Love Wild and Fair

Chapter 1

“I WISH," said Ellen More-Leslie severely, "that ye would not wear breeches when ye ride, Mistress Catriona. It is ever so unladylike."

"But ever so practical," said the beautiful young girl. "Dinna scold me, Ellie, or I'll send ye home to marry that nice farmer yer mother's had such hopes of!"

"God's toenail, ye wouldn't!"

"Nay. Not really," giggled Ellen's mistress. "Unless, of course, ye want to, Ellie. He is a fine, upstanding man. Why won't ye?"

"There's only one thing 'upstanding' I want from a man, and the farmer's nae got it! Come now, off wi yer riding clothes. Whew! Ye smell like the stables! Ye know the earl is coming to dinner this night to help celebrate yer birthday. I carina believe ye are fifteen. I can remember that stormy December night ye were born."

Catriona stripped off her clothes. She had heard this story many, many times before.

"The snow swirled about Greyhaven, and oh, how the winds howled and roared," continued Ellen. "The old countess, yer great-grandmam, insisted on being wi yer mother. I had just had my seventeenth birthday. I was the youngest of my family, and been spoilt something fierce, but as I showed no signs of wedding and settling down, my old granny spoke to her mistress, yer great-grandmam, and they decided I should look after the new baby. Old Lady Leslie took one look at ye, and said, 'This one's for my laddie Glenkirk.' Sure enough ye were barely out of nappies when she was arranging yer betrothal. If only she could have lived to see ye grown and wed, but she died the following spring, and me old granny followed her but a few weeks later."

While Ellen talked she worked, setting up a bath for her young mistress in a great oak tub placed before the fire. Pouring scented oil into the steaming water, she called out, "Come now, my lady. 'Tis ready."

The girl sat dreaming while her shoulders and back were scrubbed. Then she took the soap from Ellen and finished up the job while Ellen fetched a small jar of shampoo from the cupboard. She poured a thin stream of golden liquid into Catriona's hair, added water, and, building up a sweet-smelling lather, washed and rinsed the girl's hair twice.

Seated by the fire, swaddled in a large towel, Catri-ona let Ellen dry her hair. The excess water removed, the tiring woman brushed and brushed the thick, heavy hair until it gleamed. Pinning up the dark-golden mass, she motioned her young mistress to stretch out and then massaged her with the pale-green cream her mother, Ruth, made up. The girl stood up, and Ellen handed her her silken undergarments. She was standing in her petticoat and blouse when her mother entered.

At thirty-six, Heather Leslie Hay was at the height of her beauty. She was radiant in a dark-blue velvet gown trimmed in gold lace, and a marvelous rope of pearls that Catriona knew had belonged to her great-grandmother. Her lovely dark hair was mostly hidden beneath a blue-and-gold cap.

"Your father and I wish to speak wi ye before our guests arrive. Please come directly to our apartments when you are dressed."

"Yes, mama," said Catriona demurely as the door closed behind her mother.

Automatically she let Ellen dress her, all the while wondering what her parents wanted. She was their only daughter, having an older brother, Jemmie, eighteen, and three younger brothers. Colin was twelve, and the twins, Charlie and Hughy, were ten. Her parents had always been so involved with each other that the raising of their children had been left mostly to nursemaids and tutors. She had had to plan her own life from practically the very beginning.

It would have been different had her great-grandmother lived. She knew that. Tutors had been hired for Jemmie, but no one thought to teach Catriona how to read and write until she forced herself into Jemmie's lessons. When the startled tutor told her parents that their daughter learned faster than their heir, she was allowed to stay. Consequently she had been educated as a boy was, but only until Jemmie went away to school. After that it had been up to her.

She had insisted that her parents hire a tutor who was fluent in French so she might command that language. And she saw to it that the young man employed by her family also spoke Italian, Spanish, and German. Considering how thoroughly educated both her parents had been, there was no excuse for their neglect.

Twenty years after their marriage, Heather and James Hay were more in love than ever. The neglect of their offspring was innocent, a matter of thoughtlessness. The children were well fed, well clothed, and well housed. It did not occur to the young Master of Greyhaven or his wife that their children needed more than these essentials. The boys had felt secure in the warm love of their nurses, but their daughter had needed more. Ellen More-Leslie knew it, and did her best. But Cat Hay grew up spoiled and willful, with nobody to check her.

