Heart Search

by Robin D. Owens

  She wanted a man, a husband, a HeartMate, too.

  Looking up, she saw Laev T’Hawthorn enter the room from the men’s private area.

  Fifteen

  Everything about the moment sharpened to near pain. The light brightened, the scent of sweat, male and female, coated the inside of her nose, thuds and groans and grunts pounded at her ears. The heightening of all her senses affected her emotions. Too extreme. Her heart seemed to pull in her chest, as if it wanted to arrow to Laev. Lady and Lord!

  He looked wonderful. Now she noted he wore a fighting tunic and trous that had obviously been tailored for him though they were loose for training. He didn’t have the same muscular grace as Tinne Holly or Cratag T’Marigold, but he held himself with an essential self-confidence that proclaimed he’d fit here, sparring, or in a business meeting . . . or sitting behind the long, ornate table of the FirstFamilies Council.

  Camellia swallowed. Her life was kinking and twisting so much, so fast, that she wasn’t sure what path she was on, or whether it was good or bad. Only daunting.

  She’d managed not to tense up enough to wake the boy, but knew she couldn’t stay.

  Slowly, gently, she slipped her bag straps over her arm, stretched her legs. Cradling the child, she rose slowly so as not to joggle the sleeping boy. With an outsized sense of relief, she saw that Cratag T’Marigold was closer to her than Laev.

  Easy, then, to give Cal back to his father, nod in passing at Laev, and move on toward the door and teleportation pad in the entryway. Discreetly, she sucked in a breath, kept the child still as she walked to Cratag.

  He held out his arms and she passed the youngster to him. The boy murmured in his sleep, then turned his head into his father’s large chest, curled his fingers around the edge of the V of Cratag’s tunic.

  Without warning a tender smile curved Camellia’s lips, and she couldn’t prevent sifting her fingers through the boy’s soft blond hair. “He’s tired,” she whispered.

  “It’s been an emotional event,” Cratag allowed, nodding at her. “My thanks for keeping him safe.” The man angled his head in the direction of the main area, where people still fought and were tossed and fell and rolled.

  “I don’t think there was any danger to him,” she said. “Not here.” She figured any one of the people on the floor—including the men—would have flung themselves away from the child.

  “A wise man once told me . . .” Laev Hawthorn began.

  He was there, giving Cratag a one-armed hug, staring down at Cal! She hadn’t noticed him draw near, though now she thought about it, her nerves were midshiver.

  “. . . that accidents happen in a fight, a foot might slip in a deadly duel.” He glanced at the sparring. “A fall might go wrong.”

  Cal stirred in Cratag’s arms, opened his eyes, blinked sleepily. “Gweetyou, Laev,” he grumbled. He thrashed a little, but Cratag kept a good hold on him, and the boy looked at the sparring. “Nice to be back here.”

  Laev appeared startled.

  “Sure it is,” Cratag said. “But now we’re going home.”

  The child blinked faster. “We awe? Not spawwing here?”

  “No. Back home to your mother, and dancing.”

  Camellia had heard that the Marigolds were dancers.

  “Dancing. I love dancing,” the boy said, and his smile was purely a child’s smile.

  Camellia thought all of them exhaled with relief. The shadows of a former life behind the child’s eyes had disappeared.

  She curtsied to Cratag, to Laev. “Must go. I haven’t eaten dinner.”

  She walked with Cratag T’Marigold and Cal through the doors to the entry room and the teleportation pad, all too aware of Laev. He watched them, and Camellia didn’t know who he’d focused on. Had he realized who she was from the intimate contact last night? But he followed Cratag and Cal and her.

  Then Cratag and Cal were gone from the teleportation pad and she stepped onto it.

  “Rrrrowwwrrr!” Mica bulleted into the room, chased by Brazos, hopped onto the teleportation pad. You did not wait for Me!

  Camellia cringed. She had forgotten her Fam.

  Mica leapt to Camellia’s shoulder, dug in her claws, and Camellia winced and accepted the pain as punishment. The small cat tapped her paw on Camellia’s cheek. We are FAMS now.

  “That’s right.” She settled into her balance, stared into the big yellow cat eyes close to her face. “And I didn’t see you at all in the training space. Nor did you spend much time with me when you visited Brazos yesterday.” She looked down at the large, long-furred black cat. “He is a very beautiful cat,” she said. Actually more beautiful than Mica.

