Celta: Heart Choice Part 32

"You, too, Mitch.e.l.la," T'Ash chided.

"And merry part," Mitch.e.l.la said.

"And merry meet again," T'Ash said and ended the call.

"Well," Mitch.e.l.la whooshed out a breath, still looking at the place where T'Ash's image had formed. "I suppose he's finally forgiven me for telling him that Danith was sterile."

"You did that! Cruel."

She whipped around to face him, poked a finger in his chest. "You FirstFamily Lords are complex men, hard work. He was exhausting Danith with his moods. He made her cry." She set her shoulders back. "No one makes my best friend cry without answering to me." She shook her head. "And I've forgiven him for flinging me across town to Danith's house in a rage."

"I had no idea you had this interesting past," Straif said, and kissed her briefly on her mouth, sweeping his tongue over her lips, and she tasted the essence of him, sage.

Mitch.e.l.la found a smile on her face. "You and Winterberry. With all that help, Antenn is sure to be found."

"Right."

Closing her eyes, she tested the bond she had with the child of her heart. "He's resentful, and proud, and feeling snotty, but he's fine. Pinky is with him, excited at the adventure. Glad he's away from Drina." The horse trotted and Mitch.e.l.la winced. "Though according to what Danith's told me about riding horses, he's going to be very sore this evening." She opened her eyes.

Straif held out his hand, and a tube of Flaired liniment smacked into it. "I'd better pack this, then."

He slanted her a look. "Since you have bonds with Antenn and me, bonds that should stay strong over a long distance, you'll be able to send to me immediately if he's in danger."

"I'll do that." She placed her hands on his chest, liking the solidity of him, his steady heartbeat. "You're a good man, Straif T'Blackthorn." They stood like that for a moment until he pulled away, folded over the saddlebag flap, buckled it shut, and said a Word to keep it fastened and safe.

Mitch.e.l.la saw a worn roll of celtaroon about the length of her hand still on his desk. "Wait, you've forgotten this." She picked it up and heard metal clinking, and knew it was his whittling tools. They stared at each other, remembering the names incised in the ballroom floor. Hurt throbbed from him to her.

She took his hand and put the roll in it. "Why don't you carve something for me while you're on the trail? Something you see along the way that will show a city girl like me a little of the wild."

He turned the roll over in his hands, straightened the tie that circled it, must have felt her question at the lack of Flair spells. "If I can't untie the cord with my fingers, they're no good for carving. If I can't protect and take care of my whittling knives, I'm not much of a man." He smiled wryly. "My G'Uncle Prunus told me that when he gave me these. They were my first set."

Antenn had had Mitch.e.l.la work personally on the edge of the floor that contained the names, so she knew Prunus was a name that had been cut deeply into the wood.

"A wonderful gift for a boy. One that would continue to give him pleasure."

Straif's eyes went dark blue. "Yes." He opened the saddlebag and placed the celtaroon roll on the top. "Would you like an animal or plant?" he asked briskly, slipping the saddlebag over his shoulder, picking up an extra survivalsleeper, and setting a wide-brimmed hat on his head.

"Surprise me." She kissed him, curved her hands around his face, and sought the most sacred feeling she had within her, the speck of herself that connected to the Lady during rituals. Then she stepped back. "Blessings on you, Straif T'Blackthorn."

He ducked his head, accepting the sparkling white light that accompanied her words.

Then he hauled her into his arms again and took her mouth, opening her lips, darting his tongue past her teeth, exploring her entirely. She yielded to his need.

"Promise me you'll stay inside the estate's shields."

Finally he broke the kiss. "I promise."

"Good." He strode from the room. She followed him to the Grand Hall and out the door. There, waiting patiently on the gra.s.sdrive at the bottom of the steps, was Winterberry, mounted on the most beautiful stridebeast Mitch.e.l.la had ever seen, hardly s.h.a.ggy at all, and it appeared fast. Winterberry's traveling leathers were immaculate.

Straif eyed Winterberry and grunted, then studied the stridebeasts and whistled. "Someone has influence with Caprea Sallow."

