each other on their wedding day, her instincts had prevailed. She had seen something far greater and worth much more than his ancient title, his handsome face, and courteous manners. Richard Wolfe had courage and character. Katrine had chosen well. She knew what his answer would be even before he spoke.
“The man is wounded,” he replied scornfully. “Murder does not sit well with my conscience. I would rather resign my commission than carry out such an order.”
For a long time the two men stared at each other. Cumberland’s handsome, fleshy face was stained a dark red. “Never mind then,” he said stiffly. “I’ll find someone else to do it.” With that he rode away.
Katrine came out from behind the rock. Silently, she positioned her mare beside her husband’s mount and placed her hand over his. She nodded toward the wounded man. “We can’t leave him, Richard. He’ll be killed.”
“He’s dead already,” her husband answered bitterly. “Damn Cumberland’s soul.”
He saw the tears slide down her cheeks, and the anger left him. He smiled reassuringly. In silent communion, they rode side by side until they reached Culloden House. Together they walked through the door and up the graceful, winding staircase into the sunlit room that served as a nursery. Dismissing the servant, they leaned over the cradle where their son lay sleeping.
Richard couldn’t explain the thundering of his heart or the clammy coldness of his hands as he looked down into the face of the child Katrine had borne him. Alasdair Wolfe did not look like an English baby. Long black lashes rested against olive-tinted cheeks. His mouth was like Katrine’s, and the delicate bones of his cheeks and chin promised the slender sharpness of his Celtic ancestors. Just then, the baby’s eyes opened, revealing where the Murray lineage had given way to his own. Long lashes surrounded eyes as true and deeply blue as any Wolfe who had ever lived.
A lump rose in Richard’s throat. This was his child, his son. He was unprepared for the rush of love that swept through him, wiping away the cultivated inhibitions of a lifetime. His mouth opened, but he couldn’t force the words past his lips. For one horrifying moment he felt like weeping, and then Katrine’s hand slipped into his. He looked up to find the strength he needed in her gaze. It would be all right. They were in this together. When the score was settled, he would resign his commission and they would return home to raise their child.
For Richard, the night was too short. Lying next to Katrine for the first time in months, holding her close, breathing in the clean scent of her hair was like a restoring tonic. He didn’t want to waste one precious moment in sleep. But in the end, he succumbed to his exhausted body’s need. His eyes closed, and his breathing deepened into the rhythmic cadence of the unconscious.
Katrine awoke first. It was just before dawn. She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at her husband. His bare chest was tanned, his stomach lean and tight with muscle. He was thinner than she remembered. The golden hair spread across the pillow was bleached almost white from the sun. Something dark and elemental stirred inside of her, something she hadn’t thought about in the long months of her pregnancy and confinement. Regret washed over her. It was too soon after Alasdair’s birth. With a sigh, she pulled the covers over the two of them and nestled against the comforting warmth of his body.
She thought of the baby. Instantly, wet circles dampened her gown. Richard smiled in his sleep and pulled her into a possessive embrace. Burrowing her head against his shoulder, she closed her eyes. Just this once, Alasdair could wait.
The next time she woke, Richard was completely dressed, except for his boots. Katrine watched him as he pulled on the right one first and then the left.
“Were you going to wake me?” she asked.
“I was hoping to return before you noticed I was gone,” he confessed.
Katrine frowned. “I don’t want you to feel as if you must leave anything unfinished because of me, Richard.”
He leaned across the bed and cupped her chin in his hand. “I want us to go home, Katrine. My heart isn’t in this anymore. I’m a husband and a father, not a soldier.”
Her eyes glistened. Of his own free will, Richard was making the commitment she had waited so long to hear. More than anything in the