With his Cynster smile curving his lips, he looked up and met Catriona's wide gaze. "For you." Raising his arms, he slipped the necklace over her head, then gently lifted her hair free. "A belated bridal gift."

He'd teased her about giving her diamonds-he was rich enough to give her them and more, but… in his heart, he knew diamonds would mean nothing to her not at the moment. But she'd been fascinated by the one sight she'd had of his mother's necklace-she would, he felt, appreciate it far more than other jewelry.

He was perfectly right. Wide-eyed, lips parted, Catriona stared down at the necklace as it settled against the soft skin of her chest, the heavy pendant sliding into the valley between her breasts as if it belonged there.

Perhaps it did.

There were times when even she was stunned to silence by The Lady's ways.

She knew her eyes were shining, knew her face glowed as she carefully took the pendant between her fingers and raised it to scan the tiny engravings.

"Do you know what this is?" Her words were hushed, tinged with awe.

She felt Richard's gaze on her face, sensed he was intrigued by her reaction. Eventually, drawing the last lock of her hair free, he answered: "It's my mother's necklace-now yours."

Catriona sucked in a huge breath-truer words he could not have spoken; it was as if The Lady had used him to voice her decision. "It's a disciple's necklace-the engravings say that. They're the same as those on my crystal, committing the wearer to allegiance to The Lady and her teachings. But this necklace is from a very senior disciple-more senior than me, or any of the past ladies of the vale." She had to stop, to fight for calm; her heart felt like it might burst with sheer joy. She moistened her lips. "This necklace is much older than mine."

"I knew it was different but similar." Reaching to the other table, Richard drew her necklace, which she left there every night, to him, then held it up between them. "I thought it was the same but with the stones inverted."

Catriona looked at him, then drew in a deep breath and nodded; he was involved in this, he was her consort. She could tell him the facts. "On the surface, of course, it is. But there's a deeper meaning." She caught the pendant of her own necklace. "This is rose quartz, which signifies love, and these"-she pointed to the round purple stones embedded in the chain-"are amethyst, which signifies intelligence. So in this arrangement, the stones mean intelligence driving love, the rose quartz being the focus. However"-pausing, she licked her lips and looked back at the necklace now lying against her skin-"this is the way it was supposed to be-used to be-before the supplies of amethyst crystals large enough and fine enough to make the focus crystals ran out."

"So," frowning slightly, Richard followed her thoughts, "this necklace"-he placed his fingers on the necklace lying on her flesh and was surprised at how warm it felt-"signifies intelligence driven by love?"

Catriona nodded. "That was the original meaning. That's The Lady's message, the one every disciple must understand and learn to live by. Love is the principal force-the driving force-behind all, all intelligent acts should be governed by, directed by, love."

After a moment's pause, Richard shifted, and laid Catriona's own necklace aside, then settled back beneath her, studying her rapt expression. Quite obviously, he could not possibly have given her a more meaningful gift. But… "How did my mother come to have such a necklace?"

Catriona lifted her head and met his gaze. "She must have been a disciple, too." When Richard raised his brows, she nodded. "That's possible. She came from the Lowlands, where there were once many followers of The Lady. It's possible that she was descended from one of the oldest lines of disciples-that's what the necklace suggests-but that she wasn't trained, or, even if trained, had been forced to marry Seamus."

Richard lay back on the pillows and stared at his witchy wife, stared deep into her green eyes. And wondered…

Her eyes widened slightly. "The ways of The Lady are often complex, far-sighted-too intricate for us to understand." Slowly, her gaze locked mesmerizingly on his, she leaned forward. "Stop thinking about it."

The soft command, enforced by an underlying compulsion, fell from her lips, the next instant they touched his in an achingly sweet kiss. Richard inwardly shuddered and decided, for once, to obey.

Decided to follow her lead as she wove her witchy wiles and drew them both deeper into desire, deeper into the heat spiralling upward between them.

Followed her as she shifted, lifted, and drew him deep into the shocking heat of her body, into the furnace of her need. He rose with her as she rode him, sweetly urgent, without guile, in undisguised abandon. Brushing aside her gown, he clamped his hands about her hips, then leaned forward and drew one turgid nipple into his mouth. He laved it-a muted cry was his reward.

