Scandals Bride

'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