Scandal's Bride (48 page)

Catriona smiled serenely, sincerely. “I'm so grateful that you came and have stayed for so long. Naturally, you need to get back. And”—with her eyes she indicated Richard, on her other side, talking to Devil and Vane—“there's really no reason you need stay.”

Honoria smiled widely, squeezed her hand in empathy, then looked across the table at Devil. “So we can all leave tomorrow.”

“We may as well,” Patience agreed, turning from the twins.

His gaze briefly touching Vane's, then Richard's, Devil sat back in his chair. And regarded his wife. “Actually, it's not that simple. I'll need a day or so to talk things over with Richard—there's some matters I've set in train that I need to work through with him.”

“And I want to go over the trees in the orchard,” Vane said. “There's some grafting work you should consider.”

“Don't forget those funds that we must discuss before I leave,” Gabriel put in.

Honoria, Patience and the Dowager stared up the table.

“Does this mean,” Honoria eventually asked, “that you're not yet ready to leave?”

Devil grinned. “It'll just take a day or two.” He transferred his limpid gaze to Catriona. “We wouldn't want Richard to overdo things and suffer a relapse.”

All the ladies turned to look at Richard, who returned their scrutiny with a look of helpless innocence. Honoria barely stifled a snort; she stood. “I suppose,” she conceded, “a day or two more won't hurt.”

Honoria looked up as Patience slid into her chair at the breakfast table the next morning. “Have you seen Devil?”

Patience shook her head. “I was about to ask if you'd seen Vane.”

Honoria frowned, then both she and Patience looked up. Gliding more slowly than usual, Catriona joined them. She sank into her carved chair. And looked at the teapot. Then she reached out, lifted the pot, and, with careful concentration, filled her cup. Setting the teapot down, she studied the full cup, then reached for the sugar bowl, and dropped in two lumps.

Honoria grinned and exchanged a swift glance with Patience before turning to Catriona. “Where's Richard?”

Eyes closed as she savored her tea, Catriona shook her head. “I don't know—and I don't want to know. Not until I've recovered.”

Honoria grinned; Patience chuckled.

Catriona frowned. “Actually, I vaguely—very vaguely, you understand—recall him saying something about having to be busy about ‘Cynster business' today.” She cracked open her lids. “I assumed he meant with Gabriel.”

They all looked down the table, to the four empty places usually filled by the cousins at breakfast time. From the detritus, it was clear they'd already broken their fast.

Honoria frowned. “They're not in the library. I looked.”

Patience frowned, too. “What I can't understand is why Vane left so early—he came down before dawn.”

“Devil, too.”

Catriona frowned, then shook her head. “I can't recall.”

Just then, McArdle appeared, stumping slowly along. With his stiff joints, he was always a late riser. Heading for the end of the table, he stopped by Catriona's chair. “The master asked me to give you this, mistress.”

Eyes opening fully, Catriona took the single folded sheet and nodded her thanks; McArdle stumped on. For one instant, she studied the missive; Richard had never written to her before. Unfolding it, she scanned the five lines within—she blinked; her eyes kindled. Lips firming, she set her teacup down with a definite click.

“What is it?” Honoria asked.

“
Just
listen.” Drawing a deep breath, Catriona read: “Dear C— Please tell H and P. We have gone to conclude a business deal. We'll be away for four days. You are not to worry. R.” She looked at Patience and Honoria. “The ‘not' is underlined three times.”

* * *

They fumed and swore vengeance, then, all three together, they bustled out to the stable.

Catriona led the way. “Huggins—when did the master leave?”

Huggins straightened, letting down the hoof he was checking. “Rode out just at dawn, the boy said.”

“And the others?” Honoria asked.

Huggins touched his cap in a half bow. “With him, Your Grace. 'Twas the master, His Grace, and both the other Mister Cynsters, ma'am. They rode out all together.”

“Which way?” Catriona demanded.

Huggins nodded to the east. Catriona turned and looked, even though the house blocked her view. She glanced back at Huggins. “They rode
out
of the vale?”

Huggins raised his brows. “Don't know as to that, but they took the road that ways.”

“Did they take any provisions?” Patience asked. “Saddlebags, blankets?”

