Heart Choice (29 page)

Mitchella scooted back over the smooth marble, then glanced at the sky, searching for the dark shadows of the twinmoons that must be setting—a few septhours before the dawn. “It's very late.”

“Very early,” corrected Straif, then scanned the sky himself. He pointed out the round blackness of the moons that blocked the starlight. When she followed his finger, she saw them herself, slight curves of obscurity above the grove.

Straif stepped from the fountain, dried himself with a Word, and plucked her from the basin to do the same. A moment later they were clothed. He sighed, twined his fingers into hers. “Let's pursue this activity, longer and on a proper bedsponge.”

She didn't think she could face making love on the Blackthorn generational bed, so she smiled slowly, putting every iota of sex and charm into the curve of her lips, the lowering of her lashes. She licked her lips. “My room.”

He shuddered. Nodded. “Right. Let's 'port.”

With a throaty chuckle, she shook her head. “Let's walk.” And started through the grove to the path toward the Residence. He curled an arm around her waist, and their height was so even they walked in stride. She sensed him fumbling for words.

“Don't,” she said, not looking at him. “There's no need for any explanations between us.”

He hesitated, then picked up the pace. They walked to the great lawn, then up to the west terrace. There was no sign of detritus of a gathering.

“All my housekeeping spells are at full strength and work as designed,” the Residence said proudly, booming through the night.

“Very good,” Mitchella said, and they entered the quiet house. It gleamed around them, clean and energized.

Drina and Antenn, Pinky asleep in his arms, awaited them, sitting on the bottom stair. Both boy and Fam looked disgruntled.

The moment Drina saw them, she launched into complaining mews. Pinky woke and hissed, but that didn't stop the little cat.

Where have you been? You left Me to be hostess to everyone.
The thought chilled Mitchella. That was exactly what had happened.

Drina preened.
Though I handled it well, and everyone admired Me, it was much work.
She lifted a paw and licked it—with no hint of any exhaustion.
You should have been here to admire Me, too, as was your duty.

Mitchella's eyebrows raised. She heard the little cat, probably because they'd been linked in the Circle. Mitchella hoped her connection with Drina would go away. Fast.

Antenn stood stiffly, looking angry, and Mitchella realized that he knew she and Straif had had sex. Mitchella had been very discreet about her lovers, never taking them to her bed at home—and the thought crashed down on her that she had no home. All her previous exuberance vanished. “The birthing went very well. Captain Elder and SupremeJudge Elder have a lovely baby girl. She's a Null.”

That caught Antenn's curiosity. “Really?”

“Yes,” Mitchella said.

“Then she might be captain of
Nuada's Sword
someday,” Antenn said. His eyes gleamed with possibilities, with speculation as to what his generation might do, looking toward the future. Good. Mitchella smiled. “You can talk it over with the Clovers later today, at Trif 's nameday party.”

“That will be great,” he said, rubbing his hands. “That Vinni Lord didn't come up after the Ritual.”

“He stayed to be the Oracle at the new baby's birth,” Straif said. “Thank you for taking part in the Ritual. Your Flair and bond with Mitchella helped her. Your energy and knowledge of the Residence, as well as architecture, was also an asset.”

Antenn eyed him warily, hunched a shoulder. “You're welcome.” His expression went distant, he shook his head. “Incredible experience. So much Flair. Really sizzling event. Those FirstFamilies . . .” He shook his head. “Zow.”

“We try to please,” Straif said. Drina walked up to him, muttering cat sounds, then leapt onto his right shoulder. Straif winced, but didn't answer her, keeping his gaze on Antenn. “I appreciate you working with the Residence in my absence.”

“Not much to organize, just oversaw the cook, followed the Residence's advice.” Antenn sneered at Drina. “T'Holly and D'Holly acted as host and hostess. Nobody came inside, like you ordered. I told everyone that T'Blackthorn Residence was a work in progress and invited them to your summer solstice open house.”

“Again, my thanks,” Straif said.

Yawning, Antenn stared at Mitchella. “Will you see me to my bedsponge?” He looked more worried than angry now. Straif treating him as an adult had soothed the boy's pride.

