Her lips firmed and she met his eyes. “I could never betray you.”
His heart clutched. His entire life had been a series of betrayals, but he knew she meant what she said. He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “The noble and most honorable GrandLady D’SilverFir.”
She reclaimed her fingers and her cheeks reddened. “I’m not going to turn you in.”
“GrandLady D’SilverFir,” he repeated, knowing his next words would remind them of the barriers between them. “Oathbound to lead and protect your Family.”
Her face crumpled. “Yes, I swore, just this morning. How can this ever be between us?”
She could give him her body, and her respect, and her affection . . . but she couldn’t give him her future, and he ached. “We live in each and every moment. In the present, so long as we can.” He smiled crookedly. “I’m good at that, I’ll teach you.”
Her smile was as lopsided as his. “I can learn so much from you. And in being with you, I can live in the moment, but otherwise . . .”
He sighed and rolled onto his back. “I know, you’re the head of the Family and must plan for their future.” The deepest bedrock of Ailim’s character would be honor; without that she wouldn’t be the woman he cared for. He almost grasped what it would have been like to have been born into an honorable Family, accepted, then stacked his hands under his head as his imagination failed.
He looked up and saw the SilverFir Crest embroidered into the canopy above. A corner of his mouth hiked. She would never escape reminders of who she was, who she’d been taught to be. Nor would she ever betray her oath—as a GrandLady or a Judge. So Ruis had to recognize that.
“Speaking of Family, my aunt wears an evil, Flaired amulet. Could you help—”
“Yes.”
She shook her head, her eyes holding wonder. “Just that quickly.”
“Tell me how I can help you get your aunt’s amulet.”
“In a minute.” She scooted close to him and put her hand on his chest, then smiled as if she liked feeling his heart’s vibration. “A long time ago you said you wanted to ask me something. I was too dazed to pay attention.” She chuckled.
Heat came to his face and he kept his stare fixed on the cloth above him.
Her finger touched his cheek. “What is your question?”
Stupid to feel foolish and insecure after what they’d just shared. Awful to feel a surge of jealousy. Ruis licked his lips and said, “I watched the ceremony in the square today. Very impressive. You hardly seemed to be the same woman I’d met. I wanted to find out—”
Ailim tensed. She could read body language and knew when someone thought they’d said too much. She scowled. “Exactly what did you want to find out?”
“I wanted you to be with me, part of the crowd, not one of them—the elite, the nobles, the FirstFamily GreatLords.”
“And?”
He propped himself up on one elbow and again she felt the intensity of his gaze. She matched the steadiness of his stare. “What did you want to find out?” she repeated.
One of the moons broke from behind clouds and silver rays illuminated the room enough for Ailim to see the clenching of Ruis’s jaw. “Tell me you had no pleasure in the company of the Holly,” he said.
She blinked, sure it wasn’t the question he meant to ask, or only a question that reflected a concern of his that went much deeper.
Her mind scrambled a bit, grasping for the memory he wanted, so long ago—this morning. “The Holly? Do you mean HollyHeir? Holm?”
“Yes, Holm. The FirstSon. The man who will be T’Holly. He of the silver-gilt hair and charming smile. He who led you into the banquet.”
“Uh.”
“Yes?”
She shrugged. “You said it. He’s charming. Amusing.”
“He can’t give you what I can, stir the feelings in you that I do.”
She didn’t know if he was stating a fact or voicing a hope, as he grasped her and pulled her close.
Before his lips even touched hers again, she surrendered to him. The red heat of desire rose once more. She wanted, she yearned. Her mouth opened against his questing tongue. His spicy scent enveloped her, and then blossomed into taste.
Her blood raced. He pulled her closer still, and the whole of his body cradled hers. Once again, his heat and strength and hardness whirled all thought away. She entwined her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with all the fevered desire that had built in her over the last few weeks. She accepted the thrusts of his tongue, the rocking of his hips, the caress of his hand on her bottom, and returned them with passion. She drank his taste deep into her being, where she could always cherish it. Her palms smoothed from his neck to his arms.
He pulled her skin-to-skin, as if he wanted every inch of her skin touching his.
