.
No, he didn't speak, aloud or telepathically, but she felt hot desire rush through him, then flow to her through their bond, bursting her own passion into a huge tide of mind-washing need. Her nipples tightened and her core throbbed, her body readying for sex, for more, fulfillment on the most primal level. She lost control of her breath and began to pant unevenly.
His fingertips stroked her neck and he bent to kiss her under her ear. The intimate scent of him rose to her nostrils, earthy and pungent for a man who worked creatively—but used his whole body as an instrument. In control of every muscle. She swallowed.
His tongue came out to taste and her knees weakened in ancient feminine response. One of his brawny arms circled her waist, supporting her, his other hand moving along the waistband of her trous and pantlettes, loosening them so they fell to her feet.
He lifted her, eyes glinting a narrow silver around large black centers. He liked what he saw. With one long stride, he lay her on the bed and her legs fell open for him. He glanced at her sex then away, and she could feel herself plumping, moistening.
With a short gesture, his own clothes fell away from him, separating at the spell-seams, including his boots and liners. At first she only noticed the outline of his large, well-muscled body. Then she blinked and took in his features, fiercely set, the slight perspiration gleaming on his body and his erect shaft. She gulped at the thrilling sight that went straight to her core, of him as ready for her as she was for him.
Her heart thudded so she only felt her pulse, her yearning throbbed with every beat, waiting.
But he didn't come to her in a rush, as they'd often done at the Thespian Club. He didn't speak, by voice or mentally. Instead he lay on his side next to her, scanned her from her feet still in sturdy shoes upward, his mouth curving.
He put his hand on her heart, met her eyes again and she couldn't look away. His hand cruised over her, touching her breast, plumping it, flicking her nipple with his thumb and she gasped. Pleasure inundated her through their link and her vision blurred and she could only focus on the feathery touches and glides of his fingers over her body, stimulating her. How he toyed with her nipples, brushed his hand along her abdomen to her core and drove her mad with rising ecstasy until she crested.
The sound of her own excited whimpers brought her mind back to think, at least enough for her to move toward him, her fingers reaching for his coc
k. But he placed his hand behind her neck, leaned over her, and kissed her, his mouth moving on hers, his tongue plunging inside to tangle with hers. He tasted marvelous, of a needy man, a man who wanted sex. She wound her arms around him, and his hands went to her hips and he rolled to cover her.
They joined. He surged inside her, then stopped. Her eyes closed to experience the huge swells of pleasure passing between them. Sensation only. He filled her, and she felt the driving need of his desire held in check as they lay together in the most intimate of embraces, male and female fitting together.
As passion cycled between them and built, built, built, spiraling higher to the point of orgasm, she savored it, all her senses attuned to him. When she believed she couldn't bear one more instant of craving, he moved. Once.
They climaxed together, harder, deeper than she'd ever known, her body clenching around him, part of him, him feeling like a part of her.
Gently, gently she coalesced from the rapture, discovered he'd rolled them to their sides. She whispered a Word, the veriest puff of breath, and the windows of the cottage opened, swirled with morning breezes. His hand cupped her face and he trapped her gaze with his intense one, pressed a slight kiss on her lips, ran his palm over her skin. Then he closed his eyes and his body eased into sleep.
All in silence, no words, no mental thoughts sent to each other, only the opening and following of each others' needs pulsed through their bond. An incredible experience she'd never imagined. All sensation, all emotional and physical connection. With a hoarse and muttered couplet, her shoes and liners fell from her feet and she, too, subsided into sleep, with her last coherent thought that the actor had said no words to her that morning. No practiced phrases. He'd let his body tell his story, let the link between them speak, reverberate.
Unbelievable.
Chapter 21
Two septhours later, Johns watched Giniana move gracefully through her kitchen to set a plate of toast with steaming cheesy scrambled eggs and porcine strips before him. He salivated at the rich and buttery scent, the snap of fresh herbs. A simple and different dish than any the Thespian Club offered, and more welcome for that.
Script of the Heart Page 19