He stopped, so she did, too. “You’re right.” Standing tall, he stretched every limb except the hand that held hers. “Mindful meditation. Clear the brain. Lady and Lord knows it’s stuffed full of too many Celtan rules and regulations and laws.”
“They can be boring,” she agreed. “But I’m sure you passed the test and you won’t ever have to do that again.”
“The heirs to the FirstFamilies don’t have to take this exam.” It was the most common complaint he’d heard when he’d asked around the small—the very small sampling, mostly Danith D’Ash—of people raised from Commoner to noble. There were protests on file.
“No,” Sedwy said with the heavy sympathy that she’d used every time he’d mentioned it.
“The people who marry into the FirstFamilies don’t have to take this exam.” He’d pointed that out to his cuz Mitchella D’Blackthorn, who’d just fluffed her hair to tease him.
Sedwy said, “But most noble children are drilled on the material. That depends on their Family and their training. My sister was trained by Mother. And I’ll bet you anything you want that Laev Hawthorn could quote those laws word by word and with punctuation.”
“Um-hmm.” His shoulders had tensed. He pushed aside the notion that Sedwy was more in line with his parents than with himself in her basic beliefs. She firmly believed in ambition and drive to fulfill that ambition. He would always have preferred to have lived a quiet life, part of a whole, doing what he liked and not going after some external goal of fame and power.
But they both believed in doing their duty.
As they walked in silence, the peace of the land—his land, Clover land—worked on him. He was a child of the city, they all were. But the elders had been canny in claiming the area. Celta had been built by the Colonists with their strange machines, a great city laid out and enclosed by a eall. But the Celtans hadn’t thrived as much as their ancestors had anticipated, and land was available for people with an eye for growth and development.
Within a decade this labyrinth would be private, and the Clover Sacred Grove part of another courtyard. A special treasure.
He asked, “What of other small communities? How many of them have labyrinths?”
“Not many. The art colonies, Mona Island and Toono Town, of course. And Gael City has three.”
“Have you studied that aspect?”
“Touched on it, perhaps, but it’s an interesting idea.”
“To be studied after The Rise of a Commoner Family to Noble Status.”
She slid her head against his shoulder. “I can report on what occurred with you Clovers, but not extrapolate. Your Family is unique.”
“Every Family is unique. Every individual is unique.” And every individual should be allowed to follow their own dreams—whether they were ambitious or not.
“You certainly are,” Sedwy said, and just those three words had him realizing that as they’d walked, their bodies had leaned toward each other.
Every step was leading to making love. Suddenly his sex was as hard as a rock, his blood had pooled in his lower body, and that’s what he wanted. No thought about how he and she were different, just how he and she would come together. Soon.
Lowering his eyelashes against the brightness of the sun, the white reflections of the snow, he drew air into his lungs. The scent of pine and fir and snow that meant Yule. The holiday was coming and he’d been too busy to enjoy the season.
The path turned inward, was flanked by trees, and they walked in the quiet, ever aware of the throbbing bond between them, the unspoken knowledge that their long desire for each other would soon be fulfilled. That the bond was so large should have concerned him. It didn’t. Worldly ambition might be beyond his understanding; risking all for his heart wasn’t.
He was linked to her and the Family, and, oddly, this land.
When they got past the evergreen trees and circled into the deciduous grove itself, and the large center of the labyrinth came into view, Sedwy gasped. “What is it?”
“Not one of those fancy pavilions you nobles have.” Walker smiled as he looked at the white ovoid. “It’s a bubble, a material construct and not a weathershield, though it has spells to keep it warm and cozy. We take it down during the nice part of the year and major holidays. This Yule, the whole Family might gather, even those in other cities might return home. So we’ll invest in spells.” He flexed his biceps. He knew that he might have to be the one doing the weathershield spell casting, that it could be hard work, work of the mind, but his body reacted anyway. “It’s very nice inside.”