Standing in front of her pier glass, the girl studied herself. Tonight she would meet her betrothed for the first time in several years. He was twenty-four, and had been to the University in Aberdeen. He had also been to Paris, traveled extensively in Europe, and spent time at Queen Bess' court in England. He was handsome, assured, and well-spoken, she knew. He was also about to sustain what she hoped was a severe shock to his ego. She smoothed the forest-green velvet of her gown, and, smiling, went off to see her parents. To her surprise her oldest brother was there too.

Her father cleared his throat. "It was," he said gravely, "always planned that ye marry Glenkirk sometime after yer sixteenth birthday. However, wi the untimely death of the third earl last summer, and young Patrick's investiture as fourth Earl of Glenkirk, it has been decided that yer marriage will be celebrated at Twelfth Night."

Astounded, she looked at him. "Who decided, father?"

"The earl and I."

"Wi'out asking me?" Her voice was angry.

"Asking you? Why daughter, ye were betrothed eleven years ago. The marriage has always been a fact." James Hay sounded annoyed. His daughter irritated him. She always had. She was not the soft, gentle creature his wife was.

"Ye might hae told me the new circumstances, and then asked if I minded being wed a full year in advance!" she shouted at him. "I don't want to be married now, and ye've wasted yer time entirely, for I hae no intention of wedding Patrick Leslie at all!"

"Why ever not, dearest?" asked Heather. "He's such a fine young man. And ye'll be a countess!"

"He's a rutting bull, dearest mama! Since Uncle Patrick was thrown from his horse and broke his neck and the new earl came home, a day doesn't go by I dinna hear of his conquests! The countryside rings wi tales of his prowess in the bed, in the hay, under a hedge! I will nae wed wi the dirty lecher!"

The Master of Greyhaven was stunned by his daughter's furious outburst. Jemmie began to laugh, only to be silenced by a look from his mother. Heather realized, too late, that she had neglected a very important part of her daughter's education.

"Leave us," Heather commanded her husband and son. "Sit down, Catriona," she said to her daughter when the men had gone. "Do ye know anything of what goes on between a man and a woman in the marriage bed?"

"Aye," said the girl harshly. "He pushes his cock up the hole between her legs, and a couple of months later the baby comes out the same hole."

Heather closed her eyes a moment. Oh my child, she thought! In my great and consuming love for yer father I forgot ye were a woman too. Ye know nothing of the delights shared between lovers, and I dinna know if I hae the words to tell ye.

Opening her violet eyes, she took a deep breath.

"Ye are partly-correct," Heather said calmly. "But the act of love between a man and a woman need not result each time in a baby. There are ways of preventing conception while still enjoying the delights of love. I shall be pleased to teach these things to ye before yer marriage."

The girl looked interested.

"Lovemaking is quite nice, Catriona."

"Is it? How, mama?" She sounded scornful.

Dear God, thought Heather, how do I explain? "Hae ye ever been kissed, my child? Perhaps some of yer boy cousins hae tried stealing kisses at parties?"

"Aye, they've tried, and I hae hit them hard! They dinna try any more."

Heather wanted to shriek her frustration. "Kissing is very pleasurable, Catriona. So is fondling. Deliciously so, I might say."

Cat looked at her mother as if she had lost her mind. "I canna imagine, mama, anything pleasurable at all about a man and a woman squeezing each other's bodies."

She was so damned superior that Heather lost her temper.

"Well, it is, daughter! I should know! Jesu, Cat, ye are woefully ignorant! Ye hae no idea what it means to be a woman, and that's my fault. In the next four and a half weeks ye shall learn. Ye will marry yer cousin of Glenkirk on Twelfth Night as we hae planned. It is a wonderful match, and ye are fortunate to hae gotten so good a one!"

"I will not marry him, mama!"

Heather took another tack. "Then what will ye do if ye dinna marry wi Glenkirk?"

"There are other men, mama. My dowry is quite large."

"Only to Glenkirk, my dear."

Cat's eyebrows rose in surprise. At last I have her attention, thought Heather, relieved. "Catriona. Your very large dowry is for Glenkirk only. Mam arranged it that way. Should ye marry anyone else, your dowry becomes quite modest"

"Did Grandmam not consider that Glenkirk might die, or even cry off?" demanded Catriona, outraged.

