Cratag winced at the thought of attending those formal affairs.
Huathe laughed. “The Family glider is waiting to take you to D’Marigold’s. I’ve already had your belongings packed and sent.”
“Thanks again,” Cratag said, and left with his spirits lifting. His mouth curving into a grin. He was going to a new life, finally the right life.
Beadle was out of the door before him.
Thirty-eight
Beadle sat on a perch in the glider that was made for Black Pierre and purred all the way from T’Hawthorn Residence to D’Marigold’s estate.
The gates were wide open, welcoming. Just like Signet. The glider slid through and with every meter Cratag knew he was where he was meant to be.
Need for Signet exploded through him. He had to see her, touch her. He had to look into her eyes and say he loved her, hear her words of love in return.
A colorful flutter caught his eye, and he gazed out the window to see ribbons tied on the trees lining the gliderway, white through the spectrum to black, and dangling from each ribbon was a crystal that shot prisms of color. Ah, Signet. How could he have thought he could live without her?
The glider stopped halfway to the Residence.
Beadle made a demanding sound, and the vehicle’s windows slid down. Music and laughter and voices raised in song came. Beadle hopped from the glider and streaked away. Cratag had thought the ritual would be taking place in the sacred grove, but as the song ended and a deep voice began to recite a verse—some man, some other man being the Lord and Priest, and Cratag didn’t like that at all—Cratag realized the ritual was taking place at the cliff area where Signet liked to walk.
He exited the glider, saw another path through trees picked out with ribbons holding tiny windchimes that tinkled, and followed it to the large open area of grassy bluff.
There a couple of hundred people stood shoulder to shoulder in a circle. It appeared as if a long ceremony was winding down and the general atmosphere was of lively joy. In the middle of the circle was a stone altar he’d never seen before—and Signet.
Sharing a goblet with the too-damned-handsome actor Raz Cherry. The man had his long, elegant hands over hers, and jealousy bit vicious and deep in Cratag. How had he ever thought he could surrender her to any man . . . though, before, he’d have said that the sophisticated actor was the perfect match for her.
Too much alike, he assured himself as he ground his teeth. He, Cratag, her complete opposite, was perfect for her.
He stood outside the ceremonial circle and watched as the ritual ended. Outside, but this time he knew that if he’d been on time and wanted to be, he’d have been in that circle with Signet. Next year he would take part. And the next time D’Marigold officiated as Lady and Priestess of any event, T’Marigold—himself—would be there as Lord and Priest. He was looking forward to summer and private TwinMoons Rituals on the beach.
The instant the circle was dismissed, Cratag strode through to the center and the altar where Signet still stood hand-in-hand with Raz Cherry. He lifted and plucked her away from the man and held her against his chest. Looking down at her, everyone else faded away.
He sighed deeply, matching hers. Here she was, in his arms, and he never wanted to let her go. Wanted to look into her blue eyes forever. Wanted the drift of her blond hair clinging to the skin of his hands . . . and other parts of him.
“I love you,” he croaked, his voice in no way matching the depth and modulation of Raz Cherry’s, but Cratag was the true Lord to this Lady.
Signet’s eyes filled with tears. She put her hands on his face, and he felt connected as he’d never been before—the deep blue sky overhead, the streaming sun, the woman and her land. All was his. He belonged to all.
The world and all the stars revolved around them in that moment.
Him and his love, his lover, his—
“HeartMate,” she whispered, her pink lips curving. She stroked his cheeks. “You’re my HeartMate.”
“What!” The universe did spin. Or maybe it was his mind whirling. But he settled into his balance. “Can’t be—”
“Of course it can,” she said clearly, loudly. “Cratag Maytree is my HeartMate.” Lowering her voice, she continued, “I thought I’d connected with someone during my Passages, but the touch was too brief.”
“Not enough Flair,” he muttered.
She tapped his temple. “Hardheaded rational man. I knew it was you earlier this month. Don’t tell me you never connected with me, because it would be a lie.”
He felt heat along his cheekbones. “I had some dreams.”
“There, you see!” She beamed, looked around the circle, and Cratag became abruptly aware that he was the object of fascinated interest by a big bunch of people. “Welcome Cratag Maytree, my HeartMate, into my life and our circles!”
A cheer came, and Cratag felt himself flushing more. He locked gazes with her again. “I love you.”
Signet had never been so happy in her life as she was looking up at the rough features of her HeartMate, into his wonderful violet eyes. Safe, loved, warm . . . edging to hot . . .
He jiggled her a little. “I love you.”
She chuckled, knowing what he wanted, opening their bond wide, meeting him emotionally, mentally. I love you. She said the words aloud, too. “I love you.”
His grip tightened on her. “Good.”
T’Hawthorn strode into the area, between the clumps of gossiping and laughing people, straight up to them.
Cratag stiffened, then smiled. “Welcome, Huathe.” He spoke the words like a host, her husband and partner and consort, greeting a friend. Signet sensed that their relationship had changed, too, become deeper, more familial.
Adjusting the sleeves of his long, formal robe, T’Hawthorn glanced at the circle inscribed in the grass, the people still lingering in the lovely weather, the bedecked altar. “I can be Lord and Priest for a wedding.”
Signet’s heart gave one wild thump. Wonderful! Married, here and now to her HeartMate! How could anything be more perfect. “Yes!”
Shouts came from the gathering, people began ordering the circle and themselves, choosing their places. Vinni ran to the Residence.
Huathe T’Hawthorn cocked an eyebrow at Cratag. “It is my pleasure.”
D’Holly stepped forward, curtsied to Signet and Cratag. “I would be honored to take the part of Lady and Priestess.” Turning to T’Hawthorn, her husband’s old enemy, she offered her hands. “If you agree.”
“Honored,” he said.
Vinni hurried from the Residence with new candles, incense, and ribbons. Ribbons that Signet used on her shoes, but could definitely be wedding ribbons. Tucked under his arm was a pair of bright golden boots with deeper red and orange stitching. Her HeartGift, made with love and Flair and intent, though not during the time of her long-ago Passages.
As soon as he entered the new circle, people closed in behind him. Avellana took the boots from him and propped them against the altar. Vinni and she arranged the top of the sacred table, then she took Vinni’s hand and they went to a spot left open for them. T’Hawthorn and D’Holly moved into the Lord’s and Lady’s places.
Beadle came and plopped his bottom importantly down beside Cratag. Du sat a meter and a half away, head lifted haughtily.
“All is ready,” Avellana said. “You can put Signet down, Cratag.”
He blinked and released her reluctantly. Kept her fingers twined in his. I love you, Calendula Signet Marigold.
I love you, Cratag Maytree.
And they were married right there on the cliff in the sunshine, rainbows of ribbons fluttering and wind chimes sounding in the breeze. Nothing was ever so perfect.
Except the wedding night and HeartBond.
book with friends
Heart Change Page 36