  Brazos preened.

  “But I am your FamWoman. I like your company, too.”

  Mica grumbled, looked down at Brazos herself. We are going home now.

  He sat and lifted a forepaw to lick. We stay to fight with other males, then I will go home to My room.

  Mica’s twitching whiskers tickled Camellia’s face. But I will have furrabeast steak with special spices. My FamWoman makes excellent food. Her tongue came out to swipe her muzzle. Let’s go home.

  Keeping a laugh in her throat, Camellia smiled at everyone and’ported to her house. Her last sight was Laev swallowing a laugh, too.

  She was still smiling when she landed on her home teleportation pad.

  There was a whoosh of air and she was shoved hard into the corner. Her head hit the wall. Mica screeched and leapt off her shoulder.

  “Fligger!” Just from the one word, she knew her uncle was back. “Filthy beast!”

  “Mica teleport to D’Ash’s.”

  No, BITE MEAN MAN.

  Camellia couldn’t see. Her uncle backhanded her, a blow to her cheek. “That’s for the cup not being unique. Some flitch owns an urn.” Camellia lunged toward his voice, caught him a glancing blow with her body, tucked and rolled to her feet, turned . . . and heard the soft whoosh of air indicating he’d teleported.

  “Lights on!” They blazed and Camellia shook her head as her eyes adjusted, then saw Mica bristled and arched atop the back of the leather chair. “Are you all right?”

  She growled. Only scratched him a little. She turned wheeling eyes on Camellia. He HURT you.

  “Oh, yeah. Come on, let’s report this to the guards, then we’ll stop off at AllClass HealingHall on the way back.” Her NobleGilt included medical benefits so there was no cost. “We can teleport to the guard station, but will have to take the public carrier to the HealingHall and home.”

  I will tell the guards all about how I scratched mean man.

  That made Camellia smile. Painfully, she licked blood from her lip. “Sounds good.”

  Laev felt itchy under his skin as he watched Camellia Darjeeling teleport away. His gaze had been glued to her firm ass when she walked away. Tinne Holly was right, she moved well, had fighter training, and he hadn’t noticed.

  He should be considering the other information that had just been flung at him—little Cal’s reactions to the salon, Cratag’s and Tinne’s sharp stares on the boy. Something was going on, and if he could stop thinking about the woman, he could figure it out.

  “She interests you, Laev. Another good reason to accept GraceMistrys Darjeeling here,” Tinne said. He hesitated a beat, then added, “Acacia Bluegum says she needs to spar with men. Have men’s hands on her.”

  Laev jolted and Tinne smiled.

  The soft buzz of an alarm sounded.

  “Two minutes until melee ends,” Tinne said, clapping Laev on the shoulder. He stretched in a fluid movement. “Let’s go in and clean up those standing, clear the room.” He sounded cheerful at the thought of fighting, as always, and strode into the main room.

  Laev loosened his body and hurried after Tinne. Remaining standing at the last would be a challenge for him, but he couldn’t back down. He already had bruises from their previous session, wondered how badly he’d get pummeled.

  Camellia scried Tiana as soon as she and
Mica had gotten home and eaten. She’d reported briefly about her uncle’s attack, said that both she and Mica had responded, and Tiana soothed. Camellia was just glad that Glyssa was in a family meeting and not part of the scry. Camellia didn’t want to talk anymore about the men in her Family.

  So she mentioned the scene in the Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon with Cratag Marigold, his son, Cal, and Tinne Holly.

  Tiana’s face went sober, but wonder touched her green eyes. “Yes, we’ve already heard about that—last month.”

  “The kid’s remembering.”

  “Yes,” Tiana said.

  “Well, who is he? I mean, who was he?”

  “You couldn’t guess?”

  Camellia frowned . . . she thought she’d heard a name, but didn’t recall it. She ran a finger over her middle toe. The weather was heating up and soon she could wear sandals. She was tinting her toenails a nice peachy color. “No. I don’t move in those circles.” She glanced up at her friend on the panel, and, sure enough, saw raised brows, and continued, “You will, Tiana, because you’ll be a FirstLevel Priestess, perhaps the priestess . . . the priestess of GreatCircle Temple.”