"If Patrick had died ye would hae married James. Mam meant for ye to be Countess of Glenkirk, and there was certainly no question of yer bridegroom's crying off. Come, child. Patrick Leslie is an educated, charming man. He will love ye, and be good to ye."

"I will not marry him!"

"The choice is not yers to make, my dear. Now, take that frown off yer face. By this time our guests will be arriving. Your cousins will all be here to wish you happy."

Her cousins! Oh, God! Fortunately, her uncles Colin and Ewan lived in Edinburgh, so she'd not have to contend with their broods. But the rest! The boys weren't so bad, but those six simpering girls!

Fiona Leslie was a widow at nineteen. Poor Owen Stewart had not withstood the rigors of the marriage bed. Lush, auburn-haired Fiona with her storm-gray eyes, her red pouting mouth, and her low-cut gowns. Next came sixteen-year-old Janet Leslie, who was to marry Fiona's brother, Cousin Charles, in the spring. Jan could scarcely contain her delight at being the future Countess of Sithean-the silly cow! Ailis Hay was already fifteen, and slated to marry James Leslie, Glenkirk's next brother. That marriage was at least two years off. Beth Leslie was sixteen, but adoring of her Uncle Charles, was to enter a convent in France soon. So she might have close family nearby, her fourteen-year-old sister, Emily, was betrothed to Uncle Donald's son, Jacques de Valois-Leslie. Last was little Mary Leslie, who, at thirteen, would wait three or four years before marrying Cat's brother, Jemmie. Cat hoped that by that time Mary would stop giggling at everything Jemmie said, though Jemmie didn't seem to mind.

Catriona entered the hall with her mother. At once she was surrounded by the cousins, and their good wishes. This was her birthday celebration, and she found it impossible to remain angry.

Suddenly Fiona was saying in her husky, feline voice, "Cat, darling, here is your betrothed. Hasn't she grown, Patrick? She's almost a woman."

Catriona shot her older cousin a black look and, raising angry eyes, met the amused stare of Patrick, Earl of Glenkirk. His large, warm hand raised her little one to his lips. "Cousin." His voice was deeper than she remembered. "Ye were always lovely, Catriona, but tonight ye surpass every woman in this hall." Drawing her hand through his arm, he led her to the dais. Left alone, Fiona was surprised, and laughed. The earl seated his affianced at the main table. "Why are ye angry wi me?" he asked her.

"I’m nae angry wi you."

"Then gie me a smile, sweetheart."

She pointedly ignored him, and the Earl became irritated. When the meal had been cleared away and the dancing began, he found his aunt and, seeking the quiet of Greyhaven's library, demanded to know what ailed the girl.

"It's all my fault, Patrick," wailed Heather. "I am so sorry. I hae, wi'out meaning to, ignored a most important part of Catriona's education. The result is that she is void of emotion, and cold as ice."

"In other words, my beautiful, thoughtless aunt, ye hae been so wrapped up in yer Jamie that ye forgot to love Cat."

"But of course I love Cat!"

"Did ye ever say so? Did ye cuddle and cosset her as a baby? A child? A young girl? Nay, aunt. Ye had no time for it. Ye were too busy putting into practice wi the Master of Greyhaven all the delicious things Mam taught you!"

Heather blushed to the roots of her hair. "Patrick! What could ye possibly know of that?"

"What my mother told me," he grinned wickedly at her. "My mother assured me that my bride would be warm, and educated. Instead, aunt, I must thaw this ice maiden ye plan for me to wed."

"She says she will nae wed ye," said Heather in a little voice.

"God's bones!" swore Glenkirk. "Perhaps ye would enlighten me as to why not."

"I dinna know, Patrick," lied his aunt. "When her father told her this evening that the wedding had been moved up from next year to Twelfth Night, she became furious. She said no one had asked her opinion, but it didn't matter as she'd nae have ye."

"Have ye spoken to anyone of an earlier wedding?"

"We planned to announce it tonight."

"Aunt. Go discreetly, and bring my uncle to me."

Poor little Cat, he thought, when his aunt had gone. Left alone from babyhood to run yer own life. Then, suddenly, the largest moment in yer life is abruptly decided for ye. No wonder yer angry.

As to the other thing, he gave but the briefest thought. Leslie women were by nature hot-blooded, and once awakened to the world of sensual pleasures he knew Cat would bloom. It would take time and patience. But he was bored with easy conquests, and he had the luxury of time.

