Hearts and Swords: Four Original Stories of Celta

by Robin D. Owens

  He rubbed his nose. “You smell different.”

  That halted her in her tracks. No one had ever said anything uncomplimentary about her scent since she’d given up mud puddles in the stable as a child. She turned toward him. “I am sure I didn’t hear you correctly.”

  Snap. The clippers sheared a good length of the hedge. Cardus’s cheeks had flushed, but now his shoulders squared.

  “And that sounds like a Druidan upper-class accent to me, too,” he commented.

  Her stomach clutched. She’d tried so hard to fall into the slower, more slurred casual speech of Gael City and it had deserted her. “Good evening,” she said and turned away.

  “I meant to say that you have a scent of unusual spellworking to you,” Cardus offered.

  So his comment had been simple curiosity on his part. Nothing had changed between them. Good. As she entered her home and quietly closed the door behind her, she admitted she was attracted to him.

  Slightly. Very slightly attracted.

  She set the journeywoman form on her delicately burled desk, then went to the bathing room that she’d had remodeled and drew a bath, throwing in a handful of herbs.

  Asant was so much more handsome and smooth and left her completely unmoved. Cardus Parryl was intriguing. She liked his looks, his muscular body, irregular features—and the tug of desire she felt.

  He was dangerous.

  Stup! Fool! Cardus’s hands hurt as he tightened his grip on the clippers, slashing more height off the hedge. How brilliant he’d been to insult Genista Furze. Open his mouth for more than impersonal comments, and see what came out.

  She wouldn’t look at him again, would lapse into brief replies once more.

  When the hedge was done, he was sweating in the cool autumn evening air. Easy enough to hop over if he needed to. He’d been given a spell charm to enter her property . . . and had vowed not to use it unless she was in danger.

  He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, cleaned off the clippers, and stowed them in the shed in his back grassyard. The houses bordered a park in the rear. He peered into the dusk but saw no indication of the stray dog he’d been feeding. He suspected the animal had enough intelligence and Flair magic to become a true telepathic animal companion. Whether or not it did, dogs were rare and should be prized. He wanted it out of the coming winter.

  As he’d wanted Genista Furze to notice him for months.

  Well, she’d noticed him all right. Commenting on her scent. Something a sophisticated city man wouldn’t do, though Cardus had noticed her personal fragrance the first time they’d met.

  His leg throbbed and he closed himself into his tool shed, used the extra energy that anger at himself gave him to teleport straight into his waterfall room. Before he could shuck his clothes, the scrybowl in his bedroom sounded a hard thumping-beat tune. Cardus sighed.

  Limping into the bedroom, he sank onto the bedsponge set on a platform. The scrybowl water swirled green and silver. He circled his finger around the rim of the bowl and said, “Here.” The image projected, forming in droplets that hung above the bowl.

  “Greetyou, Cardus,” said the oldest Holly—Tab, G’Uncle to Genista’s ex-husband, Tinne.

  “Greetyou,” Cardus replied.

  “How is Genista?” Tab Holly asked.

  Cardus hesitated. He believed the Hollys had only Genista’s welfare in mind; if he didn’t, he’d never have accepted the job of keeping an eye out for her.

  “This week would have been rough,” Tab continued. “She lost her babe in the womb two years ago.”

  Just the thought of Genista experiencing such pain tightened Cardus’s throat. He stretched out his leg, kneaded it. “She was . . . subdued.” He thought she’d wept for two nights straight, and had said nothing to her except commonplaces. But he wouldn’t reveal such personal grief to the Hollys.

  “She went to work?” Tab asked.

  “Yes. She seems content in her job.”

  Tab shook his head. “I never would have believed she would take a lowly position.” Another shake of his shaggy head, then a charming smile.

  “But she is maturing. Good girl.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “No threats?” asked Tab, as he always did.

  “None I’ve observed.”

  “Good.” Tab’s pale gray gaze met Cardus’s as he asked the next usual question. “No men in her life?”

  “None I’ve observed.”

  And, as usual, Tab frowned. “Celibacy is not good for a person.”

