Heart Fate

by Robin D. Owens

  Time to eat food and drink of the summer. Tinne’s vision turned from inward to outward. Lahsin poured from the carafe into small ritual mugs. Her eyes widened at the thick, orange liquid. “Orange juice.” Only those with conservatories or willing to pay a good amount of gilt could have fresh orange juice in the middle of winter. She scooped berries into the mugs, offered one to Tinne, and lifted her own. “Blessings of the Lady and Lord as we move into the light.”

  He took the mug. “Blessings of the Lady and Lord as we move into the light.” They drank, and she smiled. “So sweet!” She looked into her cup, beamed at him. “Like sipping sunshine!”

  So he drank with her, and the atmosphere of the room became more joyful.

  Soon they ended the ritual and took the food and drink from the altar and put the victuals between them as they leaned back on the pillows.

  A scritching came at the door. All saying words is done? asked Strother. Flair came and went. Feel better. You done?

  Lahsin stood. “Yes, we are, time for a sharing of gifts.”

  I do not need any gifts, he said with anticipation.

  Twenty-nine

  Lahsin opened the door, and Strother trotted in. For reasons known only to them, a big, red ribbon was tied in a bow around his neck. He looked ridiculous, but Tinne kept his mouth shut. He also realized that he didn’t have a gift for the dog. He reached to the Turquoise House for a bag of cat treats he had hidden from Ilexa. Since she was still loafing at T’Holly Residence, engorged on Yule feast, she’d never know that he’d given her treats to Strother. He’d replace them before she found out. With effort, he ’ported them to a spot behind the pillows.

  The dog sneezed, blinked watery eyes. Too much smoke smell in here.

  With a wave and a little regret, Tinne banished the fragrant spirals of incense, another bit of the ritual atmosphere that had blanketed him and Lahsin together, gone.

  “I have gifts,” Lahsin said, looking at him and Strother.

  The dog sat, his tongue lolled out.

  “I do, too,” Tinne said. “Gifts between Fam and person, then mine to Strother, then Lahsin.”

  Strother wagged his tail and gave an approving look to Tinne. My first gift. He sat straight and watched as Lahsin brought out something wrapped in softleaves. She put it in front of Strother, and he pawed at it until a string of beads fell out.

  A Fam collar! Strother sounded thrilled.

  Tinne studied it. The necklace was composed of bright dried berries and larger rose hips of orange and red, accented with dark seeds and a nut or two, all strung on thread.

  Lahsin untied the bow and fastened the collar around the dog’s neck. “It looks good against your gray fur.”

  Sure wasn’t emeralds.

  But Lahsin had made it with her own hands, and that was more important than emeralds, though Ilexa might not think so.

  “I’ve spellshielded the string. It will only break if you get caught and can’t get free.”

  The dog’s brows lowered.

  “I’ll make you a new one if that happens,” Lahsin said.

  Strother grinned. He trotted to the door and brought a large mass of gray brown something gently held between his jaws. He dropped it at Lahsin’s feet and sat with a doggie grin.

  “Mushrooms! Prized truffles! Ooh.”

  Wagging his tail, Strother said, I have heard that people consider these tasty.

  “We do,” Lahsin assured him. “I haven’t seen these in the estate, where did you find them?”

  Strother’s chest puffed out with pride. Saw little ones near my den in the glasshouse. Sent them Flair, and they grew. For you.

  “Thank you!” Lahsin hugged him.

  The dog rumbled satisfaction, then turned his head to Tinne. Tinne brought out the packet of treats. Strother’s nose twitched. Good morsels.

  “Treats.”

  Lahsin raised her eyebrows at the wording on the envelope: Special bits for your FamCat from D’Ash.

  Tinne shoved the packet to Strother, who gave it a strong sniff. “Good.” He decorated the wrapping with drool.

  Lahsin opened the package. “You want just one or all of them?”

  Strother appeared torn. Some now. Most for later.

  “Excellent,” Lahsin said, and fed him about a third.

  Strother crunched and slurped. Human gifts, he said.

