Heart Secret

by Robin D. Owens

  First. That meant he would be grilled. This time Garrett suppressed a sigh. He nodded.

  Artemisia stepped from his grasp and went to her chair.

  Thirty-three

  The elder Mugworts and Tiana also took their chairs, and Garrett sank into his—a deep maroon leather furrabeast deal with brass studs—not as faded as the others because it had been in a corner. Rusby trotted through the open door and jumped onto Garrett’s knee and sat up.

  I am Rusby Primross, he announced.

  From the smiles on the others’ faces, they’d all heard him.

  “Artemisia told us about you,” Quina Mugwort, Artemisia’s mother, said. “Welcome.”

  Thank you. The little cat’s head swiveled. Where is the raccoon?

  “Randa is still primarily nocturnal,” Artemisia said. “She’s exploring the bushes around the House.”

  Garrett caught himself clearing his throat again. He didn’t like the weakness. “I will have to speak with her about the case.”

  Artemisia’s lips pressed together, then she said, “Very well.”

  “Now,” Sinjin Mugwort, Artemisia’s father, said, “we should formally offer Garrett our alibis.”

  “Thank you,” Garrett said again. He hadn’t said that phrase so often in years.

  “I was at a spiritual vigil at GreatCircle Temple,” Tiana offered, with a professionally serene expression on her face covering a turmoil of emotions Garrett sensed. Unlike her mother and her sister, the priestess didn’t have a deep inner calm. She continued, “As Artemisia was on a vigil with you while you suffered from the Iasc sickness at the Turquoise House. That can be proven for us both.”

  “It has been,” Garrett agreed.

  The elder Mugworts relaxed.

  “And my HeartMate and I were here,” said Sinjin mildly.

  Garrett knew instinctively that the man had told the truth. His whole manner was that of a person with great honor. Too bad the newssheets had smirched that.

  “BalmHeal Residence,” Sinjin raised his voice.

  “Yes, Sinjin?”

  “You can submit physical evidence that my HeartMate and I were here in your Residence at the time of the murder?”

  “Of course. I have sent data regarding your—ah—activities, breathing rate and pulse and so on, for the time that the experts believe that the murder occurred to T’Hawthorn Residence for Laev T’Hawthorn, who is handling this matter for the FirstFamilies. He will share it with the guards if necessary.”

  “Activities?” Sinjin said blankly.

  His wife chuckled but turned pink.

  “Well, that’s awkward,” the former judge said.

  Garrett kept his amusement from showing. “But very lucky.”

  Quina laughed, winked at her husband. “He often gets lucky.”

  “The data has been transferred to GentleSir Primross’s office, too, since he is in charge of this investigation. I have confirmed with all the Residences of the FirstFamilies that they agree that the Turquoise House’s information about Artemisia’s alibi is true,” the Residence said. “They have informed their lords and ladies.”

  It was evident to Garrett that the Residence loved Artemisia most.

  I told everyone, too! Rusby said.

  “Of course you did.” Artemisia reached out and petted the kitten, who arched under her fingers. Garrett wished she’d put her hand on his thigh instead.

  “And the highest priest and priestess in the land vouch for Tiana,” Garrett said. He slanted a smile at Quina and Sinjin Mugwort, who were holding hands, then continued softly, “Neither of you have stepped foot on Druida streets for fifteen years.”

  Sinjin blinked as if in surprise, looked around the room and at his Family and out to the gardens, then inclined his head. “I hadn’t quite realized, the estate is large with many pleasures.” He squeezed his lady’s hand. “But you are correct, Garrett. We have remained behind the walls except for a time or two when we have teleported to GreatCircle Temple to take part in a ritual Tiana was officiating.” He swept a hand around him. “It is not easy to teleport into or out of the Residence and beyond the estate’s shields, but with preparation it can be done.”

  An antique timer on the fireplace mantel bonged and they all looked at it.