James Hay entered the library with his wife. "Well, nephew! What is so important that I must sneak away from my guests?"

"I think we should hold off an announcement of my wedding date, uncle. Catriona is obviously angry and frightened, and I would nae distress her."

"Girlish nonsense!"

"Was my Aunt Heather like that before ye were wed?"

"Nay." James Hay's voice became soft with remembrance. "She was all sweet eagerness."

"I congratulate ye on yer good fortune. Would ye deny me the same luck?"

"Heather and I were fairly well acquainted," mused James Hay.

"Precisely!" said the earl. "I hae been away for six years, studying and traveling. Cat wasn't even nine when I left. She doesna know me. I am foreign to her, and yet within four weeks' time she faces the terrifying prospect of being wedded and bedded wi a total stranger. Come, uncle! Ye've led a life of conjugal bliss. Gie me the time to win yer prickly daughter so I may hae the same pleasure."

"Well," reasoned the Master of Greyhaven, "the wedding was not scheduled until this time next year… but if she's not won over by then, willing or not, she goes to the altar!"

"Agreed," said Patrick. "But, uncle. You and my aunt must agree to something else. There will be times when my methods of wooing may seem strange, and perhaps even cruel. But no matter what happens in the courting, I plan to make Catriona my wife. Remember that."

"Aye, aye," assented the Master of Greyhaven, but his wife felt a little shudder at her nephew's words. Why, he loves her already, she thought, surprised. He has probably felt this way towards her since childhood. First he will woo her gently, but if that does not work, he will woo her harshly, for he means to have her. Oh, my innocent daughter! I hae best teach ye what I know before your impatient lover loses his patience and fills your belly wi his bairn.

She heard her nephew speak again.

"I will tell her myself of this change. She must not know that we ever discussed it."

When Patrick reentered the hall, Catriona was dancing with his brother, Adam. Taking his younger sibling's place, Patrick finished the dance with her. She was flushed, and laughing. It was all he could do not to tumble her there and then, so strong was his desire. He caught her hand and, drawing her away from their families into the privacy of a little alcove, told her, "I hae been thinking that perhaps we should nae wed until sometime next year. When I left Glenkirk ye were a little girl. I return to find ye a lovely woman. I am anxious to make ye my wife, sweetheart. But I realize ye don't really know me. Would ye mind if we took the time to know each other?"

For the first time that evening she smiled at him. "Nay, my lord. I would like that. But what if we find we don't like each other?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Do ye snore, Catriona? Or perhaps chew the betel nut of the East?"

Laughingly she shook her head in the negative.

"Do ye like music, and poetry, and the melodious sounds of foreign tongues? Do ye like riding out in the misty quiet of a spring morning, or beneath a border moon on an autumn's evening? Does the first snow of winter delight ye? Do ye like bathing naked in a hidden stream on a hot summer's day?"

"Aye," she whispered softly, and for some reason her heart beat quickly. "I love all those things, my lord."

"Then, my dear, ye should love me, for I love those things also."

Catriona's thick dark-golden lashes brushed against her flushed cheeks and the little pulse in her throat quickened. My first breach in the ice, Patrick thought, and pressed his luck further. "Will ye seal our bargain wi a kiss?" he asked.

She raised her head, and her leaf-green eyes gazed at him a moment. Closing her eyes, she pursed her rosebud mouth at him.

"Thank ye, Catriona," he said gently. "Thank ye for yer first kiss."

"How did ye know?"

"Innocence has a beauty all of its own, my love." He stood. "Let me escort you back to your guests."

When they appeared in the hall, Heather noted with relief that her daughter no longer looked sulky and her nephew looked content. He'll win her over, she thought. And looking on Glenkirk with a woman's eye, she said softly to herself, "Oh, my Cat! What a lovely adventure awaits ye!"

Chapter 2

FIONA Leslie lay on her bed, musing about her cousin Patrick, the Earl of Glenkirk. She thought how very much she would like to be his countess. Instead, that milk-and-water virgin Catriona Hay was to be his wife! Ridiculous!

Fiona knew that there had once been talk of a match between her and Glenkirk. Then Grandmam had interfered, and she'd ended up married to that weak fool Owen Stewart. How she had hated the old lady for that. Grandmam had known it.

