Heart Thief

by Robin D. Owens

  Ruis tensed.

  The slight curve that graced her lips faded and her expression became solemn. “You saved my life.”

  “Did I?” Ruis smiled ironically. “My Nullness short-circuited the glider forcefields.”

  She took a small step toward him. “You kept me from falling between them. You brought me here to Heal.”

  Ruis shrugged.

  Again she stepped forward, staring, her eyes moving as if trying to gauge his motives. Ruis realized that, probably for the first time since she’d experienced her full Flair, she had no telempathic clues to what another person was thinking. His own gaze sharpened. As usual, she didn’t look frightened or distressed—she seemed intrigued, perhaps even fascinated?

  When she came another half-step forward, his nostrils widened as he caught her scent, something deep and rich and sweet, completely tempting. The fragrance insinuated itself inside him and twined through his blood until it picked up pace.

  “Will you turn me in?” he asked.

  Her mouth pinched. In her eyes, duty and responsibility warred with gratitude and interest. Ruis was glad to see the conflict. It fed his starving ego.

  “Are you going to leave Druida?” she asked.

  “No.”

  Impasse. She huffed out a breath and shot him a disgruntled look. “You could have lied,” she murmured.

  “I want every word, every action between us to be honest.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “The honorable Ruis Elder. I knew it, but couldn’t find proof.” She bent down and scooped up a handful of water. Watching him, she spread her fingers and the water sieved away, tiny droplets clinging to her fingers. “You are like the water, flowing through all the official papers of Druida and Celta. A mention here, a hint of someone who might be you there, but no solid records.

  “You were a FirstSon, entitled to an allowance from your birth. The papers are muddled, the bookkeeping odd.” She set her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. “It can only be extrapolated that your allowance was actually paid. But no receipts are on file written in your hand and independently verified that you, personally, ever received the funds.”

  “A Null isn’t a person in Celtan culture or to those who comprise the GuildCouncils. That’s a statement of fact.”

  She gave a ladylike snort. “Not acceptable.”

  He shrugged again. “It hardly matters. I’m a convicted thief, now. I’m sure that according to the law of Celta, any monthly noblegilt due me is void upon my banishment.” He lifted his eyebrows. “You might want to ensure that no noblegilt is paid out in my name,” he said, a slow smile touching his lips. One stream of funds to Bucus cut off, at least.

  She nodded shortly. “I’ll take care of that in the morning.” Ruis liked the way authority sat upon her. Liked her obvious competence. And knew he liked it because it warmed him to think of someone such as she respecting him, valuing him. His gut clenched and he battled back weakening emotions. “So, are you going to turn me in, Judge D’SilverFir?” He was sure he knew the answer—it lived in the thread of attraction that spun between them, but he wanted words. He found that he was greedy for solid words that she esteemed him, not merely indirect hints. He needed a declaration that he was of some worth to someone. Finally.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I am not in the habit of ingratitude. Of course I will not turn you in. You saved my life.” She might be trying to keep her face impassive, but Ruis had long experience in measuring the expressions of others, and there was no hardness in hers.

  “We’re even,” he said.

  She tilted her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t know that we will ever be ‘even’ and . . .”

  “And?”

  A slight flush pinkened her cheeks. “I dislike thinking that we might be keeping track of favors. There is too much between us and time is too short, that we should tally courtesies.”

  “I am banished from Druida,” he said softly. “I am breaking your precious laws.”

  Her fingers tunneled through her hair. “They are precious laws. The rule of law is paramount in keeping humans civilized. Without law, people would act on whim, with no thought of the consequences. The powerful would rule without recourse.”

  “Oh, and that doesn’t happen?” His sarcasm made her color. But she lifted her chin.

  “Not always. And not forever. No one is above the law. No one.”

  Ruis laughed. She closed her eyes as if pained and that stopped him short.

  Her breasts rose as she took a deep breath. “I know that you, of all people, have trouble believing that, but it is the corner-stone of my life. What has happened to you is—” She shook her head, raised her hands, then dropped them in a futile gesture. “It should not have happened to you, to anyone.”

