Scandals Bride

Chapter 2O

Together, Catriona and Richard reentered the front hall.

"Excuse me, sir." Henderson came up. "Corby was wondering if he could have a word before he goes back to Lower Farm."

"Of course." Releasing Catriona, Richard beckoned to Corby, who'd hung back by the wall.

By Richard's side, Catriona hesitated, then quietly glided away. Leaving Richard conferring about the orchard fence, she silently made her way upstairs.

She had unfinished business to attend to.

It had been easy to set aside the question of Richard's poisoner while his family-their family-had been here. In truth, it would have been difficult to deal with the matter appropriately while they'd been about.

But they were gone now.

There wasn't a single person in the vale who did not know who had poisoned Richard. But all her people would, with their usual unwavering confidence, leave the matter in her hands-to be settled as The Lady willed.

Which was as it should be, but she wasn't looking forward to it-to what might have to be.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Catriona looked back, down into the hall to where Richard's dark head was bent as he spoke to Corby. She looked for one long moment, then drew in a deep breath, straightened her spine, straightened her shoulders, and turning, headed for their chamber.

Richard knew the instant she left his side. From the corner of his eye, he saw her climb the stairs, her steps slow and measured, saw her reach the top, hesitate as she looked back at him, then quietly walk away.

The instant he finished with Corby, he followed her.

He opened the door to their room and immediately saw her, standing at the end of the bed, pushing a thick shawl into a saddle bag.

She looked up and saw him, then continued with her packing.

He shut the door and advanced on the bed, on her. "Where is she?"

Catriona looked up as he halted beside her; she met his gaze, then raised a questioning brow.

Richard's lips thinned. "Algaria. It's obvious it was she who poisoned me."

Catriona hesitated, then grimaced. "We can't say that for certain."

"It hasn't escaped my notice that, other than you, only she knows enough of those elixirs and potions you store in the stillroom to mix whatever it was in that coffee."

"Wolfsbane. Plus a little henbane. But that doesn't convict her."

"No, but it makes her the obvious suspect." He hesitated, then asked, rather more quietly, "Besides, if it wasn't she, where are you going?"

Her gaze on her saddle bag, Catriona grimaced again.

She heard Richard sigh, then felt him shift. He reached past her, bracing one arm on the bedpost; sliding the other around her, he turned her, trapped her-lifting her hands to his chest, she looked up.

He trapped her gaze. "Don't you trust me yet?"

She looked into his eyes and saw nothing but devotion-selfless, committed, and unshakable; with a sigh, she closed her eyes and leaned her forehead on his chest. "You know I do."

"Then I'll come with you. No-" He held up a hand when she looked up, her mouth opened to argue. "Consider me your protector, your champion-your consort. I'll hold myself at your command." He studied her eyes. "In this matter, I won't act without it."

Determination and commitment were etched in his face, enshrined in his blue, blue eyes. Catriona studied them, then drew a deep breath and nodded. "We'll be gone for two days."

Mounted-she on her mare, he on Thunderer-they reached the mouth of the vale just after midday. Richard followed as Catriona turned the mare's head north; he waited until they were trotting steadily before asking: "Where exactly are we going?"

"Algaria has a small cottage." Catriona gestured with her chin. "It's almost directly north. It's not all that far as the crow flies, but the tracks are not easy."

That was an understatement. They followed the road from the vale, a relatively well-surfaced lane, until it joined the road to Ayr. Crossing this, Catriona led the way up a narrow sheep track, the little mare picking her way daintily. Thunderer hurrumphed-and clomped in the mare's wake.

From there on, it was nothing but sheep tracks, barely a trail worn into the rocky ground. Studying the poor land through which they passed, Richard noticed a field, some way away, planted with a low-lying crop. Crossing the field was a straggling line of gaunt cattle.

After considering the sight for a moment, he transferred his gaze to his witchy wife's hips. "Aren't these Sir Olwyn's fields?"

"Yes." She nodded without looking around. "Both to the north and south."

Richard looked to the south, to where the cattle now stood morosely hanging their heads. "Looks like he's just lost some more cabbages."

Catriona looked around, then followed his gaze to the distant field. She studied the evidence, then humphed. "He never would listen when I tried to help him."

Surveying the bleak scene about them, an amazing contrast to the vale, no more than a few miles behind them, Richard raised his brows. "I can see why he wanted to marry you."

Catriona merely humphed again.

They plodded slowly on through the afternoon; Richard called a halt, an enforced rest, on the crest of a small hill. The track wound about the top then descended into shadow. Sitting in the sunshine, he looked across the rocky, largely barren landscape through which they'd travelled. In the distance, a purple haze hid the vale. Catriona came up, dusting her hands on her skirts after feeding dried apples to Thunderer and her mare. With a soft sigh, she slid down beside him, settling against him when he lifted an arm about her shoulders.

They looked out in silence. Eventually, he said: "It's beautiful here. Not pretty, but majestic. It's all so hard, harsh and rocky, it makes a place like the vale all the more wondrous, all the more precious."

Catriona smiled and leaned more heavily against him. "Yes."

They looked some more, then Richard asked: "Are we still on Sir Olwyn's lands?"