Last time he’d been in it, there had been thick rugs and huge floor pillows like a casual ritual room, along with a small altar. “And it’s private.
Not many people come here during the workday.”
Sedwy tilted her head. “I think I’ve heard of such shelters, but I’ve never seen one.” As they drew closer, Walker noted that the flaps over the windows were rolled up on the inside. Like the bubble itself, the windows were oval. Though he liked the idea of making love in the sunlight, it would probably be a good idea if he closed them.
They continued the last few rounds of the labyrinth, but Walker didn’t meditate. His blood flowed hot, his body remained hard, and all he could think about was how he’d make love with Sedwy.
Each breath he breathed in the fragrance of her, each step their bodies touched, hip or foot or shoulder. Their steps matched, and he knew when their heartbeats matched. Faster than normal for both of them.
Then they were there, and he touched the seam of the door flap and murmured the spellwords to unshield it, pump up the heat. “Open to the Clover Heart.” The bubble had a simple recognition spell. Only Clovers could open the door. He lifted one side of the flap and stepped in and onto a small area of flagstones, heated enough to convert the snow on his boots to melted water. As soon as Sedwy was in, he sealed the door, let her look around for a few seconds before he turned to her.
“Will you love with me here? Now?” he asked. He’d tried to make the words romantic, hoped his husky tone was sexy. He’d had affairs before, of course, but none that were important. Making love with Sedwy was vital. His own emotions and the link between them confirmed that.
“Yes,” she said. Since her reply came out on a quivering breath, he was reassured.
Twelve
His hands went to her face and framed it. “So lovely,” he said. “So damn beautiful it makes my heart hurt.”
He lowered his mouth to hers. Her eyes had dilated wide, and when she closed her eyes, he closed his. There was scent around him...of the last Family ritual of New Year’s, Samhain. It had been a cold autumn. The spices of the new year mixed with the smell of Sedwy and were perfect.
New relationship with a woman. Perfect.
They’d kissed before, but now he pressed his mouth harder against her lush lips, his tongue probed deeper, rubbed against hers until her flavor filled him, sinking into his blood pulsing with desire. This time he wouldn’t have to stop. This time he could enjoy every slide of skin against skin, every touch, and know he would have all.
He’d caught some of her hair under his palms, and it was thick and silken. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her body to his to feel her, sex to sex. Only to be thwarted by his thick coat and her cloak. He broke the kiss and raised his head. “Too many clothes.” His tongue was thick. He was usually a good talker, but words were sliding out of his brain.
So he gulped air and stepped back and touched the Celtan knot–design clasp at the throat of her cloak. He unlatched the pin, then had to steady himself so he could unbutton the fancy frogs. When enough of them were open, he widened the top so she could step out, and she did, gracefully. He watched every move of her body. All beautiful, all to be cherished in memory. The angle of her head, so, the gesture of her hand.
He hung the cloak on a rack and jerked his thumb down the tabs of his, opening it. He shrugged from it and threw it at the rack.
“Let me he
lp,” Sedwy said. “Clothes off!”
And they were naked and he couldn’t pull air into his chest at all because she was everything he’d ever loved in a woman. Nice shoulders, full breasts slimming to her waist, rounded hips, and a slight curve to her stomach. He swallowed hard, aware that his cock was big and hard and more erect than he could remember since his teen years. “You look like the goddess.”
She pinkened all over. It was wonderful. He particularly liked how her rosy nipples tightened.
“You look like the god,” she said.
He shook his head, knew that wasn’t true. He still felt lanky, though he was moving better and had added muscle with regular sparring. He was too lean for the depictions of the god. “No,” he said. “I’m just Walker Clover.”
“GrandLord Clover.”
That meant nothing to his lust-fogged brain. All he recalled was that he had to go as slowly as possible so he’d impress her and she’d want to lay with him over and over. This couldn’t be a one-shot deal. He closed the space between them, noted a nice, soft, fat pillow from the corner of his eye. Good.
