Scandals Bride

Chapter 1O

They were married by special license, granted by the Bishop of Perth. Three days later, in the kirk in the village, Catriona stood beside Richard Cynster and listened as he vowed to love, honor and protect her. If he did all three, she would be safe; she made her responding vows-to love, honor and obey him-with an open heart.

And felt The Lady's blessing in the shaft of sunshine that broke through the heavy clouds and beamed through the small lose window set high above the altar to bathe them in Her glow.

Richard gathered her in his arms and kissed her-lingeringly. Only when he lifted his head and they turned to walk up the short nave did the sunbeam fade.

By the time they signed the register, then strolled out to the small porch, winter had reclaimed the ascendancy. Clouds laden with snow, grey and churning, stretched from horizon to horizon. A carpet of snow already covered the ground; light flurries whirled on the bitter breeze.

The family followed them to the door, excited and garrulous. Because of Seamus's death, the small private ceremony in the old kirk-all that either she or Richard had wanted-had been agreed to by all. Both the weather and Seamus's death had mitigated against any further revelry. The snows had started in earnest; the passes were slowly filling. Richard and she had been in perfect accord that they should leave immediately after the ceremony, to ensure they weren't snowed in for weeks.

Pausing in the porch, Catriona saw the steamy breaths of their carriage horses rising beyond the lych-gate. She looked up at Richard; he was looking across the graveyard. She followed his gaze-and guessed his thoughts.

"Go!" Lightly, she pushed him. He looked down at her, his mask in place; she ignored it. "Go and say good-bye." She looked inward and afar, then refocused on him. "I don't think either of us will be here again."

He hesitated for an instant more, then nodded and stepped off the porch. She watched him head for a simple grave by the wall, then swung around and gave her attention to Jamie, Meg and the rest,

Halting before his mother's grave, Richard wondered what she would have thought of him marrying Catriona Hennessy. His mother had been from the Lowlands, too; perhaps she would approve. He gazed at the headstone, studied it carefully, letting the vision sink into his mind.

And recalled his thought, when he'd stood here in the moonlight just before he'd first met his witchy wife.

His wife. The words, even unuttered, sent a streak of unnerving sensation through him, powerful enough to shift the very bedrock of his foundations. Sensation and recollection mingled; eyes narrowing, he gazed at his mother's grave and silently made another vow.

To live life fully.

Straightening, he drew a deep breath and turned. And discovered Catriona waiting a yard behind him. She met his eyes, then looked at the grave. Richard gestured her forward, she came to his side.

For a moment, side by side, they looked at the headstone; inwardly, Richard said good bye. Then he took Catriona's gloved hand. "Come. It's freezing."

He drew her away. It was she who, halfway down the path, glanced back, then looked at his face, before shifting her gaze forward to where their party waited in the protection of the lych-gate.

They had two carriages-his and hers. Their leave taking was foreshortened by the increasing snow; within minutes, Richard handed Catriona into his carriage, then followed her in. Jamie shut the door and stepped back. Through the glass, Richard met Jamie's eyes, and, smiling, raised his hand in brief salute. Jamie grinned and saluted back.

"Good-bye!"

"Good luck!"

The carriage lurched; the wedding party, waving madly, fell behind. Sitting back, wrapped in his greatcoat, Richard stretched his legs out and settled his shoulders against the leather seat. Beside him, Catriona flicked out her skirts, then drew her cloak about her. Boots propped on a hot brick wrapped in flannel, she settled her head against the squabs and closed her eyes.

Silence, tinged with expectation, filled the carriage as it rumbled out of the Highlands.

Richard saw no reason to break it-as each mile of white landscape was replaced with the next, his mind was busy listing the various letters he needed to write. The first-a short note to Devil-had already been dispatched, along with Worboys, sent ahead to ensure the comfort of their first night. Informing Devil of his change of status had been easy; informing Helena, Dowager Duchess of St Ives, would be much less so. Aside from anything else, he would need to break his news in such a way that his stepmother did not immediately appear on the manor's doorstep, seeking to welcome Catriona into the Cynster family in the time-honored way. Oh, no-he wanted time-wanted them to have time-to find their own equilibrium.

To learn how to get on-for him to learn how to manage a witchy wife.

That definitely came first. Helena would have to wait.

"I hope we get to The Boar before nightfall."

Catriona was peering into the whirling white outside. Richard studied her profile; his lips quirked. Straightening them he looked ahead. "We'll be staying at The Angel."

"Oh?" Catriona turned. "But…" Her words died away.

