Take it away, please. I’ll get you furrabeast for meals.
Furrabeast would be good, Fairyfoot purred.
This was blackmail. She couldn’t give in to her cat.
She couldn’t give in to a lover.
She couldn’t give in to her own sensuality.
She sprang to her feet, leapt for the pouch, fumbled for the encrusted strings. Stench of rotting sewer rat rose, helping her keep her fingers from the pouch. Her need built.
Lunging for the door, she yanked it open, hurled through it, up the stairs. Her legs trembled with the need to raise them around a body pressing against hers, a man’s tall, strong form, sex hard.
“Open, open, open!” She panted the spellword at the locked, shielded, secured door. Dampness dewed between her legs. The door swung outward, she fell into the cold. Big snowflakes drifted down, mesmerized her with their soft beauty. Fell against her skin sizzling with passion. Vanished. The barest touch of cold on raging heat had her shuddering with release.
She flung the HeartGift as far as she could, staggered back inside, spellshielded the door, and curled up on the landing. It had been the most intense orgasm of her life.
Saille arched in bed, as release thundered through him. For a few moments he’d sensed her, been with her, his HeartMate.
His breathing came rough and ragged. Sweat sheened his body. Uttering a quiet curse, he stumbled to the bathroom and the waterfall, stood under warm scented water, arms braced against the stone wall.
For a while, his gift had been with his HeartMate. A cat had taken her the gift. Dufleur had rejected it—but not before their Flair had mingled, had spiraled them both to orgasm. Was this a good development, or bad?
He scrubbed his scalp with soap, as if he could stimulate his brain.
He’d known his HeartMate had a Fam animal, but hadn’t considered that the companion could be an asset. Now he sensed it could.
Just as he sensed that his HeartMate wanted nothing to do with him for a turmoil of reasons he didn’t know.
After consideration, he decided it was an indication that he had to be more persistent, more open, in the wooing of Dufleur Thyme.
Dufleur didn’t sleep well. She and Fairyfoot were not on good terms, and the cat would creep up on her and tickle her awake with her whiskers, then yowl at Dufleur’s out-flung arm. Something would have to be done. Talking would probably do no good. Threats, maybe.
She didn’t even open the lab door this morning. No use. The abandoned lab would just depress her. She could read her papyrusin the bedroom, had a little table she used as a desk. Automaticallyshe dressed in heavy woolen trous and tunic, the color drab, the fashion bland.
But when she opened the door, her mother was descending the stairs, beaming. “Dufleur, darling.”
All her suspicions were alerted.
“Mother, I need to run to catch the carrier to work.”
Irritation flashed in Dringal D’Thyme’s eyes. She didn’t like that Dufleur rode the public carrier, but the household, D’Winterberry’s household, which Dringal ruled, couldn’t affordthe top-notch spells to keep the old, heavy Family glider operating. Then her smile stretched until Dufleur could see yellowed teeth. Dringal chuckled, and it was creaky. “I scried D’Dandelion at Dandelion Silk. She will not be expecting you this morning.”
Shock rolled through Dufleur. “Mother, I need that job!” To finance her experiments.
Scowling, Dringal said, “You hardly contribute to the household.”
Dufleur’s shoulders stiffened. “I pay rent.” Not as much as she would elsewhere for two rooms, but more than enough for one, and her mother didn’t know about the hidden room.
Affability faded from Dringal’s face. “Come along, girl. I have our distant relative, GreatLady D’Holly, upstairs in D’Winterberry’s sitting room. We don’t want to keep such a personage waiting.” She pivoted on the steps and ascended.
Stomach knotting, Dufleur knew what this meant. Her mother and D’Winterberry wanted her to go into society, snag a rich and noble husband, restore the Family fortunes that way. She couldn’t see a rich nobleman agreeing to let her experiment with time. This whole endeavor was doomed.
If she didn’t try, she would be tortured with nagging reproachesfor the rest of her life. Or never speak to her mother again. Despite everything, she loved her mother. Dufleur just didn’t like her much. D’Thyme’s priorities were not her own. Then, again, with father’s inventing, gilt had always been short in their household.
