"Like us?" Aggie asked breathlessly.

"Like us," Devon said firmly. "Witches like her trick hapless men into marrying them."

Aggie's lips trembled. "But we just got Papa. We can't lose him now!"

Christina hugged her little sisters. "Don't worry, Aggie. We'll find a way to help Papa."

"Yes, we will," Devon said. "I just wish we could think of some way to-" She blinked. Then blinked again.

"What is it?" Christina asked. "You have an idea?"

"Oh, yes. A very good idea. One that will show Papa that she isn't who he thinks she is."

"Tell us!" Christina finished braiding Aggie's long hair, then twisted it into a neat, low bun.

"Papa has promised us that nothing will change, so I think he'd be very mad if she changed more than he wants her to."

Christina placed the final pin in Aggie's hair and stepped back to look at her work. "There you are, dear. Now, find that pretty sapphire hairpin Aunt Sophia gave you, and we'll pin it on." As Aggie scooted off the bench, Christina came to sit beside Devon on the bed. "I don't see how that will help us."

"If he gets mad enough, don't you think he might make her leave early?"

Which would give Papa less time to fall in love, as Christina feared he might. "I'd like that. Then we'd be back the way we were, just Papa and us."

Aggie, digging through a small jewelry box, glanced at them. "I don't understand, Devon. What's your plan?"

"Easy. We'll wait and see what she plans on doing to the house, and we just make it worse. Papa will grow tired of things always being wrong, and he'll tell her to leave."

Aggie grinned. "We can do that!"

"I don't know," Christina said, worry in her tone. "It doesn't really seem...fair."

"Was it fair that she trapped Papa into a marriage he didn't want?" Devon demanded.

"No."

"Then she is just getting what she deserves. Besides, the longer she stays, the more likely he will fall in love-and you know what that means."

Christina knew exactly what that meant. Every time Mother had disappeared, she'd been "in love." "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am," Devon said. "We will just have to watch for our opportunity."

"Here it is." Aggie held out a beautiful sapphire hairpin.

Christina rose from the bed and fixed the pin at Aggie's temple. "There you go!" She winked and affected a droll, high-society tone. "My dear Miss Agatha, you look divine! Like a princess!"

Aggie giggled and threw her arms around Christina's neck. Christina hugged her sister fiercely. She remembered all too well the damp rooms and moldy bread of the old days, remembered hiding behind a locked door in a squalid boardinghouse while people screamed or fought or cursed or did worse. She remembered the hours she'd prayed for Mother to come home, hoping against hope that if she wasn't sober, she'd stay gone.

Guilt clutched at Christina's heart. She wasn't a very good daughter to feel so about her own mother, and she knew it. Especially when Papa had explained that Mother was ill and had made so many bad choices because of it. A good daughter would love her mother no matter what. Christina bit her lip as she hugged Aggie tighter.

Devon was right; they needed to get rid of Papa's new wife. It would be a betrayal of the worst kind if they allowed anyone to harm Papa after he'd made such a safe home for them. That was a debt that could never be repaid.

"Ow!" Aggie squirmed. "Stop hugging me; I can't breathe!"

Christina released Aggie. "I'm sorry. I was thinking about something else." She turned to Devon. "All right. How do you suggest we begin?"

The butler held a large silver tray with two letters in the center. "These arrived while you were out, madam."

Nora Hurst scowled. "Och, McNair! Why do ye always use the silver tray fer two wee letters?" She tossed her sewing into the basket at her elbow. "'Tis pretentious!"

"Yes, madam." McNair's stoic expression nonetheless managed to convey a long-standing adherence to the proper manner, regardless of his mistress's views on the subject.

Nora looked at the portrait over the mantel and her expression softened. "John dinna put up wi' such nonsense, and neither will I."

The butler's gaze followed hers, and for an instant their expressions were remarkably similar, tender and sad. "No, madam. He wouldn't." McNair set the tray to one side and picked up the letters, then held them out to his mistress. "Is this better, madam?"

Her thin cheeks folded with deep wrinkles as she grinned. "Much better, ye scamp. Thank ye, McNair." She plucked the letters from his hand with fingers gnarled with age. "Why, they're from Triona and Caitlyn! Letters from me favorite granddaughters on th' same day-'tis a good sign!"

McNair watched her fondly as she opened the first letter. Forty years ago, Mr. John Hurst, the wealthiest man in the entire county, and related to half of the earls and dukes in all of Scotland, had shocked the entire countryside by marrying a commoner. At twenty-five, the woman was a full score of years his junior and possessed no fortune, no beauty, and very little formal education. It was even rumored that when she came to live at Hurst Hall, Mr. Hurst spent the first six months of their marriage teaching his new lady how to read.

Even before her marriage to John Hurst, Nora Macdonald was known for two things: her healing abilities and her hypnotic charm over the opposite s.e.x.

There was something about Nora that drew men to her like flies, which was why by the time she married her beloved John, Nora had been married and widowed three times. This led to rumors of poisonings, even though two of her previous husbands had died in mining accidents, and the last one had been thrown from his horse and had broken his neck in full view of the village.