  “I didn’t realize it was so late,” Tiana murmured. “I should retire; I have a dawn ritual tomorrow.” She rose.

  Artemisia’s mother and father stood, too. Artemisia followed and Garrett’s pulse began to pump a little faster as he placed Rusby on his shoulder and got to his feet. It was night and he was here with his HeartMate. Everyone else was going to bed.

  Artemisia’s mother looked him up and down. “We will put you back into the second-floor sickroom and talk tomorrow.” Garrett was pretty sure the room he’d been in was nowhere near Artemisia’s. Her Family was very protective.

  They must have seen her distress over the past couple of days and now understood he’d caused it. So they didn’t want him near her tonight.

  “I have requested all information regarding GentleSir Garrett Primross from all Residences and the Turquoise House,” BalmHeal said.

  Garrett winced. Despite his reassurances, the Residence wasn’t on his side. Or, rather, the side of HeartMates. Damn.

  But the bond between himself and Artemisia was wide open and fizzed with attraction and desire. He kept his expression serious. “Fine with me.” He let everyone precede him and stayed close to Artemisia. Her desire was mounting like his own.

  “I’ll feed Rusby another small meal.” Anything to keep his kitten happy and maybe sleeping when he found Artemisia or she found him.

  At the door Tiana stopped and looked at Artemisia and Garrett behind her. “Speaking of Leger Cinchona, he’s proceeded quickly with regard to Apollopa Park. He’ll be having a cleansing and reconsecration ceremony at twinmoonsrise a little after EveningBell tomorrow. He invited you.” Tiana’s smile was quick and sincere. “Both of you. He seemed to believe that you were together.”

  “We are,” Garrett said.

  “And Leger thought I would speak to you,” Tiana said.

  “You did,” he added blandly.

  “Um-hmm. Good night.” A longer pause and a sly smile from her that matched her dancing eyes. “And sweet dreams.” The priestess’s glance lit on her hand in hand parents and her gaze softened. “You’re invited, too, of course. It would be good for you to go into the city, do something other than teleport to GreatCircle Temple and back.”

  “We’ll think about it,” Quina said.

  Tiana glanced aside, then back. “You always say that.”

  “We’ll think about it,” Sinjin said.

  Tiana’s expression lit with joy. “And you don’t.” She hugged them both solidly, kissed her father, then her mother on their cheeks. Garrett thought this was the usual nightly custom and felt another twinge of envy.

  “Good night,” called Tiana and went up the stairs, turning right at the top of the landing at the second floor.

  Artemisia’s parents lingered at the bottom of the stairs and stared at him—well, the guy watched him with resignation after he’d hugged and kissed Artemisia. Artemisia’s mother did the same, then glared at Garrett until her older daughter went upstairs. Garrett listened and heard her footsteps continue to the third floor, then lost track of them.

  Food! Rusby prompted.

  “Sure.” Garrett nodded to the older Mugworts and turned to take care of his Fam. “Good meeting you. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.

  * * *

  Rusby was sleeping, splayed with kitten abandon in the middle of Garrett’s bedsponge. He stood at the window, staring out past the deep dark of the estate at the lights of the city and the distant hulk of the starship Nuada’s Sword, body tight and yearning
for his HeartMate.

  She wasn’t asleep, that he knew.

  But it didn’t appear as if she was coming to his bed, either. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he prowled to her room. Would the Residence wake the elder Mugworts? Would the House give a running commentary of his actions? How private was Artemisia’s room? Garrett didn’t care for the idea of the House watching.

  Recording pulse rates was bad enough. And how often did it do that, and why?

  And he couldn’t wait any longer.

  No choice, he had to get out of the sentient House and lure Artemisia into his arms. He was real sure the Residence wouldn’t keep him from leaving . . . or leaving the entire estate, either, though it shouldn’t have control over the walls.

  He shifted his shoulders. He didn’t know what most Residences were capable of, let alone this one that had been the first HealingHall built by the Earthan colonists.

