Scandals Bride

Chapter 11

Richard woke the next morning as he had the past two-at dawn, reaching for his wife.

This morning, all he found was cold sheets.

"What…?" Lifting his lids, and his head, he confirmed that the bed beside him was indeed empty. Stifling a curse, he half sat and scanned the room.

There was no sign of Catriona.

Cursing freely, he flung back the covers and stalked to the window. Opening the pane, he pushed back the shutters. Dawn was a glimmer on the distant horizon. Abruptly shutting the window on the morning's chill, he turned back into the room. Scowling ferociously.

"Where the devil has she gone?"

Determined to get an answer, he hauled on buckskin breeches and boots, a warm shirt and a hacking jacket. Tying a kerchief about his throat, his greatcoat over one arm, he strode out of the room.

The front hall and the dining hall were empty; no one was about. Not even a scullery maid clearing the ashes from the huge fireplace in the kitchen. It took him three tries to find the right corridor leading to the back door; finally there, he needed both hands to haul open the heavy oak door-Catriona certainly hadn't gone that way.

Richard paused on the threshold and looked across the cobbled yard, joined to the front courtyard by a wide drive circling the main house. The sun was just rising, streaking light across the world, striking fire from ice crystals dotted like diamonds over the snow. It was cold and chill, but clear, the air invigorating, his breath condensing in gentle puffs before his face. The stables stood directly opposite, on the other side of the yard, a conglomeration of buildings in stone and wood. The manor house itself was of dark grey stone, with steep gables edging the slate roofs and three turrets growing out of the angles of the walls. Irregularly shaped, the main building was large, but surprisingly unified-not the hodge-podge the outbuildings appeared to be.

Everything, however, was neat and tidy, everything in its place.

Except his wife.

Gritting his teeth, Richard shrugged on his greatcoat, then tugged the back door shut. He couldn't see any reason why Catriona would have gone riding, but if he didn't find her soon, he might do the same.

His short tour yesterday with her as his guide had been confined to the reception rooms and gallery, the library, billiard room-a welcome surprise-and her estate office. Punctuated by introductions to a constant stream of staff who had found occasion to pop up in their path, he hadn't seen all that much.

As he strode across the cobbles, the clack of his boot heels echoed weakly, thrown back by the stone. In the center of the yard, he halted-arrested by sheer beauty. The yard was large; from this position, he had an unimpeded view of the fields leading up to the head of the vale. Directly ahead of him, rising majestically into the sky, stood Merrick, the vale embraced within its foothills. Slowly, he pivoted, until he faced the house; on either side of its bulk, he could see the fields beyond, white-flecked ground stretching away beyond the brown of the park.

The manor was sited on a rise roughly at the center of the vale. To one side, the river that bisected the vale curved about the base of the rise; even under the snow and ice, Richard could hear it murmuring. Between the house and the river lay carefully tended gardens, stone paths wending between what he assumed would be beds of herbs and healing plants. It wasn't hard, in his mind's eye, to see it without snow, to see green instead of brown, to imagine the richness that in summer would be there. Even now, dormant, hibernating under winter's blanket, the sense of vibrant life was strong.

To a Cynster, it was a breathtaking scene. All the land he could see was-if not, in his mind, his-then under his protection.

Drawing in a deep breath, feeling the cold singing through his veins, Richard slowly swung around and resumed his trek to the stables. In the distance, he saw dots ambling across the snowy fields-cattle drifting in and out of crude shelters. He frowned, then reached for the latch of the stable door.

It opened noiselessly-it hadn't, in fact, been fully latched. His frown deepening, Richard drew the door wide. He was about to step through, when hoofbeats came pounding up the slope beyond the stables.

The next instant, a rough coated chestnut mare swung around the corner and into the yard, Catriona in the saddle. She saw him instantly. Her cheeks were flushed, her wayward curls dancing-her bright eyes grew wary the instant they met his.

"What's the matter?" Drawing rein a few feet away, she asked the question breathlessly.

Richard fought down an urge to roar. "I was looking for you." The words were clipped and steely. "Where the devil have you been?"

"Praying, of course."

