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.

"Unfortunately, much as it pains me to admit it, I think you might be right."

"Of course, I'm right!" Struggling up on one elbow, Catriona tugged the covers back over him. "You've been at death's door-literally!-for five days. You're not simply going to open your eyes and"-she gestured wildly-"get right back into things."