Lost Heart: A Celta Novella (Celta HeartMate Series) (9 page)

W
hen they looked at him
, he rose to his back two paws and pawed the air with his front feet, claws extended. "Rrrrr." Then he sat back and looked inordinately pleased with himself.

Barton looked at his lover. "I think that was supposed to be a roar."

She laughed. "Perhaps."

He squatted down to look at the kitten, tugging on her hand and she followed him down but sat instead.

"Was that supposed to be a roar?" he asked the little triangular face pointed up at him.

It WAS a roar
, the kitten affirmed.
You just did not hear all of it
. He sniffed.
It was not only in sounds that human ears can hear, but otherwise, TOO. And in the mind.
He flicked a forepaw.
See, EVERYONE heard My roar and is watching us.
Barton had felt focused attention, but looked around like Enata. For sure, everyone, animal and human, had turned in their direction.

"So, kitten—"

I am a CAT.

"You're a kitten," Enata said.

The tiny white-tipped tail, flicked, and small as he was, the kitten angled away from Enata and toward Barton.
This is a Fam Fair
, he said.

"Stating the obvious," Enata said, amusement in her voice.

Another miniscule sniff. I
am in the market for a FamMan
.

"What about all that bad vibrations stuff the other Fams told us about?" Barton asked, but he held out his hand — nearly bigger than the kitten — to the feline charmer. Like he'd said to Enata before they came, he'd had no expectations of getting a Fam. Since he'd — they'd — been here and been rejected, he'd revised his idea.

This time the cat's sniff was much louder.
I feel those icky vibrations, but they do not scare ME!

Enata coughed.

Barton glanced over to her. Maybe it wouldn't be good to add another factor to the odd teeter-tottering balance of his new marriage. But . . .
What do you think?
he asked Enata telepathically.

She stood and brushed grass from her tunic.
I think this is one of those times when if you don't take this opportunity, you will always regret it.
She sounded indulgent.

The kitten leapt onto his hand, and Barton felt the prickle of claws on his palm, teeny teeth testing his thumb. "Then, I guess, I am also in the market for a FamKit— a FamCat."

ME!

"That's right."

I will sit on your head,
the kitten said.

Barton snorted. "You think so?"

The kitten smiled ingratiatingly.
You are the biggest man here and the tallest and I want to SEE what the world is like from the top of your head.

"He's got a point," Enata said aloud, smiling at him. He
loved
that carefree smile, and it had graced her face since the cat accosted them.

"All right. I will allow you to have your wish," Barton said to the kitten. "This once."

"You have lovely, thick hair," Enata murmured. "I like that it's long."

"It's not good in a fight," Barton said. "And Walker convinced me to follow that damn trend so we'd look more like those fashionable men of the older noble houses, so we'd blend in better."

She squeezed his biceps. "You will never blend in . . . unless it's with the Holly fighters."

"I worked for them," Barton said.

Me! Put Me on your head!
the kitten demanded.

Keeping his neck solid, his head straight and still, Barton set the kitten on his head. Hoping he wasn't making a mistake.

"No terrible vibrations coming from me?"

Silly
, the kitten said,
the vibrations come from the ground and through you and I am on your head. Much less. Oh, this is so FUN. I can see the WHOLE WORLD!
The little cat sounded thrilled.
I can see the stupid wolf, and over the wall to the street, and the houses beyond the park, and even THE STARSHIP, NUADA'S SWORD! I am SO high. My FamMan is SO tall. We own the world!

A cat would think that.

Then the kitten sneezed in his hair. Barton grimaced and a rolling laugh broke from Enata.

Your hair smells good and is nice
, the kitten said.
It tickled My nose.

"It probably wouldn't have tickled your nose if you hadn't rooted that very nose around in it," Barton said between gritted teeth. "I think you're ready to come down."

Noooo!

"I think we're ready to leave the park," Enata said matter-of-factly. "I'll teleport us to D'Licorice Residence." She slanted Barton a look and he nodded. "I'm fine with staying another night in the relative peace and quiet of D'Licorice Residence."

"Less relatives, more peace and quiet," she agreed. Her head angled as she looked at the cat. "D'Licorice Residence doesn't have a Fam living within its walls . . . yet." Another pause. "Hmmm. I wouldn't feel safe teleporting with a kit— cat on Barton's head."

I need to come down now. I will jump all the way down to your shoulder!

And he sailed off Barton's head. Barton barely felt the weight of him as the cat landed on his shoulder.

