Heart Duel (26 page)

“Propulsion spell, we haven't been able to stop it,” Lark said, knowing Holm would want to hear the worst. He moved behind her until she could feel his heat and his strength and his vitality. All the things his mother would soon need from him.

“Nasty. Propulsion spells can be very individual. If you don't know the creator it's a difficult spell to stop.”

“It wasn't my nephew Laev,” Lark choked and cleared her voice. “He doesn't have that kind of Flair yet.”

“Looks somewhat like a firespell. Hawthorns aren't noted for any ability in that line,” T'Culpeper said.

Lark wasn't surprised he'd already heard what happened, by now ten thousand rumors would be rounding the Noble Houses.

“The poison?” Holm's voice had an edge to it.

“I'm studying it, HollyHeir. Hmmmm. No. I'm very sorry. I don't recognize it.”

“Ahem.” T'Cayenne coughed.

“Yes, T'Cayenne?”

“My namesake spice has been known to cause kidney failure in large amounts.” The words seemed pulled from his raspy throat.

“Not cayenne,” T'Culpeper said. “Definitely not. Something else, I don't know. Lark, can you ‘freeze' the image for me and copy it to Primary HealingHall and T'Culpeper ResidenceLibrary so it's on file and I can study it further?”

Her knees weakened. “Yes, of course.” She dragged in air. Large hands curled around her arms. Strength streamed into her.

No, Holm,
she projected only to him.

Right now, my Mamá needs you, and you need me,
he ended with a decisiveness that stopped any further questions.

Lark “froze” an image of the poison. At the end of her strength, Ur cried out and crumpled to the floor. The circle of power fluctuated wildly. Lark grabbed it, then vized the picture to Primary HealingHall, and T'Culpeper's Residence. Myrrh and three other SecondLevel Healers joined the Healing circle. Lark regulated the new energy and melded it with T'Cayenne and T'Culpeper. With one last effort, she gently funneled the current to a trickle between the others and herself. Then she fell into Holm's arms and darkness.

Sixteen

The black hole in Holm whirled deeper when Lark col
lapsed. He picked her up and cradled her close against his chest. GrandLord T'Culpeper retrieved HeatherHeir Ur from the floor, while T'Cayenne and the three new Healers continued to supply strength to D'Holly.

At that moment T'Heather strode in with T'Holly and Tinne following. Holm's father looked haggard as he gazed upon D'Holly, his wife, his HeartMate. Holm tightened his grip on his own HeartMate, needing her comfort if only in the warmth of her body and the press of her flesh against him.

A great, roaring wind had whipped into his heart when his Mamá had fallen, scouring his emotions until he felt raw. He walked, he observed, but the heart blow was so hard, no emotion could be summoned.

T'Holly held one of D'Holly's limp hands, then he smoothed back her bronze hair.

Holm trembled at the loving gesture and concentrated on the returning color in Lark's cheeks.

“Remember, Holm Senior,” T'Heather admonished. “Send only a small amount of your strength and energy to her. This isn't a time for impulsiveness. Not all your energy nor your sons' combined would Heal her, and she's too fragile for a Great Ritual Healing; the poison is too entrenched. You hear, Holm Junior?”

Holm cuddled Lark and jerked a nod. “I hear.”

“You hear, Tinne?”

“Yes.” Tinne's face appeared as colorless as his hair, and Holm knew his brother had been violently ill.

T'Heather crossed to T'Culpeper and placed a hand on his daughter's forehead. “Ur is too weary to work further, even linked with a PerSun. I'll send her home by HealingHall glider.” He swept a look around the room. “We all must conserve our energy until this is resolved. Even with additional PerSuns from Cayenne and with you Hollys providing life support, this case will be very difficult.”

“The Apples will contribute strength, too,” T'Holly added. “I called her brother, the GrandLord.” T'Holly stroked his HeartMate's hand. “No one wants to lose Passiflora.” He choked and continued to caress his Lady.

T'Culpeper's mouth pinched. “I'll take Ur to T'Heather Residence, then port home from there to work on identifying the poison.” He opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head and left at a quick pace with Ur in his arms.

T'Heather glanced at Holm. “There's a small cotspace just outside behind the green door. You can put Lark there until she wakens.” The Healer sighed. “This was her restday. No doubt she expended her energy instead of saving it to Heal. I'm surprised she did so well, but she's a consummate Healer.”

When Holm thought how they'd “expended” energy, heat rose to his cheeks. Then he found Tinne studying them. Perhaps his father and T'Heather had been too preoccupied to notice, and T'Cayenne and T'Culpeper too unaware of Holm's character, but Tinne surely knew the difference between the touch of a lover and that of a courteous man. Holm held his woman like she was
his,
now and forever.

Tinne frowned and Holm noticed fine lines etching themselves in his younger brother's forehead. Lines that wouldn't fade after the feud ended. Holm wondered how the circumstances would age him, and his Bélla.

He had a very bad feeling about how Lark would react to this tragedy, both as Healer and his enemy's daughter. T'Hawthorn was his enemy now, no doubt of that.

Holm nodded to the others and exited, carrying Lark to the cotspace. Though tiny, the room held only the finest furnishings: three layered Chinju rugs of dark, brilliant colors; a carved reddwood frame supporting a thick permamoss sponge and several covers of the softest llamawoolweave. A premier entertainmentspell whispered soothing tones and matched them to pastel colors tinting the walls. Holm smiled grimly, this was PrimaryHealing Hall. Such comforts weren't available in AllClass Healing Hall near Downwind, where Lark donated her time. That brought the recollection of the ball. His heart tightened in his chest so he could barely breathe.

