Belching delicately, the abbot commented, "Ye’ll nae go hungry wi Catriona in yer house, nephew. She sets a good table."

"Provided I can get her into my house to start with," the earl said ruefully.

The afternoon was long, and the abbot retired to his room to sleep and to make his devotions. Restless, Patrick found his cloak and went out into the city. The gray February cold was bitter, and he could smell on the wind the snow that would begin falling by evening. He walked without thinking. He walked to calm the feelings that raged through him. Suddenly he caught sight of a small jewelry shop and went inside. The owner, recognizing wealth when he saw it, came forward.

"Do ye hae any rings for sale?"

"Yes, my lord. If my lord would be seated." He signaled an apprentice, who hurried forward with a chair.

Patrick sat down. "A lady's ring," he clarified.

"Ahhhh," smiled the jeweler. "His lordship wishes something for a good friend." He snapped his fingers at a second apprentice, who came forward with a tray.

Patrick scornfully eyed the contents. "Lord, mon! Is this the best ye can do? I'm buying a ring for my wife, not for my whore." A second tray was presented. Patrick smiled. "This is more like it, mon!"

Four rings nestled on the pale-blue velvet; a diamond teardrop, a ruby heart, a round sapphire, and a square-cut emerald. Each was set in heavy gold. Carefully he examined each, asking its price. At last, picking up the heart-shaped ruby ring, he said, "I'll take this one, but only on one condition."

"And that is, my lord?"

"Send one of yer apprentices to the Kiras in Goldsmith's Lane. Tell them the Earl of Glenkirk wishes an appraisal immediately."

The jeweler bowed and bade one of his lads go. His prices were honest, and for that he thanked God. Getting a customer like the Earl of Glenkirk was a feather in his cap. If the earl took the ring, the jeweler thought, his wife could have the new cloak she'd been hounding him for all winter, and his mistress would get the lace cap she wanted. The apprentice reappeared soon, bringing a man with him.

"Benjamin!" The earl stood and grasped the newcomer's hand warmly.

"My lord, it is good to see you. When did you arrive in Edinburgh?"

"Just today. My Uncle Charles has accompanied me. We stay at my brother's house off High Street."

"Yes," said Benjamin Kira. "I know the house. I spoke with Lord Adam and his wife before they left for France." He smiled at the earl. "So you're buying jewelry?"

"For my lady Catriona."

"Ahh," said Benjamin Kira. He knew most of the story, but was far too polite to say-so. "The ring, master jeweler." Slipping a small loop on his eye, he held up the ruby. "Ahhhhh. Yes. Hummm. Yes. Good. Very good!" He handed the ring to Patrick, and turned to the merchant. "Well, Master Adie, it's a beautiful stone. Well cut, nicely set. Your price?" The jeweler named it. "Very fair," pronounced Benjamin Kira. "In fact, you're getting a bargain, my lord. Let me see the other rings you showed the earl." He turned back to the jeweler. He examined the diamond, the sapphire, and the emerald, and then asked the price of each. "Too low, Master Adie," he told the surprised jeweler. "Raise the price on the emerald by twenty percent, and on the diamond and sapphire by ten percent."

Patrick directed Benjamin Kira to see that the jeweler was paid. Thanking him for his appraisal, the earl bid him and the jeweler good day. A blue-gray dusk lit the city, and snow was beginning to drift down in large, fat, sticky flakes. Briskly he walked back to his brother's house. Sally opened the door for him and, taking his cloak and cap, shooed him down the hall into the family parlor. "There's a good fire going, m'lord, and I'll bring ye some hot spiced wine."

He found his uncle and Cat engrossed in a game of chess before the fire. He said nothing, but sat down. Sally came in and set the goblet by his hand. He drank slowly, savoring the sweetness of the wine, the pungency of the spices, and the lovely warmth that began to seep through his chilled body.

"Check, and mate," he heard his uncle say.

"Yer far too skilled a chess player for an abbot," Cat complained.

"I generally win what I set out to win," came the reply.

"There speaks the Leslie in ye," Cat laughed. "I believe yer trying to tell me something, uncle."

"Yes, my child, I am. Whatever your misunderstanding wi Patrick, the bairn is the innocent party. Dinna let him be born nameless."

"Oh, he won't be nameless. I intend calling him James, after the king. I saw the lad out riding one day. Such a solemn boy, but verra bonnie."

Glenkirk bit his lip to keep from laughing. The minx was deliberately baiting the abbot, and she had succeeded admirably. Charles Leslie exploded in a rash of very unabbotlike Gaelic oaths. Cat stood up and curtsied. "Good night uncle. I find I am once again fatigued," she said, leaving the room. She had never, even once, acknowledged Patrick's presence.

