"Tabitha?" One of the boys broke from the circle and raced to the ladder. "Where?"
"Well…" Flustered, Catriona stepped back as the whole riding school swarmed up the ladder. "That's the problem, you see."
The pupils were followed by their teacher who, as was his wont, made the loft shrink as he stepped onto the boards. Catriona backed against the wall of hay and waved down the loft. "She's somewhere up here. We have to find her and take the kittens into the kitchen to keep warm, or they'll die."
The children didn't wait for more. They enthusiastically clambered over the hay, calling the cat, a favorite of theirs.
Leaving her with their teacher. Catriona flicked him a quick glance. "I've searched the f
irst section."
Head tilted, he studied her. "They'll find her." A ferocious sneeze was echoed by two more. He raised his brows. "That, or die trying." He continued to study her; after a moment he asked: "Have you been up here long?"
Catriona shrugged as nonchalantly as she could and avoided his gaze. "A few minutes." She waved along the loft. "I was at the other end."
"Ah." Straightening, he strolled toward her. He stopped by her side, then, without warning, gathered her into his arms. And kissed her. Very warmly.
Emerging, breathless, some moments later, Catriona blinked at him. "What was that for?"
"Reassurance." He'd lifted his head only to change his hold; as he lowered his lips to hers again, she tried to hold him back.
"The children," she hissed.
"Are busy," he replied-and kissed her again.
"Tabby! Tabby!"
The shrill call had all the children running to one corner of the middle section. None looked back; none saw their lady, flustered and flushed, win free of her consort's arms. And none saw the knowing smile that lifted his lips.
Catriona tried not to notice it either, blotting the sight from her mind, she hurried after the children.
They found five tiny kittens, pathetically shivering huddling close to their weakened mother's flank. There were ready hands enough to lift the whole family together into the lined basket, which was then carried in procession along the loft, taken down the ladder by Richard as his contribution to the rescue, then entrusted to the care of the eight-year old maid. Surrounded by her absorbed fellows, she crossed the yard carefully, all the children huddling to protect the cat and her brood from the swirling snow.
The light had all but gone. Catriona stepped out of the barn into a twilight world. Richard pulled the door shut and fastened it, then tugged her cloak around her and anchored her against him, within one arm.
They followed in the children's wake.
"I hope the kittens will recover-they felt very cold. I suppose a little warm milk wouldn't hurt them. I'll have to ask Cook…"
She blathered on, not once looking up-not once meeting his eyes. Richard held her fast against the wind's tug and, smiling into the swirling snow, steered her toward the kitchen.
He didn't know what woke him-certainly not her footfalls, for she was as silent as a ghost. Perhaps it was the bone-deep knowledge that she was not there, in their bed beside him, where she was supposed to be.
Warm beneath the covers, his limbs heavy with satiation, he lifted his head and saw her, arms crossed tightly over her robe, pacing before the hearth.
The fire had died, leaving only embers to shed their glow upon the room; about them, the house lay silent, asleep.
She was frowning. He watched her pace and gnaw her lower lip, something he'd never seen her do.
"What's the matter?"
She halted; her eyes, widening, flew to his face.
And in that instant, that infinitesimal pause before she replied, he knew she wouldn't tell him.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." She hesitated. When he remained propped on one elbow, watching her, she drifted back to the bed. "Go back to sleep."
He waited until she halted by the side of the bed. "I can't-not with you pacing." Not with her worrying. He could sense it strongly, now; some deep concern that was ruffling her normally unruffleable serenity. "What is it?"