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.
The family followed them to the door, excited and garrulous. Because of Seamus's death, the small private ceremony in the old kirk-all that either she or Richard had wanted-had been agreed to by all. Both the weather and Seamus's death had mitigated against any further revelry. The snows had started in earnest; the passes were slowly filling. Richard and she had been in perfect accord that they should leave immediately after the ceremony, to ensure they weren't snowed in for weeks.
Pausing in the porch, Catriona saw the steamy breaths of their carriage horses rising beyond the lych-gate. She looked up at Richard; he was looking across the graveyard. She followed his gaze-and guessed his thoughts.
"Go!" Lightly, she pushed him. He looked down at her, his mask in place; she ignored it. "Go and say good-bye." She looked inward and afar, then refocused on him. "I don't think either of us will be here again."
He hesitated for an instant more, then nodded and stepped off the porch. She watched him head for a simple grave by the wall, then swung around and gave her attention to Jamie, Meg and the rest,
Halting before his mother's grave, Richard wondered what she would have thought of him marrying Catriona Hennessy. His mother had been from the Lowlands, too; perhaps she would approve. He gazed at the headstone, studied it carefully, letting the vision sink into his mind.
And recalled his thought, when he'd stood here in the moonlight just before he'd first met his witchy wife.
His wife. The words, even unuttered, sent a streak of unnerving sensation through him, powerful enough to shift the very bedrock of his foundations. Sensation and recollection mingled; eyes narrowing, he gazed at his mother's grave and silently made another vow.
To live life fully.
Straightening, he drew a deep breath and turned. And discovered Catriona waiting a yard behind him. She met his eyes, then looked at the grave. Richard gestured her forward, she came to his side.
For a moment, side by side, they looked at the headstone; inwardly, Richard said good bye. Then he took Catriona's gloved hand. "Come. It's freezing."
He drew her away. It was she who, halfway down the path, glanced back, then looked at his face, before shifting her gaze forward to where their party waited in the protection of the lych-gate.
They had two carriages-his and hers. Their leave taking was foreshortened by the increasing snow; within minutes, Richard handed Catriona into his carriage, then followed her in. Jamie shut the door and stepped back. Through the glass, Richard met Jamie's eyes, and, smiling, raised his hand in brief salute. Jamie grinned and saluted back.
"Good-bye!"
"Good luck!"
The carriage lurched; the wedding party, waving madly, fell behind. Sitting back, wrapped in his greatcoat, Richard stretched his legs out and settled his shoulders against the leather seat. Beside him, Catriona flicked out her skirts, then drew her cloak about her. Boots propped on a hot brick wrapped in flannel, she settled her head against the squabs and closed her eyes.
Silence, tinged with expectation, filled the carriage as it rumbled out of the Highlands.
Richard saw no reason to break it-as each mile of white landscape was replaced with the next, his mind was busy listing the various letters he needed to write. The first-a short note to Devil-had already been dispatched, along with Worboys, sent ahead to ensure the comfort of their first night. Informing Devil of his change of status had been easy; informing Helena, Dowager Duchess of St Ives, would be much less so. Aside from anything else, he would need to break his news in such a way that his stepmother did not immediately appear on the manor's doorstep, seeking to welcome Catriona into the Cynster family in the time-honored way. Oh, no-he wanted time-wanted them to have time-to find their own equilibrium.
To learn how to get on-for him to learn how to manage a witchy wife.
That definitely came first. Helena would have to wait.
"I hope we get to The Boar before nightfall."
Catriona was peering into the whirling white outside. Richard studied her profile; his lips quirked. Straightening them he looked ahead. "We'll be staying at The Angel."
"Oh?" Catriona turned. "But…" Her words died away.
Turning his head, Richard met her eyes, clear question in his.
"Well"-she gestured-"it's simply that The Angel is a very superior house."
"I know. That's why I sent Worboys to secure rooms for us there."
"You did?" She stared at him, then grimaced.
Richard kept his expression mild. "Don't you like The Angel?"
"It's not that. It's just that superior also means expensive."
"A fact you need not concern yourself over."