Scandals Bride (Cynster 3)

"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.

A vow that, indeed, required complete commitment, required real and constant effort from him to keep it. It was not, after all, a vow a man like him could easily abide by. But he would abide by it-for her.

So he couldn't say anything-not unless she asked. Not unless she invited his comment or sought his views.

And so he sat there, mum, and listened, and itched to set her-and the Pottses-right. To explain that there were other options they ought to consider. Should consider.

But his witch didn't look his way-not once.

He had never felt the constraint of his vow more than he did that day.

The year turned; the weather continued bitter and bleak. Within the manor's stone walls, the lamps burned throughout the dull days, and the fires leapt in every hearth. It was a quiet time, a peac

eful time. The men gathered in the dining hall, whiling away the hours with chess and backgammon. The women still had chores-cooking, cleaning, mending-but there was no sense of urgency.

Early in the new year, Catriona took advantage of the quiet and compiled an inventory of the curtains. Which resulted in a list of those she wanted mended or replaced. In search of a seamstress, she wandered into the maze of smaller rooms at the back of the ground floor, her attention focused on the list in her hand.

"Hee, hee, hee!"

The childish giggle stopped her; it was followed by a high-pitched trill of laughter. Curious, she turned from her path and followed the sound of continuing chortles. As she neared the source, she heard a deeper, intermittent rumble.

They were in the old games room. The manor children, of whom there were many, used it as their playroom, the place they spent most of the hard winter. Today, Catriona saw, as she paused in the shadows just outside the open door, that they had a visitor.

Then again, he might just be a hostage.

Trapped in the huge old armchair before the fire, Richard was surrounded by children. The two youngest had clambered onto his lap and cuddled close, one on either side, two others perched on his knees, while still others balanced on the wide arms of the chair. One was even sprawled across the chairback, almost draped over Richard's shoulders. The rest surrounded him, their faces upturned, alight as they hung on his words. His stories.

Folding her arms, Catriona leaned against the door frame and listened.