Heart Dance

by Robin D. Owens

  His shirt hung open, and she ran her hands up and down his lightly haired chest, feeling the flex and play of his muscles undersmooth skin, the breadth of his shoulders, how his torso narrowedto his waist.

  With every touch of him, she aroused herself. She aroused them both.

  He caught her hands in his and kissed her fingers, a gesture he hadn’t done for five days, something she’d missed. But his mind and body was focused on her. He led her to an area of thick, soft moss, pulled her into his arms, then down. She had a brief worry about her gown, and then it was gone, and his hands covered her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples.

  “Saille.” She could barely breathe it, moved to touch his lips with hers, seduce him into opening his mouth, probing with her tongue, sucking on it, receiving the pleasurable jolt of the taste of him that she seemed addicted to and needed every night.

  The air around them was heavy and scented with growing plants and flowers. Sleet snow spit against the windows. The contrast was wonderful, as wonderful as his murmurs of soft loving words and the power of his body, his strong, hard erection.

  She curled her fingers around him, and he shuddered, moaned. With a little push, she had him on his back, slithered over him, let his arousal prod at the needy entrance to her body.

  Wait, she said. Savor. Us together. And he quivered under her, his hands went to her bottom.

  She’d never had a lover like him, ready to explore with her, to please her as much as she needed to please him. Yearned to come together mind and body and soul.

  All her barriers against him, all her self-doubt, were slowly eroding.

  When she couldn’t take the anticipation any longer, she raised herself and slid down on him and whimpered in pleasure at the feel of him filling her. Slowly she moved upon him, over him, enjoying the thrust of his hips upward, his fingers rolling her nipples, tugging gently with their movement together.

  Then the blindness of ecstasy hit her, and he groaned, and they merged together.

  When her mind cleared, she was held close, and her body was sated, but her heart ached. Neither of them had offered the HeartBond to the other. Perhaps they’d been caught up in the physical moment.

  Perhaps.

  She thrashed out of the nightmare to find Saille’s arms around her, soothing coming from his bond, holding her close and warm, lovingly. Yet alarm remained, tweaking every nerve. Finally her brain cleared enough for her to understand. She pulled away from Saille, jumped to her feet, gathered her clothes, and dressed quickly, using Flair shortcuts. “Something’s wrong. I feel the breaching of a spellshield.” Not the old T’Thyme Residence tonight. The new laboratory. Agave.

  Saille was with her, dressed, too. “Agave.”

  “Yes. I’ve been working on something—”

  “Not now.” Saille’s warm hand closed over hers. “We ’port on three. One. Two. Three.”

  They were there, in the lab. Agave whirled, his shadow large and hulking in the flickering travel light that was clipped to his body. “Not again,” he growled.

  And finally realization burst upon her. She froze. “You. You were in my father’s lab that night. Searching for his notes.”

  “Taking his notes. He discovered me. We fought. Lately I knew you’d found something.” Agave’s sneer changed to a snarl as Saille’s body hit him, and they fell.

  “To me!” Spreading her fingers, Dufleur called her bespelled memoryspheres. They flew to her, and she managed to catch one, then another and another without harming them. She sent them to Winterberry Residence.

  The men were rolling on the ground, and she scolded herself for thinking of her work first. She ran toward them, saw Agave fling Saille off him.

  “He who rules time, rules all,” Agave said.

  Dufleur stared at him, realizing he was just beginning to move through time.

  Agave reached for a silver box. A bomb.

  No! she shrieked. Saille, link with me.

  Always linked with you.

  ’Port him to his lab. Frantically, she shoved the image into his mind. They grabbed a struggling, writhing, mad Agave and flung him away. His thumb pressed.

  They still “heard” the concussion of the explosion.

  Dufleur flung herself into Saille’s arms. “You’re all right? He didn’t hurt you?”

  Saille held her close, wiped away blood from his cheek with his shoulder, replied in panting breaths. “Not much, though he had a madman’s strength.”

  “Yes, a madman. Well, my notes are safe.”

  “And so are you, which is more important.” Saille kissed her hard.

  “We must go to his lab.”

  “I suppose so.”

