Heart Duel

by Robin D. Owens

  Tinne’s expression eased, and his mouth curved slightly. It was a wonder to them both that they hadn’t killed each other on the trail back to Druida.

  “Thank you.” Tinne shut the door.

  Holm gave his face one last scrub, then noticed the ink stains painting his hands. He decided to leave them, signs of good work, and better than blood.

  “Mirror,” he called. When the construct hung in front of him, he scanned his face. No ink. A small shadow showed on his throat. He opened his collar wide to study it. The lovebite Bélla had first put on him was fading. He would have to make sure she marked him as her own again. Soon.

  A few minutes later Holm stopped with his hand on the door-knob of the Green Room. T’Holly Residence hadn’t been redecorated in generations, but unlike all of the other public rooms, the Green Room reflected a woman’s touch. His Mamá had spent many septhours here, and since her absence, the Family tended to congregate there.

  The room had been built inside the main courtyard of T’Holly Residence, again as a boon to a Holly bride, so it had windows on three sides. The strips of solid walls were tinted with subtle shades of green ranging from the palest sea foam to the darkest forest, and many-paned windows let in dappled light.

  The room would forever echo of his Mamá.

  He opened the door. In the sunny room Tinne stood tall and pale, with his arm around Genista Furze. An uneasy tingle shot up Holm’s spine.

  Tab and Eryngi lounged in chairs with a game of holostrat hanging between them. Holm could tell by the gleam in Tab’s half-lidded eyes and the tapping of Eryngi’s foot that both were primed for revelations.

  T’Holly stood, his back against the light of the window behind him, straight and as stern as an Earth patriarch.

  “Father, I want to introduce you to my wife, Genista Holly,” Tinne said.

  Eighteen

  Holm gasped like he’d taken a gut blow. Buzzing filled his ears. Tinne had done this for him, of course. His brother had figured out that Holm wouldn’t be bringing an acceptable bride to T’Holly Residence soon, and Tinne had acted instead.

  But Tinne had a HeartMate, he knew it from his last two Passages. The idea repeated in Holm’s mind. Had Tinne decided loving a HeartMate wasn’t worth the pain? Holm dismissed that. Tinne would never be so cowardly as to reject the best of life’s pleasure to avoid pain. Holm’s smile quirked. He should have realize that when he’d been fretting. He finally noticed the silence and that his father hadn’t moved.

  “I know Genista, of course.” T’Holly’s voice was rusty. His eyes burned as if drawn from despair to face something distasteful.

  Holm repressed a wince. Everyone in noble society knew Genista, and her reputation. At least T’Holly, being a HeartMate, would never have slept with her. Holm reminded himself that it had been years since their brief affair.

  “Then you will welcome her into the Family,” Tinne said.

  Holm admired his guts, even as he felt his own twist into knots. Tinne had done this for him!

  Genista smiled and tossed long golden hair that fell to her curvaceous hips. Holm was relieved that her sensuality left him unmoved, and that he couldn’t remember any details of their fling. Tall and well-endowed, with lovely eyes and lithe grace, she looked good next to Tinne. Perhaps he hadn’t made a mistake.

  Holm had to move. He had to say something. All he could do was think Tinne had sacrificed himself.

  Tab came to his feet and crossed to Tinne and Genista. Tab lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “Welcome you are to the Holly Family,” he said.

  Eryngi bolted from the room.

  “Thank you, GreatSir Holly,” Genista said, cheeks flushing.

  Holm set his feet in motion. The smile he tried came easily. He shouldered his G’Uncle Tab aside, took her fingers, and brushed them with his lips. “Welcome, sister.”

  She smiled and fluttered her lashes.

  “I think—” started T’Holly in repressed tones that Holm knew preceded a scathing indictment.

  “—that I should lead this lovely lady to your suite, eh, Tinne?” Tab ended. “She can look at your rooms, and her suite. There’s a-plenty of redecoratin’ she’ll need to be doin’.” He placed Genista’s hand on his arm with deferential care, then heaved a great sigh. “What a charmin’ addition to the Family, ’tis almost enough to make me move back ta the Residence.” As he led Genista to the door, he swept the rest of them with glances. Holm got a stare of admonition, Tinne one of encouragement, and T’Holly of warning.