  After washing her hands in a bowl of water on the altar, Lahsin reached under the cloth and brought out a small potted plant. “I didn’t know if you’d really come,” she said to Tinne. “But I made you a gift anyway.” She handed him the pot.

  It was a delicate evergreen tree he’d never seen before. He touched one soft, flexible branch. “Nice. What is it?”

  “A Norfolk pine. They only grow here and in the great greensward of Nuada’s Sword, the Residence told me. When I found it, I did some research. Norfolk was a place on old Earth.”

  He met her eyes. “I’ll cherish it.”

  She handed him a note. “The tending instructions.”

  Tinne slipped the page into his bag and turned the pot around to admire the small tree from all sides, until Strother nudged him. Tinne turned to his bag and lifted out his presents.

  He had brought her two gifts. One was pale green training robes trimmed in dark green.

  Her eyes lit up. “Real robes!”

  “Yes. The trim shows you’re a second-level beginner.”

  She clutched the robes to her breasts. “Really? Am I?”

  He smiled. “You have a few holes in your training and need to learn the first basic pattern, but you could probably win any match with my beginning students.”

  She did a little hopping dance at that and put the tunic on. Only then did Tinne realize she was wearing old clothes, though the aura of the Goddess had cloaked her during the ritual.

  Strother was nosing Tinne’s bag. Something else, here, something that smells of stridebeast.

  “I have another gift, one made with my creative Flair.”

  Lahsin looked up with curiosity in her eyes.

  Tinne pulled out a small drum he’d made . . . not his HeartGift. She grinned and eagerly took it from him, settled back on her pillow, and began to thump with enthusiasm but little technique. He laughed, pulled out his own drum, equally small, and poured his feelings through his hands in cheerful, rapid beats.

  “Now we can follow the ancient ways and drum the night away and to the dawn!” Lahsin raised her voice over the sound.

  Strother’s muzzle gaped. You will pound on those all night?

  “Yes!” Lahsin threw back her head and laughed.

  Her laugh reached inside Tinne, stirred him near painfully, touching places that had been wounded by another woman.

  Strother went to his portion of the food and ate and drank politely, then burped and turned to Lahsin. He cast a yearning eye toward the cat treats, but then lifted his muzzle in pride. You will put my treats in the no-time? he asked.

  “Yes, the Fam no-time in the kitchen that the BalmHeal Residence has so graciously opened to us now.”

  Tinne figured it hadn’t been gracious at all. She glanced at him. “May I keep the orange juice?”

  “By all means. The juice was for the ritual, the decanter is my gift to the Residence.”

  I will be able to get my crunchies when I want. Good. Then I will go out and show my new collar to other Fams.

  Perhaps he was not so very different than Ilexa after all.

  Lahsin’s hands fumbled the beat. Tinne stopped. She looked at the dog. “What other Fams? Do they know about me, us, here?”

  Tinne didn’t like hearing her anxiety. The mood of the night was deteriorating.

  We are secrets. All Fams have secrets. Strother slid a look at Tinne. That cat has secret places, where she stayed when she wasn’t loyal to you.

  Hurt pinched him. He stood and moved to the altar, filled the Lord’s goblet with cider. The scent of it rose, hard cider, well spiced. Cinnamon tantalized his nostri
ls. “I’m sure my Fam has secrets,” he replied. “I don’t press her for them.” The smooth bite of the cider went down nicely and warmed his belly.

  Strother looked at Lahsin. I go to meet foxes. Foxes are clever and never tell secrets.

  Tinne eased. “The FamFox are led by Vertic. I know him.”

  The dog nodded. They are good to run with, faster than me. I couldn’t keep up. But now they wait for me, because I am big and hunt well.

  “Ah.” Tinne bowed, and the cider fumes went to his head. Potent. “Good hunting, Strother.”

  The dog yipped cheerfully.

  Lahsin stroked Strother’s head, and Tinne envied the touch.

  “Go enjoy the night and be careful,” Lahsin said.

  Strother yipped again and waited for Lahsin to open the door. When she did, he ran, claws clicking on the hall floor.

  Glancing at Lahsin, Tinne saw sadness come back into her expression. He wanted the special feeling of the ritual, the giving of gifts, to linger. Splashing some cider into the Lady’s chalice, he handed it to her, gave her his most charming smile.