"Danith D'Ash," Winterberry grinned, as if very pleased to be so well mounted himself.

"No one involved with animals refuses Danith anything." Mitch.e.l.la smiled, pleased and comforted at the thought of her friend providing for her and Antenn.

"Greetyou, GentleLady Clover," Winterberry said.

"Blessings to you, Winterberry. My deepest thanks for your help."

Winterberry shook his head. "The Councils want me to keep an eye on him." He jerked his head toward Straif, who was introducing himself to the stridebeasts.

"You'll be handy to have around," Straif said. "If you don't mind getting those leathers dirty."

"They're bespelled," Winterberry said calmly.

Straif settled the saddlebags and survivalsleeper on his stridebeast, and mounted. "We'll bring Antenn back safe and sound." It rang like a vow of honor.

He waved, circled his mount, and took off, racing down the gra.s.sdrive.

Winterberry looked pained, dipped his head to Mitch.e.l.la, then tore off after Straif.

A few instants later, the T'Blackthorn gates clanged open. Then shut.

The males she loved most in her life, Straif and Antenn, were gone.

She turned and saw the cook staring after the men, frowning deeply.

Twenty-five.

As they rode along the wall of his estate, Straif became aware of a young dog fox keeping pace.

Greet-you males of the hu-man, it said. You fol-low the scent of the kit-male of the hu-man and the kit-male of the fe-line.

Winterberry threw it a startled look. Straif slowed his stridebeast to a walk. That is so, he replied to the fox, and knew the guardsman heard the mental conversation.

I want an ad-ven-ture. I would like to go with you. The fox's eyes held humor. He looked as if he smiled.

I would be honored, Straif said. But we go to the rocky and wooded mountains with much danger.

I will go, too. The fox barked. He looked at Winterberry. And you, male-hu-man-who-pro-tects?

I, too, would be honored, male of the vulpes, said Winterberry.

You may call me Vertic, said the fox, serenely.

Winterberry stared. Vertic is a Winterberry name.

The fox shot ahead of them, running. Straif clucked at his stridebeast to keep up. "Well, well, well," Straif said. "This will be interesting."

Winterberry swallowed. "Looks like the fox-Vertic-knows where he's going."

"You and I have similar Flair," Straif said.

Shrugging, Winterberry said, "You have the greater-you can 'see' trails, right? I can only sense them-and I have to use all my senses." He smiled lopsidedly. "On the other hand, I don't think I rely as much on my Flair as you do."

Straif stared at the man. "You can't travel Celta and not use all the skills you have."

"Good point, my apology."

But however differently they used their Flair, it was obvious to Straif that Winterberry tracked almost as well as he did himself.

They were riding within the foothills when the talk turned to women. By this time, to Straif's amus.e.m.e.nt, the fox was sitting on a makeshift pad behind Winterberry. Straif would have bet his estate that the guardsman would bond with the animal and have a Familiar before the trip was done.

"You're in a mess with GentleLady Clover," Winterberry said.

"What made you decide that my love life is a good topic to discuss?"

The guardsman raised an eyebrow. "Trying to untangle the knot your love life is in will probably last us to the mine."

Straif winced. "What makes you think I'd like your advice?"

"Couldn't get any worse."

"Worse advice?"

Winterberry chuckled. "No, your situation. You should use this trip as the time to break off the affair."

"No."

"You have a HeartMate, and Mitch.e.l.la is sterile-and a Commoner. Put her out of your life and search for your mate."

Straif's jaw hurt from teeth clamped tight. "You seem to know all the facts."

"I try to know everything relevant to the FirstFamilies. I'm a.s.signed to you lot. I know you've set Nuada's Sword on track of a remedy for your heritage. Put Mitch.e.l.la out of your life and search for your mate."

"I'm not ready."

"Not ready to break with Mitch.e.l.la or search for your HeartMate?"

"Neither."

"Then let's look at this from a cold and practical point of view," Winterberry said in a conversational tone, yet something warned Straif that the words to come would be hard to hear. "Accept that the line from your flesh must die. Accept Mitch.e.l.la and the love she can give you."

