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Part 34

rchibald Harville blew a smoke ring over his head and watched it lazily drift above his head. It was an activity he had grown quite proficient at and it often amused his children to witness it.

How often had he and Frederick spent an evening sharing a glass of ale and a fine bit of tobacco between them aboard the Laconia? More times than he could count.

And yet this night was so very unlike the rest.

"Frederick, you've not said a word in ten minutes," Harville finally remarked as he glanced at his friend with worry. "I fear you shall become a statue if you do not make some attempt at movement or conversation."

Frederick, straddling a chair beside the fire, had been staring into the flames absently, his mind upstairs with his wife. "Forgive me, Archibald. I am a lamentable host this night. Pray forgive me for it. But my thoughts are elsewhere, as you might imagine."

"She's going to be just fine," Harville commented with his characteristic gentle strength and good sense. "Nurse Rooke, Miss Smith, and my Margaret are with her. Could she not be in better hands?"

The flames threw shadows and light against Frederick's face as he gazed straight ahead. It was the only activity that kept him sane. Kept him from running upstairs every five minutes to get word of Anne's condition.

"Tertius is miles off with his family. Damn it all, she needs a doctor!" he ground out.

Harville did not speak. He knew Frederick was a volcano of emotions at that moment. He was angry, frightened, elated, frantic, and uncertain. His wife was giving birth to their first child a month early and there was not a surgeon in the area to be found. And poor Carter had scoured the countryside looking.

Carter had ridden immediately to the Harville home upon learning that Dr. Mills was far from home. They had all exited the house at once, headed for the Wentworth home. Archibald knew Frederick would need someone to keep him from flying into the boughs. Agatha was in the kitchen preparing food for the women and keeping the gentlemen supplied as well.

"Nearly trampled by that damned horse," Frederick muttered, closing his eyes in remembered horror. "I should shoot the thing myself. He's always been more trouble than he is worth. To think of what might have happened to her!"

There was no use in replying, Harville thought. He had heard such self-recriminating remarks from his friend over the course of the last four hours. Carter had confessed the incidents of that afternoon, pale as a sheet and ten times more remorseful. Harville had never seen a man more apologetic. And Frederick had not held it against the groom, knowing that when a stallion like Castillian was spooked, little could be done. It had simply been a terrible accident.

An accident that had caused poor Anne to go into premature labor. At the slightest noise or movement, Frederick's eyes would go to the ceiling overhead, his forehead creasing with anxiety.

"She is so...very small," Frederick said softly, speaking his thoughts aloud. His eyes glowed in the darkness as his thoughts tormented him. His adorable little baggage. She was his life, his reason for existing.

How often had his own men received letters from home announcing the birth of children? Frederick could well remember sharing a toast with a young sailor who had learned of his new fatherhood. It had happened with great regularity. But now he truly understood the depth of what that event imparted. How fragile life could be, how rapidly it could slip from one's fingers.

Frederick could also remember the letters bearing bad news. The unbearable news that while the child had survived, the mother had gone on to meet her Maker. He could yet remember this very thing happening to his bo'sun, Jim Frayne, a man of five and thirty. It had been his first child. His wife, Emily, had been small like Anne. Her tiny frame could not endure the throes of childbirth, and she had died two days later.

Harville knew he was thinking about Frayne. He had served with Frayne aboard the Laconia and well remembered the anguish the bo'sun had felt at his wife's passing. It had nearly crushed the man. It had taken him months to recover.

Harville attempted to alleviate the gloom that had descended over his friend. "But Anne is also very strong and very brave. And she loves you and your child. She will do all she can to bring that babe into the world. Do not forget that, man."

Looking up, Frederick slowly smiled--a small, hardly noticeable one, but a smile just the same. "Yes, my little one is a fighter. She kept her love for me alive for nearly nine years when I least deserved it. Yes, my Anne has courage."

Just then a loud cry was heard from upstairs, and Frederick leapt from his chair. It was the first time they had heard Anne make a noise since her labor had begun.

"I must see her," Frederick cried urgently, moving to leave the room. But Harville blocked his way. Margaret would have his head if he allowed Frederick to burst into the bedroom like a rampaging bull.

"Frederick, it is not your place to be with Anne at this time," Harville told him firmly. "You must let the women go about their tasks. Just sit down and relax!"

"I cannot," Frederick shot back, pulling Harville aside. In this case he would not be sensible and obedient. Anne would call him stubborn, but it was his nature. He could not remain inactive while she was suffering so.

His booted feet made quick strides up the long staircase. Jane Smith was coming out of the room with a number of soiled linens over her arm, a look of discouragement plainly written on her face.

"Jane," Frederick gasped out, leaning over her. "What is wrong? Is Anne all right? You must tell me."

Jane attempted to paste a look of confidence on her face but it was of no use. Captain Wentworth's dark eyes were boring into her like twin coals. She could not keep it from him.

"Anne is having a difficult time," she gently told him, her honest words biting into his faithful heart. "And she is growing weak. It is difficult for her to push as she must."

"I must go to her," Frederick said, with the same urgent tone he had used with Harville. "Please! I must make certain she knows I am there. That she is not alone."

"Captain, a birth is hardly a fit place for a husband," Jane remarked weakly, knowing that she was going to have to come up with a better response than this. The captain was a man one did not refuse. "She is being cared for by those around her. "

Then came another cry, this one weaker and full of pain. The very sound of it ripped through Frederick's chest, and he carefully moved Jane out of the way.

Frederick could bear it no longer and he immediately threw open the door.

"Captain, what on earth are you doing in here?" Margaret Harville exclaimed, wiping Anne's damp forehead with a cool cloth. She looked utterly shocked. This was not what she had expected from the captain. "You must leave the room at once!"

But Frederick had no patience for decorum or manners at that moment. He only knew his wife needed him at that moment and nothing would stop him from being with her.

Without a word to Margaret, he quickly drew up the empty chair beside their bed and saw how exhausted Anne was. Jane was right. Anne was spent, utterly depleted of strength as she lay back against the pillows, her face red and damp from her exertions. All the life in her body seemed to have left it and she was breathing in short, weak breaths.

"Anne," he murmured, taking her hand in his. "Darling, it's me. It's Frederick. "

She opened her eyes and with difficulty, looked up at him in dazed wonder. "Frederick," she breathed. "You...should not...be here..."

Nurse Rooke, stationed at the foot of the bed to see to the baby's progress, cracked a knowing smile. "Yer wife's smarter n' you, Cap'n. Tis' no place for a man to be. Ye ought to be raisin' a toast of brandy wi' Cap'n Harville or takin' a smoke."

Margaret shook her head reluctantly. "I suppose we shall have to let him stay, Nurse Rooke. But he shall have to face the possible consequences of his actions. I recall the time they allowed Sarah Dalton's husband Charlie to attend his wife's first childbed. Sarah shouted at him the entire time and swore better than any sailor I ever heard. Even to this day, Charlie turns bright red when he recalls it."

Anne would normally have laughed, but another overwhelming wave of pain spasmed through her body and she yelped aloud, rising up from the pillows as it rippled over her. Why had no one told her how painful it would be?

"The 'eads comin, lass," Nurse Rooke announced, grabbing a clean, white towel from Margaret. " 'ere comes now...don't push yet....soon though..."

Frederick saw the agony on his wife's face and squeezed her hand tightly. "Darling, just grasp my hand when you need to...hold onto me. Let me be your anchor this time. You're so strong, my love. So very brave...."

Falling back on the bed, her eyes clouded with pain, Anne let out a heavy breath and looked up at her husband. "Captain, I do not feel...very brave...I'm afraid, Frederick," she confessed in a whisper.

