It was a scene so much like the ones Richard was accustomed to, his cool expression relaxed. "Don't let me interrupt."
"No, no! That is…" Abruptly drawing breath, the man thrust out his hand. "Jamie McEnery." Then, as if recalling the matter with some surprise, he added: "Laird of Keltyhead."
Richard gripped the hand offered him. About three years his junior, Jamie was a good head shorter than he, stocky, with a round face and the sort of expression that could only be called open.
"Did you have a good trip up?"
"Tolerably." Richard glanced at the others seated about the room, a surprising number all garbed in dull mourning.
"Here! Let me introduce you."
Jamie proceeded to do so, Richard smoothly acknowledged Mary, Jamie's wife, a sweet-faced young woman too passive for his tastes, but, he suspected, quite right for Jamie, and their children, Martha and Alister, both of whom watched him through big, round eyes as if they'd never seen anyone like him before. And then there were Jamie's siblings, two whey faced sisters with their mild husbands and very young, rather sickly looking broods, and last, Jamie's younger brother Malcolm, who appeared not only weak but peevish.
Accepting a chair, Richard had never before felt so much like a large, marauding predator unexpectedly welcomed into a roomful of scrawny chickens. But he hid his teeth and duly took tea to warm him after his journey. The weather provided instant conversation.
"Looks like more snow on the way," Jamie remarked. "Good thing you got here before it."
Richard murmured his assent and sipped his tea.
"It's been particularly cold up here this year," Mary nervously informed him. "But the cities-Edinburgh and Glasgow-are somewhat warmer."
Her sisters-in-law murmured inaudible agreement.
Malcolm stirred, a dissatisfied frown on his face. "I don't know why we can't remove there for winter like our neighbors do. There's nothing to do here."
A tense silence ensued, then Jamie rushed into speech. "Do you shoot? There's good game to be had-Da' always insisted the coverts were kept up to scratch."
With an easy smile, Richard picked up the conversational gauntlet and helped Jamie steer the talk away from the families' obviously straitened circumstances. A quick glance confirmed that the gentlemen's coats and boots were well worn, even patched, the ladies' gowns a far cry from the latest fashions. The younger children's clothes were clearly hand-me-downs, while the coat Malcolm hunched in was a size too big-one of Jamie's doing double duty.
The answer to Malcolm's question was transparent-Seamus's children lived under his chilly roof because they had nowhere else to go. At least, Richard mused, they had this place as a refuge, and Seamus must have left them well provided for, there was no hint of poverty about the house itself, or its servants. Or the quality of the tea.
Finishing his, he set his cup down and wondered, not for the first time, where his witch was hiding. He'd detected no trace of her, or her older shadow, even in the others' faces. He'd seen her witchy face clearly enough in the bright moonlight, the only resemblance she shared with Jamie and his siblings lay in their red hair. And, perhaps, he conceded, the freckles.
Jamie's and Malcolm's faces were a collage of freckles, their sisters' only marginally less affected. His memory of the witch's complexion was of ivory cream, unblemished except for a dusting of freckles over her pert nose. He'd have to check when next he saw her; despite his wish to hasten that event, he made no mention of her. With no idea who she was-where she stood in relation to the family-he was too wise to mention their meeting, or express any interest in others who might be present.
Languidly, he rose, causing a nervous flutter among the ladies.
Jamie immediately rose, too. "Is there anything we can get you? I mean-anything you might need?"
While struggling to strike the right note as head of the family, Jamie had an openness of which Richard approved; he smiled lazily down at him. "No, thank you. I have all I need:" Bar an elusive witch.
With an easy smile and his usual faultless grace, he excused himself and withdrew to his room to refresh himself before luncheon.
Richard did not set eyes on his witch until that evening, when she glided into the drawing room, immediately preceding the butler. As that venerable individual intoned the words "Dinner is served," she swept the gathering with a calm and distant smile-until she came to him, standing beside Mary's chair.
Her smile died-stunned astonishment took its place.
Slowly, with deliberate intent, Richard smiled back.
For one quivering instant, her stunned silence held sway, then Jamie stepped forward. "Ah… Catriona, this is Mr. Cynster. He's been summoned for the reading of the will."
Deserting his face, she fixed her gaze on Jamie's. "He has?" Her tone conveyed much more than a simple question.
Jamie shuffled and shot an apologetic glance at Richard. "Da''s first wife made him a bequest. Da' held it until now."
Frowning, she opened her lips to quiz Jamie. Having silently prowled closer, Richard took her hand-she jumped and tried to snatch it back, but he didn't let go.
"Good evening, Miss…" Richard slanted a questioning glance at Jamie.