Heartmate (34 page)

“You only care that she is Noble now.”

“Stop this, T'Ash.” Danith tried circling around his other side. He kept her behind him with his other hand.

“You can't have her. Not anymore. Tell that puppy, Claif. She's mine now, and I'll take care of her.”

“Stop!” Danith cried.

“Danith?” Pink craned his neck to see her. “Are you all right? Does Trif need to go for the Guards?”

T'Ash made a low, anticipatory sound in his throat.

“No.” Danith said, holding on to the shreds of her temper. A temper that had been tested all too often lately. “Please leave, Pink and Mel. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but let me handle it.”

“I'm not going until he does,” Mitchella announced, jerking her chin at T'Ash.

Danith wrenched herself away from T'Ash. “I think that's a good idea. The last few days have been very wearing, and I haven't been composed enough to conduct my Discovery Day Ritual. I'd like some peace and quiet. Please, all of you, go.”

Mitchella glanced at Trif, who lingered on the porch, then Mitchella crossed her arms and adopted a solid stance. Pink sighed and copied her, as did his brother.

T'Ash also adjusted his stance, shifting on his feet just as he had when he faced the Downwind gang. He kept his hands loose and near his weapons.

He had to leave first. But the man had an abundance of pride.

Danith sidled to his side. “Please leave, T'Ash,” she whispered for his ears only.

“No.”

She knew she reddened from tension and anger and embarrassment. She put a hand on his near elbow. His glance darted to her, then back to the others. Again she made her voice so low that only he could hear. “Are you going to deny me, T'Ash? Deny my request in front of my friends? Is that how you care for me?”

His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. “They are not your Family.”

She didn't retort that neither was he. “We have spoken of this before, and will do so again. Right this minute the issue is my request of you and whether you will honor it.”

Thirteen

T'Ash glowered at her. “You are always asking me to
leave. I don't like it. You are choosing them instead of me. Not right.” Now his mutter was too low to carry to straining ears.

“Why must we decide this issue this very moment?” Danith asked.

“Because this very moment is when it's happening,” T'Ash replied.

“I'm not ready.”

“You're a coward.”

Too much. Once again the whole thing was too much. She lurched away from him before he could grab her. “Trif,” Danith called to the girl on the porch, horrified at the sound of tears clogging her own voice. T'Ash couldn't care for her, not if he humiliated her in her own home this way. He didn't have the least bit of sensitivity.

“Here, Danith,” the girl replied.

“I go,” T'Ash's voice overrode everyone else. “The rest of you, leave within two minutes. I will know.”

Pink nodded, eyes wide. Mitchella glared at T'Ash. Trif hopped from foot to foot in excitement.

T'Ash teleported out with a clap of thunder that expressed his feelings and must have rid him of some of his seething anger.

“Danith, you all right?” Pink repeated.

She managed a smile, shook her head. “My life is a mess. But, all in all, I'm fine.”

“You come to us, girl, if you need to.” He squared his wide shoulders in an action that made his big belly jiggle. “We'll stand by you. GreatLord or no.” With a short nod he left. Mel copied the nod and followed.

“Thank you,” Danith said, her tears from anger turning to tears of gratitude. “Blessed be.”

“That man, that T'Ash, doesn't like me.” Mitchella tossed her head. “And he won't for some time to come. I hope you don't get too involved with him. I thought Claif was bad for you, but T'Ash . . . he's beyond me.” She patted Danith on the shoulder, even as she stared suspiciously at the space T'Ash had occupied. Then she hugged Danith tightly and kissed both her cheeks. “You take care of yourself. You deserve to.”

Danith smiled. “I get to saunter into Cinque and Poppy tomorrow and quit.”

Mitchella grinned. “Now, that's something to savor, isn't it? Keep your spirits up. If you need anything, just viz.” Glancing at her wrist timer, she plunged from the room.

Trif still stood on the front porch, eyes large and round and an excited expression on her face. “You think that GreatLord can sense me from here?”

Danith shrugged.

Trif peered around the door frame. “I think it's been two minutes. I think I'm safe,” she said in satisfaction, obviously pleased with an exciting experience. “He's terribly gwr, Danith. Really virile. Possessive and rich and Noble. I think you should keep him.”

Danith laughed.

“Yeah. And if he has any young friends—young and gwr and handsome and rich and noble, you let me know.” Trif winked.

“I'll do that,” Danith said, thinking of Tinne Holly, then discarding the notion. Trif and Tinne—what an explosive mixture for trouble.

“But I suppose this means I'll have to fill that
wretched
job for the family firm that everyone thought you'd take after you married Claif. That's like stinkweed.” With a wave, Trif skipped away.

“Merry meet!” Danith shouted.

Trif stopped. “Merry part.”

“And merry meet again.”

Trif waved once more and disappeared into the night. Danith sighed and sank down onto her settee. Absentmindedly, she picked up the cards and occupied her hands by sifting them in a slow shuffle. With each touch, they resonated more of her. She smiled.

Closing her eyes, she traced other vibrations—a paw or two of Princess and of Zanth, Mitchella's dynamic energy, and the intensity of T'Ash. Concentrating on her fingertips, she went through the deck, card by card, until she felt one that hummed of T'Ash's emotions more than the others. Undoubtedly the one he'd found fallen away from the rest.

She opened her eyes and looked at the image.

A woman surrounded by blasers.

A woman in danger.

 
 
T'Ash paced. Everything had splintered again, like
poorly cast glisten. He mumbled under his breath. This Family stuff was going to be a major thing with Danith. He knew it. Hadn't she told him so twice?

