"I would truly cherish the memory," she answered brightly, and the brilliant glint of excitement that made her eyes light up seem to lend truth to those words. "I'm sure it seems a silly, girlish fancy -- and, in truth, it is -- but I can imagine nothing nearer to being in a dream."
Kathryn's eyes moved back to him at last when he changed the subject to the hunting in Highheart. It was, with an effort, that she pulled herself away from thoughts of flowers and dreams to her host.
"The Valley has the best hunting in the land, or so my father says," she agreed warmly as she, too, turned her attention to the tea. Although the look of wonder faded, she spoke with no less enthusiasm. "My father endeavored to trap the stag I brought along as an example, but it is truly the finest I have ever seen. It must be decades old, and I'm sure he commanded a fine herd before my father trapped him." To trap a huge stag like the one she had escorted was no small feat; her father had not told her own he had done it, although she had already promised herself to ferret it out of him.
His next question made her laugh softly. "I'm afraid I do. My father, longing for a son he will never have, I suppose, has attempted to teach me to shoot, but I have neither the eye nor the arm, he says." It was a long-practiced speech, said so often that it seemed natural now. She set her tea cup down, then, knowing well how some men felt about the fairer sex even considering lifting a bow. "I'm sorry, Duke Calent. I hope I haven't offended you."