"You are my little Amazon, remember?" he softly reminded her, brushing the damp curls from her forehead. "You felled a grown man with a poker, my love. Have you forgotten? I have not. That look on your face. That steely determination to stay alive. Don't give up yet, Anne. Not yet!"

Then another contraction came and she pressed down on his hand, her weak shout of pain echoing through the room. Jane Smith re-entered the room and brought in some ice wrapped in a thin cloth. She gave it to Frederick and instructed, "If you must stay, help cool her down, captain. This should help."

Frederick immediately did as he was told. She was so tired, so weak from all the pushing and straining she had already done. How could she continue to do so, he wondered. Could her poor body endure another moment?

Margaret was looking at him intently and whispered, "Talk to her! Keep talking to her! It is helping, I promise!"

Frederick, an internal mass of knotted nerves, held his wife's hand and slowly kissed each tense finger. "Don't give up, Anne! Just think...our little one is almost here! Just a little more, a little longer..."

Suddenly Nurse Rooke ordered, "Now push, Miss Anne, push hard!"

Eyes shut, Anne's head rolled on the pillows in defeat. She could not do it. There was nothing left inside of her to do what they were asking her to do. She had no strength left to push.

"I cannot....I cannot....do it!"

With a sinking heart, Frederick knew that she was losing strength, was giving up. She could not give up now. Not when they were so close to the end.

Then Nurse Rooke crooned, "Imagine ye're pushin' your galoot of a man out o' yer bed, miss. Give 'im a great push, do! Just like that!"

If the room were not so tense at that moment, Frederick would have howled with laughter. But he could see where the wise woman was headed with her line of talk.

"Do as she says, Anne," he insisted, leaning over her. "Remember when we were anchored off the peninsula? And I would not get out of bed that morning? I kept pushing you away. You literally pushed me onto the floor! Remember? I still have the knot on my shoulder to prove it!"

Through the haze of her weariness and pain, Anne smiled faintly and nodded. "Oh yes...you were...to meet with Admiral Bentley that day...you nearly...missed the meeting."

"But you got me out of bed," Frederick reminded her, glancing up at Margaret and Jane, who were giving him their silent support. "You are a lioness when you choose to be, Anne. Take hold of my hand and push, darling! Let it go! Just one more and it will all be over!"

The words were the catalyst Anne needed at that very moment. A spark lit in her hazel eyes and she bit down on her lip, gripping Frederick's hand so hard that he could feel her nails biting deep into his palm.

His dark eyes locked with hers and between them an energy, an emotion silently passed between them that had come from ten years of loving, ten years of commitment to each other, of survival and sacrifice.

And then her shout filled the room.

"Frederick!!!!!"

A held breath, a rush of life, a flurry of feet and hands...and then an infant's lusty cry shattered the room. And a life was begun.

Within minutes, Nurse Rooke and Margaret had gently cleaned off the baby and were wrapping the squirming infant in the cashmere shawl that Frederick had given Anne. And both women were beaming like candles.

"Tis' a healthy little girl, Anne," Margaret murmured happily, a limp curl hanging over her cheek. "And blessed with her Papa's dark eyes."

Anne lay limp against the pillows, unable to move or speak. She was totally spent, her energy having been fused from her body to the child. She felt boneless, without form or blood. But her eyes could slowly turn to meet her husband's, which blazed forth a love so intense that she was nearly blinded by it.

"My little baggage," he breathed, still unable to grasp it. His dark hair was hanging over his high forehead as he kissed her, blessing her mouth, reverencing her as the mother of his newborn child. "Our little girl has come, thanks to you! Are you all right, Anne?"

"Yes, Captain," she assured him. "Weary..but quite well."

"Would you like to hold your little girl, Captain?" Margaret asked softly, a hush having fallen over the room, as if an angel had been present.

Without a word, Frederick carefully took the soft, green bundle into his strong arms. The women's hearts were touched at the sight of the tall, strong naval officer who held the baby so carefully, so gently, as if she were made of fine porcelain. As if she were a precious treasure meant for careful tending.

"Is she all right?" he asked in a hushed voice. "For having come so soon?"

Nurse Rooke proudly told him, "She's right as rain she is, although her'll be small like her ma. Don't think ye'll mind that, though."

Frederick's heart was in his eyes as he looked down at his infant daughter, who was gazing up at him with a look of utter awe. No doubt she could not truly see him yet, he mused. But in that moment Captain Frederick Wentworth's heart bonded with the tiny girl he held. And that bond would hold throughout their lives.

"Is she...beautiful?"

Anne's weak voice brought her husband back to reality. Beaming like the proud father he was, Frederick assured his wife that she was indeed a beauty.

"If you mean to ask does she resemble her mother, the answer is yes," he softly said, his deep voice hoarse with wonder. Kissing the tiny forehead so near to his heart, he stared at his daughter. "Dropped from heaven itself, she is."

Nurse Rooke, who was washing her hands and straightening the linens, asked with her usual frankness. "What will ye name her, Miss Anne?"

Before anyone could speak, Margaret glanced at the elegant mantle clock ticking above the fireplace. "My goodness, it is ten minutes after midnight! Tis' Christmas day!"

Anne, in her surprise, happened to catch a bit of movement from the corner of her drooping eye. She turned slowly toward the bedroom window and her eyes widened in shock.

"Merry Christmas, my love," a sweet, familiar voice whispered.

It was the image of her mother, her beautiful eyes glittering with delight as she hovered there, her image blurred by the moonlight. She smiled and then in the blink of an eye, was gone.

"Bethany," Anne finally whispered, knowing in her heart that in this one matter she must have her say. "We shall call her Bethany...after my mother...Elizabeth..."

"What a lovely name," Jane murmured, remembering fondly the woman who was the inspiration for it. "Do you not think so, Captain?"

Frederick, still holding his infant daughter, was looking at his wife with an expression akin to something holy. He was still in awe of what had taken place. It seemed a miracle, this woman, this child. Had Joseph felt like this in that tiny stable years ago in Bethlehem?

"After the name Anne," he quietly said, his eyes not leaving his wife's. "I think it the loveliest name on earth."

Part 34

Katrina sat up in bed with a start, her eyes frantically searching the darkness. Had she heard it? Or was she dreaming again? Yes, she must be dreaming...

Lying back against the soft pillows, Katrina laughed at herself inwardly. Did illness make one prone to fits of nerves? Her mother had always been the one with the keenest ears in the Wentworth family. Edward had sworn that his mother could hear him whenever he attempted to steal a cookie from the kitchen, even if she was outside talking to a neighbor at the garden gate.

Then she heard it again and the smile vanished from her face in the darkness. Listening carefully, she waited for it. The sound that had startled her from her sleep moments ago. It was no figment of her fertile imagination. It was real.

A whimper, low and almost inaudible, came from her dressing room. Almost like the sound of a small animal caught in a trap.

Alarmed, Katrina looked about her for the pink silk dressing gown Lady Stenning had bought for her. Her maid, Rose, slept in the dressing room lest she need something in the night. Ross had insisted on it upon his departure, because her room was at the far end of the house, away from his mother and Elise's rooms.

"Perhaps Rose is ill," Katrina thought with anxiety. "She has been so kind in attending to me. I must go to her."

In reaching for her robe, Katrina's nimble fingers brushed the sgian dubh that had somehow found its way out from under the pillow. A fine beam of moonlight fell through the curtains on the small, silver blade and it gleamed softly there. Katrina's eyes softened as she regarded it. After pulling her arms into the warm robe, she impulsively swept up the knife and dropped it into her pocket. Had not Ross told her to keep it close at all times?

