Scandals Bride

Chapter 16

Catriona was late down to breakfast the next morning, but not quite as late as had been her wont in recent times. While Richard's morning demands hadn't abated in the slightest, she felt less drained, less exhausted from fulfilling them. Perhaps she was growing used to waking up that way.

Whatever, her energy was at a high as she descended the stairs, her feet tripping, her heart light. Smiling brightly, she swept into the dining hall, beaming at all in sight. At the main table on the dais, Richard was looking down at his plate. Her heart buoyed on a wave of sheer joy, Catriona rounded the table and went to her place beside him.

He sensed her presence and tried to turn her way-tried to straighten his back, tried to lift his head and look at her.

Catriona slowed; horrified, she took in his slack features, the pallor of his skin.

Hunched, his heavy lids hooding his blue eyes, he made a heroic effort to lift his arm toward her.

He crashed out of his chair.

With a pained cry, Catriona flung herself to her knees beside him. About them, shouts and exclamations rang; chairs scraped as everyone rose. Frantically searching for a pulse at his throat, Catriona barely heard.

Then Worboys pushed through and went heavily down on his knees on Richard's other side. "Sir!"

The pain in his cry was echoed in Catriona's heart. "He's still alive." A panic like nothing she'd ever known had locked a vise about her lungs. Dragging in what air she could, she framed Richard's face in her hands; with her thumbs, she pried open his lids.

They rose, just enough to confirm her worst fears. He was drugged-heavily, heavily drugged.

She sensed him gather his strength-he blinked and looked directly at her, his eyes focused by sheer force of will. Then, with an even greater effort, he turned his head to Worboys. ''Get Devil." He licked his dry lips. "Immediately!"

"Yes, of course, sir. But…"

Worboys' words faded as Richard, with such intense effort it was painful to watch, turned his head until, once more, he was looking at Catriona. Jaw clenching, he lifted one hand, fingers extended, to her, to her face-

A spasm twisted his features; he gave a choked gasp, and his lids fell.

His hand fell, too; his head lolled.

He was unconscious.

Only the slow beat of his heart beneath her palm stopped Catriona from wailing. Others did, believing the worst-she hushed them with a word.

"He still lives. Quickly-some wine! Then I'll need to get him to our bed."

That first night was not going to be the worst-Catriona knew it. Richard's life hung by a thread-a steadily fraying one. Only the fact that she'd been there, on the spot when the poison first took hold, had saved him-if she'd been even five minutes later, it would have been too late.

Even now, she might have been too late.

Dragging in a breath, she wrapped her arms about her, and continued her slow pace beside the bed. Before the fire would be warmer, but she didn't dare go so far away. She needed to be close, to do whatever she could quickly, when the time came. It hadn't come yet, but soon, soon…

Outside the wind howled and sobbed; she fought not to do the same. She'd done all she could thus far.

Before letting them move him, she'd tipped two glasses of the light morning wine down his throat before his instinct to swallow had faded. All through the day and into the night, she'd painstakingly coaxed liquids into him. Garlic water, honey water, and goat's milk mulled with mustard seed-all the standard remedies. Her efforts had been enough to hold him to life thus far, but it was only the beginning of his battle.

This time, his fate rested squarely in the lap of The Lady.

So she prayed, and paced, and waited-for the crisis she knew must come.

And tried not to think about the other crises looming-the ones to be faced when he regained consciousness, or even before.

The thought that he believed she'd drugged him again, this time with deadly intent, hurt beyond description, but she couldn't interpret his movements, his words, in those instants before he'd lost consciousness in any other way. He'd looked at her so strangely, so intently, so deliberately, then he'd told Worboys to fetch his brother immediately. Then he'd tried to point to her.

Whether the pain that had crossed his face had been due to the drug, or to hurt at her supposed betrayal, she couldn't decide.

But… dragging in a huge breath, she pressed her lips tight; kicking her skirts out of her way, she paced on. She was not going to let his temporary insanity get her down. She was not going to waste her time, diffuse her energies, in feeling hurt or insulted, nor in wringing her hands or indulging in tears.

The stupid man couldn't afford it-he might die if she wasn't at her best. At her strongest.

He might die anyway.

Thrusting that thought aside, she reiterated to herself her decision on how best to deal with her husband's mental breakdown. Once his wits returned, she would simply hold him to his vow-and force him to talk to her, and she would talk to him. And keep talking until she had straightened out his wayward thinking. It was, of course, nonsensical to imagine she had poisoned him-no one else in the household, not even Worboys, believed that.

