Ailim strained to see him. She was cold, bereft, mouth swollen and trembling. When she breathed, the lingering scent of him dizzied her for one more instant before she relinquished all the delectable feelings of desire and caring. Frigid duty mixed with simmering resentment flooded her. Was she never to have any peace?
“Yes, GrandMistrys Menzie?” The guard outside the tent answered coolly, with just the barest respect. Ailim grabbed at self-control, levered herself up, shook out her shift, finger-combed her hair, and donned a nightrobe. With a glance at Ruis, who looked at her expressionlessly—he couldn’t think that she would ever betray him?—Ailim went to the tent flap and opened it only as wide as her body.
The draft slapped cold air at her and she chilled. “Is there something wrong, Brant?” she asked the guard, a distant cousin.
He turned and bowed. “No, Lady, don’t be disturbed, go back to your thoughts.”
Aunt Menzie marched forward, one hand clutching her ugly, evil amulet. “Of course she will not be disturbed. I have a night-drink to help you focus, Ailim.” Menzie presented an ostentatious silver goblet.
Ailim forced a smile, knowing Menzie must have an ulterior motive, but what? “Thank you, but I am fasting.”
Menzie stared, blinked, moistened her lips. “Fasting? Fasting is not required!”
Ailim lifted her chin. “Nevertheless, as a SupremeJudge and soon-to-be confirmed GrandLady, I wish to set a good example. Menzie”—she smiled wryly—“I have never had any trouble with focus.”
Menzie frowned, her free hand clutched her amulet, and a look of confusion crossed her face. Her hand fell from the necklace and she sniffed. “I think you should drink.”
“No,” Ailim repeated. “Water is enough.” Whatever the potion was, it no doubt would affect Ailim adversely . . . probably cause her to humiliate herself in some manner before the whole world.
Even in the twinmoonslight Ailim could see her aunt flush with anger. “I insist.”
“I am set on my fast. You look ill. Perhaps you should use that drink to help you swallow one of the pills the Healer gave you to steady your blood.”
Menzie’s mouth opened and closed.
Ailim inclined her head to Brant. “Please escort her to the edge of the square and tell one of our kinsmen stationed there to accompany her home.”
He scowled and rested his hand on his sword hilt. Ailim made a show of looking around. “I sense no threat.” That was true. With Ruis so near, she couldn’t even read Brant, who was only a few steps away.
Brant jerked a nod, then grasped Menzie under the elbow and swivelled her. “Come, GrandMistrys, I wager there’s still plenty of work for the D’SilverFir housekeeper before the ceremony.”
Menzie snorted. “Housekeeper. I’m not a mere housekeeper.”
“Your daughter might need you,” Brant said.
Their footfalls moved away.
Ailim dropped the canvas flap and turned to face Ruis. He lounged against a solid post, a small smile curving his lips. He looked dangerous—reckless. Ailim bit her lip to keep from warning him of his obvious peril at being in Druida.
She looked closer and saw that his fists were clenched, and something about the skin around his eyes spoke of vulnerability. A lump inside her melted. “Ruis,” she said.
His smile turned lopsided. “We have come full circle to the start of our conversation.” His gaze drifted to the chinju pillows that showed the deep indentations of their bodies.
Ailim felt heat rush to her face, but she didn’t falter. She didn’t regret her passionate response to him. “Ruis.”
When he looked at her again, softness moved in his eyes. “I like hearing you say my name.”
She swallowed.
His shoulders squared. “This is not the time or the place for lovemaking.” Yet his voice held a strained note, as strained as her nerves.
“No.” She sighed. “No. I am supposed to be preparing myself for the responsibilities of my new status and rank.”
“You have been D’SilverFir a couple of months now, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And a judge for how long?”
“Six years.”
Ruis looked her up and down and she became aware of her rigid stance and her hands folded at her waist.
“It seems to me that you’ve been responsible all of your life. Maybe you should consider some alternatives.”
She raised her eyebrows. “During the time I am meditating before the loyalty ritual?” But she was glad to see the twinkle back in his eyes.