"Theoretically yes, but he's never farmed this area. Algaria's cottage lies just inside his northern boundary."

Resting his chin in her hair, Richard frowned. "So Sir Olwyn is Algaria's landlord?"

Catriona looked up at him. "Well-yes, I suppose that's true." Turning back to the scenery, she clasped her hands over his at her waist. After a moment, she sighed. "If there's one thing I know about Algaria, it's that she must have had a very strong reason to poison you. She would not have done it lightly-not just because she didn't like you-not even because she felt so strongly that you weren't the right husband for me."

"She never made any secret of that."

"No-that's not her way. She never hides what she thinks. But to act as she did, she must have had some compelling reason."

Hearing the fervor in her voice, Richard hugged her tighter. "Why are you so sure?"

It was a simple question, accepting rather than dismissive.

"Because the only excuse for any disciple of The Lady to take a life is in the service of others. That is, she must be acting in defense, usually of others."

"Others-such as you?"

Catriona nodded. "Me. Or the people of the vale." After a moment, she sighed. "But that doesn't make sense-because no matter what Algaria thought you might do, you haven't done anything to harm me or the vale. Quite the opposite."

Turning in his arms, she looked into Richard's face, into his blue eyes. "Can you think of anything-any act at all-that you've committed since coming to the vale that she could misconstrue as a real threat?''

Richard saw the worry in her eyes and knew it wasn't for him. He would have eased even that burden for her if he could. But… framing her face, he looked deep into her eyes. "Since the day we wed, I've only had one aim in life-your well-being-and that isn't compatible with harming you or the vale."

She sighed; turning her head, she pressed a kiss into his palm, then wriggled around and settled back into his arms. "I know. That's what bothers me so."

They pressed on as the afternoon slowly waned into evening; as the chill in the air deepened, Catriona turned into the mouth of a narrow cleft and pulled up before a rude hut. To Richard's questioning glance, she replied: "We would have made it in a day if we'd started early enough, but we can't go on in the dark."

Richard didn't argue-the track they were now following was little more than a ribbon worn into the rocky hillside, and aside from the cold, there were gullies and clefts aplenty, traps for the unwary. He dismounted, then lifted Catriona down. "What is this place?"

"It's an old shepherd's hut. I doubt it's been used since last I was here."

Unstrapping their bags, Richard glanced at her. "Since last…? I thought you never left the vale."

Taking the bags from him, Catriona pulled a face. "I don't count my herb trips."

"Herb trips?"

"At least once every spring and again in late summer, I travel to collect herbs and roots which don't grow in the vale."

Unsaddling Thunderer, Richard narrowed his eyes at her. "I foresee a developing interest in botany."

Catriona grinned. Hefting the bags, she threw him a provocative glance. "There's quite a lot I could teach you."

Richard raised his brows. "Indeed?" Hauling the saddle from Thunderer's back, he met her gaze squarely. "Why don't you go and sweep the spiders out, then I'll get a fire going-and you can teach me all you will."

Catriona's grin widened; her eyes danced as she turned away. "Why not?"

Richard watched her hips sway as she climbed to the cottage, then he grinned and turned back to the horses.

The first lessons his witchy wife taught him had nothing to do with botany. The first thing he learned was that despite her delicate appearance and her usually cossetted state, she ranked with the most experienced camp-follower in the not-at-all-easy task of making a rude shepherd's hut seem comfortable and warm. In conjuring a warm and sustaining meal out of what they'd carried in their saddlebags and the roots and leaves she'd gathered before the light died.

In making him feel relaxed and rather cossetted himself.

It was a distinctly pleasant feeling.

Smiling serenely, Catriona watched the heavy muscles in his shoulders ease, watched the glow of comfort suffuse his expression. And inwardly smiled all the more.

She hadn't been sure whether to bring him with her on this journey, not until he'd asked and sworn his allegiance. Then she'd known it was right-that he should be by her side when she faced Algaria at her cottage, and whatever truths awaited them there.

But she could do nothing about Algaria tonight, and, regardless of what transpired with Algaria, her own life would go on-and she had a goal, a personal aim, one vitally important to her.

She needed to show Richard she loved him. Needed to convince him of that fact-drum it through his Cynster skull so that, someday, he would be confident enough to openly show his love for her. She wasn't holding her breath, of course-she knew it would take time. Men as reserved as he did not change their habits overnight. But she was prepared to be patient; she would persevere.

The first thing to do was to start.

And now was as good a time as any.

Sliding the wooden eating bowls back into her saddlebag, she set it aside, then approached Richard where he sat on a round stool before the fire, staring at the flames. Resting her hands lightly on his shoulders, she brushed her lips along his cheek. "Come to bed."

The soft whisper had him standing immediately; he'd already banked the fire. Taking his hand, a soft smile playing on her lips, Catriona led him to the pallet lying on a crude frame in the corner. She'd had him fetch fresh spruce to slide into the dry straw, then she'd covered the whole with a blanket, keeping two others to wrap about them. The warmth in the cottage released a faint tang from the spruce; their warm bodies crushing it would release even more.

Stopping by the bed, he drew his fingers from hers and immediately reached for her laces. Laying aside the warm shawl she'd draped over her shoulders, she let him do what he did so well. He divested her of her gown and petticoats, then considered her fine lawn chemise.

