Heart Thief

by Robin D. Owens

  Ailim sighed. “If you will give me the name of the—”

  “No. He comes with me.” Mitchella stiffened her spine, causing her bosom to lift. Men caught their breaths.

  Antenn eyed her figure. “What a great mother.”

  “I’m not your mother. You can call me Auntie Mitchella, like my other ten nephews.”

  “Yeah. I can do that.”

  She looked the boy up and down. Then held out a hand. He put his own into hers. “Yeah.”

  Ailim picked up her gavel and banged it. “Noon recess is called. Yeldoc, you may dismiss the weathershield and sacred circle.”

  Mitchella Clover and her new ward strolled in the direction of middle-class Druida, their cloaks billowing in the wind. They had dropped hands, but were talking. Their new life might not be easy on them, but Ailim believed it could work.

  Ailim’s lips curved in a gentle smile that tangled Ruis’s emotions as she watched Antenn and Mitchella Clover. Then Ailim glanced at D’Ash, who dipped her head. Ailim frowned and Ruis knew they mindspoke. Ailim rose from her desk to meet a hurrying D’Ash near the front of the stage.

  “Die!” A silver dagger flashed to Ailim, then sparked blue as it hit a protective shield. She fell from the impact.

  “Bind!” Yeldoc ordered, pointing his staff at the assassin. The man struggled.

  Ruis gripped the branch to swing down, blinded with fear and fury.

  Samba lit on his back. Her weight forced air from his lungs. He panted to get breath back. “Grrrrrrr,” he managed.

  His Fam flexed her claws, pricking him through his cloak and tunic. “Samba!” he hissed, enraged.

  Stop! Think! I go see! Samba leapt to the ground.

  “T’Ash!” cried Danith D’Ash.

  By the time his vision cleared, T’Ash had ’ported to the stage. He grabbed his HeartMate and held her close, then scanned Ailim.

  Ruis gasped, still trying to inhale a lungful of air. Tremors ran up and down his body. He set his jaw. If the man had been anyone but T’Ash, he’d have run to Ailim. A moan of anguish at his helplessness tore from his chest. Always outside, and Ailim would come second for T’Ash, not first. Ruis was the only one who put Ailim first.

  With a stride T’Ash reached the desk and slapped a palm on it. “T’Heather!” he roared for the best Healer on Celta. Enough Flair circled T’Ash that Ruis could see it. Much of the crowd scattered.

  GreatLord T’Heather materialized on the desk, bag in hand. A disapproving frown crossed his broad farmer’s face. “Decorum, T’Ash. Not on such a blessed desk.” Healers were used to emergency summonings. He hopped down and stumped to D’Ash, put down his bag, and checked her.

  “Desk’s stationary. Whole JudgmentGrove needs purifying.” T’Ash reverted to his childhood Downwind short-speech. “ ’Cause of this filth.” He strode to the trembling assassin, grabbed his shirt in one hand, lifted, and shook him. The culprit soiled himself.

  Ruis stared at the prisoner, willing his own memory to jog loose.

  “Why did you attack?” T’Ash demanded.

  “Ruis Elder hired me!” the man screamed.

  Ruis’s blood turned to ice. He should have anticipated this. Another lie from Bucus. But he remembered the assassin now. The man had hunted Ruis in his old apartment, wearing Bucus’s colors. Sloegin with the gambling problem.

  Ruis stared at Ailim. She was looking in his direction, concern on her face.

  “Ruis Elder, the thief?” T’Ash asked. “Odd problem. But I’m thinking Elders are a bad lot.”

  “It was the Null!”

  T’Ash plunked the man down, touched something on the man’s head. Sparks flew, the criminal screamed. Blood poured from his mouth. He sagged and died.

  T’Ash stared down at him. “Mindblock band with destruct spell. Great Flair, not Null. Who knows? Dead guy, now.” Scowling, he turned back to T’Heather, who ran Healing hands over Ailim.

  Bile coated the back of Ruis’s throat. Useless. Again. Unable to protect his woman because he skulked in a tree. Unable to defend himself or clear the new calumnies against his name.

