Heart Journey

by Robin Owens

  She didn’t know if there would be more children for her. It was an ache deep in her chest.

  “Celta is a hard planet,” Mitchella said.

  “Celta can be hard on Earthans. But it is a wonderful and glorious place,” Del said and left. She had a lot to do. Too many people to see. None of them Family.

  After he left the theater that night, Raz spotted Del Elecampane sitting on a white marble bench in the park nearest to the entertainment district. She was dressed as if she’d been to a play, elegant tunic and trous, sparkling sandals. Pain pinched him. She hadn’t been in his house again, he’d have noticed her. Especially since the energy of the audience had been a little flat tonight and the whole company had struggled to keep the story fresh.

  As he watched, Del tilted back her head so her face was touched by the twinmoonslight. It occurred to him that the trimmed and pretty park would be a far cry from the wild.

  Something about her drew him . . . something different than attraction tonight. He stood for a moment and let the sensations emanating from her wash through him.

  Sadness.

  Her body language didn’t show grief, but he felt that. He hesitated a moment and went to her, joined her in silence on the bench.

  Her breathing was slow and steady, her body was relaxed, but her inner self throbbed with hurt.

  Grief.

  He couldn’t imagine losing his Family. Didn’t know what to say. He usually had a lot of facile words, but this woman was already more than an acquaintance but less than a friend or lover.

  “I wasn’t close to them,” Del said, and he understood that a thread had spun between them to let each other sense feelings. “My Family.” She grimaced. “Definitely not my parents. But it was a shock to hear I was the last adult.” She shrugged, still not looking at him. “I hadn’t planned on having a child so soon.”

  City and nature sounds mixed. Muted conversations. Crickets chirping.

  Raz waited.

  Del cleared her voice. “I was gone when the others perished.”

  He only heard a small note of guilt in her voice and guessed that was good.

  She shook her head. “Straif stepped in and took the baby, Helendula, from the Maidens of Saille House for Orphans.”

  “Straif?”

  Del glanced at him. “Straif T’Blackthorn. We knew each other from meetings on the road.”

  Raz understood the allusion. She and Straif T’Blackthorn—a FirstFamily lord!—had been lovers. Close enough that she called him by his given name, that the man had taken in a babe belonging to her. A sizzle went through him. Heat. Jealousy? Possessiveness? Stupid.

  “Straif and his HeartMate are adopting children.” Layers of shared history was in her mind. “They love my Helendula already, so I let her go to them today.” Her tones were quiet, her voice steady, but the hurt intensified.

  She was a strong woman, even now. But she looked at him with her tumbled blond curls, silver in the twinmoonslight, her eyes wide and vulnerable.

  Nothing like a vulnerable, strong woman for pure attractiveness.

  He kissed her.

  Eleven

  She tasted of tears and springreen wine and opened her mouth to him. When he tangled his tongue with hers, she gave a soft growl and her breath sighed into his mouth, dizzying him. This was more than just a condolence kiss. The nibbling and rubbing and tasting. Quick actions, great results. He was lost in her.

  Her strong fingers clamped over his shoulders as she moved closer; he put his arms around her back and held her to him. The ripe softness of her breasts against his chest fired him and he closed his hands over her slim hips. His palm pressed against her lower back, before the tight rise of her bottom, pulling her lower body against his heavy arousal. They tilted downward, he wanted on top of her.

  With a smooth twist, she was out of his arms and standing before him. At the loss of the warmth of her body the night air encompassed him, chill on his heated skin.

  Her eyelids were full and lowered. When she spoke, her voice was husky, coming through lips swollen from his kiss . . . and her own passion? “Thank you,” she said. “You’re a nice man.”

  For some reason, Raz heard an unspoken “young.” He checked the thread of connection between them and couldn’t even feel it. Didn’t know whether it was there and completely closed down by her or gone altogether.

  He shook his head, hoping sense would come back into it. Del was eight years older than he. He knew that in his mind, but his body certainly didn’t care. She’d been lithe and her muscles tight . . .