She slid her hands to his broad back, testing each straining muscle, each sinew, kneading and learning his essential shape. He rolled until he lay panting under her and she broke the kiss to study his face flushed with desire.
How dear he was. She stared at him, his face that spoke of noble blood. He should have exuded the ingrained arrogance that all the male nobles of her acquaintance bore, but his eyes told another story. Their expression held shadows of a lifetime of pain, of the expectation of cruelty, and to her gaze, an open vulnerability.
Her throat tightened. How wrong they were to pursue this. Yet how right they were for each other. But she didn’t want to think, so she lowered her mouth to his, preparing to dive once more into pure sensation.
A cat hissed. Ssssamba is here!
Primrose yipped and bolted through the small pet flap set in Ailim’s heavy bedroom door. The puppy leaped up the small set of steps to the great bed and shot across both of them to the pillow next to Ruis and licked his face. Ruis ducked.
Primrose was probably broadcasting a stream of eager, happy thoughts at great speed and loud level, but Ailim couldn’t hear them. A small blessing.
Low menacing cat growls came from the doorway.
“What?” Ruis said, rolling so that he and Ailim were both on their sides.
The angry cat-rill sounded again. Ailim almost caught words, then Primrose was licking her face. The dog had eaten furrabeast mixed with raw eggs not too long ago. Ailim gently pushed her away, toward Ruis. He swept covers over him, to his waist, disappointing Ailim. Primrose whuffled at him and snuffled in his ear. He automatically picked her up and cuddled her, stroking her long, soft fur.
Samba began to curse. Cat-obscenities sounded worse than human swearing. Ruis chuckled.
“You really can communicate with her without telepathy,” Ailim said, slipping off the bed and walking toward the door. “Samba?”
Snarls greeted her. I’m stuck. Stuck in puny dog hole. NOT acceptable to a Cat of My high-degree or My substance.
“You certainly are a cat of substance,” Ailim replied. Of course, some of that was the volume of calico fur on-end sticking out across her body, except where it was pushed aside by the square frame of the pet door. Ailim winced. It looked painful. She hesitated to try and help, seeing bloodily scratched hands in her future.
Ruis, still holding and petting Primrose, joined Ailim.
Samba looked up at him and her frustrated face turned lethal. You will smell of dog.
“That’s too bad,” Ruis said blandly. He seemed to be trembling with suppressed laughter.
A low rumble started deep in Samba’s throat. From Ailim’s experience with her cousin’s new kitten, she knew exactly how high and piercing the sound could escalate. “Quiet!” she commanded. “Do you want to get him caught and killed?”
Irregular, hard thumps hit the door from outside. Cat tail lashings.
Ruis squatted out of striking-paw distance.
Much too close to Samba, Primrose quivered and jumped from his arms to streak away. Ailim heard the scritch of claws on steps and the rustle of covers. Glancing back, she saw that Primrose cowered in a corner of the bed, curled on
Ailim’s pillow. Primrose belched. Ailim looked down at Ruis and Samba. He wasn’t touching her, but murmured soothingly. It didn’t seem to have any effect.
“I think,” Ailim bit her lip and tried to keep a straight face, “that it would be best if you go, Ruis. After the House spells revive from your presence, I’ll teleport Samba to the coordinates she gives me.”
He rose and gazed down at her. “What of your aunt’s amulet?”
She rubbed the back of her neck. Ruis pulled her in front of him and started massaging her nape. Ailim struggled to think past the pleasure of his touch. “The Residence is too full for us to wander around tonight. Menzie keeps the thing somewhere in her rooms, and hasn’t been leaving them very often. I worry about her.”
Ruis’s hands progressed down her shoulders. “Mmmmmmm,” Ailim hummed.
Samba hissed, set her claws in the ancient carpet and ripped.
“Stop that!” Ruis ordered.
Samba narrowed her eyes and hissed again.
Ailim stepped away from him. “I don’t think Menzie will do anything soon.” Ailim prayed not. “Go.” A tingle went up her spine. “You’ve lingered too long. Get back to safety.”