  He shook his head in disbelief at her idealism.

  She stiffened her spine. “I will undo the tangle of records around your life, and when I do—”

  He took one of her waving hands and raised it to his lips. Again she pinkened, but this time he was sure it was not from misguided guilt or shame. This time it was because of his touch. His. Touch. He, Ruis Elder.

  “So you will not turn me in,” he whispered against her hand. “Because I saved your life. Because I came to you after your JudgmentGrove and massaged the wretchedness from you.”

  Her fingers fluttered within his own as he admitted what was true and real between them aloud.

  “Because I have been wronged and you revere the law and strive to correct any injustice. Because my existence is tangled in missing pages and incomplete documents and raises many questions. Do I have all this right?” He kissed her hand now, grateful to her for all the good emotions she’d set blooming in his life. “And what of this wonderful sharing bond we have between us?”

  “I will fight for you.” It was barely a whisper, but it sounded like a vow.

  “What’s past is past. I don’t dwell on that which is gone. I’d rather you kiss me,” he said, and held his breath at his impetuous words. A glacial ice froze him in place. He’d left himself completely vulnerable to her rejection. Something he hadn’t done since childhood.

  She stepped up close to him and her hands went to his shoulders. He wondered if she could feel the tremors coursing through his body. Her expression turned to longing, matching the need twisting inside him. Rising to her toes, she brushed her mouth gently across his. Too gently. He ached desperately for more, but fisted his hands at his side to endure the exquisite pleasure, more emotional than physical, of a woman kissing him. A groan of delight mixed with need tore from his throat.

  She settled to her feet, but instead of leaving him, she rested her head and palms against his chest, breathing deeply. Ruis closed his arms around her.

  “I can’t read you,” she murmured against him.

  “No.” He wanted to string some charming words together, but his tongue stuck.

  “All my senses open up when I am with you. I experience so much of the physical world without any tinge of the mental. It’s wonderful.”

  She looked up. Her breasts pressed against him as she breathed, and Ruis could not turn away from either her soft body or the bemusement in her eyes. He could only stand and let her feel the pounding of his heart and the gathering sexual tension of his muscles. “You open up the world to me, yet you keep my mind quiet and safe and—restful.”

  She stirred him up to storm, yet smiled calmly at him.

  He set one hand at the back of her waist and cradled her head with his other hand. Lifting her slightly, he placed his lips on hers.

  How soft! He inhaled and her natural aroma settled into his memory until he knew he would never be free of it. His lips parted and the merest wisp of a tantalizing feminine taste teased him.

  He wanted more.

  Thought fled. He gathered her closer until all of her pressed against him. Only the delight of her full bosom soft on his chest, her firm bottom under his hand, moved him.

  He flicked his tongue across her
closed lips. “Open your mouth for me.”

  Her lips parted and he delved. She tasted dark, rich, sweet. Desire erupted through his veins. He savored her, drawing into himself all the essence of her taste, her scent, her self.

  Her hands slowly brushed up his arms to settle on his shoulders, accepting the kiss and accepting him. Need grew for this delicious woman.

  He wanted to touch her everywhere, but could not bear to separate himself from her, even to caress a breast, a thigh. The pressure of her body along his ignited sensation in every nerve.

  She plunged her fingers into his hair, her tongue tangled with his and made him groan. Arching to him, her hips rocked against his throbbing arousal.

  He lowered them to the ground. The light impact of her softness on him fed his fever.

  She gasped, moaned. An odd sound.

  He drew back.

  Her eyes were dilated black. She panted. Her delicate lips trembled. He was hurting her! He’d paid no attention to her head. He tore himself away, staring at her heart-shaped face and lovely features, her fine-boned body with full breasts and curving hips.

  This was no tavern girl to tumble in heedless lust. This was a GrandLady. A FirstFamily GrandLady. A woman who had been kind to him.

