Heart Duel (16 page)

He'd have seen it as providing her safety and support, but for her it would be a demotion. He held her future in his hands.

The outstanding question remained. An issue she'd ignored until now, and something both Families would watch her for.
No Heather woman has successfully lived more than three years alone.

She'd be under constant scrutiny. How often would she be tested? How long would she be allowed to live independently? When would her Family insist she return to one of their Residences? Was the report right? Bouts of loneliness had become more frequent and more intense. Phyll mewed sleepily, calling her back from nibbling worries. She dismissed the issue, yet felt it sink to lurk at the back of her mind.

The emotionally full day crashed down on her. She checked securityspells and glanced at a timer. The Heathers ate early, it was barely mid-evening. More civilized Families would be just sitting down for dinner.

She wondered what Holm was doing, thought again of the link between them, and didn't know if the thin thread still spun between them, or if she imagined it. She remembered how he'd looked at her body, with hunger and intent. Recalled how he felt next to her emotionally, strong and supportive. Thought of his lips upon her own, persuasive and tempting.

She set out a small dish of snack food for Phyll, then undressed, washed, spell-cleaned her mouth, and fell onto her bedsponge.

Sleep swooped down upon Lark like a huge, dark bird, and in its deep-piercing claws it brought blood-filled dreams.

 
 
Holm chewed his Barbq Furrabeast, barely noticing the
tangy taste as he contemplated the painting on the dining room wall he faced. The artwork was fully two meters by three and featured several dead animals hung around or laid out on a table to be prepared for dinner, a topic some long past Holly considered appropriate for the formal dining room. Holm thought the “still life” might be enough to rob a sensitive person of an appetite, or convince him to become vegetarian. He wondered how he was going to hide the thing if his Bélla ever came to dine. On either side of the painting was a geometric pattern; a circular one made of daggers, and a diamond shaped one of throwing stars.

His mother gasped and everyone looked at her.

Her own stare fixed on the darkening shadow of the bruise only partially covered by the wide collar of Holm's shirt. “Oh, dear Holm, you're courting,” she said, a luminous expression adding to her beauty.

His father sent him a wicked glance. “More than courting, looks like.”

“Grandbabies!” Passiflora D'Holly exclaimed.

Grandbabies!
The melodic word from his mother reverberated through Holm's brain. He shuddered. Not yet. He wasn't ready. Bélla certainly wasn't ready. He glowered at his Mamá. “I told you, she's not going to be easy to win.”

His mother applied herself to her meal with gusto. Holm noticed that her chair faced a view of the gardens.

“You said she is a Healer. That's a little problem. . . .” She frowned.

“A
large
problem,” Holm said again, hoping he could control the conversation. He didn't want to reveal Lark's name and spoil his parents' good mood. Further, they'd
interfere
and that could ruin everything.

His father shrugged and grinned. “His wooing will take a little longer, then, and be all the more fun for the fight.”

“A Healer,” Tinne said quietly, his eyes narrowing. He stared at Holm, then dropped his fingers to his thigh, as if remembering his recent wound and the Lady who mended it.

Holm caught his breath, shook his head infinitesimally at his brother.

Tinne's mouth twisted in irony. “I think Holm's right. It isn't going to be easy getting a Healer to wed a Holly. Especially when the Hollys have no intention of changing their penchant for fighting.”

Their father looked surprised. “Why should we?”

“Healers often have a dim view of bloodshed,” Holm said.

“We only shed blood when necessary,” T'Holly said virtuously.

Everyone laughed. “Oh, yes,” Holm's mother said.

G'Uncle Tab looked at Tinne and Holm with considering eyes. “An' it won't be easy t'get a woman t'move inta T'Holly Residence, neither,” he said. Tab lived over The Green Knight and preferred his solitary ways. That he took dinner with them tonight was a singular pleasure they all appreciated.

“There is
nothing wrong
with T'Holly Residence.” T'Holly leapt to the defense of his position, as always.

“It's damp an' gloomy. Only good housekeepin' spells keep it from a-molderin',” Tab said, sharing a glance with Holm, who was grateful for the canny old man's diversionary tactic.

Holm waved to the painting he'd been considering. “Not to mention our decorations.”

“That painting has hung in that spot for the last two hundred years!” T'Holly said.

His HeartMate turned her gaze on the thing, as if observing it for the first time in a long while, and winced. “It is a little
depressing,
” Holm's mother said.

“Then there's all the weapons,” Tab continued. “The Great-Hall—”

“Our armory!” interjected T'Holly.

Tab quashed him with a look. “Weapons in patterns are fine for the fightin' salon, but hundreds of swords an' shields an' blazers an'—”

“Poignards and shortswords and spears—” continued Tinne irrepressively.

“—and throwing stars and slings and knives—” Holm added.

“—all arranged in designs on every wall of T'Holly Residence, might give even a woman less kindly-minded than a Healer a qualm or two.” Tab nodded shortly.

Holm's mother blinked as if realizing again how much of the decor of T'Holly Residence celebrated fighting. “They are very attractive patterns,” she said weakly, obviously having not looked at the components of the figures for a long time. She lifted her chin. “Besides, T'Holly Residence is a very
masculine
house, and so it should be.”

T'Holly sent her an approving smile before he scowled at the rest of them. “It hasn't been changed in decades, and I like it that way. It shows a sense of tradition, of regard for our ancestors, of—”

“—a lack of grace an' style an' beauty.” Tab speared his fork at T'Holly. “This GreatHouse has been male for so long, any feminine softness has up an' disappeared. My FatherDam's Dam hung some pretty tapestries along the second-floor corridors. Where are they now?”

