Heart Thief (17 page)

D'SilverFir shifted in his arms, moaning a little.

Ruis cuddled her closer and made soothing noises, noises he was aware that he'd never heard himself and that were echoes of Samba's to him. He only hoped that they translated into something that might reassure a lady.

When she settled, he felt triumphant. He found the pointed-arch door in the wall and showed Samba how to use the lever. The cat did so with great smugness. They walked through a maze of vine covered lattices, hedgerows, and tangled brush until Ruis ducked and entered the long leafy tunnel to FirstGrove itself.

He pushed past the last veil of vines and stopped at the beauty. The twinmoons had risen and gleamed three-quarters full on opposite sides of the sky. Cymru glowed dull gold, Eire a rosy pink.

Dark trees thrust into the sky, huge and sheltering the soft, mossy ground below. Unlike the other trees of Druida, they still held their leaves. FirstGrove lagged behind the year; it was still summer here. Some of the great trees were old Earth oaks mixed in with large boled trees native to Celta, and hybrids that had bred in this special place.

Ruis carefully lowered himself and D'SilverFir down to the thick, fragrant grass, close to the shallows of the spring.

Samba squealed, her green eyes bright.
Verrrry interesting place. I go play.
She trotted off, tail waving.

D'SilverFir groaned and raised a faltering hand to her head. Then she jerked upright. “I can't feel I can't read—” she cried in panic.

He thought of leaving her; he couldn't. “My fault, I think,” he said, surprised at how low and rough his voice was.

She lifted glazed eyes. Blinked. Stared. “You!”

“Me.” He began to withdraw his arms from around her slender body.

She grasped his shirt. “No.”

Tremors ran through her. She was reacting to her close brush with death.

He kept her close and murmured into her hair. “No?”

She shut her eyes again and relaxed against him. “No,” she whispered.

“You're a SupremeJudge and I'm condemned to death if found in Druida.”

Now both hands clutched at her head. “I can't think. My head hurts.”

He sighed inwardly. She didn't want to face facts. He'd been doing his best to ignore the deadly facts himself, but was always aware that each time he stepped from the Ship to roam Druida, he placed his life in danger. She turned her face into his chest and his thoughts scrambled as he tightened his hold on her. She trusted him. She liked being in his arms. The attraction he had felt, had thought she'd felt the times they'd met, was definitely mutual. His spirits rose.

“This is a healing spring, GrandLady. There's a head-depression carved in the soft stone at the edge of the water. Would you like to try it?”

“A healing spring?” She opened her eyes. Her breath caught as she took in the loveliness around them. Fascination appeared on her face. Slowly she sat up. “Where are we? Where is the HealingHall attached to the grove and the spring?”

Ruis smiled. “We're in FirstGrove.”

“FirstGrove.” She looked around the trees and the pool, the summer roses still blooming in autumn. “The fabled FirstGrove?” She sighed, her shoulders slumped, then squared, as if accepting all her usual responsibilities. Then she sat, spine straight, away from the curve of his supporting arms. Ruis reluctantly moved so they no longer touched. She released deep, unsettled feelings in him, brought a great yearning for a normal life. He suffered through it, gritting his teeth. He wasn't normal and never would be.

“Why don't we try the healing spring on your head?” He stood and held out his hand.

She stared up at him, and he saw a reflected flicker of longing cross her features, only to be supplanted by guilt and duty that made her thin her lips and raise her chin.

They both knew they were worlds apart, worlds that couldn't ever be reconciled. But she placed her hand in his and he slowly drew her to her feet. He guided her a few steps to the pool and indicated the depression shaped in the marble, surrounded by a lacy stonework crown to direct the flow and ensure the patient could not drown. Water bubbled through the intricately and beautifully cut masonry, but would not touch her face.

She stooped and trailed her fingers in the spring. “It's warm.”

He squatted and put the tip of his little finger in the pond for an instant. Then he stood and backed away. “That's me. It should be hotter than this, but I'm in the vicinity.”