Turning his head, Richard met her eyes, clear question in his.

"Well"-she gestured-"it's simply that The Angel is a very superior house."

"I know. That's why I sent Worboys to secure rooms for us there."

"You did?" She stared at him, then grimaced.

Richard kept his expression mild. "Don't you like The Angel?"

"It's not that. It's just that superior also means expensive."

"A fact you need not concern yourself over."

She humphed. "That's all very well, but-"

Richard knew the instant the penny dropped, saw her eyes widen as she finally noticed the luxurious appointments of his carriage-the fine, supple leather, the gleaming brass-finally remembered the lines and deep chests of the four greys between the shafts. Finally considered what she should have long before.

Her eyes, wide and startled, swung to his, her gaze arrested. She opened her lips on hasty words and nearly choked. Clearing her throat, she sat back against the seat and gestured airily. "Are you…?"

"Very." Enjoying himself, Richard leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

And felt the increasing intensity of her gaze. "How much is very?"

He considered, then said: "Enough to keep me, and you… and your vale if need be."

She searched his face, then humphed and sank back. "I didn't realize."

"I know."

"Are the Cynsters exceedingly wealthy?"

"Yes." After a moment, he continued, his eyes still closed: "Within the family, my bastardry counts for nothing-my father made provision for me as his second son, which, to all intents and purposes, I am."

She was silent for so long, he wondered what she was thinking.

"Jamie mentioned that you're accepted socially."

The murmured statement held no element of question; opening his eyes, Richard turned his head and looked at her-she was staring out at the snow.

"I expect that means you could have had your choice of all the young ladies from the very best families."

Compelled by the ensuing silence, he replied: "Yes."

"So…" She sighed, and turned to meet his eyes. "What will your family think when they learn you've married a Scottish witch?"

He would have quipped that they'd either think he'd lost his senses, or that it served him right, but the shadows in her eyes held him. Compelled him to reach out, slowly, and slide one arm about her. And lift her, with an ease that sent a very definite shiver through her, onto his lap.

"The only thing they'll care about," he murmured, juggling her, "is that I've chosen you."

He would have kissed her, but she stayed him small hands braced against his chest. "But you haven't." Gratifyingly breathless, she searched his eyes, then blushed lightly. "Chosen me, I mean."

He'd chosen her in the instant he'd first closed his arms about her, in the moonlight near his mother's grave, but he wasn't bewitched enough to admit it; his witch had enough powers as it was. Ignoring her hands, he bent his head and brushed his lips across hers. "You're mine." Breaths mingling, driven, their gazes locked-then, simultaneously, dropped to each other's lips. Searching, hungry, their lips touched again-achingly gentle-then parted. "That's all that matters."

Her lashes fluttered up; for one instant, green eyes met blue, and the air about them shimmered.

She sucked in a quick, shallow breath; in the same instant, he tightened his arms about her, then lowered his head and kissed her.

And she kissed him. With a devastating sweetness, an innocence-as if this were the first time. Which, in some ways, for her, it was. The first time she'd knowingly welcomed him as her lover-a lover fully conscious, wide awake. Richard realized and inwardly groaned, and harnessed his raging desires, savagely hungry after tour days' starvation.

He deepened the kiss by gradual degrees, letting them both sink into the caress, into the warmth and heat, into that pleasurable sea. Letting their embers slowly glow stronger then flicker into flame; with an expert's touch, he fanned the flames until they burned steadily.

She followed his lead readily, openly without guile. As was her wont, she freely gave all he asked, accepting each intimacy as he offered it, surrendering her mouth to his conquest. He savored her thoroughly, then teased her into making her own demands, into meeting him and matching him, into returning the slow, languid thrusting of his tongue with clinging caresses equally evocative.

But their nerves remained curiously taut, their play curiously charged as if their first encounter as a married couple was somehow different. Richard sensed it in her, in the tension that invested her slight frame, in the tightness of her breathing-sensed it in himself-an alertness, an awareness, heightened to exquisite sensitivity.

As if their nerves, their bodies, their very beings, thrummed to some magic in the air.

Gently, he lifted her, rearranging her on his lap so that she sat across his legs facing him one knee on either side of his hips. Locked in their kiss, she barely seemed to notice; pushing her hands up, over his shoulders, she slid her fingers into his hair and angled her lips beneath his.

She moaned when he closed his hands about her breasts. He kneaded and, through the thick fabric of her pelisse, felt the mounds firm and fill his hands. Even with the benefit of a number of hot bricks, even with the heat rising between them, it was too cold to contemplate baring her. Instead, he glided his hands over her in long sweeping caresses-caresses designed to stir her to life. To love.