The noise came again, half strangled and weak. Katrina wondered if her imagination were running wild after all. Was she hearing something down below? Or was it Lady McGrath's Pomeranian, Jozef? The tiny pet occasionally got loose of his mistress and was prone to wandering about.

No doubt that was what she heard, Katrina surmised as she carefully slid out of the bed. Jozef had likely wandered into the hall and was lost.

Katrina moved carefully across the carpet, her steps slow and a bit unsteady. She had only left her bed a few times since her illness, at the insistence of her doctors. As a result, it took some time to negotiate across the room to the dressing room door.

"I am like a doddering old lady," she told herself with a half smile.

All was quiet in the house. And outside the Square was empty below.

Katrina's hand felt in the darkness for the doorknob to her dressing room. Odd, it was usually kept open a fraction lest she should call out for Rose. Why was the door shut?

Then she heard a voice saying in a hushed, strident whisper, "Be quiet, girl, or I shall give you something to cry about!"

Katrina's fingers went still and she did not move. Someone was in the dressing room with Rose. Someone who meant her harm and was waiting for the proper moment to enter her room.

It could only be Lawrence McGrath, she realized, who was on the other side of that door. And he was likely tying Rose up to keep her quiet! It was the only explanation.

She quickly moved back from the door, her mind frantically grasping at what she must do. Rose might be killed if she tried to interfere. Could she safely leave the room and raise help? Would they arrive in time?

Katrina moved toward her bedroom door, her legs shaky with emotion and weakness. She had to find help. There was no telling what Lawrence might do to Rose. Or to her when he discovered she was not asleep.

Then to her horror, Katrina heard the sound of the dressing room door opening behind her and a quiet voice say, "You may stop where you are, Miss Wentworth."

Katrina obeyed, not moving another step. It was too late. She had been found out. And she must pay the consequences for it. What did he intend to do to her? How had he found her?

Slowly, she turned about to face her assailant, knowing full well who it was that stood amid the shadows. How often had she sketched that face in hopes of capturing it perfectly on paper? She knew it better than her own, every line, every angle. Perhaps better than Lawrence himself.

He was not quite as tall as Ross but they shared similar features, she thought to herself, despite the fear that nearly caused her to tremble. The look of confident disdain on his face, however, was totally alien to Ross' personality.

And how oddly disturbing it was to face the man who had eluded her for so long and to hear his voice.

"I apologize for disturbing your sleep, Miss Wentworth," Lawrence spoke with the same quiet assurance he had spoken with before. "But I could no longer deny myself the honor, nay...the privilege of making your acquaintance. I felt it my sincerest duty to meet the woman who had changed my life so irrevocably."

Katrina stared at him as he moved out of the shadows and into the moonlight, the silvery glow catching the blond highlights in his tousled hair. His eyes were not blue like Ross' but they were as expressive. She could see the lines of dissipation under them, the creases about his mouth. Although younger than Ross by five years, he looked older from the years of drinking and gambling he had enjoyed.

If she were not so frightened, Katrina might have laughed at the absurdity of his speech and manner. Lawrence spoke as if he were attending a high society ball, rather than attempting to abduct a young woman from her very bedroom.

"How....did you know where I was?" she asked plainly, not even bothering to pretend that she was not aware of his detective work. "What have you done to Rose?"

"Sir Paul has ears and eyes all about our fair city, my dear," Lawrence drawled elegantly, taking another step forward. "For all his foppish manners, he knows every dabbler in the arts for miles. And he especially took notice of you and your fine hand at drawing. Who would not? It was not difficult for me to ascertain the rest. And your maid is quite well, merely unable to exit her room at present."

Katrina watched as he took his time, enjoying his effect on her. Standing on the thick rug, Katrina felt her limited strength beginning to wane. She longed to sit down, to hold onto a nearby chair for support. But he must not see that. No, he must not know how weak she truly was.

"Even I could not have planned it better," Lawrence said with a soft laugh. "To find that my brother was in love with the one woman who could have my freedom taken away at the sweep of her hand. How terrifically ironic! I must tip my hat to him for that flourish. I admire him greatly for it. Shakespeare could not have approached his flair in this case."

Frozen to where she stood, her mouth dry with fear, Katrina stammered, "He...he had no idea...that I had sketched you...and I had no idea...you were his brother!"

Nodding, Lawrence watched her with interest. He had discovered from Sir Paul's sources that the Wentworth girl had nearly died of pneumonia in the last few weeks. She was pale and thin as a phantom, as ethereal as the moonlight that he stood in. But he could see something oddly beautiful and brave in her large blue eyes. Something he could not quite understand or describe. It was alien to his entire character.

"That is what makes this story so utterly a comedy," Lawrence remarked languidly, seeing what it was that held his brother spellbound. "You honestly thought you were doing that fool Richard Shelton a favor, crown and country and all that rubbish. Little did you know you were destroying Ross' own brother, fool that Ross is."

Katrina knew that if she could only keep talking to him, she might find a way to distract him. Discover a way in which she might run from him. Run, she thought with regret. She could barely walk! He would have her within moments. And who knew what he might do to Rose?

"Your brother is no fool, sir." she carefully remarked. "And I think you know that all too well. He has no desire to see his younger brother sent to prison."

But her words fell far short of their intent. Lawrence's lip curled derisively as she spoke. "No desire to see me hang from the gallows, you say? In that you are wrong. That paragon would as soon see me in hell than help me. Do you not think I heard him praised throughout our youth? He was always the best at everything he did. Everything he touched turned to gold, prospered. I never made the mark, never came close to pleasing our parents as he did. But then again he IS the Marquis, and I merely a bothersome younger son."

Katrina did not speak at once. It was clear to her that Lawrence had never truly loved anyone but himself and blamed his problems on everyone else around him. There was nothing one could do to alter a character so intractably set. How Lady McGrath's heart must have ached to see her son so lost to reason or love.

"That does not give you the right to steal from others," she finally said, not caring if he would grow angry at her words. She had nothing to lose now. He had come to London to seek his revenge on her. "It is wrong. And surely you must have known you would be found out?"

"I have always managed to remain one step ahead of those who would cut short my livelihood," Lawrence answered, "Until now, that is."

Lawrence watched her, almost wishing he did not have to kill this little woman with the large, innocent blue eyes and skillful hand. It was truly a pity. He would have enjoyed seducing her away from Ross, had he the time and the patience. How delightful that would have been. But fate had dealt him a different hand.

"This game grows tiresome," he abruptly said, the smile vanishing from his face instantly. "If you do as I say, you shall not be harmed, your maid will be found safely in the morning, and no one will be disturbed."

As he stepped forward to take hold of her arms, Katrina reacted by sudden inclination. She let her body go completely limp and fell back, knowing Lawrence would immediately pick her up into his arms.

"Folded like a house of cards," she heard him murmur under his breath in surprise. "How easy she has made it for me. Almost too easy."

But Lawrence would take nothing for granted. He lifted her up carefully into his arms, noting how light she was. The bootboy, Robert, had been right. She was as small as a child. Now he had only to return down the servants' hall and make his way out the back door, as he had entered. A few shillings to Robert had gained him entrance. It had been the easiest job he had performed yet.

Katrina, still in her pretend faint, lay limp in his hold, but her mind was racing to think of what she must do next. Perhaps when they were in the kitchen she could scream. Did Cook sleep nearby? She did not know but she hoped so. He could not take her off into the night like this!

Once out in the long corridor, Lawrence managed to close the door behind him so no one would know she had been abducted unless they entered the room the next morning. All was quiet in the hallway and he knew everyone was asleep.

He had almost reached the door that lead below to the servants' stairway when the hallway was suddenly blazing with lights.