Damn. What should he do? What would a smooth Holly do? For an instant he contemplated vizing Holm, but still felt irritated at the Holly heir for his interference. And if T'Ash actually asked Holm to further interfere . . . He shuddered. Too many people were being mixed up in this whole affair. Hard to keep quiet, hard to control.

Rumors would be rife about Danith and himself. He wondered if that would help or hinder his courtship.

He couldn't think. When he thought, he got bogged down in all the confusion of what to do with a female, trying to judge her and anticipate her.

Though when he acted he didn't seem to do any better. What to do next? Perhaps a small, a very small, strategic retreat.

Danith would be coping with her new status tomorrow. Perhaps in the evening she would be grateful for a helping hand. He must become as important to her as those damned Clovers. And they couldn't do much in the circles she'd now be traveling in.

Yes, he could and he would help her and earn more of her gratitude. He might even carry the earrings in his pocket, maybe even show her them—not that he'd offer them to her, of course, because that could lead to one more rejection. But if he showed them to her, he could gauge her reaction, at least.

He didn't like the Clovers, and wondered how he could remove Danith from their bothersome influence.

He walked up to his suite and carefully set the blaser on his bedtable, and the broadsword by the edge of the bedsponge. He peeled out of his clothes.

He was just sinking into the welcome blackness of sleep when he heard Zanth's gleeful shout.
Fourteen celtaroons. ME Hero. Hero. Hero. Life is good.

 
 
The persistent chiming of an urgent FirstFamily viz
woke T'Ash the next morning. “Here,” he said, not bothering to rise from his bedsponge or turn on the holo from his end.

“T'Ash?” The deep rumble of T'Holly addressed him. T'Holly looked like an older version of Holm—silverwhite hair, elegant visage, dark-gray eyes. Though T'Ash respected him, he was wary of the GreatLord.

“Here,” T'Ash repeated.

“I request a personal favor, both on my behalf, and on my Heir's.”

T'Ash jerked up to sit. “I'm listening.”

T'Holly's well-shaped lips thinned. The holo showed a man with a pallor to his skin. “Tinne has not returned. We have been unable to locate him, his vibrations fluctuate too wildly to get a fix upon him. Apparently he has—misplaced—his HouseRing. His Mother worries that his finger could be gone, his hand, even his arm. We cannot determine his health.”

“Holm?”

“My Heir searches in Downwind. We believe Tinne's still in that area, nothing could hide him from us anywhere else. Is it possible that you can locate the main gauche you made?”

“Probable.” T'Ash pulled on clean clothes and strapped on his weapons. “I'll send my Fam out to hunt for Tinne immediately, and will follow as soon as I grab a meatroll.”

T'Holly closed his eyes an instant. “My thanks. Smoke covers Downwind, it's hard to tell whether the smoke is completely natural or not. Several guards are missing, and there are reports of gangs, fighting, fires”—he gestured—“general turmoil.”

“Downwind matters should have garnered more attention from the Councils this last year,” T'Ash said evenly.

T'Holly nodded. “So you said. I regret we did not follow your advice.”

“Downwind must be renovated or else we will be faced with some of the problems our ancestors left Earth to escape. They didn't come here only to use their Flair freely, you know. There were numerous difficulties on old Earth. One of them was the gap between rich and poor, powerful and helpless. We cannot allow a great discrepancy to develop between Downwind and the rest of society.”

“I hear you. Your concern is so noted in the FirstFamilies Council records and will be given the deepest consideration.”

T'Ash thought of the fighting Downwind. Of smoke and fire. Of danger. Of a woman surrounded by blasers. “I have an unclaimed HeartMate. Should anything happen to me—”

“She will be cared for by the Hollys, now and in the future, no matter what occurs.”

“Protect her at all costs.”

“I promise.”

“Good. Fare well.” T'Ash disconnected the scryspell.

He went to the round window and placed his hand upon the large rose quartz crystal. Aligning himself with the HouseHeart rhythms and matching them to the angles of the crystal, he sought Tinne's main gauche. He stretched all his senses to penetrate the distance between his estate and Downwind. For an instant he touched the main gauche, felt the wetness of new blood on its blade, the exhaustion of the hand that held it, a young Holly hand. Then his vision disappeared.

“Scry T'Holly,” T'Ash ordered.

“Here.” The older man snapped.

T'Ash engaged the holo on his end.

“T'Ash!”

“The main gauche remains with Tinne. I felt fatigue and unconsciousness, but no great wounds. Tell your wife he lives.”

“My deepest thanks.”

“I go.”

“T'Holly allies for three generations with T'Ash.”

T'Ash felt heat rise to his face at the honor. “Agreed. A distinction I appreciate.”

“You deserve it. Tinne—”

“I like the boy. I am glad to be of assistance. Blessed be.”

“Blessed be.” The scry holo went dark.

“Zanth!” T'Ash yelled.

Me here.
Zanth burped.
Eggs with cheddar.

“Did you hear T'Holly?”

T'Ash frowned. “I did not set a price.”

Zanth extended a hind leg, separated his toes, and began to groom long curved claws. A faint but distinct odor of celtaroon permeated the air.
Stupid. What we do?

“You will recall Tinne Holly?”

“He's lost Downwind.”

Zanth flicked his claws in and out.
Me find.

“I'll follow.”

“Meatrolls.”

“The alley where we last saw him.” T'Ash constructed a detailed picture in his mind, adding morning sunlight and shadows.