Scandals Bride (Cynster 3)

Unstrapping their bags, Richard glanced at her. "Since last…? I thought you never left the vale."

Taking the bags from him, Catriona pulled a face. "I don't count my herb trips."

"Herb trips?"

"At least once every spring and again in late summer, I travel to collect herbs and roots which don't grow in the vale."

Unsaddling Thunderer, Richard narrowed his eyes at her. "I foresee a developing interest in botany."

Catriona grinned. Hefting the bags, she threw him a provocative glance. "There's quite a lot I could teach you."

Richard raised his brows. "Indeed?" Hauling the saddle from Thunderer's back, he met her gaze squarely. "Why don't you go and sweep the spiders out, then I'll get a fire going-and you can teach me all you will."

Catriona's grin widened; her eyes danced as she turned away. "Why not?"

Richard watched her hips sway as she climbed to the cottage, then he grinned and turned back to the horses.

The first lessons his witchy wife taught him had nothing to do with botany. The first thing he learned was that despite her delicate appearance and her usually cossetted state, she ranked with the most experienced camp-follower in the not-at-all-easy task of making a rude shepherd's hut seem comfortable and warm. In conjuring a warm and sustaining meal out of what they'd carried in their saddlebags and the roots and leaves she'd gathered before the light died.

In making him feel relaxed and rather cossetted himself.

It was a distinctly pleasant feeling.

Smiling serenely, Catriona watched the heavy muscles in his shoulders ease, watched the glow of comfort suffuse his expression. And inwardly smiled all the more.

She hadn't been sure whether to bring him with her on this journey, not until he'd asked and sworn his allegiance. Then she'd known it was right-that he should be by her side when she faced Algaria at her cottage, and whatever truths awaited them there.

But she could do nothing about Algaria tonight, and, regardless of what transpired with Algaria, her own life would go on-and she had a goal, a personal aim, one vitally important to her.

She needed to show Richard she loved him. Needed to convince him of that fact-drum it through his Cynster skull so that, someday, he would be confident enough to openly show his love for her. She wasn't holding her breath, of course-she knew it would take time. Men as reserved as he did not change their habits overnight. But she was prepared to be patient; she would persevere.

The first thing to do was to start.

And now was as good a time as any.

Sliding the wooden eating bowls back into her saddlebag, she set it aside, then approached Richard where he sat on a round stool before the fire, staring at the flames. Resting her hands lightly on his shoulders, she brushed her lips along his cheek. "Come to bed."

The soft whisper had him standing immediately; he'd already banked the fire. Taking his hand, a soft smile playing on her lips, Catriona led him to the pallet lying on a crude frame in the corner. She'd had him fetch fresh spruce to slide into the dry straw, then she'd covered the whole with a blanket, keeping two others to wrap about them. The warmth in the cottage released a faint tang from the spruce; their warm bodies crushing it would release even more.

Stopping by the bed, he drew his fingers from hers and immediately reached for her laces. Laying aside the warm shawl she'd draped over her shoulders, she let him do what he did so well. He divested her of her gown and petticoats, then considered her fine lawn chemise.

"You might want to keep that on."

Catriona considered her own plans for the night and shook her head. "Not tonight." Quickly, fingers flying, she slid the tiny buttons undone, noting his blink, his sudden stiffening as she opened the bodice. Then she grasped the hem and whisked the chemise off over her head. She dropped it on a stool with the rest of her clothes, then grabbed one waiting blanket, shook it out, and slid onto the bed beneath it.

Richard watched her, blinked at her, then undressed and joined her in record time. He pinched out the candle just before he did, plunging the room into a mysterious dark lit by flickering firelight. The pallet dipped beside her as he stretched beneath the second blanket; he was all dark, mysterious male when he loomed on his elbow beside her. And reached for her.

"No." Catriona braced one hand against his chest when he wo

uld have rolled her beneath him. She wriggled the other way, pressing him back to the pallet. "This time, I want to love you-not the other way about."

Richard blinked again and swallowed the reassurance that had risen to his tongue. She always loved him-took him into her body with a joyous delight, a witchy neediness, that was all the loving he needed. But… if she wanted to love him even more, he'd grit his teeth and bear it. "Just what form," he murmured, as he rolled obediently onto his back, "is this loving of yours going to take?"

"This, for a start." Scrambling over him, Catriona found his lips with hers, and kissed him-gently at first, then with greater confidence as he parted his lips and welcomed her in, playing the role that was usually hers. She took his, wriggling so she was higher over him to deepen the kiss, to coax, to incite, to sexually stir him.

Not that he needed any stirring. Against her thigh, cocooned in the warmth of the blankets, she could feel the steady, pulsing throb of his erection-hard and heavy and all hers. Inwardly grinning, she shifted, trapping it between her thighs, artfully caressing.

It grew hotter, harder. His hands, splayed across her back, tensed.