Straif sent a questioning glance to the guard. "Are her feelings that obvious?" The thought of Mitch.e.l.la's love lightened his spirit.

"Yes. You can hurt her deeply."

That disturbed Straif. He'd hurt her before, and if he kept on with the affair, the ending would be painful for both of them. Yet he thought he didn't have the strength to step away from her loving.

Winterberry met Straif's eyes. "And she isn't the only one who could love you. There is the boy."

Straif snorted. "He resents and dislikes me."

"I have a small gift of foresight," Winterberry said. "And I think that by the time we return to Druida, the boy will respect and admire you."

"Unlikely."

"Perhaps. This is the perfect time to consider your circ.u.mstances, to straighten out your life, and since you have no intention of having a permanent connection with Mitch.e.l.la, you should let her go."

"I want her," Straif said starkly.

"Ah, there's the core of the matter. You want your woman. I understand the feeling exactly." Winterberry's smile was ironic. "But it's not always best for you or her or you both to be mated. Of course the Clovers are survivors, and Mitch.e.l.la in particular. She can weather an affair with you and then find a man who will marry and cherish her."

Straif hated that thought. He didn't want to think about Mitch.e.l.la in another man's arms, didn't want to talk anymore. He clucked his tongue to his stridebeast and set the pace too fast for discussion. He did know one thing. He wasn't going to give her up yet. Straif sent a pulse of affection to her along their emotional link and it was instantly returned. He wanted that. He wanted her. He wanted it all.

Drina stayed near Mitch.e.l.la the whole day, and Mitch.e.l.la found the little cat unexpectedly good company. She worked until she was exhausted, testing her bond with Antenn and Straif every few minutes.

In the evening she ate what Gwine fed her, took a long, hot bath in the mineral spring, and went to bed. But Mitch.e.l.la tossed and turned. She was all too aware that Antenn was alone with only a delicate creature of a horse, that Straif was hurrying after the boy. She could only pray that neither of them were taking risks, but to her, any expedition outside the city walls was fraught with danger. It didn't matter that Antenn was tough from his Downwind years, a survivor. It didn't matter that Straif had spent more time in untamed Celta than in the city of Druida. She feared for them both.

The first night she slept on Antenn's bedsponge, surrounded by his treasures, the drawings and models of his vocation, the rush of water from the sea, and the scent of boy.

The next day she labored like a fiend, personally restoring every marble square in the Great Hall floor. She hadn't planned on doing that, since it was a delicate, concentration-demanding, time-consuming job-examining the marble, bringing the underlying essence of beauty once more to the surface, shining each vein of silver or gold from the inside with her Flair, then polishing the black or white square. But it was just the labor she needed to keep herself from going mad with worry.

The second night she hauled her exhausted self into the MasterSuite and the ancient T'Blackthorn generational bed. The bed had probably been the place of conception for many a Blackthorn, perhaps even Straif himself, and she had no right sleeping in it when she was sterile, when she was not the man's HeartMate, never could even be his wife. But beaten down by anxiety, she crawled into its soft comfort anyway.

And dreamed.

A deep chasm opened between herself and Straif. She stood on the edge, behind her lay well-kept verdant gardens. She held out her arms and shrieked for him, gulping with tears, and he donned his most expressionless face, picked up his travel pack, and walked away across a dry and barren plain.

She called out, "Straif, Straif, my love!" and woke with tears on her face. She couldn't bear being in the T'Blackthorn bed. She shot out from under the covers, hopped to the floor. She was a Common Celtan woman, she should stick to bed-sponges. With a few muttered Words, she cleansed the sheets, made the bed, initiated a housekeeping spell for the room, and took herself off to her own suite. But she was all too aware that it wasn't her suite. It was the guest suite in the T'Blackthorn estate that she'd made minimal changes to. The suite was lovely as it was, though a little outdated. She could, of course, make it unique if she moved antique Blackthorn objects d'art into the rooms, changed the holos and paintings.

Sleep eluded her, so she decided to go to the attic storerooms. She hadn't finished her inventory of everything. Sighing, she stretched and donned brown work tunic and trous.

"Residence," she said, "please provide soft lighting for me to attic room five."