Heart Thief (21 page)

She stared at him, and he returned the examination. She knew she searched for all the small indications of difference in him since they had last met, and thought that he might be doing the same. Ailim sighed. He looked relaxed and at ease, more carefree than the last time she'd seen him. The fine lines in his face seemed gone, and she knew it wasn't simply the dim light. He had changed for the better. She was sure she hadn't.

“You look tired,” he said.

She shrugged and smiled wryly. “This Loyalty Ceremony has had the household in an uproar, getting ready for a large gathering of all branches of the Family.”

He glanced away. “I wouldn't know.”

She searched for some other topic, but he spoke first, softly, gazing at her from those intense eyes. “And how do you find my Nullness tonight, D'SilverFir? Interesting? Wonderful? Terrible?”

She blinked, and became aware of the soft night noises outside the tent, the steady, loping tread of one of the D'SilverFir guardsmen who had arrived from a frontier estate that so trained their sons. There was a chirp or two from night birds and the rhythmic rasping of crickets. Beyond that, there was silence that held expectation of a busy day once Bel rose.

Breathing deeply, she inhaled the fragrance of amber and pine and even a faint tantalizing scent of man and most especially, Ruis.

But she could not take her eyes from him—his noble features and the clean, muscular lines of his body. And though she had no Flair to sense his thoughts or feelings, the atmosphere between them thickened with unspoken emotions. She tried to recall what he'd asked her and tore her gaze away from him. She had to think instead of feeling the heat of his body radiating desire and stirring her own yearnings. Cravings that seemed so futile, yet so limitless.

What had he asked? She didn't remember.

His voice broke her thoughts, and this time it lilted with male satisfaction, as though she'd already given him his answer. “How do you find my Nullness tonight, D'SilverFir? Interesting? Wonderful? Terrible?”

Ailim let her eyes go back to where they wanted to rest, on Ruis Elder. “I asked you to call me Ailim.”

“And you called my name when I entered. Say it again.”

“Ruis.”

He closed his eyes. His chest rose in a deep breath and shuddered out. “That sounds so wonderful it's terrible. Terrifying.”

Her throat closed and she could only nod. But he couldn't see, and she couldn't speak to him mind-to-mind, so she forced the words out. “Our plight is scary, but I want to continue.”

Bright brown eyes pinned her. “I waited in the Grove every day for your followers to leave. But they didn't. I wanted to massage you again. Touch you.” His eyes gleamed flames in the candlelight. Then he shook his head. “That strange Family of yours hedges you around. You're never out of their sight. You have small time alone, no wonder you are so self-conscious.”

She hadn't been until he'd said it. Now she could feel her shift tangled around her, exposing her legs to his view. His gaze slid over her millimeter by millimeter, from her toes up to her wild hair. Her nipples hardened at the desire in his eyes, the flaring of his nostrils. He'd sparked a pooling fire in her lower body as expertly as he'd lit the candles. Her breathing quickened and his gaze went from the shadowy apex of her thighs back to her breasts.

He knelt beside her and his unforgotten scent wafted to her, bringing memories of comfort, of his lips on hers, of his hands on her. She trembled, but did not move, waiting, wondering with exquisite blindness of Flair what he felt, what he thought. What he would do next.

His face had tautened, his lips thinned. The low light burnished the red in his mahogany hair to copper. She heard his ragged breath. Ruis touched the center tab groove of her shift. With one long stroke he separated the material.

Ailim could barely keep still, she wanted to fling herself at him, wrap her arms and legs around him, please them both with rocketing pleasure. The very thought shocked her, but didn't stop the daring images from flashing through her mind.

Yet something stopped her from acting on impulse. Something she hadn't felt in a long, long time—sexual anticipation.

The yearning in his eyes made her want to extend the pleasurable tension. His mouth had softened and his expression held more than lust. Need marked his features. Need for intimacy.

Without Flair, without words, she knew that this passion that spun between them had little to do with healthy sexual drives and everything to do with how they valued each other.

The moment stretched until she felt herself arching toward him, offering herself, everything she was. She could not wrench her stare from his.

She'd never felt so aroused. Her senses, so overwhelmed by inrushing sensation, narrowed to the visual. Sight. The sight of his long fingers gently peeling back the two panels of her shift to expose her to his probing gaze. A small moan whispered from her lips, and he looked into her eyes. His hands stopped.

“Don't stop.” Hadn't she said that before? Again and again before? She knew she'd say it again and again and again in the future.

He smiled once more, tenderness touching his mouth as he smoothed her shift on either side of her body. His fingers trailed heat to the side of her breasts, the inner curve of her waist, the sensitive flesh of her thighs, and all the way down touching her knees, feathering against her feet.

“Lady,” he said thickly, then touched the peaks of her breasts. Her body undulated. He gasped, pulled his fingers from her, then firmed his jaw and set his hand on her stomach, his thumb close, so close to where she wanted to be touched. “Ailim,” he said.

She wet her lips. She should have felt vulnerable, but instead felt cherished. He stared at her as if she were a prize he'd always sought and never hoped to obtain. His mouth touched hers. Convulsively she entwined her arms and legs around him, seeking to align the most needy part of her against his sex. He withdrew his hand from between them, and when she shifted, she was where she wanted, her woman's flesh cradling the thick, long ridge that she craved. She moaned again.

He chuckled, but did not move. His lips dipped to her neck, her shoulder. His tongue flickered against her skin. “So rich and sweet,” he muttered. The edge of his teeth scraped her, bolts of fire arced through her.

“Come to me,” she said, amazed at the need for this particular man.