Now, right now, he should be holding Lark in his arms, dancing, not cradling her after she dropped from exhaustion. He should be listening to his Mamá's music and introducing Lark to his parents. Not wondering whether his Mamá lived from one moment to the next and thinking how he might comfort his father.

He sat on the cot and buried his face in Lark's hair, inhaling her fragrance and roses. As much as he tried, he found no trace of the scent they'd made together. So he contented himself with brushing his face against the silkiness of her hair until she stirred.

She stiffened. “Holm,” she said.

He only clasped her closer.

“Actually,” she continued in a dusty voice, “I should call you ‘Holm Junior.'”

“Call me ‘Lover. ”

She pulled herself from his arms. He didn't want to let her go. He needed her more than he could say, but he'd never hold or constrain her.

Twitching her gown into smoother folds, she avoided his gaze and turned to the open door.

“Don't go,” he said roughly.

Before she could answer, a youngster appeared at the end of the corridor. He stopped as he caught sight of Lark, then ran to her, an ungainly boy awkward in his growth. He skidded to within a handspan of her.

“Laev,” she said.

His gaze wildly ranged to Holm, then back to Lark. “I didn't mean to hurt her. I never meant to hurt a
Lady.
She's tall, but she's skinny, and her clothing and colors mixed with the others and the fight lurched around and—” He caught his breath and pretended to cough, not to sob.

Holm was glad his emotions were frozen. He was deathly afraid that if he felt something it would be killing rage at this boy.

“I never meant to hurt her. I didn't really mean to fight at all, but that Eryngi taunted me. . . .”

“That matches Eryngi's story,” said a new voice, Tinne's. Laev jumped and Holm started. For an instant, he'd thought it was his father speaking. Tinne's voice was usually smoother, lighter. “He's blaming himself, too. I imagine we all are, in some way or another—T'Holly for not accompanying her on her errands, the rest of us for not sending better guards with her. . . .” Tinne lowered his eyes. Holm felt the same self-blame.

“You'd better get that whelp out of sight before papa kills him,” Tinne said, not looking at anyone but the boy.

“You're right.” Lark's voice wasn't normal either.

She took the youngster's hand and led him down the hallway. Words floated back to Holm. “I'm needed now. Why don't you wait for me in the chapel? You know where my den is. . . . I'll join you shortly.” She watched as the teen obediently walked away.

When she didn't turn back to them, Holm stood up. “Lord and Lady.” The prayer-curse shot from him with unusual violence.

Tinne eyed him warily, then looked at Lark's ramrod back. “I'll report to T'Heather that his Daughter'sDaughter has awakened. They have four SecondLevel Healers with Mamá.” He shook his head. “Four!” A tremor rippled through his body.

Holm dipped his head. “I need to speak with . . . Mayblossom.”

He made no attempt to muffle his footsteps as he came up behind her. Even through her loose gown he saw her shoulders tense. He hesitated, but knew she didn't intend to turn and confront him, so he circled her. “Bélla—”

She cut him off with a chopping gesture, her face set in stern lines. “Your Family needs you. Your mother and your father.”

“And I need you.”

She raised both palms. “Stop. Our association was irrational, foolish, doomed. It's done. We can't go any further without hurting ourselves and others, and I won't do that.”

“Our ‘association'?” His own voice grated with a note he'd never used with a woman, but as red hazed over his vision, he knew his anger at her words and her rejection was too deep for manners. Better anger than pain. When the horrible numbness around his emotions wore off, he would have two great wounds in his heart.

He was a fighter. He'd fight. “I won't listen to you now,” he said through clenched teeth. “I won't give you up. You will be my He—
wife
!”

Her released breath was more scream than sigh. Her nostrils widened and he saw her stance brace and her lips move silently. A few seconds later she said far too calmly for his temper, “Find another wife, Holm.”

He ground his teeth. Far too much had happened. Time to tell her she was his HeartMate, damn the consequences.

“Mild silence spell on Holm HollyHeir!” she commanded, and his lips clamped shut, emitting only garbled sounds. He reached for her mentally, but all her shields loomed high and strong.

“You listen to me! I will not be forced, in any way.” When he noticed white flashes emanating from her, he was relieved she'd gagged him. “Everything is different, now. How can you stand there and say we could marry?”

Her question to him released the spell. He battled down the fury and panted until he could control his own voice. “My parents promised. By their Words of Honor I could have my wife, whoever she might be.”

Lark raised her eyebrows. “And when was this?”

“Before I went wooing,” he said deliberately. “As HeartMates, they were sorry I had to take only a wife.”

She flinched, and he cursed hurting her. But he continued. “So they gave their solemn Words of Honor, Words that cannot be broken to the detriment of the GreatHouse.”

Her face softened an iota, and she was more his passionate Bélla than the FirstLevel Healer. “Holm, Holm”—she shook her head—“our—affair—”

“Loving,” he said.

Again her chest rose with a deep breath and she dropped her eyes. “Our loving before was difficult. Now it's unimaginable.”

“No.”

Red tinted her cheeks again, and she gestured to where his Mamá lay. “Can you tell me that T'Holly would welcome me into your Family? Can you tell me that there would be no rift between you
now
if you did?”

“You are more Heather than Hawthorn,” he muttered.

She only tugged a lock of black hair. “I am T'Hawthorn's
daughter.
He will always seek to influence me. I will always be Mayblossom Larkspur Hawthorn Collinson.”

“You will always be Bélla to me. I will have you!”

“Why?” She flung up her hands. “Why? When any sane man would walk—run—from our liaison.”