Her own male was waiting, holding the door wide; she rode through and turned-and met his eye. And heard herself assure him. "I'll be back soon."
For all the world as if she was promising on her return to engage in their habitual morning activities. As if her prayers were merely an interruption. A quirk of his brow told her how he'd interpreted her impulsive words; mentally cursing, Catriona turned, touched her heels to the mare's flanks-and escaped.
For now. Later, she was obviously destined to provide another of his midday snacks.
The fact that the tingling in her veins owed nothing to the exhilaration of her ride she studiously ignored.
His arms draped over the top rail of the yard fence, Richard watched her fly across the winter landscape. When she was halfway to where he would lose sight of her, he slid his hand into his greatcoat pocket and drew out the spyglass he'd found in the library. Extending the glass to its full length, he put it to his eye, adjusted the focus, then scanned the snow covered ground ahead of Catriona.
Not a single hoofprint-or footprint-marred the snow carpet.
Lips curving in grim satisfaction, Richard lowered the glass and put it away. There were more ways than one to keep a witch safe.
He'd ridden out to her circle two days before. Even he, unsusceptible to local superstitions, had felt the power that protected the grove of yews, elms and alders-trees not common in these parts. He'd circled it on foot and had confirmed to his own satisfaction that there was no possible approach to the circle other than by crossing the expanse of ground he'd just scanned.
While he'd much rather be with her-was, indeed, conscious of a strong desire to ride there at her side-without an invitation from her, watching over her from afar was the best he could do.
At least, he thought, as the flying figure that was his witch rounded a small hillock and disappeared from sight, this way, the possessive protectiveness that was now a constant part of him was at least partly assuaged.
Turning from the now empty landscape, he started back to the house. Then stopped. Slowly, frowning, he looked back at the stable, then swung about and strode back to the door.
"Where is, he?" Tugging her day gown over her head, Catriona heard the waspishness in her tone, and humphed. "That, I suppose, is what comes of consorting with rakes." Having a rake for a consort.
With another disgusted humph, she scooped her discarded riding clothes into a pile and dumped them on a chair.
She'd returned from her prayers, from her wild ride through the snow-kissed countryside, excited and exhilarated, bubblingly eager to set eyes on her handsome husband again. He who she'd left waiting.
Ridiculously eager to soothe his frustrations.
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?"