Still, there was a collective murmur of disapproval when Mr. Hurst married his Nora and took her off to live on the hill that held the jewel that was Hurst Hall. Upper and lower cla.s.ses alike were offended at his marrying one of the commonest of the common, but none more so than his staff.

It is an odd truth that servants who work within the upper echelon of society tend to be sn.o.bbier and more sensitive to social position than their masters. The seating order in servant dining rooms was often more hotly disputed than the succession to many a throne. So it had taken a while for their bluff and jovial new mistress to take with the servants. But over the years she had won their grudging respect, and finally their affection and undying loyalty.

Mr. Hurst called her his prized la.s.s, and took great delight when Nora displayed not only an uncanny ability to heal the ill but a shrewd business sense as well. It was through her shrewd management that his lordship's mills had prospered even during the difficult years after his lordship's death.

One could say what one wished about her unfortunate beginnings and rough way of speaking, but though she brought neither wealth nor position to their marriage, no one could say that she didn't make the man blissfully happy all their days together.

As expected, Mr. Hurst left his entire properties and fortune to her, and she was as careful with his fortune now as she had been when he was alive. To no one's surprise, she continued to run the house so tightly that the servants were often reduced to counting candles and using leftover cuts of meat for soups. As she was fond of saying, there was nothing wrong "with a bit o' thrift." While the furnishings might grow a bit shabby over time, madam instantly replaced non-reparable items such as when the curtains in the front room finally grew too thin to darn. On that occasion, she'd chosen some very handsome red velvet drapes that had instantly polished the room and promised to wear well for at least a decade.

McNair just wished madam were a little more attuned to the dictates of fashion. She rarely wore anything other than plain gray gowns draped with a mult.i.tude of shawls, and the most sensible of boots. McNair and the other servants also missed the elegant dinners the master had once presided over, usually with madam ensconced at the foot of the table, genially holding court over the sn.o.bby and self-aggrandizing members of the local gentry. Those dinners had ended after Hurst's death at the grand old age of seventy-eight.

Though her accent was common, madam's manners were never poor. Never was her spirit less than bold, nor her understanding less than exceptional. Nothing got by those shrewd blue eyes.

"Och, dinna just stand there! Read it to me." Madam waved one of the letters in McNair's direction. "As soon as we're done, I'm to go to the village and help Mrs. Bruce wit' her sick bairn. She thinks 'tis an ague, but I've a mind it's teethin'."

Unfortunately, her skills didn't extend to curing her own failing eyesight.

McNair unfolded the letter. "This is the one from Miss Caitlyn."

Madam put down her teacup. "What does the la.s.s have to say?"

McNair read, "*Dearest Mam, I hope this letter finds you well. As you may know by now, I have been banished from London and-'"

"Banished? Are ye certain she says tha'?"

"Aye, madam."

"Och, wha' trouble has she stirred up now? She's a bonny la.s.s, but has a temper tha' burns as hot as the sun. Read on, please."

McNair lifted the letter and cleared his throat. "*I have been banished from London because of an error in judgment that I made. Worse, poor Triona has been made to pay.'"

"Good G.o.d! Wha' has the puir la.s.s done now?"

He cleared his throat again. "*It all began when I met Alexander MacLean-'"

Nora clutched at her chest. "Say 'tis no' so! I warned the la.s.s no' to look into their green eyes, fer they'd bewitch her!"

McNair continued reading, "*-but before you say I shouldn't look into his green eyes, let me a.s.sure you that he ignored me completely.'"

Nora dropped her hands, her brows snapping low over her hooked nose. "The b.a.s.t.a.r.d! To ignore me granddaughter! I daresay she dinna take tha' kindly!"

"No, madam. Shall I read on?"

She nodded emphatically.

"*I am quite upset because I allowed myself to behave in such a way as to bring embarra.s.sment to myself and the family, and-'"

"Yes, yes, la.s.s! So ye've said! Wha' happened next?"

McNair smiled and continued, "*-to cause Triona irreparable harm. I should have known better, for Mother and Papa have indeed raised me to-'"

"Pssht! I'll be dead and buried if the la.s.s doesna hurry wit' her story. Scan the letter, will ye, and give me the gist o' it."

McNair traced a long finger down the letter. "Hmmm. When Alexander MacLean ignored Miss Caitlyn, she decided to capture the laird's attention by trapping him in a compromising situation-"

"No!"

"Yes, indeed. However"-the butler frowned in confusion-"it says she had no intention of actually accepting his proposal, and that she just wished to make him ask. That cannot be correct."

"Och, she's makin' fine sense to me." She chuckled. "'Tis a woman's thought and no' one ye'd understand."

"Ah." McNair turned the letter over and continued to read. "She expresses a great deal of remorse about being involved in such a dangerous plan, and then-ah. Here we are. It looks as if-" McNair blinked. "It appears that Miss Caitriona came to her sister's rescue, and the laird's brother Hugh was caught with her instead, and-" His mouth dropped open. "Good G.o.d!"

Nora clutched the arms of her chair. "Spit it out, d.a.m.n it! Wha's happened?"