But only Richard knew that she'd drugged him before-she could appreciate that in that dizzy moment when the drug had fought to rip his wits from him, he might have remembered that fact and extrapolated without thinking things through.

She could forgive him-but she wasn't about to let her past misdemeanor combine with his drug-induced daze to set a wall between them.

She would talk until the wall fell down.

There was, however, a hurdle looming in her path-very likely a large hurdle; at least, she imagined his brother would be large. Large and forceful. Powerful. Used to being obeyed, to having his edicts complied with.

Grimacing, Catriona swung about and marched around the bed, just for a change of scenery. Of perspective.

She wasn't now sure she'd done the right thing in encouraging Worboys to carry out Richard's order and summon his brother the duke. At the time, she'd been of the mind that as she'd nothing to hide, there was no reason she couldn't face the inquisition. Unfortunately, she hadn't thought things through in that instance-thought about what might happen if Richard's brother-a man known to everyone as Devil and presumably a potent source of authority-insisted on removing Richard from her care. Decreed that Richard, still unconscious, would be better tended in London.

Could she-would she be able to-refuse?

If he was taken away before she made sure he understood she hadn't poisoned him, would she get the chance to right his mind later-would he return if he believed, for whatever twisted reasons, that she was behind his poisoning?

The thought went around and around as she paced up and down. And got nowhere. She couldn't, in fact, concentrate on that point, too overwhelmed by the far more scarifying prospect raised by the possibility of Richard being taken from her care.

If he was, he might not live.

And she doubted she could explain that to his brother, or anyone not acquainted with the ways of The Lady.

Sighing, she halted and reached a hand to Richard's wrist. His pulse was still steady, if far too weak. Once again, she mentally reviewed her treatment, searched for any options she had not yet tried. But she'd done all she could-without knowing the specific poison for certain, she couldn't risk doing any more.

She knew, of course, who had poisoned him, but the culprit was no longer in the manor, in the vale, for her to question. It seemed Algaria had slipped the poison-a poison only she and Catriona had access to-into Richard's mug, then left immediately, ostensibly to travel to her own cottage, which she sometimes did, but never without informing Catriona first.

The fact that Algaria hadn't waited to gauge her potion's effect suggested she'd been in no doubt it would work. Quelling a shudder, Catriona resumed her pacing and considered the three possible poisons-hemlock, henbane, and wolfsbane. All were deadly, but the last was the hardest to treat. She couldn't, however, overlook the possibility that a mixture had been used, so she'd had to combine remedies for all three.

She knew that wouldn't be enough.

Which was why she was there by the bed, would always be there, every minute until he awakened. Until she knew he was safe. She had to be there to anchor him to this world if need be, if his connection with it grew too weak. She'd never done such a thing before, but she knew about the region she mentally dubbed "neither nor." The region in which life ceased to have meaning, the threshold between the real world and that other.

She'd stood on that threshold once before, on the night after her parents had died. Her mother had come to her in her sleep-from the dream state to "neither nor" was no great step. Having died in the arms of a man who had loved her deeply, and who she had loved in return, her mother had had no real cause to linger-she'd held back only to bid her adieu.

So she knew the way to that region, knew it was cold, swirling with chill grey mists, treacherous in that it had no reality to which human senses could cling. Any who stepped into it had to rely on their other senses, and their link to any other in that void would only hold true if there was a strong connection between the two souls-like a mother and child, or a husband and wife bound by love.

If the connection wasn't there, then in trying to reach Richard and hold him to life, she would risk losing herself.

She didn't care-if he died, life wouldn't be worth living, but she'd have to live it anyway, without him. The thought was guaranteed to stiffen her spine, to fire her determination. She would not lose him. Or herself. She had faith enough for both of them-faith in his need of her, as much as in her love for him.

The first trial came in the early watches of the morning, when his breathing slowed and he slipped into the greyness. On her knees beside the bed, Catriona drew in a deep breath and resolutely closed her eyes. With one fist clenched about the twin pendants between her breasts, with the other she held his hand and followed him, into the void beyond the world.

He was there, but blind and weak, helpless as a day-old kitten; gently, she turned him around and brought him home.

Over the next days, and the next nights, she fought by his side, time and again stepping into that grey nothingness to lead him back, to give him her strength, her life, so he could continue to live.

