HeartMate

by Robin D. Owens

  He could barely wait. But he had to. He didn't have the new HeartGift with him.

  Once they reached the grove with the fountain of the Dark Goddess, he placed her gently on her feet and kept an arm around her so she could stand only on one foot and lean against him.

  The sight of the towering fountain took Danith's breath. The grove had been planted and maintained so that the moonlight only touched the fountain. Even the grassyard around it was in deep shadow. Consisting of five descending tiered white marble bowls, the fountain only held leaves, twigs, and grit in its ever-larger, cascading basins. The statue of the Goddess herself gleamed of black marble. And in the round bowl at her feet a fabulous labenthyst reflected Cymru twinmoon.

  Danith looked up at T'Ash. His eyes glinted.

  He pointed to the deep gouges in the mortar surrounding the stone. "Zanth has been working on freeing the stone. He wants it."

  She stared at him. "Isn't that theft?"

  "Cats don't think in that manner. He wants it, no one else is here to appreciate it or defend it, so he will take it." His brow furrowed. "But the curse of the T'Blackthorns' is supposedly linked to the stone. It's said it screamed when removed from its living place in one of the T'Blackthorn mines."

  Danith looked at him with a measuring gaze. Ever since she had fallen in with nobles, the sense of being surrounded with the great Flair and magic they wielded escalated. Few of her friends could speak at all, let alone seriously, about teleporting, dreamquests, curses, or screaming stones.

  But looking at the purple stone, appearing to glow from the inside, she couldn't prevent a shiver.

  He smiled down at her, and she wondered how he could be so carefree, given the circumstances. "And Zanth has some notion that if anyone can placate an angry stone, and break a curse, I can."

  She squeezed his hand. "He's right."

  His eyes lingered on the Dark Goddess. "You know, the Dark Goddess watches over blacksmiths." He flexed his fingers. "And that is part of my calling. Perhaps She will not mind if a Fam to a blacksmith takes the stone from Her fountain. If I can break the curse, I will probably claim the stone as my fee."

  Danith sucked in a breath. "You said this curse has lasted generations?"

  His eyebrows dipped. "Seven, maybe eight."

  "Then the price would be worth it, but what if—" She stopped, feeling embarrassed at her thoughts.

  "Yes?"

  She cleared her throat, thinking she was going to sound foolish, or like a noble who was steeped in tradition and Flair, or—

  "Yes?"

  "What if the stone wants to—ah—go back?" She waved a hand.

  "Go back?"

  "Be returned to its"—what had he called it?—"living place?"

  He shrugged. "Then I'll take it back."

  "A stone has feelings, too?" She wanted it to sound mocking, but it came out in too much of a questioning whisper.

  "Perhaps." His gaze shuttered, and she knew then that whatever his true thoughts on stones were, she wouldn't hear them now.

  She looked at the fountain, the small grassyard surrounding it and the looming trees of the grove that protected it. It should have been gloomy and threatening, but to her it brought a mystical peace with an undertone of-excitement. The Dark Goddess emphasized that change and rebirth were always inherent in the present moment.

  She had forgotten that. That all life was change. Perhaps she never connected with deeper truths unless she relaxed and was still. Her life had galloped out of control, and perhaps she was trying too hard to think about it, force it into patterns she knew, instead of learning new patterns.

  She sighed and leaned a little more against T'Ash. She liked the feel of his strong body next to her. And his scent drifted to her on the night air—deep earth, hot-metal, T'Ash—and at this instant it didn't rouse desire, but contentment.

  "Mmmm, I like this place. Do you think any of the Blackthorns ever held their rituals here?"

  "They are of the FirstFamilies, duty bound to contribute to the Great Rituals in the GreatCircle Temple."

  Danith made a disgusted noise. "Too bad. There is nothing like celebrating holidays outdoors, with stones and trees and streams marking the directions." She shivered. "I could not give that up." She laughed a little. "I join the Clovers, now, for Sabbaths and Albans, as long as they perform their services outside. It's wonderful, being a part of the huge whole of their Family. Why, the Family alone can make a large circle, not just standing at the points of the directions. It is very comforting."

