Which was all very well, but warriors, especially the hereditary sort, did not hang up their swords in the hall and become simple family men. Far from it. They remained warriors still, to the heart, to the soul.

And warriors ruled.

Inwardly she sighed, and saw the house looming ahead. All she had learned had confirmed her in her resistance, while increasing the temptation to give herself to him-to have him as her lord. But first and last, she was the lady of the vale- she couldn't, simply could not, let him into her life, couldn't let him think of her as part of his cause, no matter how tempting that might be.

And tempting it was. Just how tempting she hadn't understood, not until she'd stood pressed against him under that tree.

They stepped out of the woods and onto the lawn, spotted white with snow; Algaria followed close behind them. Calmer, more determined, Catriona drew a deep breath; she glanced briefly at Richard's face, then looked at the house.

Temptation incarnate was what he was-his attitudes were strongly attractive, his sensuality so compelling he engaged her senses to the exclusion of all else. But his very strength was what stood between them. He was too powerful a personality, too strong a male, to surrender his natural dominance to a wife. A witch-wife at that.

He was a powerfully attractive, family-oriented gentleman, but he was still a warrior to the core.

The house rose before them, cold and grey; she felt his gaze on her face.

"You look pale."

She glanced up and realized he thought she was still reeling. She let cool haughtiness infuse her eyes. "I haven't been sleeping well lately."

She looked ahead; from the corner of her eye, she saw his lips twitch.

"Indeed? Perhaps you should take up the local custom of a dram of whiskey before climbing into bed. Jamie tells me the locals all swear by it."

Catriona humphed. "They'd swear by any 'custom' that means drinking whiskey."

He chuckled. "Understandable-it's good stuff. I hadn't really appreciated it before. I'm a rabid convert to the local custom."

"Converts are always the most rabid," Catriona observed. "But if you really are interested, you should visit the distillery in the valley."

They'd reached the side steps; describing the distillery, she led the way inside.

"Ah-Richard?"

Halfway across the front hall, Richard halted and swiveled-Jamie stood uncertainly in a doorway.

"I… ah, wondered it you could spare me a moment of your time?"

As lunch had concluded half an hour ago, and as his witch had haughtily declined his invitation to find another tree and, nose in the air, hips seductively swaying, retired to her room, he'd been on his way to the billiards room to while away the afternoon, Richard saw no reason not to smoothly incline his head and stroll through the doorway through which Jamie waved him.

He knew what was coming.

Jamie didn't disappoint him. Closing the door, Jamie followed him into the room and indicated a large chair angled before a desk. Richard sank into the chair, lounging gracefully, balancing one boot on his knee.

His host, however, didn't settle in the chair behind the desk, but paced nervously before the hearth-before Richard. Glancing about, Richard noted the ledgers filling the shelves lining one wall, and the maps and diagrams of the area scattered about the room. This was clearly the estate office, equally clearly Jamie's domain. The room was small but comfortable, much more comfortable than the library Seamus had inhabited.

"I wondered," Jamie eventually began, "whether you've decided yet how you will answer the solicitor next week."

The look he bent on Richard was a plea-not to be saved, but to have the worst told to him.

"I'm afraid," Richard replied in his London drawl, "that I've not yet decided."

Jamie frowned and paced on. "But… well, it isn't all that likely, is if?"

"As to that," Richard answered, "I really can't say."

In the hall, hugging the shadows, Algaria pressed her ear to the oak panels of the office door. She'd been traversing the gallery upstairs, on her way to Catriona's room to inquire as to the reason for her unusual withdrawal, when she'd heard Jamie speak to Richard in the hall. His intent had been obvious; what she'd heard thus far confirmed it. She was not averse to a little eavesdropping if it served to ease her mind. And Catriona's.

"But you normally reside in London, I understand. I'm afraid Catriona will never live anywhere else but Casphairn Manor."

"So I apprehend."

"And, well, she really is a sort of a witch, you know. Not the sort to change people into toads or eels or whatever she might say, but she really does-can-do strange things-and make other people do strange things."

"Really?"

The tone of that response had Algaria gritting her teeth.

"And doubtless you're accustomed to balls and parties in London-a constant stream of them, I imagine."

"Indeed-a never-ending stream of balls and parties."

The undertone sliding beneath that reply made Algaria frown, but before she could define the emotion, Jamie spoke again.

"And, ah… "He coughed. "I daresay there are many ladies-very beautiful ladies-gracing the balls and parties."

Leaning back in the chair, Richard merely inclined his head and kept his face expressionless.

His lack of response made Jamie more nervous. "I understand life at the manor is very quiet-no balls or parties at all. In fact, according to Catriona, it's even quieter than here."

"But not colder." The words left Richard's lips before he'd thought; luckily, Jamie took them only literally.

"True-but it's still very cold." He threw him a searching look. "The Lowlands are a lot colder than London."

"Indubitably."

As Jamie continued highlighting the stark contrasts between the life he imagined Richard led in London-only a slight exaggeration of the truth-and the life he could expect to lead as the lord of Casphairn Manor, Richard politely held to his noncommittal replies. As Jamie was his host, he felt obliged to humor him thus far, but would not commit himself, one way or the other.

He couldn't. He hadn't yet made up his mind.

Commited by a freakish, witch-induced impulse to seriously consider Seamus's proposal, the more he did-the more he learned of Catriona Hennessey-the more he felt inclined to accept. To take up Seamus's gauntlet, accept his challenge, which, day by day, was looking more like an appeal-an appeal to greater strength-the offer of a commission.

A commission for life, admittedly, but he was developing a serious taste for one of the payments that would accrue. The idea of having a witch in his bed for the rest of his life, his to tease, taunt and enjoy as he-and she-pleased, was shaping as a potent inducement.

But he distrusted the entire situation. Fate and Seamus McEnery had conspired to place him in it-he had no reason to trust either. Not on the question of marriage, not given what marriage meant to him.

So he hedged and said nothing-the gentlemanly course.

"Well!" Jamie exhaled as he ground to a halt and somewhat dampeningly concluded: "The truth is, I suppose, that life in the Lowlands, married to a wild witch, would not measure on the same scale as the life of a London swell."

Lids lowered, Richard gravely inclined his head. "Indeed not."

Life with a wild witch was infinitely more alluring.

Out of breath, Algaria reached the top of the stairs just as the office door opened. Silently, she slipped into the shadows of the gallery and headed for Catriona's room.

Her brief tap on the door went unanswered, frowning, she tapped again. When no sound came from within, she frowned even harder and opened the door.