Dufleur opened her bedroom door and stuck her head in. Her small round-faced cat was nowhere to be seen. Right. Dufleur straightened her shoulders, closed and shielded the door again, and marched up the stairs to the second floor. As soon as she reached the landing, the scent of yar-duan lingered in the air, despitethe additional odor of an herbal cleaning spell.
When Dufleur walked into the MistrysSuite, D’Holly rose with the grace of a woman who’d been of the highest rank all her life, and held out her hands. “Merry meet, Dufleur.”
Three
Startled at the affectionate gesture from a woman she’d only met twice in her life, Dufleur nonetheless grasped the Great-Lady’s hands with her own. They were thin but strong. Scrutinizingher, Dufleur saw she looked much better now that she no longer lived under the curse of a broken Vow of Honor. She was regaining her health and beauty and Flair. A taut thread inside Dufleur eased. She leaned forward and kissed D’Holly’s cheek. A light floral scent, expensive perfume, rose from the lady and was a welcome respite from the musky yar-duan.
“Merry meet, D’Holly.”
“Call me Passiflora.”
Dufleur’s mother and aunt exchanged pleased glances. Dufleur cleared her throat. “I’m pleased to see you again, Passiflora.”
“And I, you.” She stepped back, still holding Dufleur’s hands and looked her up and down. “And very pleased that you will be living with us.”
Not in her wildest dreams could she imagine establishing a secret laboratory in T’Holly Residence. Not surrounded by all the overwhelming warrior men. Not with a strong Residence who might think she could harm it. Not as a guest. She coughed. “I would prefer to stay here.”
D’Holly’s face showed disappointment, and Dufleur felt a stab of guilt.
“I assure you, the Residence and estate are continuing to Heal from the . . . the previous unfortunate events.” Passiflora sighed and let go of Dufleur’s hands, then smiled, and it was charming. “But I can understand.”
Dringal opened her mouth, to say something cutting Dufleur was sure, but then shut it, lips flattening into a thin line. Saving it for later, of course.
“Nevertheless, I’m happy to sponsor you for a social season.” A dimple flashed in D’Holly’s cheek. “It will be fun.” Her eyes went soft. “The music, the dancing.”
Dufleur nearly shuddered, but dragged up a true compliment. “Much of the music will be your wonderful compositions.”
The GreatLady’s cheeks pinkened, her eyelids swept downward.Why, she was pleased at the awkward praise! She straightenedand lifted her chin. “I’ve been working, I have new music for this season.” She smiled again. “Including a whole suite for my son Holm and his wife, Lark.” Shaking her head, she said, “Lark cares more for her duties as a Healer than the social season.And my Journeywoman, Trif Winterberry, will be playing at many of the parties. I’ll love to have a young woman as a companionwith me during all the social activities. I’m sure we’ll enjoyourselves.”
Despite the lightness of D’Holly’s tone, Dufleur sensed the depth of her emotions and knew this was true. She couldn’t protest further. “I’m sure we will.”
D’Holly’s eyes brightened. “I promised my HeartMate I’d returnto work slowly. This season is important to show everyone I’m ready to accept commissions again.” She lifted her chin. “To let everyone know that GreatHouse T’Holly is whole!”
That the Family was no longer suffering under the broken Vows of Honor of the Lord an
d Lady. How could Dufleur fault D’Holly’s motives when they were exactly what she wanted to do herself? Finish her father’s experiments. Prove he wasn’t a feckless, crazy, dangerous failure, that time experiments, Thymes, could still contribute to Celta. Maybe, as much as she dreaded it, going through the social season would help. If she didn’t end up with a husband at the end.
Saille finished a late breakfast and entered his ResidenceDen,ready to face another few hours attempting to decode his MotherDam’s encrypted pages of the Family journal on the matchmaking business. The room was large and rectangular, with a massive desk and one wall of glass that was shared with the conservatory. Plants pressed against the glass, lush and thriving, and more untidy since he’d taken over as head of the Family.
The other walls were paneled in golden-toned wood, fashionedof large, nearly three-dimensional squares. The carpet, too, was gold with a large rug atop it of faded red and gold in ancient patterns.
