"So." Ana took her seat so that she could look out over the gardens and grass to the bay. "I was surprised to see you out here in the middle of the day."

"I'm indulging in a long lunch break." She took another bite of cookie. "Mindy's got everything under control."

"Do you?"

"Don't I always?"

Ana laid a hand over Morgana's. Before Morgana could attempt to close them off, Ana felt the little wisps of sadness. "I can't help feeling how unsettled you are. We're too close."

"Of course you can't. Just as I couldn't help coming out here today, even though I knew I was bringing you problems."

"I'd like to help."

"Well, you're the herbalist," Morgana said lightly. "How about some essence of Helleborus Niger ?"

Ana smiled. Helleborus , more commonly called Christmas rose, was reputed to have the power to cure madness. "Fearing for your sanity, love?"

"At least." With a shrug, she chose another cookie. "Or I could take the easy way out and mix up a blend of rose and angelica, a touch of ginseng, sprinkled liberally with moondust"

"A love potion?" Ana sampled a cookie herself. "For anyone I know?"

"Nash, of course."

"Of course. Things aren't going well?"

A faint line appeared between Morgana's brows. "I don't know how things are going. I do know I wish I wasn't so bloody conscientious. It's really a very basic procedure to bind a man."

"But not very satisfying."

"No," Morgana admitted, "I can't imagine it would be. So I'm stuck with the ordinary way." As she sipped the reviving tea, she watched the snowy sails billowing from the boats on the bay. She'd always considered herself that free, she realized. Just that free. Now, though she had done no binding, she, herself, was bound.

"To tell the truth, Ana, I've never given much thought to what it would be like to have a man fall in love with me. Really in love. The trouble is, this time my heart's too involved for comfort."

And there was little comfort she could offer, Anastasia thought, for this type of ailment. "Have you told him?"

Surprised by the quick aching in her heart, Morgana closed her eyes. "I can't tell him what I'm not entirely sure of myself. So I wait. Moonglow to dawn's light," she chanted. "Night to day, and day to night. Until his heart is twined with mine, no rest or peace can I find." She opened her eyes and managed a smile. "That always seemed overly dramatic before."

"Finding love's like finding air. We can't survive without it."

"But what's enough?" This was the question that had troubled her most in the days since she had left Nash. "How do we know what's enough?"

"When we're happy, I'd think."

Morgana thought the answer was probably true—but was it attainable? "Do you think we're spoiled, Ana?"

"Spoiled? In what way?"

"In our… our expectations, I suppose." Her hand fluttered up in a helpless gesture. "Our parents, mine, yours, Sebastian's. There's always been so much love there, support, understanding, respect. The fun of being in love, and the generosity. It's not that way for everyone."

"I don't think that knowing love can run deep and true, that it can last, means being spoiled."

"But wouldn't it be enough to settle for the temporary? For affection and passion?" She frowned, watching a bee court a stalk of columbine. "I think it might be."

"For some. You'd have to be sure it would be enough for you."

Morgana rose with a grumble of annoyance. "It's so exasperating. I hate not being in charge."

A smile tugged at Anastasia's mouth as she joined her cousin. "I'm sure you do, darling. As long as I can remember, you've pushed things along your own way, just by force of personality."

Morgana slanted her a look. "I suppose you mean I was a bully."

"Not at all. Sebastian was a bully." Ana tucked her tongue in her cheek. "We'll just say you were—are—strong willed."

Far from mollified, Morgana bent to sniff at a heavy-headed peony. "I suppose I could take that as a compliment. But being strong willed isn't helping at the moment." She moved along the narrow stone path that wound through tumbling blooms and tangled vines. "I haven't seen him in more than a week, Ana. Lord," she said. "That makes me sound like some whiny, weak-kneed wimp."

Ana had to laugh even as she gave Morgana a quick squeeze. "No, it doesn't. It sounds as though you're an impatient woman."

"Well, I am impatient," she admitted. "Though I was prepared to avoid him if necessary, it hasn't been necessary." She shot Ana a rueful look. "A little sting to the pride."

"Have you called him?"

"No." Morgana's lips formed into a pout. "At first I didn't because I thought it was best to give us both some time. Then…" She'd always been able to laugh at herself, and she did so now. "Well, then I didn't because I was so damn mad he hadn't tried to beat down my door. He has called me a few times, at the shop or at home. He fires off a couple of questions on the Craft, mutters and grumbles while I answer. Grunts, then hangs up." She jammed fisted hands in her skirt pockets. "I can almost hear the tiny little wheels in his tiny little brain turning."

"So he's working. I'd imagine a writer could become pretty self-absorbed during a story."

"Ana," Morgana said patiently, "try to keep with the program. You're supposed to feel sorry for me, not make excuses for him."

Ana dutifully smothered a grin. "I don't know what came over me."

"Your mushy heart, as usual." Morgana kissed her cheek. "But I forgive you."

As they walked on, a bright yellow butterfly flitted overhead. Absently Ana lifted a hand, and the swallowtail danced shyly into her palm. She stopped to stroke the fragile wings. "Why don't you tell me what you intend to do about this self-absorbed writer who makes you so damn mad?"

With a shrug, Morgana brushed a finger over a trail of wisteria. "I've been thinking about going to Ireland for a few weeks."