Heart Dance Read online

  “Yes?” she whispered.

  Fairyfoot came over and swatted his calf, jarring memory back into his head. Locking gazes with Dufleur, he murmured, “Do not let anyone bully you into doing what you do not wish to do. I hope you know that you have a friend in me.”

  She cast him a wary look. “I have not found the Willows helpful to my Family in the past.” Her mouth set, and anger flashed in her eyes. “Your MotherDam ruined my father, our entireHouse.”

  Shock snapped him upright. What was she talking about? “I didn’t know,” he said.

  Her nostrils pinched. “How could you not know?”

  “I’ve been in Druida less than three months.” He could well believe that his MotherDam had arranged matters so that his HeartMate would hate him. Another unpleasant surprise. Anotheremotional ambush.

  He took her hand and kissed her chilly fingers, looked steadily into her eyes, which had darkened to deep sapphire. “I don’t know what my MotherDam did to your Family, but I am not she. I promise you, I’ll remedy the situation.”

  “You can’t,” she said flatly. “You won’t.” She jerked her hand from his. “No one believes in my father’s intelligence and honor except me.”

  Saille slanted her a look. That was an odd combination, intelligenceand honor.

  A little hiss issued from Fairyfoot. Saille didn’t know to whom it was directed.

  Dufleur looked down her nose at her Fam. “You’re a traitor. I’m not speaking to you until you apologize for your behavior.”

  Saille didn’t know much about cats, but he figured they apologizedabout as often as a star went nova. Both woman and cat emanated anger. So he tried to lighten the moment. “A traitorousFamCat. I’ve never heard of such. Interesting.”

  Fairyfoot arched her back, hissed again, and stalked off to jump onto the counter.

  “No you don’t!” D’Dandelion swept the bag containing Saille’s purchases close with one protective arm, swiped at Fairyfoot with the other. The cat was forced to jump onto the floor. Now she growled and stalked to sit and turn her back to the shop and look out the glass of the door, lashing her tail.

  Dufleur sighed, and the sound made Saille’s heart twinge. He could see her morning had been stressful. “Whatever you thought of my MotherDam, I am not she. I will always stand your friend.”

  She sniffed, sounding like her cat. Her mouth twisted in disbelief.

  The more he looked at her, the more he wanted her, wanted her to like him, believe him, want him. He’d been told by a lady or two that he had a good smile. He used it now, slow and easy, and appreciative.

  Anger faded from her expression, she shifted in her seat, her head tilted slightly, and she gave him a sidelong glance.

  He made her nervous, which meant she was aware of him as a man, and he liked that.

  A moment spun between them, their gazes locked, hers searching, evaluating. His determined, unflinching.

  Five

  We’d also like to see the flat hat and the looserobe you made for D’Willow,” Passiflora D’Holly said loudly to D’Dandelion.

  That snapped Saille from his reverie. “D’Willow? Anything that you made for D’Willow I will purchase.”

  D’Dandelion looked dazed. “I’d forgotten the looserobe.”

  “Why haven’t I seen it before?” Saille said.

  “I’d forgotten it!” D’Dandelion drew a softleaf from her tunicpocket and dabbed at her face. Her gaze flickered across them all, then she bustled into the back room.

  D’Holly turned to him with a steely smile. “I can’t see you in a looserobe made for your MotherDam, T’Willow.”

  Again he made a half-bow, polite but implacable. “No more than I can see you in such a garment, GreatLady.” He always enjoyed looking at Dufleur’s pieces, one more would be a pleasure.“So why do you wish this?”

  The noblewoman graced him with a smile as charming and polite—and with as much underlying wariness—as his bow had had. She said, “For the Enlli Gallery. I’m sure the looserobe will be an excellent showpiece of dear Dufleur’s talent. Can you tell me that anyone in your household would love it and wear it?”

  She was right there. He couldn’t imagine any of the Willow women wanting the thing, no matter how beautifully embroidered.

  “Better that it be seen by many instead of only a few,” Passiflora pressed.

  “My MotherDam would hate that,” he murmured without thinking.