  “I know you just ended an affair.” Her lips lifted in a faint smile. “That scene about HeartMates at the party. You can’t be too interested in a casual relationship.”

  His mind had begun to clear, then the word HeartMate clouded it again.

  She moved to the park teleportation area. “Raz, thank you for taking my mind off other matters.”

  Before he could say a word, she ’ported away. Raz was left churned up, lust mixing with wariness, and physically aroused. It would be best to walk home tonight, even though he certainly had the energy to teleport.

  It would be a long night.

  Unless his dream lover visited him. His heart rejected that notion. He didn’t want her.

  He wanted Del.

  Wanted to explore her. Everywhere. And he didn’t intend to let anyone stop him.

  What was she thinking to teleport home? Energy, flaming desire, zoomed through her. Better to have taken a good, long walk home.

  Not that her shoes could have handled it. Even specially bespelled to feel good, the shoes weren’t sturdy enough to be walking kilometers. Del undressed, putting her new clothes carefully in her closet, though as far as she was concerned, she’d never wear them after this business was over.

  City life wore on her.

  She couldn’t sleep—how she had loved touching Raz in person, actually feeling the flex of his muscles under her palms, the surge of his body against her. Having his tongue in her mouth for real.

  She moaned and picked up a pillow from the bedsponge and threw it across the room. Looked at this room. She didn’t like it. What was she doing sleeping in a room she didn’t like? This was not some hotel where she’d spend a few days; this was her home. The Elecampane Family home, and it would always be hers.

  No.

  She didn’t like it. Didn’t like Druida. She could not stay here. The city suffocated her. This home would be Doolee’s. Del would make sure of that. The girl could have it with her blessing.

  When Raz’s landscape globe HeartGift showed his ideal home, they would move there. Pray the Lady and Lord that it wouldn’t be in Druida City. Surely that wouldn’t be demanded of her? Surely someone who was her HeartMate, bonded soul to soul, would not insist on being in Druida.

  She didn’t know. Things were not progressing as she’d planned. She’d reluctantly admitted to herself that she’d have to compromise if she wanted a life with him. He wouldn’t be scooped up to be a partner to her in her work; he had work he loved of his own. She hadn’t anticipated that.

  Or hadn’t figured that his work might be incompatible with her own.

  An actor. She didn’t want to manipulate Raz, but she did want him to fall a little in love with her before she gave him her HeartGift. Because she was falling fast for him.

  He’d been nice. Kind. He had a good heart. He’d come to her when she’d been brooding in the park about Doolee. The child she had rarely thought of . . . before the loss of everyone else. The loss of her whole Family was no stinking fair.

  But life—and Celta—wasn’t fair.

  She’d been lucky to make it on her own in the wilds as long as she had. Maybe continuing to go out alone wasn’t so smart. Even Cratag Maytree, one of the toughest trained warriors Del had ever known, had nearly died alone in the wilderness.

  Del had thought to have a partner. Had thought her partner might be her HeartMate. Now she doubted.

  She walked thro
ugh the house to see how it could be modified for Doolee. Del funded the housekeeping spells with her own energy and cleaned the MasterSuite that she took for her own. With a designer for a mother, Doolee would have plenty of ideas on how she wanted this house to look, so Del authorized a decorating account. She found G’Aunt Inula’s journal on Family history and secrets and put it aside to read later but spent time recording her own experiences into memory spheres.

  She arranged her affairs so they would be easy for the girl—or Straif—to take over if need be. Kick in the butt that Del was now—and forever—connected with a FirstFamily lord. The Elecampanes would always be linked with the Blackthorns . . . and by extension the Hollys . . . and maybe other FirstFamilies who married into those clans.

  How her parents had yearned for something like this to happen, and it came about because of the loss of all the rest of the Family and Del’s connection with an old lover.

  Life was unfair and damned odd.