  He found his boots and slipped them on. His trous were still being cleansed since they weren’t around anywhere. He hesitated as he looked at his sword propped in the corner, but didn’t take it. He did buckle his belt and slip his blazer into the holster.

  Soft footed, he opened his door, closed it behind him. Again he paused, but he’d already decided not to bespell Rusby into a heavy sleep. That was wrong. He’d sense if Rusby came after him or was in danger from any animals that might roam the estate.

  It wasn’t right to spellshield the door, either, in this House that had welcomed him and wasn’t his, on a room that was primarily for the sick.

  And though the Residence didn’t say anything, low-glowing spell-lights lit as he walked down the hall and the stairs, through the greatroom and to the wide front door.

  He eased that door open and slipped into the night. When he was far enough away from the Residence that he didn’t think it could feel him, he tugged on the ropelike link between himself and Artemisia, called to her, mind to mind. HeartMate?

  There was a slight jerk of surprise on her part.

  Garrett?

  Who else? He put all the emotions he had for her in his words—desire, tenderness, respect, affection—and sent his need down their bond. Come to me.

  She was silent.

  Come to me. Come show me some of your home, he coaxed. He didn’t hide his passion, didn’t pretend he didn’t want to make love with her. But he didn’t overwhelm her with desire, didn’t make it primary. The night is wonderful, the stars and the sky.

  Somehow that tipped her decision. I’ll be there.

  He’d been correct in remembering her staring out the window at night. He allowed himself a satisfied smile, faded back into the grassy space that should have been a hard-packed gliderway, and looked up, trying to see a glow of light from her window. There wasn’t one, which meant that her room probably was in the back of the House, with a view beyond the city.

  Oh, yes, he knew where he was now. BalmHeal estate was tucked into the very northeast corner of the city, with its north and east walls the great city walls. He wasn’t sure of the dimensions of the sanctuary, but he could learn that later. Maybe.

  He didn’t want to think about any more future than the next few minutes.

  And then she opened the door and his heart beat faster. She wore the expensive shimmery silver robe that Lark Holly had given her. As she walked, it flowed against her body, showing the lush curve of her breasts or hips. She didn’t appear to be wearing anything under the garment.

  His mouth dried.

  She moved to him and smiled and everything in the whole world got brighter—the galaxies of stars, the twinmoons silver bright, the very atmosphere around him.

  “Garrett,” she whispered.

  “You’re gorgeous,” he said. He took her hand and his sex hardened, lust seared through him, and his movement was jerky as he drew her arm through his own. The fragrance of her own sexual readiness rose to him and he had to freeze so he wouldn’t pounce. He must go slow so he wouldn’t frighten her or disappoint her or make her wish that she’d never had a HeartMate. Most important, he had to ensure she wouldn’t regret making love with him. Not tonight, not tomorrow morning, not ever.

  “BalmHeal estate,” he said in as much of a conversational tone as he could manage. “FirstGrove, the original Healing Grove and HealingHall.” He stopped to draw a huge breath of air into his lungs. “The secret sanctuary of Druida that calls to the desperate. The hidden garden.” He glanced around at the huge trees—Celtan and even Earthan and hybrids. Managed to get his feet going, one step after another, looked down to see her face tilted up to his, lovely, smiling, happy.

  That was good. Good start. Keep going.

  His side tingled where her arm was. They were linked together in the most innocent of ways, but connected physically enough to make him light-headed. “Did I tell you that I’ve been having dreams about a secret garden?”

  Her smile widened into a beam. “No.”

  “It’s a rusty iron gate, with curlicues, and a turquoise pool beyond. Lots of plants.”

  Her eyebrows peaked in question. “Hmm.”

  “Like this,” he said, and sent her an image—then regretted it when he saw in his mind’s eye that he wore his weapon harness with his sword and his holster with his blazer.