When she wriggled impatiently on his thighs, Richard reached between them, found the hem of her skirt, and slid his hand beneath.

He found her-startlingly hot in the cold air in the carriage. She would have pulled back from their kiss but he refused to let her; he kept her lips trapped, filled her mouth with slow, languid thrusts as he stroked her, parted her, penetrated her.

She melted about his fingers; he probed deeper, then stroked gently. She was hot and very ready.

He had to draw back from their kiss to deal with his own clothing. Her questing fingers had already pushed his greatcoat aside and undone both coat and waistcoat. Fingers splayed across the fine linen of his shirt, breasts rising and falling dramatically, her lips swollen and parted, eyes jewel green under heavy lids, she stared dazedly down as he flicked his trouser buttons undone.

They slipped free-abruptly, she lifted her head and stared at him. "What…?"

The half-squeaked question was eloquent; Richard raised a suggestive brow.

"Here?"

He raised his brow higher. "Where else?"

"But…" Aghast, she stared at him. Then she looked up at the carriage roof. "Your coachman…"

"Is paid enough to feign deafness." Ready, Richard reached for her.

She looked back at him and licked her lips glanced at the seat beside them, then shook her head in disbelief. "How…?"

He showed her, drawing her fully to him, then easing into her softness. As she fathomed his intention and felt him enter her, she spread her thighs, slid her knees along the cushions, and, with a soft sigh, sank down, impaling herself fully upon him.

As she closed, scalding hot around him, Richard watching her face and seeing the expression of sheer relief that washed over her fine features, got the distinct impression that she was as thankful to have him inside her again as he was to be there.

Wrapping his arms about her, one beneath her hips, he took her lips in a sealing kiss then lifted her. Rocked her.

She caught the rhythm quickly. Rising on her knees, she tried to increase the tempo.

"No. Anchoring her hips he drew her fully down, held her there for a moment, then picked up the rhythm again. "Keep in time with the horses."

She blinked at him, but did; gradually, the steady, rolling rocking became so instinctive they no longer needed to think of it-but could think, instead, solely of the indescribable pleasure of their bodies merging intimately, again and again, in a journey of infinite delight.

Held firmly, closely, Catriona shuddered-with pure pleasure with sharp excitement. With an unfurling sense of the illicit-of the wild the unconventional-in her soul and his. Eyes closed, held close in his embrace, their fully dressed state contradicted, contrasted-focused her senses on-the area of then naked engagement. Along the bare inner face of her thighs, all she could feel was the fabric of his trousers the smooth leather of the seat Over her flanks and legs over the curves of her bottom, all she could feel was the shift and glide of her lawn chemise and petticoats.

Only at the core of her, in the soft, swollen, heated flesh between her widespread thighs-only there could she feel him, only there did they touch with no barriers between. Only there did they merge, sweetly slick, powerfully smooth.

With heightened senses, she reveled in the power inherent in their joining, in the deeply compulsive repetition, in the burgeoning energy rising within them.

Senses wide open, awareness complete, she was deeply conscious that outside the carriage, the world, ice cold and blanketed in white, went on, committed to its own steady rhythm, the unquenchable rhythm of life. Under the snow, life still glowed, seeds warm, fecundity waiting to flower. Just as, beneath their heavy clothes, they-their bodies and their lives-were melding, seeds sown in darkness to flower later-in summer, when the sun returned.

With their own rhythm, the rhythm of their breathing of their heartbeats, of the constant flexing of their bodies, locked to the rolling gait of the horses plodding through that wintry scene, they, too, became part of it. A natural part of the landscape, the act of their joining invested with the same, intrinsic force that breathed life into the world.

As the snow swirled and the light slowly faded and the horses plodded on, locked in each others arms, their bodies slowly tensing, straining toward shimmering release, they were a piece of the jigsaw of the world at that moment. An essential, necessary piece.

With that certainty investing her mind, her soul, Catriona dragged her lips from his. Laying her head on his shoulder, her forehead by his jaw, she breathed rapidly, raggedly. Her body moved incessantly without her direction, driven by a need she no longer needed to conceal. Didn't know how to conceal.

Caught in the moment, she clung to him, conscious to her toes of the steely strength of him, the hot hard length of him, sliding so effortlessly deep into her core, nudging her womb, soon to fill it, to provide the seed for her fruit.

Need built, then flooded her; she heard herself moan. He shifted and brushed a hot kiss to her temple, then tightened his arms about her and urged her on. Urged her deeper upon him.