"Someone ought to beat the wench on her backside!" growled the abbot.

"I already have," replied the earl. "It did no good."

The abbot snorted. "Tomorrow I will speak wi her again. Now, I am for my bed. I’ll need a good night's rest if I'm to contend with Catriona Hay."

Patrick stood by the window watching the snow. It was falling quite thickly now, and the deserted street outside was already well covered. The parlor door opened to admit Sally, carrying a tray. "Mistress thought ye might be hungry after yer walk, m'lord. She and yer uncle ate earlier." She put the tray on the table by the fireplace. "I'll come back in a bit, sir. Ye eat up now!"

The tray contained a steaming bowl of boiled shrimp, a plate with two thick slices of cold ham, a small, hot loaf of bread, a dish of sweet butter, and a pitcher of brown ale. Patrick devoured it all. When Sally returned she brought a plate of warm shortbread and a bowl of highly polished red apples. He ate all the shortbread and two of the apples. Sally, clearing away the tray, smiled warmly at him. "It does me good to see you eat, m'lord! It's like watching me brother, Ian. Now, sir, if you'll look in the cabinet there," she pointed across the room, "you'll find some good whisky. Will there be anything else before I go to bed?"

"Nay, lass. Thank ye kindly. Run along now."

Alone again, he poured himself a whisky and drank it slowly, enjoying its smoky bite. Trust Cat to find a man with a good still, he thought. Cat! Ah, sweetheart, I've hurt ye, and now I am going to have the devil's own time wi ye. My uncle may do all the diplomacy he chooses tomorrow, but I must talk wi ye tonight.

He put down his glass and exited the family parlor. Sally had left him a nightstick burning on the table by the stairwell. Slowly he climbed the stairs, dreading the moment he'd have to face her. Standing in front of her door, he knocked. For a moment, he hoped she was asleep. Then the door opened, and there she was in her green velvet dressing gown, her heavy, honey-colored hair loose about her shoulders. He stared tongue-tied, feeling like a fool.

"Patrick." Her voice was soft. "Either come in, or go away." She turned and walked back into the room.

He followed her, closing the door behind him. A fire burned in the grate, lighting the room. She had been in bed. Paying him no heed, she climbed back into the warmth of her quilts. Two huge pillows propped her up. He drew a chair up next to the bed and sat down.

"Well, my lord," she said, folding her hands over her enormous belly, "I think I am safe in assuming ye've nae come to rape me this night. What is it then ye want?"

"I want to talk. We'll leave the diplomacy and tact to our uncle the abbot. Ye and I can speak the truth to each other. I am a fool, Cat!"

"Aye," she agreed.

"I love ye, lass! What is done is done. If ye canna forgie me, can ye at least forget my boorishness? I'll do anything to win ye back."

"Can ye change the way ye think, Patrick? Because that is my price. I will nae be yer possession. Yers, or anyone else's! I canna be just Glenkirk's wife. I must be Catriona Hay Leslie, and only if ye think of me in that way, and treat me in that way, will others follow." She smiled gently at him. "Ah, hinny! I dinna think ye really understand, do ye? Perhaps ye canna."

"I am trying to, Cat. Would it help if I set aside a certain portion of yer dowry for you alone?"

"That's not quite what I mean, Patrick, but if yer willing I'll tell ye exactly what I want from a financial point of view. The investments that Grandmam left me were included in my dowry. They should not have been. They are mine alone, and I want them back. A-Cuil also belongs to me. It was my paternal grandmother's, and Grandmam saw that it was put in my name, as this house is in Fiona's name. Lord, Patrick! Ye knew Grandmam better than I did, and ye know how strongly she felt about a woman having something of her own."

"Of course ye may have A-Cuil back," he said, "but as to the investments, love, ye dinna know finance, and I canno allow ye to waste what Grandmam left ye just to satisfy a whim."

"Then we canna proceed any further in our discussions, Patrick. Good night." She turned away from him. She would not tell him that for two years now she had been handling the investments Grandmam left her. She had the brilliant guidance of Benjamin Kira. Of all Janet Leslie's great-grandchildren, Catriona Hay's investments were the richest because she listened and learned from the Kiras, that family whose help had meant so much to Janet Leslie. Cat had a flair for investment banking, and an almost psychic sense about decisions. But she would not tell Patrick these things. The decision to return to her what was rightfully hers must be his decision. She did not care what his reasons would be, for she didn't really expect him to understand how she felt. However, he must act without knowledge of her financial talent, or it would be no good.