The effort drained her. She could have done with Algaria beside her, but that, of course, was not to be. About them, the manor lay quiet, hushed, yet she was conscious of a soothing, steady stream of support, of prayers and wishes for his health and hers. Without him, life still went on, but it was as if, with his retreat from their world, the heightened sense of life he'd brought to them had sunk into hibernation.

Mrs. Broom and McArdle brought her food and drink; Worboys was in constant, surprisingly helpful, attendance. He knew his master's state was serious, yet, after that first moment of weakness, he had remained the staunchest in his certainty that Richard would shortly wake hale and whole.

"Invincible, the lot of them," he'd assured her when she'd commented on his unswerving confidence. He'd gone on to relate the Cynsters' successes at Waterloo.

It had given her comfort, and some hope, for which she was grateful.

But she alone knew what harmful forces had been unleashed against him-what powerful poison had been fed to him-and only she could heal him and hold him fast to this world.

With a sickening jolt, Catriona awoke on the third morning after their ordeal had begun.

She'd fallen asleep on her knees by the side of the bed, her arms stretched across Richard. With a start, she jerked upright.

Her heart in her mouth, she stared at his face.

His color was that of one alive, pale, but still with her; she only breathed again after seeing his chest rise shallowly, then fall.

With an immense sigh of relief, she eased back on her knees. He hadn't slipped away from her while she slept.

Thanking The Lady, she struggled to her feet, wincing as cramped muscles protested. She hobbled to a nearby chair and tell into it, her gaze locked on Richard.

He was still held fast by the poison; he still needed her as his anchor.

Catriona sighed, then painfully rose and hobbled to the bellpull. She was going to have to share the watches with others, others she could trust, and put her faith in them to call her the next time he started slipping away.

She couldn't risk falling asleep and leaving him un-watched again.

Courtesy of Mrs. Broom and Cook, she slept the next night through-which was just as well as the morning brought with it a challenge she hadn't expected to face for at least a few more days

"How on earth did they get here this soon?" Standing beside McArdle on the front steps, she watched the huge black travelling carriage drawn by six powerful black horses come rolling up through the park. There was no need for her to see the crest worked in gold on the carriage's doors to guess who was calling.

"They must ha' traveled through the night-no way elsewise they'd be here now." McArdle's gruff tones held a hint of approval. "Must be right powerfully attached to his brother."

That was Catriona's unwelcome conclusion-dealing with Richard's brother was shaping to be a battle, one she didn't know if she had the strength to win. Suppressing the urge to clutch her pendants, she drew herself up; summoning every last weary ounce of her power, she lifted her chin and prepared to make the acquaintance of her brother-in-law.

As it happened, she was to meet her sister-in-law first. A tall, powerful figure uncurled long legs and stepped down from the carriage the instant it halted, but beyond throwing a hard, raking glance about the courtyard, he didn't advance, but turned back to hand a lady from the carriage-he had to lift her as she was quite clearly not about to wait for the steps to be let down.

The instant her feet touched the cobbles she glided forward, her gaze fixed on Catriona The lady was severely but elegantly attired in a warm woolen cloak over a carriage dress of rich brown, chestnut hair escaping from a simple chignon. She was taller than Catriona; her features were fine and presently set in a noncommittal expression. Her gaze was direct, her whole bearing declared she was a lady used to command. Catriona braced as the woman looked down, lifting her hems as she negotiated the steps.

Reaching the lop, she dropped her skirts and looked Catriona directly in the eye. "My poor dear."

The next instant, Catriona was enveloped in a scented embrace.

"How dreadful for you! You must let us help in whatever way we can."

Released, Catriona tried to steady her reeling head.

"Is this your steward?" The lady-presumably Honoria, Duchess of St Ives-smiled kindly at McArdle.

"Yes," Catriona managed. "McArdle."

"A pleasure, Your Grace."

McArdle tried to bend his arthritic spine into a bow of the required degree-Honoria put a hand on his arm. "Oh, no-don't bother. We're family after all."

McArdle shot her a grateful look.

"If you wouldn't mind, my dear…?"

The deep, rumbling resigned tones had the duchess whirling. "Yes, of course. My dear"-she looked at Catriona and gestured to the presence that had followed her up the steps-"Sylvester-Devil to us all."

Holding her calm before her like a shield, Catriona turned, a welcoming smile on her lips-and had to quell an impulse to take a large step back. She was used to Richard and his towering propensities-Devil was worse-about two inches worse.