Owen had been sickly and, though eager for his lush, seventeen-year-old-bride, unable to consummate the marriage. It didn't matter at all to Fiona, who hadn't been a virgin since thirteen. She'd quickly found what she sought on her husband's estate.

His name was Fionn, and he was a huntsman. He was big and brutal with no sexual refinements, but when he pushed himself into her, she thought she'd go mad with delight. Then the impossible happened, and she miscalculated. She wouldn't believe she was pregnant, and by the time she'd accepted the fact, it was too late to rid herself of the brat.

She told her husband of her condition, expecting the weakling to accept it and keep his mouth shut. But again, she had miscalculated. Crawling from his sickbed, he called her all the things she was, and told her that come morning he would expose her to the world for a whore. Here, however, Owen Stewart had miscalculated. While he slept, his wife smothered him with a pillow. His death was put down to an asthmatic attack, and much attention was lavished on his pregnant widow.

When the child was born, only Fiona's maid, Flora More-Leslie, attended her. The lusty boy was smuggled out and given to a peasant couple who had recently lost their own child. Fiona wanted no children cluttering her life. A dead infant was substituted for her own, and buried with much mourning in the Stewart family vault. Fiona had not escaped unharmed, either. It had been a hard birth. The doctor and midwife summoned afterwards had agreed that Lady Stewart would never bear another child. But her secret was safe. Only Flora knew the truth, and Flora had cared for her since she was a baby.

Fiona was gleeful this night, for she knew someone else's secret. She had slipped into the library at Greyhaven to escape the attentions of her cousin, Adam Leslie. Adam had been lusting after her since they were twelve. Hidden behind the drapes drawn across the window seat, she had heard the entire conversation between Heather, Patrick, and the Master of Greyhaven.

She.could not have been more delighted. Virgin Cat was afraid of sex! Glenkirk would not put up with that for long, and in the meantime Fiona intended to dangle her ripe charms before him as often as she possibly could without seeming indiscreet. She'd also see that Cat continued to harbor fears.

"When ye smile like that. Mistress Fiona, I know it bodes nae good. What mischief are ye about?"

"No mischief, Flora. I am just thinking what dresses I'll wear to Glenkirk for Christmas."

Flora sighed delightedly. "Christmas at Glenkirk," she breathed. "Leslies of Sithean. Leslies of Glenkirk. Hays of Greyhaven. More-Leslies of Crannog. We haven't had a Christmas at Glenkirk wi all the family since yer grandmam died. I'm glad the new earl's put off mourning. The old Lord Patrick wouldna hae liked it. I imagine that since the earl's to be wed next year to Mistress Catriona they'll be celebrations regular at the castle again."

"Yes," purred Fiona. "Christmas should be lots of fun!"

But Cat unwittingly stole a march on her cousin Fiona. Ten days before everyone else was due, she arrived at Glenkirk by special invitation of her Aunt Meg, the dowager Countess of Glenkirk. Meg Stewart Leslie had been apprised of her niece's attitude by both her son and Heather, and she willingly supplied her eldest the opportunity to court his bride-to-be. She, too, had once arrived at Glenkirk a frightened bride, and Mam had welcomed her warmly with love and understanding. Mam was long gone, but Meg intended to pay her debt by helping Mam's favorite great-granddaughter, who was her own lovely niece.

The weather was perfect-cold and sunny. Patrick won his first victory when he presented Catriona with a snow-white mare. "She's a descendant of Mam's Devil-wind," he said. "Ye'll find her fast, surefooted, and loyal. What will ye call her?"

"Bana. It means 'fair' in the Gaelic."

"I know. I, too, speak the Gaelic."

"Oh, Patrick!" She flung her arms around his neck. "Thank you for Bana! Will ye and yer Dubh ride wi us?"

So they rode the hills about Glenkirk during the day, and in the evenings Catriona sat with her aunt and cousins in the family hall of the castle. The fire blazed merrily while Catriona and the young Leslies played at charades and danced with each other. The dowager countess smiled indulgently, and the earl swallowed his frustration, for he was never alone in the evenings with his betrothed.

Suddenly his luck changed. The night before the entire family was to descend upon them, he found her alone. It was late. His mother had retired early and, expecting the others to seek their beds, he had gone to the library to do some estate work. Returning late through the family hall he saw a figure seated alone on the floor before the fire.

"Cat! I thought ye sought yer bed." He sat down beside her.

"I like sitting alone before a fire in the dark of night," she said.