  "Cold outdoors in the winter."

  "Yes. But there is a sheltered place I go—it is rarely too deep in ice or snow to welcome me. And I must admit, I usually observe only full twinmoons in winter."

  "You're getting cool. We need to look at your foot. It's time to return to the shed."

  "The shed? That's what they call that little stone house?"

  "That's what I call it. Zanth, we're going back."

  Zanth, who had been amusing himself by jumping up to the topmost tier and walking around the bowl rim, gave them an aloof stare and continued with his rounds.

  T'Ash swept her up into his arms. She ignored the speeding up of her blood as her body made contact with his. She looked past his large biceps at Zanth. "Do you think he's practicing his own ritual?" She liked the whimsical notion.

  Zanth glanced up at her and narrowed his eyes. Her head throbbed a moment.

  "Zanth says cats remember the generation starships that set out from Earth. The cats hated being in timesuspension crystals, and the ships themselves were too small. They are glad our ancestors detoured to this star system and settled on Celta after the spaceships got lost. Trying to find the original destination would have been difficult, and taken light-years longer."

  Zanth yowled.

  T'Ash chuckled. She liked the sound, she rubbed her cheek against his lightly haired chest.

  "Zanth is complaining again that I'm not translating his thoughts accurately. He says you need to hurry and learn your Flair so you can talk to him."

  Danith smiled. "He is as impatient as you."

  His arms tightened around her, and he set off down the path at a lope, as if in a hurry to return to the gardenshed. "Not possible."

  After tending her foot and sharing a meal, T'Ash renewed the heatspell one last time and glanced over to where Danith lay on her side, nearly dozing, on the soft permamoss. Her injured foot was tucked under her.

  T'Ash had been relieved at the smallness of the wound, but wary of a puncture covered with dried Downwind slime. He'd used the most powerful cleansing bandage in his supply. She'd laughed at the strength, then gasped at the sting, but he was satisfied that the wound was clean. He'd followed the directions on the little healing spell included in the bandage. The spell demanded the most minimal of Flair, the easiest of the small Healing Words. Her foot should be fine by the morning.

  He'd also used a little of his accumulating Flair to show her how to mend the tears in her clothes, though the cloth looked melded together rather than seamlessly woven.

  A small surge of power, a few Words of a welding spell—he didn't know a weaving spell—and it was done. He liked teaching her. She was an eager but focused student. He thought that time they'd spent together would definitely qualify as the "quality personal contact" written of in D'Rose's book. He was doing better at this courtship business.

  Her fine, shoulder-length chestnut hair tumbled about the pallet, some wisping over her pale complexion. White and soft and delicate, everything opposite him.

  She'd revealed some of herself earlier. Too bad it was something that caused tension to wind tight inside him. She liked having a large Family around her, a Family he could never offer her. Even were his vision true, there would only be six of them at Family rituals, a child to stand at each direction, himself and Danith by the altar as embodiments of the Lord and the Lady.

  His mouth set.

  Then there was all that female talk about preferring the outdo
ors for ceremonies instead of something like the HouseHeart or the GreatCircle Temple. That gave him a few uneasy moments, too. As his HeartMate, a HeartMate with powerful Flair, she would be expected, even ordered to attend and participate in the FirstFamilies Rituals that shaped the world. It was written in the laws of Celta.

  He examined her narrowly. He would be able to get around the issue of celebrating outdoors, somehow. He didn't know how. He couldn't conceive of how. He sighed. He was afraid that this issue would have to be addressed by consulting others, again. Costly, again. Time consuming and not guaranteed to work, again.

  Then he cheered, he'd conquer that matter after she had accepted his new HeartGift and they were HeartBound. That would make everything simpler.

  She snuffled and sank deeper into the warm, green moss.

  "Danith?" he asked softly.

  Her eyelids opened slightly, the glinting color made more green and less brown by the permamoss bed.

