Hearts and Swords: Four Original Stories of Celta by Robin D Owens

Author:Robin D Owens [Owens, Robin D]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
ISBN: 9780425243411
Publisher: Berkley Trade

Six

Genista blinked as she exited her back door. Cardus had removed a large section of the fencing between their backyards and placed the altars

across the property lines. It appeared a little odd, and she noted that the section of fence was propped against his southern boundary. He stood,

waiting, his face impassive, watching her—to see if she’d object?

Something about the space, the flow of energy on this special evening, had her remaining on the stoop and closing her eyes . . . and feeling the

last hint of summer warmth in a breeze, then the air stilled and thrummed with the promise of a new year.

A saying good-bye to the last, and a welcome to the new.

Cardus’s energy was vital and masculine and pulled to all the feminine in her. She became aware of the soft, heavy robe she wore, her only

garment. She recalled the kiss the night before, his lust that had sent heat through her body. The small and quiet moments they had shared.

Then another bounding energy swept toward her.

I am here! Whin projected. And I have gifts!

She laughed and her eyes opened and her cheeks flushed when she saw that Cardus still watched her. The FamDog sat beside him, two

bundles of cloth before him tied with a string. Intriguing.

She moved toward them, carrying a basket containing items for the altars and food to honor the Lady and Lord.

Cardus wore leathers—good furrabeast that might have been harvested at this time years ago—honoring the animals that fed and clothed him.

Walking slowly, she watched the sun set with red and pink and orange at the horizon. Twilight blue gave way to deep black in the sky, and the

full twinmoons soared high and bright and silver. Stars twinkled like diamond spangles.

The altar for the dead was small; he’d put a silver wheel there to represent acquaintances lost in the past. The object would serve for both of

them. Her steps hesitated as she saw the weathered sculpture of a family of three, and she knew that it was his family. She’d never asked, but

now she knew he was the sole survivor of a small family.

Her Family was large for the nobility, and no unexpected or tragic deaths had touched it.

She had only one remembrance marker for the altar, and it ripped the scar in her wide open. When she reached the wooden altar, she placed

the small white stone image of a curled, sexless baby on the black cloth. Her womb felt empty and cold, and her cheeks colder still as tears ran

down her face and chilled in the evening air.

Standing, head bowed, she wept as she’d wept the last two years when she’d done this, as she anticipated she’d always weep in the future.

Then warmth surrounded her. Cardus was close behind, then his body was touching, then his arms wrapped around her and drew her to him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said in a low, rough voice, and she knew it wasn’t just a platitude; he meant it. Immediately after she’d lost her baby,

there had been more pity than she could bear.

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