The furniture was dark glossy wood with plush dull golden velvet cushions. He’d changed the colors from striped scarlet and gold silkeen to the plain gold. A faint odor of the sage incensehe preferred to use when doing his consultations lingered in the room. He let out a sigh. This was his domain, now.
Before he could sit in the cranny of the U-shaped desk, his mother, the Family housekeeper, knocked on the door and opened it, entering from the outer sitting room.
Plump and pretty, she appeared happy, and he smiled at her. It was good to be in Druida where she was, where he could look out for her, than on the country estate where he’d been banished all his life. Of course, the main person who’d hurt his mother was now lying in a cryogenics cube in the Ship.
The absence of the previous Saille, a female “D” Willow, had lightened the mostly female household considerably. He thought he’d injected a little more hope, and a lot more energy into the Family. “How can I help you, mother?”
Her flustered air, a mask he thought she’d hidden behind for her own mother, subsided, and she blinked at him with damp eyes. “It’s good just seeing you every day.”
He went and hugged her.
She held on to him tightly, sniffled, and stepped away, wipingher eyes on a softleaf and smiling. Clearing her voice, she said, “There’s a creature outside the front door asking for you.”
“A creature?” He lifted his brow. His MotherDam might have called people from the lower or middle class that, but he never would.
With a chuckle, his mother tucked her softleaf away in the large sleeve pocket of her red tunic. He hadn’t wanted her to wear the livery, but she said she liked it. The style and fabric of the house uniforms had improved, though.
“It really is a creature, Saille.” She made a moue. “Though the animal itself is simply unpreposing, the thing it carries is . . . well, foul.”
A ripple of awareness tingled down his spine. No strain at all to extend his senses. Yes. Outside the door was a FamCat ... and his HeartGift. He swallowed, kept his voice even. None of the Family knew he’d sent his HeartGift out into the world. They all had enough matchmaking Flair to be horrified. Clearinghis throat, he said, “Show the Fam in.”
Her brow creased. “Fam?”
“I sense it’s a Fam.”
“Oh, of course.” She reddened and hurried to the door.
“Mother.”
She stopped, tensed.
“I love you.”
Her head lowered. She fumbled for her softleaf, blew her nose, then turned and gave him a watery smile. “I love you, too.”
As soon as she was gone with the door shut behind her, Saille hurried to a cabinet under a bookcase and pulled out a spellshield box to hold his HeartGift and keep the incredible lust it engendered from clouding his mind.
Another slight knock.
“Come,” he said.
His mother opened the door with a curtsy. After fifty years, there was no hope of curing her of that habit.
“Thank you, Mother.”
She blinked, smiled. “You’re welcome.”
A small cat swaggered in, increasing the heat of desire he’d felt as soon as the front door opened. His skin prickled with lust, his body hardened in readiness.
The door closed with a snick.
The cat spit out his HeartGift and with a swift paw, sent it tumbling over the rich rug to him. He scooped it up, grimacing at the coat of filth and the smell of it, then slid it into the box and closed the lid, put the box on his desk.
His heart was pounding, his palms sweaty. Most of him was sweaty, but he’d been fast enough to keep from embarrassing himself. He took a softleaf from his trous pocket and wiped his face and hands.
Sitting with stiff dignity, the little cat stuck out her tongue at him. Nasty, nasty, nasty, she said telepathically. I need cocoa mousse to clear the taste.
He stared at her. He could hear her clearly, a sign that she was his HeartMate’s Fam. “I don’t have cocoa mousse.”
She lifted her muzzle. This is a FirstFamily GreatHouse ResidenceDen. You have food.
A chuckle broke from him. He went to the bar built into the far wall. Eyeing the bottles, he murmured, “What about brithe brandy? No, bad idea. She’d kill me for addicting her Fam to liquor. No wonder I didn’t get a Fam of my own.” He opened the no-time food storage. “I have ice cream. Several flavors and several sauces.”
I will have cocoa with hollandaise sauce.
He shuddered. “I meant sweet toppings.”
She sniffed. I will have cocoa with dark cocoa sauce. I supposeyou don’t have fresh dead mouse to go with?
“No, thank the Lady and Lord. I don’t believe we are infestedwith rodents.” He made her a bowl of the treat.