  D’Dandelion thumped the box on the counter. She was smiling.So was Dufleur. Even Passiflora’s lips curved. Obviously none of the women cared about his not-quite-late MotherDam’s feelings. She’d cheated D’Dandelion, ruined Dufleur’s father— how? He’d have to find out as soon as possible—and Saille sensed D’Holly had a personal animosity, too.

  Attending the functions of the social season—and he had to do that if Dufleur was—would probably be very revealing as to nobles his MotherDam had alienated or allied with. He had a feeling that the people she’d considered acceptable wouldn’t be those he’d want at his back in any FirstFamilies noble maneuvers.

  Dufleur cleared her throat, glanced at him with a faint flush in her cheeks. She gestured to the box that D’Dandelion was opening, pulling back layers of softleaves that protected the looserobe. “Some of that embroidery is my best work.” Her lips thinned. He wondered if she’d done the robe before or after his MotherDam had ruined her father.

  Lifting her stare from the panel D’Dandelion was unwrapping,Dufleur said, “I’d like it to hang in the Enlli Gallery.”

  “You had but to ask,” he said, then he glanced at the looserobe and caught his breath. It was magnificent—a shimmering pale green silkeen the color of new Willow leaves, with varyingshades of darker green embroidery. The scene of a weepingwillow shading a deep green rushing river seemed three-dimensional.

  “Quite, quite fabulous,” Passiflora said. “The robe certainly belongs in Enlli.”

  “Of course,” Saille said, staring at the exquisite stitches that must have taken septhours and Flair to be so striking. Septhours and Flair of Dufleur’s talented hands. What other precise talents had Dufleur’s hands mastered? Desire shivered through him. He cleared his throat, met D’Dandelion’s eyes. “Send T’Willow GreatHouse another bill for the looserobe. It will be paid before WorkEnd Bell.”

  D’Dandelion smiled. “A pleasure conducting business with you, T’Willow.”

  A calendar sphere popped into existence, flashing red. “T’Willow, your first appointment of the day is in ten minutes.”

  Dufleur saw T’Willow’s hand, stretched out to touch her embroideryon the robe his MotherDam had rejected, fall. He frowned at the calendar sphere, bowed to Passiflora, then to D’Dandelion. To Dufleur’s surprise, he took one of her hands and pressed a kiss on the back. “Later,” he said.

  She nodded.

  He scooped up his bag and nudged Fairyfoot away from the door before opening it and striding with masculine grace into the cold, gray day. Her hand tingled, but she didn’t want to considerthe attraction she had to the nobleman. So she turned her thoughts to the afterimage of the calendar sphere that floated before her eyes.

  It was another small object a long-ago Thyme had invented. Perhaps, perhaps, if she could invent something small and very useful, she could persuade the FirstFamilies to lift their ban on time experimentation. She’d have to cudgel her brain.

  Passiflora scooped up the box holding the rewrapped looserobeand indicated the counter where much of Dufleur’s work lay.

  But not all of her embroidery. Canny D’Dandelion had kept some pieces that she would mount on the wall, anticipating sales that might come her way from those who visited the art gallery. After all, Dufleur only provided the embroidery on exquisitegarments. D’Dandelion and others made the expensive clothing. She’d also negotiated with Passiflora that the discreet label next to Dufleur’s artwork—if this gallery showing materialized—would say “from the shop, Dandelion Silk.” She might be losing Dufleur’s service
s, but she’d definitely get something from Dufleur’s change of circumstances.

  Then Passiflora turned to Dufleur and examined her top to toe. “Stand straight.”

  Dufleur rose, snapped her spine flat, tucked in her hips, pushed her shoulders back.

  Tapping a finger on her lips, D’Holly said, “You move . . .” she stopped before the discourtesy, but Dufleur knew what she meant. Outside the lab she tended to be clumsy. D’Holly noddedonce. “You need dancing lessons.”

  Dufleur closed her eyes in horror.

  D’Holly’s laugh tinkled. She reached out and squeezed Dufleur’s limp fingers. “I promise the lessons will not hurt at all.” A considering look came to her eyes. “In fact, it will serve anotherpurpose. I’ll have my Journeywoman play for your instructions.It will do her good to understand how one must play for lessons.”

  “You can’t have played for lessons.”

  D’Holly patted her cheek. “Of course I did. Dancing lessons for my boys.”

  Oh, of course.

