Heart Duel (9 page)

“I know. I can't believe T'Hawthorn would let you leave Druida.”

The feud was more critical than her conflict with her father. Lark waved that distraction aside. “The feud's about—”

“I know what it's about, too,” he said. His face softened, and his long elegant hands picked up a small oblong neck pillow that sat in the crease of the couch and stroked it. “Hulver Pass. He's not going to win.”

Her heart thumped in her throat. “Stop the fighting. You can stop it.”

Five

“I can't,” he said. “I'm not T'Holly. Even if I were, I don't think I'd stop the feud. Hulver Pass was one of the first pieces of land our Family claimed, in the second generation. It's rugged and deadly. We've cleared the rock, placed great, generational spells on the cliffs to prevent rockslides, built a decent road. And we did that because seven Hollys died in that pass. Their remains are still there, buried under a whole cliff-face of scrag. We have a memorial plinth with their names. It's not only that it is our land, but it is integral to the history of our Family. The T'Holly died there, leaving an infant daughter, and no acknowledged heir. We won't be forgetting that, Bélla.”

She covered her face with her hands, a despairing ache settling in the pit of her stomach. No, no Family would give up land soaked with their blood, sharded with their bones. “I can't bear it. A Hawthorn feud. Terrible.”

She didn't hear him cross the room, but his fingers curled around her wrists and drew them away. He turned her hands palms up and kissed the hollows.

“Bélla, my Bélla.”

“Don't call me that.”

“Mayblossom Larkspur Bélla Hawthorn,” he chanted softly. “Bélla is another of your names. A name no one else has ever called you. A name that will be unique to us. What will you call me?”

“Fool. Stup. Idiot.” Lark jerked away from him and opened the door to her apartment, waving an arm at the threshold.

“Lover,” he whispered.

Heat rushed into her face.

She blinked, then noticed a dark bruise on his throat. “Lady and Lord!” She reached out to Heal it, but Holm captured her hand.

Holm grinned wickedly. “I like it. It's the mark of my lover's passion for me which I'll treasure. The mark will make up—a little—for having to leave you now, Bélla.”

He kissed her fingers. Just the touch of his mouth on her hand sent her pulse racing even as her mind noticed how smooth, easy, and accomplished his gesture was.

Holm bowed with exquisite style, then snapped his fingers and teleported Meserv into his hands. “Thank you for letting the kittens play. Play is very important. I think I will have to remind you of that. Often. Expand your horizons.” He arched his brows. “Thank you for your company.” His gaze swept around the room. “Your home is bright with color, yet very serene, very comfortable. Until we meet again.” He blew her a kiss. “Blessed be.”

“Go with the Lady and Lord,” she mumbled, unable to stay silent.

He smiled and it stunned her. She had never seen him smile like that before, with gentle joy. Lark stood frozen as his footsteps faded.

She was left with questions.

Had Ethyn ever wanted her this much? He certainly hadn't expressed so much passion as Holm, or demanded a response from her. Ethyn had never received such a sexual response from her. Then she shivered. This had just been a kiss. A first kiss.

She'd bitten him, and at the time had liked it, the taste and feel of his taut flesh against her mouth. His touch ignited a wild, primal desire that made her forget everything. Even that she was a Healer, sworn never to inflict pain.

He liked his lover's mark of passion? The way his eyes gleamed, she thought he might want her to bite him again, or more. More? How could she live with the woman she might become with him? She didn't know that woman.

She'd never experienced the sensuality with Ethyn that she had for Holm, the blood-sizzling, thigh-loosening, deep-pooling erotic sensations that Holm had created.

Stop! Don't think of this. Don't dwell on it. The situation is impossible. Impossible!

Surely the man would see that.

Phyll wobbled to her.
I have done much today and want food. Meserv gets all the food all the time He wants.

“Meserv is fat.”

Phyll's whiskers twitched.
And slow.

She picked him up and carried him into the kitchen. “I'm proud of the help you give me at the HealingHall.”

Everybody loves Me there,
Phyll said.

With a Word, she opened the cat section of the no-time food storage unit and dished out his special diet. “You will eat nutritious foods and become a strong, long-lived cat.”

I am stronger than Meserv.
Phyll cocked his head.
But no one is as strong as Holm Holly. I like him. We will see him often. Meserv and I will play together, and I will win.

He started eating.

Lark stared at him, wondering how she could convince everyone, including herself, that she didn't want Holm Holly.

 
 
Holm stroked Meserv's head with his forefinger and con
templated the closed doors of the Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon, wondering if his Uncle Tab still locked the place against him. He needed to work off the pulsing energy of his lust.

He didn't know how he'd managed to stop from taking his Bélla's sweet body when she'd called a halt to their lovemaking.

Even so, he cursed himself. He'd been too hasty and come on too strong. Faults he'd never had to curb before. Faults that could cost him his HeartMate if he didn't check them now.

The first time they'd been together, he'd jumped on her.

He shook his head to banish erotic images as much as to regret his lost skill and sophistication with women. He sensed all his suavity was gone for good with his HeartMate. Lord and Lady knew how he was going to scrape through this situation with any sort of finesse.

He'd simply jumped on her.

Served him right that he ached up to his teeth.

At least he hadn't pushed the telepathic bond.

He grinned. No, he'd been too completely wrapped up in the physical to be coherent enough to reach for her mentally. A good thing. He suspected the punishment for melding them together in a HeartBond without her consent was dire.