  Tiana didn’t deny that was her ambition, but said, “And you will be in that circle because your HeartMate is Laev T’Hawthorn.”

  “No, and no, and no.” She changed the subject and went back to her toes. “Who was Cal Marigold in his past life?” She strained her ears to hear Tiana’s answer. Neither Tiana nor Camellia ever left a question unanswered—they’d learned that Glyssa would pester them for days if they didn’t provide information.

  “The current FirstLevel Priest and Priestess believe that Cal Marigold was formerly Tab Holly.”

  “Yes, that was the name.” She scraped her mind for information. “He was the previous owner of the Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Wow.”

  Tiana wiggled her butt in her plush chair, settling in for a lecture, Camellia figured, but that was all right, because she was interested in this . . . especially if she was going to see the child when she went to train . . . or in the far, far future when she was part of the Hawthorn Family, along with Cratag and Cal. All those noble bonds slithering here and there, beginning to wrap around her.

  “Doctrine is divided as to whether it is better for a child to forget his past lives or remember details. And in this particular situation, with regard to the very close Holly FirstFamily, the Temple’s been abuzz with speculation and opinion.”

  Camellia flexed her toes. The nails looked good. She’d like a hint of gold on them—perhaps a sweep of glitter? “From what I saw today, I think the boy can handle both past and present . . .” She frowned at the thought. “But I think he’ll let the past slide for the present.”

  “Living in the moment and this life fully.” Tiana nodded. “From what I understand, that was Tab Holly’s philosophy, too.”

  With a glance up, Camellia caught her friend’s gaze. “Startled me a little when he said he was in JudgementGrove that day. The boy’s four.” She frowned. “And I don’t think that Laev knew about all this until today. Don’t know what he knows now.”

  “The old feuding Families, Hawthorns and Hollys, linked together by Lark Hawthorn Holly and her children and now by this child’s life. It’s a good thing,” Tiana said.

  Trickling tea sounded. “Incoming call,” Camellia said. Tiana’s image flashed dark, then a lavender screen with a coat of arms Camellia was coming to know all too well. Her finger jerked and zapped her toes, coating the ends with gold. “Eeek!”

  Mica, who’d been watching the process and examining her own claws, snickered.

  “Who is it?” asked Tiana.

  “Laev,” Camellia said, stunned. “Laev T’Hawthorn. It’s his sigil.”

  Tiana smirked. “Answer it. I’m signing off to scry Glyssa. Her Family meeting should be over now. Thanks for reporting your conversation with Cal. It will help us aid all concerned. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Tiana’s image vanished and Laev’s replaced it, and once again she wasn’t looking at all attractive. Her hair was caught up haphazardly in a comb, ends sticking out at odd angles. Mouth open. Hunched over. Old robe.

  Gold toes.

  Laev’s eyes widened, but he didn’t comment. “Greetyou, GraceMistrys Darjeeling.”

  No use pretending she wasn’t a mess. She gave up her toes as a bad job she’d fix later, stood up from the floor, and moved to a chair. Mica hopped onto her lap, sat straight.

  GREETYOU, T’HAWTHORN. WHERE IS BRAZOS? the cat yelled mentally, as if being loud would diminish the kilometers between Camellia’s house and T’Hawthorn Residence.

  But Laev nodded. “Greetyou, Fam Mica. Brazos”—he glanced aside—“is sleeping on a twoseat.”

  HE GETS TO SLEEP ON THE FURNITURE!

  Camellia winced. “I’ll put a fluffy sweater on the small café chair for you.” The llamawool one that had a hole in it.

  Mica sniffed, turned her head, and ostentatiously groomed her shoulder, ignoring Camellia.

  “Oops,” Laev said.

  Camellia’s turn to stare. She’d never have expected a word like that to fall from his lips—lips that were curving in a deprecating smile. “I admit the Residence and the household and I are spoiling Brazos.”

  “This competition for luxuries between our Fams is getting out of hand. They’re manipulating us,” Camellia said.

  “Tell me about it,” Laev said, his smile fading, running a hand through his thick black hair. Camellia tried not to recall touching that silky hair herself.