Huggins grimaced. “They saddled their own horses, I believe, ma'am. There's usually only one sleepy lad in the stables that early. I doubt he'd 'ave noticed.”

“Never mind. Thank you, Huggins.” Catriona motioned the other two away. Together, they crossed the yard and went into the gardens, to where, once past the side of the house, they could look down the vale, into the now well-risen sun. Catriona gestured to the vale's mouth. “If they left near dawn, they'll be well beyond the vale by now.”

“Well beyond our reach,” Honoria observed darkly.

Patience frowned. “What on earth are they about?”

“And where on earth,” Catriona waspishly added, “have they gone to be about it?”

“
Mistress!
Come quickly!”

Three days later, working at the table in the stillroom, Catriona looked up to see Tom jigging in the doorway.

“Come see! Come see!” A smile splitting his face, he beckoned her wildly, then dashed toward the front hall.

Catriona dusted her hands and set off in pursuit.

“What is it?” Patience came out of the library as Tom's running footsteps echoed through the hall.

Catriona lifted her arms in a shrug.

“There's something going on outside.” With Patience, Catriona turned to see Honoria hurrying down the stairs. “All the children have rushed down into the park. There's some sort of commotion going on down there.”

They all looked at each other, then turned and glided, as fast as dignity allowed, to the front door. Between them, they hauled the door wide, then went out onto the porch.

The sight that met their eyes did not, at first, convey much—they were just in time to glimpse the last of Tom as he flew down the drive into the park. His cohorts, nowhere in sight, were presumably ahead of him. Around both sides of the house, other members of the household and manor farm streamed, deserting the kitchens, the work-rooms, the stables and barns, all rushing for the drive.

McArdle stumped up to the steps, nodding toward the park. “We've some new arrivals, seemingly.”

His face was relaxed, his lips curving; Catriona was about to quiz him, when she sensed a presence at her back. She turned and beheld the Dowager.

Patience and Honoria moved aside to give her space; in her most regal voice, Helena demanded: “
What
is going on here?”

“Mooo-rhooo!”

The bellow had them all turning, staring at where the drive came up from the park. A huge hulking bull came lolloping up out of the trees, a long rope trailing from a ring in his nose. In his wake, a noisy gaggle of children, grooms and farmhands came tumbling, tripping and laughing, calling and screeching. The bull ignored them; sighting the party on the steps, he rolled happily forward, tossing his head, heavy rolls of muscle rippling. Cloven feet clacking loudly on the cobbles, he cantered to the steps, then, planting his front feet wide, came to a skidding halt. He looked the ladies over, then stared directly at Catriona, raised his huge head, uttered a mammoth bellow, shook his head vigorously, then looked down and exhaled in a huge, shuddering snort.

The party on the steps simply stared.

“Got 'im!” The eldest farmhand pounced on the rope, then reeled it in, shortening it to lead the bull away. Looking the animal over, the lad glanced up at Catriona, his eyes shining. “He's a prime 'un, ain't he, mistress?”

“Indeed.” Catriona knew enough to know a prize bull when she saw one. “But where . . . ?” Looking up, her eyes widened as more cattle came into view. Two yearling bulls led the way, trotting happily along under Gabriel's watchful eye. They were followed by a long line of cows and heifers, ambling contentedly, mooing and lowing; Catriona had lost count by the time three other riders came into view toward the end of the long procession.

Devil and Vane rode on either side of the stream of cattle, keeping them moving, watching for stragglers but even more watching out for the children now running alongside the beasts, hands out to fleetingly touch the soft hides as, heads swinging, the cows plodded on.

Right at the end rode Richard, McAlvie at his stirrup, McAlvie's lads flanking them, striding along, eyes on the cattle, proud grins on their faces. McAlvie looked fit to burst with enthusiasm. He was talking animatedly to Richard, who, smiling, replied with an indulgent air.

From the instant he appeared, Catriona could look at nothing else; driven by the worry of the past three days, she scanned his tall figure critically, but could see no signs of exhaustion. He rode easily, long limbs relaxed, holding himself in the saddle with his usual indolent grace.