  Cardus agreed. He’d had no sex since he’d first met Genista. Not that his celibate life would change soon.

  “I worry about her. We worry about her,” Tab said.

  That was a new statement. “You do? And Tinne? He is Heart-Bound to another.”

  “All the bonds between her and Tinne have been severed—mental and emotional. None of us are connected with her anymore.”

  Which was why they’d hired Cardus.

  Tab sighed. “Tinne is very happy in his HeartMate marriage.”

  Cardus and Tab shared a glance; neither of them hid their envy. They both knew the other had no HeartMate in this lifetime.

  “Good that Tinne’s happy.” Cardus let the rough-edged lie rumble from his throat.

  “Would Genista welcome New Year’s gifts from us Hollys?”

  Cardus considered the question, nearly closed his eyes to recall the feel of Genista’s aura. After a hanging moment of silence, he said, “I don’t believe so.”

  “Right,” Tab said, then went on with the regular questioning. “She lives within her means? Has no need of more gilt?”

  “She lives well.” Cardus kept his expression mild. Another thing to ache about. He’d never have the gilt to match Genista.

  “Let me know if she has any problems,” Tab said, winding down the report.

  “I will.”

  “Merry meet,” Tab offered the standard noble sign-off.

  “And merry part,” Cardus said.

  “And merry meet again. Have a good Halloween and Samhain. I’ll call in a few days.”

  Never on a strict schedule, the Hollys were canny. A fleeting smile came and went on Tab’s old face. “Scry you next year. Happy New Year.”

  “And to you,” Cardus replied, didn’t let out a breath until the man had cut the scryspell.

  Yipping came at his back door and he went out to feed the dog. He might not get the woman soon, but it looked like he might have a Fam Companion. As he’d told Genista, it wasn’t good to be so alone.

  He yearned for her.

  Genista was distracted enough by thoughts of Cardus Parryl that she automatically answered the scrybowl flickering a greenish white. “Here.”

  Asant’s face showed in the bowl, and her own smile froze on her face.

  He kissed his fingertips at her, a Gael City courtesy that was meant to simulate bending over and kissing her hand. But being on the receiving end of the gesture felt too intimate, and she didn’t like it.

  “I begged for your scry image from the Faverels, and the GentleMistrys gave it to me.” Asant smiled with charm, and Genista kept the irritation at Mistrys Faverel from showing.

  “Oh?” The word was a little unenthusiastic, but Genista didn’t care. A flash of some dark emotion showed in Asant’s gaze and she blinked, then wondered if she’d imagined it.

  His smile brightened. “I have tokens to the Halloween and Samhain rituals—at RoundDome Temple. I would like to invite you.”

  She should be flattered, and the man was obviously interested in her. “I don’t—”

  “Please, lady, come with me.” His voice was soft, lilting. “You are too lovely to keep yourself a hermit.”

  Since that was the third time she’d heard the sentiment that day, and Genista now paid attention to signs from the Lady and Lord, she nodded.

  “Very well.”

  “Thank you. The gathering is at NightBell, a septhour before the ritual. I have a glider, shall I pick you
up?”

  “Thank you, but I must do a small ritual here in my own home. I’ll meet you at RoundDome Temple fifteen minutes before the gathering time.”

  He sighed, put a hand over his heart, then kissed his fingers at her again. “If you must.”

  She pushed more sincerity into her smile. “Yes.”

  “I will meet you there, though I warn you that I may need to drop by the shop tomorrow to see you before then.”

  “Ah.” To her surprise, Genista felt her cheeks coloring, something that hadn’t happened since she was a teen. She was woefully out of practice in flirting.

  “Beautiful color. Farewell.” Another smile and the scry faded.

  As soon as the scrybowl water turned clear, Genista found her shoulders sinking back into relaxation mode. It was a true pity that she felt no pull toward the man.

  A short bark sounded and jogged her from her musing. She glanced at her timer and realized she was late in feeding the stray dog who’d been coming around the last three evenings. She hurried into the kitchen and to the no-time food storage unit that kept food at the exact temperature as when it was placed in there. She’d made meals for the dog from her own food; tonight was bite-sized clucker meat.