His hands tunneled through her hair, separating strands still twisted together and the tingling sensation shivered through her and she gasped. Thought spun away.

Rough-padded fingers brushed over her ears, traced her jaw, then framed her face. His lips touched hers, tongue questing and she opened her mouth eagerly. When she sucked on his tongue they both moaned in pleasure. The taste of him speared through her. Heated fire flickered on the inside of her eyelids. Her breath was ragged, her hunger avaricious.

His long-fingered elegant hands slid to her back, between her and the shift, again the callouses roused sparking excitement until she was a mass of unsatisfied need.

He enveloped her . . . the scent of spice and man, his warmth, the sound of his quick breath. Blind with pleasure and seeking tactile sensation, she flexed her hands against his back enjoying the firmness of muscle, learning the wedge shape of his back. She curled her arms around him touching the nape of his neck and laughing lowly as he shuddered. She petted him there, playing with wisps of hair.

His large palm found the roundness of her bottom, and she quivered, then gasped as he pressed her closer and the strange texture of his trous teased her. Now his tongue roved through her mouth, claiming her taste, knowing that portion of her thoroughly, intimately.

“You! Guard!” Aunt Menzie's high voice from outside the tent whipped against her ears, striking her like lashes on tender flesh.

Nine

The sensual moment of loving disintegrated. Ruis whisked
Ailim's shift together with a fast jerk. He retreated to the darkest corner of the tent, but not before Ailim noticed his hands shook.

Ailim strained to see him. She was cold, bereft, mouth swollen and trembling. When she breathed, the lingering scent of him dizzied her for one more instant before she relinquished all the delectable feelings of desire and caring. Frigid duty mixed with simmering resentment flooded her. Was she never to have any peace?

“Yes, GrandMistrys Menzie?” The guard outside the tent answered coolly, with just the barest respect. Ailim grabbed at self-control, levered herself up, shook out her shift, finger-combed her hair, and donned a nightrobe. With a glance at Ruis, who looked at her expressionlessly—he couldn't think that she would ever betray him?—Ailim went to the tent flap and opened it only as wide as her body.

The draft slapped cold air at her and she chilled. “Is there something wrong, Brant?” she asked the guard, a distant cousin.

He turned and bowed. “No, Lady, don't be disturbed, go back to your thoughts.”

Aunt Menzie marched forward, one hand clutching her ugly, evil amulet. “Of course she will not be disturbed. I have a night-drink to help you focus, Ailim.” Menzie presented an ostentatious silver goblet.

Ailim forced a smile, knowing Menzie must have an ulterior motive, but what? “Thank you, but I am fasting.”

Menzie stared, blinked, moistened her lips. “Fasting? Fasting is not required!”

Ailim lifted her chin. “Nevertheless, as a SupremeJudge and soon-to-be confirmed GrandLady, I wish to set a good example. Menzie”—she smiled wryly—“I have never had any trouble with focus.”

Menzie frowned, her free hand clutched her amulet, and a look of confusion crossed her face. Her hand fell from the necklace and she sniffed. “I think you should drink.”

“No,” Ailim repeated. “Water is enough.” Whatever the potion was, it no doubt would affect Ailim adversely . . . probably cause her to humiliate herself in some manner before the whole world.

Even in the twinmoonslight Ailim could see her aunt flush with anger. “I insist.”

“I am set on my fast. You look ill. Perhaps you should use that drink to help you swallow one of the pills the Healer gave you to steady your blood.”

Menzie's mouth opened and closed.

Ailim inclined her head to Brant. “Please escort her to the edge of the square and tell one of our kinsmen stationed there to accompany her home.”

He scowled and rested his hand on his sword hilt. Ailim made a show of looking around. “I sense no threat.” That was true. With Ruis so near, she couldn't even read Brant, who was only a few steps away.

Brant jerked a nod, then grasped Menzie under the elbow and swivelled her. “Come, GrandMistrys, I wager there's still plenty of work for the D'SilverFir housekeeper before the ceremony.”

Menzie snorted. “Housekeeper. I'm not a mere housekeeper.”

“Your daughter might need you,” Brant said.

Their footfalls moved away.

Ailim dropped the canvas flap and turned to face Ruis. He lounged against a solid post, a small smile curving his lips. He looked dangerous—reckless. Ailim bit her lip to keep from warning him of his obvious peril at being in Druida.

She looked closer and saw that his fists were clenched, and something about the skin around his eyes spoke of vulnerability. A lump inside her melted. “Ruis,” she said.

His smile turned lopsided. “We have come full circle to the start of our conversation.” His gaze drifted to the chinju pillows that showed the deep indentations of their bodies.

Ailim felt heat rush to her face, but she didn't falter. She didn't regret her passionate response to him. “Ruis.”

When he looked at her again, softness moved in his eyes. “I like hearing you say my name.”

She swallowed.

His shoulders squared. “This is not the time or the place for lovemaking.” Yet his voice held a strained note, as strained as her nerves.

“No.” She sighed. “No. I am supposed to be preparing myself for the responsibilities of my new status and rank.”

“You have been D'SilverFir a couple of months now, haven't you?”

“Yes.”

“And a judge for how long?”

“Six years.”

Ruis looked her up and down and she became aware of her rigid stance and her hands folded at her waist.

“It seems to me that you've been responsible all of your life. Maybe you should consider some alternatives.”

She raised her eyebrows. “During the time I am meditating before the loyalty ritual?” But she was glad to see the twinkle back in his eyes.

“RRRRRRoooooowwwww.” Samba kicked the flap aside and strolled in. She went over to Ailim and licked her ankle politely. Ailim, now used to such damp shows of affection from her puppy Primrose, didn't even flinch.