Obligingly, he reached for her.
'No,
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. '
'I'm not daft. Just get up!
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.
Epilogue
March 1,1820
Albemarle Street, London
'And there you have it.' Leaning back in a. chair drawn up to the table, Vane raised his ale mug in a toast. 'Richard and Catriona-and all the London belles can bid Scandal good-bye.'
'Humph!' Languidly asprawl at the other end of the table, resplendent in a navy silk dressing gown embroidered with peacocks, Demon Harry eyed his elder brother with apparent equanimity-and underlying unease. 'How's Patience?'
Vane grinned. 'Blooming.'
The sight of his brother's transparent happiness made Demon shift in his seat.
'Mama, of course, is
'Hmm-she would be.' Demon wondered whether that would divert her attention from him-he doubted he could rely on it.
'And there's already plans afoot for a huge celebration sometime this summer-Richard and Catriona have committed to coming down, and, of course, all the aunts and connections will want to see them, and the new arrivals.
Demon frowned. He'd missed something. 'Arrivals?'
Vane's grin surfaced. 'Devil, again-what else? Honoria's due about the same time as Patience, so it'll be quite a summer celebration.'
Babies and wives all over. Demon could just imagine.
Having brought him up to date, Vane heard creaks upstairs and, with a raised brow and an understanding smile, made his excuses and left. But instead of repairing upstairs, to further indulge himself with the feminine charms of the luscious body he'd left sprawled in his bed, Demon remained at the table, considering all Vane had told him-chilled, more and more, by the shadow of impending fate.
Which just went to show.
Demon drummed well-manicured fingernails on the table; he was going to have to do something about his situation. The situation he now found himself in.
First Devil, then Vane, now Richard. Who would be next?
There were only three of them left-him, Gabriel and Lucifer-and he was the eldest. There was no doubt in his mind who the aunts and connections would next expect to front the altar.
The odds were narrowing-to a degree he didn't like.
But he'd already made his vows-to himself. He'd vowed he'd never marry-never put his trust, his faith, his heart in any woman's hands. And the notion of limiting himself to one woman sexually was beyond his ability to comprehend. How the others managed to do so-Devil, Vane and now Richard-he couldn't imagine. They certainly hadn't before.
It was one of life's mysteries he had long ago decided he didn't need to unravel.
The question now before him, on this brisk sunny morning, was how to avoid fate-a fate that was steadily closing in on him.
His position wasn't good. Here he was, in London, with the Season about to start, with his mother and all his aunts in residence, with the scent of blood firing them…
Drastic action was called for.
Strategic retreat to safer surrounds.
Abruptly ceasing his tattoo on the table, Demon raised his head. 'Gillies?'
A moment later, an unprepossessing face popped around the door. 'Yessir?'
'Fig out the bays. We're going to Newmarket.'
Gillies blinked. 'But…?' Deliberately, he raised his eyes to the ceiling. 'What about the countess?'
'Hmm.' Demon looked up, then he grinned and stood, cinching his robe tight. 'Give me an hour to satisfy the countess-then be ready to roll.'
Newmarket, and assured safety, were only a few hours away, but once there, he'd be starved for the usual