"You might want to keep that on."

Catriona considered her own plans for the night and shook her head. "Not tonight." Quickly, fingers flying, she slid the tiny buttons undone, noting his blink, his sudden stiffening as she opened the bodice. Then she grasped the hem and whisked the chemise off over her head. She dropped it on a stool with the rest of her clothes, then grabbed one waiting blanket, shook it out, and slid onto the bed beneath it.

Richard watched her, blinked at her, then undressed and joined her in record time. He pinched out the candle just before he did, plunging the room into a mysterious dark lit by flickering firelight. The pallet dipped beside her as he stretched beneath the second blanket; he was all dark, mysterious male when he loomed on his elbow beside her. And reached for her.

"No." Catriona braced one hand against his chest when he would have rolled her beneath him. She wriggled the other way, pressing him back to the pallet. "This time, I want to love you-not the other way about."

Richard blinked again and swallowed the reassurance that had risen to his tongue. She always loved him-took him into her body with a joyous delight, a witchy neediness, that was all the loving he needed. But… if she wanted to love him even more, he'd grit his teeth and bear it. "Just what form," he murmured, as he rolled obediently onto his back, "is this loving of yours going to take?"

"This, for a start." Scrambling over him, Catriona found his lips with hers, and kissed him-gently at first, then with greater confidence as he parted his lips and welcomed her in, playing the role that was usually hers. She took his, wriggling so she was higher over him to deepen the kiss, to coax, to incite, to sexually stir him.

Not that he needed any stirring. Against her thigh, cocooned in the warmth of the blankets, she could feel the steady, pulsing throb of his erection-hard and heavy and all hers. Inwardly grinning, she shifted, trapping it between her thighs, artfully caressing.

It grew hotter, harder. His hands, splayed across her back, tensed.

She pulled back from their kiss. "I want," she whispered, already slightly breathless, "you to tell me what you like."

"What I like?" His voice was a gravelly murmur in her ear. "What I like, sweet witch, is to feel your body close tightly about me, all hot and wet and urgent."

"Hmmm, yes. But before that," she insisted. "Do you like this?" Discovering a flat nipple hidden beneath the crisp mat of his hair, she burrowed her head down and licked it-lovingly.

And felt him tense, just a little, beneath her. "Very nice." The words sounded a touch strained. In wriggling lower, she'd slithered over his erection, it was now cradled in her curls, pulsing against the rounded softness of her belly.

"Good." Artfully sliding this way, then that, using her whole body as well as her hands to caress him, she pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses across his chest, down the ridged muscles of his abdomen, interspersing her kisses with well-placed licks and the occasional suck.

Beneath her. his body was hardening, muscles here and there flickered restlessly. Recalling in fine detail all the caresses he'd pressed on her-and which ones drove her the most demented-Catriona decided that what was good for the goose probably worked equally well with the gander.

The sudden hiss of his indrawn breath as, sliding swiftly further down, she curled her fingers about his rigid length, then caressed it with the warm swells of her breasts, suggested her reasoning was sound. Smiling to herself, she slid further yet, deliberately guiding his long length up from the valley between her breasts, along the smooth skin of her upper chest, then up, sinuously lifting her head to caress him with her throat.

Before turning her head and caressing him with her lips.

He jerked; every muscle in his body locked tight. His hands shifted from her shoulders; his fingers sank into her curls. "Catriona?"

He sounded shocked. Inwardly grinning, Catriona was too busy to answer him. She didn't, however, have any real clue what she was doing, how much pleasure he was feeling, so, after kissing, licking and sucking to her own content, she decided to inquire about his.

"Do you like this?" She planted a soft, wet kiss on his pulsing tip.

Richard bit back a groan. "No," he lied. But he couldn't force his fingers to grip her tresses and haul her away.

"Oh. Well, perhaps you like this better?"

He did; Richard gave up and groaned as she closed her mouth, all soft, hot heat, around him. He withstood her torture for two more, exquisitely wracked minutes, before realizing that, no matter that he could tease her to extremis, his own constitution wasn't up to it.

"Catriona-" In an explosive movement, he half-sat-for one fractured instant driving his shaft deeper into her mouth-then he caught her, lifted her, scattering the blankets they no longer needed. They were both burning with an inner heat.

An inner heat that poured over his teased and sensitive flesh as he set her on her knees, straddling his hips.

She blinked down at him. "I was only trying to please you."

He scowled at her; despite the poor light, he could see the witchy smile on her lips. "You please me every time you take me in, you damn witch."

His knowing fingers found her softness, deftly probed, stroked and readied her. It took only one flick to replace his fingers with his throbbing shaft. Gripping her hips, he eased her down, closing his eyes in ecstasy as she slowly slid down and enveloped him.

"That," he stated his voice deep but weak, "is what pleases me the most."

He heard her witchy chuckle, then she rose on him and slid down, clasping him tight again. Sliding his hands about the globes of her derriere, he gripped and helped her rise-and felt the dew spring up beneath his hands as he stroked and caressed.

