Catherine glanced at the bird. She had hopped down off the rail and was standing at the kitchen door, waiting for them to open it for her. Robbie held the door, and Catherine followed the owl inside. She went over and leaned her stick next to the clock as Mary flew up to her rocking-chair perch.

Catherine turned to Robbie. “Do you want me to pack you some food?”

“What for?”

“To take with you. You’re going back up the mountain this afternoon, aren’t you?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and faced her. “You’re very perceptive.”

“No, I’m angry. You’ll come dragging in here tomorrow morning, looking like hell, and expect me to patch you up again.”

“Aye,” he said, walking to her. “And you’ll do it, won’t you?” he whispered. “Because, like me, you have no choice.” He ran a finger down the side of her face. “We each do what’s required of us, little Cat. I must go up the mountain, and you must let me. And tomorrow morning, if I do come dragging in, you’ll take care of me, not ask any questions, and not tell my family. That’s how trust works. I trust you to be here when I come back, and you trust that I will come back.”

“Maybe,” she hissed, stepping away from him.“Maybe you’ll come back, andmaybe I’ll be here.”

He lowered his hand and crossed his arms over his chest, saying nothing, just staring at her with his dark, penetrating eyes.

Catherine turned, walked into her bedroom, and softly shut the door. She leaned against it and closed her eyes with a disheartened sigh.

Why did she care so much? What should it matter to her that Robbie MacBain was a stubborn idiot? If the man wanted to go get himself beat up, she had no right to stop him.

But what in heck was he doing up on that mountain?

Catherine pushed away from the door, went to her closet, and found her backpack. She stuffed it with a heavy sweater, an extra pair of socks, her hat and mittens, a flashlight, and the small utility knife she’d carried from Arkansas.

People do what is required of them,he had told her. Well, by God, she was required to watch Robbie’s back, since he didn’t seem capable of doing it himself.

Because that’s how trust works,darn it.

Catherine set her loaded pack by the door, then went over to the bureau and started brushing out her hair as she thought about how she was going to follow him up the mountain.

The boys could watch Nathan and Nora, she decided. They could take them to the ice cream shop tonight, just as they’d planned, and babysit them for the evening. Yeah. The six of them would be perfectly fine, and she’d be back before they woke up tomorrow morning.

Catherine waited another ten minutes, until she heard the porch door bang shut. She opened her bedroom door, peeked in the kitchen, then walked over to the sink window just in time to see Robbie go into the barn.

Mary was sitting on one of the paddock fence rails.

Catherine looked at the clock. It was almost two; Nora and Nathan’s bus would be here soon, and the boys should be home at about the same time.

Catherine kept herself busy, adding some herbs to the stew she had cooking in the huge crockpot and finishing a salad to put in the fridge, all the time watching out the window.

Robbie finally came out of the barn, leading his horse, and stopped and looked toward the house. Catherine started for the door but stopped and stood at the window until he finally mounted up. But again, he waited another minute, staring toward the house, before turning his horse toward the pasture.

Catherine ran out the door and down the porch stairs. “Robbie!”

He stopped, and she ran up and touched his knee. “You… you be careful,” she whispered.

He dropped the reins, leaned down, grabbed her under the arms, and lifted her onto his lap before she could gasp.

He held her in a fierce embrace. “Aye, little Cat,” he whispered, kissing her hair. “I will.

And I’ll try very hard to make this my last trip.” He tipped her face up to his. “Thank you for not letting me leave with anger between us. That’s a bad habit to get into.”

“So is sewing you back up.”

He ran his hand over her hair until he came to the cloth-covered band she used to tie it back. He worked it off, freeing her hair to fall down to her shoulders.

“It’s tradition that a knight going into battle carries a token from his lady,” he told her, tucking the band inside his jacket, in his shirt pocket. “Will you give me a kiss as well, if I promise to be back just after sunrise?”

“I’d prefer to give you a gun,” she said, reaching her arms around his neck. “So you won

’t have to get close enough to need stitches again.”

“Aye. But where’s the sport in that?” he whispered, leaning down to capture her mouth as she reached up to kiss him.

Their meeting was gentle, more sweet than needy. Catherine savored the soft, warm taste of his lips, only to realize that kissing Robbie MacBain was becoming as much of a habit as sewing him up was.

But oh, what a pleasant habit.

The man felt like granite covered with flannel, as solid as a mountain cloaked in sensuous heat. She tightened her arms around his neck, canting her head to get more of his taste, pressing her breasts against him until she could feel the strong beat of his heart.

It was happening again, the magic of his touch wooing her into wanting more. It had been years since she’d truly thought to want a man, to feel her fingers dig into hard, warm flesh and make him respond. Catherine’s insides clenched as images danced through her mind of them naked, in bed, exploring each other’s body.

He broke the kiss and tucked her head under his chin, holding her tightly as he took a shuddering breath. “Aye,” he whispered. “This is much better than leaving with anger between us.” He kissed the top of her head. “But as I’m tempted to stay and see just how brave you’ve become, little Cat, I have to go now.”

He lifted her chin and gave her another quick, chaste kiss, then slowly pulled her arms from around his neck, lifted her off his lap, and stood her back on the ground.

“If you have any problems with the boys or anything else you can’t handle, call my father,” he told her. “And if it should happen that I’m not back by noon tomorrow, tell him to go find the priest.”

He leaned down and covered her mouth with his finger before she could speak. “Don’t worry, Catherine. Iwill be back.” He straightened, gave her a sassy wink, and spurred his horse toward the pasture. “Sleep well, little Cat,” he called over his shoulder with a wave.

Mary lifted off the fence rail and followed.

Catherine stood staring after them, her finger covering her lips where his had been, the breeze blowing her loose hair across her face.

How foolishly romantic that he wanted to take a token from her into battle. How… how crazy. The guy spoke of duty and calling and ancient traditions, and owned a sword and dressed in a Scottish plaid. Either Robbie MacBain was weird, or she was, because she was beginning to accept his strange behavior as almost normal.

It certainly didn’t stop her from wanting to kiss him.

But that didn’t mean her trust was blind. Robbie finally rode out of sight, and Catherine ran into the barn and down the length of the aisle, looking in each of the stalls.

One stall door had a note pinned to it, for Davis, the man who came every morning and evening to tend the horses, that said the horse in this stall, named Boots, had a loose shoe.

Catherine moved on to the next stall and found the horse Gunter had been riding the night she’d been rescued off the mountain. The plate on the door said his name was Sprocket.

She hooked Sprocket in the cross-ties, went into the tack room, chose one of the saddles, pulled Sprocket’s bridle off the peg, and headed back down the aisle.

In ten minutes, Catherine had him saddled up. She ran to the house, got her backpack, brought it out and tied it to the saddle. She was doing a final check of her equipment when she heard the boys arrive home.