She welcomed him with an open smile; he returned it with a wholly deceptive smile of his own.
His memories of their first night were incomplete, yet he was prepared to swear she'd been a virgin. An enthusiastic, eager ready-to-be-wanton virgin, but a virgin nonetheless. She'd never lain with any man before him.
Which raised one very large question: Why him?
Or was that: Why now?
"I was wondering," he said, as he claimed his now customary place beside her, "where you intend going after we settle this business of the will."
She turned and met his eyes. "Why, to the vale, of course. I never stay away for long-usually not for more than a day."
"You never travel to Edinburgh or Glasgow?"
"Not even Carlisle, and that's closer."
"But you order things-you mentioned you did."
"I have agents call at the vale " She shrugged. "It seems wiser not to flaunt my existence-or that of the vale. We do very well in our anonymity."
"Hmmm." Richard studied her face. "Are there many other families of standing in the vale?"
"Standing?"
"Independent. Not your tenants."
She shook her head. "No-I own the whole vale." Fleetingly, she raised her brows. "We don't even have a curate, because there's no church, of course."
Richard humphed. "How did you escape that? Or did the initial incumbents simply disappear?"
She tried to straighten her lips, but didn't succeed. "The Lady doesn't approve of violence. But the answer to your question is geography. The vale is isolated-indeed, if you don't know it's there, it's not easy to find."
"You must at least have neighbors-the surrounding landowners."
She nodded. "But in the Hills the population is widely scattered." She looked up at him. "It's a lonely existence."
He had the impression she'd intended that last sentence one way, but it had come out another. She held his gaze for an instant, then seemed to draw back. She blinked and looked away, smiling quickly as she reached for one of the cups Mary carried.
Richard perforce smiled at Mary, too, and relieved her of the second cup.
"My deal, I can't thank you enough." Mary looked at Catriona with gratitude in her eyes "I don't know how we would have coped if you hadn't been here-the children would have driven us all insane. Instead, they listened to your stones for the whole afternoon-I don't know how you do it. You're so good with them, even the little ones."
Catriona smiled one of her "lady of the vale" smiles. "It's just part of the healer's art."
Behind his teacup, Richard raised a skeptical brow. The healers he knew often took delight in scaring children, and treated them as patients only grudgingly. Not all healers, any more than all adults, had the patience to bear with children's capriciousness.
"Whatever," Mary said, "we most sincerely appreciate your efforts." She looked hopefully at Catriona. "Are you sure you won't stay?" A shadow passed over her face, then she grimaced. "I don't know where we'll be, after next week"-she shot an apologetic glance at Richard-"but you'll always be welcome wherever we are."
Catriona squeezed her hand. "I know-and don't worry. Things will sort themselves out. But I must return to the vale-I've already been away far longer than I'd expected."
A slight frown, a shadow of concern, momentarily clouded her eyes. Richard noted it. Draining his cup, he inwardly reflected that, whatever else, Catriona Hennessey took her role as lady of the vale seriously.
Perhaps too seriously.
He wanted to know why she'd done it-put some potion in his whiskey, then climbed into his bed And given herself to him.
Was it simply for experience-or was there more to it than that?
Lying in his bed with the bed curtains drawn, Richard stared into the blackness and listened to the clock on the stairs announce the quarter hours.