They settled into their usual slow rhythm; only then did he lift his heavy lids. Small hands braced on his chest, she rode him happily, a serene, definitely witchy, lustfully knowing smile on her lips. Her gaze was fixed on his face, watching, gauging, assessing his response to that ultimate, most intimate caress.

He only just managed to suppress his wolfish grin. He was blessed, and he knew it. "If you really want to please me, one thing you could do is always come to me stark naked, with your hair down." As it currently was, a rich, vibrant corona about her head, rippling fire over her white shoulders and down her slim arms. When he took her from behind, it was like a living veil, sliding sensuously over her back. He loved her hair.

Her eyes glinted; she inclined her head. "Any other requests?"

"Just one. Stop trying to muffle your moans and screams."

She frowned slightly; he smiled winningly and she humphed. "That's all very well for you to say, but it anyone else heard me-well"-she caught his eye and frowned-"it's rather revealing, you know."

He grinned. "I do, indeed, which is why I like to hear them-those little sounds of your appreciation." He gripped her bottom and lifted her high, then thrust deeply into her as he lowered her again. Eyes closing, she bit her lip to hold back a groan. "Like that. They're little sounds of pleasure-and they're precious to me. They're like trophies that I win for pleasuring you." After a moment, he added. "How else do I know if I'm hitting the mark?"

"You always hit the mark," Catriona retorted, her lids still too heavy to lift. "You always pleasure me to oblivion."

"Perhaps-but I like to hear you admit it."

Opening her eyes, Catriona studied his as she continued to move upon him. Then he shifted her, pulling her thighs wider so he could sink more deeply into her, a moan welled in her throat-this time, she let it go. And sensed the real pleasure the sound gave him.

"Very well." Leaning forward, she kissed him, letting their hungry lips feast. As she drew back, eyes closed in concentration as he started moving more powerfully beneath her, she murmured, "I'll try."

It wasn't hard, especially given their location, with no one within miles to hear her screams. But he reveled in her commitment and took advantage to the full.

He garnered a whole swag of trophies that night.

Courtesy of Richard's developing fondness for the amenities of the shepherd's hut, it was mid-afternoon before they reached Algaria's cottage.

She'd seen them coming. She stood in the doorway as they rode up, Catriona just a little in the lead. Algaria met Catriona's gaze, then, deliberately, her hands clasped before her, bowed her head. Turning, she went into the cottage, leaving the door open.

Richard dismounted, then lifted Catriona down. She paused, held between his hands, and met his gaze. "Remember your promise."

He grimaced. "I won't forget. I'm your right arm-your protector. I'll follow your lead." He gestured her toward the house.

Drawing a deep breath, drawing herself up, Catriona led the way inside.

It was a two-room cottage, one up, one down, with the kitchen facilities in a lean-to at the rear, and a small stable against the side. Pausing on the threshold to let her eyes adjust, Catriona scanned the room and saw Algaria standing, hands clasped before her, her head still bowed in the attitude of a penitent, on the other side of the deal table with her back to the cold hearth.

Catriona moved into the room, until she stood at the opposite side of the table, facing Algaria. Richard's shadow blocked the light from the door momentarily, then she sensed his presence at her back.

Lifting one hand, she extended it across the table. "Algaria-"

"As you love me, let me speak." Slowly, Algaria lifted her head. She looked first at Richard, standing silent at Catriona's shoulder, then shifted her black gaze to Catriona's face. "I now know what I did was wrong, but at the time, it seemed right-what The Lady required of me. But rather than you, it was I who made the mistakes in interpreting Her signs. I acted wrongly, and I deeply regret the pain and suffering I caused." She drew breath, her gaze locked on Catriona's, and pressed her hands tightly together. "I ask for your understanding and will abide by your judgment."

Lowering her proud head, she looked down.

Catriona waited a moment, then asked: "What made you realize you were wrong?"

Algaria lifted her head, the glance she bent on Richard was hardly affectionate but contained a respect that had not previously been there. "He lived." She looked at Catriona. "If you knew how much wolfsbane I put in that cup…" She pressed her lips together, flicked Richard another glance, then stated: "Not even your intervention should have been able to save him. Yet he lived. The Lady's intention is clear-she could not have spoken any louder."

Catriona nodded. "As you say. It took him a long time to recover, yet every day longer made his living more remarkable."

Algaria inclined her head and looked down once more. "It is clear The Lady wishes him as your consort-the error of my actions could not be more plain." She lifted her head and met Catriona's gaze levelly. "I am sincerely contrite"-she drew a tight breath-"and ready to accept whatever judgment you make."

"Why?" Catriona asked. "Why did you think it necessary to remove Richard, especially knowing you were acting against my wishes?"

Algaria grimaced. The look she flicked Richard held an element of apology. "Because I believed he was responsible for the fire."

"What?" Catriona felt Richard shift behind her, but true to his word, he held silent. "He was in Carlisle-or riding back-at the time the fire started."

Algaria held up a hand. "Bear with me-I knew that was what we'd been told. However," she paused and drew a deep breath, "if you recall, three days after the fire, we were running low on tansy, and I offered to go and check the patch south of the woods." Catriona nodded; Algaria glanced at Richard. "The patch in the woods always sprouts ahead of the main bed at the manor itself."

