“Wide awake. I didn’t touch the whiskey the second night. Or the third.”
She studied his face, his eyes, then grimaced, and looked down.
He waited. When she said nothing more, he straightened, and took the sketch book from her hands. “So”—he nodded toward the others—“shall we go and tell them the news?
She lifted her head. “I haven’t changed my mind.”
He looked down at her—then stepped closer, towering over her. “Well, change it.”
He took another step; eyes locked on his, Catriona backed. She glanced up the room and saw the others watching. Immediately, she stiffened her spine; switching her gaze back to her tormentor, she halted, raised her hands and pushed against his chest. “Stop that! You’re deliberately trying to frighten me.”
“I’m not trying to frighten you,” he growled through clenched teeth. “I’m trying to intimidate you—there’s a difference.”
Catriona glowered. “You don’t need to intimidate me—just stop and think! You don’t want to marry me—you don’t want to marry at all. I’m just a woman—just like all the others.” She gestured, as if encompassing hordes. “If you just leave, you’ll discover I’m like all of the rest of them—you’ll forget me within a week.”
“Much you know about it.”
His tone was contemptuous; his eyes bored into hers. He slapped one hand on the bookshelf by her shoulder, half caging her. Catriona felt the shelves at her back; she stiffened her spine and tilted her chin higher. And kept her eyes locked on his.
Lips compressed, he looked down at her. “Just so you know . . . I generally insist that the ladies I consort with have the good sense not to get under my skin. Some try, I admit, but none succeed. They all stay precisely where I want them—at a safe distance. They don’t get into my dreams, interfere with my aspirations, challenge my hopes—or my fears.” His eyes narrowed. “You, however, are different. You succeeded in getting under my skin without even trying—before I even knew how witchy you were going to be. Now you’re there, you’re there to stay.” His gaze hardened. “I suggest you accustom yourself to your new position.”
Catriona held his gaze. “It sounds as if you’d rather I wasn’t there—under your skin, as you put it.”
He hesitated; a long moment passed before he said, “I’ll admit that I’m not certain I approve of our particular closeness—and I definitely don’t approve of your initiative. However, the plain truth is, having had you beneath me, I’m not about to let you go.” He held her gaze steadily. “It’s as simple as that.”
Catriona read the truth in his eyes—she frowned and shook her head. “It can’t be.”
“It can.” Blue eyes held hers. “Fate’s offered you to me on a silver platter—I’m not about to pass.”
A fraught moment ensued. Catriona could feel the sensuality that lay between them, a living, vital thing. It radiated heat, almost seemed to have a will of its own—a dangerously compulsive thing. Her eyes locked with his, she drew in a slow, much-needed breath—and tried another tack. “You agreed because you’re in a temper.”
That, too, she could sense—suppressed rage locked behind his mask. Her own temper flared; she glared at him. “How typically male—you’ve agreed to marry me, and created goodness knows what legal muddle, all because you’re in a foul mood with me over something I’ve done.” She frowned. “I can’t imagine what, but it’s hardly sufficient reason for creating this much fuss.”
He stiffened. “I’m not angry—I’m frustrated. A result, not of something you have done, but of something you’ve neglected to do.”
The words, bitten off, issuing through clenched teeth, held enough force—enough intimidation—to make her step back. The look in his eyes had her pressed against the bookshelves. But she refused to cower—she stared belligerently back at him. “What?”
“You neglected to come to my bed.” The smile he bent upon her reminded her forcibly of Red Riding Hood’s wolf. She studied him in growing bewilderment. “You agreed to marry me just because I didn’t succumb to your all but legendary charms? Because I wasn’t so mindless that I couldn’t resist—”
“No!” Richard used the tone he’d most recently used to troops at Waterloo. Thankfully, it worked—it cut her off in mid-tirade; he could see where the tirade was headed. His eyes locked warningly on hers, his lips compressed, jaw set, he gripped the bookshelf tightly—and waited. Until he could say, in more reasonable tones: “I meant I was sexually frustrated because I wanted you. I’m the one who can’t resist. And no, I don’t like it that you can.”