"Do ye like Glenkirk, my love?"

"Aye," she said slowly. "I wasna sure I would. I remember it to be bigger, but I suppose I saw it wi a child's eyes. It's really a lovely little castle."

"Then ye will be happy living here?"

"Yes." Her voice was a whisper.

They sat quietly for several minutes, then Catriona spoke.

"My lord, would ye kiss me? Not like before, but a real kiss. I hae spoken wi both Mama and my Ellen. They say the kiss ye gave me to seal our bargain was quite proper, but-" she paused, and bit her lower lip-"but a real kiss has more substance."

She lay back, her leaf-green eyes glittering in the firelight. Slowly he bent and touched her lips with his. Gently, gradually, he increased the pressure, and then her arms were around him.

"Ohh, my lord," she said breathlessly when his mouth released hers. "That was ever so much better! Again, please."

He willingly complied and, with astonishment, felt her little tongue flick along his lips. A moment later she spoke again.

"Did ye like that, my lord? Mama said the sensation is quite pleasurable."

It suddenly came to him that she was experimenting with the things Heather had told her about, but was feeling nothing herself. Chancing her anger, he caught her in his arms and, running his hand from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine, molded her to his body. Fiercely, his mouth took possession of hers. Using all his expertise, he gently but insistently forced her lips apart. Plunging deep within her mouth, he caressed her tongue with his, and rejoiced silently when a great shudder tore through her. He could feel her rising panic as she tried to struggle, but he held her firmly until it pleased him to release her.

"Patrick," she gasped, and burst into tears.

He gathered her up and soothed her. "There, hinny. There," he murmured at her while his big hand stroked her lovely hair. "Dinna greet, my love."

"Why did ye do that?” she demanded through her tears.

"Because, my precious little bride-to-be, ye were experimenting wi me the things yer lovely, feather-headed mother has told you. Ye did them without feeling anything yourself. Never, my sweet Cat, never make love unless ye feel it yourself."

"I did feel it."

"What did ye feel?" he asked.

"I felt-I felt-Oh, God's foot! I dinna know what I felt then. I simply didn't want ye to stop, but then I did. I was all churned up inside, and…" She stopped, confused.

He stood and helped her up. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he looked gravely down into her face. "When I was a lad of thirteen years I was formally betrothed to a wee maid of but four. After the religious ceremony was over, we were seated in a place of honor, and a servant brought refreshments. The wench's blouse was low, and I was just beginning an interest in the female form. I could not take my eyes from those fat white bouncing boobs. Suddenly, the child by my side poured her wine into the girl's cleavage, and scolded me roundly. I fell in love in that moment, and I have stayed in love all these years."

She looked up at him. "I am forever hearing of your conquests. How can ye claim to love me when yer life is so full wi other women?"

"A man has special needs, Cat. If he is unmarried and has no wife to satisfy those needs, then he must seek elsewhere."

"Do ye seek elsewhere now?" she asked.

"Especially now. Damnit, Cat! I want you! Naked in my bed wi your lovely hair in disarray crying out for love of me!"

She felt a little thrill run through her at his words, and looking up at him said, "If ye will gie up yer other women, Patrick, I will wed wi ye on St. Valentine's Day of the new year. If ye would say good morning and good night to yer true love, then it must be adieu to all your other women."

"Would ye dictate to me, sweetheart?"

"I will nae share ye, Patrick. I will come to ye a virgin, and ye may make of me what ye will for yer pleasure. But I must be yer only love."

"When we are wed I will consider it," he laughed. "Now off to yer cold bed, you nagging little minx, before I lose my self-control and take away yer right to wear yer beautiful hair unbound on our wedding day."

Giving him a pouting look, she left the room. Patrick chuckled. What a wench she was, his Cat Hay! Not yet married to him, and already trying to run his life. Well, he knew two things now. His bride was not the ice maiden he thought she might be, and life with her was certainly not going to be dull!

Chapter 3

BY the following afternoon, Glenkirk Castle bulged with Leslies and Hays. Because she was to marry the earl, Catriona was spared the ordeal of the dormitory with her cousins. Fiona also escaped that fate because of her age, and because she was a widow.

Upon learning that Catriona had been at the castle for the past ten days she hurried to find her and do what mischief she could. Cat was embroidering in the family hall, and was alone. Fiona settled herself.

