Free Heart Duel by Robin D. Owens

you don’t want to think of me as a Hawthorn, an enemy.”
    His feet twitched. She realized his languid pose had been false all the time, and wondered at his control, wondered why he bothered to exercise it.
    â€œYou aren’t my enemy. You will never be my enemy. I will never be your enemy. We both know that. And you are more Heather than Hawthorn.”
    â€œOh, yes?” She speared her fingers into her hair and pulled them through long black locks. She was the image of a Hawthorn.
    He smiled faintly. “A Hawthorn in looks only. You have the temperament and the manner of a Heather Healer.”
    â€œThis is insane.” She set her teeth and decided to tell him part of the whole. “My father is determined on this feud.”
    â€œI know. I can’t believe T’Hawthorn would let you leave Druida.”
    The feud was more critical than her conflict with her father. Lark waved that distraction aside. “The feud’s about—”
    â€œI know what it’s about, too,” he said. His face softened, and his long elegant hands picked up a small oblong neck pillow that sat in the crease of the couch and stroked it. “Hulver Pass. He’s not going to win.”
    Her heart thumped in her throat. “Stop the fighting. You can stop it.”

Five

    They stared at each other.
    â€œI can’t,” he said. “I’m not T’Holly. Even if I were, I don’t think I’d stop the feud. Hulver Pass was one of the first pieces of land our Family claimed, in the second generation. It’s rugged and deadly. We’ve cleared the rock, placed great, generational spells on the cliffs to prevent rockslides, built a decent road. And we did that because seven Hollys died in that pass. Their remains are still there, buried under a whole cliff-face of scrag. We have a memorial plinth with their names. It’s not only that it is our land, but it is integral to the history of our Family. The T’Holly died there, leaving an infant daughter, and no acknowledged heir. We won’t be forgetting that, Bélla.”
    She covered her face with her hands, a despairing ache settling in the pit of her stomach. No, no Family would give up land soaked with their blood, sharded with their bones. “I can’t bear it. A Hawthorn feud. Terrible.”
    She didn’t hear him cross the room, but his fingers curled around her wrists and drew them away. He turned her hands palms up and kissed the hollows.
    â€œBélla, my Bélla.”
    â€œDon’t call me that.”
    â€œMayblossom Larkspur Bélla Hawthorn,” he chanted softly. “Bélla is another of your names. A name no one else has ever called you. A name that will be unique to us. What will you call me?”
    â€œFool. Stup. Idiot.” Lark jerked away from him and opened the door to her apartment, waving an arm at the threshold.
    â€œLover,” he whispered.
    Heat rushed into her face.
    She blinked, then noticed a dark bruise on his throat. “Lady and Lord!” She reached out to Heal it, but Holm captured her hand.
    Holm grinned wickedly. “I like it. It’s the mark of my lover’s passion for me which I’ll treasure. The mark will make up—a little—for having to leave you now, Bélla.”
    He kissed her fingers. Just the touch of his mouth on her hand sent her pulse racing even as her mind noticed how smooth, easy, and accomplished his gesture was.
    Holm bowed with exquisite style, then snapped his fingers and teleported Meserv into his hands. “Thank you for letting the kittens play. Play is very important. I think I will have to remind you of that. Often. Expand your horizons.” He arched his brows. “Thank you for your company.” His gaze swept around the room. “Your home is bright with color, yet very serene, very comfortable. Until we meet again.” He blew her a kiss. “Blessed be.”
    â€œGo with the Lady