She blinked at him, studying his eyes, his face. “Oh.”
Richard held her wide, slightly wary gaze—and hung on to his temper, to the illusion of civility that was all that stood between her and an effective demonstration of the strongest argument impelling him to marriage. If he gave into the urge to demonstrate, he’d shock Jamie and company to their toes. “I do hope,” he said, and despite the polite form, his tone was savage, “that we’re now clear on that point. I want to marry you because I want you as my wife.”
Catriona nodded; she didn’t need any further explanation of that. His feelings—his need—was reaching her in waves. And helping her cause not at all. Clasping her hands before her, she drew a deep breath—and tried desperately to find a chink, some gap, in the wall he was building around her. “But why have you decided to marry me? You wanted me from the first, but you decided on marriage only recently.”
“Because—” Richard stopped and considered her—then shrugged aside caution and continued: “Because you’re a damned witch who walks alone. Rides alone. A sweet, helpless witch who has a touching but thoroughly misplaced confidence in the protective capacity of mystical powers.” His face hardened. “But you live in a world of men—and with Seamus’s death, your protection from them has gone. Evaporated—and, most telling, you don’t even realize it. You haven’t even recognized the danger.”
She frowned. “What danger?”
“The danger posed by your neighbors.” Briefly, succinctly, he elaborated—drew the folded letters from his pocket and showed her the demands, and the threats, Seamus had received. “Look at the last one from Dougal Douglas.” He waited while she found it. “You need to read between the lines, but his message is clear enough.”
Catriona read the single sheet, crossed and recrossed, then drew in a tight breath. “He’ll bring me to the attention of the authorities—church and state—if I don’t marry him?”
She looked up, something close to fear in her eyes.
Richard frowned and reclaimed the letters. “Don’t worry. There’s a simple way to spike his guns.”
“There is?”
“Marry me.”
“How will that help?”
“If you marry me, your lands legally become mine, so there’s no point pursuing you.”
Catriona glanced at the letters in his hand. “What if he does anyway—out of spite?”
“If he does, I can guarantee nothing will come of it.”
She looked at his face. “Because you’re a Cynster?”
“Precisely.” Richard hestitated, then added: “Seamus knew he needed a certain type of man for you—one of the right sort, with the right degree of power.” He considered, then grimaced. “A Cynster fitted the bill to perfection, and he had one—me—on a chain. To wit, my mother’s necklace. Above all he knew that if you give land to a Cynster, he’ll never let it go—‘To Have and to Hold’ still rules us. Which meant you’d be safe—if it were mine, I could never bring myself to sell the vale.”
He looked into Catriona’s eyes and stated what now seemed obvious. “Through all this farce of his will, Seamus had only one true aim: to ensure your continued safety.”
“Hmm.” She frowned, then grimaced and looked away.
When she said no more, Richard ruthlessly pressed his point. “By making it widely known he was your guardian, Seamus drew all the approaches to him, leaving you undisturbe
d. But Jamie is no Seamus—he won’t be able to deflect those three from their goal. While Seamus was alive, you were shielded—now he’s gone, it’ll be open season—on you, and your vale.”
She glanced at the letters. “I didn’t realize. I didn’t know.”
“You do know.” She looked up; Richard tucked the letters back in his pocket and trapped her gaze. “You said it the night before last. You need me. You may choose not to acknowledge it consciously, but you do know it. You may not accept it, but that doesn’t alter the reality.”
Her eyes flared, spitting gold sparks. “You are not my keeper!”
He looked down at her; he couldn’t help his growl. “Where you’re concerned, if the cap fits, I’ll wear it.”
She glared at him—he gave not an inch. Slowly, her glare faded—she frowned as she studied his eyes.
He studied hers. “Why did you come to my bed?”
Her eyes locked with his, Catriona drew a deep breath.
He’d been totally honest—totally open—with her. “Because The Lady willed it.”