And here We are!
the kitten said as he settled along Barton's shoulder. The small cat began to purr.

"You have a nice purr." Enata moved toward Barton's other side, close to the kitten, and took Barton's hand in her own.

I know,
the kitten said.

They'd reached the path straight to the door in the wall when a woman hustled up to them — GreatLady Danith D'Ash, a woman like an aunt to Barton. Her whole body shimmied as she saw the tiny kitten with bi-colored eyes. "I see you and the youngest tom have bonded. He is a wonderful Fam for a young married couple."

Barton slanted her a wry look. "As if I don't have enough children in my Family I can practice on."

"They aren't living with you, are they?" D'Ash asked. "Taking care of a young thing, together—" She nodded. "Yes, this is right for you."

"Thank you," he said politely.

"What are you going to name him?"

The kitten hopped on his shoulder with claws a little too flexed for Barton's comfort.
Yes, yes, what IS My name?

"I think I'll call you, Resup, a good Clover name."

"Very nice," Enata murmured.

I like Resup.
From the pinnacle of Barton's shoulder, he lowered his head and sneered at Danith D'Ash.
It is much better than Youngest Tom.

Danith's smile strained.

Let's go to D'Licorice Residence!
Resup trilled.

Barton stopped in his tracks. He'd been thinking of spending the rest of the day in bed with Enata. Now he had a kitten to care for. They had a kitten to care for.

With a sigh, he met Danith's eyes. "He's on a two septhour feeding schedule, right?"

She smiled. "That's right."

"He's a treasure," Enata said. She held out tentative fingers to the kitten who licked them, then she stroked him — the cat, not Barton.

"So very soft."

Well, yeah, Barton didn't have much softness about him. Except his big gooey heart for his woman and wife, and the little scrap of fur riding on his shoulder. Somehow he had to make sure that he stayed in charge.

L
uckily the kitten
ran out of energy quicker than he and Enata. Playing with Resup turned into an intimate bonding experience among the three of them as they practiced their telepathy, and simply lowered their emotional shields to be vulnerable.

Enata's parents returned home earlier than WorkEnd Bell, which he understood to be unusual. Soon enough he realized they missed their other daughter and wanted to spend time with Enata — who would mostly reside with him at Clover Compound when off work. As he watched the Licorices, Barton decided that he should stay here some nights each week.

He could set that up, train others and delegate more. Good for his security force. That sounded reasonable but the idea of giving up the reins of control made his fingers twitch.

The kitten, when he awoke, proved to be exceedingly amusing and distracting for the older Licorices and the evening passed in good cheer until it was time to retire.

Once upstairs, Enata cleared out an alcove with a window seat in her sitting room for Resup's very own personal space. The kitten hopped all around the blue velvet cushion roaring . . . squeaking . . . with excitement.

Barton stuffed his new Fam full of food and liquid and left the kitten curled up in his window. Next to that window was a small, new, pet no-time that would help with dispensing meals; a litter box sat with the toilets.

He pulled the door to the bedroom closed to a crack that Resup could shove through if he wanted it enough, then led Enata to bed.

In the soft twinmoons light he undressed her, this time piece by piece. First he traced his index finger along her shoulder, just to feel the lines of it. Then he trailed it again, this time he separated the shoulder tab so the top of her tunic opened. He repeated the gesture on her left shoulder, then peeled her top down to her waist, exposing the delicacy of her body.

Now he used his thumbs to smooth over her fine collarbones, from shoulder to the dip. So very elegant and beautiful.

Her breastband, a swatch of white lace over her equally exquisite small breasts, showcased her subtle curves and the deep pink tips. His mouth went dry and his sex instantly thickened.

He sucked in a breath to keep the lust-fog from removing all thought from his mind. Fading back a step, then two, he gazed at her, standing in a stream of moonslight. Just fabulous.

After a hard swallow, he went to her, stripped away her tunic and threw it aside, touched the top of the seams of her trous at her hips, heard the soft whoosh as the trous opened and fell.

Placing his hands around her waist, he lifted her from the pool of material, angled her in the moonslight so she became an even more fascinating woman of light and shadows, like she was both tart and sweet.

Her pantlettes sat low on her stomach and rose high on her legs, another mere scrap barely shielding secrets that could drive a man mad — him mad. He drew his hands up her torso, plumping her breasts. He wanted to see how those breasts, those hard berry nipples, looked wet from his tongue. How the lace might pattern them.