  “We must make an appointment with my hairdresser.” She glanced at D’Dandelion who was boxing Dufleur’s work. “May I use your scrybowl?”

  “Of course, my Lady,” D’Dandelion said. The shop owner wasn’t that far below D’Holly’s status. Just a rung or two. The Dandelion Family was a title taken within the first generation of colonists and had thrived.

  D’Holly went to the discreet china scrybowl and tapped one gloved finger against the rim. “T’Chervil.”

  “Here,” answered a man. His smiling image formed over the bowl. “It’s wonderful to see you, GreatLady!” His eyes narrowed.“Definitely time for a trim.”

  D’Holly chuckled. “Very well, but I’d like to make an appointmentfor my protégée, my distant cuz, GrandMistrys Dufleur Thyme.” She gestured Dufleur over to the bowl.

  Dufleur turned her grimace at the empty title into a polite smile. “Greetyou, GrandLord.” She didn’t recognize him, but knew enough about the FirstFamilies to understand they would only patronize those who were at the top of the pyramid in Flair, so the man had to be a GrandLord.

  He eyed her, and a glitter came to his eyes. Dufleur had seen that own glitter, the slightly flushed cheeks in the mirror when she’d contemplated a challenging project. Oh. Dear.

  “Come at once,” the hairdresser said. “I have time right now.” He didn’t even look at his calendar sphere.

  Oh. No. No. Dufleur touched her hair.

  “Cutting and shaping, of course. Must have a tinting rinse, reddish would be most striking. I’ll be waiting.” The snicking of scissors came as he ended the call.

  “Look at those wide eyes,” Passiflora said. She shook her head. “You truly have beautiful eyes. And your smile, I think, is quite lovely, though I haven’t seen it often.”

  “I don’t know if I can afford—” Dufleur protested.

  “My treat.” Passiflora waved at the footman in her glider, and he left the vehicle, entered the shop, and took the boxes away.

  “Too kind,” Dufleur murmured weakly. She really didn’t want this.

  “When we’re done with you, no man, especially T’Willow, will be able to resist you.”

  Just what she didn’t want most in the world. She didn’t want a husband. “T’Willow!”

  “Why, Dufleur, it was obvious he lingered to see you.”

  Dufleur closed her eyes. Definitely didn’t want a GreatLord, a FirstFamily husband, a man who would believe he could run her life. That would be the end of her experiments.

  “I don’t want a husband,” Dufleur said.

  D’Holly stilled, turned a shocked face to her. “Not want a mate?” She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve passed your Second Passage, didn’t you connect with a HeartMate?”

  “No,” Dufleur lied. She wanted nothing that would distract her from her experiments, more, that would keep her from clearing her father’s name. She was sure no man would appreciatehis wife regularly breaking the law by working with time.

  “And not T’Willow.” She tossed her head, felt the heavy weight of her soon-to-be-cut hair, figured she wouldn’t have the pleasure of flinging it around anymore, and tossed her head again.

  “He’s nothing at all like his MotherDam,” D’Dandelion soothed—as she’d been saying to Dufleur every time she’d accepteda commission from the man over the last two months. Even now, the woman was sending the bill to the T’Willow Residence.

  “No, nothing like,” Passiflora agreed. “Saille T’Willow’s aura resonates honor,” Passiflora said. She tapped her finger against her lips.

  Dufleur scrambled to think in political terms, something she’d better learn to do quickly. “He’s still relatively new in his title?”

  “About five months,” D’Dandelion said absently, then beamed as she received payment confirmation for the looserobe from T’Willow Residence.

  “Ah, uh, he probably hasn’t made all the alliances he wants. My father’s reputation . . . T’Willow might need to be circumspect—”

  Passiflora said, “He’s allied with Straif Blackthorn, that I know. If he’s with Straif, he will probably be siding with all the younger lords of the same bent—T’Ash, whom we need to consultregarding your jewelry—”

  Another calendar globe appeared, this one pulsing Holly green. “Overdue at T’Chervil’s,” it stated.

  “Oh!” Passiflora frowned. “We must go, transnow. Perhaps we should teleport and let the glider catch up.”

  Dufleur didn’t know whether to feel relieved at the end of the topic of conversation or nervous at more changes that would be occurring in her life.