  Tab continued to compliment Genista as he escorted her from the room and let the door whisper close behind them.

  “What have you done!” growled T’Holly. “That creature . . .”

  “Don’t call her that,” Holm said. “She is your son’s wife, to be respected.”

  T’Holly snorted and thundered at Tinne. “Your brother, my Heir, has a HeartMate he’ll be wedding. He’ll fulfill his duties as HollyHeir. This rash act was unnecessary!”

  Tinne flinched, but didn’t give way. “I’m married and will start a Family at once. That’s a fact.” His gaze slid to Holm.

  Holm made sure he stood shoulder to shoulder with his brother. “She’s Genista Holly now, for the rest of her life.”

  T’Holly opened and closed his mouth. Then stared at Tinne. “You have a HeartMate. Why would you wed Genista?”

  “We all have HeartMates,” Tinne said. “Do you really want to talk of HeartMates, now?”

  It reminded them all of their anguish.

  “And you might consider the ramifications of alliance with T’Furze,” Tinne said.

  T’Holly said, “Furze has been trying to get rid of his youngest girl for years.”

  “Father,” Holm said. “That is unworthy of you.”

  Tinne spoke. “She has the glamor. She gathers luck and good fortune to her.”

  “She gathers men to her,” T’Holly said.

  “The Furzes are known for their fertility,” Holm pointed out. “They’re the only FirstFamily that usually has three children or more. They’re abundant and rich. Richer than we.”

  “Greater Flair runs in our Family,” T’Holly muttered. “They aren’t known for wedding HeartMates.”

  “HeartMates can rip you apart,” Tinne said with fervor. They all flinched at the resonance of that truth. T’Holly’s HeartMate was dying, Holm’s HeartMate was presently beyond his reach. What had happened with Tinne?

  Only their breathing made sound for a moment.

  As if regaining some sensitivity, T’Holly said, “Forgive my words about your wife.” He bowed his head to Tinne. “Genista Furze isn’t a woman I had in mind for either of my sons.”

  “She is my choice,” Tinne said stiffly.

  Holm noted his brother’s phrasing. Holm wanted to question Tinne, but wouldn’t in T’Holly’s presence. Holm itched with curiosity, and guilt felt like a thorn in his side.

  T’Holly’s eyes darkened, his shoulders slumped, he waved a hand. “It is your decision and your life. You will live it as you please, and well, I hope.”

  Holm and Tinne shared a glance. Holm clapped Tinne on the shoulder, jolting both his brother and father. “Tell us of the marriage settlements.”

  “T’Reed is the financial genius of the FirstFamilies, but the Furzes . . .”

  “No one can match the Furzes’ fortune,” Holm agreed, making sure his father would accept the marriage. “At least that’s what I’ve always heard.” He angled his head to T’Holly.

  “How much did we get?” asked T’Holly.

  “Enough, but the gilt isn’t important here,” Tinne said.

  “No?” T’Holly asked.

  “ResidenceLibrary, present globe, magnifying the area around Triskel Pass,” Tinne ordered.

  “Look. The pass is ours, the western side and middle of the valley south is Hawthorn’s, but next to him on the east, all the way back to the other range of mountains is . . .”

  “Furze land!” T’Holly
exclaimed.

  “Not anymore,” Tinne said.

  “We got gilt and the land?” Holm asked.

  “Yes,” Tinne said.

  “In exchange for?” T’Holly proceeded.

  Tinne’s face tightened. “That was her dowry. As evidence of my good faith to be a responsible husband, I deeded to T’Furze a small portion of my own property, and stipulated a large monthly stipend from the Hollys for Genista.”

  “What portion of your property?” asked T’Holly.

  “The warehouses on the dock.”

  “They’re a bit far from the main harbor, very old but in good repair.” T’Holly nodded. “Well done.”

  Tinne let out a breath. “I thought so. Yarrow came, too.”

  Holm thought of the bill he’d get from the lawyer. He shrugged. It didn’t matter. Tinne did very well.

  “And,” Tinne continued, “my oath that the Hollys will consider Genista a Holly, will support her the rest of her life, will give her a household of her own upon my death, and find her another husband, if she wishes.”