To her surprise, Ruis bent and kissed her brow, then swept her a bow as gallant as Holm Holly. “I’ll be at JudgmentGrove this afternoon—”
“No. It’s too dangerous.” She bit her lip, shook her head. “Come to me tonight,” she whispered.
Ruis’s smile was brilliant, lighting his eyes. He lifted Ailim’s hand and kissed her fingers. His low voice emerged with a rough note. “I’ll be here. We’ll solve the problem of the amulet.”
Ailim nodded. Samba had started a sub-vocal rumbling again.
Ruis pressed a quick kiss on her lips and dressed.
“I’ll send Samba along shortly,” Ailim said.
“Teleport her to Landing Park.”
“Landing Park is a big area.”
Needs to be big to hold—Ailim made out Samba’s words.
“Quiet,” Ruis ordered.
Ailim’s stomach knotted. She felt as if icy bone fingers shredded her heart. Ruis didn’t trust her to know where he hid.
He gathered her close, but she didn’t soften against him. Second thoughts poured into her.
Eleven
“Don’t,” Ruis said to Ailim. “Don’t draw away. I can’t tell you where I hide. It isn’t solely my secret.”
She rubbed her temples. “Someone hides you, then? I thought you lacked good friends.”
“You are my best and first friend, as well as my lover. But—another—could be harmed.”
Lover. The word rocked her, and the feel of his body began to ignite insidious licks of banked desire burning low within her. She shook her head so she could think, kept her breaths shallow, so she wouldn’t inhale the scent that whipped her wits away.
“Teleport Samba to the Summer Pavilion at Landing Park,” Ruis said.
“All right.”
His lips molded hers and she relented, leaning against him. She could understand his protection of someone else. Wasn’t her whole life about just that? His hands stroked her back. “It was worth every danger to come to you. I won’t be stopped, and I will return.”
“Be very careful—”
You are forgetting ME, and My problem, Samba insisted.
Ruis released Ailim. He took a step away from her, two, then gestured to the bureau.
He’d brought passionflowers tonight. An’Alcha. The trumpet like blooms showed pale peach at the edges shading into dark red at the base. A large bouquet sat next to the spray of BalmHeal he’d picked for her in FirstGrove, and which she had placed in a transparent no-time egg.
Passionflowers. Ailim felt a blush heat her face. Suddenly she was aware of their heady fragrance, something she hadn’t noticed, as concentrated as she’d been on Ruis’s scent.
“An’Alcha and BalmHeal still bloom in the FirstGrove?”
“Yes, a gift. I’m no longer forced to steal. I am not a thief.”
Anymore. The word hung between them, but it was of no importance.
As with her sense of smell, Ailim became aware of other sounds in the Residence including the muted bellow of G’Uncle Pinwyd. She clutched at Ruis’s upper arms, tried to give him a little shake. He stood like a rock. “You must go. Hurry, quickly and quietly.”
He didn’t move a centimeter, but smiled his crooked smile, and kissed her again. Then he picked up a bundle of something that she couldn’t quite see. To her utter astonishment he went to the corner of her bedroom and flipped the latch that opened the secret door to the staircase.
“No one knows of that door but D’SilverFir Heirs and heads of household,” she whispered.
His teeth flashed in a grin. “I got it from the plans.”
“No plans are on file, anywhere.”
“There are plans, back even to the last plans of the Earth castle, Egeskov, in Den-Mark.”
Ailim’s mouth fell open, but before she could grope for a reply, he was gone, the panel closing without sound.
She stood there for several moments, and let her mixed emotions flood through her as she stared at the An’Alcha, the rumpled covers on the bed, the place where he’d disappeared. Finally she figured out what she was feeling. Joy. Tenderness. A sense of being valued.
Friend. Lover. He’d called her both of those, and right now, both of those were incredibly essential to her.
But he’d lied.
He was a thief.
She was very sure a piece of her heart was missing.
Ruis was dozing when Samba jumped on his belly. His breath whooshed out and she pricked his stomach with sharp claw-points. “Ouch!”