“Storage,” T'Holly muttered, glared around the table. “I like the Residence as it is.” He looked to his HeartMate. “Passiflora has never complained.”

Tab snorted. “Passiflora has her own suite. Her rooms are as beautiful as any in her former Residence, T'Apple. Apples appreciate beauty. An' you, Holm senior,” Tab waggled his fork, “traipse in an' outa your HeartMate's suite at will. All the rest of us,”—Tab gestured to the table of men—“are stuck with this bleakness.” Tab scowled right back at T'Holly and deliberately clinked his fork on his plate. “You're facin' a new daughter-in-law, and a Healer ta boot. What are ya gonna do ta welcome her? Or do ya expect her ta stay in her suite? You'd better think about it,” he ended.

After that, conversation languished. It was unsuitable to say that a GreatLord sulked, but Holm would have wagered that was what his father did.

His mother moved her chair a little closer to her HeartMate, and Holm believed the HeartBond between them carried soothing comfort from her to T'Holly, underlaid with music.

Tab ate placidly, a smile touching the corner of his mouth, glad, no doubt, that he'd retire to his own home—comfortably and exotically furnished with items from his sea days.

Tinne seemed lost in his thoughts. A line of concentration knit between his brows. Holm warily suspected that his younger brother had guessed the name of Holm's lady and was deliberating on the ramifications of a Hawthorn-Holly feud and a Hawthorn-Holly HeartMating. The situation Holm found himself in didn't appear to please Tinne.

But then the circumstances weren't satisfactory to Holm, either. Even the “dinner” painting across from him was more cheerful than pondering the tangle of feuding and loving. So, of course, he returned to thinking of his Bélla, her immediate and fiery response to him. The growing connection between them, so extraordinary and intimate, with the cycling energy that sizzled and echoed the emotions between them, the passion between them, was something he didn't think he could do without. And they weren't HeartBonded yet.

Finally T'Holly pushed himself back from the table. “We have matters to discuss. Let's talk in the ResidenceDen. Relatives of T'Hawthorn Family are increasing their presence in Druida and their attacks on us. We had three skirmishes today. It looks as if our disagreement is getting serious.”

“The Holly-Hawthorn feud's been serious since ya both fought an' broke the GreatSeal in the Guildhall,” Tab said.

T'Holly winced. “That was thirty years ago.”

“Neither of ya have forgotten,” Tab pointed out. “Neither of ya have made any peace overtures. NobleCircle Rituals have ta choose between havin' T'Holly or T'Hawthorn for Council workin's.”

“And they usually choose me,” T'Holly said.

Tab snorted. “The problem with you, Holm the Elder, is that ya can't admit a mistake, from the decor of your Residence ta breaking the GreatSeal. That'll cost ya someday.” He glanced at D'Holly, who'd been playing with Meserv next to her chair. The kitten batted at a bright blue ribbon dangling from her fingers. Tab snorted again as the ribbon swung out of Meserv's reach and he failed to follow and pounce.

“Have a good evening, Passiflora.” Tab ducked a nod.

She lifted her gaze from the kitten and smiled sweetly. “The music muse is whispering in my ear. I'll work a while at my craft.” She sent an intimate smile to her HeartMate as she rose from the table and the men stood, too. “And you all will work at yours.” Her glance touched Holm's throat and softness came to her eyes. “Don't dawdle in your wooing, dear. I'd like to be a MotherSire before the year ends.”

His father looked at Holm gravely, as if considering the escalating conflict with T'Hawthorn. “I agree. The sooner the next generation of Hollys is bred, the better.”

Holm gritted his teeth, but still smiled at his Mamá.

Tinne shot Holm a concerned look.

Holm deliberately placed his napkin upon his plate and rose. “About the feud, I'm sure you're right, it's heating up.” He touched his brother's arm as he passed Tinne, and nodded to G'Uncle Tab. “We definitely need to strategize.”

Tab said, “The cuzes from the countryside are doin' well, an' should come here for further trainin'.” He smiled briefly. “It's always been the reward for passin' the first test, ta be accepted at T'Holly Residence ta live and drill.” He followed T'Holly and Holm from the dining room. “Tinne will be workin' with me at The Green Knight with my other students. That means you, Holm, will give our five cuzes intermediate instruction.”

Holm nodded, but his heart clenched a moment in revolt at switching his thoughts from love to war.

Ten

Lark awoke to music. Soft and soothing, yet holding an un
derlying lilt of exuberance—almost a dance. It complemented the heady fragrance of the roses perfectly.

“Bélla? Wake up, my delightful Bélla.” Holm's voice issued from the scrybowl. His tones contrasted with the music, deep and sensual. Just the sound of him caused her skin to tingle. How
could
he have such an affect on her?

“Bélla?”

She decided to ignore him, burying herself in the permamoss bedsponge and drawing a fluffup pillow over her head. But that muted the music, and it was simply too exquisite to dismiss. It refreshed her spirit. She'd slept poorly, tormented by dreams she couldn't, wouldn't remember. Dreams that featured street fights and blood.

“Bélla?” The ace street fighter whispered.

Lark sat up and threw the pillow at the wall.

“Bélla, my Bélla?”

“My scry and viz location are coded, GreatSir. They should not have been available to you.” She raised her voice so it carried to the mainspace and her scrybowl.

“You don't like the music?” He sounded hurt.

“I don't like Nobles who think that laws, and even common rules of courtesy, don't apply to them. It's the Noble class's most serious and dangerous flaw. It lacks respect.”

The music continued, but Holm remained silent for a full minute. “Forgive me. Done.” He disconnected and the bewitching music stopped.