  T’Holly’s eyebrows raised. “Not very different from the standard arrangement.”

  “You’ll accept her, then.” Tension laced Tinne’s voice.

  His father patted him on the shoulder, T’Holly’s gaze fixed on the holo map. “She is my daughter.”

  Tinne’s lips smiled, but his eyes were haunted. “Yes.”

  The golden oak door opened, and Tab rolled into the room with a seagoer’s gait. “I’ve ordered champagne for two sent to your suite, young Tinne.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Brother, I’d like to talk to you,” Holm said.

  Hands in his pockets, Tab came to stand and look at the globe. “Your time at Healing Hall’s a-comin’ up, Holm.”

  Holm’s stomach lurched. He hadn’t forgotten his Mamá, but Tinne’s marriage had stirred Holm’s emotions into a mess.

  “You didn’t invite us to the wedding,” Holm said through stiff lips.

  Tinne glanced at him impassively, shrugged, put his hands in his trous pockets. “We wanted it done quickly and quietly. Gen didn’t want a big fuss like her two older sisters. Priestess D’Peony and Priest T’Scullcap took care of the formalities at Courtyard Grove behind GreatCircle Temple. I promised Gen a big reception . . . later.”

  With a trembling hand, T’Holly dismissed the globe. “Yes. A big party. Later. She is a lovely girl to look at,” he murmured. “It’s always good to have a pretty woman around.”

  Holm’s jaw clenched. Tinne had married for the Family, not for himself. What of Tinne’s HeartMate?

  Holm would woo and HeartBond wed his true mate. Tinne would not. Tinne was tied for life to a woman who would never fulfill him like a true HeartMate.

  Tinne met Holm’s eyes. “We’ll talk when you get back from HealingHall.”

  Tinne had sacrificed for Holm. The second time the younger brother had proved to be stronger than the elder. What could Holm do to ever repay that?

  Holm bathed and changed before taking the glider to Primary HealingHall and his declining Mamá.

  Emotions racked him: desperation, guilt, fear. He had to see Bélla again. He could not survive the day or the coming night without her.

  After spending time with his Mamá, Holm ghosted through the HealingHall, using senses honed by fighting to elude others. He’d discovered that Bélla’s schedule would bring her to the HealingHall no more than two septhours after he usually left—and being conscientious, she’d show up early—he sent his glider away and walked as cat-footed as Meserv to her den.

  Seeing her things, breathing in the fragrance of her, absorbing the lingering atmosphere of her through his cells didn’t calm him as he thought it might. His edginess increased each moment the den was empty of her. Seconds ticked away in heightened anticipation.

  He crossed to the window, hoping the sight of the lush Healing Grove, ancient and awesome with spells, would settle his pounding heart. To no avail. The glade and towering trees just reminded him of his nearly nightly ’porting. Holm grimaced. Since his Mamá’s injury, he’d been sleeping with a DepressFlair bracelet that kept him from nightporting though it disturbed his sleep on a different level. He hated the armlet.

  He still hadn’t been able to find his true center and calm his mind. In his sessions with the HouseHeart, it almost sounded amazed that he could fight so well without such depth of inner balance. The HouseHeart had gone so far as to test his reflexes and skills and pronounced him the best fighter the Family had ever had. Holm shook his head. Just what he needed to be while wooing a Healer.

  He calmed his blood, clenched his shaky hands until he knew when he opened his fingers they’d be steady. He could not leap on her and take her away. All his impulses warred with his brain. From the moment he’d recognized his HeartMate as Mayblossom Lark Collinson T’Hawthorn, he’d had to strap down his reckless nature and use his head. He didn’t like it. He much preferred leading with his heart. Or even with a more unruly part of his body situated lower. He’d always lived up to the expectations of a HollyHeir. He’d always mastered whatever consequences had befallen him—except for that one little time when he’d nearly killed himself trying to save Tinne from the Great Washington Boghole and Tinne had rescued them both.

  But he needed to see Lark, and he must be calm about it. He’d lure her, tempt her, ensure she renewed her mark on him. He could live without her minute by minute if he felt the bruise on his throat, saw it in the mirror, had others tease him about it.

