After breakfast, Vincent went off to join the work crews.Catherine tidied the chamber, made notes for her afternoon's class,and read THE SPOOKY OLD TREE to Nicholas before Mary appeared in thechamber entrance.

"Good morning," she greeted. "I heard Nicholas wasn't feelingwell."

"I threw up," Nicholas said cheerfully. "All over."

"He's feeling much better now," Catherine added, in case Marycouldn't tell from the way Nicholas was wiggling.

"I'm glad to hear it," Mary said. "Catherine, I know Father'sasked you to keep Nicholas isolated today. If there's anything youneed to do, I can sit with him a while."

The thought of Nicholas's soiled bedclothes soaking in the laundryhad been nagging her all morning, and she smiled gratefully."Actually, there is something, Mary. If you're sure you don'tmind..."

"Not at all," Mary said. "What do you say, Nicholas? Shall we readanother book?"

"Yeah!" Nicholas agreed, and darted to his shelf of books where heselected one with care. "Sam-I-am," he announced, putting the brightorange copy of Dr. Seuss's GREEN EGGS AND HAM into her hands beforejoining her in the big chair. Neither seemed to notice when Catherinepicked up her laundry basket and went out.

In the laundry, though, she found Vincent hadn't just rinsed thesheets the night before and left them soaking. He'd washed them -sheets, pillowcase, blankets and quilt - and hung them up in thedrying chamber. No wonder he'd been gone so long.

And then she wondered why she was surprised. It was just like himto do this for her. She was smiling as she gathered up the dry bedlinens and put them in her basket to carry back to her chamber.

Mary arranged for a tray of sandwiches to be delivered for theirlunch and shortly after the dishes were cleared away, Vincentappeared.

"Hello," Catherine greeted him, surprised and pleased. "I didn'texpect you so early."

"I thought I'd watch Nicholas while you meet your class," he said."The children will be in my chamber at the usual time."

She'd supposed the class would be cancelled, and she hadn't lookedforward to spending the rest of the afternoon cooped up with anincreasingly restless and energetic Nicholas. "That's a good idea,"she said. "Thank you."

When she returned from class, Vincent was on the floor, helpingNicholas build pens and ramps for his collection of carved animals.The menagerie was growing; Cullen had added a sea lion, a woollymammoth, and, bowing to Nicholas's fascination with dinosaurs, astegosaurus. Nicholas was penning the dinosaur with the elephantstoday; last week, it had gone in with the giraffes.

Vincent's patient attention kept Nicholas occupied untilsuppertime. He stayed to share the meal and help Nicholas get readyfor bed. Nicholas coaxed him into retelling the story of the tunnels,and even after Nicholas was safely asleep, he lingered, lounging inthe big overstuffed chair.

"He seems quite himself," he commented.

She smiled. "Yes. He's blessed with a strong constitution."

He gave her a curious look. "You sound inordinately grateful."

She hesitated. "I am. He's only been really sick once... he ran afever for three days when he was still a baby. I was frantic. Ididn't know what was wrong, didn't know what I could give him..."

"But surely, Catherine, a doctor..."

"I couldn't take him to a doctor."

"Why not?" His bewilderment seemed genuine; after all this time,he still hadn't thought through all the implications of Nicholas'sexistence. But then, he hadn't had six months of virtual solitaryconfinement to think about it, either.

"Because he's your son," she said quietly, and watched his facechange as he absorbed her words.

"I am sorry, Catherine..." he began.

"For what?" she demanded. "For giving me a beautiful child whojust happens to be a little different?"

"For the things you were forced to endure because of him. Becauseof me." He studied his hands, lying loosely in his lap. "I havethought to myself, over these weeks, that if it hadn't been for me,for our child, that man would not have kept you prisoner, made youfear for so many things."

"No," she said. "He'd have killed me."

He looked at her then, his eyes wide. "Why do you say that?"

"Because it's true. He kept me because he wanted my baby, but thatisn't why I was taken. If it weren't for Nicholas..." Her voicetrailed away as the conversation provoked all the things she tried tokeep locked away; she closed her eyes and shivered. He reached acrossthe space between them and took her hand, but she suddenly couldn'tbear even that small confinement and pulled free, lurching to herfeet.

"Catherine?" He leaned forward uncertainly, his voice colored withconcern.