She dragged in a desperate breath, and tightened about him and drew him in-into her body, into her soul.

Into her heart.

She could feel her protective distance dissolving-feel her shields slide away-leaving her defenseless. At her feet, the hole she'd jumped into that first night yawned and beckoned anew-tempting her to recommit to it, to jump in as she had when she'd first given herself to him, when she'd first welcomed him-the warrior-into her body. The second night she'd gone to him had dug the hole deeper, the third night had sealed her fate.

Now, compelled by that same fate, drawn on by a force more powerful than any she'd known, she stepped forward gladly and slid into the dark.

And she was falling.

Through darkness hot with passion, sparking with desire, heated by their yearning bodies. The rush of need rose up and caught her, swept her up and on, a wave lifting her to blessed oblivion. She rode it rode him, urgently-he met her reflected her energy and pushed her on. Ever on.

To culmination, to the peak of joy that swelled and welled then crashed about her, showering her body, her mind with wonder with release so fragilely beautiful it shimmered in her veins and glowed beneath her skin.

Eyes shut, fingers clenched in his shirt, she muffled her scream against his warm chest. She clung, blissfully buoyed to the peak for one long instant, then let go.

And floated at peace.

He gathered her to him, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and filled her even more deeply, even more forcefully. Fully open, she received him joyfully, softly smiling at his deep groan of completion, at the warmth that flooded her womb.

She'd made her decision and stepped into the unknown, and there was nowhere to land but in his arms.

They closed about her, holding her tight.

Shutting her eyes against a sharp rush of emotion, Catriona surrendered and sank into his embrace.

"I take it," Richard drawled, "that that's Merrick looming ahead?"

"Yes." Nose all but pressed to the window, Catriona spared no more than a swift glance for the majestic peak towering over the head of the vale. The carriage rocked and raced on, swiftly pulled by Richard's powerful horses, they were almost home, and she had so many things to think of. "That's the Melchetts' farm." She nodded to a huddle of low-roofed buildings hugging the protection of a rise "The woods beyond yield most of our firelogs."

She sensed Richard's nod; she kept her eyes glued to the scene beyond the window, as it cataloging all she saw. In reality, her mind was in an unaccustomed, but oddly pleasant whirl-due, of course, to him. They'd crossed into the vale ten minutes before, having left Ayr, on the coast, at first light, after only two nights on the road

The first, spent at The Angel in Stirling, had opened her eyes to the benefits of traveling with a gentleman-a rich, powerful, protective one. Through Worboys, Richard had made his wishes-their requirements-known; all had happened as he'd decreed. Even Algaria, traveling behind them in the vale's carriage, had muted her unspoken disapproval. Even she had had to appreciate the ease of a private parlor and the quality of an excellent dinner.

Algaria had fallen silent; as the days passed, she'd be come withdrawn. Inwardly sighing, Catriona accepted it and waited for her mentor to see the light.

For herself, revelation had already come.

As husband and wife, she and Richard had shared a room, shared a bed, for the past two nights. Time enough, opportunity enough, for her to see what the future might hold. Falling asleep in his arms had been heaven. Waking up there had proved a new delight.

Feeling heat in her cheeks, Catriona inwardly grinned. She avoided looking at the cause and kept her gaze on the white fields, her hot cheeks close to the cold window.

While her mind remembered all the details, and her wayward senses reveled in recollected sensation.

She'd woken that morning to find him wrapped around her, woken to the sensation of him sliding into her. She'd gasped and clutched the arm wrapped about her waist, only to have him tip her hips back so he could enter her more deeply.

He'd loved her as he always did-slowly, languorously, powerfully. Indefatigably. That seemed to be his style. It was one she found addictive. There was a depth to their intimacy, both physical and emotional, that she hadn't expected.

She'd closed her eyes and drunk it in, let it seep through her and nourish her soul.

Now, she was all but hanging out of the window in her excitement, her eagerness to be home. To start her new life-to have him there a part of it.

"There!" Like a child, she pointed through the birches, a forest of trunks and bare branches. She glanced over her shoulder at Richard. "That's Casphairn Manor."

He shifted and drew near to peer over her shoulder. "Grey stone?"

Catriona nodded as a turret flashed into view.

"The park looks extensive."

"It is." She glanced at him. "It's necessary to protect the manor from the winds and snows driving off Merrick."