  “One of the reasons I am scrying is because Brazos, and my chef, and my chef’s Fam, Black Pierre, all want that recipe for furrabeast steak bites with spices.”

  Camellia blinked. Black Pierre was almost as legendary a Fam as T’Ash’s Zanth. And he was the chef’s Fam now instead of Laev’s? Had that hurt?

  “GraceMistrys?” Laev asked.

  “Ah. Um. Sorry, busy day. Furrabeast steak bites with spices. It’s a marinade.”

  “So we supposed.”

  Standing and dumping Mica on the floor, Camellia walked over to her antique drop-front desk and opened it, took out the file of her special recipes. She liked to keep papyrus copies so she could write notes instead of dictating them to a recording sphere. Papyrus notes were less likely to be destroyed by certain members of her family than recording spheres. She pulled out a pink-tinted slip, bent over to put it on a piece of blank papyrus, swept a thumb over the original, and made a copy of the contents.

  After putting it all away, she turned to see that Laev had continued to watch her from the panel. Like her friends, she’d positioned the panel to show the whole room. That might have been a mistake.

  She held up the larger piece of papyrus. “I’ll transfer this to T’Hawthorn Residence’s cache.” With a whisk of her hands, she did so.

  Laev nodded. He appeared more cheerful. “Thank you.”

  “We use the marinade for a dish we serve in Darjeeling’s HouseHeart,” she said austerely.

  “I enjoyed the food there,” he said.

  I would like My sweater on My chair now, please, Mica said.

  Camellia’s lips tightened as she stared at her Fam, who radiated an innocence that Camellia no longer believed.

  You promised, Mica said.

  Laev coughed and covered his mouth.

  “One moment.” Camellia excused herself.

  “Of course,” Laev murmured.

  She stalked into the bedroom and took out the sweater, returned. Mica sat beside the café chair near the desk. It had a round seat and pillow. At least Camellia had limited Mica’s piece of furniture to the smallest in the house. She bent and arranged the sweater so it added decorative interest instead of just looking as if it was there to protect the chair from the cat.

  Mica immediately jumped up and began kneading.

  When Camellia focused her attent
ion back on Laev, she noted the gleam in his eyes had deepened and his smile was broader. His gaze rose from a lower level to meet hers, and she understood that he’d been watching her butt. The robe was long, but thin. Had it tightened over her backside?

  Yes. She flushed and pretended she wasn’t. Well, she’d been watching his, so she guessed they were even.

  This chair is adequate for now, Mica sent telepathically through their private bond. You need to wed with your HeartMate now so We can move into T’Hawthorn Residence.

  “T’Hawthorn, you said there was more than one reason you scried? How can I help you?” Camellia said a little stiffly. She could ignore her Fam.

  His expression folded into an admirable businessman’s face.

  “I was hoping you could shed some light on the scene at the Green Knight that I walked into.” He hesitated. “I’m very close to Cratag and I don’t want to upset him by prodding a touchy subject.”

  “I think Cratag Marigold can take anything life dishes out,” Camellia said.

  Laev had been sitting casually, now his body drew tense. “I’ve hurt him in the past. I won’t do so in the future.”

  “Why do you think I can help you?” The more she thought about FirstFamily stuff, the more she didn’t want to be entangled in it.

  His brows rose and his nostrils pinched. “Perhaps because you were holding my sleeping nephew in your arms.”

  So he considered Cratag like a brother. No use for it, the sticky strands of relationships were enveloping her. She’d enjoyed her independence so long that she would still struggle against them. “He’s a nice boy,” she said.

  “Yes, he is.”

  So she took her seat again, kept her spine straight, and breathed deeply and saw Laev prepare for the news she’d deliver. “And it also seems as if he is the reincarnation of Tab Holly.”

  Goggle eyes and open mouth didn’t look nearly as bad on Laev as it did on her. His breathing picked up. With the rise and fall of his chest, she noted the quality of his white shirt. Very nice. More importantly, his chest was nicely broad.

  Laev choked. His hand flicked, and suddenly there was a heavy crystal glass three-quarters full of amber liquid in the curve of his fingers. He tossed back several swallows. Breathed even heavier after the drink. Shook his head. Cleared his throat, stared at her, shook his head again. “Tab Holly?” he croaked.