“RRRRRRoooooowwwww.” Samba kicked the flap aside and strolled in. She went over to Ailim and licked her ankle politely. Ailim, now used to such damp shows of affection from her puppy Primrose, didn’t even flinch.
Samba sauntered over to Ruis and looked up at him. Dawn is coming. Much is happening in the square and market. Today is a big holiday with bonfires and free food for Cats. Let’s go play!
Ruis rolled his eyes.
Ailim hurried to update him before he left. “I put together an official file about you for the Council’s records. My clerk was as displeased as I about the lack of information, especially regarding whether you ever personally received the noblegilt due to you as a FirstSon of a noble Family. My clerk comes from the Licorice family.”
He blinked. A slow smile curved his lips. “What relation to the head of the PublicLibrary?”
Ailim smiled, too. She liked that they shared simple amusement at the ingrained D’Licorice Family traits. It was so rare for her to share anything at all with anyone these days. “Daughter’sDaughter.”
“Ah.” He lifted his eyebrows. “And?”
“Under the seal of the Supreme Grove, we have asked for an accounting from the T’Elder bankers, as well as from GreatLord T’Elder of his household ledgers regarding your expenses.”
Now his mouth hardened and sharpness came to his eyes. “I thank you for your efforts.”
“But you don’t think they’ll be fruitful?”
“No.”
“You don’t care?”
He shrugged. “I can’t afford to care. There’s nothing I can do to unseat my uncle Bucus. He is solid in his ambitious career and holds all the power, as usual.”
Ailim wet her lips and his gaze focused on her mouth. To her surprise, he relaxed a bit and the smile that returned to his face seemed genuine. She continued, “Rumor has it that you left T’Elder household when you were young.”
Again his smile faded. He sank to his haunches and petted Samba, face averted. “I was fourteen.” He glanced at his hands, at the candle, and with a grunt pulled Samba closer to him, into deeper shadows.
Ailim strove to look at his hands, but they were lost in the dimness. An unexpected yearning came to see those hands closely, against her bare skin. She blinked the erotic image away and concentrated on what also mattered deeply to her—the law and justice. “If T’Elder continued to draw the monthly noblegilt allotted to you as a FirstSon after you left his Residence, he has swindled the Councils and the people of Celta.”
Samba sprawled on her side rumbling a purr.
“And I’m so concerned about the Councils and the people of Celta,” Ruis said.
Before she could find words, he looked up, his expression one of mild interest. “But I know that it matters to you, and if it casts a slur on Bucus’s name . . .” Ruis shrugged. “So be it. Even Bucus might have a problem explaining taking years of noblegilt for my care as a little oversight. Odds are, though, he’ll blame it on the household bookkeeper, or even his wife Calami.” Ruis snorted. “As if he didn’t keep track of every silver sliver in the Family coffers.”
“I’ve only been back in Druida for a couple of months, but I’ve heard rumors. . . . I don’t usually repeat them. . . .”
“Of course not. Don’t think you need say anything now.”
Ailim sucked in an audible breath. “You should know the way the wind blows. Your uncle Bucus, as Captain of the NobleCoun
cil, is not respected or liked.”
“Imagine that.” Ruis scratched Samba’s ears.
“Apparently he had a sheen of smooth affability combined with common sense that allowed him to win the vote for Captain’s Chair two years ago.”
“Not to mention the all-important FirstFamily heritage,” Ruis continued, keeping his attention on his cat. “Even I know that the NobleCouncil would prefer T’Holly as Captain.”
“The two strong rivals, T’Holly and T’Hawthorn,” Ruis said. “Ally with one and you alienate the other. Everyone streetwise knows the Holly-Hawthorn feud is heating up.”
“Surely not,” Ailim protested.
Ruis shrugged.
“Back to your uncle Bucus,” Ailim plodded on. If she was going to start repeating rumor, she would tell the whole of it. “The nobles believe his surface persona is eroding, showing the true man.” She licked her lips and cast her mind back to words she’d overheard at a mandatory social gathering. “He’s called rigid and unpleasant. There have been uncontrolled outbursts of temper.” Breath rushed from her as she finished her report.