"Stop where you are, Lawrence," Ross' strong voice rang out loud and clear. "You are not taking her anywhere!"

Utterly shocked, Katrina remained in her pose of unconsciousness, knowing that do otherwise might endanger Ross at that moment. She only knew an inner sweet relief that he had come in time. He had been watching over her exactly as he had promised.

"Give her to us, McGrath," Richard's voice echoed with equal strength. "It is no use. The house is surrounded by soldiers. There is no escape for you. Let the girl go."

Lawrence laughed out loud, the sound of it almost fiendish, so that Katrina's blood ran cold. "So you have come to rescue your little princess, eh, brother? With your backstabbing friend in tow? Did you honestly believe I would simply hand her over to you and Shelton? You are almost more soft in the head than I imagined. How sad that you must ruin our pleasant little family reunion! If only dear mother were here..."

Katrina's heart beat fast, wondering what on earth was taking place. Did Lawrence plan to kill her in front of Richard and Ross? Was he so black-hearted, knowing he would be apprehended at once? She could feel a pistol resting beneath his coat, within easy reach. Yes, he could do so quite easily and think nothing of it.

"Lawrence, Katrina has done nothing to you," Ross was saying quietly, trying to reason with him. She was lying so still in Lawrence's arms. Had he drugged her? "She had no knowledge of your identity until her sketches had been taken to France. If you bear a grudge, it is against me. Fight this thing fairly. Do not involve her in this."

"You always were one to play the peacekeeper," Lawrence retorted angrily. Katrina's head rested on his chest and she could feel the blood pumping through his wiry body. He was like a keg of dynamite waiting to explode. "Do not think you have me fooled. I have no intention of letting you sail off into the sunset with your beloved while I am rotting in a French prison!"

Then everything happened at once. In a blur of images and sounds that would remain etched in Katrina's memory for a lifetime.

There was a sudden shout in the hallway, the sound of Sophy's scream. The piercing sound of it startled Katrina into action and she leapt out of Lawrence's arms, rolling onto the carpet.

"You little hellcat!" he swore, lunging for her, sparks flying from his eyes.

"Stay away from her!" Ross shouted, drawing out his pistol. But to Katrina's horror, Lawrence had already drawn his out and was aiming at his brother's heart! And there was nothing she could do to stop him.

Then, as Katrina lay helpless on the ground, she watched as Richard Shelton ran forward in front of Ross as Lawrence fired the gun, taking the bullet at nearly point blank range. His face twisted in agony, his eyes falling on Katrina in a silent plea for help, for understanding.

As Richard fell forward, Katrina suddenly remembered the dagger in her pocket. She had to stop Lawrence before he fired again and hurt someone else.

Frantically searching, she grabbed the knife from her pocket and drove it as hard as she could into Lawrence's leg. He howled in agony and crumpled like a paper doll, collapsing on top of Richard's fallen form. Within moments, the Admiral was taking him in hand and the house was in chaos.

The rest came in a blur. Katrina, resting against the wall as she lay on the floor, was staring down at the two men, unable to believe what had just happened. Ross was lifting her up in his arms, muttering her name in disbelief and joy. But it seemed as if it came from a great distance. As if she were miles away and it were happening to someone else. She could only hear the sound of Lawrence groaning, holding his calf and swearing.

"You're safe, my fairy, I've got you now," Ross murmured, holding her so tightly against him that he feared she might break. He had nearly lost her. It had been that close. Had they not arrived in time, Ross had no doubt that Lawrence would have taken her from London and killed her.

The house was soon swarming with activity. The soldiers were filling the corridor. The police had arrived. Sophy and the Admiral were trying to calm Lady McGrath and Lady Stenning. Lord Stenning was seeing to the maid, Rose. Elise was trying to keep the servants quiet and keep the neighbors from wandering into the house.

But in another part of the house, there was a little haven of peace and quiet behind the doors of Lady McGrath's sitting room. A fire was blazing in the hearth and a strong, brave Scotsman was holding his dearest treasure close to his heart. Silently praying his thanks to God that his beloved's life had been spared yet again.

Katrina lay cradled in Ross' arms, her long chestnut hair flowing over her shoulders. She had been given some laudanum to make her sleep, to dull the shock. And she clung to the only man who had ever made her feel truly safe. The shock of the night's events would take time to fade.

Only the sound of Ross' heartbeat beneath her cheek assured Katrina that she was no longer in danger, that Lawrence was not going to abduct her.

"Is Rose safe?" she eventually asked, fear still lurking in her voice. She had to know that the young girl was all right.

"Lord Stenning has taken care of her," Ross assured her gently. "She was not harmed in any way. She is quite all right, I promise."

"Did I...did I kill Lawrence?" she finally asked, her large blue eyes looking up at Ross for the answer.

"No, Titania, but you did wound him enough to keep him from ever thinking of leaving us," Ross answered, amazed that she was not weeping or screaming in a fit of hysterics. Katrina never ceased to surprise him. "I had no idea that my gift would serve such a useful purpose when I gave it to you. You saved my life, my fairy."

But that did not concern her. "Richard is dead," she spoke slowly, as if she knew it must be so. No man could take a bullet at that range and survive. And it was her fault. He had done it for her. And Ross.

"Yes," Ross murmured, his mouth resting briefly on her forehead as if to ease the blow. There was no other way to tell her, to change the truth. "He saved my life tonight. And yours."

They were both silent for a long, painful moment, to recognize the enormity of what had taken place that night. Katrina felt a slow, dragging agony in her soul at the realization of what had been lost. Never in a thousand years could she have imagined matters taking such a terrible turn.

"He was a good man, Ross, despite what you may think," she finally said, her words soft yet quietly strong. "I know you blame him...for what happened to me. And yes, he was wrong to keep it all a secret. But it was not his intention to do me harm. Or you. Richard...was caught up in circumstances beyond his control. And I do not think he ever forgave himself for it."

His arms drew her even more closely to him as her words penetrated Ross' mind. How wise she was in this, he thought with awe. And she was right. Richard Shelton had not been the same man since Katrina's illness. He had given himself over to finding Lawrence and seeing justice served. And the cost had been the forfeiture of his own life. It had been too high a price.

"For a woman who claims to have grown up sheltered and limited," Ross quietly told her, "You see more clearly than anyone I have ever known, my love. You are quite right. I owe Richard a great debt, one I can never repay. He stepped in front of a bullet to save my life. And he made certain you were not harmed. For that I shall never forget him."

The laudanum was winning the war with Katrina's desire to stay awake and her long, dark eyelashes began to fluttered tiredly. Ross wanted to take her back to her room but as he started to rise to do so, Katrina's soft whisper halted him. The firelight was flickering in her eyes and he was spellbound by the unspoken request that lay there.

"Please...don't take me back in there, Ross," she pleaded gently. "I...I cannot bear...to go back into the darkness again. Can we not...stay here? For just...a little while?"

Ross felt something inside of him give way...crashing, shouting, melting. She had fought so hard to be brave, to be strong in the face of such evil. He could not be so cruel as to deny her simple request. No matter what convention demanded, Ross could not do it this night. He had almost lost her, the one woman who had made him live again. Inside the core of his heart, Ross knew he needed her closeness with equal certainty.

"I will not leave you, my sweet charmer," he assured her, kissing her mouth with a lingering warmth. "That I promise."

As if somehow she knew, Sophy came into the room with the silence of a ghost, another blanket over her arm. She could instantly see that her sister could not be left alone tonight. And that Ross McGrath had no intention that she would be.

