She'd expected to find him in the warmth of the kitchen, or perhaps in the dining hall, or even brooding-darkly sensual-in the library.

He hadn't been anywhere, brooding or otherwise. She'd looked, but hadn't been able to locate him.

Now, she was disappointed.

Now, she was frustrated.

With a smothered growl, Catriona stalked to the window and threw back the curtains, then opened the pane and set the shutters wide.

And saw him.

Her room was in one of the turrets set into the angles at the front of the house; its windows revealed a vista stretching over her lands to the mouth of the vale. Nearer at hand, the gardens rolled down to the river, now visible only as a snow ribbon edged by banks of brown.

It was there that she saw him, riding like the wind along the path that followed the river. The horse under him was dappled grey, a flash of silver in the crisp morning light.

Her heart in her throat, Catriona watched, waiting for the inevitable balk, the scream, the rearing and bucking-the inevitable fall.

It didn't happen. Like kindred souls, man and beast flew over the white ground in perfect harmony, every movement a testimony to their innate strength, every line a testimony to their breeding.

She watched until they disappeared into the glare of the morning sun, rising like a silver disc over the mouth of the vale.

She was waiting for him in the stable when he clattered in. He saw her-his brows quirked, then he dismounted. Hands on hips, she watched as he led Thunderer back to his stall and unsaddled the huge grey. Both he and the horse were breathing fast, they were both smiling the same, thoroughly male smile.

Suppressing a humph, she leaned against the open stall door and folded her arms. "How did you manage it?"

Busy brushing the now peaceable stallion, he glanced at her. "It was easy. Thunderer here had simply never had the option put to him."

"What option?"

"The option of staying cooped up in here, or of going for a long run with me on his back."

"I see. And so you simply put this option to him and he agreed?"

"As you saw." Tossing the brush aside, Richard checked the stallion's provisions, then joined her by the stall door.

Arms still crossed, she eyed him broodingly. He was still breathing more rapidly than usual, his chest rising and falling-and he still wore that same, ridiculously pleased-with-himself smile.

He glanced back at Thunderer. "I'll take him for a run every now and then." He looked down at her. "Just to keep him in shape."

His eyes trapped hers-Catriona sucked in a quick breath. They were blue-burning blue-hot with passion and desire. As she stared into their heat, wariness-and expectation-washed over her. No one else was around, all the stable hands were at breakfast.

"Ah…" Eyes locked on his, she slid sideways, along the open door. He followed, slowly, as if stalking her. But the threat didn't come from him; the knowing lilt to his lips said he knew it. She should, she knew, draw herself up, find her haughty cloak and put it on without delay. Instead, his burning gaze drew forth the exhilaration she'd felt earlier, and sent it singing through her veins. "Breakfast?" she managed, her voice faint.

His eyes held hers, his lips lifted in a slow, slight, very intent smile. "Later."

She'd slid away from the door, reaching out, he swung it shut without looking and continued to follow her, herd her, into the next stall. Which was empty.

Wide eyed, still backing up, Catriona glanced wildly about. And came up against the wall. She put up her hands, far too weak to hold him back. Even had that been her intent "Richard?"

It was clearly a question. He answered with actions. And she discovered how useful a feed trough could be.

Chapter 12

December rolled on, and winter tightened its grip on the vale. Richard's boxes and trunks arrived, sent north by Devil, delivered by a carter anxious to turn his horses about and get home for Christmas.

Along with the boxes came letters-a whole sack of them. Letters for Richard from Devil, Vane and the Dowager, as well as a host of pithy billets from his aunts and female cousins, not amused by his distant wedding, and notes of commiseration from his uncles and ones of sympathy from his unmarried male cousins.

For Catriona came a long letter from Honoria, Devil's duchess, which Richard would have liked to read, but he was never offered the opportunity. After spending a full hour perusing the letter, Catriona folded it up and put it away. In her desk. In a locked drawer. Richard was tempted to pick the lock, but couldn't quite bring himself to do it. What could Honoria have said anyway?