His shaft grew harder, thicker. Control shredded. But he needed it, with this woman, his wife. He had to keep her. Keep her drugged with the same pleasure that pervaded him when they came together.

He bent his head to lap one nipple.

She gasped, and her head fell back as she arched into him. He set his teeth on the nub, did nothing else. Just let her feel the contrast between teeth, then tongue, then the moving of damp lace over her sensitive skin. Her body trembled against him, rubbing his shaft.

With languid grace, as if her arms felt heavy, she put her arms around his neck, and her fingers slipped under his hair at the nape.

Her gaze met his, her eyes glassy. "Barton," she sighed, pressed against him and rubbed, her fingers toying with his hair.

His control broke. His fingers ripped away her pantlettes. He took three paces to a silkeen-covered wall and braced her against it, hands on the globes of her ass.

"Clothes off!" he commanded and they dropped from him and the next instant he thrust inside her.

Her tight, wet heat welcomed him. "Barton," she gasped.

How sweet, how incredible, moving in her, the slide of friction, the race to the climax, sped on by her sex noises. Long strokes. Extend the pleasure. Pause as long as he could at her entrance until she begged, until the ecstasy beckoning couldn't be denied. Plunge in. Rock.

Listen to her scream, then triumph as she shuddered around him and his own release roared through him.

Stumble to bed, fall on it, hold her close as sweet darkness closed over him.

F
loral fragrance drifted
through her dreams, turning sparkle and joyful glitter into dark shards of obsidian glass that fell and sliced bits of herself away and gone. An imperative order wrapped around her, demanded her attention.

E
nata awoke
deep in the night, body and heart heavy and sluggish.

Lady and Lord, the scent of honeysuckle called to her, triggered a desperate need in her that had nothing to do with sex, but did promise some sort of easing of the awful ache inside her she'd experienced all month.

She slipped from bed, drew on a robe, a real professional Librarian robe, and walked toward the door.

"Spell globes on," Barton said. Light brightened the bedroom. "Where are you going?" he asked.

Caught! She closed her eyes, hesitated, then opened them and turned back. He lay against the pillows, his muscular arms behind his head, staring at her, his expression neutral.

"Not to a lover," but her voice cracked.

He jerked, then stiffened as if his body had betrayed him.

"I've had no other lover than you in the . . ." She swallowed as she numbered the days, "nearly a full year."

His dark blue gaze didn't waver. She let her shoulder drop and rubbed her face, crossed to perch on the end of the bed. "I suppose I should tell someone what's happening."

"You can trust me, always, Enata." He assured her with an intense gaze.

She turned to fully face him. They met and matched stares, and she strove to look beyond the attractive male, lowered her eyelids and tilted her head to
listen
to the bond between them, feel it. Strong and reliable.

This man took the welfare of his Family personally. He cared for them.

And he cared for her. He just . . . overwhelmed her . . . and not simply him, but his Family. Like a tidal wash, grabbing her into an undertow where she'd lose herself. She set her stance and wariness came into his eyes.

"I'm very sorry I ran."

He sat up and made a cutting gesture. "That's past and not important."

She stood as restlessness along her nerves. Swallowing, and keeping her eyes matched with his, she said, "I've felt — off — since the beginning of the month, new twinmoons." She shook out her body. "When I wake in the morning, I'm tired as if I didn't sleep well."

"You should see a Healer," he stated, leaning over and grabbing her though she'd thought she was beyond his reach, and plunking her on his lap. For the moment she ignored the more interesting condition of his body to focus on the morass of her mind.

A man of action. Take charge. Of course he would want to fix the problem. "I did. I moved my annual health check up a few months. They found nothing. I told them about the headaches and they said nothing seemed very unusual."

One big arm wrapped around her and she let herself slump into his strong embrace.

"Nothing very unusual?"

Sniffling, she pulled a softleaf from her sleeve pocket. "They said that my work must be challenging because my mind had more neural connections than the last map they'd done." Enata blew her nose. "But Healers, even Mind Healers, rather expect that of us Librarians and, ah, other scholars."

Barton squeezed her until she squeaked and looked him in his eyes, his gaze holding amusement. "As opposed to fighters and Chiefs of Security where they'd expect our muscles to expand more than our brains."

"I suppose." Frowning, she said, "And once I met with priestess Tiana Mugwort. I didn't know what to say. So I pulled out a sheet of papyrus from my sleeve and read it to her." Enata drew in a breath. "I was wearing this robe. I think I've been wearing this robe quite a lot, lately."