She handed the blanket over to Ross and quietly whispered, "Tis' Christmas day, Major. I can think of no better gift to give my sister than to have her sleep undisturbed. Watch over her and wake me or Lady McGrath if you need us."

Upon seeing the thanks in his eyes, Sophy silently left the room and Ross stroked Katrina's cheek softly, his sterling gray eyes unable to leave her. Her soft breath blessed his neck as she slept, her small body nestled against his. No one would divide them tonight. No, they would not.

After carefully covering them both with the blanket, Ross settled back into the large chair to watch over the woman that had saved his life yet again. And to ponder the events that had altered their lives forever.

Chapter 35

oss entered the large hallway of his mother's home, taking off his hat and gloves with a sigh. Harper was hovering nearby to take them from him, as well as his many-tiered greatcoat.

"May I have Royce bring you a hot drink, Major?" the elderly man asked solicitously. "Tis' right cold out today."

"Yes, please," Ross agreed, shaking some stray snow flakes from his flaming hair. "Is my mother at home, Harper? Lady Stenning?"

"She, your aunt, and Mrs. Croft have gone out to visit friends," he remarked. "But Miss Elise wished to see you when you arrived home. She is in the study, sir, awaiting your return."

Ross nodded. "Thank you, Harper. And have a drink prepared for Miss Elise as well. She will surely want one."

Ross strode down the hall to open the doors to the well-appointed study that had once been his father's. Elise was curled up on the sofa, leafing through a ladies' fashion review. She smiled as she looked up, lighting up her face.

"Ross, you're home at last. I do hope you have good news for us," she spoke quietly, putting the magazine aside.

"I am afraid I do not," Ross told her, coming to join her on the sofa. "I have just come from Newgate. Lawrence is being held there at His Majesty's pleasure for the time being. He shall be tried in a few weeks, when the Regent has returned from Spain."

Elise's green eyes widened in surprise. "Newgate! Did you see him, Ross?"

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Ross shook his head. "I was told that Lawrence refuses to see anyone, especially me. His leg wound is healing, they tell me. Other than that, he is holding up as best he can in a hole like Newgate. Tis' not fit for man nor beast."

"What will they do to him, Ross?" Elise asked frankly, as was her nature. She had never been one to mince words with him. "Will he be hanged, do you think?"

Ross regarded his cousin with equal honesty. "I do not know, my dear. As much as I hate what Lawrence has done, it is a fate I should not wish on anyone. At this point, I am of the belief he will be transported to France to be tried there as well. They will likely imprison him for life. I have my thoughts that the Regent would like to deliver Lawrence up to them in payment for the loss of their art treasures. Relations between England and France are tenuous at best. He doesn't want to tip the delicate balance."

Elise shivered at his words. Lawrence was also her cousin, despite the fact she knew him little. He had always tried to frighten her as a child, had been spiteful to her. She had little affection for him. But torture of any kind was abhorrent to her spirit.

Seeing her reaction, Ross regretted his words. "It is not for you to concern yourself with," Ross reminded her. "He has put himself where he is and must face the consequences. There is nothing that can be done for him now. It is out of our hands."

Elise nodded, thinking of how his words applied to so many things. It was two weeks since the fateful night that had changed their lives. Richard had been buried five days ago at his estate in Devon. Admiral Croft had returned to his nautical conference yesterday, no longer able to delay it. Mrs. Croft, at Lady McGrath's insistence, had chosen to stay with Katrina and to be close to her husband.

The one ray of sunlight amid all the tragedy had been the announcement of the newest Wentworth, Bethany Katrina. Captain Wentworth's epistle on the matter had been full of superlatives about the baby. So as one life had ended, another yet began. How odd life was at times, Elise mused. One never knows what is looming ahead!

"Did Dr. Sargent come to look after Katrina?" Ross asked, eager to change the subject. "I did not see his carriage outside."

"Indeed, he spent a good amount of time with her," Elise assured him. "He said that she is improving, but slowly still. That cough she tries to hide bothers him, but it is natural in a case of pneumonia for a cough like hers to linger. It will take time for her to regain her strength. And...to fully recover from the shock of what she has experienced."

Ross knew all too well that this was true. Katrina, while she assured everyone she was quite well, was much too quiet for his liking. She did not wish to talk of the events of Christmas Eve or the days preceding it. He had not forced the issue for he knew she needed patience and time to heal.

At the same time, Ross fretted over her silently. She had changed, of that he had no doubt. She no longer smiled or laughed easily. And he would at times catch her staring out the window as if in search of answers she could not find. He sensed that she was carefully building a wall round her heart to protect herself from being hurt again. She grieved inwardly, keeping her feelings locked away from everyone.

Only yesterday Elise had brought her a new sketch pad in hopes that it might animate her spirits. But Katrina had refused it, with her polite thanks. "I cannot bear to touch it," she had said. "I am not certain that I ever shall again."

Only Lady McGrath seemed to understand how to go about talking to her. She would come to Katrina's rooms and sit with her for a short while, talking of innocuous matters and sharing news of home and friends. Ross had watched in wonder as his mother made Katrina smile for the first time in five days.

"You must not rush her, my boy," Lady McGrath had simply said. "She has had a great shock and it will take time, much time, for her to recover from it. Go about her gently and you shall not go wrong."

He has requested Dr. Sargent to visit in hopes of gaining his approval to take Katrina to Scotland to visit Castle McGrath, with Lady McGrath and Elise as well. While Scotland was still in the grip of winter, Ross knew that a change of scene was necessary for her to truly start to put the past months behind her.

"Did he give his approval for us to remove her to Scotland?" Ross asked Elise then, looking up as the footman entered carrying a tray bearing two steaming mugs of negus.

"As long as we take our time traveling, Dr. Sargent was in full agreement with you," Elise told him, grateful for the beverage. "He thinks a departure from London can only do good. London...it has such bad memories for her."

"I am grateful that you are coming with us," Ross spoke warmly, lightly touching her arm. "Katrina needs her friends, those that care for her most, about her now. And that especially includes you."

"As if I would refuse!" Elise reposted, but there was a hint of affection in her tone. "You know I find the Beau Monde a frightful bore at times. I should much rather be in Scotland with you and Aunt Grace than standing up at another ball. You are saving my life, you know."

It was odd, Ross thought with love. Elise always had the ability to cause him to open his heart and let his thoughts spill out. He took a sip of the hot wine and sighed. "I would give my right arm to make her smile again, Elise. To make her truly laugh and feel safe. But I feel so utterly powerless!"

Elise could see the tightly reined frustration in his dark eyes. "Ross, you must not despair. I know you grow weary of hearing it but time is truly the best healer. Once she has time to see that she is safe, that she is loved, that the danger is over...she will bounce back."

"She is so dear to my heart, Elise," Ross murmured, staring into the contents of the mug. "I think I should go mad if I thought I could not do something to make it less painful for her, to make the last months vanish. To bring...Richard back."

Setting down her own mug, Elise watched her cousin with admiration and a hint of sadness. Ross was so accustomed to taking action, to getting things done in a short amount of time. Patience in personal matters had never been his strong suit, despite his diplomatic finesse. Now he was fighting an invisible foe: the ghost of Richard Shelton.

"At times I am almost jealous of him," Ross admitted guiltily. "She took on so at his death. I know she hardly sleeps at night. I am a monster, Elise, to even feel such an emotion. But I long to know what she is thinking, what she is feeling."

"She feels responsible for Richard's death," Elise patiently reminded him. "She had no love for him, Ross. And you are not a monster. You are upset because the woman you love is in pain. And it is a pain you cannot make disappear by doing something or saying something."

