"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 lap
el 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.
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.
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