He nodded and sat back again; Catriona turned back to the window. "Another ten minutes and we'll be there." Worry tinged her voice-directly attributable to the sudden, disconcerting thought of whether there was any potential problem she'd failed to foresee, any action she ought to be prepared to take to smooth his entry into the vale, into her life. Inwardly frowning, she stared out the window.

Richard noted her concern, as he'd noted her earlier absorption with her holdings. Her mind was clearly on her fields, on the vale-on her responsibilities, not on him.

His gaze on her profile, he inwardly grimaced. The last two days had gone his way-all his way. She was his on one level at least. But once they gained Casphairn Manor, he'd face new challenges-ones he'd never faced before.

Like keeping his promise not to interfere with her role, with how she ran the vale. Like learning to accept what he meant to her-whatever that was.

That last grated, on his temper, on his Cynster soul. He was not at all sure he appreciated the hand Her Lady had had in bringing about their marriage. Admittedly, if it hadn't been for such divine intervention, Catriona might not now be his-not on any level. Witch that she was she was stubborn, willful, and not easily swayed, particularly when it came to matters affecting her calling.

His gaze locked on her face, he felt his features harden, felt determination swell.

It must, he reflected, be his week for making vows.

In this case-her case-he didn't even have to think of the wording, the statement simply rang in his mind. She would, he swore, come to want him on her own account, not because Her Lady had ordained it. She'd want him, all of him, for herself-for what he gave her.

That wasn't, he felt sure, how she felt about him now, how she saw him in relation to herself, but he was a hunter to his soul-he was perfectly prepared to play a waiting game. Prepared to lay snares, carefully camouflaged traps, to persist until she was his.

His in body, as she already was, and his in her mind as well.

His-freely. That was, he suddenly realized, the only way he d truly have her-the only way he d know that she truly was his.

As the carriage slowed, rocked, then rumbled through a pair of gateposts and on down a long avenue through the park, Richard watched his new bride-and idly speculated on just how she would tell him-how she would show him-when the time came, and she truly was his.

"Good morning, m'lady! And a good morning it is that brings you home safe and sound."

"Thank you, Mrs. Broom." Taking Richard's hand, Catriona descended the steps of his carriage, and, to her surprise, couldn't exactly place what her housekeeper was thinking. Mrs. Broom was usually easy to read, but the huge grin on her homely face as she beamed up at Richard, all handsomely elegant as usual, defied interpretation.

The sight of an unknown carriage leading her own up the long drive had brought the manor's people running. Maids and stablelads grooms and workmen, all piled into the courtyard, gathering in a loose crowd about the main steps before which Richard's coachman had pulled up.

Richard had descended first; from the shadows of the carriage, Catriona had watched her people's eyes widen, seen the surprise the speculation. She'd waited for the distrust, the defensiveness, ready to combat it-but it hadn't yet appeared.

Leaving one hand in Richard's, she gestured with the other, smiling as, with a wave, she gathered her people's attention, then directed it to Richard. "This is my husband, Mr. Richard Cynster. We were married two days ago."

A wave of excitement, a murmur of clear approval, swept the crowd. Catriona smiled at Richard, then smoothly turned to the old man leaning heavily on a stick beside Mrs. Broom. "Allow me to present McArdle."

The old man bowed, slow and deep; when he straightened, a smile wider than any Catriona could recall wreathed his face.

" 'Tis a pleasure to welcome you to Casphairn Manor, sir."

Smiling back, Richard inclined his head urbanely "It's a pleasure to be here, McArdle."

As if some ritual-one she was unaware of-had been successfully completed, everyone-all those who had served her since birth, all those who were in her care-relaxed and welcomed Richard Cynster into their midst. Utterly bemused, Catriona felt their warm welcome enfold him. He responded; placing her hand on his sleeve, he turned her. With her at his side, he slowly circled the gathering so he could meet all her household.

While making the introductions, Catriona studied her staff-one and all, their response to Richard was genuine. They were, indeed, very pleased to see him, to welcome him as her husband. The more he spoke, the more they smiled and grinned. The more she inwardly frowned.

When they were free to go inside, Richard led her up the steps. They passed Algaria, standing silent and withdrawn at the top. Catriona met her black gaze-and instantly knew what she, at least, was thinking.

But Richard's reaction was not feigned, nor part of any plan; as she'd introduced him to a welcome she hadn't foreseen, she'd sensed-known beyond question-that he hadn't foreseen it, either. He'd been as surprised as she, but quick to respond to her people's invitation.

What had her puzzled was what, precisely, that invitation was-and why it had been issued so readily.

Those questions plagued her all day.