"I don't want to talk about it, Vincent," she said, more sharplythan she'd intended. With an effort, she softened her voice. "Please.Why don't you read to me?"

She thought he almost protested, but after a moment he sat back inhis chair. "Very well," he agreed. "What would you like?"

Her tangled thoughts offered up no ideas. "Whatever you choose,"she said, and forced herself to resume her seat in the chair besidehis.

His voice, reading from Robert Frost, was wonderfully effective intaking her mind away from disagreeable things, and she was relaxedand pleasantly sleepy when he put the book aside.

He looked in on Nicholas, who was soundly sleeping, then pulledher against his chest. "Don't be frightened, Catherine," he murmured."I'm here."

"I know," she answered. When she tipped her face up to his, hekissed her mouth lightly and turned to go.

At the entrance, he paused. "There's a concert in the parktomorrow. Would you like to go?"

He looked adorably vulnerable standing there, and she couldn'tresist an impish urge to tease him.

"What are they playing?" As if it mattered.

Surprise showed on his face, but he answered without hesitation."Pachelbel. I understand there's to be a guest harpist."

"Playing Canon in D?"

He shifted his weight to lean comfortably against the doorway andshe knew her inner delight had given her away. "I believe so," heanswered equably.

"Then I can't miss it," she said. "I'd love to go."

Catherine hadn't been to the pipe below the outdoor bandshell inCentral Park since her return, but it was a place she'd frequentlyvisited in her memory during the dark, lonely years. She lookedforward to the privacy and to the sweet sound of music wafting downthrough the ivy-twined grate.

She dressed with care, choosing a long, delicately patterned skirtin blues and greens. The warmth of layers was sacrificed for vanityas she slipped into a pale green blouse from the topside wardrobeshe'd brought with her.

She curled her hair with an old-fashioned curling iron heated inthe coals of the brazier that warmed the chamber, and brushed it 'tilit shone. She even found her makeup and applied some lightly.

Nicholas, completely over his illness, watched with fascination."Do me, Mommy," he begged at every turn. When Vincent arrived at theappointed time, Nicholas bounded to the door to greet him and showoff the single curl on top of his head and the garish smears of blushon both cheeks.

"See me, Daddy, see me!" he chortled as Vincent swung him up. "I'mpretty!"

Vincent eyed him carefully. "You certainly are," he agreed.

"Look at Mommy," Nicholas prompted. "She's pretty, too."

Vincent turned his gaze to where she waited and let a long momentpass before he spoke. "Yes," he said, into the sudden hush. "She'slovely."

Catherine colored under his approving gaze. "You look quitedistinguished, yourself."

But she thought privately that 'distinguished' didn't begin todescribe him. Even standing quietly with their son in his arms, hewas an imposing presence. It was evident he'd taken pains with hisappearance, too. His mane was freshly brushed and pristine whiteruffles showed at throat and wrists.

The effect wasn't lost on Geoffrey, who chose that moment toarrive.

"Hi, Vincent. You look great." Then his glance shifted and he lostall semblance of poise. "Catherine," he began, and flushed when hisvoice cracked.

She pretended not to notice. "Hello, Geoffrey."

"You look beautiful," he said, and his voice quivered withsincerity.

"Thank you."

"Goodnight, Mommy," Nicholas declared in a transparent ploy torefocus attention on himself.

Vincent set him down and Catherine bent to hug him and place aquick kiss on his cheek. "Be good for Geoffrey," she admonished.

"I always am," he answered, with an angelic smile. "You be good,too."

She resisted the impulse to glance Vincent's way. "I'll try."

Vincent crouched down beside her. "Goodnight, Nicholas. We'll havebreakfast together tomorrow."

"Promise?" Nicholas's arms went around Vincent's neck, whichbrought his face so close their noses nearly touched.

"I promise," Vincent answered, then kissed Nicholas's nose andforehead in quick succession.

"Are you ready?" he asked her as he straightened.

She picked up a fringed shawl of softest lamb's wool and steppedpast him into the corridor.

In the passage, he took her hand and adapted his long stride toher shorter one. She hoped he could feel the joy bubbling through herlike an effervescent fountain. The subtly increased pressure of hisfingers on hers said he could.

As they neared the upper levels, the joy faltered. Her grip onVincent's hand tightened as an unexpected discomfort stirred; sheedged closer to him. He might have glanced her way but she didn'tdare turn to look. A slow, deliberate breath nerved her to go on,past the next junction and up a short, shallow slope.