"It's a pretty gown. I like the blue-green on you."

She nodded and reached into the opposite rectangular sleeve pocket and extracted the same piece of papyrus, handed it to Barton and they perused it together.
I have something of great importance that I must remember, and occasionally I do, but usually I forget. As I have now. It is not a Healer problem, it is a spiritual problem.

"And the priestess couldn't help you?"

Enata shrugged. "I attended a few more rituals. Nothing helped." She wriggled on his lap, felt the stirring of his sex. "I'm sorry, I've got to leave. I must—"

"Must go," he said, consideringly. "I sensed a darkness in you."

"A darkness in me!" she cried.

"Shhh. We don't want to wake Resup. Didn't we just feed him a quarter septhour ago?"

"Did we?"

"I did. Let the kitten sleep."

"Yes. I don't think this is a matter for kittens." She bit her lip and her voice broke on her next words. "You felt a darkness in me?"

"A smudge, like from a trauma."

She shifted again. "I've got to go."

"Let's see where." To her extreme surprise he threw her into the air, so far she could have touched the ceiling, hopped from the bed and caught her easily when she plummeted down. She did note that his erection had subsided, too bad.

"I'll dress," he said and strode to the closet she didn't use because she preferred a wardrobe. When he slid open the door, she saw a space full of his clothes, and she didn't know when that happened. He dressed quickly in a tunic-trous outfit as professional as hers. Then he whirled and demanded, "Where do you go, Enata?"

"To Secure Vault One," she answered automatically, then gasped.

He nodded. "So your unconscious has some knowledge of what is happening to you. We just need to mine it."

"Agreed."

"I think we should take a look at this vault of yours."

Yes, a man who'd work at a problem until he solved it.

"You're coming, too?"

"You aren't alone anymore, Enata. Not struggling with this alone."

Tears pressed behind her eyes, then she blurted out another thought. "That vault has our most important items. The most ancient of all our records, some from Earth and the first generation on Celta."

He slanted a narrowed-eyed look at her. "What, I'm not allowed in?"

She hesitated. "You're not a scholar." Then she lifted her chin. "But you are a member of the Family." Clearing her throat from her previous tears, so emotional lately, too! — she added, “And you're honorable. Strong and honorable."

He bowed to her as if she was a FirstFamily GreatLady, then raised a brow. "I will also remind you that I am the Chief of Security for a large Family."

"So you are accustomed to keeping secrets?"

"That's right." He took her hand and placed it in the corner of his elbow. Optimism flowed from him through their link. He had no doubts that they'd discover the problem and remedy the matter. A relieved sigh escaped her. She'd had little buoyancy in her life lately that didn't include Barton. She'd work on that. But for now, she managed a spring in her step.

Until they reached the threshold of the bedroom. Barton doused the light. "We'll tiptoe past the kitten."

"I could teleport us," she whispered.

He hesitated, then she felt him shake his head. "No. That takes strength and Flair, and something has been hurting you." His tone took on a note of iron. "We may need all the strength and Flair we have when we discover what we battle."

Hand in hand, they made it out of her rooms, though she thought the Residence must mark their journey, then through the tunnel to the basement of the PublicLibrary and the oldest and strongest part of the foundation that held Secure Vault One. She opened the round door and they stepped inside.

Barton sniffed, loudly. "Nice smell. Flatsweets. With cocoa chips."

She stared. "The vault is filled with a strong honeysuckle scent."

Emotions flowed through his eyes that she couldn't decipher, then he revealed softly, "The smell of cocoa chip flatsweets means love to me. My mother made them for me when I got the apprenticeship to The Green Knight Fencing and Fighting Salon, when I reached my journeyman and master levels, when the Hollys asked me to stay on as an instructor." He let out a breath and drew another. "So she made them every time she was particularly proud of me. Or when I broke a bone or was sick, when I came back from the Healer. When I needed comfort, as well." His gaze drilled into hers. "What does honeysuckle mean to you?"

"Oh." She coughed. "You know that each of us, Mother and Father and Glyssa—" another hesitation and a hurt she didn't understand but had her frowning.

"Enata, lo—, wife?" Barton prompted.

She focused. "We each have our own library in the Residence. Mine smells of honeysuckle. My mother's father, MotherSire, whom I never knew, came from the Honeysuckle Family. Honeysuckle does mean love to me. At least it did before the beginning of the month, two weeks and four days ago." she shook her head. "Now I don’t care for the smell so much."