Ross took in her words with admiration and with an awareness of their truth. He smiled, shaking off the gloom that had descended over them. "Why is that you have not been snatched up by some wise man, Elise? You are brilliant beyond your years, with eyes that see everything. And with a heart to understand it. Perhaps the English are truly a dimwitted race!"

Shrugging with comedic ease, Elise wiggled her eyebrows at him and he laughed. It was an old trick she had used since their childhood to make him laugh and it always worked. The trick did not fail her now.

"I wonder that myself at times, cousin," Elise remarked, joining in his laughter. It felt good to hear Ross laugh again. And hopefully soon, Katrina would laugh again as well.

Katrina, sitting at a small writing desk in her sitting room, opened up the small journal that Lady McGrath had given her a few days ago. Inking her quill delicately, she smoothed the page and began to write.

"Today is the fifteenth day since it happened. Since Richard died and Lawrence was taken away to prison. And I begin to wonder if my life shall ever return to normal again. Everything seems so very changed. Most of all me."

Katrina paused, considering her words, then began to write again. Perhaps this would not be so difficult after all. She had worried that she would be unable to express herself adequately in words as she did on canvass.

"I wish I could articulate exactly how I feel. But I feel a stranger unto myself. Unto those that surround me. Especially Ross. I see him watching after me when he thinks I do not notice. I see the worry, the concern in those dark eyes that I love so well. How can I explain to him what is happening inside of me, when I do not understand it myself?"

Glancing up from the page, Katrina looked out the window and up into the gray sky above. It had begun to snow again some hours ago and it was thickly falling. She watched the thousands of flakes flying down, and inwardly shivered. Taking up the pen again, she wrote with more speed than before.

"It is as if winter has stolen into my soul and frozen my heart. I feel nothing inside but emptiness, as if something had curled up and died inside of me. It is an intangible silence than I cannot put properly into words. But it has descended over me, turned me into ice that threatens never to thaw. Even the news of the baby, that Anne and Frederick gave the dear babe my middle name, has failed to give me joy.

"Ross tries to make it better, and I adore him for it. But even his arms about me cannot melt the ice that surrounds me. My heart...my soul silently waits for the sun to come out, to melt the thick freeze about me. But it does not come. Spring will not come.

"I only know that something happened that terrible night that has changed everything. I feel older. More weary. More worn. As if any innocence that had been left shading my eyes was torn away. Leaving only questions and a raw wound behind. I fall to my knees, trying to pray. But only silence comes.

"Lady McGrath is such a sweet woman. She comes every day and we chat for a little time. She does not mention Christmas. Or Richard. Or Lawrence. She talks of Castle McGrath. Of her grandchildren. Of some funny story about the tenants. And for a few moments I can forget. I can listen to her and forget that because of me, her son languishes in jail. And Richard Shelton lies dead in a new grave in Devon. For a few moments, it fades into the background and I am free of it."

Pausing, Katrina put down her pen for a moment. She had wanted to go to Richard's funeral, but Dr. Sargent had firmly said "no", as had Ross. She had not been well enough and they feared it would only harm her. How she longed to tell Drusilla how sorry she was, to tell her that her brother had died trying to save Ross' life. Perhaps it was better this way, Katrina mused. Drusilla would not wish to hear a word from me, it is most likely.

Looking out of the window again, she thought of how dismal and gray the world seemed. As if winter would never end.

Just then a sparrow landed on the window sill, its wings fluttering as he hopped about. A slight smile played on Katrina's lips as she watched it, entranced by the flurry of activity one little creature could stir up. Perhaps there was hope that someday...someday soon, this dreadful paralysis that gripped her soul would fade.

A knock at the door caught her attention and Katrina quickly turned from the desk, closing her book as she did so. Elise entered the room then and smiled, looking pleased with herself.

"Tis' all settled, Katrina," Elise announced. "We are going to Scotland! Is that not wonderful news? You shall finally see Castle McGrath."

Conjuring up a smile she did not feel, Katrina nodded at her friend. Yes, perhaps leaving London would be just what she needed. A change of scene. Perhaps she would no longer fear closing her eyes at night for fear of dreaming about Richard and Lawrence.

"Yes....it is wonderful news, Elise. Wonderful indeed."

Chapter 36

rchibald Harville was grinning from ear to ear. And he had every right to.

"Five orders, Frederick. Five orders! Can you believe it? I'll be up to my ears in work for months!"

Frederick winked at his friend as he relit his pipe. Inwardly he was rejoicing. He had not seen his friend so filled with pure delight in months. Harville was so happy, he was nearly falling off of his chair.

"You deserve it, Arch. Now that the war's over, the need for new trading vessels is going to be booming. The demand will only increase. Mark my words."

Harville glanced toward his wife, who was making dining preparations, then back to his friend. "Don't give me all that nattering talk of new demand. I owe most of this to you, Frederick. Three of 'em are from folks you talked to while in London this fall. Owe you a lot, we do."

Frederick merely grinned, pulling on his pipe thoughtfully. "Don't think of it. Probably the only useful work I did in London. You and Margaret were here for Anne when she needed you. That is payment enough. And I'm that fortunate you let me in on the ground floor, you know. I'm looking forward to how it shall turn out come spring."

Margaret Harville bustled about the small dining room, a secret smile on her face. She was no fool. She knew that it was due to the man sitting across from her husband that they were in such good straits. When Archibald's leg injury had forced him to retire from the Royal Navy, she had lain awake nights wondering how they would shift for themselves. Archibald's pension was a small pittance and they had four children now. But with nary a word about it, Frederick had made it possible for them to keep going until this shipbuilding scheme had come about.

Now Harville and a small crew of local men would be building small vessels for trade. With Frederick's backing, word was spreading. In time, it was hoped that they could employ more men. Recovering from the war strain, the community could use the boost.

Margaret secretly hoped that Frederick might consider retiring as well and joining her husband fully in the enterprise. It would keep Anne and the new baby in Lyme, a prospect Margaret fervently wished for.

"Can you stay to supper, Frederick?" Margaret called out as she smoothed out the tablecloth. "Tis' my roast beef t'night, and I know you like it!"

"Many thanks, Margaret, but I'm headed home," Frederick replied from his chair before the fire. "Now that I've two lovely ladies at home I must not be absent long."

Harville laughed, setting aside his own pipe. "You're smitten, that's the truth. I knew this was how it would be. Did I not tell you?"

"Harville, you know I always heed your wisdom," Frederick assured him, stubbling out his own pipe. "For if not for your advice, I should not have a beloved wife and child to return to this night. So for that, I shall always be in your debt."

Riding home, Frederick thought of how truly blessed he was. The committee had granted him time at home with Anne until February. Katrina and Sophy were settled in Scotland with the McGraths. And Anne and Bethany were safe at home in their house by the sea. What more could he wish for?

True, the introduction of an infant into their lives had taken some adjustments. When he had commanded the Palisade, it had been Frederick who had to rise at odd times to make his rounds or attend to a problem. Now it was Anne who arose in the night to see to Bethany or to nurse her. That had taken some getting used to.

While she was only a mere month old, Bethany was a good natured baby thus far. Her routine was still being set. But Anne handled things with her usual calm, gentle demeanor. Frederick especially admired the way she sought out the local women for advice on child rearing, despite the fact the answers she received were often somewhat comical.

Agatha and Martha, however, sometimes came to blows over who would take on some of the nursery duties. They were both, Anne mused with a smile, the most vigilant of mother hens. It was a predicament Frederick was privately grateful for. Despite Anne's words to the contrary, he knew that the birth had weakened her greatly. Tertius had insisted she remain abed for the entire first week, and Frederick had maintained his dictum.