And then, quite involuntarily, she stopped.

Vincent stopped beside her. The look he gave was gently puzzled."Are you all right?"

She nodded with unaccustomed vigor. "Of course I am," she said,through teeth that wanted to clamp shut. "Fine."

"No." He turned to face her. "What is it?"

She closed her eyes and shivered. "I don't know. I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"I don't know," she repeated.

He took a long, audible breath. "Catherine, look around. There isnothing here to fear."

"I know that," she said, but kept her eyes shut tight. Only thebarest edge of control kept her from either hurling herself into theprotection of his arms or fleeing back to her own chamber, where shewas safe. She struggled for words to define the fear welling upinside. "It's so close here."

"What's close?" She could sense his genuine confusion, hisconcern, reaching out to enfold her.

She forced her eyes open and looked up at the rough-hewn stoneceiling.

He followed her glance and then brought his troubled gaze backdown to meet hers. "There's nothing there. Nothing but earth, andabove that, green grass, trees. The sky, brilliant with stars."

"You're wrong, Vincent," she whispered. "He's there, too. He'llalways be there. I can't ever forget that."

He closed the small distance between them and gathered her intohis arms. "It's all right," he soothed. "He can't touch you now. Nomatter how close you get to the surface. He can't touch you."

She buried her face against his cloak, breathing in the smell ofhim, letting his love, his fierce protectiveness, wash away thefear.

"We don't have to go on," he said into her ear. "If you like, wecan go back. Perhaps Robin would agree to play his violin forus."

She smiled against the rough wool and leather covering hisshoulder. "I'll bet he would," she agreed, and lifted her head. "ButI don't want to go back. I'll be all right, Vincent. I want to hearthe music. I want to be with you."

He studied her for a moment, and nodded. "Very well." He didn'ttake her hand again. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her shouldersand tucked her close to his side.

When they reached the small moonlit chamber, he hesitated,obviously reluctant to relinquish contact with her. The panic wassecurely caged now, though, penned in by force of will and thesecurity of his presence and she was able to give him a genuine, ifsomewhat tremulous, smile. "It's all right, Vincent," shewhispered.

He scrutinized her face for a moment and released her long enoughto rearrange cushions he must have brought earlier in the day. Whenhe was satisfied, he helped her sit before he settled down besideher.

Above them, the musicians tuned their instruments, sending apleasant cacophony of notes tumbling down with the moonlight.

"So many memories here," she whispered.

He gave a small nod of assent. "Remember the first time I broughtyou here?"

"It rained."

"You knelt just there, under the grate, and laughed. And then,when you were quite thoroughly wet, you came and fell into myarms."

"You could have pushed me away," she said, smiling.

"There was such joy in you that night, Catherine. Such beauty. AndI remember wishing for the words to tell you how much I loved you." Astillness in his tone made her look at him.

"I wish you had."

He gave his mane a tiny shake. "I couldn't. Because the otherthing you were, that night, was unattainable. I knew I couldn't haveyou. Not the way I wanted."

"What did you want, Vincent?" She dared to ask it now.

His eyes took on a distant look. "You in my arms. The way you werethat night. Laughing. Happy. I wanted it never to end, Catherine. Iwanted to take you into my world and never let you go."

"You wanted us to be lovers," she suggested, keeping her voicevery quiet.

His gaze dropped. "I wanted you to be mine."

"Oh, Vincent, don't you know, even now? I already was. All youever had to do was ask."

"Ask? You make it sound so easy." His gaze, now, was fixed on hishands, lying clenched in his lap. "I knew what I wanted wassomething that could never be. That it was impossible. For me. Forus."

She covered his hand, taut and trembling, with hers. "Theimpossibility was in your mind. You know that, don't you? It wasnever truth. Because the truth is, we belong together. We alwayshave. I think we always will."

He lifted his gaze to meet hers, finally, in the filteredmoonlight of the chamber. "I love you."

"I know." She gazed at him and knew her love for him was shiningin her eyes.

He leaned toward her. Instinctively she lifted her face, feelinghis breath warm on her cheek in the instant before his mouth closedover hers. Unbidden, her hands rose to tangle themselves in his hair.Her body, deprived for too long, responded eagerly, ignoring all hermind's attempts to rein it in. And at last she surrendered to theinevitable and let his half-shy, inexperienced kisses engulf her.