"Let me guess," Barton said dryly. "Your MotherSire Honeysuckle was a scholar."

"He studied the preservation of records, wrote the definitive monograph on it, and we still use his methods today. With his processes, we should be able to ensure our papyrus and books, vizes and recordspheres, will last millennia."

Barton squeezed her fingers. "Good work, then. Speaking of books," he angled his chin. "That one is glowing blue green and shooting off silver sparks. Is that normal?"

She looked up to see a volume straight ahead, in the middle of the shelf, glowing yellow and the spine running with silver and gold sparks.

The door behind them closed with a solid thunk and an equally loud clack as the large lock rotated. She murmured, "The door is not bespelled to shut and neither you nor I closed it."

Barton smiled and his voice came even more quietly than hers. "A little creepy."

Curiosity slid through their bond, along with his excitement. The notion they were making progress.

With a gulp, and straightening her shoulders, no more cowardice in her life, she walked to the shelf and touched the wide book spine. Tingles ran from her fingers through her body. She jerked a little and gasped. And Barton was there, yanking the book out.

"Cave of the Dark Goddess!" he cursed, then simply let go of the large volume and shook out his fingers.

The book didn't fall, but floated on an anti-grav spell, then it opened and thick papyrus pages flipped. Barton wrapped his arm around her waist and the brawn of it, the steadiness of their shared feelings, kept her own emotions stable.

They stepped to stare at the book together.

Looking up at her, with a wide smile, was her brother. "Reglis Landu Licorice," she read aloud in a choked voice. "CHOSEN," she nearly shouted. She'd read those words so often before. "I remember!" Her body began to shake and she wrapped her arms around herself. "Now I remember. All the times I've been in here this month!"

Barton turned her into his body, but his gaze remained on the book. "You never mentioned a brother." He cleared his throat. "None of you Licorices mentioned that there was a third child, an older brother to you and Glyssa."

"Because we don't remember!" Enata nearly screamed, her hysterical words echoed in the vault and made her compose herself. "None of us remember." Pressing her hands together, she calmed herself, as she had also done many times before. She'd come to the vault nearly every night, only skipping the last two nights because of her marriage. “At least I don't remember until I'm back here in the vault, reading this volume."

"What's the title of this book?"

"I don't know. There is nothing inscribed on the spine or the front cover. I don't recall reading the title page."

"Chosen," Barton repeated. "Any Clovers in here?"

"I don't think so." Holding her breath, she struggled to turn a page back from the entry on her brother, toward the front of the book, biting her lip until it hurt, feeling the muscles in her neck turn tight, she said, "It isn't often that I can move the pages." One flipped over. "Corylus Hazel." Another sheet. She held her breath. "Calluna Heather Hazel." She swallowed and read aloud, "'HeartMates acquired in the year noted as 405 years after the Colonization of Celta.'"

"405," Barton said. "The previous . . . chosen . . . before your brother left sixteen years ago. When did your brother . . . disappear?"

Enata spoke through a clogged throat. "Earlier this year, in the spring." Her lips trembled. "Reglis," she moaned his name.

Her fingers slipped and the papyrus sliced her a deep paper cut, and blood slowly welled to the top of her skin.

"This is hurting you, more than emotionally, physically, too." He picked her up. "We're getting out of here." He turned toward the entrance of the vault.

A filthy headache struck, along with a tense, upset stomach and she allowed herself to go limp in Barton's arms, glad he held her. "Open the door," he snapped.

Croaking a spell couplet she waved the thick vault door open and Barton carried her out of the place.

He lowered her to her feet, stuck his arm stiff against the wall next to the closed door of the vault, as if propping himself up. Several minutes passed in panting silence, then Barton stated, "We came here because you were compelled."

"Yes," she whispered, both her hands going to knead the back of her neck, trying to loosen stiff muscles.

"We went into the vault," he said flatly.

Giving up on her neck, she rubbed her temples. "I think so." Then she stretched long and hard. For the first time since they'd been together, his eyes didn't follow her movements.

"We should return to bed," she said weakly.

But he shook his head, rather like a bull, turned and squinted at the closed and solid vault door. "It got me, too, didn't it?"

"What?"

"You can't remember being in there just a little while ago, can you?"

She hesitated, then shook her head. "No."

"It got me, too. I can't remember."