For one long instant, he stared into her eyes, then his brow rose. “Your Lady told you to come to my bed?”
“Yes.” Briefly, she explained.
Richard heard her out in silence. In genuine surprise. He’d expected the answer to be loneliness—something he understood, something he’d instinctively recognized in her. Divine intervention was a little harder to assimilate. As was the possessive lust that roared through him at the thought of her heavy with his child.
He was not at all sure how he felt about her reason, but the opportunity was too good not to seize.
“In that case”—he straightened away from the bookcase—“there’s obviously no impediment to our marriage on your side.”
She frowned at him. “Why do you imagine that?”
Brows high, he met her gaze. “Children. The Lady told you I was to father your children.” She stared at him blankly; he elaborated: “Children. Plural. More than one.”
She blinked, then her features blanked completely.
“It’s a little hard to imagine how you could have a brood of children by me, without the benefit of marriage.”
“Twins.” She refocused abruptly on his face. “There’s twins in your family—Amanda and Amelia.”
Richard shook his head. “Their father’s a twin, and their mother has twin brothers. Not at all the same as us.”
“But ” Catriona stared at him. “The Lady made no mention of marriage.”
“The gods don’t have such ceremonies—marriage is an institution created by man.”
“But ” She’d run out of buts.
He sensed it; he studied her, then said, his voice lower, less forceful—more beguiling: “I meant what I said before—that, if we marry, I won’t interfere with your role.” He searched her eyes, then his gaze steadied. “I swear always to support you in your position, to defer to you as lady of the vale.”
He meant it; it was there in his eyes—a promise of fealty only a warrior could make—and then only to his queen. Catriona felt her will swaying, bending . . . she was losing the battle to remain beyond his reach. And losing it on far too many fronts. More than one part of her mind was urging her to rethink—to accept all he offered.
As perhaps The Lady had intended her to.
Her head, mind and senses were whirling. With an effort, she regrouped—looked down and forced herself to strip aside all the complications of his motives and hers. And get to the heart of the matter.
After a quiet moment, she raised her head and looked him in the eye. “You’re not going to let me go, are you?”
He looked straight at her—through blue, blue eyes. “No.” She considered him. His face hardened. His gaze locked with hers, he softly added: “And you might like to ponder the fact that if you refuse me and bear my child, I’ll have an unassailable legal right to that child.”
Catriona heard the depth of his commitment, not to her but to their unborn child. “You’d take our child from me?”
His gaze didn’t waver; she’d read his answer in his eyes before he stated: “I’d claim any child of mine from the arms of The Lady herself, if she sought to keep it from me.”
Dragging in an unsteady breath, Catriona straightened—and felt the trap close firmly, tenderly, but tight.
The warrior had secured his cause.
“It won’t be as bad as I feared.” Catriona dragged her brush through her hair and glanced at Algaria in the mirror. Her erstwhile mentor was agitated to the point of panic. “He’s promised to support my position, my role, not undermine it. He didn’t have to do that.”
“Humph! That’s what he says now—just wait until he gets you back to the vale. Once you’re big with his child, he’ll take over!” Pacing, Algaria swung about. “Do you realize he’ll have the power to sell the vale?”
“He won’t.” In stating it, she was sure of it. “He’s landless—a bastard—and a Cynster. He’s more likely than any other to keep the vale—keep it for his children.” Protect it for his children. Inwardly smiling, Catriona wielded her brush vigorously.
Algaria had not been present in the library; expecting to leave within a day, she’d been shocked to learn of the impending wedding. And convinced that Richard must have, using some unspecified and utterly inconceivable power, forced Catriona into accepting.
The only power he’d used was simply who he was—who he really was behind his mask; Catriona had tried to explain that, but Algaria wasn’t ready to listen.
“I can’t believe you’ve simply acquiesced!” Halting, Algaria stared at her.
“Believe me, there was nothing simple about it. Our discussions ranged over a gamut of issues.”
