"You did?" Honoria regarded her with more interest than puzzlement. "Why? And how?"

Catriona colored. She tried to hedge, prevaricate, avoid the questions, but, she discovered, Her Grace of St. Ives could be ruthless. Honoria dragged the answers from her-then slumped back in her chair and regarded her with awe. "You're very brave," she eventually stated. "I don't know of many women who would be game to feed an aphrodisiac to a Cynster-and then climb into bed with him."

Catriona raised her brows in resignation. "Blame it on total innocence."

Honoria's lips had yet to return to straight; she shot her a measuring, not-at-all-discouraging, look. "You know, that's really a very good story, but one I fear we'll have to keep within the family-the female part of it, that is."

Having by now realized that Her Grace of St. Ives, having been married to His Grace for more than a year, was unshockable, Catriona accepted the comment with an equanimity that, half an hour before, would have astounded her.

"However, to return to your fears over what Richard might think once he wakes, I really do think that you're underestimating him." Head on one side, Honoria stared past her, clearly considering. "He's not usually thickheaded. And he's certainly not blind-none of them are, although you'll find they sometimes try to pretend they are." She looked directly at Catriona. "Do you have any reason to think he believes you were involved, or is it-forgive me-merely a worry on your part?"

Catriona sighed. "I don't think so." Briefly, she described Richard's actions before he lost consciousness.

"Hmm." Honoria wrinkled her nose. "You could be wrong-it's perfectly possible he had some other, male-Cynster-type reason for sending so emphatically for Devil. And for staring at you in that way. However," she stated, setting her hands on her knees, "that's neither here nor there. If he wakes with such a stupid idea in his head, you may be sure I'll set him right without delay."

Honoria stood and shook out her skirts; rather more wearily, Catriona rose, too. "He might not listen."

"He'll listen to me." Honoria met her eye and grinned. "They all do, you know. It's one of the benefits of being married to Devil. As he's the head of the family, there's always the possibility that I might have the last word."

Despite herself, for the second time that day, Catriona felt her lips twitch. Honoria saw, and smiled. "And now, if you'll do me the honor of listening to me as well, I really think you should rest. Devil and Worboys and I will watch over Richard-you need to gather your strength in case he needs your healer's skills."

Catriona looked into Honoria's eyes and knew she was right. She drew in a deep breath and felt like she was breathing freely for the first time since Richard had collapsed. Putting out a hand to Honoria's, she squeezed gently, blinked quickly, then nodded. "All right."

Smiling, Honoria kissed her cheek. "We'll call you if he needs you."

Catriona slept deeply into the afternoon; she awoke, still worried, but even more determined to haul her weakened spouse back to this world-and his rightful place at her side.

"He's been unconscious for too long," she declared, pacing once more by his bedside, her gaze on his sleeping face. "We need to do something to rouse him."

"What?" was Devil's only question.

She was about to admit that she didn't know, when a flicker of an eyelid stopped her. She stared at Richard's face, then rushed to the bed. "Richard?"

Another definite flicker-he was trying to respond, but couldn't lift his lids.

Devil, close beside her, placed a hand on her arm when she would have spoken again. "Richard," he said, his tone a warning, "Maman's coming!"

Richard's reaction was clearly visible. He tried desperately to open his eyes, but couldn't. A frown creased his brow, then slowly eased as he drifted back into unconsciousness.

"We can walk him!" Fired anew, Catriona dragged back the covers. "If he can respond, then forcing him to use his muscles will help work the poison from his system."

Devil helped her haul Richard to his feet, but Richard was still too incapable to support his own weight; while Devil could hold him upright, he couldn't make him walk. When Catriona tried to slide under Richard's other arm and help, Devil pulled a lock of her hair "No!" He frowned at her "Get Henderson."

There was enough implacability in his face to make her heave an exasperated sigh and run from the room.

Henderson came quickly. With him under one of Richard's arms and Devil under the other, they started walking Richard up and down the room. At first, it was no more than a dragging stagger, as one foot dragged, then fell in front of the other. They walked him for ten minutes, then rested, then tried again. And won a fraction more response from Richard. Heartened, they kept up the treatment, walking, resting, then walking again.

Noticing a flicker of Richard's lashes when she spoke to Henderson, Catriona spoke directly to Richard, exhorting him to greater efforts. But, after a time, he only shook his head irritatedly and became even less cooperative.

"Enough." Devil steered their burden to the bed. "Let's have dinner, then we'll try again."

They did, with greater response but even less cooperation. Richard wanted to be left in peace. He didn't say so, but his meaning was quite clear; he became increasingly difficult to manage, swearing in inventive mumbles at his tormentors.

But he walked-back and forth with increasing control over his limbs. When, all but exhausted himself, Devil called a halt and let Richard fall back across the bed, he had regained enough muscle control to grope blindly back onto the pillows and snuggle down.

Smiling for the first time in five days, Catriona drew up the covers and tucked him in.

As she straightened, Devil draped a brotherly arm about her shoulders and gave her a hug. "If he can remember all those French curses, he'll be back with us soon."

Catriona's smile wavered; she grasped Devil's hand and squeezed. "Thank you."

He grinned and flicked her cheek. "No need. He's mine, too, you know." With that enigmatic comment, he led her to the door. "Honoria's already asleep-she said she'd watch through the small hours. I'll stay here now and wake her about midnight. You can get some sleep, then you can relieve her in the morning."