Ruis only continued to stroke his Fam, looking up at her with acceptance. “He’s still in power. And I’ve heard that he doesn’t favor the D’SilverFirs.”
Ailim shivered. Bucus T’Elder could squash the hopes of D’SilverFir GrandHouse with one fat finger. “I wish the D’SilverFir estate didn’t border with T’Elder’s.”
Ruis frowned. “That’s a concern, too.”
“You don’t hide on T’Elder land, I hope!” That thought scared her more than the idea of Bucus as an enemy. Whatever malice he had for her was small compared to the malevolence he bore for his nephew.
“No. I don’t stay on the T’Elder estate. It’s big, but not large enough to hide me from Bucus. And I never prized it.” He rose to his feet. “The Family means nothing to me. They could all perish like the FirstGrove BalmHeals and I wouldn’t care.”
Ailim just stared at him.
“Family has been nothing but grief for me,” he said softly.
She pushed her hands through her hair as if to slow her flying notions. How contradictory was Ruis’s and her own views. She had been willing to sacrifice her ancestral estate to save her Family and struggled every day to keep her Family together. He cared nothing for a Family who’d repudiated him. Yet she could not fault him for it. Again she brought her mind back to the topic—Bucus T’Elder.
“It might not take much to topple Bucus from power, a vote of ‘no-confidence,’ ” Ailim whispered.
Ruis shot her a glance. “Don’t plot against him. He’s mean. He doesn’t play fair, and I don’t want you hurt. No matter what you do, my banishment will not be rescinded.”
Ailim started stubbornly, “There are ways, a panel of judges to overturn the Council—”
Ruis cut her off with a sharp gesture. “Don’t endanger yourself for me. It’s a battle that has already been lost. If I didn’t think so, I’d try for him with my own hands.”
Ailim pressed her lips together. She knew the law, knew there was a method to overturn his sentence, but also knew that right now, Ruis would not listen.
He stared at her from under lowered brows, but when she said nothing more, his tense muscles relaxed and he gave her a smile that spun her wits. “You listen to me.” He shook his head. “You can’t know how—pleasing—it is that someone actually considers my words and treats me decently.” He gently nudged Samba with the toe of his boot. “Come on, Fam cat, let’s go play.”
Samba heaved a sigh, opened her green eyes, and hefted herself to all fours. Let’s go play! Ailim rated the barest dip of the Fam’s head as she trotted from the tent.
Ruis watched his Fam leave. Time for him to go, also, but not before a farewell kiss. Two strides brought him to Ailim and his long, strong arm swung her into the cradle of his body. His mouth was on hers in a soft, sweet kiss before she could blink. Her mind whirled once more, reason threatening to desert her. She wanted to say something, but only a moan emerged as she flattened herself against him. A thrill ran up her spine when she realized he was still aroused. Her heart thudded hard.
Again it was he who broke the embrace. He lifted his head and his fingers came up to feather across her cheekbone. His eyes burned with desire that weakened her—physically, emotionally, mentally.
“I’ll come to you tonight. After the great public ceremony, you’ll need me,” he said matter-of-factly. “And I’ll massage you.” His eyes crinkled, and his even teeth gleamed. “Then we will make love.”
“You can’t!” Ailim gasped. She wanted nothing more than to have him in her bed—in her. She could barely think, but there was no thinking involved when danger always shrouded them like a thundercloud about to spit lightning. “You can’t continue to visit me, to be in the city. You can’t come tonight, my Residence is full of people, crammed to the eaves with Family. You mustn’t—”
Ruis’s lips pressed on hers again, moved against her mouth. She melted, surrendering to him.
“I’ll come.” He stepped back, grabbed the odd cloak and swirled it around him. Everything but his face and hands disappeared.
Ailim gasped again. “How can you do that without Flair?” “Don’t ask.” He lifted a cowl and draped it over his head, moved his fingers as if he put on gloves. He vanished.