  She smiled back, drank deeply, and licked her lips.

  His insides tightened. He stooped, picked up her drum, and handed it to her. “Shall we?”

  “I’m a complete novice,” she said, but it didn’t seem to bother her. That was progress.

  “Doesn’t matter. Only the giving of a joyful sound to the sun and the universe matters on this longest night,” he said.

  Before she took the drum, she poured more cider into her chalice, then went back to sit on her pillow and grab her drum. Tinne followed.

  They didn’t drum the dark away and to the dawn. They drummed for two septhours, taking frequent breaks and drinking the cider. Then Lahsin started flagging. Holding her gaze, Tinne finished his spell pattern to draw luck through the winter and let his hands fall from his drum to his knees. His palms tingled. Lahsin finished her uneven beat seconds later.

  He hadn’t expected Lahsin to go as long as she had. She fell back against the pillows, flushed and giggling.

  Beautiful.

  Desirable.

  His head was muzzy, too. He knew that pushing strands of her fine silk hair away from her face was dangerous, but the dim warning of his brain was overcome by the need of his body. The need of his emotions to see her happy, to treasure this moment. To share more pleasure with her.

  As he’d played, his blood had heated, had pulsed to the rhythm set by his hands, until all was vibration.

  She smelled so good.

  He drew closer and closer, watching her eyes widen, but there was no fear in them, and now he couldn’t draw back until he kissed her, tested the softness of her lips with his own. He put his mouth on hers, and a shock of desire whipped through him. Too strong. She stiffened. She must have felt it, too.

  Her lips against his in a simple kiss was wondrous. Her mouth was so soft, her scent so sweet, Lahsin and incense, and Yule and Lahsin.

  Then she opened her mouth, and her tongue touched his, and feeling exploded through him. He clamped his arms around her, brought her to him, felt the softness of her breasts against his chest, the insistent throbbing of his shaft as her stomach slid against him. He groaned.

  He plunged his tongue into her mouth. She tasted of oranges and apples and cloves and cinnamon, and he was lost. All thought vanished so only need remained, the need of a man for his true woman. HeartMate—the word echoed in the back reaches of his mind, and he ignored it. He only wanted to be with Lahsin. Be in Lahsin. Only hoped she wanted him, too.

  With a murmured word, their clothes vanished. She trembled, and he held himself still, throbbing, wondering if she would stop him or push him away. She didn’t.

  Light flickered from the fire in the cauldrons.

  “Let me show you,” he murmured. “Let me show you how it should be. How much pleasure a man and woman can share together.” He sent the feeling behind the words, the caring, the yearning, the joy of Lady and Lord moving within each other.

  He touched her breasts. They fit in his hands, her nipples beading in the center of his palms, drawing another groan from him. Marvelous. Such soft skin. How he had missed this dance of passion— but it had never been like this.

  Because their bond was wide open and full of rushing emotions. Her wonder at pleasure she’d never felt, spiking desire. Yearning for something she sensed but hadn’t tasted.

  He should have slowed down, should savor this, but couldn’t. He was panting, ready, and thought his whole body would explode. He slid his hand down her smooth skin over her subtle curves and touched the core of her. Damp. She gasped and arched to him, his fingers slid into her, and he felt the connection rip through them.

  He had to be in her, now, now, now.

  Slow down. The one thought rose to his mind. He didn’t want to heed it, but even as he set his hands around her hips he knew she was young, not filled out yet, with delicate bones.

  Her nails nipped his back. “Yes!” she cried, and he surged into her. The world vanished. There was only the rich dark of need, the sensual fragrance and warmth of Lahsin, her body wrapped around his. Her emotions flowing with his.

  Delight.

  Perfection.

  Desire.

  He lingered until she rocked her hips, and his followed. They moved together.

  They shattered together.

  She went limp beneath him, and he rolled to their sides, she opened sleepy, blurred eyes to him. Now I know, she sent.

  A little frown crossed her face, then there was a slight whoosh, and a bedsponge was under them, linens settling around them. Tinne’s throat closed. It took powerful Flair to teleport them to her bed like that. “Lahsin?” His low voice trembled.