It was long minutes later when he pulled his mouth away, bringingher close and tucking her head beneath his chin. His breathing wasrapid and unsteady. "Catherine," he murmured into the moonlight.

Above them, music played, sweet and compelling.

She slid her arms down and under his, winding them around hiswaist, holding him close. "I'm here," she whispered back.

"Do you remember the night you came home?" he asked, his voicehesitant. "You spoke of Nicholas, of how he came to be. You said youkept the memory. That you would tell me... when I was ready."

Her breath caught in her throat. "I remember," she said, her voicesuddenly small in the stillness.

He shifted his head and she could feel his lips in her hair, nearher ear. "Tell me now."

Neither of them moved as she pulled the precious memory out ofsafekeeping and began to describe it, struggling to keep her voiceeven. She'd often thought of what she would say to him about thatnight; now she chose her words carefully, wanting to be open andprecise about what had taken place. He must know she was telling thetruth, that she wasn't editing in an attempt to protect him.

He stiffened when she spoke of how he'd lunged at her, hand raisedto strike, of how he'd stopped when she shrieked his name and gonedown in a terrifying sprawl that took her with it. She spoke of hisstillness and the frantic desperation she'd felt as she'd pummeledhim, crying out her anguish at being left behind. And then she toldof how she'd kissed him, hot tears streaming down her cheeks to taintthe kisses with salt.

She described his first, tentative stirrings, the way she'd frozeninto place, afraid she'd imagined it, and the joy that consumed herat his first deep, shuddering breath. She told him how, in her joy,she had been unable to resist touching him, stroking him, reassuringherself at every turn that he was alive.

"It had been a long time for me, Vincent," she said at last. "Youwere responding to me in a very basic way, and I didn't have thestrength to deny you. To deny either of us. It wasn't what I'dimagined for us - not tender or romantic or even wildlypassionate."

"You said I didn't hurt you." His voice, uncharacteristicallywispy, pleaded for confirmation.

"You didn't. You never would. You were..." she hesitated, gropingfor words. "So innocent, Vincent. So trusting. I never felt Icouldn't stop you, or change what was happening. I even thought, onceor twice, that it was wrong, that I shouldn't let you because it wasso clear that you didn't know what you were doing. But I wanted youso much, Vincent. I needed to know you were alive, that you wouldn'tleave." She paused, momentarily lost in the memory, and pressed herface into the warm hollow of his throat.

"Afterwards, you went to sleep, and looked more peaceful than youhad in weeks. I pulled your head into my lap and held you, and thenFather came."

She felt the convulsive movement of his throat as he swallowed."Our clothing, Catherine. If I was as dazed as I believe, as youdescribe... how did you manage?"

She held him more tightly, aware of his embarrassment and feelingan answering heat rise in her own cheeks. "Actually, there wasn'tmuch to manage. I said it wasn't like what I'd imagined, when I daredto imagine. We were like teenagers, Vincent, fumbling in the dark,removing only what was necessary."

He was silent for so long that she imagined she could hear himthinking. "We did not disrobe?" he asked finally.

"No. Not completely. I took off more than you did." It was time toinject a note of levity, so she pushed back to see his face. "Goodthing, too," she added. "You're pretty heavy, and afterwards youweren't much help. I never would have been able to dress you bymyself."

He flushed, the color showing high on his cheeks, above the softgolden fuzz. His head was turned, his eyes averted.

"Don't be embarrassed, Vincent," she coaxed. "I told you before -the worst part of it all was knowing afterwards that you didn'tremember." She smiled sadly. "For a little while, you couldn't evenremember my name."

His gaze snapped back to meet hers. "I remember that. Howanguished I was. How much I wanted to remember. But the word thatmeant you just wasn't there." He freed a hand and touched her hair,letting his fingers slip down to touch the smooth skin in front ofher left ear. "My Catherine."

She closed her eyes at the note of reverence in his voice, andreached up to pull his hand away, kissing his fingers. "You've neverasked," she said.

His hand, released, returned to her cheek. "About your scar?No."

She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears. "I had to leave itbehind," she whispered. "Just as I had to leave so much of me behind.When I ran. I used to think, in my wilder moments, that it would havebeen easier to lose a finger, Vincent. Maybe even a hand. That scarwas a symbol of you, of the love you gave, and the strength I foundbecause of it. I used to cry when I looked in the mirror and itwasn't there."