A surprised sound broke from her. She could only see the drape of the cowl and shadow inside. She shuddered as primitive superstition prickled at the base of her spine. No matter how deeply her culture was based on Celtic beliefs, the image of that hood brought back the ancient symbol that everyone knew of, the Grim Reaper—Death.
The shade of darkness that was Ruis glided to the tent flap and lifted it. “The way’s clear. It seems GrandMistrys Menzie has kept Brant talking—scolding him, no doubt.”
The words she’d managed to suppress all the time he was with her tore from her heart and mouth. “Be careful, Ruis.”
He nodded in courtesy. Then the flap fell on nothingness and he was gone. When she peeked out the tent, he’d disappeared.
She retreated back inside, and with a small spell she lit all the candles. Before she could stop herself, she’d tidied all traces of Ruis from the tent, marching over to the fat pillows and plumping them, even smoothing the faint indentations of his large feet in the thick rugs. The action kept her busy, but she winced inwardly, knowing that it wasn’t entirely fear for him that prompted her. It was habit, and responsibility, and ingrained self-consciousness. As her hands passed over the pillows, her fingers stirred a vestige of his scent from the cushions, his fragrance that she had noticed from their first meeting.
The respect she’d felt when she’d seen how uncaring he was of the Council’s opinion still lingered. All her life she’d considered the opinions of others: during her childhood when she followed the Family rules for an Heir, in her first years as a judge, and even more so now, as she watched her every step so she could keep the Family together.
Ruis Elder could teach her to be free. If she let him. With fantastic speed her mind blazed images of the self she could be if she learned to be so self-confident that she would never think other’s opinions more important than her own needs. She could openly express her emotions.
She knew if she spent time with Ruis, she’d learn how to relax her guards. With him she would need no guards, would have none—that was a trifle frightening, but when she recalled how her senses expanded under the influence of his Nullness she thought she’d dare to be with him anyway.
Her memory played back every pass of his hands, the sensation of his body on hers. The banked fire of her desire blazed once more, the low heat deep inside her flowing to warm her.
There was no denying the sexual heat between them.
Ruis’s clever hands incited exquisite feelings and she welcomed the ache of unfulfilled passion because it was different from the other emotions that usually plagued her.
And he had given her a respite she was grateful for.
Even though he’d been with her only a short time, the fact that he’d completely blanketed her Flair had eased the tension of her always raised mindshield.
Ailim rubbed her temples. She felt better, but there was no chance of any deep meditation. Her entire body quivered with anticipation of the coming night. She wanted him, would not deny him, would not betray him, but the danger for them both was so extreme . . . death for him if he were caught in the city, destruction of everything she cherished for herself.
She wanted Ruis, but he was forbidden. Her passion could doom them both. Their passion. Ailim was clear-headed enough to see that not only did each of them bring solace to the other, but because of their very circumstances, there was an inner rebelliousness in them both that increased the desire. Ruis wanted to prove that he could walk where the nobles had decreed him banned, that he dared to touch a Lady of the highest status. She—well, Ailim tired of always being responsible. Why could she not take something she craved for herself?
She sighed. Their emotions tangled together in a knot she feared was past smoothing. They could only go forward. And she could pray.
“Careful, you clumsy oafs!” A Hawthorn houseguard blundered against Ruis. Ruis huddled in his light-bending cloak, cowl pulled low. The Hawthorn looked for him, then shoved others in the square aside with a pointed staff.
A block of red rose before Ruis’s eyes. He sucked in his breath. Let it out. Turned aside and away. A moment or two later he was completely in control again. Though the fierce anger left a tinge of nausea, still a feeling of satisfaction blossomed inside him.
The fury had not blinded him or made him react with reckless disregard of his own skin. Back to a wall, he breathed the cool air of the day, taking it deep into his lungs to banish the last trace of any resentment.
Though he knew he shouldn’t have returned to the city to watch Ailim’s Loyalty Ceremony, now he was glad he had. This moment, this first step, was triumphantly his. From one step he could forge a whole new path of reaction, of change. For once, he had fought the ire and won.
Heart Thief Page 16