“Did you discuss his character? The fact he’ll want to rule—that he’ll need to rule just as much as he’ll need to breathe?”
Sighing, Catriona laid down her brush. “I didn’t say it would be easy.”
“Easy? It’s going to be impossible!”
“Algaria.” Turning on the stool, Catriona faced her mentor, her second-in-command. “I didn’t make the decision lightly. When it came to the point, there were too many convincing reasons why this marriage should be—and few, if any, reasons against.” Algaria opened her mouth; Catriona silenced her with an upraised hand. “No—I know about his strength—and so does he. He’s vowed to contain it, to use it to support me, not wield it against me.” She met Algaria’s black gaze steadily. “I intend giving him a chance to fulfill that vow. That’s a right he’s claimed—and one I cannot justifiably deny him. Until such time as he fails—until he breaks that vow—I do not wish to hear any more on the subject.”
She waited, but Algaria, pinch-lipped, said nothing—she started to pace again. “You could have suggested hand-fasting—at least until he shows his true colors.”
“I doubt he’d accept it, and you know that’s never been our way.”
“Marrying men like him has never been our way, either!”
Catriona sighed and let Algaria’s agitation slide past her. She didn’t share it, but could understand Algaria’s state. In common with all disciples of The Lady, Algaria possessed a deep-seated distrust of dominant men—for good and obvious reasons. It was a distrust she had shared, until she’d met Richard Cynster and felt the attraction a strong man could pose, and seen behind his mask to his vulnerabilty. Algaria possessed the talent to see behind his mask, too, but it was pointless to suggest that now. Her erstwhile mentor was too repelled by the vision of strength and dominance to stop and look beyond it.
Considering Algaria, she sighed again. “Times change, and we must change, too. I’m too wise in life’s ways to try to resist its flow—the currents carrying me to his arms are considerable. Many more than one, and powerful—The Lady’s will and more.” Algaria slowed; Catriona caught her eye. “I won’t fight fate—I won’t fight life. That’s not why The Lady put me here.”
She held Algaria’s black gaze for a moment, then
calmly turned back to the mirror and picked up her brush. “I’ve agreed to marry Richard Cynster before witnesses—we’ll be wed as soon as may be.” She stroked the brush through her heavy hair; the rhythmic tug on her scalp was soothing. “And then,” she murmured, eyes closing, “then, we’ll return to the vale.”
Tight-lipped, Algaria left her; in a state of unusual mental weariness, Catriona climbed into her bed. The thought of visiting Richard occurred only to be dismissed—she would be his soon enough, and he knew it. Triumphant, he’d been magnanimous in victory—in the drawing room, he’d frowned at her over the teacups and told her to get to bed and get some sleep.
Halfway there, Catriona felt her lips lift. Luckily, no one had been near enough to hear—all the rest of the family had been distracted, struggling to assimilate their “new” state. It was, in fact, their old state—that, perhaps, was one of the positives of the case—that being given their inheritance back, they now viewed it as truly theirs.
Now, hopefully, Mary would get new curtains.
The thought made her smile; she drifted deeper into sleep. More peacefully, more serenely, more reassured than she’d expected.
Things, somehow, would turn out right—so The Lady whispered.
Chapter 10
They were married by special license, granted by the Bishop of Perth. Three days later, in the kirk in the village, Catriona stood beside Richard Cynster and listened as he vowed to love, honor and protect her. If he did all three, she would be safe; she made her responding vows—to love, honor and obey him—with an open heart.
And felt The Lady’s blessing in the shaft of sunshine that broke through the heavy clouds and beamed through the small rose window set high above the altar to bathe them in Her glow.
Richard gathered her in his arms and kissed her—lingeringly. Only when he lifted his head and they turned to walk up the short nave did the sunbeam fade.
By the time they signed the register, then strolled out to the small porch, winter had reclaimed the ascendancy. Clouds laden with snow, grey and churning, stretched from horizon to horizon. A carpet of snow already covered the ground; light flurries whirled on the bitter breeze.