He was well. She knew that even before, reaching the courtyard, he looked up and saw her. The smile that lifted his lips, the light that lit his eyes as he viewed her—despite the distance between them she could feel it like a touch—assured her as little else could that his three days away had done nothing to harm him.

“McAlvie!” Gabriel hailed the herdsman. “Where do you want these two?” He indicated the yearling bulls, now coralled by the crowd to one side of the steps; with a word, McAlvie left Richard and hurried to take charge.

The courtyard was a sea of excitement, of ordered pandemonium, with cows mooing, shifting and stamping, surrounded by the household and farmhands, smiling and pointing, chattering and commenting, all waiting to assist in moving the new herd down to the new cattle barn.

Which, Catriona recalled, had been built large enough to hold them.

But first, by vale tradition, they had to be named. McArdle, by right of being the oldest man in the vale, named the bull Henry. Irons declared one of the yearlings was Rupert; Henderson named the other Oswald. The women deferred to their offspring, and thus were born Rose and Misty, Wobbles and Goldy. Tom frowned and bit his lip, then named his cow Checkers.

And so it went on; called on to approve each and every name, Catriona nodded and smiled and laughed. But her senses were elsewhere, trying, through the noise and bustle, to keep track of Richard. He'd dismounted, but she could no longer see his dark head.

To her right, she was distantly aware of Devil strolling up the steps and being pounced on by Honoria. In accents only a duchess could command, her sister-in-law inquired where they'd been. Devil merely grinned. His gaze intent, he turned her and, deftly blocking her attempts to do otherwise, herded her into the house—all further discussion to be undertaken in private. If he gave her an answer, Catriona didn't hear it.

Behind her, to one side, the Dowager was in earnest discussion with McArdle, gesturing at the herd and asking questions. With a frustrated humph, Patience picked up her skirts and darted down the steps. Vane, handing his reins to one of the grooms, turned as she hurried up. Reaching out, he helped her forward when she would have stopped, one arm sliding around her as he turned her and smoothly guided her toward the gardens.

From her manner, Patience was scolding; from his, Vane wasn't listening.

Brows lifting resignedly, Catriona straightened and scanned the courtyard again. With the cows all named, McAlvie was preparing to move them around the house and down to the barn. People were milling everywhere, but she could usually see Richard easily—he was taller than any of her people. But no dark head stood out. Hands rising to her hips, a frown forming in her eyes, an emptiness in her heart, Catriona reached out with her senses—a talent she rarely used as it disturbed those, like Cook, who had latent talent of their own.

Richard was not in the courtyard in front of her.

“Do you approve of your wedding present?” The deep purr in her ear, the touch of his breath on the sensitive skin of her temple, came simultaneously with the possessive slide of his hand splaying across her waist and belly. She started, then stilled. He held her, and their child, against him for an instant; she felt his strength envelop her. For one blissful moment, she closed her eyes and let herself slide into it, then his hand slid to her hip and he turned her.

Her eyes snapped open. “Wedding present?”

He was grinning. “I didn't give you one, remember?” The light in his eyes was victorious, triumphant. “I couldn't think what to get you.” His gaze softened. “A witch who considers an escort to her prayers as precious as diamonds.” Smiling, he tapped her nose with one finger. “It was a challenge—to find something you'd truly appreciate.”

A shadow fell across his face; Catriona realized that, with his arm about her waist, he'd steered her back into the front hall.

“You bought me a bull as a wedding present?” She wasn't at all sure she believed that—the herd he'd driven in was worth a small fortune, was probably worth even more than she estimated. The vale could not have afforded that sort of addition to its ailing herd. A fact her husband knew.

“Not just the bull—I bought the whole herd.” He looked at her innocently. “Don't you like Henry?”

Catriona smothered a snort. “I daresay he's a very good bull.”

“Oh, an excellent bull—I have guarantees and glowing references as to his performance.”

His lips were very definitely not straight. The front hall was empty—from outside, a cheer went up as the new herd started their last amble to their new home. Richard's lips curved more definitely, more devilishly; his arm about her tightened. “Why don't we adjourn to our room? I can explain the finer points of Henry's reputation, and you can give me your opinion.”