Thanks to a diet of robust foods and mild exercise, Anne was again in good health. True, she often lacked in sleep, but it was something she seemed to happily do without. Motherhood had taken over her life and it was a change she had embraced wholeheartedly.

Something awoke Frederick and he lifted his head with a jerk. For a moment, he could not discern the source. Then another tiny cry came from the nursery. Bethany...

Yawning groggily, Frederick looked over at his wife lovingly. She was, for all intents and purposes, dead to the world and any noise it might make. He knew she had been up several times through the night. It would be a criminal act to awaken her now.

It was nearly dawn, he realized. Rising from the bed, Frederick reached for his thick wool robe and quietly put it on. The moment he had actually hoped for had arrived. He had been hoping to do so since Bethany had been born, but Anne had always insisted he remain in bed.

"You always had to get up at strange hours when we were on the Palisade," she had gently said. "Now it is my turn to keep the watch, Captain."

Frederick carefully closed the bedroom door behind him to walk down the hall to where the new nursery was situated. Normally, Martha would have also been on hand to hear Bethany's cries. But Anne had given her a half day in thanks for her round the clock help over the last month.

Stepping into the cheerfully decorated room, Frederick spied his daughter in her cot immediately. Her hiccuping cries met his ears, and he increased his pace. Hazel eyes, so much like Anne's, met his as he looked down at the wriggling babe.

"All right, man, this is where the rudder meets the water," he said to himself, gathering up his courage.

Gently he lifted Bethany from the cot, careful to hold her neck so as to balance her tiny head, just as Anne had taught him. He had gotten rather good at it over the last few weeks. Agatha had nearly fainted when she had come upon him with Anne in the nursery one day. She held firm the view that men were not to step foot in the nursery, much less tend an infant.

"Tisn't right," she had muttered. "Great big man holdin' a bairn like that. T'isn't right!"

Balancing her carefully, Frederick settled the precious burden against his shoulder. It was a position she seemed to favor these days and Frederick would not go against it. To his awe, the baby's cries abruptly stopped as she nestled against his broad shoulder, another hiccup jolting her.

An entirely unknown feeling stole over Frederick as Bethany sighed happily. A sense of contentment and well-being, of knowing his little girl was no longer unhappy. What a heady feeling, he thought. No wonder Anne so relishes her new tasks when moments likes this happen!

For many years, Frederick had been responsible for the lives of hundreds of men. They had trusted him to lead them as wisely and safely as possible through embattled waters against numerous foes. It was a trust he never took for granted. Yet it had come so naturally, so easily to him.

And now, nestled against his heart, was a tiny, helpless child who was utterly dependent on him. The very thought of it humbled him. And made him love this precious babe all the more.

Bethany gave another small hiccup and Frederick gently rubbed her back as he had seen his wife do. "Shall we have a little music, my angel?" he gently asked. "Yes, your dear Mama would approve, I think."

When would she take her first wobbling steps? Frederick wondered. Or say her first word? In no time at all she would be a young girl as Katrina had been, perhaps hopping from stone to stone across a creek bed. Or quietly sewing a tablecloth as her mother watched her work. And one day Frederick would walk her down a long church aisle and see her married. Pictures flashed through his mind as he hummed.

Some moments later, Anne silently came to stand in the doorway. She watched as the rising sun from the window was falling over Frederick as he held the baby, his large fingers cradling her so capably. A small lump formed in her throat as she watched them. Nothing, not even her most unconscious dreams, could have matched the moment unfolding before her.

Unshaven, rumpled, with that one lock of stubborn dark hair falling over his forehead, Frederick was humming an Irish sea shanty as Bethany fell back to sleep. He looked completely at ease. If only his fellow officers could see him now...

"Frederick, you ought to have wakened me," she finally murmured half-heartedly.

Looking up with a wink, he shook his head. "And missed all this? Not for all the gold in the Azores, little one. Not one coin."

Smiling, Anne stepped into the growing puddle of sunlight that he stood in. "It was kind of you to see to her while I was sleeping the day away," Anne murmured, feeling somewhat guilty.

With a free hand, Frederick brushed her soft cheek with the back of his fingers lightly, a gesture that never failed to make her feel like a giddy school girl all over again. "You've been up half the night, my baggage. And you looked so weary, I could not bear to wake you. Besides, I think even Agatha would be proud of me just now."

Nodding, Anne agreed. "Despite her crustiness, I do believe she would. Although I feel she is still rather upset with me that I did not choose to hire a wet nurse for Bethany."

It was a subject that she and Frederick had not discussed before the birth. There simply had not been time. But it had seemed so natural for Anne to nurse the baby herself. Her own mother, Lady Elliot, had totally gone against tradition and done so. And Anne did not want to be parted from the baby in such a way. She had heard no argument from Frederick on that score, so it had been settled.

Just then Bethany's began to cry, breaking the spell Frederick had managed to weave. He chuckled and looked down at his wife, feeling rather sheepish. "With Mama now present, I fear my presence is no longer desired."

"She's wanting her breakfast is all," Anne assured him, taking the baby from him then. "Go back to sleep now, Frederick. I shall tend to her."

Promptly sitting down in the hand-carved oak rocking chair that Crispin had made for them, Anne began to nurse Bethany, who immediately stopped crying. A soft glow in his dark eyes, Frederick knelt beside the chair. His eyes at first rested on the child but then rose to linger on his wife's face. Her dark chestnut hair was flowing about her shoulders, one soft curl loose against her cheek.

How lovely she is, he thought.

Looking up, Anne blushed. She was not accustomed to Frederick being in the nursery while she fed the baby. It was a rather unsettling feeling at first. But the love in his gaze caused it to fade. There was something in it she had never glimpsed before.

"I've dreamed of seeing you this way," he confessed, his voice raw and tender. "But watching you nurse her...it is so very much more. Do you know how beautiful you look?"

Frederick's words caught her unaware and she blushed again. "Oh Frederick, I look a total fright," she murmured weakly. "My hair is..."

His mouth silenced her then, kissing her soundly into silence. In the last weeks, there had hardly been time for her to think, much less time for kisses. Its warmth renewed and excited her.

"Your hair is quite lovely resting on your shoulders like this," he told her, in that voice he reserved for those special moments when they were alone as they were now. "And the sun on your cheek...you look as if you were about 17 years of age just now."

"You shall spoil me for life," she answered, but her heart was moved. She glanced down at the baby, who was still not satisfied. "Tis' your daughter whom I think shall be the beauty. Is she not lovely?"

"Our daughter," he corrected, eyes dancing. "And yes, she is quite the loveliest little lady I have had the pleasure of meeting. She takes after her mother, I think."

Part 37

Posted on Wednesday, 30 December 1998

"It is like something out of a fairy tale," Katrina murmured with wonder as she stood on the landing above the elegant carved staircase. "Or something from a dream, Elise. How on earth did they accomplish it in so short a time?"

Standing beside her friend as they surveyed the Castle McGrath's Great Hall, Elise nodded with a smile. "The old place shines like a new penny, doesn't she? My grandmother always said there was nothing so grand as a ball at Castle McGrath. I daresay she was not far wrong."

Katrina had no doubt the esteemed lady had been correct. Castle McGrath had been in Ross' family since the 17th Century. At times, she still got lost wandering its many halls. But it was a small price to pay for the change in her spirits since her arrival.

After a month at Castle McGrath, Katrina had come to love the land that Ross called home. She liked the steep hills, the crashing ocean against the cliff walks, and the beautiful woodlands. In some strange way, her soul found comfort in the land. It soothed her by turns and beguiled her with its unexpected flashes of temper and fire. It suited her as nothing had before and gave her solace.