  Yeldoc’s nose wrinkled as he stared down at the corpse. With a wave of his staff, he banished the body to a DeathGrove. Another pass of his staff encompassed the loiterers. “Move along. JudgmentGrove is closed. I’ll have a statement for the newsheets in a septhour.”

  “Yeldoc, the Ruis Elder case was before my time. There’s no reason for Ruis Elder to harm me. The attacker wore a mindblock but he sounded as if he lied. Make sure that’s clear to the newsheets,” Ailim said. “Also, Yeldoc, contact JudgementGrove’s Chief Investigator GrandLady Lady-Mantle and ensure she finds the truth of this whole business.” She gripped the desk as if she had trouble standing.

  There was no reason to say that he’d hired the attacker except to vilify his name, Ruis thought. No reason except to load more crimes on him, to put barriers in his way. The aftermath of anger, fear and shock churned inside him, slicking him with cold sweat.

  Samba streaked across the stage and ducked under Ailim’s robes. No one seemed to notice. Ailim stiffened.

  T’Heather observed her. “I’ll give you a restorative potion.”

  Ailim’s trembling wave indicated her Chambers tower. “There.”

  “Very well.” T’Heather picked her up and carried her to the square building. Samba was nowhere in sight. Yeldoc hurried to open the door for them. T’Ash and D’Ash followed.

  The door banged shut.

  Ruis set his forehead on his arm and closed his eyes. She was safe! For now. But he knew who’d ordered the murder attempt and blamed him. Whether Bucus expected the assault to succeed or not, he’d sent Ailim a warning not to mix in his affairs. Not to challenge the Captain of the Council. A slow and mighty burning began in the core of Ruis’s bones, gathering force. This anger, when it burst, would not be denied.

  The last stragglers crunched away through blowing dead leaves, gossiping.

  Samba reached the bottom of his tree. Ailim ‘ports to Landing Grove as soon as T’Heather Healer goes.

  Ruis set his jaw. His heartbeat still thundered. “She’s all right?” he croaked.

  Samba set her claws in the tree trunk and stretched, then sharpened her claws. You saw. Grove shield stopped knife. She NOT hurt. No blood.

  Ruis jumped from the tree and ran to the Ship, burning off the energy of his fear. All he could think of was getting his hands on Ailim again, celebrating life with her after a brush with death as he’d done before. All too often.

  Rage simmered through him until his mind spun with what he wanted, needed to do. Bucus must be removed. Now.

  He paced the corridor of the Ship inside the portal nearest to JudgmentGrove. The wind howled outside. Half a septhour later Ailim stumbled into his arms.

  He held her while she trembled and sobbed and freed her emotions. Stroking her hair, he murmured soothing words, and deep tenderness pervaded him. She’d come to him.

  Because he wanted to ravish, to take her hard and fast and deep, like the last time they came together, he strapped down his wildness and set a gentle, cherishing pace.

  He needed to savor every moment of their loving, so he slowed as he carried her to his quarters. His heart still stuttered with fear that he’d almost lost her. He’d barely begun to know her, to enjoy her, to love her. To have lost her now was inconceivable. Even with Samba and the Ship, he wasn’t complete. Only Ailim fulfilled his innermost needs.

  She pressed her face against him, for protection or comfort, he didn’t know, only that he wanted to give her everything.

  “That fliggering assassin he—you—” Ruis couldn’t go on.

  She rubbed her head against his chest. “I know you had nothing to do with it. I’ll make sure you’re cleared.”

  “That’s not as important as the attack on you!”

  “It’s happened before. The desk has a shield, so does the stage, and so do I. Bailiffs add moving shields when JudgmentGrove is in session. Yeldoc
isn’t only there to keep order, but to guard.”

  “When before?” Ruis croaked, cradling her closer.

  Ailim sighed. “A long time ago in a southern village. They’ll find out who he is and what grudge he had against us.”

  “His name is Sloegin and he worked for Bucus. He had a gambling problem.” Red anger veiled his vision.

  “I thought so.”

  “I can’t think about it. Don’t want to speak of it,” he said thickly.

  She opened her mouth, searched his expression. “No, we’ll plan later,” she whispered.

  He kissed her forehead, felt the softness of her eyelids with his lips, the length of her lashes. Ran his tongue over her tempting lips until her breath came quicker.