Taking in her heavy cloak and the thick leggings she wore beneath her skirts, rucked up as she was riding astride, he caught her mount's bridle as she kicked free of the stirrups. "You pray outside? In this weather?"

"In all weathers." Lifting one leg over the chestnut's neck, she prepared to slide down-stifling a curse, he reached up and lifted her to the ground.

And held her before him, trapped between his hands. "Where?"

Her gaze locked on his, she hesitated, then tilted her chin. "There's a circle at the head of the vale."

"A circle?"

Whisking free of his grasp she nodded and caught the mare's reins.

Suppressing a curse, he reached out and tugged them from her, then gestured for her to precede him. She did-nose in the air, hips swaying provocatively.

For her sake Richard prayed there were no convenient piles of hay lying loose about the stable. Teeth gritted, he followed her into the warm dark. "Do you go to pray often? Disappear like this, before dawn?" Before he'd woken?

"At least once every week-sometimes more often. But not every day."

Richard gave thanks for small mercies. Her Lady obviously had some understanding of the needs of mortal men. Securing the mare in the stall Catriona had led him to, he turned to find her tugging the girths free. Then she reached for the saddle.

"Here-let me." He grasped the saddle and lifted it from her and set it atop the stall wall. Turning back, he found her with a currying brush in her hand-he took that, too. And fell to blushing the mare's thick coat.

By the light of a sharp green glare.

"I'm perfectly capable of caring for my own horse."

"I daresay. You might not, however, care for the alternative to letting me care for your horse in this instance."

Wariness muted her glare. "Alternative?"

Richard kept his eyes on the mare's hairy hide. "As there's no loose straw about, it'll have to be the wall." Without looking, he gestured with his head. "The corner by the trough might be wise-you could balance with one foot on the edge."

She actually looked-the expression on her face nearly had him throwing the brush aside.

"Then again"-he gripped the brush tightly and put all his pent-up energy into every stroke-"this mangy beast looks like she bites-which doesn't beat thinking of."

Drawing herself up to her full, less-than-adequate height, she stalked around the mare so she could glare at him directly, with the horse a safe bolster between them.

"Why are you so…"-she gestured wildly-"whatever it is you are?"

Lips compressed, Richard flicked her a hard stare and brushed on.

Catriona folded her arms and tilted her chin. "Because I went to pray and didn't ask your permission?"

She waited; gradually, the violence behind his brushing abated. His face like stone, he glanced at her over the mare's back. "Not permission-but I need to know where you are, where you go I can hardly protect you if I don't know where you are."

"I don't need protection while praying-no one in the vale would dare go into the circle. It's hallowed ground."

"Do people from outside the vale know that?"

"I'm as sate within the circle as an archbishop in his cathedral."

"Thomas a Becket was slain before the altar at Canterbury."

She hesitated, then shrugged. And tipped her nose in the air. "That was different."

With a frustrated growl, Richard tossed the currying brush aside, stepped around the mare-and trapped her against the stall wall. Eyes wide, locked on his, all fiery blue, Catriona heroically denied a crazed impulse to glance at the nearby trough.

"Just tell me where you're going in future. Don't disappear."

Lips thinning, she gave him back glare for glare. "If I wake you in the morning to tell you where I'm going, I won't get there."

His eyes bored into hers while she inwardly dared him to deny it.

Instead, after a fraught moment, he nodded curtly and drew back. "Tell me your plans the night before."

With that, he grasped her elbow and steered her, much less gently than was his wont, out of the stall. Forced to pace quickly by his side, Catriona stared up at him, struggling to make out his features in the stable's dim light.

"Very well," she agreed, as they reached the stable door. "But I don't need any protection while at the circle."

They stepped into the yard; the morning light found his face-illuminating a grim mask. "I'll think about it."

He continued to march her across the cobbles, heading for the house. The tension gripping him, shimmering about her, was beyond Catriona's comprehension.

"What is the matter with you?" Reaching the back doorstep she swung to face him. "I've agreed to tell you where I go-so what's this?" With one finger, she prodded one bicep-locked and as hard as iron.

His chest swelled. "That," he said, his voice very low, issuing through clenched teeth, "is because I'm hungry."

"Well breakfast should nearly be ready-"

"Wrong appetite."