  She stepped back, and Saille’s arms dropped. “The first thing everyone will say is that he was experimenting with time and blew up his lab,” she said bitterly. “And it was him all along. At my father’s lab and here—” she waved to another explosivedevice, a small silver box, unarmed. “And at his house.” Walking toward a corner, she took the image sphere that had recorded everything from the wall.

  “You anticipated this?” Saille’s voice was hard. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “I knew he was trying to break in and that he might succeed. You’ve been keeping your own secrets, Saille.”

  And the small distance between them widened.

  He ran fingers through his hair. “We have to tell the FirstFamilies.”

  Of course he’d think of them first. “Yes, and the guards. My cuz the guardsman, Ilex Winterberry, is still assigned to the FirstFamilies. To you,” she said with a brittle smile.

  Saille summoned his heavy winter coat from his home. “Tell him we’ll meet him at Agave’s.”

  The rest of the night was long. Dufleur had to explain again and again—to Ilex and his superior, Chief Sawyr. To GreatLord T’Hawthorn and T’Holly as representatives of the FirstFamilies.How she’d later recalled seeing odd shadows in her father’s lab the night of his death. How Agave had smeared her father’s reputation, kept the gossip alive.

  She brought her mother’s old friend into the story, and D’Birch. Probably lose the commission after that. Too bad.

  How Agave had watched her, tried to intimidate her. She handed over the image sphere, let them see for themselves the fight in her lab.

  Finally, even SupremeJudge Ailim Elder was called, and to Dufleur’s surprise, stated Dufleur should be dismissed. So she was sent to Winterberry Residence in a guard glider.

  She stood in the waterfall a long time, washing off the events of the night, the feeling of violation by Agave, which only triggeredthe memories of the horrible time with the dark cult. She stayed in there until Fairyfoot’s demanding mews drew her forth, and she had to tell the story once again to her Fam. Fairyfoot,at least, was firmly on her side.

  Then she dried herself with the last of her Flair and crawled into bed, once again trying not to see Saille’s face as he accused her of keeping secrets and she’d flung the same back at him.

  Trying not to notice that their link seethed with irritation and anger on both sides, and had narrowed to a thread.

  Wailing woke Dufleur the next morning. She blinked blurry eyes to see Fairyfoot yawning in her face. “Urgh.”

  Your mother unhappy, Fairyfoot grumbled, planting her front paws on the bed and stretching luxuriously. Dance and hunt with fox all night and help you after Agave, and D’Thyme wakes Me with crying.

  “We didn’t tell her of Agave,” and she wouldn’t care, much, since even the truth of his part in Dufleur’s father’s death wouldn’t stop the deeply held beliefs that T’Thyme blew himselfup.

  Dufleur glanced at the windows. They let in bright sunlight, beyond she sensed a clear, cold day. It was late morning.

  Sobbing filtered to her mind. The wailing wasn’t physical, but mental. Her mother. Shock and fear. Suddenly she remembered,the Examiner’s decision must have been delivered.

  She grabbed a looserobe, dragged it on over her nightshirt, and hur
ried up two flights of stairs to the MistrysSuite. Not bothering to knock, Dufleur flung open the door.

  D’Winterberry sat as usual in her chair. She didn’t move, and Dufleur couldn’t tell whether the woman was awake or not. She appeared mummified.

  Dringal had collapsed into a chair, hands over her face. At her feet were several papyrus, one with an official-looking seal. Dufleur cleared her throat of morning stickiness and said as gently as she could, “Is that the Examiner’s report about Meyar’s suit?”

  “That good-for-nothing man. Abandons his mother years ago, and what does he get for it, the whole estate.”

  Since she didn’t think her mother wanted any physical comfort—they’d never been a demonstrative family—Dufleur picked up the papers and scanned them. “Meyar has a trial periodof six months to prove he will be a better head of household.” She swallowed. “Ilex is named as WinterberryHeir. D’Winterberry receives the title of Ex-D’Winterberry and must be cared for by the Family.”

  Lifting a blotched face, Dringal pounded a fist over her heart and said, “They gave nothing to me. Nothing.”