Catriona hesitated. "Are you sure-"

"Positive." Devil held the door and elegantly waved her through. "I'll see you in the morning."

He did-early in the morning. When Catriona returned to the turret room to relieve Honoria a good hour before dawn, she found, not Honoria, but Devil yawning over a game of Patience set out on the covers beside Richard, still comatose.

Catriona stared at Devil. "What happened to Honoria?"

Devil looked up at her, then squinted at the clock on the mantelpiece "Good heavens! Is that the time?" He grinned engagingly, but undeniably wearily, up at her. "It seems I forgot to summon my dear wife. Never mind." He stood and stretched. "I'll go and wake her now."

He looked down at Richard. "Time flies when one's having fun, but he never was much of a conversationalist."

With a last weary smile, he left her.

Shaking her head resignedly, Catriona rugged the armchair into place so, sunk in its comfort, she could see Richard's face. His beard had grown, concealing the gauntness of his cheeks; he looked more than faintly disreputable, slumped almost face down in the bed with his hair tailing over his forehead and his arms flung out.

Catriona smiled and pulled her workbasket to her side. They would walk him again after breakfast; she'd ring for Worboys to relieve her, then go and summon Henderson and Irons. With their help, perhaps she could get Richard to throw off the lingering effects of the wolfsbane today.

Looking up at him, she listened to his breathing, steady and even, as familiar as her own. Reassured, she picked up her needle and settled to darn.

Head bent, Catriona was plying her needle in the chair beside the bed when Richard finally managed to lever up his lids. Quite why they'd been so unconscionably heavy he couldn't understand, but, at long last, they'd done what he wanted of them and opened.

The sight of his witchy wife in a pose of sweet domesticity was undeniably pleasant; he drank it in, let it soothe away the last of the panic that had gripped him when he'd drifted in the grey cold and wondered if he would die. He hadn't wanted to die, but he'd been so cold, so weak, he hadn't felt able to cling to life.

But then she'd come, slipping her warm hand in his and leading him back, out of the grey cold and into the warm darkness of their bed. She hadn't wanted him to die either-she hadn't let him go, she'd helped him cling, helped him stay. Helped him live.

He was still here, with her; looking further, he confirmed that he was in their bed, and that morning light was seeping through the curtains. He drew in a deep breath, and brought his gaze back to her well-beloved face-and noticed the dark smudges beneath her eyes. In that instant, she yawned, lifting a hand to smother it, then she blinked her eyes wide and refocused on her darning.

Richard frowned; his witchy wife was undeniably pale, undeniably drawn. She didn't, now he looked more closely, look all that well.

His frown deepened.

Catriona felt it and looked up; startled, the first thing she saw was the blue of his eyes. Her heart soared, only to plummet a second later. He was frowning direfully. At her. He opened his lips-she stayed him with a raised hand. "No! Let me speak first. No matter what you think, I did not poison you."

He blinked, but his frown returned immediately. He opened his lips again-

"I realize you might have jumped to that conclusion, and I can see why you might, but you're wrong. It's absolutely ridiculous to imagine that after all you've done for me and the vale, all that's passed between us, that I would suddenly turn around and poison you. If you really think that-"

"I don't!"

Catriona blinked and discovered Richard was no longer frowning at her-he was glowering at her.

"Of course, I don't think you poisoned me!" His gaze raked her, then returned to her face, his glower turned black. "What nonsensical notion have you been worrying yourself with?"

When she didn't answer, he swore. "I'd heard women got silly ideas when pregnant, but that takes the prize." He looked at her more closely-then swore again. "Is that what you've been worrying yourself sick over? That I'd be fool enough to think it was you?"

Dazedly, somewhat warily, Catriona nodded. Which brought forth another round of curses.

"What a stupid, foolish notion-"

"Why did you send for your brother, then?"

"So he'd be here to protect you if I wasn't about to do it, of course! Lord-!"

Running out of curses, he leaned forward, grabbed her hand and hauled her onto the bed. Pins, needle and mending went flying. Catriona gasped as she landed amid the covers.

Before she could react, he'd framed her face and was studying it closely.

"You haven't been taking care of yourself-"

"You were the one poisoned-" She struggled to get free, to sit up; even in his weakened state, he held her easily.

"We'll sort that out later. You obviously haven't been getting enough sleep. Pregnant women are supposed to sleep more-I would have thought you'd know that. You've staff and helpers about you…" He broke off, then looked into her eyes. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"Five days," Catriona informed him.

"Five days?" Richard stared at her, then his gaze softened and dropped to her lips… "No wonder I'm so hungry."

This time, Catriona knew precisely which appetite he was referring to. She opened her lips-but didn't manage to say a word.

He kissed her, gently, tenderly, then with gathering rapaciousness. Catriona felt the covers about her slide, felt the pillows shift, felt his hand slide up her leg to her garter, then stroke the soft skin above. He leaned into her, pressing her deeper into the soft mattress; she clung to the moment, savored it briefly, then thumped him on the shoulder. Hard.

He shifted slightly-she managed to drag her lips free and gasp: "Richard! You're not strong enough!"

He raised his head and looked down at her-as if what she'd just said was utterly impossible-then he hesitated, considered, then groaned, grimaced, closed his eyes, and rolled off her.