  But she’d dropped into sleep, holding him tight. His own arms were wrapped around her, and he didn’t think he could leave without waking her. He wanted to hold her. He didn’t want to think about what he’d—they’d—done. He felt too good. For the first time in a long time . . . he felt complete. He’d just close his eyes for a little while until she loosened her grip . . .

  They awoke in the dark and loved again and again.

  Just before dawn, Tinne drifted to the surface of consciousness, savoring the delightful, languorous aftermath of excellent sex. He’d heard that HeartMates could share dreaming sex, but had thought it would be less than satisfying.

  He stretched, his foot and hand brushed another. His eyelashes swept open, and he struggled to recall where he was. Not his suite in T’Holly Residence. Not the Turquoise House? Jacknifing up, he saw the rumpled silk of Lahsin’s hair in the dim light of predawn.

  Fligger!

  What should he do? Stay or go?

  He wanted to escape.

  What would be the best for her?

  His breathing was too loud. His heart was too loud, rushing in his ears.

  How could he have . . .

  But it had been so natural, as natural as his hand now instinctively reaching out to brush Lahsin’s hair away from her face so he could see her.

  His trembling hand. He snatched it back to rub his temples. Tried to recall her words in the jumble of erotic memories. Endeavored to separate her feelings mixing in their bond during the lovemaking from his own. They were too tangled, he couldn’t.

  He glanced at her. She was still here, hadn’t run away, ’ported to anywhere else, or locked him out.

  Narrowing his eyes, he checked her Flair. No spellshields surrounded her. That was good, he supposed. He didn’t see any bruises on her from him, thank the Lady and Lord.

  He’d been urgent, but he hadn’t been rough.

  Not any of the three times they’d made love. Cave of the Dark Goddess. Sometime during the night he should have come to his senses. But he hadn’t.

  He tested the bond between them, narrow on both sides. But stronger than ever. He couldn’t remember the loving in detail but knew neither of them had offered the HeartBond to the other.

  Maybe this w
ould be all right.

  Since the sun hadn’t risen, Yule was still being celebrated. The Green Knight wouldn’t open until late that evening for general sparring. No work forced him to leave.

  Every woman he’d ever known would have wanted him to stay until she woke. It had taken him only one furious argument as a youngster to learn that lesson.

  But Lahsin wasn’t any other woman. Would she be afraid that he was there? Embarrassed? Would her feelings be hurt? He couldn’t bear to hurt her feelings.

  Couldn’t bear to see her hurt in any way. The room was cool. He pulled the covers over her bare golden shoulder and slid down beneath them to cradle her against him.

  Thirty

  She woke to hard arms around her.

  It wasn’t scary, and that almost alarmed her. The thought of liking T’Yew’s touch was hideous.

  Fog cleared from her brain before she raised her lashes. This wasn’t T’Yew, old and harsh and triumphant.

  This was Tinne, young and vibrant and virile. She could tell he was virile, because he was aroused. He wasn’t harsh because he did nothing to seduce her or claim her. So she opened her eyes and saw the concern in his.

  She smiled, and he sighed, smiled himself, and she noticed his lips as never before. Good lips, not too thin and not too full. Slowly bending toward her, he put his mouth on her temple and kissed her gently, tenderly. All his movements were deliberate, as if he didn’t want to scare her. She heard him inhale and thought he was smelling her, or their, fragrance. Sniffing herself, she scented healthy sweat and the herbs from the sheets and the pretty floral smell of the candles.

  A chuckle caught in her throat, but he must have heard it because he pulled back and his white blond brows lifted. His smile widened. “Blessings upon us, the sun’s returned.”

  The standard greeting for the morning after Yule, the winter solstice, when the longest night had passed and daylight would grow longer until the summer and the month of Holly itself. She liked that notion, liked all the little whimseys passing through her mind. Liked his arm around her even more.

  Putting her hand against his chest, she pushed gently, and he let her go, his brows went down. His chest expanded as he drew in air. “Last night was very special, Lahsin.” His gray gaze deepened from the edge of silver to dark clouds.