He settled to feast on her bounty, pausing now and then to watch their bodies merge, to wonder, sensually dazed, as he gazed at his mother's necklace, now gracing his wife's flushed skin.

Then her heat reached flashpoint and exploded; she clung to the peak, her face awash with sensation, then, with a long, soft, sob of joy, crumpled against him.

Burying his face in her hair, he held her close, anchored her hips against him, and drove into her molten softness, once, twice, and again, savoring to his marrow the sense of completeness that was always his when he was buried within her.

Between them, locked in the valley between her breasts, crushed to his chest, his mother's pendant lay, pulsing with a force that was warm yet owed nothing to any fire's heat.

Closing his eyes, his cheek hard against his wife's fiery hair, Richard dragged in a huge breath and let sensation take him. Just as his mother's necklace had always been destined to find it's way here, to reside with his sweet witch in the vale, he, too, his mother's only child, was destined to find his home, his haven, his salvation, here.

In his witch's arms.

In her.

With a long, shuddering groan, he surrendered to fate.

"Master!"

Richard whirled to see one of the workers from the farm at the mouth of the vale come hurrying across the stable yard. "What is it, Kimpton?"

The man halted before him and touched his cap. "You asked that we should report anything not right, sir."

"I did. What's amiss?"

"The gate on the south paddock." The man looked Richard in the eye. " 'Twas fast last night when I did my rounds, but 'twas wide this morning, when my youngest went down that way."

Richard's gaze sharpened. "Did he close it?"

"Aye, sir." The man nodded. "And I checked it, too. Nothing wrong with the latch."

Richard smiled. "Very good. Let's see what happens."

Sir Olwyn Glean arrived just after lunch.

He brusquely thrust his hat at Henderson and charged straight for Catriona's office.

He started blustering the instant he flung open the door. "Miss Hennessey! I really must protest-"

"To whom are you referring, sir?"

Catriona's chill tones brought Sir Olwyn up short; he struggled for an instant to breathe, then drew in a huge breath. And nodded in a belated attempt at polite form.

"Mrs. Cynster."

After her exertions of that morning, let alone all the mornings before, Catriona was of the firm opinion she fully deserved the title. Regally, she inclined her head and folded her hands on her ledger. "To what do I owe this visit, sir?"

"As always," Sir Olwyn declared with relish, "to your cattle! Having them scattered about foraging two and three to a field through winter means you can never keep a sufficiently good eye on them. Fence latches break, or get loose-and then what happens?"

"I have no idea"-Catriona looked at him serenely-"but whatever it is, if the matter concerns the vale's livestock, you should speak with my husband." She waved toward the door. "He's in charge of the herds."

"Much good that is," Sir Olwyn retorted, "with him away in London."

"Oh, no, Sir Olwyn-I'm much nearer than that."

Sir Olwyn jumped and whirled. From just behind him, Richard smiled urbanely, every inch a wolf about to take a large chunk out of a marauding dog.

Catriona fought valiantly to keep a straight face; she nearly choked swallowing her giggle. As for McArdle, he looked down at his closed ledger and didn't look up again. The tips of his ears, however, grew redder and redder.

Smoothly continuing into the room, Richard drawled: "What's this about the vale's cattle?"

Red-faced, Sir Olwyn belligerently spluttered: "The vale's cattle have strayed into my cabbages and ruined the crop."

"Indeed?" Richard's brows rose high. "And when did this happen?"

"Early this morning."

"Ah." Richard turned to Henderson, who stood in the doorway. "Please fetch McAlvie, Henderson."

"Aye, sir."

McAlvie must have been waiting, for he was back with Henderson before the silence in the office stretched too thin.

"Ah, McAlvie." Richard smiled at the herdsman. "Are we missing any cattle this morning?"

McAlvie shook his shaggy head. "No, sir."

"How would you know?" Sir Olwyn scornfully interjected. "The vale's cattle wander all the time, especially in winter."

"Mayhap they used to," McAlvie stated, "all the other times when we've paid for your cabbages. Aye, and your corn. But not any more."

Sir Olwyn glowered. "What do you mean-not any more?"