As well as Honoria's letter, Catriona received scented notes from all the Cynster ladies welcoming her into the family. She did not, however, receive any communication from the Dowager, a fact she seemed not to notice, but which Richard noted with some concern.

The only reason Helena would not to write to Catriona was because she was planning on talking to her instead.

It was, he supposed, fair warning.

But fate and the season were on his side; the snows blew hard – the passes were blocked the highways impassable.

He was safe until the thaw.

Then Christmas was upon them, and he had too much on his plate with the here and now-with absorbing traditions somewhat different from those he knew, with learning how the vale and all the manor celebrated yule-tide-to worry about what the future held.

And over and above, through all the merriment and laughter, all the joys and small sorrows, there remained what he considered his principal duty-his principal focus. Learning everything he could about his witchy wife.

Having her in his arms every morning and every night, and in between learning all her strengths, her weaknesses, her foibles, her needs. Learning how he could best support her, as he had vowed to do. Learning how to fit into her life. And how she fitted into his.

It was, he discovered, an absorbing task.

A temporary easing in the weather between Christmas and the New Year saw three travellers appear at the manor's gate. They proved to be a father and his two adult sons, agents for various produce, come to see the lady of the vale.

Catriona received them as old acquaintances. Introduced, Richard smiled politely, then lounged in a chair set back against the office wall and watched how his witchy wife conducted the vale's business.

She was, he learned, no easy mark.

"My dear Mr. Potts, your offer simply will not do. If, as you say, the market is so well supplied, perhaps we should store all our grain for the next year." Catriona glanced at McArdle, sitting at the end of her desk. "Could we do that, do you think?"

"Oh, aye, m'lady." Like a benighted gnome, McArdle nodded sagely. "There's space in the cellars, and we're high and dry here, so there's no fear of it going damp."

"Perhaps that would be best " Catriona turned back to Mr. Potts. "If that's the best offer you can manage?"

"Ah Well " Mr. Potts all but squirmed. "It's possible we might-considering the quality of the vale's grain, you understand-manage some concession on the price."

"Indeed?"

Fifteen minutes of haggling ensued, during which Potts made more than one concession.

"Done," Catriona finally declared. She smiled benignly on all three Pottses. "Perhaps you'd like a glass of our dandelion wine?"

"I don't mind if I do," Mr. Potts agreed. "Very partial to your dandelion wine."

Richard inwardly humphed and made a mental note to take a piece of chalk down to the cellars and inscribe all the remaining barrels of dandelion wine with an instruction that they were not to be broached without his express permission. Then he recalled that he really should gain his wife's approval for such an edict-which led to thoughts of taking her down to the cellars, which led to thoughts…

He frowned, and shifted in his seat. Accepting the wine one of the maids served, he directed his attention once more to the Pottses.

"Now, about those cattle you wanted." Potts the elder leaned forward. "I think I can get some young heifers from up Montrose way."

Catriona raised her brows. "None from any nearer? I don't like to have them transported so far."

"Aye, well. Cattle-good breeding stock-are in rare demand these days. Have to take what you can get."

Richard inwardly frowned. As he listened to the discussion-of sources of breeding stock, of prices, of the best breeds for the changing market-he shifted and inwardly frowned harder.

From all he'd heard, all he d already noted, he knew more about livestock than his witch. Not that she lacked knowledge in general, or an understanding of the vale's present needs-it was more that she lacked experience of what was available in the wider world-a world she, for good reason, eschewed.

The temptation to speak-to butt in and take over-grew; Richard ruthlessly squelched it. If he so much as said a word, all three Pottses would turn to him. From the first, the younger ones had eyed him expectantly-from the looks on their faces now, they would be much more comfortable continuing their discussion of the performance characteristics of breeding stock with him. Man to man.

Richard cared nothing for their sensitivities-he cared much more about his witch, and hers.

He'd sworn not to take the lead, not to take her role, not to interfere with how she ran the vale. He couldn't speak publically, not without her invitation. He couldn't even bring the matter up privately-even there, she might construe it as indicating somewhat less than complete commitment to adhering to his vow.