And not just physically. While riding there, he’d thought of no fewer than three things he wanted to tell her. One thought involved a nice trail ride that had a pretty little abbey at the end of it. It was a tip from one of the grooms at Kilkairn and sounded as if it might be just the thing for a lazy afternoon. The second thing he wanted to tell her was how Murien had been in the stable when he’d left. She’d been loudly demanding a horse, saying she wished to ride, too. The grooms had all been skeptical and had not hurried to meet her demands. One old groom, however, had agreed to saddle a mount for her. And he had—a pathetic old slug with a lumpy gait and a bad tendency to bite.

Devon had been hard-pressed not to laugh. But he’d made certain he wasn’t around when she got ready to mount the horrid thing. He didn’t want Murien tagging along when he came to visit Kat.

The third thing he thought to tell Kat was about the talisman ring and how it had gone missing. And that he could not, in all honesty, leave until it was found.

He had wondered if she would be glad, but if he agreed to her wishes he’d have to wait until the ball to discuss anything with her. It was most irritating.

It was ludicrous to wait for such a time—there were still four more days until that blasted ball. Four days of no Kat. Surely she hadn’t meant it…

But a visit to the clearing proved him wrong. So did a second visit. And a third. All he got from his visits was the sight of Kat’s back as she whisked out of sight, and the baleful stares of her lads.

Frustrated, but refusing to make a spectacle of himself, Devon returned to Kilkairn. Preparations for the ball continued and to fill the suddenly empty hours, Devon began to assist Malcolm in the list of duties Fiona had assigned him. Devon had his servants leave the relative comfort of the inn where they’d been staying and spend the better portion of each day at Kilkairn, helping in whatever way was needed. Though he stayed busy, Devon’s mood darkened with each passing hour. Without Kat, everything seemed…dull and lifeless. The moods of his companions were not much better. Fiona was in a tizzy, Malcolm was strangely quiet, and Murien looked as if she’d like to drag Devon off to the nearest broom closet and divest him of his clothing.

The evening before the ball, he took a long lonely ride on Thunder, conveniently missing dinner. He returned to his room well after the sun had set, muddy and tired and feeling almost despondent.