Heart Choice (38 page)

“I'll pay any penalties,” Mitchella said.

They all knew that if the horse died she could work all her life and never pay the bill.

T'Ash nodded. “We stand behind you, too, Mitchella. Feel free to come and stay here while Straif is gone.”

Mitchella didn't look at Straif. “Thanks, but T'Blackthorn Residence and I understand each other. I can get a lot done if I stay.” She'd need the work to keep her mind occupied.

Grunting agreement, T'Ash said, “Ask for what you need and it will be provided. Straif, you're lucky to have Mitchella there to continue the work.”

Mitchella's mouth hung open. She snapped it shut. “Thank you for the compliment, T'Ash.”

“Only the truth,” the man said, turned his gaze to Straif. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Yes, can you test my defenses?”

T'Ash frowned, a moment later thunder rumbled overhead. A bead of sweat trickled from his temple. “Your shields are strong, they'll hold.”

“My thanks,” Straif said. “I also need another copy of that map to the mines. I believe Antenn took my map. It's missing, and his trace is all over my desk.”

“One moment.” T'Ash frowned in concentration. “'Port grid, please,” he said.

“I'll do it,” Mitchella said, and laid a glowing grid on the room, as well as showing a small three-dimensional model of it before them.

“It comes,” said T'Ash.

There was a slight “pop” and a many-folded large square of papyrus appeared at their feet. Straif stooped to pick it up. When he rose, T'Ash said, “Merry meet,”

“And merry part,” Straif said.

“You, too, Mitchella,” T'Ash chided.

“And merry part,” Mitchella said.

“And merry meet again,” T'Ash said and ended the call.

“Well,” Mitchella whooshed out a breath, still looking at the place where T'Ash's image had formed. “I suppose he's finally forgiven me for telling him that Danith was sterile.”

“You did that! Cruel.”

She whipped around to face him, poked a finger in his chest. “You FirstFamily Lords are complex men, hard work. He was exhausting Danith with his moods. He made her
cry
.” She set her shoulders back. “No one makes my best friend cry without answering to
me
.” She shook her head. “And I've forgiven him for flinging me across town to Danith's house in a rage.”

“I had no idea you had this interesting past,” Straif said, and kissed her briefly on her mouth, sweeping his tongue over her lips, and she tasted the essence of him, sage.

Mitchella found a smile on her face. “You and Winterberry. With all that help, Antenn is sure to be found.”

“Right.”

Closing her eyes, she tested the bond she had with the child of her heart. “He's resentful, and proud, and feeling snotty, but he's fine. Pinky is with him, excited at the adventure. Glad he's away from Drina.” The horse trotted and Mitchella winced. “Though according to what Danith's told me about riding horses, he's going to be very sore this evening.” She opened her eyes.

Straif held out his hand, and a tube of Flaired liniment smacked into it. “I'd better pack this, then.”

He slanted her a look. “Since you have bonds with Antenn and me, bonds that should stay strong over a long distance, you'll be able to send to me immediately if he's in danger.”

“I'll do that.” She placed her hands on his chest, liking the solidity of him, his steady heartbeat. “You're a good man, Straif T'Blackthorn.” They stood like that for a moment until he pulled away, folded over the saddlebag flap, buckled it shut, and said a Word to keep it fastened and safe.

Mitchella saw a worn roll of celtaroon about the length of her hand still on his desk. “Wait, you've forgotten this.” She picked it up and heard metal clinking, and knew it was his whittling tools. They stared at each other, remembering the names incised in the ballroom floor. Hurt throbbed from him to her.

She took his hand and put the roll in it. “Why don't you carve something for me while you're on the trail? Something you see along the way that will show a city girl like me a little of the wild.”

He turned the roll over in his hands, straightened the tie that circled it, must have felt her question at the lack of Flair spells. “If I can't untie the cord with my fingers, they're no good for carving. If I can't protect and take care of my whittling knives, I'm not much of a man.” He smiled wryly. “My G'Uncle Prunus told me that when he gave me these. They were my first set.”

Antenn had had Mitchella work personally on the edge of the floor that contained the names, so she knew Prunus was a name that had been cut deeply into the wood.

“A wonderful gift for a boy. One that would continue to give him pleasure.”

Straif's eyes went dark blue. “Yes.” He opened the saddlebag and placed the celtaroon roll on the top. “Would you like an animal or plant?” he asked briskly, slipping the saddlebag over his shoulder, picking up an extra survivalsleeper, and setting a wide-brimmed hat on his head.

“Surprise me.” She kissed him, curved her hands around his face, and sought the most sacred feeling she had within her, the speck of herself that connected to the Lady during rituals. Then she stepped back. “Blessings on you, Straif T'Blackthorn.”

He ducked his head, accepting the sparkling white light that accompanied her words.

Then he hauled her into his arms again and took her mouth, opening her lips, darting his tongue past her teeth, exploring her entirely. She yielded to his need.

“Promise me you'll stay inside the estate's shields.”

Finally he broke the kiss. “I promise.”

“Good.” He strode from the room. She followed him to the Grand Hall and out the door. There, waiting patiently on the grassdrive at the bottom of the steps, was Winterberry, mounted on the most beautiful stridebeast Mitchella had ever seen, hardly shaggy at all, and it appeared fast. Winterberry's traveling leathers were immaculate.

Straif eyed Winterberry and grunted, then studied the stridebeasts and whistled. “Someone has influence with Caprea Sallow.”