  The tension in her changed subtly. When she placed her fingers on his chest, she found his nipple and rubbed.

  Ruis walked faster.

  She felt infinitely precious in his arms. As he caught the rich scent of her, he bent his head so wisps of her blond hair would caress his face. Her curves were soft against him, welcoming him as no other woman had done, becoming familiar yet remaining exciting.

  His sex hardened and throbbed until all he wanted was to get her onto a bed where his mouth could roam her skin and taste.

  Ailim reached up and traced the pulse in his throat, trailed her fingers around the collar of his tunic. “You look like you taste good,” she said.

  Ruis’s breathing went ragged. He strained to harness his passions. Today he yearned to show her all his tenderness, how he treasured her. More than anyone else had or would. Ever.

  Eighteen

  When they reached the door of the Captain’s Quarters, Ruis opened it with husky passwords.

  Ailim chuckled and skimmed her fingers along his jawline. “It still amazes me that you use my name as a password.”

  Ruis grunted and hurried through the sitting room into his bedroom. He placed her on the bed, then gathered his control. She started to rise and he lifted his palm. “Stay. Stay there for me, lady. Let me cherish you.”

  She lay back with a gentle smile but flushed cheeks. Her daygown was elegantly cut quality brocade, three years out of style, but made her look ravishing. She’d look even more ravishing—ravishable—without it. He sat on the edge of the bed and caressed her body, reveling in her soft firmness beneath the lush fabric. He stroked from shoulders to knees, paused to grip her hips, then went back to hold her breasts. They rose and fell beneath his palms, her peaked nipples evident under the thick cloth. Her eyes gleamed sapphire blue.

  With a shaky exhalation, he took his fingers from her breasts. Heat crept up his neck, painted his cheeks with arousal. He cuffed her wrists so he could study her hands. Long, fine, fingers; pretty, short nails. Lifting her hands, he put her palms on his nipples and shuddered.

  Exquisite, anticipatory tension wound tight inside him.

  He touched her hair. As always one slide of his fingers freed her braids. She shivered, flexed her fingertips against his nipples until he joined her soft moan.

  Lightly, lightly he caressed her face, following her hairline, outlining her eyebrows, stroking her lips, reacquainting himself with the dear structure of her face.

  Her hands explored him and he wanted to close his eyes and savor her touch, encourage her with panting groans to pet him. But this special time was for her.

  His heart thudded deep and low. His sex had stiffened until his trous constricted. This time was for her, letting her fly free of everything that bound her.

  “Open your mouth,” he heard himself say.

  Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushed further but her lips opened slowly. He thought of warmth and moistness. Passion racked him. She needed to crave him, too. He plucked her nipples. She arched, hips thrusting upward. She closed her eyes, but her lips stayed parted and a long soft sigh escaped.

  He moved his hands from her breasts to cradle her head, then he bent and took her mouth, plunging his tongue inside the damp cavern and claiming it. Claiming her. His tongue slid and stroked and dueled with hers. He set a carnal rhythm that anticipated their mating, his sex lunging inside her.

  She sucked his tongue and he grabbed the unraveling threads of his restraint. He moaned into her mouth.

  Never breaking the kiss, he covered her, trapping her hands between them, settling until his hard erection lay against her plush mound. She closed her teeth around his tongue and lust broke over him in a heated, overwhelming tide. He let himself rub against her once, twice, then pulled his lips from hers and froze to steady himself, to prolong the intense pleasure, to build it more for them both.

  Now he buried his head in the curve of her neck, glorying in the tangled mass of her hair, breathing deeply of her dark, rich fragrance that made his mouth water. He touched the tip of his tongue to her neck. She surged under him, stroking his manhood long and hard. All thought darkened beneath a wave of velvet desire.

  He stopped her rocking hips with his hands, rasped words from his marrow. “Stay. Stay still. For me, lady.” He didn’t look at her, didn’t attempt to calm his rough breathing.

  She kept quiet. A moment, then two passed. Bliss. Her body under his, ready to take him, ready to welcome him. Ready to love him.