Richard inclined his head; Algaria went on: "On that side of the park lives an old man known to us all as Royce. You and he, now I've thought back on it, haven't yet met-he's something of a hermit in winter."

"He's a marvel with animals, particularly with birthing lambs," Catriona put in. "He lives in a small hut on the south side of the park."

"I saw Royce that day when I went looking for the tansy-it was sunny and he was stretching his stiff limbs. He sat on a rock and talked-despite living so alone, he loves to talk to people, so I waited and listened."

"He talked about the fire only in passing-he'd missed all the excitement. He couldn't see the smoke because of the park-he'd only heard about it later. What he did say, however, was that on the day when he came to the manor to fetch bones for broth, while returning home, he saw a stranger-a tall, dark-haired gentleman riding a dark horse. This man rode through the park, but not up to the manor. It was late afternoon, heading into evening-the stranger tethered his horse in the park, took something from his saddle pocket, then skirted the manor itself, and went around behind the forge. He didn't see Royce watching. Royce thought it strange, but…" Algaria grimaced. "He assumed the gentleman was you. Later the gentleman came back, mounted his horse, and rode down the vale-that time, Royce was close enough to see the man had blue eyes." She paused and met Richard's undeniably blue eyes.'

"I knew Royce got his bones on the day of the fire-I gave them to him myself. He didn't know about the timing of the fire, so he didn't know you didn't apparently arrive until black night."

"You thought it was me?"

Lifting her chin, Algaria nodded. "I reasoned that in order to tighten your hold on Catriona, you'd been seen to leave, then you rode back, earlier than anyone thought, set the fire, waited until it was blazing, then rode in and rescued the situation." She eyed Richard; her lips tightened. "If that had been your plan, from all I saw afterward, it worked."

Richard considered, then nodded. "I can prove it wasn't me. Two of Melchett's lads saw me riding into the vale, and we spoke briefly-we could already see the smoke rising." He could remember that moment of dread panic very well.

Algaria waved dismissively. "I accept without question that my interpretation was wrong-else you would have died. It wasn't you old Royce saw."

"So who was it?" Catriona asked. Algaria lifted her shoulders; in the same instant, Catriona's face lit. "Dougal Douglas!" Swinging about, she looked at Richard. "It must be him."

Richard grimaced. "He fits the general description, but tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed gentlemen aren't really all that rare, even in the Lowlands." He paused, his gaze on Catriona's. "Algaria jumped to an erroneous conclusion-we shouldn't repeat the mistake." He studied her face-he could almost see her intransigence, her witch's wiles working. Inwardly, he sighed. "But… I do know that Dougal Douglas knew I'd left the vale. He thought I was heading south, that I'd be well on the road to London by lunchtime that day."

Her eyes narrowed, Catriona humphed. "I know it was Dougal Douglas." Transferring her gaze to Algaria, she raised her brows. "So you poisoned Richard because you believed he was responsible for the fire?"

Algaria drew herself up. "Yes."

Catriona considered-considered Algaria and her rigid discipline, her rigid pride. Considered Richard, a vital force beside her, his heartbeat as familiar to her as her own. They were both dear to her, both with so much to give. She and the vale needed both of them. Straightening, she turned to Richard. "You have heard all I've heard-you know as much as I know. It was your life Algaria sought to take-as my consort and protector, I give you the right to pass judgment and sentence upon her."

She looked into Richard's eyes, then, without another glance at Algaria, turned and left the cottage.

Leaving Richard staring over the deal table at Algaria.

Who stiffened and lifted her chin proudly, her black gaze smoldering. She was still a potent force-he could sense it-but expecting the worst. Yet the old witch would never beg his pardon, or ask for mercy.

He wasn't inclined to be all that merciful but… he had survived-and he and his witchy wife were much closer, more one, than they had been. She'd trusted him enough to leave her mentor's fate in his hands.

And, despite the fact that he wasn't at all comfortable with Algaria, she'd behaved much as he, in the same situation, might have himself-although not with poison. A well-aimed fist would have been more his style.

But what to do with her-what possible sentence could he devise? The answer popped into his mind with such vigor, such force, he grinned.

Which made Algaria nervous; he grinned even more. "After much consideration," he stated, "I've decided that the most appropriate penance, the most suitable punishment, will be for you to return to the vale, to act as overall nursemaid to our children." Being responsible for a household of Cynster brats-oh, yes-that was perfect. And he'd so enjoy contributing to her punishment-and she'd so disapprove of the enjoyment he derived from the process. "And," he added, "should you have any spare hours, you must devote them to easing our lady's burden by relieving her of some of her healer's chores."

He smiled, rather pleased with himself.

Algaria raised her brows. "That's it?"

Richard nodded-she didn't know anything about Cynsters-she didn't know what she was destined for. When Algaria's face lit with relief, he quickly added: "Just as long as you're quite sure you won't again decide to make away with me."

"What? Fly in the face of The Lady's expressed wishes?" Algaria waved derisively. "That's not a mistake I'm likely to make twice."

"Good." Richard waved himself, gesturing her to the door. "Then I'll leave you to make your peace with our lady."

