Richard had provided that-provided reason enough for his witchy wife, despite her disapproval, to moan and sob her pleasure for quite half the night.
He was, this morning, in a very good mood.
Keeping Thunderer to a lazy amble, he followed Catriona's mare and Algaria's old grey. The two women rode side by side, talking of herbs and potions.
Richard grinned-and wondered if witches ever talked of anything else.
Idly speculating, he ambled along in pleasant content, his gaze locked on his wife's swinging hips-
Ph-whizz! Thwack!
Thunderer balked and whinnied; Richard abruptly drew rein. Ahead, Catriona and Algaria milled, their faces blanking in shock as they looked back and saw what he was staring at.
A crossbow bolt.
It had whizzed across, a mere inch before his chest, then struck a rock and glanced off. It now lay in the heather, glinting evilly, in the soft morning light.
Fists clenching about the reins, Richard jerked his head up and looked about. Algaria and Catriona followed his lead, visually scouring the slopes below them to their left.
"There!" Algaria pointed to a fleeing rider.
Catriona stood in her stirrups to look. "It's that fiend Dougal Douglas!"
"That pestilential man!"
Calmly, Richard scanned the long valley below them. "Wait here!" With that curt order, he swung Thunderer about and tapped his heels to the horse's sides. The huge grey surged, perfectly happy to thunder hell for leather over the heather, leaping small streams, jumping rocks. They descended to the valley on a direct course to intercept the fleeing Douglas like retribution falling from on high.
They met as Richard had planned, with him on Thunderer higher up the slope from Douglas on his black horse. Leaping from Thunderer's saddle, he collected Douglas and rolled, making no attempt to hang on to his prey, more intent on landing safely himself. He managed to avoid hitting his head on any rocks; with only a bruise or two pending, he swung around. And saw Douglas, still prone some yards away, groggily shaking his head. Richard's lips curled. Snarling, he surged to his feet.
Whether Douglas knew what hit him-either what had brought him from his saddle or who it was that hauled him to his feet by his collar, shook him like a rag, then buried a solid fist in his gut-Richard neither knew nor cared. Having a crossbow bolt fired at him gave him, he considered, a certain license.
They were much of a height, much of a size-it was no wonder the old hermit had thought Douglas was him. Richard had no compunction in treating Douglas to a little home-brewed-the way they brewed it south of the border. That first rush took the edge from his fury; grasping the downed Douglas by his collar yet again, he hauled him once more to his feet.
"Was it you," Richard inquired, recalling several incidents that hadn't, to his mind, been sufficiently explained, "who left the paddock gates opened and broke branches in the orchard?"
Gasping and wheezing, Douglas spat out a tooth. "Damn it, mon-she had to be brought to see she needed a mon about the place."
"Ah, well," Richard said, drawing back his fist. "Now she has me." He steadied Douglas, then knocked him down again.
He gave him a moment, then hauled him to his feet again. And shook him until his teeth-those he still had left-rattled. Closing his fist about Douglas's collar, he lifted him, just a little, and, very gently, inquired, "And the fire?"
Dangling and choking, Dougal Douglas rolled his eyes, flailed his arms weakly, then, forced to it, desperately gasped: "No one was supposed to get hurt."
For one instant, Richard saw red-the red glow of the fire as he'd ridden into the courtyard-the red maw that had roared and gaped as he'd seen his wife, her hair bright as the flames, fling a blanket over her head and dash into the fury. "Catriona nearly got caught in the blaze."
His tone sounded distant, even to him; refocusing on Dougals's face, he saw real fear in the man's eyes.
Douglas paled-he struggled frantically.
Catriona rode up to see Richard bury his fist in Dougal Douglas's stomach. The fiend doubled over; Catriona winced as Richard's fist swung up and, with his full weight behind it, crunched into Douglas's jaw. Dougal Douglas fell backward into the heather. And didn't move.
Richard watched, but saw no sign of returning life. Shaking out his fingers, he turned. To see Catriona. He sighed. "Damn it, woman-didn't I tell you-"
Her eyes flew wide. "Richard!"
Richard whirled-just as Dougal Douglas came to his feet in a lunge, a knife in his fist. Swift as a thought, Richard sidestepped and caught Douglas's wrist.
Snap!