Heart Duel (24 page)

As Holm lifted his fingertips to his lips and sent a kiss her way, his hand brushed the collar of his shirt aside and the bruise of her bite showed. She stepped forward and lifted her own Healing fingers. “Your throat. Now that we're lovers, you'll let me Heal—”

Holm fended her off. “No, no, no. It's your lovemark and I intend to wear it proudly. Just be glad that formal wear covers it, otherwise I'd flaunt it at the ball tonight.”

“Holm Holly with a sex bite on his neck,” she said dryly. “Now, that would be surprising.”

His brows rose. “Yes, it would be. I've never showed one before. And, Bélla, be prepared to meet my parents tonight, because I fully intend to formally introduce you.”

She gasped. “You can't. You said your mother created that music . . . they'd be bound to guess.”

He frowned. “I don't want them to interfere, but I do want them to know you. I'll think of something. Is your father, T'Hawthorn, going to be there?”

A short laugh escaped her. “T'Hawthorn supporting centers for Downwind youths? No. Of course he won't be there.”

Holm closed the space between them in two gliding strides, grasped her hands, and lifted them to his lips, kissing each in turn. “Think of me, Bélla. Until tonight, at the ball, and later. It will be an eternity until we meet again.”

The words sounded as if he'd said them to others, but the punch of feeling behind them was like he believed this situation unique.

“Go with the Lady and Lord,” she said weakly, adding a little wave as he left.

Marriage. He'd proposed marriage. She hadn't answered. They'd had incredible sex. “Reached a level of sensuality and a sexual height I've never known,” he'd said. She began to accept that he really meant to have her as a wife. The daughter of his worst enemy.

 
 
MidClass Lodge was exclusive and set just outside “Noble
country,” and Holm decided to walk the short distance home.

He whistled snatches of the melody his mother had written for Bélla. His suit was progressing. She hadn't experienced those dangerous flashes when he'd spoken of marriage.

Rolling his shoulders, he was conscious the underlying tension that had invaded his muscles was finally released in absolutely phenomenal lovemaking. If this was the passion between HeartMates, he hadn't been giving his friend T'Ash and his father enough credit for getting out of bed every morning. Of course, he thought, they had their women in bed every night. And at hand during the day.

He grinned. He wondered if Bélla would consider him domineering if he spent every night in her bed. Hard to keep that discreet, though.

How would he handle the ball? Someone from the Willows could attend. It wouldn't be wise to single Bélla out and alert D'Willow of his HeartMate. D'Willow would act on the knowledge for her own ends. Once the Willows knew, rumors would spread to the rest of the Nobles. Even now, he was far from sure how soon he would win his mate.

Then there were his parents. He'd deliberately kept Bélla's name from them so they wouldn't meddle. Yet he wanted them to know and value her. Perhaps he could introduce her to them as the Healer who saved Tinne's leg. They'd know she was T'Hawthorn's daughter, of course, but they'd see that she was more Heather than Hawthorn. Like all gossip, it was common knowledge that T'Hawthorn and his daughter didn't get along.

Holm stopped whistling. He didn't know how he'd get around that thorny issue, make some sort of peace with his father-in-law after the Hollys won the feud. Especially since Holm didn't like the way T'Hawthorn had treated his daughter, resulting in problems for Holm by causing her to react with white-flashes.

He lengthened his stride, letting his legs loosen and muscles stretch. He hadn't felt this good in a long, long time.

Never.

Surely his mind and emotions were eased enough that he wouldn't sleep-port tonight—after more incredible loving with Bélla. No. Positively no chance he'd nightport from Bélla's bed. Making love with her would solve all his problems. He grinned, free from the bothersome past at last.

“Holm, Tinne,”
T'Holly mind-called just as Holm came within sight of T'Holly Residence.
“Sparring Room One in quarter septhour.”
Holm smiled ferally; just what he needed.

Fifteen

Holm teleported to Sparring Room One and sent Meserv
to his suite. Tinne and T'Holly were already present and dressed in practice garb of stretchy trous over bespelled groin-guard. With a Word Holm whipped his day wear off and his fighting clothes on.

Tinne wrinkled his nose. “You could have cleansed before you came.”

Holm only lifted a brow, glanced at T'Holly. “Want me to?”

“Whirlwind spell,” T'Holly grunted.

Holm made a sour face. “Yecch. I hate those things.”

“Who doesn't?” T'Holly said. “I haven't used one in years.”

“Women use them all the time. Several of my lovers do.” Tinne smirked.

“It's not as if my odor will add to this stench. Despite every housekeeping spell, the Sparring Rooms all stink,” Holm said.

T'Holly narrowed his eyes. “Are you criticizing my Residence again?”

Holm grinned, showing teeth, settled into his balance, and shook his wrists out. “That's right.”

Tinne tensed.

“Go!” T'Holly yelled, leaping for Holm.

Tinne swept a leg at Holm's legs.

The fight started.

None of them spoke. Grunts, occasional swears, and fighting yells peppered the quiet, but they saved their breath for battle. Holm heard the sounds of body hitting body, thuds of bodies on ground, the whisper of rolls and ducked blows. He saw blurs of darting arms and feet, the stars of shock and pain as hits landed. He felt his own blows connect against the tough muscle and sinew and flesh of his kin. Sweat trickled down him and slicked the skin under his hands as he threw his father or brother. Holm tasted salt, but not blood.

The zing of life and adrenalin flashed through him, the delight of fighting, of practicing his skill. Yet even as his body dodged and tumbled, he knew that this pleasure dimmed beside that he'd just found with Bélla.

