that reply made Algaria frown, but before
she could define the emotion, Jamie spoke again.
"And, ah… "He coughed. "I daresay there are many
ladies—very beautiful ladies—gracing the balls and parties."
Leaning back in the chair, Richard merely inclined his head and kept his
face expressionless.
His lack of response made Jamie more nervous. "I understand life at
the manor is very quiet—no balls or parties at all. In fact, according to
Catriona, it's even quieter than here."
"But not colder." The words left Richard's lips before he'd
thought; luckily, Jamie took them only literally.
"True—but it's still very cold." He threw him a searching look.
"The Lowlands are a lot colder than London."
"Indubitably."
As Jamie continued highlighting the stark contrasts between the life he
imagined Richard led in London—only a slight exaggeration of the truth—and the
life he could expect to lead as the lord of Casphairn Manor, Richard politely
held to his noncommittal replies. As Jamie was his host, he felt obliged to
humor him thus far, but would not commit himself, one way or the other.
He couldn't. He hadn't yet made up his mind.
Commited by a freakish, witch-induced impulse to seriously consider
Seamus's proposal, the more he did—the more he learned of Catriona
Hennessey—the more he felt inclined to accept. To take up Seamus's gauntlet,
accept his challenge, which, day by day, was looking more like an appeal—an
appeal to greater strength—the offer of a commission.
A commission for life, admittedly, but he was developing a serious taste
for one of the payments that would accrue. The idea of having a witch in his
bed for the rest of his life, his to tease, taunt and enjoy as he—and
she—pleased, was shaping as a potent inducement.
But he distrusted the entire situation. Fate and Seamus McEnery had
conspired to place him in it—he had no reason to trust either. Not on the
question of marriage, not given what marriage meant to him.
So he hedged and said nothing—the gentlemanly course.
"Well!" Jamie exhaled as he ground to a halt and somewhat
dampeningly concluded: "The truth is, I suppose, that life in the
Lowlands, married to a wild witch, would not measure on the same scale as the
life of a London swell."
Lids lowered, Richard gravely inclined his head. "Indeed not."
Life with a wild witch was infinitely more alluring.
Out of breath, Algaria reached the top of the stairs just as the office
door opened. Silently, she slipped into the shadows of the gallery and headed
for Catriona's room.
Her brief tap on the door went unanswered, frowning, she tapped again.
When no sound came from within, she frowned even harder and opened the door.
And saw Catriona slumped on the floor.
Smothering a cry, Algaria quickly shut the door and rushed forward, the
briefest glance at the items on the table beside which Catriona lay was
sufficient to tell her all. Her erstwhile pupil had been scrying, and scrying
deep, if her swoon was any guide.
Even as Algaria straightened her limbs, Catriona stirred.
A second later, as a wet cloth passed over her face, she regained full
consciousness. Peeking through her lashes, she saw that her attendant was
Algaria, and relaxed "Oh,
hell
!"
Algaria sat back "Hell?"
Struggling onto one elbow, Catriona waved "Not you—this whole
situation." She'd gone further than mere scrying—she'd literally
challenged the powers that be to reconsider, and demanded an unequivocal
answer.
The answer she'd received had been more than unequivocal—it had been
emphatic.
"Ah, well—the situation has just taken a turn for the better."
"It has?" Catriona frowned as Algaria helped her to her feet.
Her mentor's smug expression rang warning bells. "How?"
"In a minute." Algaria steered her to the bed "Here— just
lie back and rest, and I'll tell you all I heard."
Still weak from her exertions—facing She Who Knew All was exceedingly
draining—Catriona was very willing to lie down. Algaria sat
she could define the emotion, Jamie spoke again.
"And, ah… "He coughed. "I daresay there are many
ladies—very beautiful ladies—gracing the balls and parties."
Leaning back in the chair, Richard merely inclined his head and kept his
face expressionless.
His lack of response made Jamie more nervous. "I understand life at
the manor is very quiet—no balls or parties at all. In fact, according to
Catriona, it's even quieter than here."
"But not colder." The words left Richard's lips before he'd
thought; luckily, Jamie took them only literally.
"True—but it's still very cold." He threw him a searching look.
"The Lowlands are a lot colder than London."
"Indubitably."
As Jamie continued highlighting the stark contrasts between the life he
imagined Richard led in London—only a slight exaggeration of the truth—and the
life he could expect to lead as the lord of Casphairn Manor, Richard politely
held to his noncommittal replies. As Jamie was his host, he felt obliged to
humor him thus far, but would not commit himself, one way or the other.
He couldn't. He hadn't yet made up his mind.
Commited by a freakish, witch-induced impulse to seriously consider
Seamus's proposal, the more he did—the more he learned of Catriona
Hennessey—the more he felt inclined to accept. To take up Seamus's gauntlet,
accept his challenge, which, day by day, was looking more like an appeal—an
appeal to greater strength—the offer of a commission.
A commission for life, admittedly, but he was developing a serious taste
for one of the payments that would accrue. The idea of having a witch in his
bed for the rest of his life, his to tease, taunt and enjoy as he—and
she—pleased, was shaping as a potent inducement.
But he distrusted the entire situation. Fate and Seamus McEnery had
conspired to place him in it—he had no reason to trust either. Not on the
question of marriage, not given what marriage meant to him.
So he hedged and said nothing—the gentlemanly course.
"Well!" Jamie exhaled as he ground to a halt and somewhat
dampeningly concluded: "The truth is, I suppose, that life in the
Lowlands, married to a wild witch, would not measure on the same scale as the
life of a London swell."
Lids lowered, Richard gravely inclined his head. "Indeed not."
Life with a wild witch was infinitely more alluring.
Out of breath, Algaria reached the top of the stairs just as the office
door opened. Silently, she slipped into the shadows of the gallery and headed
for Catriona's room.
Her brief tap on the door went unanswered, frowning, she tapped again.
When no sound came from within, she frowned even harder and opened the door.
And saw Catriona slumped on the floor.
Smothering a cry, Algaria quickly shut the door and rushed forward, the
briefest glance at the items on the table beside which Catriona lay was
sufficient to tell her all. Her erstwhile pupil had been scrying, and scrying
deep, if her swoon was any guide.
Even as Algaria straightened her limbs, Catriona stirred.
A second later, as a wet cloth passed over her face, she regained full
consciousness. Peeking through her lashes, she saw that her attendant was
Algaria, and relaxed "Oh,
hell
!"
Algaria sat back "Hell?"
Struggling onto one elbow, Catriona waved "Not you—this whole
situation." She'd gone further than mere scrying—she'd literally
challenged the powers that be to reconsider, and demanded an unequivocal
answer.
The answer she'd received had been more than unequivocal—it had been
emphatic.
"Ah, well—the situation has just taken a turn for the better."
"It has?" Catriona frowned as Algaria helped her to her feet.
Her mentor's smug expression rang warning bells. "How?"
"In a minute." Algaria steered her to the bed "Here— just
lie back and rest, and I'll tell you all I heard."
Still weak from her exertions—facing She Who Knew All was exceedingly
draining—Catriona was very willing to lie down. Algaria sat
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