She blinked-and looked into his eyes. And saw the truth simmering. "Great heavens! But… " She frowned at him. "You can't be. What about last night?"

"That was last night. Because you disappeared, I missed my morning snack."

"Morning…?" She felt her features blank, heard her incredulity ring in her weak: "Every morning?"

He grinned-a distinctly feral expression. "Let's just say that for the foreseeable future, it would help. But for now"-hauling open the door, he waved her inside-"why don't we see it I can be distracted with breakfast? Unless, of course, you're in favor of snacking throughout the day?"

For one instant, Catriona simply stared at him, then she glared and tossed her head-and ignored the shivery tendrils of excitement slithering clown her spine. "Breakfast," she declared, and swept into the house.

His features like stone, Richard followed her in.

They breakfasted together; in passing pikelets and jam, sharing toast, pouring coffee, the tension between them eased. They were the first to take their seats of those who sat at the main table. Mrs. Broom was fussing, overseeing the serving of the trays; McArdle hobbled in late. Algaria, arriving relatively early, took a seat at the far end and kept her black thoughts to herself.

Sitting back in the carved chair that was now his, Richard idly sipped coffee and watched to see how his wife started her day. Algaria's continued disapproval surprised him; he hoped she'd eventually get over it and accept their marriage, not for his sake, but Catriona's. He saw the hopeful glance Catriona threw the woman and sensed her sigh when it wasn't returned. If he'd thought it would help, he would have spoken to Algaria, but her defensiveness where he was concerned remained marked.

"Have there been any replies to those letters I sent about the grain?"

Catriona's question drew Richard's attention; it was ad dressed to McArdle

"Hmm… yes, actually, I believe there were." McArdle frowned. "One or two, at least."

"Well, I'll see those first, then we really must make some headway on the plans for next season's plantings."

"Ahh… Jem's not brought in his figures yet. Nor's Melchett."

"They haven't?" Catriona stared at McArdle. "But we need them to make any sense of it."

McArdle raised brows and shoulders in a comprehensive shrug. "You know how it is-they don't understand what you want, so they hope you'll forget-and so they forget."

Heaving an exasperated sigh, Catriona stood. "I'll see to that later then. But if you've finished, we may as well get started."

As McArdle heaved himself up, Richard reached out and caught Catriona's hand. She turned and raised a brow.

"Don't forget," he murmured, his eyes on hers, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand.

For one instant, she stared at him-and he could see she couldn't decide what he was reminding her of-her agreement to tell him her whereabouts, or his invitation to midday snacks. Then she blinked. And looked at him again. "I'll be in the office for most of the day."

And it was his turn to be uncertain-unsure-just what she meant. She gently tugged and he eased his grip and let her fingers slide from his. She inclined her head, then turned away.

As he watched her glide to the door, he still wasn't sure which she meant.

He'd decided on the library as his own domain-according to Catriona, only she, and Algaria occasionally, used it. There was a huge, old desk, lovingly polished, and a well-padded chair that accommodated his large frame surprisingly well.

Through the combined efforts of Mrs. Broom and Henderson, a large morose man who filled the position of general factotum, he was supplied with paper, pen and ink. Worboys, looking in on him, departed and returned bearing his seal and a stub of wax. After dispatching a maid to fetch a candle, Worboys cast a haughty, barely approving glance over the leatherbound tomes, then sniffed.

"It you need me, sir, I'll be in your room. Henderson-a nice enough chap it one can cope with his brogue-is organizing to have a second wardrobe moved in. I'll be tending your coats."

Lovingly, Richard had not a doubt. "Very well-I doubt I'll need you much in the coming days." He looked up at Worboys. "We won't be entertaining."

Worboys only just avoided a snort. "It does seem unlikely, sir." With that comment on his new home, Worboys took himself off.

Raising his brows, secretly surprised not to have been presented with Worboys' resignation, Richard turned back to his letters.

He considered, then settled to write a fuller account of his marriage to Devil-the easiest task facing him. He filled in the details he'd omitted in his earlier brief note, but saw no reason to elaborate on his feelings, on the reasons he'd taken the plunge. He was quite sure Devil, having already succumbed, and having lived with the outcome for a year, could fill in the blanks for himself.