  Now and then, at his most optimistic, he dared to hope he could court her, win her, ignoring that she had great duties and status. Those last words of hers vowing to help him bolstered his hopes. He could give her something no one else on Celta could—relief from the mental battering of others, an exploration of her physical senses.

  Realistically, he could see no good end to their association. She was not his woman. The most they could have was a short affair. His life was too opposite hers, and he now held secrets of the Ship that he didn’t dare let anyone—even her—know.

  Ailim rose to her feet, her hands clasped at her waist. She looked a trifle mussed from his hands, but not in pain. In fact, her expression was more carefree than he’d ever seen.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked.

  She raised perfectly arched brows. “Is that why you stopped? No. You didn’t hurt me. I enjoy being with you.”

  Samba strolled from some bushes and came to sit beside him. Both her ears moved forward, her whiskers quivered with her subvocal growl. My FamMan.

  D’SilverFir nodded at the cat, but fear crossed her face. “My Fam, my Primrose—”

  Samba snorted beside him. Young, stupid puppy.

  D’SilverFir winced.

  Puppy fine. Ran to Holm Holly.

  Ruis blinked. The name was clear in Samba’s meows.

  “Holly?” he said.

  Holm Holly. Hollys have kept Fams all through the years. Hunting Cats. Samba lifted her pointed chin. My Dam is Holly.

  D’SilverFir sighed. Her hands tightened. “I’m sure D’Ash will have something to say when I have to pick up a prized puppy from the Holly household.” One of her shoulders hunched, then she angled her chin. “Nothing to be done about it.”

  “You’re very conscious of appearances.”

  D’SilverFir gestured gracefully. “Appearances, manners, propriety, duty. All are scrutinized in a Judge.”

  The fact that she was forbidden to him crashed down on him. Anger surged through Ruis. Why had he thought he could ever have this woman? He had been given the Elder Heir’s name of Ruis. He was a FirstSon. Without his Nullness, he would be equal to Holly, a match for even D’SilverFir. But not now. He staggered a step and accepted the pain in his heart.

  She moved to him, wrapping her fingers around his arm as if to steady him. She frowned up at him, and her other hand touched his jaw. “You have scratches, and bruises. You saved my life and hurt yourself—the spring—”

  “Is imbued with healing spells. No healing spells work on me.”

  She looked horrified. “Then how—”

  He folded his fingers over hers. “I’m careful.” He raised an eyebrow. “And I use herbs. Isn’t that how everything started?”

  She pulled her hands away to whip a softleaf from her sleeve, then carefully patted his face. “Herbs, yes, of course. This has a little healing spell—”

  “Which I have just negated—”

  “But it also has an unguent for minor scrapes.”

  Taking the softleaf in one hand, he grasped her fingers and held them to his mouth in a brushing, tender kiss. She hesitated and pulled her hand away. Again attraction spun between them, desire—then even more, something he’d never known from a person of any Flair—simple affection.

  Now he raised the cloth to his nostrils and sniffed. “It doesn’t smell of unguent. It smells of you.”

  She flushed and looked down, gathered handfuls of the fabric of her gown and shook it so bits of grass and twigs that had clung to it fell free.

  Ruis harkened back to their conversation. “It seems to me that you’ve always lived a restricted life, not only now. You should enjoy the present moment more. Cherish the now.”

  “You saved my life.” She smiled. “Some would say that gives you infinite rights to advise me.” She turned and hesitated at the branching of three paths.

  She didn’t want to think of reality, either. Ruis walked to her. He wanted to offer his arm, but it would be better to not touch her.

  She wobbled on shoes that were fashionably high. He shot out a hand to steady her, and when she curved her own hand above his elbow and hung on, he said nothing. He cherished her touch. And her scent. And the lingering taste of her. The memory he would never forget of her body atop him. His own body tightened.

  Samba smacked his boots with her paw. You are ignoring Me.

  Ruis looked down at her. D’SilverFir’s steps didn’t falter. She was too close to him, connected to him. He halted the woman and waved to a proudly preening Samba. “GrandLady D’SilverFir, my Fam, Samba, and I are honored by your presence.”