He was sitting, relaxing, on a stone at the back of the cottage, out of the wind, when Catriona came searching for him. She came up behind him and slid her arms about his shoulders and hugged him.

"Your sentence was inspired-she's so relieved. In fact, she's almost happy. I even saw her smile."

Richard squeezed her arm. "If that pleases you, then I'm glad." He looked out at the rugged hills before them. "Actually, I was thinking of inviting Helena to come for a visit, maybe in November. She can tell Algaria all the stories of what Devil and I and all the rest used to get up to-to prepare her for what's to come."

Catriona chuckled, then sobered. "Incidentally, I remembered, and Algaria does, too, that Dougal Douglas used to visit the vale as a youth. Algaria says his family was keen on a match between him and me."

"Is that so?" Despite his lazy drawl, Richard was already making plans to call on Dougal Douglas. Once he determined who had set the blacksmith's cottage ablaze, he fully intended to exact retribution.

"Well." With a sigh, Catriona straightened. "We'll spend the night here, then start back early tomorrow. We should reach the vale before dusk."

"Good." Richard stood, suddenly eager to be home again, to get his witchy wife back where she belonged. Turning, he gathered Catriona in one arm and they started to stroll back to the cottage. "No one in London would ever believe this-me sitting down to dinner with not one, but two witches."

"Not witches." Mock-chidingly, Catriona poked him in the ribs. "Two disciples of The Lady, one of whom is bearing your child."

Richard grinned. "I stand corrected." Tipping up her face, he kissed her-a kiss she returned very sweetly. Then Algaria called from the cottage, and Catriona broke away.

His brows lightly rising, Richard took care to hide his sudden thoughts; when Catriona took his arm and towed him to the cottage, he didn't resist.

The next morning, they left Algaria's cottage at the crack of dawn, Catriona still sleepy, Algaria grouchy, Richard with a wide smile on his face. The attitudes of all three were connected; Algaria had given up her bed for Catriona's use, casting dark looks Richard's way when he'd bid her good night and joined Catriona upstairs. Algaria had slept on the old settle downstairs-that, however, was not the reason she'd slept poorly.

Richard had provided that-provided reason enough for his witchy wife, despite her disapproval, to moan and sob her pleasure for quite half the night.

He was, this morning, in a very good mood.

Keeping Thunderer to a lazy amble, he followed Catriona's mare and Algaria's old grey. The two women rode side by side, talking of herbs and potions.

Richard grinned-and wondered if witches ever talked of anything else.

Idly speculating, he ambled along in pleasant content, his gaze locked on his wife's swinging hips-

Ph-whizz! Thwack!

Thunderer balked and whinnied; Richard abruptly drew rein. Ahead, Catriona and Algaria milled, their faces blanking in shock as they looked back and saw what he was staring at.

A crossbow bolt.

It had whizzed across, a mere inch before his chest, then struck a rock and glanced off. It now lay in the heather, glinting evilly, in the soft morning light.

Fists clenching about the reins, Richard jerked his head up and looked about. Algaria and Catriona followed his lead, visually scouring the slopes below them to their left.

"There!" Algaria pointed to a fleeing rider.

Catriona stood in her stirrups to look. "It's that fiend Dougal Douglas!"

"That pestilential man!"

Calmly, Richard scanned the long valley below them. "Wait here!" With that curt order, he swung Thunderer about and tapped his heels to the horse's sides. The huge grey surged, perfectly happy to thunder hell for leather over the heather, leaping small streams, jumping rocks. They descended to the valley on a direct course to intercept the fleeing Douglas like retribution falling from on high.

They met as Richard had planned, with him on Thunderer higher up the slope from Douglas on his black horse. Leaping from Thunderer's saddle, he collected Douglas and rolled, making no attempt to hang on to his prey, more intent on landing safely himself. He managed to avoid hitting his head on any rocks; with only a bruise or two pending, he swung around. And saw Douglas, still prone some yards away, groggily shaking his head. Richard's lips curled. Snarling, he surged to his feet.

Whether Douglas knew what hit him-either what had brought him from his saddle or who it was that hauled him to his feet by his collar, shook him like a rag, then buried a solid fist in his gut-Richard neither knew nor cared. Having a crossbow bolt fired at him gave him, he considered, a certain license.

They were much of a height, much of a size-it was no wonder the old hermit had thought Douglas was him. Richard had no compunction in treating Douglas to a little home-brewed-the way they brewed it south of the border. That first rush took the edge from his fury; grasping the downed Douglas by his collar yet again, he hauled him once more to his feet.

"Was it you," Richard inquired, recalling several incidents that hadn't, to his mind, been sufficiently explained, "who left the paddock gates opened and broke branches in the orchard?"

Gasping and wheezing, Douglas spat out a tooth. "Damn it, mon-she had to be brought to see she needed a mon about the place."

"Ah, well," Richard said, drawing back his fist. "Now she has me." He steadied Douglas, then knocked him down again.

He gave him a moment, then hauled him to his feet again. And shook him until his teeth-those he still had left-rattled. Closing his fist about Douglas's collar, he lifted him, just a little, and, very gently, inquired, "And the fire?"