And heaven knew Honoria, Devil's duchess, and Helena, Richard's stepmother, certainly would.

Sealing Devil's letter, Richard grimaced and set another blank sheet before him.

He stared at it for half an hour. In the end, he wrote a very careful, exquisitely guarded account, rather shorter on actual facts than the first note he'd sent Devil, but filled instead with the sort of information he knew his stepmother would want to know. That yes, he'd found his mother's grave. A description of the necklace his mother had left him. The fact Catriona had long red hair and green eyes. That it had snowed on the day they had married.

Those sort of things.

He penned them carefully and hoped, without much hope, that she'd be satisfied with that. At least for a while.

With a sigh, he signed his name. He'd told Devil they wouldn't be attending the Christmas celebrations at Somersham this year. He knew without asking that Catriona would prefer to remain here, and even after only one night under this root, he agreed. Maybe, in years to come, when their life here was more established, they would journey south for those few, family filled days-he, she and their children.

The thought held him for long moments, then he stirred, sealed his missive to Helena, and turned to his last letter-to Heathcote Montague, man of business, on permanent retainer to all the Cynsters.

That letter was more to his liking-making decisions, dealing with his varied interests, giving directions to enable him to manage them all from the vale-these were positive actions reinforcing his new position, his new role.

He signed that letter with a flourish. Impressing his seal on the melted wax, he waved the letter to cool it, then gathered up all three packets and rose. And set out to discover who collected the mail.

There was no butler as such. Old McArdle retained the title of steward, but from all he'd heard, Richard strongly suspected that Catriona did the bulk of the work herself. Henderson, as factotum, was the most likely to oversee the delivery of letters and parcels. Richard wandered through the corridors toward the back of the house, looking in on small workrooms, finding the butler's pantry-but no Henderson.

Deciding to place the matter-along with his letters-in Worboys's ever efficient hands and only then remembering Henderson's appointment with his henchman in the main bedchamber Richard headed back tow aid the stairs.

Somewhere in the depths of the house, a bell clanged.

He was in the corridor heading for the front hall when he heard footsteps cross the tiles, then a heavy creak as the front doors were opened.

"Good morning, Henderson! And where is your mistress? Pray tell her I wish to see her right away. A matter of some seriousness, I fear."

The hearty, emphatically genial tones carried clearly; slowing, Richard halted in the shadows of the archway giving onto the front hall. From there, he could see the large, heavily built gentleman handing his hat to Henderson-and the reluctance with which Henderson accepted it.

"I'll see if the mistress is free, sir."

Piggy eyes in a round, reddened face narrowed slightly. "Now you just tell her it's me, and she'll be free, I'll warrant. Now get a move on, sirrah-don't keep me standing-"

"Sir Olwyn." Catriona's quiet, dignified tones carried clearly down the hall. Richard watched as, having glided from the office, she took up a stance directly before the main stairs. And faced Sir Olwyn calmly.

"Miss Hennessey!" Sir Olwyn's impending scowl was banished by a beaming smile. With over-hearty eagerness, he strode up the hall. "A pleasure to see you returned, my dear." Catriona smiled coolly and inclined her head, but offered no hand in greeting; Sir Olwyn only beamed brighter. "I trust your little sojourn in the Highlands passed without mishap?" As if only then recalling what had occasioned her absence, his smile evaporated, to be replaced with an expression of patently false sympathy. "A great loss, I'm sure, your guardian."

"Indeed." Her voice as cold as the snows outside, Catriona inclined her head again. "But-"

"His son has inherited, I understand?"

Catriona drew a patient breath. "Yes. His son Jamie was, indeed, my late guardian's heir. But-"

"Aye, well-he'll want to pay attention to things down here, and that right quickly, I make no doubt." Bluffy earnest again, Sir Olwyn looked at Catriona and shook his head. "I fear, my dear, that I must again lodge a protest-vale cattle have been found wandering miles into my fields."

"Indeed?" Brows rising, Catriona turned and looked at McArdle, who had followed her into the hall. He looked steadily back, then gave one of his exaggerated, disclaiming shrugs-this one expressing subtle contempt for the suggestion. Catriona turned back to Sir Olwyn. "I fear, sir, that you must be mistaken. None of our cattle are missing."

