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“Very well,” he said instead, returning to his work. “Be about yer business.”

When he looked up again a moment later, however, Nicholas had not moved.

“What?” he growled.

It was really unfortunate that Nicholas, for all that he now worked for a living, was a gentleman by birth—the fourth son of a baron without a chance of inheriting, hence his profession, but a gentleman, nonetheless. His lofty origins, not to mention his many brothers, meant he was entirely unaffected by Caleb’s title.

Nicholas smiled. That smile never meant good things for Caleb.

“You should ride out with me. I’m set to see the vineyards today, and the brewery.”

“No.”

That really should have been that, but Nicholas steepled his fingers eagerly under his chin.

“Ah, but you’ve not yet heard my reasons why you should do it.”

Caleb ground a knuckle into his forehead. Christ, he did not have the energy for this.

He’d been up half the night, waiting for the sounds of his wife’s door as she returned from her nightly ramble around the castle. He didn’t know why she insisted on doing this, and it was all he could do to stop himself from getting up and following her. The only thing that kept him abed was the dual knowledge that she was not so stupid as to actually leave the house in the dark and his pride, given the way their last two nighttime encounters had gone.

These two reasons were not enough to actually let himsleepthrough her nighttime wanderings, however. So he waited, listening, until she came back to bed, sometimes hours after she’d left.

Just one more sin to lay at his wife’s door, he grumbled to himself each evening.

“Is there any chance ye’ll just leave me alone without makin’ me listen to those reasons?” he asked, wishing with all his heart that Nicholas was not strangely impervious to bullying. This was what Caleb got for honorably refusing to hit a man.

Honor was, he always told himself, what compelled him. Nothing else. Nothing worse.

“None,” Nicholas said with evident relish before Caleb could retreat too deeply into darker thoughts. “You are thus left with two choices: come with me without argument or sit and listen to my arguments and inevitably give in to their brilliance.”

“You are an exhausting man,” Caleb told him flatly.

Nicholas smiled even more broadly. “Feel free to sack me and get yourself a new solicitor.”

They both knew Caleb never would. Caleb told himself it was because he didn’t want to go to the trouble of finding someone else competent.

He’d been spending an awful lot of energy trying to convince himself of things recently, he noticed. It had started when he’d married.

That was the thought, in the end, that made him give in: if Nicholas met Grace, Caleb would never know a moment’s peace again.

“Fine,” he said shortly. “I’ll have the horses readied.”

“I’ve already set the grooms to it,” Nicholas told him smugly.

Caleb swore at him in Gaelic. Nicholas was predictably unperturbed.

Once they got outside, Caleb reluctantly admitted that this was perhaps not theworstidea anyone had ever had. He’d spent too much time recently skulking around that dusty old pile of a house, and not enough outdoors. His time in the army had made him the kind of man who worked best under an open sky. Caleb’s father had done him a favor in making him enlist, not that the old bastard had ever intended it as such. As they rode, he felt the tension in his shoulders loosen, felt his spine straighten. He did not belong at a desk.

This relief lasted approximately two minutes after they arrived at the edge of the first vineyard.

The rows of growing grapes were bustling with activity; spring came slowly this far north, and it was only now time to draw back the soil that had been piled up to protect the fragile plants from winter’s chill. Other workers were trimming back flowers that would inhibit the growth of the desired fruit, while even small children were helping, scraping at the ground to remove weeds.

As Nicholas and Caleb approached, a woman spotted them, then turned to hail an elderly man, evidently the person overseeing the operation. He squinted at them and then, recognizing Nicholas, raised a hand in greeting.

It was only when he got closer and recognized Caleb, too, that the smile dropped from his face.

“Oh, I do beg yer pardon, Yer Grace,” he said, bowing low, his knees looking like they were trembling under the effort. “Apologies for not recognizing ye at once.”