Dangling and choking, Dougal Douglas rolled his eyes, flailed his arms weakly, then, forced to it, desperately gasped: "No one was supposed to get hurt."

For one instant, Richard saw red-the red glow of the fire as he'd ridden into the courtyard-the red maw that had roared and gaped as he'd seen his wife, her hair bright as the flames, fling a blanket over her head and dash into the fury. "Catriona nearly got caught in the blaze."

His tone sounded distant, even to him; refocusing on Dougals's face, he saw real fear in the man's eyes.

Douglas paled-he struggled frantically.

Catriona rode up to see Richard bury his fist in Dougal Douglas's stomach. The fiend doubled over; Catriona winced as Richard's fist swung up and, with his full weight behind it, crunched into Douglas's jaw. Dougal Douglas fell backward into the heather. And didn't move.

Richard watched, but saw no sign of returning life. Shaking out his fingers, he turned. To see Catriona. He sighed. "Damn it, woman-didn't I tell you-"

Her eyes flew wide. "Richard!"

Richard whirled-just as Dougal Douglas came to his feet in a lunge, a knife in his fist. Swift as a thought, Richard sidestepped and caught Douglas's wrist.

Snap!

"Aargh!" Dougal Douglas fell to his knees, cradling his broken wrist.

"You fiend!"

Abruptly, Richard found himself thrust aside; hands on her hips, green eyes blazing, Catriona interposed herself between Dougal Douglas and him.

"How dare you?" Green fire and fury poured over Dougal Douglas. "You were once welcomed as a friend of the vale and this is how you repay The Lady's graciousness? You conspire against me and the vale-worse! you attempt to harm my chosen consort-the one The Lady finally sent for me. You're an evil worm-a loathsome toad! I've half a mind to turn you into an eel and leave you here to gasp to death, or better yet, to be picked to death by the birds. That would be a suitable end for you-a just repayment for your unconscionable acts."

She paused for breath; Douglas, on his knees before her, simply stared. "Damn it, ye daft woman-the man's a damned Sassenach!"

"Sassenach? What does that have to do with it? He's a man-far more of one than you'll ever be." She stepped forward; eyes locked on hers, Dougal Douglas cowered back.

Catriona pointed a finger directly at his nose. "Hear me well." Her voice had changed to one of mezmerizing power. "If you ever again act against me, the vale or any of my people-and especially my consort-those jewels you hide beneath your sporran will shrivel, and shrink, until they're the size of apricot kernels. Then they'll fall off. And as for the rest of your apparatus, should you entertain so much as a black thought against any of The Lady's people, it will grow black, too. And wither away. And if you speak ill of anyone from the vale, or even connected with the vale, then for every ill word a boil will grow-on that part of you that has more will than your brain."

She paused for breath; Richard reached out, closed his hands about her shoulders and lifted her aside. Setting her down just behind him, a little to the side, he leaned down so his face was level with hers and whispered: "I think he's got your message. Any more, and he might faint." He glanced at Dougal Douglas, who, aghast and pasty-faced, was watching them both like a trapped rabbit. Richard grinned and turned back to his wife. "Much as I enjoyed your performance, leave the rest to me." He trapped her wide gaze. "It's my job to protect you, remember?"

She humphed, and crossed her arms over her chest, and glowered at Dougal Douglas, but she consented to remain silent and still.

Richard turned back to survey their malefactor. "Might I suggest," he said, "that before my wife further develops her theme, you might care to be on your way?" The relief on Douglas's face was plain; he started to get to his feet. Richard stayed him with one raised finger. "However, do make sure that, henceforth, you stay out of our way, and out of the vale. On pain of The Lady's wrath. Furthermore, just in case you're inclined, once you're well away from here, to forget how potentially violent The Lady can be, you would do well to dwell on this, more mortal threat."

All hint of expression leaching from his face, Richard held Dougals's gaze calmly. "All the details of your recent interference in the vale, all the facts plus witnesses' accounts, will be forwarded to my brother, Devil Cynster, His Grace of St. Ives. Should any inexplicable harm subsequently befall anyone in the Vale of Casphairn, it will be laid at your door. And the Cynsters will come after you." He paused, then added, his voice still even and low: "You should also bear in mind that we've centuries of experience in asking for no permissions, but exacting vengeance swiftly-and looking innocent later."

Exactly which one of them Dougal Douglas found more intimidating would have been hard to say. With a dismissive gesture, Richard waved him away. Cradling his wrist, he stumbled to his feet, then lurched off to catch his horse, which was ambling off down the valley.

Richard heard an odd sound from beside him-something between a snort and a cough, crossed with a disgusted humph. He wondered whether his witchy wife was fixing her curse on Dougal Douglas, but decided he didn't need to know-didn't want to know.

He whistled, and Thunderer came ambling up, heartened by his brisk ride. Turning, Richard saw Algaria trotting up, leading Catriona's mare. Draping an arm about Catriona's shoulders, he steered her to the mare.

"It's a great pity we can't lay charges with the magistrate-but we can't." Catriona stopped and looked up, waiting for Richard to lift her to her saddle.

"Indeed not," Algaria agreed. "The last thing we need is to draw official attention to the vale. But your combined threats should hold him." She regarded Richard with real approval. "That last threat of yours was a masterstroke. No matter what curses Catriona levels, men always understand legal threats best."'