"No, no, my dear-of course they aren't." Braving the prevailing chill, Sir Olwyn boldly took Catriona's hand and patted it. "My men have strict orders to return them. Many other landowners would not be so lenient, my dear-I do hope you appreciate my concern for you." Cloyingly paternalistic, he smiled into her eyes. "No, no-you losing beasts is not the point, sweet lady. The point is that they should not have wandered in the first place and should certainly not have caused damage to my fields.

Not thawed in the least, Catriona, very deliberately, withdrew her hand. "What-"

"No, no! Never fear." With a hearty laugh, Sir Olwyn held up one hand. "We'll say no more of it this time. But you really need to pay attention to your stock management, my dear. Of course, being a female, you shouldn't need to worry your pretty head over such matters. A man is what you need, m'dear-"

"I doubt that." With languid ease, Richard strolled into the hall. "At least, not another one."

Sir Olwyn stared, then he bristled. "Who are you?"

Richard raised one brow and looked at Catriona.

With unimpaired calm, she returned her gaze to Sir Olwyn. "Allow me to present Richard Cynster-my husband."

Sir Olwyn blinked, then he goggled. "Husband?"

"As I was trying to tell you, Sir Olwyn, while in the Highlands, I married."

"Me " Richard smiled-a distinctly Cynster smile.

Sir Olwyn eyed it dubiously. He mouthed a silent "Oh," then flushed and turned to Catriona. "Felicitations, my dear-well! It's quite a surprise." His piggy eyes sharpened, he looked intently at her. "Quite a surprise."

"Indeed," Richard drawled, "a surprise all around, I fancy." Smoothly moving forward, he interposed himself between Catriona and Sir Olwyn, ineffably gathering Sir Olwyn within one outstretched arm, turning him and steering him back down the hall. "Glean-it is Sir Olwyn Glean, is it not?-perhaps… you understand I haven't yet had time to fully acquaint myself with the situation here-we've only just arrived, you see… where was I? Ah, yes-perhaps you'd be so good as to explain to me how you identified these wandering cattle as originating from the vale. I gather you didn't see them?"

Discovering himself back at the front door, which Henderson had helpfully set wide, Sir Olwyn blinked, then shook himself. And flushed. "Well, no-but-"

"Ah! Your men verified their identities, then. I'm so glad-they'll be able to tell me the farm from which the cattle escaped."

Sir Olwyn flustered "Well-as to that-"

Catching his eye, Richard dispensed with his drawl. "I will, of course, be taking steps to ensure no similar situation occurs again." He smiled, very slightly, very intently. "I do hope you take my meaning."

Sir Olwyn flushed to the roots of his hair. He threw a stunned look back at Catriona, then grabbed the hat Henderson held out, crammed it on his crown, swung on his heel and clattered down the steps.

Richard watched him go-watched him scramble atop his showy bay and canter out of the courtyard.

At Richard's shoulder, the taciturn Henderson nodded at Glean's departing back. "Good job, that."

Richard thought so. He smiled and handed Henderson his letters, then turned back into the hall. Behind him, Henderson pulled the heavy doors shut.

Catriona hadn't moved from her position before the stairs; Richard strolled up the hall and stopped directly before her.

She met his gaze directly. "Our cattle don't stray beyond the vale-I'd know if they did."

Richard studied her eyes, then nodded. "I'd assumed after reading Glean's letters to Seamus that all that was so much hot air." He took her hand and turned her toward the stairs.

"Sir Olwyn's always trying to create situations out of nothing."

"Hmmm." Placing her hand on his sleeve, Richard started up the stairs.

Catriona frowned. "Where are we going?"

"To our room." Richard waved ahead. "Henderson and Worboys have been doing a little reorganizing-I think we should see if you approve." He smiled at her, effortlessly charming. "And there's one or two other things I'd like you to consider."

Like the appetite he'd worked up dispensing with Sir Olwyn.

It was time for a midday snack.

Four days later, when Catriona again tried to slip from her husband's arms before dawn, he grunted, held her close for an instant, then let her go-and rolled out of bed as well.