By the time the household gathered for dinner, she was seriously disturbed. There was something happening in her small world that she didn't understand, some force stirring over which she had no control. Which was definitely not how it had been, nor how she liked it.

Made uneasy by something she could not name, she glided into the dining hall. Richard prowled at her heels as he had for most of the afternoon, as she'd shown him about her home. Now his home.

Glancing over her shoulder, Catriona inwardly frowned. The matter of where they would live was something they hadn't actually discussed-she'd simply assumed they would live here. Together. Lady and consort. But she'd assumed wrong on one point-she could be wrong on that issue, too. The thought did not calm her-right now, she needed calm.

Drawing that emotion to her, she smiled at Mrs. Broom and stepped up to the dais. Going to her place at the center of the long table, she graciously waved Richard to the carved chair beside hers. The chair that had stood against the wall, unneeded since her parents' deaths.

Richard held her chair as she sat, then took the chair beside her. Catriona nodded to Mrs. Broom, who clapped her hands for the first course to be served. Maids hurried in, carting piled platters. Unlike the household of gentry elsewhere, at the manor, all the household ate together, as they had for centuries.

Lounging in the chair beside Catriona, Richard studied her people, studied the open and easy manners that pertained between mistress and staff. There was a warmth, a camaraderie present that he previously had encountered only among soldiers; given the vale's isolation, the trials of long winters and wild weather, it was perhaps a good thing-a necessary cohesiveness.

All in all, he approved.

Not so Worboys.

Seated at the table directly below the main one, poor Worboys looked stunned. Inwardly grimacing, Richard made a mental note to expect his resignation. Used to the strict observances pertaining among the best households in the ton, the situation at Casphairn Manor would not meet Worboys's high standards.

And God only knew what the blacking was like.

"Do you care for some wine?"

Turning his head, Richard saw Catriona lift a decanter. Reaching out, he took it from her and studied the golden liquid within. "What is it?"

"Dandelion wine. We make it ourselves."

"Oh" Richard hesitated, then, inwardly grimacing, poured himself a half glass. He passed the decanter to Mrs. Broom, who had slipped into the seat beside him.

"You must tell me," she said, "what your favorite dishes are." She flashed him a wide smile. "So we can see what we can do to accommodate your tastes."

Richard smiled his slow Cynster smile. "How kind of you. I'll give the matter some thought."

She beamed, then turned aside.

Richard turned back to Catriona, but she was absorbed in her meal. Lifting his wineglass, he sipped. Then blinked. Then sipped again, more slowly, savoring the tart taste, the complexities of the bouquet.

Liquid ambrosia.

Straightening, he set his glass down and picked up his soup spoon. "How much of that wine do you have?"

Catriona shot him a glance. "We make as many casks as we can every summer. But we always have some left year to year."

"What do you do with it? The stuff left over?"

Laying down her spoon, she shrugged. "I expect the old casks are still there, in the cellars. I told you they're extensive-they run all the way beneath the main building."

"You can show me tomorrow." When she looked at him suspiciously, he smiled. "Your cellars sound quite fascinating."

She humphed.

A clanging sounded throughout the large room. All turned to where McArdle stood at the end of the main table. When all had quieted, he raised his goblet high. "I propose a toast-to Casphairn Manor. Long may it thrive. To our lady of the vale-long may she reign. And to our lady's new consort, Mister Richard Cynster-a warm welcome to the vale, Sassenach though he might be."

Laughter greeted that last, McArdle grinned and turned to address Catriona and Richard directly. "To you, my lady-and the consort The Lady has sent you."

Wild cheering and clapping rose throughout the hall, echoing from the stone walls and high rafters. Smiling easily, fingers crooked about the stem of his glass, Richard turned his head and cocked a brow at Catriona.

His question was clear; Catriona hesitated, then nodded. She watched as, with nonchalant grace, Richard rose; cradling his goblet, he lifted it high and said, very simply: "To Casphairn Manor."

All drank, as did he. Lowering his glass, he scanned the room, but did not sit down. After a moment, when all attention was again focused on him, on his commanding figure dominating the main table, he said, his voice low but carrying readily through the room: "I make the same pledge to you, and the vale, that I have already made to your lady." A glance directed their attention to her, then he lifted his head and raised his glass. "As consort to your lady, I will honor the ways of the vale and protect you and the vale from all threats."

He drank off his wine, then lowered his glass as clapping erupted from all sides. Heartfelt, the sound rose and rolled over the room. Richard sat-instinctively, Catriona put out a hand to his sleeve. He looked at her-she met his gaze fleetingly, then smiled and looked away.