  He wanted to grab her and run to T’Holly Residence, throw her on the bed, and forget about everything but loving her for months. All his muscles tensed at the images that flowed into his brain and set his blood to sizzling. That’s what he wanted. But a HollyHeir couldn’t do such rash things that would endanger the House.

  His skin felt tight, his sinews hummed with a fine tension.

  The door opened behind him, and her essence wafted in to envelop him. The tie between them looped around his heart, encasing it, wholly hers.

  When he saw her, the hit he took dazed him. How could he have thought he could forsake her? He sank into his physically balanced stance. “Come to me.”

  Her eyes were huge and wide, with shadows under them. He held out a hand. “Come to me.” None of the facile, pretty phrases he’d used with other women came to mind, ready to fall honey sweet from his lips. He tried. “You are so beautiful. Inside and out.” He wanted to tell her what she meant to him, but he could only say with a dry mouth, “Come to me.”

  She hadn’t moved a step, let alone within reach of his fingers. The gap between them seemed infinite. He couldn’t move. Something in her eyes—weariness, unhappiness—kept him frozen. No smooth moves or charming words with this woman. “I need you,” he croaked.

  Lark stared at Holm. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t understood she’d been starved for the sight of him. Passion bloomed in her core, loosening the muscles in her body. She noted distantly that her breathing had quickened and her pulse throbbed in her temple.

  A fierce aura surrounded him. When a patient felt intensely, she could see their aura. She blinked. He did need her. She sensed his hunger, mental and emotional as well as physical. He’d always radiated strength and vitality. Now she observed desperation and despair.

  Her body reacted to his. Her nostrils widened to breathe in his scent, her skin tingled as she recalled the skim of his hands down her. Insidious desire diffused into her bloodstream, causing a liquid heat within her.

  She looked at his hand, and it trembled.

  “This is madness,” she said.

  That broke the spell between them. He strode to her and swept her into his embrace, enveloping her with strong arms, pressing her close to his hard body, dropping butterfly kisses on her face. He lifted her until their mouths were even. As she gasped, his tongue surged into her mouth. The bond sprang between them. His desire enfolded her, transferred from his body and his emotions through their bon
d, demanding she reject thought and only feel.

  With one last effort, she pulled her lips from the pressure of his. “I can’t.”

  She tipped back her head and his dark gray eyes, flecked with silver, captured her.

  Need. It pulsed from him to her, a craving so deep and powerful she couldn’t deny it. She brought her legs around his waist and settled the aching place between her thighs against his rigid sex. She couldn’t tell who moaned. She didn’t know who whispered the Word that removed their clothes. Only the fact that they were tangled on the twoseat, his hands on her breasts, sending licks of hot sensation to her core mattered. Only the feel of pliant skin over tough muscle under her fingers mattered. Only the starkness of his handsome face, the craving in his eyes, the slickness of body against body, mattered.

  Surging emotions—passion, need, pleasure bordering on pain—broke over her like a wave, and she was lost in a maelstrom of sensuality. His fingers speared through her hair, and he pressed her face to his throat. She tasted him and went mad. The salty, primal essence of him was something she needed more than anything else in her life. She bit him.

  He lifted her hips, drove inside her, and the link of body and mind was so close and so right she surrendered utterly. He felt wonderful inside her, stroking her until they raced to reach ecstasy. The rhythm between them matched. Their heartbeats, their breathing, their spiral to the ultimate peak. His energy and intensity burned her, setting her nerves afire with lust and life. His thrusts increased until she thought she’d die from the ferocity, yet she matched him, held him, and with a cry, reached rapture with him.

  He arched against her and emptied into her, and she felt the flood of not only his seed, but all his emotions into her in a great tsunami.

  And when her wits returned, she shriveled. What had she done? She had acted from impulse, from emotion, from pure physical lust. She could not believe it of herself. “Madness,” she whispered, disappointed and disgusted with herself.

  She’d just renewed a bond she’d vowed to let wither and die, just made matters worse for them both at this awful time. She sensed the determination in him to claim her and keep her. A determination that matched her stubborn logic to stay apart.