His hands went to her breasts. No! He was supposed to take her by the hand, lead her to the rug and the pillow, sink down onto it. But he couldn’t release her breasts. His thumbs rubbed the little peaks, and she arched to him and moaned, and all thought in his head vaporized.
He swung her up into his arms. Now he felt like a god, holding a woman. This woman. His woman. No, he wouldn’t let her go easily.
“Walker,” she whispered.
He bent his head and claimed her mouth again, lips redder than her nipples, swollen from their previous kiss. She opened her mouth and welcomed him in, and she was warm and slick and wet for his tongue, and he wasn’t touching her marvelous breasts and he needed to. He took the four paces to the pillow and the rug, lowered her, followed her down. Her neck was cradled on one arm, and he brought up his other hand to weigh and cradle her breasts, treasure them with teasing caresses.
Not enough. He had to see those wonders up close, taste the tips. So he moved, and set his hands around her waist and lifted... She moved, too. Her legs twisted and her skin slid against his skin and his sex. Then she slipped right on top of him. Intimately. Sheathing him in her body.
He couldn’t prevent the groan, and after it was out, had trouble drawing air in. She wiggled on him and that brought a gasp.
She laughed. “You look so surprised.” Her tender expression was all he saw. She kissed him, nipped his lower lip.
He plunged and her head tilted back and whimpers of need shuddered from her.
Lust flashfired in his veins and the link between them, and he had to have her. His hands settled on her round hips and he squeezed. He was going high and taking her with him. He drove into her, and the hint of ecstasy trickled through him.
Her fingers curved over his shoulders, her nails biting into his back, and the little pain slid like the rarest liquor through his veins. Last thread of control broke and he surged, grabbed her hips and forced her to ride, to move the way he wanted, needed. To rotate and angle, and then she screamed, and low sounds came from his chest, but he didn’t hear them break from his mouth because he was soaring through bright blue sky to the white blue sun. She was with him, a fiery phoenix, and she squeezed him, and then he was exploding and his pleasure went on forever, like sunlight over the land.
He hit ground again, and it was a jarring thud when he knew he loved her. Truly loved her. No woman before her existed in his memory, only the feel of her now, and the dark knowledge, thick as blood, that she could leave him and take his heart with her.
Then sound did thrum against his ears and he heard his own ragged panting...and her continuing little moans of completion. That was good.
Almost reassuring him that she would stay.
The air in the bubble had heated until it was as warm as a summer’s day. The scent of their sex wasn’t as strong as the herbal freshening spell that had been released by their perspiration.
“You are one wonderful man, Walker Clover,” she said.
“You are a goddess,” he replied.
She laughed as he’d meant her to. She was all too human, he knew that, but she looked and felt like a goddess to him. Raising her head from where it rested on his shoulder, she said, “Very special man.” Her voice was sleepy and that pleased him. He’d satisfied her; they’d tired each other. He hoped it wasn’t just that she’d had a difficult time sleeping the night before, as he had.
He stroked her hair. “Let’s stay here awhile.” Out of the natural flow of the world, any pressures and expectations. Soon enough to take up those burdens when they left.
“Sounds wonderful,” she said, then she shifted her head to look at him, and her eyelids raised slowly. Her eyes were a foggy turquoise, more blue than green. “You’re an extraordinary lover, Walker.”
“Just did what came naturally,” he said.
She laughed again and it seemed to wake her a little. She rolled off him, and that was a loss. He pretended it didn’t matter by stretching, heard a few joint pops and winced. That was romantic. What else could he do for her?
“We have some liqueurs in the no-time.” He didn’t care that they were for rituals and special occasions. This was a special occasion.
“Lovely,” she said. Then sat. Her breasts swayed and his mouth dried, his body began to stir again.
“Someone’s coming.” Sedwy laughed.
Walker scowled. “Lady and Lord, it’s a workday morning.”
“I think that it’s NoonBell.”