"This is really not necessary," Catriona stated as, ten minutes later, she stood in the dimness of the stable and watched Richard saddle her mare. "I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself."

"Hmm."

Catriona glared. She knew it was useless, but it eased her temper, confused as it was. "You could have stayed nicely warm in bed."

Cinching the girths, he looked up and met her eyes. "There's no point in staying nicely warm in bed if you're not in it."

It was her turn to humph. Gathering the reins, she put her hands to the saddle, intending to scramble up. He was around beside her in a blink; lifting her, he dropped her onto her perch.

Glaring, she reminded herself, was wasted effort. She settled her feet in the stirrups. "I'll be back in less than two hours."

Tight-lipped, he nodded and led the way up the long main corridor of the stable to open the door for her.

Halfway along, he abruptly ducked-avoiding a huge horsy head that suddenly appeared over the top of one stall. The head bobbed and danced, huge eyes rolling at the mare, who promptly skittered and shied. Catriona cursed and drew the mare back.

Richard stared at the huge horse, its head considerably higher than his. "Where the devil did you come from?"

"That's Thunderer." Holding the mare still, Catriona looked at the troublemaker. "He's not usually in this section of the stables. Higgins is making repairs in the other building-perhaps that's why he's moved Thunderer here."

The big horse shifted, then snorted and kicked restlessly. Catriona sighed. "I wish he'd calm down. He half demolishes his stall every month."

"He probably just needs more exercise." Climbing up on the gate of the next stall, Richard looked down on the massive beast. The sleek, dappled grey coat had obviously given him his name-that, and the noise he made with his huge hooves, constantly stamping, shifting, kicking. Richard frowned. "Is he a stallion?"

"Yes-he's stallion to the vale's herd. In winter, all the mares are quartered around the other side."

With a snort, Richard dropped back to the ground. "Poor animal." He shot a glance at Catriona. "I know just how he feels." She sniffed; he looked back at the stallion. "You need to give orders for him to be ridden more-at least once a day. Or you'll be paying for it in timber and tending bitten grooms."

"Unfortunately, with Thunderer, we have to pay and tend. He's unridable."

Richard frowned at her, then back at the horse.

"He's a superb horse, a thoroughbred with excellent bloodlines. We needed a stallion like him to improve the herd, and he was a bargain because the gentleman who owned him couldn't ride him."

"Hmm. That doesn't necessarily mean he's unridable."

Catriona shrugged. "He's thrown every groom in the vale. So now, in winter, he just mooches around in a foul temper."

Richard shot her a sharp glance. "That, I can appreciate."

Sticking her nose in the air, Catriona waved at the door. "I have to reach the circle before dawn."

She couldn't hear what Richard grumbled, but he turned and strode on. Keeping to the far side of the corridor, she walked the mare past Thunderer, who whinnied pitifully. "Males!" she muttered under her breath.

Her own male was waiting, holding the door wide; she rode through and turned-and met his eye. And heard herself assure him. "I'll be back soon."

For all the world as if she was promising on her return to engage in their habitual morning activities. As if her prayers were merely an interruption. A quirk of his brow told her how he'd interpreted her impulsive words; mentally cursing, Catriona turned, touched her heels to the mare's flanks-and escaped.

For now. Later, she was obviously destined to provide another of his midday snacks.

The fact that the tingling in her veins owed nothing to the exhilaration of her ride she studiously ignored.

His arms draped over the top rail of the yard fence, Richard watched her fly across the winter landscape. When she was halfway to where he would lose sight of her, he slid his hand into his greatcoat pocket and drew out the spyglass he'd found in the library. Extending the glass to its full length, he put it to his eye, adjusted the focus, then scanned the snow covered ground ahead of Catriona.

Not a single hoofprint-or footprint-marred the snow carpet.

Lips curving in grim satisfaction, Richard lowered the glass and put it away. There were more ways than one to keep a witch safe.

He'd ridden out to her circle two days before. Even he, unsusceptible to local superstitions, had felt the power that protected the grove of yews, elms and alders-trees not common in these parts. He'd circled it on foot and had confirmed to his own satisfaction that there was no possible approach to the circle other than by crossing the expanse of ground he'd just scanned.