  Finally, as the night septhours slipped into early morning, and she was at the nadir of her energy, Del unpacked her HeartGift. She looked deep within the landscape globe she’d made for her HeartMate during one of the Passages that freed her psi power.

  She saw nothing but the floating bits: a flake of pure gold, leaves of plants she couldn’t recall, small white twigs. Raz’s ideal home did not appear. She set the thing—still shielded so it wouldn’t trigger sex dreams between them—on one of her workroom shelves with others.

  She’d dealt with her problems the best she could. More would come.

  The next morning the pressure began. The scrybowl shrilled in her bedroom when she was creating her landscape globes in the workroom converted from a sitting room. Above the bowl wavered gray-tinted light, no one she knew. She wouldn’t answer.

  A smooth, plummy voice issued from the bowl as a message was sent to the cache. “Greetyou, GrandLady Helena D’Elecampane. I am GrandLord Pym T’Anise of the Bloom Noble Circle of Druida.”

  He said that as if she was supposed to know what it meant.

  “Your dear parents had risen to the level of our circle and we would like to invite you to our social activities—and to assist us in our rituals to improve the city.” He gave a little cough. “I am pleased to say that we have been complimented by the lords and ladies of the FirstFamilies themselves.” Pride radiated through the air. “Please join our next ritual in three days for Full Twinmoons. A light repast will be provided at my antique shop at EveningBell, then we will congregate in my own ancient grove. Welcome again, we are happy to have you as a part of our group.”

  Del found her teeth grinding. Happy to have her Flair and her gilt, she figured. She could ignore the man and his circle for a while.

  Raz was irritated and intrigued as Del Elecampane eluded him over the next week . . . as if she was avoiding him. He couldn’t understand why she would duck him. Was she embarrassed at being so vulnerable?

  He’d sent her wildflowers after the kiss in the park and had received a polite note of thanks.

  He only caught glimpses of her . . . but observed that she seemed to be making the rounds of the shows. He wasn’t surprised to see her fox with her. Shunuk would grin at Raz, flip his tail, and head off after Del as she strode away up the avenue farther into the clubbing district to some place she favored for late-night entertainment.

  She wore masculine dress of elegantly cut but narrow-legged trous that showed off an excellent derriere and a shirt with slightly bloused sleeves. From the looks she got, Raz thought the woman might bring such clothes into fashion.

  He’d dropped a few conversational starters about her and listened to very thin information. The newssheets had run an article on her maps and the city museum would be hanging holographic copies. Apparently all the good recent maps they had of Celta had come from her hands and brain and Flair. Fascinating.

  Raz resorted to bribing the fox. Shunuk had shown up that morning for breakfast at the Thespian’s Club and been pampered by the actors and the staff. Raz had discovered the Fam had a fondness for clucker and rabbit and had had a dish made up especially for him.

  Muzzle deep in the bowl, tail waving, the Fam had assured Raz that he would keep Del in the long cobblestoned rectangle between the theaters until Raz got there after his performance.

  The play went better that night, since Raz had an extra spark of excitement. He kept mental contact with Shunuk to ensure Del was staying put until he could reach her. Raz dressed well, but casually, in a blue that picked up the color of his eyes.

  She sat on a bench near a tinkling fountain floating with colorful and fragrant water lilies. He’d noted if there was some sort of natural setting around, Del would gravitate to it.

  The minute he saw her, his lower body tightened, his pulse sped up, and he felt an underlying flush of anticipation. Yes, this was the woman he wanted, for now.

  He bowed and offered his arm and a sincere smile.

  She raised her brows. “GrandSir Cherry?”

  Shaking his head, he said, “You know it’s Raz . . . Del.”

  “Raz. Thanks again for the flowers.” Her dimples showed, the first time he’d seen them since the party. He was charmed.

  She linked arms with him and his nerves quivered. He concentrated on keeping his blood in his head and not pooling lower. Maybe he’d get another searing kiss tonight, but he didn’t think he’d get more, no matter how much he seduced. But it would be fun to try.