“Hmmm.” She eyed the water and stone crown. “Time in the Healing Spring couldn't hurt.”

“And your head does.”

“Oh, yes.” She looked up at him and her face softened. “You are always taking care of me.”

He cleared his throat. “My pleasure, GrandLady.”

Her delicate skin flushed. She lifted her chin. “And it has been my pleasure, too.” Raising her hand, her fingers brushed against his face. “Call me Ailim.”

Ruis's heart pounded. He wanted her in so many ways, so he stepped aside. “Let's take care of your head . . . first.”

She reddened more but nodded, then winced. Moving warily, she went to the pool, lay flat on her back, and began lowering her head into the water.

“Wait. I'm going to the other side of the spring so the Healing spells and heat will return fully. I'll keep a lookout.”

She was so dignified. Didn't she get tired of being so proper all the time? He wanted her relaxed, smiling. He grinned at her and thought of teasing a little. “All you have to do is squeak and I'll come running.”

She blinked, then her lips curved. “Squeak?” she asked, as if such a sound had never issued from her lips. Probably not—she must have been taught the dignity, decorum, and propriety expected of a FirstFamily Heir since she was a toddler.

He cocked his head. “Squeak. Why don't you try it?”

She stared at him.

“I can't hear you,” he said.

She started squeaking with low and short sounds, then as Ruis stood back, hands on hips, her squeaks became long and high, then with complete abandon.

He laughed.

She stopped, raised her chin. “I can squeak if I want.”

“You certainly can.”

D'SilverFir sighed. “At least here.”

“Don't limit yourself.”

She shrugged and lowered her head into the pool. Small lines of strain smoothed as the water rose to frame her beautiful face. She wriggled a bit, breasts and hips moving in a way that made Ruis suddenly aware of her femininity and his very masculine reaction.

He nodded to her and flipped a hand in the direction he would be going. She smiled again.

Ruis set off around the pool, keeping the glittering silver threads of her gown always in sight. He reached the other side of the spring and stared at D'SilverFir. Her hands were folded, her sliver slippers pointed. Serene and ladylike, as always. Yet he sensed that if he had her truly alone and in an intimate setting, he could coax her to abandon herself to passion.

She adjusted her head and her pale braids rippled around her face. Her expression showed enjoyment.

He wanted to be with her, next to her, but here he was, across the entire pool. His mouth twisted. It was symbolic of their relationship.

A few moments later Ailim rose and started to dry her hair with a spell. Her fine blond tresses had been freed from their elaborate plaits in the form of Celtic knots and floated around her. When Ruis got within a few feet of her, the drying spell died, and her hair subsided back onto her head.

D'SilverFir put a hand to her temple, tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes. She was obviously trying to use her Flair. She shook her head.

Ruis tensed.

The slight curve that graced her lips faded and her expression became solemn. “You saved my life.”

“Did I?” Ruis smiled ironically. “My Nullness short-circuited the glider forcefields.”

She took a small step toward him. “You kept me from falling between them. You brought me here to Heal.”

Ruis shrugged.

Again she stepped forward, staring, her eyes moving as if trying to gauge his motives. Ruis realized that, probably for the first time since she'd experienced her full Flair, she had no telempathic clues to what another person was thinking. His own gaze sharpened. As usual, she didn't look frightened or distressed—she seemed intrigued, perhaps even fascinated?

When she came another half-step forward, his nostrils widened as he caught her scent, something deep and rich and sweet, completely tempting. The fragrance insinuated itself inside him and twined through his blood until it picked up pace.

“Will you turn me in?” he asked.

Her mouth pinched. In her eyes, duty and responsibility warred with gratitude and interest. Ruis was glad to see the conflict. It fed his starving ego.

“Are you going to leave Druida?” she asked.

“No.”

Impasse. She huffed out a breath and shot him a disgruntled look. “You could have lied,” she murmured.

“I want every word, every action between us to be honest.”