  The dish was warm, the food itself steaming, good-enough smelling to make her nose twitch and mouth water, ready for her own meal. Genista dropped all spellshields on her property, opened the back door, and to the sound of the chimes attached to the latch, she strode through her grassyard to her gate and into the park.

  And saw Cardus petting the dog as it gobbled up food. From the smell of that, the dog was getting furrabeast steak.

  She lowered her hand holding the plate.

  Cardus looked up and his white and even teeth gleamed in a smile that was better than any she’d seen—or given—the whole day.

  “Ah, we’ve both been duped by a clever hound.” Cardus nodded at her plate.

  Genista chuckled and she walked easily toward the dog, stared down at him. “His ribs are much less prominent than I recall. Maybe we aren’t the only two feeding him. And I’m not sure he needs my clucker.”

  I do! the dog shouted mentally.

  Genista met Cardus’s glance.

  “Who are you a Familiar Companion to, dog?” asked Cardus, a note of disappointment in his voice.

  I am Fam to no one. After one last slurping lick, the dog covered the ground to Genista in two leaps, nudged her hand with enough force that the plate tilted, then fell.

  “Dog! Mind your manners,” Cardus snapped.

  The dog ignored him, nosing out and gulping down the clucker.

  “Did you hear me, dog? If you don’t treat the lady well, you will lose both of us who feed you. Apologize.” Hard command.

  Genista knew better than to contradict Cardus, though she thought he was being too harsh with a needy animal.

  But the dog raised his head, swiped his muzzle with his tongue, and sat on his haunches. Then he lifted one paw and held it toward Genista as if to shake. She was utterly charmed and stepped toward him, took his paw, and squeezed it slightly. “Forgiven.”

  “Good Fam,” Cardus said, and he was there, scrubbing the dog’s head between his tattered ears.

  The dog’s muzzle opened in a grin, then he got to his feet and began rooting around for bits of clucker that he’d missed.

  She bent down to scoop up the plate, and as she straightened, she saw Cardus’s glinting gaze had been focused on her derriere. Warmth unfurled within her, rippled through her blood. For the first time in months, she felt utterly female.

  All too often she’d accepted male admiration and the feelings it engendered in her as the basis for self-respect. Even when she’d married Tinne, she knew he asked for her hand because he found her sexy, and he’d wanted some land that her father had. Soon after they’d wed, she’d understood that Tinne had also wanted to divert the attention of his parents from his older brother to Tinne and herself. None of that had mattered.

  She’d built a marriage, loved Tinne, tried to forget that she was only a wife and not a HeartMate—that he had a HeartMate.

  Then, with her miscarriage, all changed. She couldn’t get beyond the grief, wouldn’t let Tinne help her, didn’t turn to him. She’d blamed his parents and the curse they’d brought down on their Family for her loss.

  “Past and done and gone!” she whispered, flicking her fingers to send thoughts away. “Now and future and dawn!” Live in the present, concentrate on the future.

  “Lady?” murmured Cardus.

  And she was back in the moment, thoughts of the past dissipated. She glanced at Cardus and realized that the evening light had faded and it was near dark. “Nothing,” she answered.

  He inclined his head, accepting, though she knew from experience that he had keen hearing, and thought he would have made out the words.

  The dog munched a few bites, then projected mentally, I can be a Fam. The animal looked at Cardus, then her, from under bushy brows. I can be a Fam to both of you.

  As a child, Genista would have flung herself at the dog and wrapped her arms around him, claiming him for her own, needing his love. Wanting something of her own that her sisters would not take from her, and would envy.

  In the last couple of years, since she’d miscarried her babe, she’d have stepped back and let Cardus bond with the dog.

  But tonight, with the scent of autumn in the cool air, the ticking of the minutes down to Samhain and the new year, she found that she didn’t want to give up the dog. Straightening her spine and lifting her chin, she stared at Cardus.

  One side of his mouth kicked up. He shifted until he was solidly on his balance, an easy fighter’s stance. “Well, lady, shall we share the dog?”