And wondered at herself-at what he'd made her feel-all of them feel-in those few brief moments, with those few simple words. Magnetic words-she'd felt the tug herself, seen the effect it had had on her household. Her people were very much his already, and he'd only crossed the threshold mere hours ago.

Through the rest of the meal, Catriona pondered that fact. She steadfastly avoided looking at Algaria, but could feel her black glare. And sense her thoughts.

Nevertheless… she knew, to her bones, that this was how it was meant to be. Quite how their marriage would work out was what she couldn't, at present, see. She'd known Richard for a potent force even before she had met him, which was why she'd believed he was no suitable consort for her. The Lady had deemed otherwise.

Which was all very well but it was she who had to cope with his unsettling presence.

Off-balance, uncertain-in severe need of some quiet and calm-she waited until dessert was being cleared, then set aside her napkin. "I'm afraid the journey must have been more tiring than I thought." She smiled at McArdle. "I'm for bed."

"Of course, of course." He started to rise to draw out her chair, then smiled over her head and subsided.

Catriona felt the chair shift and looked around. Richard stood behind her. She smiled at him, then smiled at Mrs. Broom and the rest of the table. "Goodnight."

The others all nodded and smiled. Richard drew her chair farther back; she slipped past, then glided along behind the other chairs, stepped off the dais, and turned through an archway into the corridor leading to the stairs.

The instant she was out of sight of the dining hall, she frowned and looked down. Pondering her state-the uneasiness, the sense of being off-center that had gripped her the moment she'd stepped over her own threshold, Richard by her side-she absentmindedly trailed through the corridors, through the front hall, and climbed the stairs to the gallery and crossed it to her chamber.

Halting before her chamber door, she focused-to find herself standing in deep shadow. She'd forgotten to pick up a candle from the hall table. Luckily, born in this house, she didn't need to see to find her room. She reached for the door latch-

And very nearly screamed when a dark shadow reached past her, gripped the latch, and lifted it.

Hand to her throat, she whirled-even before she saw him, denser than night at her side, she realized who it must be. "Richard!"

He stilled; she could feel his frown. "What's the matter?"

The door swung wide, revealing her familiar room, lit by flames leaping in the grate. Catriona gazed in and tried to calm her racing heart. "I didn't realize you were there." She stepped over the threshold.

"I'll always be here." He followed her in.

Catriona whirled-her heart raced again as she faced him. And realized what he meant. "Ah… yes. Well…" Airily gesturing, she turned and walked further into the room. "I', just not used to it-having someone there."

Truer words she'd never spoken. That was borne in on her as she walked to the fire, scanning the oh-so-familiar, oh-so comforting furniture, and behind her, heard the latch click. Stopping by the fire, she half turned and glanced at him from beneath her lashes-he was standing just inside the door, studying her.

This was her own private sanctuary. A place he now had the right to enter whenever he chose. Yet another change marriage had wrought-yet another change she would have to accept.

"I… was tired."

He tilted his head, still studying her. "So you said." With that, he started to stroll, prowling about the room. Like some wild male animal assessing his new home.

Pushing the vision from her, Catriona straightened and jettisoned all thoughts of spending a quiet hour or two considering her state. Considering her husband.

She could hardly do that with him prowling so close.

She could barely think with him prowling so close.

His "I'll always be here" was not reassuring.

"Ah…" Eyeing him as he neared, she forced herself to meet his eyes. "We didn't discuss our sleeping arrangements here."

One black brow rose. "What's to discuss?" Reaching her side, he looked down at her, then crouched to tend the blaze.

Looking down at his head, Catriona felt her temper stir. "We could discuss where you'll sleep, for instance."

"I'll sleep with you."

She bit her tongue-and warned herself of the unwisdom of biting off her nose. "Yes, but what I wondered was whether you would like a chamber of your own."

He seemed to consider that, he remained silent as he piled on logs, building a massive blaze. Then he stood; Catriona only just stopped herself from taking a step back.

Richard looked down at her, then scanned the large room. Despite containing a bureau, dresser, dressing table and chairs wardrobe and two chests, as well as the reassuringly massive four poster bed, the room was sparsely furnished. They could share it comfortably and still have room to spare. His traveling case, set against one wall, was barely noticeable.

He looked down, into Catriona's eyes. "Will it bother you if I say no?"

The puzzlement that filled her eyes was impossible to mistake. "No, of course…"

He raised a brow.

"Well… " Abruptly, she glared. "I don't know!"

Unwisely, he grinned.