  She was soft, and generous, and on the border of sleep. He could tell her something of his wishes, his desires, maybe a fault or two. This could strengthen the chains he was slowly forging between them. And if his goals clashed with hers, she would be too drowsy to object. She would just listen and the knowledge would sink into her thoughts, and her dreams.

  He slid onto the pallet next to her. The summer night was warm enough to sleep well without covers. And should it cool too much, he would keep her warm.

  T'Ash reached out to touch her hair, and as he saw his own hand hover near her head, another memory flashed to his mind. Of his father, gently soothing his mother with strokes down her head and her long, midnight hair. For a moment his throat closed; the image was too strong and sweet for him to handle without shattering in grief at all the past times lost.

  "Danith, dear one." He pushed her hair back. Her ear looked pink and slightly pointed.

  Her eyelids lifted slowly, as if bearing a great weight.

  "I am T'Ash," he said, having trouble with words, as usual, fumbling in following his strategy. Why was the execution never as smooth as the plan?

  She smiled.

  "I am the last of my line."

  Her lips lost their curve, she put a hand on his chest, over his heart. Progress.

  "I have… My fondest dream"—he winced at the sissy words, but they were ones he recalled that she had used—"is to continue my line."

  "You will," she breathed, her eyes closing again.

  "I want a Family."

  "Family is very important." These words were even softer than before, slurred.

  He lowered his voice to match hers. "I want a wife, a HeartMate. To love me. To live with me. To be the mother of my children. To make my Residence a home."

  "Umm-hmm." It was more like a sigh.

  "To follow old traditions and found new."

  "Umm."

  "I want you," he said, putting all the yearning he felt into his tone. She didn't answer and he could only hope she heard him.

  He watched her breathing, and with every movement of her luscious breasts he felt desire build and his loins tighten. He hadn't been able to admit one further fault, to be even a little vulnerable.

  He dared not overwhelm her with his passion or his dark spirit. But his control with her was always questionable, and tonight it could so easily slip his grasp.

  He knew now he could not introduce one more disturbing element into her life at this time, one more new concept. Let her ponder being a HeartMate without pressure from him.

  He didn't want it that way, hated the idea. He wanted to claim her and bond with her and make her forever his own. But if he did that, if he overwhelmed her and took her choice away, despite that they were HeartMates, he would lay the foundations of ruin in their marriage. He could not grab. He would have to coax.

  He brooded. He had never had to coax or lure anyone before, and it made him seethe with frustration. He was used to grabbing and explaining later. Grabbing would not work with Danith. He'd be left with only her haunting ripe-apple scent.

  Lord and Lady but he ached for her. And his body, primed for days, was less painful than his heart.

  The cat door scraped open and shut. Zanth entered.

  Chapter Eleven

  « ^ »

  "Shhh!" T'Ash hissed as Zanth paused by the cat-door of the gardenshed.

  Zanth burped loudly. Many slow, fat skirrls.

  "Haven't you had enough to eat, today?"

  Zanth walked over to the permamoss pallet, deliberately clicking his claws noisily on the stone floor. Snack. Missed many meals today. Went some Passage with you. Did much magic. Deserve skirrls. He yawned, then his pink tongue came out and swiped at his mouth.

  "How are the fires?"

  Firemages control. Burn some deserted buildings in Downwind. He sniffed. One of My favorite holes.

  "Too bad."

  Zanth jumped up to a bench where an old pillow, retrieved from T'Ash's cache, sat. He trod around on it, kneading it until it took his scent. He smiled, a sickeningly sweet smile, as sweet as a cat-smile got.

  Life is good.

  Danith awoke groggily, but her eyes widened at the view of water droplets catching the morning sunlight as they trickled down a muscular back.

  Lord and Lady, what had she done! Then she forced herself to calm. She'd been good. She winced. She'd reverted to the earliest childhood concept, "good." Be "good" for your father when he gets home, her mother would say. Be "good" and follow the rules, Maiden Brigit at the orphanage would admonish. And she always had been. Good.

  But as she caught a glimpse of T'Ash's hard profile, she knew it was no time to think of being "bad." Too dangerous. Too damn dangerous. She couldn't afford the further complications in her life.