She sniffed again.
He took the bowl to her, his mouth quirking that she had the strategic knowledge to keep her place and let him serve her. At least she hadn’t gotten everything her own way. He had a feelingthat this cat was all too clever in manipulating people. He wondered about his HeartMate.
“You’re Dufleur Thyme’s cat?”
Looking up from her dish, her eyes narrowed. You know who she is?
Aha! One of the cat’s bargaining chips gone. Good.
He decided that he liked the idea of ice cream himself and made a bowl of dark caff with whitemousse topping and nuts. He didn’t think the cat could eat nuts. After a couple of spoonfuls,he used his most haughty tone to ask, “And you are?”
The cat slurped, licked her whiskers. Was one side slightly shorter than the other? Odd. He didn’t know cats came with lopsided whiskers.
I am Fairyfoot.
“Strange name.”
She growled, stuck her head back into her bowl and slurped more.
He looked at the shielded box. Only he and his HeartMate were supposed to see his HeartGift easily. “You can see my HeartGift?”
I can see it a little. I am her Fam. Do you have a Fam? I thought you were supposed to have Greyku’s brother.
He shrugged. “Danith D’Ash said it wasn’t a good match.” And he’d ground his teeth at that, felt rejected, knew what his clients felt after a futile consultation.
The cat snorted. I will tell all the ferals that you need a Fam.
“Thank you so much,” he said politely. Though her fur was glossy, he figured she’d known the streets for a while. “Tell me what you’re doing with my HeartGift.”
Found it yesterday. Took it to FamWoman. Her tail lashed. She did not like. Threw it out.
Ouch! That hurt. Saille rubbed his chest.
Fairyfoot lifted large, round, green eyes to him. You must make it clean again and I will take it back.
That was a good idea.
“So, you want me to HeartBond with Dufleur?” He savored a bite of cold ice cream, thought of the warm woman.
Fairyfoot gave one last lick of the bowl, lifted her muzzle, burped politely, then glanced around the richly furnished den. I deserve to live here.
Saille choked. But he knew what she meant. Hadn’t he just been
enjoying the bounty of his Residence, finally? “I can fashiona new covering for the HeartGift—” His head came up. “Wait. Why don’t you bring me a pouch that she embroidered?”
The cat sat back, grooming her whiskers. None in Our rooms. She scanned the den again. Our bo-ring rooms.
Nowhere Dufleur lived would be boring to him. He glanced at an antique timer on the fireplace mantle. “I’ll check DandelionSilk, then.” He always recognized Dufleur’s work. He liked her pieces. Liked buying them for his Family members. Liked staring at the depth and complexity of her expensive projects. Liked stroking the silk thread and feeling her essence.
He’d been planning on going there today anyway. He’d bought some cloth from an importer, a special raw silkeen that was new to Druida, just so he could commission Dufleur to embroidersomething on it.
Good idea. She sniffed. I am here instead of at Dandelion Silk. She slid a glance toward him. Perhaps I should look around this Residence. Then We can go to Dandelion Silk.
“Why don’t I give you a tour and introduce you to my Familymembers as a friend, so they know you get the run of the Residence.”
That is acceptable.
Passiflora D’Holly swept Dufleur away, leaving her mother and D’Winterberry openmouthed.
Dufleur opened the door for D’Holly and caught her breath at the cold. Three weeks after Yule and winter had set in, ice crisped the dead grass of the neighbors’ foreyards and rimed the trees. Beautiful, but frigid. The sky was shades of gray, except for a faint blueness of rays coming from the pinprick of the sun.
Her cloak was too threadbare for this winter, but she’d spent gilt on laboratory equipment instead of outerwear. When she pulled the door handle behind her, the cold seared her fingers in her thin knit gloves. She turned, and her breath stopped again.
Before her a man uniformed in the Holly livery held up the door of a sleek, black glider. A brand-new model, obviously personally crafted by the Alder Family. The windows had the gleam of multi-spellshielded armourglass. The man himself was as watchful as her cuz Ilex, sword and blazer sheathed on his hips. Dufleur had no doubt that he was ready to guard, defend,kill in the service of his Lady.
Heart Dance Page 3