“Of course,” Mitchella said, walking up to him and putting an arm around his shoulders. She looked down at Pinky, who grinned back at her. The small tom had flecks of food on his whiskers, and something that looked like cream. “As Straif said, you did very well. You have much more Flair than I, and you and Trif stabilized me so I could direct the energy to rehabilitate the Residence.” She and Antenn climbed the stairs.

He grinned up at her. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” she gave his shoulders another squeeze. “I couldn't have done it without you.”

“Yes, you could have.” He stopped at the top of the flight, looked down. Mitchella followed his gaze. Straif and Drina were gone. Still, Antenn kept his voice low. “You and T'Blackthorn have a strong link, and that was even
before
.”

As they walked along the corridor, Mitchella sighed. “True, not as strong as yours and mine, though, and my connection with Straif Blackthorn is strictly temporary. You know nothing can come of it.”

His mouth set. He didn't look at her. “I don't want you getting hurt.”

“Living full-heartedly can hurt,” she said. “I'm not going to step back from pleasure, from life, because later circumstances may bring me pain.”

Antenn snorted. “You Clovers.” But he was reassured. She kissed the top of his head and opened his door.

He looked back down the corridor, at the door to the MasterSuite and beyond to the door to her guest suite on the opposite side of the hallway. “Are you going to sleep in that T'Blackthorn bed?”

“Not tonight,” she said.

He nodded, lifted to his toes to kiss her cheek. “Night blessings.”

Bending, she returned the kiss to his cheek. “Night blessings.”

With a half-sigh, half-yawn, Antenn stepped into the sitting room, and Mitchella heard the muffled roar of surf. The door closed.

Mitchella bit her lip and marched back the way she'd come to her own door. She'd spoken lightly to Antenn, and he'd believed her surface emotions. Mitchella was all too aware that she was deep over her head in every way with Straif, GrandLord T'Blackthorn. The only thing she could do was not to show it. To keep the affair light between them, too, despite the fact that she was rapidly falling in love with the man. When this ended, she was going to hurt badly. She straightened her spine. She was a survivor.

Straif came to her. They gave and took. And shared. Their loving was beyond anything Mitchella had known.

 
Straif awoke in the soft white sunlight
,
sated and with a
lightness of spirit he hadn't felt in many years—after the first terrible grief of loss had faded and when he'd been certain he'd find a remedy for his heritage.

He stretched languidly, enjoying the scent of sex around him, the easy play of his muscles, the smooth, luxurious silkeen sheets under his body.

Mitchella gasped, and a quiver of terror sped to him through their link. He was out of bed with a long knife in his hand before she had time to turn her head.

She stood at the window, hand at her throat, eyes so wide only an edge of green showed around the pupils. Blood fled her face, making it nearly as pale as the white gown she wore, highlighting the fire of her hair. When her stare fixed on the knife he held, met his own gaze, she flinched. He hated that.

He was with her in three strides, forcing her away from the window, stretching his Flair as he'd stretched his body. Nothing threatened.

Until he looked out the window, down onto the grounds and saw the black furrows of torn earth spelling “MitchBitch Will Die.”

Rage flashed through him. The estate was secure, had been secure since they'd raised the shieldspells during the Ritual last night. How could this happen?

“Well, now we know who the trap was set for. Who the target is,” Mitchella said, her voice shaky. She let out a ragged breath. “Me.”

Straif sent the knife back under the bed, hauled her into his arms, felt her yield to his embrace, her face turn into his shoulder, her arms circle him. She was afraid, and that sent his anger spiraling once more, but he held her gently. He comforted her with stroking hands, distracted himself from his fury with the fragrance of her—full-bodied summer flowers. He tunneled his fingers into her hair. Strands clung to his fingers, and he wanted to hold on to them forever. They stood there as one moment passed into two, three, six. Their breaths sighed together, their heartbeats matched.

Finally she lifted her head, and the sweetness in her gaze caught at his heart. She was so open to him. Then she stepped away, not looking at the window, but gesturing to it. “You're the tracker, you can figure out who did that.” Her brows dipped in question. “Could it be done with Flair?”

