Masterful men.

Denying the urge to glance at one, she fixed her gaze on the solicitor and willed him to get on with his business. He looked up and blinked, then owlishly peered at the mantel clock. "Hurrumph! Yes." He glanced around, clearly counting heads, matching faces against a list before laying it aside. "Well then, if we're all assembled…?"

When no one contradicted him, he picked up a long parchment, cleared his throat, and commenced. "I read the words of our client, Seamus McEnery, Laird of Keltyhead, as dictated to our clerk on the fifth of September this year."

He cleared his throat again, and changed his voice; all understood that they were now hearing Seamus's words verbatim.

" 'This, my last will and testament, will not be what any of you, gathered here at my request, will be expecting. This is my last chance at influencing things on this earth-to put right what I did wrong, to rectify the omissions I made. With the hindsight of age, I've been moved to use this, my will, to that end.' "

Not surprisingly, a nervous flutter did the rounds of the listeners. Catriona was immune, but even she frowned-what was the wily old badger up to now? Even Richard Cynster, she noticed, shifted slightly.

Settling in his chair, Richard inwardly frowned and struggled to shake off the premonition Seamus's opening paragraph had evoked. He was only a minor player in this scene; there was no reason to imagine those words were aimed at him.

Yet, as the solicitor went on, it seemed he was wrong.

" 'My first bequest will close a chapter of my life otherwise long completed. I wish to give into her son's hands the necklace my first wife bequeathed to him. As I have stipulated that he, Richard Melville Cynster, must be here to receive it, it has now served its purpose.' " The solicitor fumbled on the desk, then rose and crossed to Richard.

"Thank you," Richard murmured, lifting the delicate strands from the solicitor's gnarled hands. Gently, he untangled the finely wrought gold links, interspersed with opaque rose pink stones. From the center of the necklace hung a long crystal of amethyst, etched with signs too small for him to make out.

"It was quite out of order for Mr. McEnery to keep it from you," the solicitor whispered. "Please do believe it was entirely against our advice.''

Studying the pendant, noting the curious warmth of the stones, Richard nodded absentmindedly. As the solicitor returned to the desk, Richard glanced up-from across the circle of seats, Catriona's gaze was fixed on the pendant. Her absorption was complete; deliberately, he let the crystal hang, then moved it-her gaze remained riveted. The solicitor reseated himself; Richard closed his fist about the pendant. Catriona sighed and looked up; she met his gaze, then calmly looked away. Resisting an urge to raise his brows, Richard pocketed the necklace.

"Now, where were we? Ah… yes." The solicitor cleared his throat, then warbled: " 'As to all the wealth of which I die possessed, property, furniture, and funds, all is to be held in trust for a period of one week from today, the day on which my will is read.' " The man paused, drew breath, then went on in a rush: " 'If during that one week, Richard Melville Cynster agrees to marry Catriona Mary Hennessy, the estate will be divided amongst my surviving children, as described below. If, however, by the end of that week, Richard Cynster refuses to marry Catriona Hennessy, my entire estate is to be sold and the funds divided equally between the dioceses of Edinburgh and Glasgow.' "

Shock-absolute and overpowering-held them all silent. For one minute, only the rustle of parchment and the odd crackle from the fire broke the stillness. Richard recovered, if that was the right word, first; he dragged in a huge breath, conscious of a sense of unreality, as if in a crazy dream. He glanced at Catriona, but she wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was fixed in the distance, her expression one of stunned incredulity.

"How could he?" Her vehement question broke the spell; she focused abruptly on the solicitor.

A cacophony of questions and exclamations poured forth. Seamus's family could not take in what their sire had done to them; most of them were helpless, barely coherent.

Seated beside Richard, Mary turned a stricken face to him. "My God-how will we manage?" Her eyes filled; she grasped Richard's hand, not in supplication, but for support.

Instinctively, he gave it, curling his fingers about hers and pressing reassuringly. He saw her face as she turned to Jamie, saw the hopelessness that swamped her.

"What will we do?" she all but sobbed as Jamie gathered her into his arms.

As stunned as she, Jamie looked at the solicitor over her head. "Why?"

It was, Richard felt, the most pertinent question; the solicitor took it as his cue and waved his hands at the others to hush them. "If I might continue…?"

They fell silent, and he picked up the will. He drew breath, then looked up, peering over his pince-nez. "This is a most irregular will, so I feel no compunction in breaking with tradition and stating that I and all others in my firm argued most strongly against these provisions, but Mr. McEnery would not be moved. As it stands, the will is legal and, in our opinion, uncontestable by law."

With that, he looked down at the parchment. " 'These next words are addressed to my ward, Catriona Mary Hennessy. Regardless of what she might think, it was my duty to see to her future. As in life I was not strong enough to influence her, so in death I am putting her in the way of one who, if half the tales told of him and his clan are true, possesses the requisite talents to deal with her.' "

There followed a detailed description of how the estate was to be divided between Seamus's children in the event Richard agreed to marry Catriona, to which no one listened. The family and Catriona were too busy decrying Seamus's perfidy; Richard was too absorbed in noting that not one of them imagined any other outcome than that the estate would pass to the Church.

By the time the solicitor had reached the end of the will, despair, utter and complete, had taken possession of the McEnerys. Jamie, swallowing his bitter disappointment, rose to shake the solicitor's hand and thank him. Then he turned away to comfort Mary, distraught and weeping.

"It's iniquitous," she sobbed. "Not even the barest living! And what about the children?"

"Hush, shussh." Jamie tried to soothe her, his expression one of abject defeat.

"He was mad." Malcolm spat the words out. "He's cheated us of everything we'd a right to expect."

Meg and Cordelia were sobbing, their meek spouses incoherent.

Sitting quietly in his chair, untouched by the emotion sweeping his hosts, Richard watched, and listened, and considered. Considered the fact that not one of the company expected him to save them.

Considered Catriona, sleek and slender in deep blue, her hair burning even more brightly in the dull and somber room. She was comforting Meg, counseling her away from hysteria, exuding calm in an almost visible stream. Straining his ears, he listened to her words.

"There's nothing to be done, so there's no sense in working yourself into a state and having a miscarriage. You know as well as anyone I didn't get along with Seamus, but I would never have believed him capable of this. I'm as deeply shocked as you." She continued talking quickly, filling Meg's ears, forcing the woman to listen to her and not descend into excessive tears. "The solicitor says it's a fait accompli, so other than calling down curses on Seamus's dead head, there's no use in having the vapors now. We must all get together and see what can be done, what can be salvaged."

She continued, moving the direction of her thoughts, and Meg's and Cordelia's and their husbands', into a more positive vein. But that vein followed the line of what to do to cope with this unexpected shock; at no point did she, or anyone, not even Jamie or Mary when they joined the group, allude to any alternative.