She blinked into a hard face that was so much like Richard's it made her heart stop, then she looked into his eyes-a lucent green quite unlike Richard's burning blue. In color. The cast of his harsh features, until then severe, eased. As he smiled, she saw the likeness rise again-in the set of the lips, that untrustworthy glint in the eyes. They were, quite clearly, alike in many ways. She blinked again. "Ah…"

Despite his sobriety, his smile held a hint of the devil he must be. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear. I thought Richard must have lied but he hasn't." With effortless grace, he captured her hand, planted a kiss on her fingertips, then, his other arm having stolen about her shoulders, bent his head and brushed a perfectly chaste, oddly reassuring kiss on her cheek. "Welcome to the family."

Catriona stared into his eyes. "Th… thank you " She blinked, and looked at Honoria-who was waiting to catch her eye.

"Don't let it bother you-they're all like that."

Imperiously waving her husband back, she linked arms with Catriona and turned to the door. "Quite clearly my feckless brother-in-law is still alive, or you wouldn't be greeting us so calmly."

"Indeed." Finding herself back in her own hall, Catriona quickly introduced Henderson and Mrs. Broom. She grasped the moment while her overpowering relatives were divesting themselves of their coats to relocate and strengthen her habitual serenity. "Mrs. Broom has prepared a room for you-I'm afraid you'll find the household not quite what you're accustomed to. It's a good deal smaller, of course, and we're also much less formal."

"Oh, good." Handing her gloves to Mrs. Broom, Honoria looked up and smiled. "I'm afraid Cynsters aren't much for formality within the family. And as for this"-with a graceful wave she indicated the house about them-"not being what we're accustomed to, you must remember I was only a lowly governess until just over a year ago."

Catriona blinked. "You were?"

Honoria studied her surprise. "Didn't Richard tell you?" Shaking her head, she linked arms with Catriona; together they turned for the stairs. "Isn't that just like a man-never tells one the important things. I'll have to fill you in."

From behind them, where Devil prowled in their wake, Catriona heard: "Lowly governess? Lowly? You've never been lowly in your life."

Despite her woes, Catriona's lips twitched; she couldn't resist glancing at Honoria.

Who waved dismissively. "Don't mind him-he's the worst of them all."

They halted at the foot of the stairs; sobering, Catriona drew her arm from Honoria's and turned to face them both. "As Worboys informed you, Richard was poisoned-precisely with what I don't know but I've been treating him generally, and… " Her voice quavered; she broke off and drew in a breath. Lifting her chin, she fixed her gaze on Devil's green eyes. "I want you to know that I had nothing to do with it-I did not poison Richard."

They both looked at her, studied her, their expressions blank, their eyes filled with sharp intelligence. Then, just as Catriona was about to speak again-to say something to break the silence-Devil reached out, took her hand, and patted it. "Don't worry-we're here to help. You're obviously overtired."

"Have you been nursing him all by yourself?"

The tone of Honoria's question demanded an answer.

"Well, I… until yesterday."

"Humph! Just as well we almost crippled the horses to get here. One member of the family in a sickbed is quite enough." Taking Catriona's arm again, Honoria took to the stairs. "Now show us where he is, then you can tell us what needs to be done."

Swept up the stairs by an irresistible force, it was all Catriona could do to steady her whirling head. She'd expected censure, certainly a reserved stiffness, at least some degree of suspicion; instead, all she could sense from her new relatives was a warm tide of sympathy and support. She led them to the turret room, to where Richard lay, straight and still in the bed.

Standing at the foot of the bed, her eyes fixed on Richard's face, she waited while Honoria and Devil greeted Worboys, who had been watching over his master. Then they joined her, one on either side, and looked down at Richard.

"He's still breathing freely and his pulse is steady, but he hasn't regained consciousness since he collapsed."

Catriona heard the tiredness in her voice, and felt, again, Devil's hand slide around hers. He squeezed her fingers gently, comfortingly. She felt Honoria's sympathetic gaze on her face, then sensed an exchanged glance pass over her head.

"I'll sit with him for the next few hours." Devil released her hand.

"Perhaps," Honoria said, "you could show me to our room?"

She didn't really want to leave Richard, but… Catriona gripped her fingers tightly and lifted her gaze to Devil's face. "If his breathing starts to slow, or grow weaker you must promise to call me immediately. It's important." Her eves locked on his, she reinforced that thought. "I might need to… " She gestured vaguely.