“Danith D'Ash,” Winterberry grinned, as if very pleased to be so well mounted himself.

“No one involved with animals refuses Danith anything.” Mitchella smiled, pleased and comforted at the thought of her friend providing for her and Antenn.

“Greetyou, GentleLady Clover,” Winterberry said.

“Blessings to you, Winterberry. My deepest thanks for your help.”

Winterberry shook his head. “The Councils want me to keep an eye on him.” He jerked his head toward Straif, who was introducing himself to the stridebeasts.

“You'll be handy to have around,” Straif said. “If you don't mind getting those leathers dirty.”

“They're bespelled,” Winterberry said calmly.

Straif settled the saddlebags and survivalsleeper on his stridebeast, and mounted. “We'll bring Antenn back safe and sound.” It rang like a vow of honor.

He waved, circled his mount, and took off, racing down the grassdrive.

Winterberry looked pained, dipped his head to Mitchella, then tore off after Straif.

A few instants later, the T'Blackthorn gates clanged open. Then shut.

The males she loved most in her life, Straif and Antenn, were gone.

She turned and saw the cook staring after the men, frowning deeply.

Twenty-five

As they rode along the wall of his estate, Straif became
aware of a young dog fox keeping pace.

Greet-you males of the hu-man,
it said.
You fol-low the scent of the kit-male of the hu-man and the kit-male of the fe-line.

Winterberry threw it a startled look. Straif slowed his stridebeast to a walk.
That is so,
he replied to the fox, and knew the guardsman heard the mental conversation.

I want an ad-ven-ture. I would like to go with you.
The fox's eyes held humor. He looked as if he smiled.

I would be honored,
Straif said.
But we go to the rocky and wooded mountains with much danger.

I will go, too.
The fox barked. He looked at Winterberry.
And you, male-hu-man-who-pro-tects?

I, too, would be honored, male of the vulpes,
said Winterberry.

You may call me Vertic,
said the fox, serenely.

Winterberry stared.
Vertic is a Winterberry name.

The fox shot ahead of them, running. Straif clucked at his stridebeast to keep up. “Well, well, well,” Straif said. “This will be interesting.”

Winterberry swallowed. “Looks like the fox—Vertic—knows where he's going.”

“You and I have similar Flair,” Straif said.

Shrugging, Winterberry said, “You have the greater—you can ‘see' trails, right? I can only sense them—and I have to use all my senses.” He smiled lopsidedly. “On the other hand, I don't think I rely as much on my Flair as you do.”

Straif stared at the man. “You can't travel Celta and not use all the skills you have.”

“Good point, my apology.”

But however differently they used their Flair, it was obvious to Straif that Winterberry tracked almost as well as he did himself.

They were riding within the foothills when the talk turned to women. By this time, to Straif's amusement, the fox was sitting on a makeshift pad behind Winterberry. Straif would have bet his estate that the guardsman would bond with the animal and have a Familiar before the trip was done.

“You're in a mess with GentleLady Clover,” Winterberry said.

“What made you decide that my love life is a good topic to discuss?”

The guardsman raised an eyebrow. “Trying to untangle the knot your love life is in will probably last us to the mine.”

Straif winced. “What makes you think I'd like your advice?”

“Couldn't get any worse.”

“Worse advice?”

Winterberry chuckled. “No, your situation. You should use this trip as the time to break off the affair.”

“No.”

“You have a HeartMate, and Mitchella is sterile—and a Commoner. Put her out of your life and search for your mate.”

Straif's jaw hurt from teeth clamped tight. “You seem to know all the facts.”

“I try to know everything relevant to the FirstFamilies. I'm assigned to you lot. I know you've set
Nuada's Sword
on track of a remedy for your heritage. Put Mitchella out of your life and search for your mate.”

“I'm not ready.”

“Not ready to break with Mitchella or search for your HeartMate?”

“Neither.”

“Then let's look at this from a cold and practical point of view,” Winterberry said in a conversational tone, yet something warned Straif that the words to come would be hard to hear. “Accept that the line from your flesh must die. Accept Mitchella and the love she can give you.”

Straif sent a questioning glance to the guard. “Are her feelings that obvious?” The thought of Mitchella's love lightened his spirit.

“Yes. You can hurt her deeply.”

That disturbed Straif. He'd hurt her before, and if he kept on with the affair, the ending would be painful for both of them. Yet he thought he didn't have the strength to step away from her loving.

Winterberry met Straif's eyes. “And she isn't the only one who could love you. There is the boy.”

Straif snorted. “He resents and dislikes me.”

“I have a small gift of foresight,” Winterberry said. “And I think that by the time we return to Druida, the boy will respect and admire you.”

“Unlikely.”

“Perhaps. This is the perfect time to consider your circumstances, to straighten out your life, and since you have no intention of having a permanent connection with Mitchella, you should let her go.”

“I want her,” Straif said starkly.

“Ah, there's the core of the matter. You want your woman. I understand the feeling exactly.” Winterberry's smile was ironic. “But it's not always best for you or her or you both to be mated. Of course the Clovers are survivors, and Mitchella in particular. She can weather an affair with you and then find a man who will marry and cherish her.”

Straif
hated
that thought. He didn't want to think about Mitchella in another man's arms, didn't want to talk anymore. He clucked his tongue to his stridebeast and set the pace too fast for discussion. He did know one thing. He wasn't going to give her up yet. Straif sent a pulse of affection to her along their emotional link and it was instantly returned. He wanted that. He wanted her. He wanted it all.