She raised her eyebrows. “The honorable Ruis Elder. I knew it, but couldn't find proof.” She bent down and scooped up a handful of water. Watching him, she spread her fingers and the water sieved away, tiny droplets clinging to her fingers. “You are like the water, flowing through all the official papers of Druida and Celta. A mention here, a hint of someone who might be you there, but no solid records.

“You were a FirstSon, entitled to an allowance from your birth. The papers are muddled, the bookkeeping odd.” She set her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. “It can only be extrapolated that your allowance was actually paid. But no receipts are on file written in your hand and independently verified that you, personally, ever received the funds.”

“A Null isn't a person in Celtan culture or to those who comprise the GuildCouncils. That's a statement of fact.”

She gave a ladylike snort. “Not acceptable.”

He shrugged again. “It hardly matters. I'm a convicted thief, now. I'm sure that according to the law of Celta, any monthly noblegilt due me is void upon my banishment.” He lifted his eyebrows. “You might want to ensure that no noblegilt is paid out in my name,” he said, a slow smile touching his lips. One stream of funds to Bucus cut off, at least.

She nodded shortly. “I'll take care of that in the morning.” Ruis liked the way authority sat upon her. Liked her obvious competence. And knew he liked it because it warmed him to think of someone such as she respecting him, valuing him. His gut clenched and he battled back weakening emotions. “So, are you going to turn me in, Judge D'SilverFir?” He was sure he knew the answer—it lived in the thread of attraction that spun between them, but he wanted words. He found that he was greedy for solid words that she esteemed him, not merely indirect hints. He needed a declaration that he was of some worth to someone. Finally.

Her eyes narrowed. “I am not in the habit of ingratitude. Of course I will not turn you in. You saved my life.” She might be trying to keep her face impassive, but Ruis had long experience in measuring the expressions of others, and there was no hardness in hers.

“We're even,” he said.

She tilted her head. “I don't think so. I don't know that we will ever be ‘even' and . . .”

“And?”

A slight flush pinkened her cheeks. “I dislike thinking that we might be keeping track of favors. There is too much between us and time is too short, that we should tally courtesies.”

“I am banished from Druida,” he said softly. “I am breaking your precious laws.”

Her fingers tunneled through her hair. “They
are
precious laws. The rule of law is paramount in keeping humans civilized. Without law, people would act on whim, with no thought of the consequences. The powerful would rule without recourse.”

“Oh, and that doesn't happen?” His sarcasm made her color. But she lifted her chin.

“Not always. And not forever. No one is above the law. No one.”

Ruis laughed. She closed her eyes as if pained and that stopped him short.

Her breasts rose as she took a deep breath. “I know that you, of all people, have trouble believing that, but it is the corner-stone of my life. What has happened to you is—” She shook her head, raised her hands, then dropped them in a futile gesture. “It should not have happened to you, to anyone.”

He shook his head in disbelief at her idealism.

She stiffened her spine. “I will undo the tangle of records around your life, and when I do—”

He took one of her waving hands and raised it to his lips. Again she pinkened, but this time he was sure it was not from misguided guilt or shame. This time it was because of his touch. His. Touch. He, Ruis Elder.

“So you will not turn me in,” he whispered against her hand. “Because I saved your life. Because I came to you after your JudgmentGrove and massaged the wretchedness from you.”

Her fingers fluttered within his own as he admitted what was true and real between them aloud.

“Because I have been wronged and you revere the law and strive to correct any injustice. Because my existence is tangled in missing pages and incomplete documents and raises many questions. Do I have all this right?” He kissed her hand now, grateful to her for all the good emotions she'd set blooming in his life. “And what of this wonderful sharing bond we have between us?”

“I will fight for you.” It was barely a whisper, but it sounded like a vow.

“What's past is past. I don't dwell on that which is gone. I'd rather you kiss me,” he said, and held his breath at his impetuous words. A glacial ice froze him in place. He'd left himself completely vulnerable to her rejection. Something he hadn't done since childhood.