  Samba snorted.

  D’SilverFir looked at him, then the cat. She stooped and tentatively patted Samba’s large head. Samba rumbled a purr. “She looks quite the huntress.”

  Samba’s purr went up a notch. I am great huntress. I am wonderful Cat and Fam.

  Ailim frowned as if she had trouble picking out Samba’s individual words.

  “Samba is a good Fam.” Ruis held out his elbow and D’SilverFir tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. They began walking again.

  I am also smart.

  “She’s smart.”

  Unlike the puppy. Puppy will never be smart.

  Ruis didn’t translate.

  They stopped at the edge of the FirstGrove. Selfishly, he wanted to give her a token to remember him by. Looking around, he saw a lush plant twining up an arbor. Though only a few of the trumpet flowers still bloomed, he could make out their heavy scent—An’Alcha—passionflower. Just thinking of passion caused blood to pound through him.

  Just beyond the An’Alcha he saw a bush of delicate BalmHeal, rare and beautiful, a plant to heal any lingering trace of Ailim’s headache.

  He hesitated, then chose.

  Walking past the An’Alcha, he addressed the BalmHeal in Celtan tradition. “Forgive me, I need a spray of your blossoms.” He snapped a small branchlet off. “I will not forget your generosity. Thank you.”

  When he turned to D’SilverFir, she was smiling. “Well done.”

  He bowed. “For you.”

  “Thank you.” She tucked it carefully into a loop near her shoulder, made for displaying flowers.

  Ruis couldn’t help but smile. It was the first time he had ever given a lady flowers, and to have pleased a woman with so small a gesture made him feel strong and confident.

  She smiled back at him, and he realized it was the first carefree smile he’d seen grace her face. For once she must not be thinking of duty and responsibility, of what her station, as a FirstFamily head and a SupremeJudge, demanded of her. He slowed his steps. If this was the last time he dared spend with this woman, he would completely enjoy it.

  They came to the wooden do
or in the dilapidated wall, and D’SilverFir traced a finger in the cracked stone plaque next to the portal. “GrandHouse BalmHeal,” she mused. “How long have they been gone, I wonder.”

  Ruis’s smile twisted. “They didn’t make it two centuries. I researched them.”

  When she looked surprised, he straightened. “D’Licorice, the Public Librarian, allowed me use of the system and the archives.” She’d set up a special room for him so he could be comfortable and not affect the collections with his defect.

  He looked down at D’SilverFir and smoothed a wisp of blond hair back from her face. The last touch, before they faced the outside world.

  She smiled and turned aside.

  He nodded to Samba, who opened the door. The hush of the garden was broken by city sounds.

  D’SilverFir withdrew her hand and stepped aside. “I can find my way home.”

  Ruis followed her through the gate. “I’ll make sure you get to D’SilverFir Residence.”

  She whirled on him, looking angry. “You’ve tempted fate too much this eve. I’ll—”

  “—accompany me when I walk you home. We’ll be safe.” He took her arm, then dropped it. “Unless you tire of my presence. My Nullness wears on you.”

  Her head jerked up. “You know the reverse is true.” She set her hand back between his side and elbow and sighed. “Very well, but we must be careful.”

  Half a septhour later Ruis opened the huge greeniron gate of D’SilverFir estate for her. She led him down a side path toward the castle.

  It stood regal in the twinmoonslight, ruddy stone with round towers capped in greeniron that reflected in the lake around it. Like many FirstFamily Residences, it copied some ancient earth castle.

  He looked down at her, her blond hair pale in the moonlight, framing her heart-shaped face, and he didn’t want to leave. He wanted to be with her, for the evening, for the night, and even for the morn to come—a strange, impossible fantasy. Ruis framed her face in his hands and brushed his lips across hers.

  Her mouth trembled against his, and she returned his kiss, pressing her soft, warm body against his. His mind swam with colors and sensations as his body tightened in the urge to mate.