His eyes were steady on her face now, meeting her gaze withunderstanding and love. "It doesn't matter, Catherine. It was only asymbol. The real truths lie here, in your heart. You know that."

She nodded shakily and he leaned forward, brushing his lips acrossthe smooth skin where the ridged scar used to be. "Come," hewhispered, and took her hand, drawing her to her feet. Only then didshe realize that while she was talking, the music had stopped.

He was silent on the walk back, but now and again she caught himgiving her sidelong glances. When their gazes met, he looked away.She clung to his hand and wondered what would happen next.

He paused as they neared the community chambers. "Shall I take youhome?" he asked.

She blinked, confused. "Where else would you take me?"

He looked away for a moment, then seemed to gather his courage andbrought his gaze back to meet hers. "I thought... hoped... perhaps mychamber."

Her lips parted and she drew a quick breath of astonishment. Hisintention, his invitation, was clear.

But the pipes running along behind his head were silent, the widepassage utterly deserted.

"It's late," she faltered.

His expression changed subtly. "Of course," he said, abruptlyformal. She could feel the sudden distance between them. "I'm sorry.I'll take you to your chamber."

She caught at his arm. "Wait. I meant... Nicky. I can't..."

He looked momentarily perplexed, as if he'd forgotten Nicholas'sexistence. "Of course," he said, finally. His voice now was coloredwith disappointment. "Nicholas."

She kept his arm as they walked. He didn't look at her, though,and she wondered what he was thinking.

Light spilled from her chamber into the passage; inside, Geoffreyhad put his books aside and was sprawled in the big chair, halfasleep. He roused when they came in.

Catherine kept firm hold of Vincent's arm, releasing him only whenhe was well inside. "I'm sorry we're so late," she apologized.

"It's okay," Geoffrey answered, stifling a yawn as he gathered histhings. "Nicholas was really good. We looked at the pictures in hisbooks for a while, and then he went right to sleep."

"I'm glad. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Good night, Catherine. Good night, Vincent."

"Good night, Geoffrey," Vincent answered, and stood aside as theboy brushed past him and out the door. "It is late," he said finally."I should go."

"Don't," she said softly. "Please. Stay."

He cast a startled glance at the curtain screening the alcovewhere Nicholas slept. "Catherine..."

"I know it isn't ideal," she said hurriedly. "It wasn't before,either. But he's only three, Vincent. He sleeps through anything.Unless he's sick, or has a nightmare." She managed a small smile."And he hardly ever gets sick, or has nightmares."

After what seemed an eternity, Vincent shifted and the tensionwent out of his shoulders. He inclined his head in acquiesce.

Her heart stuttered and began to race as he stepped forward,holding out his hands. She gave him hers, and he drew her toward thebig overstuffed chair and sank down into it, pulling her into hislap.

She took a moment to get over her surprise, then freed her handsand wrapped her arms around his neck. Her cheek fit comfortablyagainst his shoulder, her face turned into the warm hollow of hisneck. She rested there quietly, waiting, listening to the soft soundof his breathing.

Presently he stirred and moved a tentative hand across hershoulder, stroking down her arm. He turned his face to hers and sheaccepted his kisses, twining her fingers in his hair.

His hands grew bold, touching, stroking, gently caressing. After awhile she sat up and tugged at the ties on his leather jerkin. Hepermitted the intimacy of her fingers inside his shirt, against hisskin, and kissed her again more surely.

And then he stopped, drawing away and tilting his head as iflistening. Catherine watched him.

"He's asleep," he whispered after a moment, and she realized he'dbeen reaching out for Nicholas.

"I told you."

"So you did." He shifted a little in the chair. "You're heavierthan he is."

His tone was so calm and conversational that it gave her pause."Do you want me to get up?" she asked, suddenly uncertain.

His arms tightened around her. "No," he said, and came to his feetin one smooth movement, taking her with him, cradled against hischest.

She tightened her grip on his neck and held her breath.

"Catherine," he said. "Are you very certain?"

She nuzzled his cheek. "I've always been certain."

It seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. He lowered hergently on the bed before stretching out beside her. "You'll have tohelp me," he confessed. "Show me."

"No, I won't, Vincent," she murmured against his throat. "You'llremember."

It was all the things the first time hadn't been; tender,romantic, sensuous, and incredibly passionate.

Nicholas slept soundly through it all.