  Intimacy spun between them, emotions as well as bodies. He raised himself on his elbows, twined their hands together to the side of her. He looked at her from under heavy eyelids. She matched his gaze as she matched him—or complemented him—in everything. Sensuality pulsed between them growing with every breath. Her gaze dropped and traveled over him, cranking the arousal up a notch, heating the atmosphere around them. He was achingly aware of the press of their bodies together. Each millimeter where they touched sent tiny flashes of stimulating sensation through his nerve endings.

  Again their eyes met and passion cycled between them. Escalating with every heartbeat. Their hearts synchronized and his shaft throbbed in time with the vein in her neck. Blood pounded in his temples until he no longer saw her, all he knew was hunger.

  He needed her naked.

  With a harsh sigh, Ruis raised himself from her and stood.

  “I need to touch your skin,” she said.

  For a moment he couldn’t move, then he flung away tunic and boots. He kept his trous on as a link to sanity. His hands trembled as he reached for the tab-seams of her gown at the shoulders and separated the front of her dress from the back along the side seams. Even through her breast band and her shift her nipples were stiffened rosy crests. His scrutiny wandered to the apex of her thighs. Her blond hair was curled and damp from her excitement. His breath strangled in his throat. Once more he stopped to garner control.

  The gauzy layers of her underclothes enhanced her beauty, making her something of dreams. “I want, I need—” He cleared his throat. “This time is for you. Let me please you.”

  Her mouth opened, closed and opened again. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Ruis embraced the shock of lust. “You could never do anything less than please me, Ruis,” she whispered.

  He absorbed the shock of love to the heart.

  She kneaded the muscles in his shoulders and biceps, then put her hands by her sides.

  With one strong pull, he opened the shift, then freed her from the breast band and pantlettes. He tossed the underthings over his shoulder.

  He took time to stare at her. Drink her in now and keep the vision for all time.

  Ailim said, “I will never forget the sight of you in this moment.”

  He blinked. She echoed his thoughts. He drew his palms smoothly down her body, pausing to increase her delight whenever she quivered under him, or moaned, or her eyes went misty blue.

  Soon she chanted his name and please, twisting the craving for her higher than he’d ever known. Dimly he knew that when he came into her body this time, he’d be marked by her forever.

  Her thighs curved delightfully under his palms. He resisted temptation to touch the dampness of her desire, but caught the scent of her and bit off a w
himper of his own. She was rich and ready and he could almost taste her. Later.

  Her calves were supple and he caressed their graceful muscle, lingering to steady his pounding blood.

  Her feet flexed and arched in his hands when his thumbs found her pleasure points. She moaned and twisted in his grasp and as her thighs parted he got another whiff of her arousal and his sex pulsated.

  Not much longer. He craved the taste of her now.

  He jerked off his trous and let himself jut free.

  “Yes, Ruis. Please, Ruis.” She raised her arms and he had a moment’s regret that he hadn’t stroked them. Then he saw the pink heart of her and all thoughts fled at the lure.

  He grasped her knees and opened her thighs wide, staring at her most intimate flesh. Damp and warm and enticing. Blood thundered in his ears. She pushed against his grip, but he was intent on his goal.

  With strict restraint he moved onto the bed, pushing her knees wide and back to her chest.

  “Ruis!”

  Rich, dark, enticing. He kissed her. Her taste exploded in his mouth and surged to his marrow. More. He feasted until she screamed and shuddered against his tongue.

  He lifted his head and looked at her, dazed. Her swollen womanhood spellbound him. That he could have made her so needy, given her a shattering climax!

  The dark rose color was echoed by the crests atop her pale breasts. With a groan torn from the depths of him, he moved up her body. He put his mouth on one nipple and suckled, taking as much of her soft breast into his mouth he could. Her taste was lighter here, mixed with the film of sweat from her release. He changed to the other nipple, taking it deep, curling his tongue around it, flicking the first nipple with his fingers.

  She cried and bucked against him, her silken skin brushing against his rigid staff aching with need.

  Again he shoved her legs wide. This time he plunged into her. Her hot, wet sheath gripped his sex and the wisps of his control vanished.

  He pounded into her, knowing only the tightness of her, the scent of her, the sight of her and the hoarse sound of his name upon her lips.

  Tension gathered at the base of his spine, wound hard, presaging ultimate rapture.