  Dufleur licked her lips. “That’s not quite true. One of the measurements of how Meyar will be judged is his treatment of you—a home and a stipend.”

  Dringal threw up her hands. “That could mean anything! He could put me in those little rooms of yours.”

  “I don’t plan on moving out soon.” The very idea gave her jitters. Where would she go?

  She thrust the thought of the Willow Residence from her mind.

  It had been tough, learning to live here, when she’d spent her whole life in Thyme Residence. She’d always thought she’d live there forever. Then they’d been accepted here.

  Two months ago she had been saving to move out and rent rooms, then the kidnapping and attempted murders had happened,and she just hadn’t had enough courage to go live in anotherunfamiliar place with strangers. Now there was Saille. He loved his Family. He was a FirstFamilies GreatLord.

  If they ended up together, he’d expect her to live with his Family on T’Willow estate in Noble Country. Many more new strangers to cater to, please, judge her.

  Dringal said, “This is all your father’s fault.”

  “Maybe so, but assigning blame doesn’t help. And have you seen the newssheets this morning?” Surely they would contain information of the night’s events.

  Staring at her, Dringal said, “What?”

  Dufleur knelt by her chair, took her mother’s hands. “Agave died last night.”

  Her mother stiffened. “Blew himself up like your father, did he?”

  Even her mother doubted. “No. In fact, it was he who killed Father, bombed his lab. For father’s notes.”

  “What? What? What?”

  Dufleur told her.

  Halfway through the recounting, Dringal wrapped her arms around herself and rocked, tears running fast down her cheeks. “He didn’t do it. My Vulg wasn’t so careless as to kill us.”

  “No.” Dufleur was shaken by her mother’s emotions. She must have loved her father a little, at least. Thank the Lady and Lord.

  Dringal fumbled for a softleaf, and Dufleur handed her some. Her mother blew her nose.

  “I think I’d like to lie down for a while.”

  “Yes.” Dufleur helped her to her rooms.

  Sniffing, Dringal said, “They probably won’t put us out today.”

  “I’m sure not.”

  “You’re certain about this Agave situation?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a moment’s silence. “Vulg has been vindicated in his time experiments, which is what you wanted.” Dringal was back to her bitter self. “That doesn’t alter the fact that Vulg put all our gilt into his work. We can’t purchase a house of our own. He’d have protected himself and his laboratory. But he impoverishedus.”

  “Mother, I promise you that I will always take care of you, that you will live in as much luxury as I can provide. But I’m weary of hearing you harp on my father and his faults. I loved him. I don’t want to hear you talk about him so.”

  “Conditions to your love, Dufleur?” Dringal said, looking at her from a stack of pillows, mouth turned down. But Dringal had always been the one who’d put conditions on love.

  “No, Mother, but conditions for my company.” Dufleur inhaleda breath she thought she could feel fill her to her toes. This event had been a long time coming, but finally the right moment was here. “I’ll make sure that you are well cared for, but I won’t live with you anymore.”

  “You’re as dry as that damned Examiner’s Decision.” Dringalgestured to the papyrus Dufleur had nearly forgotten she held.

  “I’m sor—” Dufleur halted. She wasn’t going to apologize to her mother anymore for her words or actions or feelings, either.Now and then something might habitually slip out of her mouth, but she was tired of her mother putting her in the wrong, too. “Do you want to hire an advocate to appeal this decision?”

  Dringal shrugged, said petulantly, “That wouldn’t do any good.”

  Undoubtedly true.

  “Then we must abide by it,” Dufleur said. “Do you want to remain here?”

  “In a Residence that welcomes my enemies? That will never be mine?” Dringal snorted. “No.”

  “Then wash your face and bundle up into some warm outer gear. We can visit the house on the estate that I accepted as retribution.It’s three stories.” Tall and narrow. “And it sits on its own on a good piece of land.”

  “What of that laboratory of yours?”

  “It was a workshop and is on a corner of the estate. Not close to the house. Meyar is supposed to see to your abode. I have an idea to make him pay.” That phrasing would please her mother.