Devil nodded and looked at the bed. "I'll send Worboys or one of the others for you at the slightest sign. " Then he looked back, a slight smile curving his long lips. "But if he hasn't already died, the chances are he won't." His gaze drifted to Honoria, the look in his eyes deepened. "There are any number of people who can tell you that Cynsters lead charmed lives."

His comforting gaze came back to her face as Honoria humphed.

"Indeed! Believe me," she said gently turning Catriona from the bed, "there's little point worrying about them, although of course, we do." She steered Catriona to the door. "Now come and show me where I can wash-I've been in that carriage for more hours than I care to count."

Ten minutes later, sunk in an armchair in the room Mrs. Broom had readied for the ducal couple, Catriona knew that, far from taking care of her guests, her guests were taking care of her. She was too tired to resist, and they did it so well, so effortlessly. They made it so easy for her to just stop for a moment, to stop thinking and simply be. She needed the rest-so she took it, let the steady flow of Honoria's description of their trip north flow past her, and waited for her guest to finish her ablutions.

That done, as she'd expected, Honoria sank gracefully into the chair beside hers, leaned forward and took one of her hands. "Now tell me-why did you imagine we'd imagine you'd had any hand in poisoning Richard?"

Meeting Honoria's misty-blue gaze, Catriona hesitated, then sighed and closed her eyes. "I got a trifle in advance of myself." Opening her eyes, she looked at Honoria. "You see, I think Richard believes I poisoned him-that might be what he believes when he awakes. I was trying to prepare you for that, trying to assure you he was wrong."

"Well, quite obviously he's wrong-but why would he think such a thing?"

Catriona grimaced. "Possibly because I drugged him once before."

"You did?" Honoria regarded her with more interest than puzzlement. "Why? And how?"

Catriona colored. She tried to hedge, prevaricate, avoid the questions, but, she discovered, Her Grace of St. Ives could be ruthless. Honoria dragged the answers from her-then slumped back in her chair and regarded her with awe. "You're very brave," she eventually stated. "I don't know of many women who would be game to feed an aphrodisiac to a Cynster-and then climb into bed with him."

Catriona raised her brows in resignation. "Blame it on total innocence."

Honoria's lips had yet to return to straight; she shot her a measuring, not-at-all-discouraging, look. "You know, that's really a very good story, but one I fear we'll have to keep within the family-the female part of it, that is."

Having by now realized that Her Grace of St. Ives, having been married to His Grace for more than a year, was unshockable, Catriona accepted the comment with an equanimity that, half an hour before, would have astounded her.

"However, to return to your fears over what Richard might think once he wakes, I really do think that you're underestimating him." Head on one side, Honoria stared past her, clearly considering. "He's not usually thickheaded. And he's certainly not blind-none of them are, although you'll find they sometimes try to pretend they are." She looked directly at Catriona. "Do you have any reason to think he believes you were involved, or is it-forgive me-merely a worry on your part?"

Catriona sighed. "I don't think so." Briefly, she described Richard's actions before he lost consciousness.

"Hmm." Honoria wrinkled her nose. "You could be wrong-it's perfectly possible he had some other, male-Cynster-type reason for sending so emphatically for Devil. And for staring at you in that way. However," she stated, setting her hands on her knees, "that's neither here nor there. If he wakes with such a stupid idea in his head, you may be sure I'll set him right without delay."

Honoria stood and shook out her skirts; rather more wearily, Catriona rose, too. "He might not listen."

"He'll listen to me." Honoria met her eye and grinned. "They all do, you know. It's one of the benefits of being married to Devil. As he's the head of the family, there's always the possibility that I might have the last word."

Despite herself, for the second time that day, Catriona felt her lips twitch. Honoria saw, and smiled. "And now, if you'll do me the honor of listening to me as well, I really think you should rest. Devil and Worboys and I will watch over Richard-you need to gather your strength in case he needs your healer's skills."

Catriona looked into Honoria's eyes and knew she was right. She drew in a deep breath and felt like she was breathing freely for the first time since Richard had collapsed. Putting out a hand to Honoria's, she squeezed gently, blinked quickly, then nodded. "All right."

Smiling, Honoria kissed her cheek. "We'll call you if he needs you."

Catriona slept deeply into the afternoon; she awoke, still worried, but even more determined to haul her weakened spouse back to this world-and his rightful place at her side.