How very different it was from London! Instead of the grime and hustle and bustle, there was peace and clean air, trees and fresh grass. It was another world entirely. Far removed from the Society world she had inhabited briefly. At Castle McGrath, she could be herself and not hide behind a mask.

There were times when she did miss Lyme. She longed to see little Bethany, Anne and Frederick's baby. Apparently, Anne was embracing life as a new mother with great joy. Frederick had nearly filled his letter to her with descriptions of Bethany's every movement and facial expression. But Katrina knew that she was exactly where she needed to be at the moment.

Katrina also enjoyed visiting the nearby village of Grathton on market day. She had managed to make friends with a few of the women there and she had soaked in their stories and wisdom like a sponge. They were no-nonsense women who had learned to take life as it came…one day at a time. For Katrina, it was the only way she could face her own life now.

The Scots were not excessively demonstrative with their affection, Katrina had noticed, but they expressed it in other ways. She often left Katie Shaw's house with a loaf of fresh bread tucked into her basket or a hint of a smile from Annie McBride, a woman raising six children while her husband was sailing on a merchant ship. They did not lead easy lives, these people. But they savored what they had and stoically bore what seemed impossible.

The working poor of Scotland had known hard times. They had often been persecuted and shunned by the English. Who had not heard of the horrid Clearances, brought on by the wealthy landlords who were clearing their land of tenants to bring in sheep instead?

Katrina had been comforted to know that Ross had quietly offered many of those left homeless by the Clearances a new start on McGrath land. The soil was good and farming still provided the lot of the revenue of the estate. Sheep did graze on some of the rockier pastureland but never would they replace people. Ross had made certain of that.

Katie Shaw was one such person, her husband killed in the riots and her only child nearly drown. They had been told to leave their homes by the Duchess of Sutherland, who was eager to bring in sheep to graze her lands. Katie never spoke of it to Katrina, but she knew that she bore deep scars from it.

At the Castle, Ross and his family had made her feel welcome and quite at home. He had taken her round to meet many of his tenants and often drove her to visit the neighboring farms. As she had earlier suspected, they looked up to him and sought his advice on several manners. They were also quite gratified to see him home for good, as they said.

Katrina enjoyed those moments out in the fresh air with Ross. He so evidently loved this land, these people. To hear him talk of them, to see the excitement on his face was a comfort to her soul. She could easily see why he had loved growing up here.

Elise had also been a blessing to her recovery, Katrina knew. Together, they had tramped over many a hill and shared stories and laughter. It had only been in the last week that laughter had begun to return to Katrina's heart. It was slow progress, but they all were overjoyed to see it. It meant she was going to recover.

Still, there were times when Katrina felt haunted by the past. Lawrence remained in prison. No one spoke of him…or Richard. The memory of his last moments alive would come upon her suddenly, like a wave of cold seawater and dash her happiness. Why was he gone? Why did he have to die? For hours she would sit in the windowseat that overlooked the great glen and wonder. And pray for some kind of understanding.

Tonight Lady McGrath was hosting a winter ball for the local gentry and some friends from the lowlands. Katrina was extremely nervous, wondering what they would think of her. Was she good enough for their native son, she wondered? Perhaps she would not stand the test. These people had known Ross since he was a child.

"You look as pale as a ghost, but you need not be," Elise quietly told her, putting her hand on Katrina's shoulder. "They shan't eat you. I won't let them. You've already met many of them. And Ross will be at your side at all times. He won't be able to take his eyes off of you when he sees you."

Katrina smiled faintly at the thought. Poor Ross. He had endured much at her hands. The last weeks had not been entirely easy ones. She had, at times, found herself desperately seeking to be alone, to think and to deal with her memories. As much as Ross loved her, his desire to be with her, to ease her grief, had sometimes struggled with her wish to be by herself. But knowing how much it helped her to deal with her past, Ross had relented and learned patience in the process.

"He has the patience of Job, Elise," she softly confessed. "To endure my taciturn moods and my eccentric wishes. I do not wonder that he has not tossed me out by now. Or his dear mother. How can it be?"

"They both love you," Elise calmly assured her, not swayed by such words. "And you haven't been eccentric in the slightest. You've been through a difficult time, Katrina. They know that. And you're healing. I can see the changes in you. In time, the past will not be so painful for you. But if you rush it, you won't heal properly."

Katrina had to admit that her friend was right. She visited with Lady McGrath often, spending cozy afternoons in her private sitting room. It was also one of the warmest rooms in the castle. She was, to Katrina, a kind companion and source of warmth. And not once did she prompt her to speak of her plans with Ross in the future. Katrina was honored to call her a friend.

Nodding, Katrina took her friend's arm as they moved to go up to their rooms to prepare for the ball. She was going to require Elise's friendship and laughter tonight to sail through this ordeal. For there was yet another obstacle to her joy.

"Is…is Lady Dunworth and her daughter expected tonight?" she asked carefully. It was a question she dreaded to ask but she wanted to be perfectly prepared.

Not surprised, Elise knew the direction of this inquiry. "Alas, they are both coming. Lady Dunworth is one of Lady McGrath's dear friends, as you know. And she could not come without her oh so charming daughter. You know that I dread her presence as well. Do not forget that. She is no favorite here."

Katrina sighed and looked away as they continued on. She was all too aware that Serena Dunworth was more than eager to become the next Lady McGrath. The entire country knew it as well. Katrina wondered if they encouraged the match. With her sparkling green eyes and youthful beauty, the 22-year-old woman was an alluring, much-sought-after partner.

Katrina and Ross had not spoken about marriage at length since Richard's death. He knew she had more than enough emotional issues to deal with. Adding marriage to them was simply too much for her to bear. So no engagement had been announced. But Ross had spoken of it in frank terms that had given her little doubt of his intentions.

"Katrina, I know in time that the wounds you're suffering from will heal," he had told her one afternoon as they stood overlooking the ocean. His finger had traced her cheek lightly.

"The pain will fade in time, my fairy. But I do not wish to pressure you in any way. When the time is right, I know in my heart that we will be man and wife."

Stopping beside her bedroom door, Katrina regarded Elise with sincerity. She must put her own worries aside tonight. "Forgive my missishness, Elise. I am forgetting that tonight is an exciting event for you. To have been asked for two dances already by Sir Ian is certain to have you walking on air. I expect he shall ask for a third."

For a rare moment, Elise was somewhat tongue-tied. She had not had the opportunity to see Ian in five years, since their first meeting at Castle McGrath so long ago. It had been Ross' birthday. Like Ross, Ian was a former soldier and had fought a good deal. He had since returned to his small estate that neighbored the McGrath one and was working to improve the yield of his crops.

But since Elise's return to the Castle, Ian had paid many visits and they had become close friends once more. She knew in her heart that she was starting to feel more than friendly affection toward him now. There was no use in denying it. But it surprised and confused her rational nature by turns.

"He admires and enjoys your company, Elise," Katrina softly told her. "And why should he not? You are no ordinary young woman. And Sir Ian is no ordinary man. That much you must own."

Blushing rosily, Elise nudged Katrina with her slippered foot. "I do enjoy being with him, Katrina. My love of books does not startle him. He makes me feel…truly special. As if everything I say is important to him. And he makes me laugh! He does not mind my peculiar habits."

Nodding, Katrina opened her bedroom door. "He is an excellent man, not to mention indecently handsome. Tis' truly not fair to the rest of us," she remarked with a teasing note in her voice.

Elise laughed out loud, pleased to hear some of the spunk returning to her friend's voice. "You are beginning to take on my wicked habit of speaking frankly, my dear, and I am so enjoying it. Because I agree with you wholeheartedly."

Continued In Next Section