The thought of her distracted him for an instant and he took a clout on the shoulder he should have parried. He retaliated and jabbed Tinne nicely in the ribs.

“Stop!” T'Holly cut the air with his hand. Holm altered his fist's direction so the blow missed his father. Tinne, more committed to the battle, had to drop and roll in a somersault. They ended the session equal in points.

“Towels,” ordered T'Holly, and an instant later all three had thick green towels around their necks. T'Holly mopped his face. “Well done. We'll rest for a few moments. Sit.”

Holm and Tinne collapsed onto the tough, springy mossbed and sat cross-legged, looking up at their father. The familiarity of their positions made Holm feel like a boy again. He shared a grin with Tinne.

“The Hawthorns are resolved to feud.” T'Holly paced to the end of the mat and back.

“Do we call in our allies?” asked Tinne.

“No. We'll handle this matter within the Family. But I've decided I'll call in the younger sons from the branches of Winterberry, Blackdrink, and Mounthol who have weathered their second Passage and have an aptitude for fighting. It's Family policy that all Holly boys, no matter what branch, and no matter how remote, are trained in fighting from the age of three Celtan years. I studied the list of names, and we should have twenty new men as additional Family Guards. The last will arrive no later than two eightdays from now.”

Tinne whistled tunelessly. “A nice number. New friends, how fun.”

The gravity of the feud oppressed Holm. How much distress would it cause Lark? Would she let him comfort her? And could they comfort each other?

“I anticipate deaths, but not a bloodfeud. We should be able to keep our tempers enough to win, and win well. Try not to kill T'Hawthorn's son or grandson.”

T'Holly stopped and stared at each of them in turn. “We are the best fighters on Celta. It is bred in our very bones, but the reason we are the best is only one.” His gaze speared Tinne, awaiting the proper answer.

“Because we are men of honor,” Tinne said.

“And because we are men of honor, we follow rules stricter than the Noble's Feuding Code,” Holm murmured. He had spoken those words to the five men in his own lesson that morning.

“That's right.” T'Holly nodded shortly. “Remember it. We'll do defensive street fighting this afternoon. Dismissed.”

 
 
As soon as Holm left, restlessness imbued Lark, and her
brain picked at the emotions he'd ignited in her and what she should do.

So she cleaned her apartment by hand instead of by spells and got a certain satisfaction from the physical movement.

As she scrubbed the many windowsills, she finally decided that the issue came down to love. She should marry for love and nothing else. There was no other acceptable reason for marriage. Even if she wanted children, it would be bad for everyone concerned if they were raised in a loveless marriage.

She plopped the rag back in the bucket and moved on to the next shelf. She halted in mid-swipe as her logic came to a conclusion and jolted her.

The truth was, she didn't believe in a deep, abiding love for herself. Perhaps because her parents hadn't been HeartMates, or in love. Her father's parents had also married for alliance and gain. FatherDam still lived on T'Hawthorn estates, long after her husband's death. HeartMates died within a year of their spouses.

The influence of her father, and her father's House, had never been mitigated by the visits to T'Heather. That set of HeartMates didn't publicly express their devotion, though it was evident, particularly on an emotional plane.

Of course, when she'd married Ethyn, she'd taken the risk, had hoped to find a true and abiding love, if not a HeartMate. But the depth of the emotion she'd expected had escaped her like sand through her fingers and her heart had gone back to disbelieving in love between two people.

There wasn't a HeartMate for her in this lifetime. She hadn't experienced any metaphysical connection to another person during the Passages that had freed her Flair, and that was the prime indicator that a person had a HeartMate—a link during Passage. No, her Passages had been stormy, but controllable, and with no outreaching to touch another's soul.

Knowing this, she hadn't hesitated to marry a fellow journeyman Healer. A man with the potential to be a great Healer, a Downwind man who'd triumphed over his rough childhood. To Lark, the violent manner of his death at the hands of Nobles had been as great a wound as his death itself.

Of course Holm Holly would believe in love and HeartMates, his parents were such. He'd grown up in a household permeated by the love of HeartMates for each other and their children. Lark frowned. T'Holly's sister had been a HeartMate and had bonded with T'Blackthorn.
And
Holm's best friend, T'Ash, was HeartBound to his mate. Holm had taken part in that courtship, seeing how HeartMates courted and joined, contemporaries of himself.

Though it was common knowledge Holm had no HeartMate in this life, he'd think marriage would bring love. He'd consider that with caring and affection and passion, a deep and life-long love would come.

So he believed.

She didn't.

If she was entirely truthful with herself, there were also the doubts of her own nature. What about her attracted Holm so? His conquests from all classes of women, his gallantry and affairs had become nearly legendary. Why would he settle for an estranged daughter of a FirstFamily? A woman who cared little for Nobles and their intrigues. How could he prize a Healer, when his own Flair and that of his Family from the time of the Colonists had been for fighting?

Oh, yes. Lark could believe in lust, in the sexual attraction that sparked between them whenever they came close to each other. She could accept that there was a complementary harmony in their natures that established between them an easy mental and emotional link.

She could admit to those stimuli with Holm.

She could even admit that love between men and women could be deep and satisfying. But she couldn't see such a love developing between herself and Holm.

Perhaps for others, but not for herself.

And she couldn't even understand why this thought seemed so odd to her. Didn't she believe that she could be loved?

Ethyn had loved her. She knew that. But she knew the basis of his love had been because she had been a Healer. She knew the trials, problems, and joy of Healing. She could understand him, match him in that. Lark acknowledged her great Flair, confident in it and in the status of FirstLevel Healer.