  Sniffing, Dringal said, “Very well.” Then she threw a wary glance at the windows of her room. The heavy drapes were only open enough to gauge the weather and let in a little light. With a small shock, Dufleur realized she didn’t know when her mother had last left the house. Surely it couldn’t have been Yule, could it have? Dringal’d never liked the cold. Dufleur said lightly, “It’s a beautiful, clear day outside.”

  “But cold.”

  “Yes, but it’s a blue and blue day.” The sun burned like a blue star in a deep blue sky. “Meyar and Ilex can meet us at the house and go through it with us. I haven’t toured it. At our convenience.Now. If the house Flair and spells are low, they can power them.”

  A gleam came to her mother’s eyes. “It’s nearly MiddayBell. Ilex will probably be working at the guardhouse, Meyar struttingaround preparing to move in here. Yes. They can meet us at our new house.”

  The snow around the house was drifted deep, but showed new tracks of fox and cat—Ilex’s Fam and Fairyfoot playing. Dufleur anticipated complaints about cold paws and snowy ice between her pads when they returned to D’Winterberry—no T’Winterberry Residence. The little loneliness at the lack of a home expanded. She didn’t know how she was going to take care of herself, of her mother, reestablish D’Thyme Residence, and have enough gilt to experiment. And she’d better make embroideryand her commissions a priority. Soon.

  Dringal and Dufleur stood on the wide, covered wooden porch of the veranda. Dufleur had spent some of her nervous energy on Flair to sweep away the snow and provide a small weathershield.

  Meyar and Ilex teleported to just below the front steps. Ilex waved, but their voices were muffled because of the shield. Both stood, hands on hips, and surveyed the outside of the house. It was more charming than Dufleur had recalled from the holosphere, of mellow redbrick, with sharply angled porch roof and roof of a pale green—Winterberry colors, which her mother preferred.

  But Dufleur dreaded going inside. She’d used the outbuildingas a lab, but she hadn’t come to the house. The previous owner had been a single man, the last of his line, as occurred on Celta far too often. He’d tried to murder her. Surely the blackness of his spirit would still be a smudge in the atmosphere,no matter how many ritual cleansings
had been done.

  The men tramped around the place, making a nice, well-defined path from the stairs along the front walk to the gliderway. They didn’t go all the way to the street, but they did make a circuit of the house, accompanied by Vertic and Fairyfoot, who made the men smile. Ilex actually scooped Fairyfoot up and onto his shoulder.Oh, yes, she’d complained about her paws.

  Finally they mounted the stairs and joined Dufleur and Dringalon the front porch. Meyar closed his eyes and sighed at the warmth, and Dufleur recalled that he’d spent time in the south of the continent, where snow rarely fell. He removed his gloves and snapped them against narrow-legged, working trous, dustingoff snow.

  Staring at Dringal, he said, “What do you want?”

  Dufleur cleared her throat, and his gaze met hers. His face softened, and he ducked his head. “Merry meet, Dufleur.”

  “Merry meet,” she replied, though with the anticipation of going inside the house, her voice had come out on a high note.

  “Merry meet, Dringal and Dufleur.” Ilex made a half bow.

  Her mother mumbled something. Dufleur sent a strained smile to him. “Merry meet, Ilex.”

  He considered her, then nodded abruptly. “I’ll do a quick check inside for evil emanations.”

  She cleared her throat. “Thank you.” She reached into her pocket and handed him a slip of papyrus with the spellshield code couplets on it. Ilex took it, used the code, and went inside. Dufleur turned to Meyar, but he was looking at the snowy grassyard. “Nice-sized place.” He sent a brief, sad glance to Dufleur. “You paid too much for it.”

  That was the only reference he’d ever made to her ordeal. She swallowed. “I know.”

  “The house is sound physically. I sense that it is at full power. Probably from whoever cleansed it.”

  “Ah,” she said. “How is the new baby?”

  His face lit up. “Wonderful. He already hovers in his sleep. A sign of good Flair.” He glanced at the silent Dringal, looked away, then at Dufleur again. “My wife, Lady and Lord Bless her wherever she is, had good, strong Flair.”

  The front door opened, and Ilex emerged. “Let’s go inside and discuss our options.”

  Everyone else tensed.