While he'd much rather be with her-was, indeed, conscious of a strong desire to ride there at her side-without an invitation from her, watching over her from afar was the best he could do.

At least, he thought, as the flying figure that was his witch rounded a small hillock and disappeared from sight, this way, the possessive protectiveness that was now a constant part of him was at least partly assuaged.

Turning from the now empty landscape, he started back to the house. Then stopped. Slowly, frowning, he looked back at the stable, then swung about and strode back to the door.

"Where is, he?" Tugging her day gown over her head, Catriona heard the waspishness in her tone, and humphed. "That, I suppose, is what comes of consorting with rakes." Having a rake for a consort.

With another disgusted humph, she scooped her discarded riding clothes into a pile and dumped them on a chair.

She'd returned from her prayers, from her wild ride through the snow-kissed countryside, excited and exhilarated, bubblingly eager to set eyes on her handsome husband again. He who she'd left waiting.

Ridiculously eager to soothe his frustrations.

She'd expected to find him in the warmth of the kitchen, or perhaps in the dining hall, or even brooding-darkly sensual-in the library.

He hadn't been anywhere, brooding or otherwise. She'd looked, but hadn't been able to locate him.

Now, she was disappointed.

Now, she was frustrated.

With a smothered growl, Catriona stalked to the window and threw back the curtains, then opened the pane and set the shutters wide.

And saw him.

Her room was in one of the turrets set into the angles at the front of the house; its windows revealed a vista stretching over her lands to the mouth of the vale. Nearer at hand, the gardens rolled down to the river, now visible only as a snow ribbon edged by banks of brown.

It was there that she saw him, riding like the wind along the path that followed the river. The horse under him was dappled grey, a flash of silver in the crisp morning light.

Her heart in her throat, Catriona watched, waiting for the inevitable balk, the scream, the rearing and bucking-the inevitable fall.

It didn't happen. Like kindred souls, man and beast flew over the white ground in perfect harmony, every movement a testimony to their innate strength, every line a testimony to their breeding.

She watched until they disappeared into the glare of the morning sun, rising like a silver disc over the mouth of the vale.

She was waiting for him in the stable when he clattered in. He saw her-his brows quirked, then he dismounted. Hands on hips, she watched as he led Thunderer back to his stall and unsaddled the huge grey. Both he and the horse were breathing fast, they were both smiling the same, thoroughly male smile.

Suppressing a humph, she leaned against the open stall door and folded her arms. "How did you manage it?"

Busy brushing the now peaceable stallion, he glanced at her. "It was easy. Thunderer here had simply never had the option put to him."

"What option?"

"The option of staying cooped up in here, or of going for a long run with me on his back."

"I see. And so you simply put this option to him and he agreed?"

"As you saw." Tossing the brush aside, Richard checked the stallion's provisions, then joined her by the stall door.

Arms still crossed, she eyed him broodingly. He was still breathing more rapidly than usual, his chest rising and falling-and he still wore that same, ridiculously pleased-with-himself smile.

He glanced back at Thunderer. "I'll take him for a run every now and then." He looked down at her. "Just to keep him in shape."

His eyes trapped hers-Catriona sucked in a quick breath. They were blue-burning blue-hot with passion and desire. As she stared into their heat, wariness-and expectation-washed over her. No one else was around, all the stable hands were at breakfast.

"Ah…" Eyes locked on his, she slid sideways, along the open door. He followed, slowly, as if stalking her. But the threat didn't come from him; the knowing lilt to his lips said he knew it. She should, she knew, draw herself up, find her haughty cloak and put it on without delay. Instead, his burning gaze drew forth the exhilaration she'd felt earlier, and sent it singing through her veins. "Breakfast?" she managed, her voice faint.

His eyes held hers, his lips lifted in a slow, slight, very intent smile. "Later."

She'd slid away from the door, reaching out, he swung it shut without looking and continued to follow her, herd her, into the next stall. Which was empty.

Wide eyed, still backing up, Catriona glanced wildly about. And came up against the wall. She put up her hands, far too weak to hold him back. Even had that been her intent "Richard?"

It was clearly a question. He answered with actions. And she discovered how useful a feed trough could be.