Richard smiled and lifted Catriona to the saddle-and forebore to point out that his threat was not precisely legal-rather the opposite, in tact-a distinction he felt sure Dougal Douglas had understood. But even more to the point, he could attest that Catriona's curses would make any man think twice. Equipment shrinking, then dropping off, turning black, boils-what else she might have dreamed up he hadn't wanted to hear.

The thought made him shudder as he swung up to his saddle, his wife noticed and looked her question-he smiled and shook his head.

Then he clicked the reins, and they headed home-back to the Vale of Casphairn.

Later that night, snug and safe in their bed, soothed and sated and quietly happy, Richard looked down at his wife's red head, comfortably settled on his chest. Raising one hand, he lifted one fiery lock from her cheek. "Tell me," he murmured, careful to keep his voice low so he wouldn't break the spell, "when you were ranting at Dougal Douglas, were you angry on The Lady's behalf, or your own?"

Catriona humphed and wriggled deeper into his arms, pressing herself to him, holding him tightly. "That was the third time I nearly lost you! If you must know, I didn't even think of The Lady. Or her edicts. Although in this case, it's really all the same thing. But just because she issues the directives, that doesn't mean I don't have my own opinions. She sent me to you-you were destined for me. But I agreed to have you. And now you're here and you're mine." She tightened her arms about him. "I'm not letting you go. I want you beside me-and I have no intention of letting anyone interfere, not Sir Olwyn, Dougal Douglas, Algaria, or anyone else!"

Lying back on the pillows, Richard gunned into the dark. After a moment, he murmured: " Incidentally, I'm only half Sassenach. The other halt derives from the Lowlands."

His witchy wife shifted, lifting away from him. "Hmmm… interesting." A moment later, she asked: "Which half?"

A week later, Richard was shaken to life-literally-by his witchy wife.

"Wake up do!"

Obligingly, he reached for her.

"No, no! Not that! We have to get up! Out of bed, I mean."

She illustiated by leaping out from under the warm covers, letting in a blast of icy air.

Richard groaned feelingly and cracked open his lids. He blinked into deep gloom. "By The Lady! It's pitch dark-what the devil's got into you, you daft witch?"

"I'm not daft. Just get up! Please? It's important."

He groaned again, with even more feeling-and got up.

Catriona pushed and prodded him into his clothes and down the stairs. Clutching one sleeve she dragged him into the dining hall, and up onto the dais, and around to the wall behind the main table. She stopped and pointed to a huge old broadsword hanging on the wall. "Can you lift it down?"

Richard looked at it, then at her, then reached for the sword.

It was heavy. As he lowered it and settled his hand about the pommel, he knew it was not just old but ancient. There was no scabbard. But he got no time to dwell on the weapon, because his wife was urging him on.

They went out to the stables and he saddled their sleepy mounts while she held the sword balanced before her. Then they mounted, and he hefted the sword; in the crisp chill of pre-dawn they set out for the circle.

"Tether the horses," Catriona said as he lifted her to the ground. "Then bring the sword."

Richard threw her a glance, but did as she asked. She was gripping and releasing her fingers, her gaze flicking again and again to the line of light slowly advancing up the vale. As far as he could see, she still had plenty of time, and yet… his witchy wife was nervous.

The instant he'd finished with the horses and hefted the sword, she gripped his other hand and towed him urgently toward the circle. She didn't drop his hand as they came to the place where he usually sat and waited for her. She didn't stop until they stood at the very entrance to the circle.

Only then did she release his hand and swing to face him.

Catriona looked down the vale, at the slowly advancing line of light; at her back, she could sense the power within the circle start to awaken, to unfurl in anticipation of the first touch of the sun. It was cold and frosty, but the day would be fine. Drawing a deep breath, feeling the age-old power in her veins, she looked up at Richard.

And smiled, unaware that the light of her love filled her face with a glow he found wondrous. Dazzling. A glow he, the warrior, would have moved heaven and earth just to see.

"There's a great deal I have to give thanks for." Her voice was clear, calm, yet vibrant. "As my chosen and accepted consort, as my husband and my lover, it's your right to enter the sacred circle and watch over me while I pray. My father used to stand guard over my mother." She paused, her eyes locked on the blue of his. "Will you perform that office for me?"

It was an offer she needed to make-it was her final acknowledgment that he belonged beside her-always beside her, even here, at the epicenter of her life. They belonged to each other, and nowhere more so than here, before The Lady.

They were one and always would be, both with each other and with the vale.

This, she knew beyond certainty, was how it was meant to be.

Richard stilled. Unable to think, all he could do was feel-sense-the power that held him. And her. He had no wish to break it-to reject it-to fight against its bonds; instead, he welcomed it with all his heart. He drew in a slow breath and wondered at the headiness in the air. "Aye, my lady." Bending his head, he touched his lips to hers, then drew back. "My witchy wife."

He held her sparkling gaze for an instant, then gestured with the sword. "Lead on."

They entered the circle just as the sun reached them, bathing them in her golden glow. He followed her in, hers to the death, the far-sighted warrior who had found his cause.