"He's been unconscious for too long," she declared, pacing once more by his bedside, her gaze on his sleeping face. "We need to do something to rouse him."

"What?" was Devil's only question.

She was about to admit that she didn't know, when a flicker of an eyelid stopped her. She stared at Richard's face, then rushed to the bed. "Richard?"

Another definite flicker-he was trying to respond, but couldn't lift his lids.

Devil, close beside her, placed a hand on her arm when she would have spoken again. "Richard," he said, his tone a warning, "Maman's coming!"

Richard's reaction was clearly visible. He tried desperately to open his eyes, but couldn't. A frown creased his brow, then slowly eased as he drifted back into unconsciousness.

"We can walk him!" Fired anew, Catriona dragged back the covers. "If he can respond, then forcing him to use his muscles will help work the poison from his system."

Devil helped her haul Richard to his feet, but Richard was still too incapable to support his own weight; while Devil could hold him upright, he couldn't make him walk. When Catriona tried to slide under Richard's other arm and help, Devil pulled a lock of her hair "No!" He frowned at her "Get Henderson."

There was enough implacability in his face to make her heave an exasperated sigh and run from the room.

Henderson came quickly. With him under one of Richard's arms and Devil under the other, they started walking Richard up and down the room. At first, it was no more than a dragging stagger, as one foot dragged, then fell in front of the other. They walked him for ten minutes, then rested, then tried again. And won a fraction more response from Richard. Heartened, they kept up the treatment, walking, resting, then walking again.

Noticing a flicker of Richard's lashes when she spoke to Henderson, Catriona spoke directly to Richard, exhorting him to greater efforts. But, after a time, he only shook his head irritatedly and became even less cooperative.

"Enough." Devil steered their burden to the bed. "Let's have dinner, then we'll try again."

They did, with greater response but even less cooperation. Richard wanted to be left in peace. He didn't say so, but his meaning was quite clear; he became increasingly difficult to manage, swearing in inventive mumbles at his tormentors.

But he walked-back and forth with increasing control over his limbs. When, all but exhausted himself, Devil called a halt and let Richard fall back across the bed, he had regained enough muscle control to grope blindly back onto the pillows and snuggle down.

Smiling for the first time in five days, Catriona drew up the covers and tucked him in.

As she straightened, Devil draped a brotherly arm about her shoulders and gave her a hug. "If he can remember all those French curses, he'll be back with us soon."

Catriona's smile wavered; she grasped Devil's hand and squeezed. "Thank you."

He grinned and flicked her cheek. "No need. He's mine, too, you know." With that enigmatic comment, he led her to the door. "Honoria's already asleep-she said she'd watch through the small hours. I'll stay here now and wake her about midnight. You can get some sleep, then you can relieve her in the morning."

Catriona hesitated. "Are you sure-"

"Positive." Devil held the door and elegantly waved her through. "I'll see you in the morning."

He did-early in the morning. When Catriona returned to the turret room to relieve Honoria a good hour before dawn, she found, not Honoria, but Devil yawning over a game of Patience set out on the covers beside Richard, still comatose.

Catriona stared at Devil. "What happened to Honoria?"

Devil looked up at her, then squinted at the clock on the mantelpiece "Good heavens! Is that the time?" He grinned engagingly, but undeniably wearily, up at her. "It seems I forgot to summon my dear wife. Never mind." He stood and stretched. "I'll go and wake her now."

He looked down at Richard. "Time flies when one's having fun, but he never was much of a conversationalist."

With a last weary smile, he left her.

Shaking her head resignedly, Catriona rugged the armchair into place so, sunk in its comfort, she could see Richard's face. His beard had grown, concealing the gauntness of his cheeks; he looked more than faintly disreputable, slumped almost face down in the bed with his hair tailing over his forehead and his arms flung out.

Catriona smiled and pulled her workbasket to her side. They would walk him again after breakfast; she'd ring for Worboys to relieve her, then go and summon Henderson and Irons. With their help, perhaps she could get Richard to throw off the lingering effects of the wolfsbane today.

Looking up at him, she listened to his breathing, steady and even, as familiar as her own. Reassured, she picked up her needle and settled to darn.

Head bent, Catriona was plying her needle in the chair beside the bed when Richard finally managed to lever up his lids. Quite why they'd been so unconscionably heavy he couldn't understand, but, at long last, they'd done what he wanted of them and opened.