  “So you aren’t going to cede the dog to me?”

  Cardus grinned. “No.”

  An urge to tease came over her. She canted a hip. “What if I use my female wiles on you?” She nearly didn’t believe what she was saying; flirting had been easy and natural once, but she’d hadn’t had any urge to do so with a man for so long.

  Three

  Please. Do. Use your feminine wiles on me,” Cardus said.

  Her heart was beating fast. “I’m rusty at flirting.”

  He shook his head. “No, you aren’t.”

  Every instant she stood looking at him, feeling his regard, she tingled more, got warmer.

  The dog belched, ambled over, and swiped his nose against Cardus’s hand, then came to her and did the same. His nose was cold. The warm day was chilling into a nippy night, but her blood was still heated.

  I will stay with you two, the dog said. He trotted over to Genista’s iron-spiked fence. The dog wasn’t quite skinny enough to squeeze through the bars, but he could put his muzzle through and sniff lustily.

  She didn’t particularly care for the tall fence, and it hadn’t been there when she’d purchased the house but had appeared around her property during the week before she’d moved in. She’d figured that the Hollys had had it erected but had never asked. Her ex-husband’s Family would still consider her someone to protect, though she’d severed all ties—contractual, physical, mental, and emotional—with them. She’d disliked living behind bars so much that she’d removed the high fence from the front portion of her land.

  This yard has no place for me during the hard winter, the dog said. He rambled to Cardus’s back gate, a short wooden picket fence in honeycolored wood. With an uneven stride, Cardus caught up with the dog and opened the gate. The dog hummed with pleasure as he loped to a shed, then lifted his leg to urinate. This is perfect.

  Of course he would think so, now that he’d marked it.

  “You have a name, dog?” Cardus asked.

  I am Whin Thistle.

  Genista stilled. Whin was another name for gorse, for furze, her own name. How did the dog know? Cardus was frowning.

  A warm breeze fluttered around her, and when it was gone, she was cold. Time to go back inside, have her own dinner. She
turned toward her yard and began walking but looked over her shoulder at Cardus and the dog and stumbled.

  Immediately Cardus was next to her, steadying her. Moving faster than she’d thought with that damaged leg of his. Reminding her that he was a fighter.

  She didn’t want to get involved with another fighter. She knew them all too well—aggressive, always sure they were right.

  But he smelled good, like autumn. The thought that he smelled like how she’d always believed the Autumn Lord god to smell wisped in the back of her mind. Virile, a hint of sweat, of musk, of autumn leaves. Yes, she’d secretly always preferred the aspect of the Autumn Lord best.

  Something she’d hidden from herself and the Hollys—those silver-gilt-headed men whose Family ruled in the heat of summer.

  Cardus offered his arm. “Can I walk you back to the door, lady?”

  “It’s not that far.” She glanced to her home, saw that there wasn’t a glimmer of light from the windows. They were far enough from his place to see the full back of his house. His windows showed bright yellow rectangles, shining comfort.

  “It’s dark and the park is public, open to anyone. And as you discovered, the ground is rough. Allow me.”

  “I know that tone. If I don’t take your arm, you will walk with me anyway.”

  “That’s right. But I am pleased to accompany you.”

  It sounded as if he meant it. Her brows drew down. “You may as well call me Nista.” But she put her hand on his arm.

  He inclined his torso. “Honored, Nista. I asked you to call me Cardus months ago.”

  And, oddly enough, she’d been thinking of him that way, by his first name. She blinked. She couldn’t recall when she’d changed from calling him Parryl in her mind to Cardus. “I’m not that much of a lady,” she said.

  “Doubt that.”

  As they walked closer, her curiosity stirred and she found her gaze going to what she could see through his windows. Instead of the fancily carved spice and dried-food shelves that lined the walls of her small back room, the man had locked and spellshielded weapon cabinets. One each for swords, knives, and blazers.

  She withdrew her hand from his arm, but he caught her fingers in a warm and calloused grip. “Look beyond my tools, lady, down the hall.”