plants and animals to bring back for him. He understands politics, but only uses that knowledge to do what the Crown wants.'
His uncle nodded thoughtfully. 'Good. And he is not too much under the influence of the Kessian?'
'Von Metternin? He uses the Count as an advisor, but even the Count is in awe of the Prince.'
'This is important, Owen.' His uncle's expression sharpened. 'What did they think of du Malphias' plan to create his own nation?'
'The Prince laughed when I told him. He said it was impossible. Aside from Tharyngia lacking the necessary number of people, Mystria is too large, with too many regions and interests. The Continent would sooner be united than Mystria.'
'Very good.' His uncle smiled quickly. 'And the Kessian's thoughts?'
'He feels the same, as best I know.'
'Good.' Deathridge stood and plucked the book from the mantle. He handed it to Owen. 'Do you know this book?'
Owen ran his fingers over the cover. A Continent's Calling. 'Yes. I used it as a key for coded messages to Prince Vladimir.'
Still standing, Deathridge took up his glass and sipped more whiskey. 'Did you know that the author, Samuel Haste, does not exist? It is a nom de plume.'
'I wasn't aware of that fact.'
'If you knew who had written it, you would tell me, yes?'
Owen nodded despite goosebumps puckering of his flesh. It occurred to him in a flash that the book's true author might be Doctor Frost. I would never betray him. 'Of course. Is there a problem?'
'The document is seditious. Be careful. Do not let Rivendell know you have read it.'
'I won't.'
'One last matter.'
Owen looked up. 'Yes?'
'If Lord Rivendell were to lose his mind and lead the expedition to ruin, do you think Prince Vladimir could take over? Allowing that he would use Count von Metternin as an aide. Would you be able to command troops in his name?'
'Yes, to the first. A conditional yes to the second, since colonels will be commanding the regiments.'
Deathridge smiled coldly. 'I yet have it within my power to do certain things, Owen. Before I leave, I shall write out a sealed order and give it to the Prince. It will grant you a field promotion to General in the event that Rivendell is relieved of command. I will brief the Prince on this matter.'
Owen blinked. 'Are you certain, Uncle?'
'I am. You have to be my man here, Owen. You have to be Norisle's man here. If we fail to deal with du Malphias, our position in the world is compromised. My enemies do not see it that way, but it is quite clear. I know it, and I know their will is such that when adversity strikes, they will withdraw and merely hasten a collapse that never need happen.
'You, Owen Strake, have seen the evil that is Guy du Malphias. It falls to you to eliminate him. It is our family duty to thusly serve the Crown.'
Owen shook his head as if to clear it. Is this truly my uncle?
He knew there had to be more going on than he was seeing. Before he could even begin to puzzle it out, his uncle set the whisky down and extended his hand. 'I must be leaving.'
Owen stood and shook his hand. 'But I thought… Dinner?'
'One last ruse, and you will understand.' Deathridge smiled curiously. 'You will still have dinner, and you will enjoy the company.'
Deathridge exited to the foyer. Owen made to follow, but a voice from behind, from the dining room, stopped him. 'Owen.'
He turned, his heart instantly in his throat. There she stood, perfect and smiling, a gown of white reminding him of the day they wed. 'Catherine!'
She flew to him and he gathered her into his arms. She clung to him, burying her face against his chest, her body wracked with sobs. She grabbed handfuls of his coat. She seemed so small and delicate. All he could do was hold her and stroke her hair.
'Shhhhh, nothing is wrong, beloved.'
She pulled back and looked up, her cheeks wet. 'I thought I had lost you.'
'No, darling, no.'
'Owen, I sent you from me and then when you were hurt, when you almost died. It was my fault. I had hurt my husband, my love.'
'Hush. I am fine.'
'You don't know, Owen. But for the kindness of your Uncle Richard, I should have been undone.' She stroked his face, holding it in both hands. 'It really is you, isn't it?'
He smiled and turned his face to kiss her palms each in turn. 'You never lost me. You never came close to losing me.'
'Oh, you are such a frightful liar.' She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his breastbone. 'Your uncle, too. He would not tell me how close to death you were, not for the longest time. But I was inconsolable, Owen. I love you so much.'
He tipped her head up, then kissed her. She melted into his arms, her hands running beneath his jacket, holding him tightly. She broke the kiss, then kissed his chest. 'I thought I should never have you in my arms again.'
'I am here, now, Catherine.'
'Yes, you are.' She pulled back and took both his hands in hers. She led him into the hallway and deeper into the apartments. On the left, toward the back, she brought him into a bedroom and bade him sit on the bed. She knelt and tugged his boots off, then stripped him of hose.
'Your uncle brought me to Mystria because I could not bear to be without you. He said nothing of my passage on the packet boat to surprise you. I had to go with him, of course, since it would not do for me to be left alone on a troop transport. You soldiers can be such a randy lot.'
Owen stared at her. 'If one of them touched you…'
'Calm yourself, Owen. None of them did, beloved. None of them touched me as you have, as you will.' She peeled his coat off him and slowly unbuttoned his waistcoat. Both of them she deposited on a spindly chair, pausing then to kiss him again and press herself to him. Smiling, she unbuttoned his shirt, teasing, kissing exposed flesh.
His hands rose to hers, stopping her halfway.
'There are new scars, Catherine.'
'They are part of you, husband, so I love them.' She opened his shirt and shivered, but just for a moment. Her smile grew wide again. She leaned in and kissed the bullet wound on his left flank.
Owen gasped. Until the heat of her kisses flowed into his flesh, he had not realized how alone he felt. Part of his captivity had remained with him, grown out of the dreams where Catherine held herself apart. She had feared losing him, and deep down, he had feared losing her. One kiss, a kiss which was but the harbinger of many more, was enough to banish that fear.
Sinking to her knees in a rustle of linen, Catherine unbuttoned his breeches and stripped him naked. She ran her hands from his waist along his thighs, her thumbs brushing over his bullet wounds, her fingers tracing the splinter scars on his hip. Her breath warmed his skin as she kissed the wounds on his thighs.
She looked into his eyes. 'I have missed you so, Owen, you cannot know my agonies, my fears.' She kissed his flesh again. 'But now they have all evaporated.'
He drew her to her feet. He began to fuss with the knotted lacings of her gown, but she pushed his hands away. She gathered pillows on the bed and directed him to lay against them, kissing him once, then pressing a finger to his lips.
She loosened the ties that bound her into her gown and let the dress slip to the floor. She was as he remembered her, slender with full breasts and large nipples. He smiled, and she blew out the bedside candle. Then she slid onto the bed and straddled him.
Catherine unfastened her hair. It cascaded down about her shoulders. She leaned forward, kissing him again,