The sight of his witchy wife in a pose of sweet domesticity was undeniably pleasant; he drank it in, let it soothe away the last of the panic that had gripped him when he'd drifted in the grey cold and wondered if he would die. He hadn't wanted to die, but he'd been so cold, so weak, he hadn't felt able to cling to life.

But then she'd come, slipping her warm hand in his and leading him back, out of the grey cold and into the warm darkness of their bed. She hadn't wanted him to die either-she hadn't let him go, she'd helped him cling, helped him stay. Helped him live.

He was still here, with her; looking further, he confirmed that he was in their bed, and that morning light was seeping through the curtains. He drew in a deep breath, and brought his gaze back to her well-beloved face-and noticed the dark smudges beneath her eyes. In that instant, she yawned, lifting a hand to smother it, then she blinked her eyes wide and refocused on her darning.

Richard frowned; his witchy wife was undeniably pale, undeniably drawn. She didn't, now he looked more closely, look all that well.

His frown deepened.

Catriona felt it and looked up; startled, the first thing she saw was the blue of his eyes. Her heart soared, only to plummet a second later. He was frowning direfully. At her. He opened his lips-she stayed him with a raised hand. "No! Let me speak first. No matter what you think, I did not poison you."

He blinked, but his frown returned immediately. He opened his lips again-

"I realize you might have jumped to that conclusion, and I can see why you might, but you're wrong. It's absolutely ridiculous to imagine that after all you've done for me and the vale, all that's passed between us, that I would suddenly turn around and poison you. If you really think that-"

"I don't!"

Catriona blinked and discovered Richard was no longer frowning at her-he was glowering at her.

"Of course, I don't think you poisoned me!" His gaze raked her, then returned to her face, his glower turned black. "What nonsensical notion have you been worrying yourself with?"

When she didn't answer, he swore. "I'd heard women got silly ideas when pregnant, but that takes the prize." He looked at her more closely-then swore again. "Is that what you've been worrying yourself sick over? That I'd be fool enough to think it was you?"

Dazedly, somewhat warily, Catriona nodded. Which brought forth another round of curses.

"What a stupid, foolish notion-"

"Why did you send for your brother, then?"

"So he'd be here to protect you if I wasn't about to do it, of course! Lord-!"

Running out of curses, he leaned forward, grabbed her hand and hauled her onto the bed. Pins, needle and mending went flying. Catriona gasped as she landed amid the covers.

Before she could react, he'd framed her face and was studying it closely.

"You haven't been taking care of yourself-"

"You were the one poisoned-" She struggled to get free, to sit up; even in his weakened state, he held her easily.

"We'll sort that out later. You obviously haven't been getting enough sleep. Pregnant women are supposed to sleep more-I would have thought you'd know that. You've staff and helpers about you…" He broke off, then looked into her eyes. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"Five days," Catriona informed him.

"Five days?" Richard stared at her, then his gaze softened and dropped to her lips… "No wonder I'm so hungry."

This time, Catriona knew precisely which appetite he was referring to. She opened her lips-but didn't manage to say a word.

He kissed her, gently, tenderly, then with gathering rapaciousness. Catriona felt the covers about her slide, felt the pillows shift, felt his hand slide up her leg to her garter, then stroke the soft skin above. He leaned into her, pressing her deeper into the soft mattress; she clung to the moment, savored it briefly, then thumped him on the shoulder. Hard.

He shifted slightly-she managed to drag her lips free and gasp: "Richard! You're not strong enough!"

He raised his head and looked down at her-as if what she'd just said was utterly impossible-then he hesitated, considered, then groaned, grimaced, closed his eyes, and rolled off her.

"Unfortunately, much as it pains me to admit it, I think you might be right."

"Of course, I'm right!" Struggling up on one elbow, Catriona tugged the covers back over him. "You've been at death's door-literally!-for five days. You're not simply going to open your eyes and"-she gestured wildly-"get right back into things."

He caught her eye and waggled his brows at her; ignoring her blush, she humphed. "You just stay there and rest." She went to slide away, to back off the bed, but his arm, around her, didn't give. She looked at his face.

"I'll stay here," he said, gently, reasonably, "provided you stay with me." Catriona frowned; inexorably, he drew her closer. "You need to rest, too." Drawing her down, back into his arms, he settled her head on his shoulder, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Just let me hold you while you sleep."

He did. Swamped by relief so deep it shook her, touched that his last conscious thoughts, and now his first, had been for her, wrapped in his arms, with him safe beside her, Catriona slept.