Since she sounded interested, not frightened, Straif answered her honestly. “Flair would have been more illusory. Those ruts are real.”

She nodded, went to the wardrobe, drew out clothes, and dressed. Straif couldn't watch. If he did, he'd lose control and they'd be back in bed. There was too much to accomplish.

As if answering his thoughts, she said, “Your ResidenceDen still needs work if we want it perfect by summer solstice, to keep your estate and title. I have several ideas for furnishing it with items in storage since our budget is cut to the bone. I'll have three holomodels ready for you by noon.” She glanced at the clock. “When is your appointment with
Nuada's Sword
?”

An undertone in her voice alerted him that she was withdrawing from him. He couldn't have that. Not now, this moment. He glanced at her. She was dressed in work tunic and trous of a soft gray emphasizing her vivid coloring. So he went and took her in his arms. She didn't lean on him this time, just stood quietly.

“I've cancelled the appointment with
Nuada's Sword
for the time being.” He kissed her temple, lingering until sweet warmth flowed between them. When she stepped away, she was smiling.

“Would you care to see Vinni T'Vine confront the Clover boys? This is the nameday of my cuz, Trif. Her nineteenth, which means the storms of her second Passage to free her Flair are officially over. We're having a big party.”

Straif froze. “I have nothing to gift her with.”

Mitchella rolled her eyes, opened her arms wide. “She was here last night, invited at the last minute, if you recall. Celebrating a powerful New Twinmoons Ritual with the crème de la crème of Celtan society on the eve of her nameday thrilled her. She socialized with them later. That's gift enough.”

Lifting her chin, Mitchella continued, “If that isn't sufficient for your notions, this is the month of Hawthorn, and she'd
love
a bush from your estate. Lady and Lord know that you have plenty of excess brush—find one and pot it to provide greenery for her MidClass Lodge apartment.”

Heat crawled up his neck, and he shifted his feet. He hadn't thought a
prized
gift could be so inexpensive.

Mitchella nodded. “That's settled, then. The party is this evening, but we should go a little early to see what happens between the Clover boys and GreatLord T'Vine.” Her lips parted over white teeth. “I wonder if Vinni is judging them by Antenn. Antenn is small for his age”—her eyes danced—“but the Clovers are tall, healthy boys. Every one of them.” She set her hands on her hips, drawing his gaze. “And the Clover women are sturdy, too.”

Her hips were wide and curvy, made to carry babes. His mind dizzied.

She kissed him briefly but hard on the mouth and walked out of the room. As he gazed after her, he recalled the globes of her bottom in his hands and gulped.

His thoughts focused when Drina appeared before him. She gazed up at him, wrinkling her small pink nose, slashing her brown tail.
What are you doing here? You missed breakfast with Me. The cook did not let Me eat in the small dining room. You must inform him that I get what I want. I had to eat in the kitchen with that other Cat. He slurps.
She shuddered delicately.

“Sorry,” Straif said, keeping his expression solemn.

Drina sniffed.
You are forgiven.
She smiled, and it didn't look half as sweet as Mitchella's. Rising to her paws, she rubbed against his legs, front and back, purred loudly.
When will My collar be done?

Straif choked. He'd have thought that Mitchella would be the expensive female in his life, and he figured that if he had pockets full of gilt, she wouldn't hesitate in spending every silver sliver redoing his Residence. Instead she was incredible in making one coin do the work of three, but his little Fam . . . He picked her up, petted her head. She increased her purr.

“I'll see what sort of bargain we can make with T'Ash.” Glancing around the room, he said, “Standard housekeeping spell.” To his immense satisfaction, the covers on the bedsponge folded themselves, the rug rippled clean of dirt and lint, and the faintest film of dust disappeared.

A cloud passed over the sun and dimmed the light streaming into the window. Straif's jaw hardened. Mitchella's feelings were important to him, but more important was her safety, and the security of his estate. Setting Drina aside on a table, he opened the window and leaned out into the brisk spring air and scrutinized the black furrows in the ground with his Flair.