  “Oh.” It was a soft exclamation. “I know where that is, one of the enclosed gardens with a minor Healing pool. It’s rectangular. We like the curved ones better, and the major pool is a series of curves.”

  “This garden and pool is on the estate?” If it wasn’t often visited by the Mugwort Family, that was all to the good.

  “Yes.” She laughed quietly. “But it won’t be the amber color of the sun. Not tonight.”

  “No.” A thought occurred. “What of the sacred grove that was included in the mural on TQ’s wall that I liked so much?”

  She dipped her head. “Yes. We have several groves here, the main Healing Grove, of course, close to the primary Healing pools, and, um, three groves we use for rituals. The most sacred grove is the farthest from the House, near the southwest corner of the estate and the southern door.”

  He gave up the idea of making love with her there. Too damn far. He could barely think and talk and walk at the same time and was holding on to the threads of his control.

  “What about the garden in my dreams? How, uh, close is it?” Again he thought of the vision, yeah, there was groomed grass there, good enough for nice loving. If the damn vision was true. He had no doubt he and Artemisia would make this place their own. He hurried the pace a little, hoping they were going in the right direction. They’d been walking diagonally from the House, southeast.

  She tugged on his arm and he followed her turn to the north. “That hidden garden is between the House and the herbal stillroom building.”

  “Close?” He slowed his steps so he could bend his head to hers, brush his lips against her temple, breathe in the fragrance of her.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Artemisia knew what would happen, that she and her HeartMate were heading toward sex. Quivers slipped along her nerves, her nipples tightened, her palms dampened, and so did her core.

  He wanted her, probably as much as she wanted him. His need was a fire along their bond, a red orange ravaging hot passion.

  She liked it and enjoyed knowing that the desire was for her and matched her own. She could see the faint sheen of perspiration on his cheek, on his neck, and his chest revealed by the V of his loose tunic-robe. He smelled good, the best male smell that she’d ever experienced.

  She withdrew her arm from where he had it clamped against his side and took his hand. As she did she thought she heard a catch of his breath and maybe a small groan, which had her wetting her lips in anticipation.

  Yes, she wanted this and wanted him.

  He’d hurt his body to find
her and come to her.

  He’d bared his emotions earlier in the day to show his most inner self to her, reveal all his doubts and fears and faults.

  She had plenty of those herself, but it was time to set the emotional aside and let the physical rule.

  They paused at the gates of the garden, rusted open as he’d seen in his dream, and she squeezed his hand as she led him through, wondering why it was this place that he’d seen instead of anywhere else on the estate.

  The pool gleamed in the twinmoonslight. She’d no sooner stepped on the thick turf than he dropped her hand and turned to her.

  His face was taut with desire, his gaze intense, with dilated eyes. They stood looking at each other, then he touched the tabs at the top of her shoulders and her robe fell in silver waves at her feet. He stared at her, and his eyes fired, his chest rose and fell with ragged breathing. All combined to spin lust thick enough in the air to envelope them.

  “I’m finally here,” he said. “With you. And you are so beautiful.”

  Thirty-four

  He reached out and touched her above her heart, and the brush of his fingers on her breast had her nipples aching. She couldn’t bear it, needed more of his hands on her, and her hands on him.

  She stepped toward him, swayed closer as his wide and callused palm pressed against her breast, slid her fingers down the front overlap of his tunic, and opened it. More of his scent came to her, musky, tempting. She swallowed and tasted sweet desire.

  Her hands flattened on the hard musculature of his chest, his hair teasing her sensitive palms. “I’m not the only beautiful one here,” she said and heard her voice low and panting. She touched the waistband of his trous and they fell away, too, revealing his thick sex hard and ready. Her core clenched, and this time she whimpered. “Yes,” she managed to whisper.

  And he stepped from his trous, lifted her easily, and she was spun and placed supine on the dense grass, and the fragrance of crushed herbs imbued the night.