  She scrambled to her feet.

  He turned.

  She'd hoped he'd smile at her, but he didn't. His gaze was as intense as ever, as challenging, as passionate. She didn't dare drop her glance to below his waist. He efficiently dried himself with a ragged towel.

  "How's your foot?"

  She glanced down at the bandage that swaddled her foot, then sat and peeled it off. She rotated her ankle, arched her foot, wiggled her toes.

  "Great!" Her smile died at his smoldering expression. "I'm ready to go home." She walked to the window and looked outside. "A bright and beautiful Discovery Day. A good omen."

  "Happy Discovery Day."

  "And to you." She gazed at the green verdancy of the Blackthorn estate, noted the mixture of Celtan trees and Earth trees and hybrids. Danith lifted her gaze to the sky and rubbed her arms up and down. "Imagine leaving your home planet because you were persecuted for Flair." She shivered. "All those long generations on the starships, being bom and living and dying on the way to a new home. Or being locked in a timesuspension cube, flying to a new planet and a new future for your people and the culture you wanted to establish." The sun, Bel, was a small blue-white speck radiant in the deep blue sky. Danith shook her head. "Such courage and hope."

  T'Ash crossed to stand next to her. She could feel his breath disturb her hair. "You have courage and Flair. But do you have hope of a beautiful new future?"

  Danith tensed.

  Before she could reply, he asked, "I gave you a bracelet with a charm of the ship, Lugh's Spear?"

  Though she was gland he turned the subject, she bit her lip, trying to remember it amongst all the other jewelry he'd gifted her with. When she did, her heart softened. "Yes, it is very beautiful. You made the tiny spaceship?"

  "My design, sculpted, then cast in silver."

  "Yes. Thank you."

  He watched her with wary hope in his eyes. "You didn't return it again?"

  She cleared her throat, considered telling him of the antique jewelry chest Holm Holly had provided, and decided against it. "No."

  He smiled. "It is not too much as a Discovery Day gift."

  Perhaps not for the nobility, but it would have set Claif back a pretty penny, too much for a holiday token.

&
nbsp; Danith smiled brightly and opened the door. "You look ready to go, too. Where is Zanth?"

  He grinned and Danith's heart flip-flopped.

  "Zanth has a standing breakfast appointment with my chef."

  Danith frowned. "It's Discovery Day. You make your chef work on Discovery Day?"

  T'Ash blinked. "No. I have no live-in help; most of my Residence is cared for by permanent spells. My chef comes in on weekdays. For a moment I forgot it was Discovery Day. I wonder if Zanth remembered that the chef is gone."

  "So your chef is Zanth's first station in his daily food round?"

  "Yes. The cat must have a food round. He's familiar with more GreatHouse Families than I." He tossed the towel aside and held out his hand. "My strength and Flair are much restored. I can 'port us home."

  She looked at him in silence. Why could she never ignore that strong hand held out to her? She bit her lip again and took the few steps to place her hand in his.

  "My house," she said firmly, thinking it would be safer.

  "Front or back?"

  "Back."

  "All right. I'll visualize it and 'port us there. Try not to think of it yourself. We don't want contradictory images."

  "Fine."

  His brow furrowed.

  His power built.

  A flash of colors.

  They arrived. She stumbled headlong.

  With a smooth, effortless tug he steadied her.

  Her mind stopped spinning. She blinked in the morning sunlight.

  "Hello, Danith," Claif said.

  He lounged on one of the cafe chairs, studying Zanth, who sat near the food bowl on the stoop. Zanth watched him back.

  Claif raised his eyes and smiled. His cheerful, guileless smile that always made her heart warm to him.

  T'Ash pulled her behind his back, his grip changing to her wrist.

  "Let me go!" she cried.

  "You have an intruder," T'Ash said emotionlessly.

  "It's Claif." She struggled to get free, but T'Ash wasn't letting go. With a frustrated noise she stepped to one side to see.

  Claif rose slowly to his feet.

  "Who?" asked T'Ash.