  “Let’s ’port.” She held out her hand.

  Me, too. Me, too! Fairyfoot abandoned her sulk to hurry and sit near Dufleur.

  Passiflora glanced at the waiting glider, a guilty look came over her face. “I’m not supposed to. Security.” Then she grinned. “Yes.” She took Dufleur’s hand, sent Dufleur a mental image of T’Chervil’s shop, waved at the men in the glider. “Let us go. Dufleur and me. The cat makes three.”

  Dufleur’s Flair meshed surprisingly easily with Passiflora’s, then they were gone from Dandelion Silk and arriving at T’Chervil’s business, Pluches de Cerfeuille, and being greeted by a bright-eyed, white-haired man, holding scissors and beaming.

  Dufleur shuddered.

  Saille refrained from the common gesture of rubbing his hands at a job well done until his mother ushered the couple out of the house. He grinned with satisfaction, too. His first high Noble match! D’Hazel’s oldest, a son of seventeen, and D’Heather’s sixteen-year-old Daughter’sDaughter. They’d been accompanied by D’Heather, a FirstFamily GrandLady, since they were so young, usually far too young to wed.

  The girl was underage, which meant she could repudiate the marriage when she turned seventeen. But they’d been convincedthey were HeartMates, had connected during his Second Passage, the fugue state when psi power, Flair, was freed.

  The young couple had been right. The fact that they were HeartMates blazed in their mingled auras that had already combined in colors. They’d already HeartBonded as anyone except determinedly blind relatives should have seen. Probablythe night before. Teenagers.

  In the privacy of the extremely short consultation, they’d admittedas much to him, bubbling over with their happiness, with the ease of their joining. She’d come to him during his Passage, shared it with him, which had triggered her own a year early. But they were HeartMates, and they rode out the psi Flair storms together, delighted to be strong in Flair, survive their Second Passage, and be HeartBonded.

  As they should be.

  All they’d wanted from him was an official seal of approval from the premiere matchmaker of Celta to ease their relatives’ minds.

  It was easy to sit behind his desk, set his hand upon papyrus and create a proper document for them. The girl had snatched it from him and danced around the room, promising an invitation to their wedding. He’d accepted a kiss on the cheek from her and an arm-to
-arm elbow clasp from the boy . . . and later, a minimal fee from D’Heather, who’d observed him from inscrutable eyes and commented that he was much different from his MotherDam.

  Since there had been no real consultation and the appointmentwas over so quickly, he mentally reached for his own HeartMate, found her tensely awaiting the next snip of scissors as her hair was cut. He thrummed his fingers on his desk. She’d slipped out of his clutches for the day. He didn’t think she’d even noticed he’d bought more of her work.

  He stared at the bookcases that held the professional records of his Family. He was able to unlock and access every single volume except those of his MotherDam for the last twelve years.

  She’d bespelled it against him, another indication that she’d created as much trouble in his life as she could before he sat behindher desk. More traps for him to overcome, no doubt. Somewhere in there should be information about how she’d ruinedthe Thymes.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “Residence?”

  “Here,” responded the masculine tones.

  “Do you know what occurred between the former D’Willow and the late GrandLord T’Thyme?”

  The Residence made a humming noise, as if pleased to be consulted. “I can extrapolate.”

  “Please do so.”

  “The former D’Willow consulted T’Thyme regarding his experimentationwith time itself, and slowing time that might also slow the progress of her disease.”

  Saille swallowed. “Of course she would.”

  “Both scholars of time, GrandLord T’Thyme and GraceLordAgave were working on such a matter.”

  “It would be a great boon to society,” Saille agreed neutrally, even though a cure for his MotherDam’s disease would be detrimentalto him personally.

  “We do not know of the consultation, only the results. D’Willow was outraged at T’Thyme’s lack of courtesy. She called him rude, unprofessional.” A heavy silence. “Then she told all who would listen that he was a fraud and a cheat. Had no true talent for time.” Now the Residence made a little sound the equal of a person clearing his throat. “Since GreatLord Thyme’s Residence was destroyed two days later, D’Willow felt triumphant that she’d been right about the man’s character all along. She gave interviews to the newssheets for weeks and led a vote banning time experimentation through the AllClass Council.”