“Hell.”
Sedwy raised one of the window flaps with a spell couplet. “It’s your cuz Trif and her husband, Ilex Winterberry. They look loving.”
“She’s nearly ready to give birth!” Walker was outraged. He should have had a lot more time with Sedwy.
She laughed again. “That may make intercourse out of the question, but otherwise...”
He raised his hands. “Don’t need to know. And we don’t need to meet them.” And, damn, the inside of the bubble looked as if people had rolled around and had vigorous sex.
Sedwy lifted her arms and spun in a circle, chanting a short housekeeping spell. The rugs smoothed, pillows plumped, and nice floral fragrance banished the last scent of sex. Walker nearly growled. He wanted time with Sedwy. All her attention.
He grabbed their clothes, then stood behind her, clasping his arms around her more tightly than when they usually teleported. “On three,” he said. Then he murmured in her ear. “I want you in my bed tonight, Sedwy.”
He felt her heart bump under their twined arms. “Yes,” she said.
“And every other night.”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
“Is anyone there!” called Trif. At the same time, Walker felt the brush of her husband’s Flair.
“One, Sedwy Grove. Two, pretty woman. Three.”
There was the brief sense of darkness, of motion, then they were on the small teleportation pad in the corner of his bedroom. He dropped his arms and turned Sedwy so he could kiss her again, a kiss of promise. “And I want you to attend Yule with us.”
“Yes,” she said.
Walker’s scrybowl played the dignified notes that Trif had programmed on it. Walker glanced at the colors being projected from the water into the air. He didn’t know those...
“It’s the Guildhall!” Sedwy hurried from his arms. With a few Words, her clothes were on. Walker yanked on his tunic and trous. “Monkshood.”
She stood by the bowl and waved. “Come on!”
So much for his private time with Sedwy. It would always be like this, he knew. Moments stolen from his life. The most precious moments. He wanted her, always. But would she stay with him? And who would she love, the GrandLord or Walker Clover?
That night Walker enjoyed the party much more. People didn’t treat him any differently—or he was fitting into his new place in the Family—it wasn’t as raucous as the one two weeks before, and he
danced a lot with Sedwy. Then he took her to bed and they made love a couple of more times before they slept well in each other’s arms.
They were resting after morning sex, and Sedwy studied him, appreciating the view. He lay loosely sprawled in the bed. He fit there. But she’d seen his small original room in his father and mother’s house. He’d fit there, too. “You have no ambition,” she said. That was the lack she’d felt in him.
He gave her a half smile, his eyes still sleepy. “I beg your pardon?” The words were casual.
“You have the potential to rise to the highest seat in the land, the Captain of All Councils. Become the first person other than a FirstFamilies lady or lord to be Captain. Yet you don’t want to.”
He sat up, his face hardening in that way that told her he was more than irritated, that hurt was mixed with his anger.
“Potential is not a word I care for. It has been bandied about far too often in my life, with others supplying their own definition in relation to me.”
“You don’t want to be Captain of All Councils.”
“No. Why should I?”
“Because you would be good at it?” she asked.
He gave her a disbelieving look. “Just for that reason?”
“I don’t think you’re lazy. You work hard. Have worked hard, for the examination, to fit in with the nobles. To conduct yourself the way a man nobly born would.”
“Thank you very much for that.” He got up and pulled on his loincloth and trous.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“No, you’re not,” he replied, slipping on his shirt and fastening the shoulder tabs.
“You just confuse me.”
Brows still lowered, face still set, he threw her a look. “In what way?”
She felt a trickle of relief. Just like herself, if Walker was asking questions, he wasn’t going to walk away immediately. But maybe it would be better if she tried a different approach. “You’ve been a teacher. Wouldn’t you have wanted Nuin to reach his highest level?”
Walker jerked a shoulder. “He will.”
That hadn’t worked. “You know he will.”
Hearts and Swords: Four Original Stories of Celta Page 40