  “Where are we going? Am I walking you home?” she asked.

  An image came of them together on his bedsponge, him plunging into her slick heat. He swallowed, discreetly, he hoped. “Wherever you go in the evenings after the theater.”

  “Been watching me, huh?”

  “Oh, yes.” He slid his hand down her forearm and took her fingers. Skin to skin. Very, very nice.

  The thready link wove stronger between them.

  Shunuk yipped. I will meet you later. I have a couple of food caches to check and nibble. The fox melted into the dark shadows before Raz could comment.

  “You’ve discovered his weakness.”

  “We all have them,” Raz said. “You knew Shunuk visited me?”

  “He told me of you. Over the last few years, we’ve watched two of your holospheres many times.”

  Raz smiled.

  “Among others,” she ended.

  He started walking in the direction that she always went. At the end of the flagstone rectangle where several streets branched off, he made a half bow and waved his hand. She glanced sidelong at him, gave him a mysterious smile. “Trust me?”

  “Yes.” The answer came out of his mouth with the force of utmost truthfulness. That surprised him, but Del walked on as if it meant little to her.

  She was used to being trusted. She was honest and would limit contact with dishonest people. So if you didn’t trust her, you got out of her way. Admirable, if a little daunting. Much of the theater world included masks and manipulation. Even if actors didn’t intend to slip into characters, their nature sometimes had them doing just that.

  With Del, you saw the real person and accepted her or not.

  And she might not care if you didn’t accept her.

  Raz found that he cared very much that she accepted him.

  Twelve

  Soon they were out of the theater district and walking toward the less popular clubs. Del had a long, easy gait that told him she spent a lot of time walking. He smiled at the thought of her hiking all over Druida. It looked good on her.

  They turned down a street that opened onto a strip of shabby park. A loud mixture of eye-crossing music blasted from the open doors of several clubs. Raz walked to a beat of dance music. Couples were dancing in the park, and some were fading into the shadows of large trees. He’d like to do either with Del.

  She passed most of the doors, strode to one that was shut. There was no name above it. She rapped briskly and it opened. The greeter bowed. “GrandLady D’Elecampane.” He turned to Raz. “
And guest . . . ah, Raz. It’s been a long time.”

  “I didn’t know where you’d moved to,” Raz said, though he could have found out.

  Del’s lips quirked. “You like jazz, Raz?”

  “Yes.” He kept his voice down. Musicians were on the stage and the club took jazz seriously. Slipping an arm around her waist, he nodded to the doorman and spotted Shunuk at a table in one of the best areas.

  Two full glasses of wine were on the table. Shunuk didn’t turn his head, kept it focused on the small stage. The music is good tonight. Mellow with no instrument screeches.

  “Ah,” Del said.

  Shunuk likes jazz, too. Her telepathy was a lovely brush against Raz’s mind, clear, almost familiar. As straightforward as her words.

  What’s not to like? Raz asked as he seated her and pulled his own chair close.

  She smiled at him, wide enough he saw both her dimples. Then she turned toward the musicians, head tilted, sipping her wine. He moved their linked fingers to his thigh, enjoyed the sweet bite of desire . . . anticipation. Yes, he would definitely have this woman.

  He watched Del for a while, saw her eyelids lower, felt her move into a state of absorbed listening. Since he admired the music and respected the musicians, he gave up his plan of seduction.

  The music might be seduction in itself. It was low, throbbing, wove an atmosphere of sound pulsing with Flair around them, different beats, different instruments, all pleasure. The best pleasure was Del’s relaxed fingers on his leg. He let himself sink into a semi-trance state, too.

  This was good. He drank a few swallows of his wine, unsurprised to find it the best the place carried, and he lost himself in the present. Each improvised note was unique, the tune never to be the same again. Sharing such a fragile and fraught moment with Del was perfect.

  He didn’t know how long the time out of time lasted, but he was on his feet clapping when the last low wail of the saxophone stopped. It felt nearly as good to give applause as well as receive it. Nearly.