McNair turned a stunned gaze toward his mistress. "Madam...they've married!"

"Caitlyn and Alexander MacLean?"

"Nay, madam! Miss Triona and Hugh MacLean."

Nora blinked. Then blinked again. "If that dinna beat all! Does it say where they are now?"

"Yes, madam. Gilmerton Manor."

"Why, that's no' but an hour's drive from here!"

"Yes, madam. Shall I read Miss Triona's missive?"

She handed it to him, taking back and folding Caitlyn's letter. "Ah, Caitlyn, I warned ye about tha' b.l.o.o.d.y Hurst temper, but ye dinna listen."

McNair unfolded Triona's note. "*Dear Mam, I hope this finds you well. I would like to visit, for I'm in a difficult position and need your advice. I'm but an hour away, so send word to Gilmerton Manor and I shall come as soon as possible. Love, Triona.'"

"That's all?"

"Aye, madam."

"Fetch the coach!"

"Madam, it's too near dark. There's no way you could make it safely to Miss Triona's at this time of day. You'll have to go first thing in the morning."

She picked up the two letters and waved them in the air. "d.a.m.nation, I've a family emergency brewin', and neither o' me granddaughters can write a decent letter to let a person know wha's goin' on!"

Hugh pulled on his gloves and allowed Liam to help him into his coat. Across the foyer, dressed in one of her new gowns, Caitriona conferred with Mrs. Wallis about dinner. The light from the windows flanking the front door traveled over the gleaming wood floor to flicker over the blue folds of her dress and touch upon her golden hair.

Hugh b.u.t.toned his coat just as Caitriona glanced his way. Their eyes met, and she flushed. He grinned, knowing just what she was thinking. Every morning since she'd arrived, they'd awakened in each other's arms and had thoroughly explored the delights offered by the marital bed. This morning had been no exception, and Hugh'd had the deep satisfaction of making her gasp with delight three times.

She was voracious, and he awoke most mornings with a smile, as eager for her as she was for him. l.u.s.t was a wonderful, delicious, simple emotion, and he welcomed it.

"Very well, m'lady," Mrs. Wallis said. "I'll tell Cook ye wish the roast lamb tonight." She left, and Caitriona crossed the hall to the breakfast room.

Hugh noted with appreciation the delightful sway of her hips beneath her gown. He must send a thank-you note and a bonus to the modiste. He'd never before realized how truly gifted she was.

Caitriona reached the breakfast room, where Angus was busy polishing candelabra. She inspected his work, encouraging him with a kind word, and returned to the foyer. She hesitated when she saw Hugh, then came forward with a smile. "Headed for the stables?"

"Yes. Two of the mares foaled in the night, and I'm anxious to see how they're doing this morning. When the girls come for their afternoon ride, can you have them bring some rolled bandages? Mrs. Wallis keeps a basket of them somewhere. I've used all of the bandages in the barn."

"Of course."

"Thank you." He hesitated, surprised by a sudden desire to kiss her once more. It had been almost reflexive, and he'd barely caught himself in time. He turned toward the door. "I should be back in time for dinner." With a quick smile, he left, leaving his temptations in the foyer.

The cold air chilled his heated body. He shouldn't be so quick to ignite after such a pa.s.sionate morning, but one look at her mouth made him go hard like a s.e.x-starved youth.

He laughed softly at his own foolishness. So far, to his cautious surprise, Caitriona's presence hadn't caused any huge disruptions in his and the girls' peaceful life. The house was cleaner, the floors polished to a new gleam, the fires laid more neatly, and dinner more varied and enjoyable, but other than that, there was no tangible sign that she was there. Well, there was one: his c.o.c.k had never been so well-satisfied.

He grinned, his steps slowing as he looked back. Perhaps he should return and surprise her with a kiss. That would be- A curtain moved in an upstairs window. His smile faded as he stared at the now-empty pane and realized that he'd forgotten to stop by the nursery and say good morning to the girls as he usually did. He'd been distracted by Caitriona's pa.s.sion, then distracted by the changes in the house, then further distracted by the realization that he didn't want to go to the stables this morning. What he really wanted was to go back inside the house, toss Caitriona over his shoulder, and carry her back to bed.

Her pa.s.sion was addictive. Not that he couldn't walk away if he wished...he just didn't wish to. What man would? She was innovative, sweet, playful, and threw herself into it body and soul. No man could ask for more.

Things were going very well. Caitriona had agreed to stay away from the girls and had done just that. Of course, the girls made it easy, for they did their best to ignore her. That was one change since Caitriona had arrived: the girls had become more and more silent. It was if they were huddled together against an impending storm.

He sighed. The girls would have to trust him. He glanced regretfully at the front door and then turned away, tugging the collar of his coat closer as the cold wind tried to sneak in. He didn't have time to return to the house; there were two new foals and two very tired mares to check on.

Inside the house, Triona sighed as Hugh turned away. He'd paused a second, and she'd thought he might come back. She didn't know why, but she'd been so certain that her heart had leapt-which meant it had that much farther to fall when he went on to the stables.