He tested the doors of the Green Knight, and accepted the small shock. Still barred from fighting. He'd have to swim.

There were both advantages and disadvantages to being the member of such a physical Family. He hurt now, and would probably suffer for some time with frustrated passion until he could seduce his Bélla.

But at least he'd be concentrating on the physical bonding, instead of impelling her into a HeartBond. No doubt it would take several extensive, heated sessions in bed with Bélla before he'd even think of progressing from physical consummation to the emotional, mental, then spiritual. In their bond he'd experienced qualities that drew him to her—her willingness to spend her energy to Heal, her compassion. And her sense of honor as strong as his own. Most of all he liked the deep serenity that soothed him. Serenity he could ruffle, passion he could ignite until all they'd think of was loving.

Bed. Bélla. He tensed at the idea. How soon could he win her, even moving fast? He recalled now the news that she could be moving to Gael City. That was a problem, but it didn't bother him as much as his own failings.

He teleported home and to the conservatory.

After many laps in the pool and a call to D'Rose to order a gift, Holm was calm and refreshed enough to satisfy his curiosity. He lay on a longchair with Meserv snoring beside him and contemplated the ever-expanding verdant flora.

“ResidenceLibrary,” he said. “What is the punishment for telling a person you are HeartMates?” He fought his nature on this, trying to be patient.

And he was scared. Opening himself to another, sharing all his thoughts, emotions, experiences, even for the short time of the HeartBond, was enough to daunt the bravest.

The ResidenceLibrary spoke in somber tones with an edge of warning. “The punishment is a five-year courtship of the person or until the wronged one states in front of three heads of FirstFamilies that she or he accepts the HeartMate status—”

“Puny Earth years or long Celtan years?” asked Holm.

In even more disapproving tones, the ResidenceLibrary answered, “HeartMates, HeartGifts, and HeartBonds were unknown on Earth. They are Celtan phenomena.”

“Ah.”

“To continue, the wronged one must make a statement that she or he accepts the status,
and
repeat it five times.”

“Repeat it five times? Why five? Five isn't a magical number,” Holm grumbled. “Not good.” Not for an impatient Holly.

A few seconds of silence passed, then the ResidenceLibrary said, “Laws of Celta, topic twenty-four: the origin and philosophy of HeartMate laws—”

“Stop,” Holm ordered. The ResidenceLibrary obviously had a two-hour lecture in its memory. “What is the punishment for HeartBonding with a HeartMate without telling her?”

“It is not known whether the HeartBond can be forced—”

“Not forced! Ah, persuasion, seduction, uncontrolled passion—”

“My interrupt feature is now engaged since the topic is Celtan law. It is not known whether the HeartBond can be forced,” ResidenceLibrary said in a volume that echoed off the glass panes. “However, punishment of a nonconsensual HeartBond is exile of the offending party from within eighty kilometers of the victim for a period of five years—”

“After they have been HeartBonded? After they are mates and their feelings and minds melded?”

“Correct.”

“This is impossible,” Holm said, still feeling the semiarousal of his encounter with his Bélla. “I will never last.” The blue pool lapped and reminded him of something else. “Close ResidenceLibrary. HollyHeir addressing the Residence.”

The atmosphere around him changed in an aspect he couldn't define, and the voice of the Residence, deeper even than T'Holly's, addressed him. “Here, HollyHeir.”

“Please set the temperature gauges on my personal waterfall fifteen degrees cooler.”

“Done,” T'Holly Residence said.

Holm could not depend upon his control with Lark, and to push her would be to lose her—if not forever, at least for too long of a time for him to endure. He smiled grimly. It had reached the point where just a few hours spent away from her set an irritation humming along his nerves.

To keep his control, he'd have to bolster it with meditation, autosuggestion, internal bonds. He sighed. The sleep-teleporting to the Great Labyrinth and the long walks out of the place had prepared him, but there was only one place he could set such strong ties in place.

“Residence, is T'Holly scheduled for the HouseHeart this evening?”

“No.”

“I request the sole use of the HouseHeart as is my right as HollyHeir.”

“You are allowed a half-day—fourteen septhours—in the HouseHeart every month. It has been thirty-four days, two days longer than a month, since your last use. Your request is granted,” rumbled the Residence.

Holm stood, donned his sorbaroot robe, and picked up Meserv.

The kitten whuffled. Meserv slitted open his eyes until sapphire gleamed.

“You're coming to the HouseHeart with me where we will cast some spells.”

Meserv opened his mouth in a yawn that turned into a grin.
Phyll helps Lark. I will help you,
he said smugly.

“That's right.” Holm teleported to the main floor and the first door leading to the secured corridor which wound down three levels to the HouseHeart.

The HouseHeart was a small room, carved from bedrock by the first colonists. Only six meters square, the room would still take a large Family to circle it with hands clasped. The colonists had come from large families. Earth had had a population problem—too many people. Celta had a population problem—too few people. It would take a millennium or two before the Earth colonists covered this planet in civilized cities and large towns.

Under rich wall tapestries were marks of the chisels and machines that had come before Flair.

A thick, sweet-smelling grass grew underfoot in the odd light that approximated Earth's sun. There were holly bushes along one wall, with spiky leaves and red berries that looked nothing like any Celtan flora, tinted some essentially different hue of green. Tinkling chimes sounded at uneven intervals as a draft of air found and flowed through the stone conduit into the room. The altar of the Lord and Lady stood in the middle of the chamber, along with the most ancient ritual tools of the Family.