He’d learned by now that, as a very proud cat, she hated being embarrassed and would slink away or sulk until she got over it. Obviously, she’d decided that her getting stuck in Ailim’s pet door was Ruis’s fault.
“Rrrrowww!” It reached the supersonic stage, vibrating his eardrums. I am back. Had to slink and evade My sire Zanth.
A frisson of warning crawled up his spine. Ruis opened gritty eyes. “Do you think Zanth is suspicious?”
Samba rolled her back. He just out hunting celtaroons.
Ruis hoped so. “Zanth could be dangerous.”
Nothing to worry about. Samba sniffed.
Ruis turned over, enduring the pain of Samba’s claws scratching across his abdomen to his hip as he dumped her. “The way you carried on tonight at D’SilverFir’s, you wouldn’t care if I got caught.”
He ignored her small apologetic mew and pretended not to hear her tentative sounds to attract his notice, but watched her from the corner of his eye. Finally she spoke in a subdued fashion. I would miss you. You’re my FamMan. We’re companions. FAMily.
Ruis grunted, then felt little licks of affection from her rough tongue on his hand. “Hhhn. I guess you’re right.”
I’m always right, she replied, but with only half her usual smugness. Time to sleep. She moved down to the end of the bed and curled in her usual place around his ankle.
Some septhours later he was awakened by an odd creaky noise. He blinked and as his mind cleared, he realized the Ship wasn’t making the noise. It was natural. It was coming from Samba. Not quite a purr and not one of her cat-laughs, a mixture of the two.
Only the glow of machine lights brightened the room, leaving it dim. “Lights,” he said.
Samba hovered in front of him. He gasped and rubbed his eyes. His heart jolted as he hazily saw Samba sitting straight—and floating at eye level. He gulped. “Wha—? What?—”
Samba lifted her nose, and a hum got louder and she lifted even higher until he saw the color of the floor reflected in a curved surface above him. He blinked.
Mine. Mine. Mine! MY flying saucer! Samba squealed, her long whiskers twitching madly, her tail hanging over the rim of the thing as she rocked it back and forth.
Ruis’s eyes widened.
Samba grinned, little white fangs showing. My
toy. You have lots of toys in Ship. This is mine! I found in storeroom. Perfect condition!
Ruis grunted.
Gurgling deep in her throat, Samba swerved figure eights throughout the quarters. Wheeeeeeeeeeee! This is BEST play!
“You can play all you want with that saucer in the Ship, but it would be deadly for both of us if you took it out.”
Samba sniffed. If I fly high, no one can see.
“Let’s not test that.”
Samba played with her saucer while Ruis took a shower in herbal-smelling water, dressed, and put on the light-bending cloak.
“Nearly dawn. Time to meet Shade.”
Samba snorted. He Downwind scruff, no good. He tell nobles and guards about you.
“Ship, transparent window, please.” The Captain’s Quarters had a huge window, fully four meters square, in the sitting room. Ruis glanced out. Bel, the small blue-white sun, was beginning to light the sky. Many of the brightest stars still shone, as well as both moons. An unusual number of people dotted the large Landing Park. Small campfires still burned, and couples lay entwined. It looked more like Beltane, which the Ship called May Day, instead of the Mabon harvest.
When he reached the den, he found that Samba had played one of her tricks, and activated the Prophecy Program. His body interrupted the light beam and a swirling column of cards appeared. Two cards fell, to be fixed and magnified by the holo.
The first card stunned him. A man dressed in gray, with scuffed boots and enveloped by a cloak, pulled a hood to shadow his unshaven face. As Ruis watched, he slunk from the background of tents with pennants flying, to scale a wall. Tucked under both arms, he carried a wealth of swords with various shaped pommels studded with jewels. The bright sky behind him turned gray with black edges of an oncoming storm.
“Seven of Swords,” the program’s throaty female voice said. Ruis translated the “swords” of the Earth cards into Celtan “blasers.” In a contemporary deck, the sneaky bastard—a thief!—would be carrying a basket of seven rich, noble-crested blasers. Ruis grit his teeth, remembering what he had been. Even as he watched, the thief slipped from the holo.
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