She slapped him across the chest. "Don't laugh! I've never felt so at sea in my life!"

His grin turned wry. "Why?" Catching her hand, he headed for the bed, towing her, unresisting, behind him.

"I don't know Well… yes, I do. It's you."

Reaching the bed, he turned and sat, pulling her to stand between his thighs. "What about me?"

She frowned at him; holding her gaze, his expression mild and questioning, he set his fingers to the buttons of her carriage dress.

After a long moment, she grimaced. "No-that's not it either."

Frowning absently, she reached for the pin securing his cravat, slipped it free, then slid it into the lapel of his coat. "I'm not sure what it is-just something unsettling-something not quite in its right place." Frowning still, she flicked the ends of his cravat undone, then fell to untwisting the folds.

Richard held his tongue and let her tug his cravat free, then obediently shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat before helping her from her dress. Sitting again, he drew her to him; trapping her between his knees, he started unpicking the laces of her petticoat.

She was still frowning.

"Did my reception surprise you?"

She looked up. He pushed her petticoats down.

"Yes." She met his gaze squarely. "I don't understand it." One hand in his, she stepped from the pile of her skirts. "It was as it you were"-she gestured-"someone they'd been waiting for."

Closing his hands about her waist, Richard drew her back, locking her between his thighs. "That's how they see me, I think."

"But…why?"

For one minute, he kept his gaze on the tiny buttons of her chemise as he slipped them from their moorings. Then he lifted his gaze and met her eyes. "Because I think they fear for you-and thus, indirectly, for themselves. I showed you the letters. I imagine, if you asked, you would discover many of your household have their own suspicions of your neighbors and the threat they pose to the vale."

Looking down, he separated the two halves of her chemise, now open to her waist, and drew the sleeves down. She shivered as the cool air touched her flesh, but lowered her arms and slid them free.

Raising his head, he trapped her gaze. "They see me as a protector-for you, the vale, and them"

Her frown wavered, then she grimaced. "I suppose that's what the consort is supposed to be."

"Indeed." Richard closed his hands over her bare breasts and felt her tremble, heard her indrawn breath. Her lids drifted low, he brushed his thumbs over her nipples, and she shuddered.

"The Lady chose me for you, remember." Drawing her closer, he kissed her, then whispered against her lips "She chose me to be the one to wed you, bed you and get you with child. Chose me to defend and protect you. That's how your people see me-as the one The Lady sent for you."

"Hmmm." Her hands rising to his shoulders, Catriona leaned into the next kiss.

A minute later, he pulled back and urged her on to the bed, divesting himself of his clothes as she slipped between the sheets. Then he joined her, moving immediately over her, spreading her thighs wide and settling between. He fitted himself to her, then, settling heavily upon her, framed her face with both hands and kissed her deeply-as he pressed into her.

He slid fully home, then stopped and lifted his head, breaking their kiss. "I told you I won't undermine your authority." He pressed deeper still, then lowered his head. "Just trust me-it'll all settle into place." In the instant before his lips reclaimed hers, he whispered: "Just like this has."

She couldn't argue with that; as she instinctively eased beneath him, supple and soft as he rode her slowly, deeply, Catriona relaxed, and did as he asked, and put her trust in him.

It wasn't, of course, how she'd imagined things would be. She'd thought to be the assured one, the one to do the reassuring, secure in her position as she eased him into his new role. Instead, the shoe seemed to be on the other foot, with him sliding effortlessly into a role she hadn't known was waiting for him-and having to reassure her of her own.

But here, in their bed, she didn't need reassurance. He'd taught her well, taught her all she needed to know to love him. So she clung to him and gave to him, uncaring of how the future might unfurl.

The future was the province of The Lady, the night-this night-was for them.

Later, much later, in the depths of the night, Richard lay on his back and studied his sleeping wife. His exhausted, sated wife-who had exhausted and sated him. The minutes ticked by as he studied her face, the flawless ivory skin, the wild mane of fire-gold hair.

She was a witch who had bewitched him, he would walk through fire for her, sell his soul and more for her.

And if she couldn't understand that, it didn't really matter, because he couldn't understand it, either.

Sliding deeper into the bed, he gathered her into his arms and felt her warmth sink to his bones. Felt her turn to him in her sleep and curl into his arms.

As his body relaxed, and he drifted into dreams, it occurred to him that few men such as he-strong enough, powerful enough to act as her protector-would agree to wed a witch and then give her free rein.

He had.

He didn't like to think why.

It was almost as if it had been preordained-that The Lady had indeed chosen him for her.