"Well, little cousin. How do ye like Glenkirk Castle?"

"Very much," said Cat. "I'll enjoy being mistress here." She shot Fiona a wicked look.

Fiona gritted her teeth. "Yer a brave lass to go into the wolfs maw as calmly as ye do."

"What on earth do ye mean?"

"Lord, child! Ye must know Glenkirk's reputation."

"His women." Cat feigned boredom. "God's toenail, Fiona! Everyone knows Glenkirk's a devil wi the lasses. Tell me something I don't know."

"All right, my dear, I shall." She lowered her voice, and leaned forward. "They say that Glenkirk's cock is too big. They say he's built like a bull. Having been married I know, and I must pass this on to ye. We Leslie women are very tiny. A big cock can tear us asunder. Why my late husband, Lord Stewart, was of an average size, yet when he planted himself in me on our wedding night…" She paused for effect, gleefully noting Catriona's white face. "Well, cousin! The pain was terrible, and it got worse each time. God assoil him! It was a mercy to me when Owen died!"

"But I'm a Hay, Fiona. It canna be the same wi me!"

"Yer mother was a Leslie, cousin. Daughters are fashioned after their mothers. I certainly dinna envy ye."

Terrified, Cat repeated the conversation to Ellen. "Not so," said Ellen firmly. "That Fiona Stewart is just trying to scare ye. There's but a moment's pain the first time when the virgin shield is broken. After that it's just fine. Yer cousin is hot for the earl herself, the wicked hussy! She's trying to frighten ye off. Little silly." She ruffled the girl's hair. "All yer mother does is moon after yer father. Is that the act of a woman who suffers constant pain?"

Annoyed at having been so easily spooked by her feline cousin, Cat watched Fiona to see if Ellen was right. Fiona grasped every opportunity to be near Patrick, to wear her lowest-cut gowns, to display her ample charms. The bitch, Cat thought! The red-haired bitch! She looked for her brother. Finding him, she said,

"Jemmie, tell me what ye know about Cousin Fiona."

Jemmie snickered. "It's said she's overgenerous wi her favors, but I hae never gotten her into bed. They say the bairn she bore Stewart was not his. He was such a weakling it's doubtful he ever stuck it in her." He looked at his sister. "Ye like Glenkirk now, don't ye, Cat?"

"Aye."

"Then beware Cousin Fiona, for it's plain to see she's stalking him, though I doubt poor Glenkirk realizes it."

But Patrick was quite well aware of Fiona's interest, and had Cat not been staying in the castle, he might even have amused himself for a bit with his hot-blooded, red-haired cousin. He knew the whispers about her were probably true, but it might be fun to confirm them.

One night just after Christmas, Fiona attempted to force the earl. With everyone else long in bed, the earl remained talking before the fire with his brother, Adam. He wanted a match between the Forbes heiress and Adam. Adam, however, convinced him that their youngest brother, seventeen-year-old Michael, would be far better suited to thirteen-year-old Isabella Forbes than he.

"I want to marry soon, and not a child. Michael willna be ready to wed for three or four more years yet. By that time the Forbes lass will be ripe. Make the match between them. She'll go mad for his handsome baby face."

Patrick laughed. "All right, brother, but who's the maid yer saving yerself for?"

Adam smiled, and his eyes narrowed. "I've nae opened my suit wi her, but I will soon."

The brothers sat awhile longer, drinking the mulled wine special to the holiday season. Both were tall, as their father had been, but where Patrick had his mother's dark hair and the Leslies' green-gold eyes, Adam had the Leslies' red hair-his was a warm russet shade-and the amber eyes of the Stewarts.

Now, warm with brotherly camaraderie and rich red wine, they climbed the stairs to their apartments. "I've some good whisky from old MacBean's still," said the earl. "Come in, lad, and hae a drop wi me. 'Twill help ye to sleep." He opened the door to his bedroom and walked in, his brother close behind him.

"Jesu," Adam gasped. On his brother's bed, the firelight playing across her naked white body, lay Fiona Stewart. "Why, bless me, coz! Yer the sweetest sight I’ve seen tonight!"

"What the hell do ye do here?" demanded the earl, suddenly very sober and icy with rage.

"Ye wouldna come to me, Patrick," she said softly, "so I hae come to you."

He could smell the warm musk of her perfumed body. "I pay for my whores, Fiona. How much do ye charge?"

"Patrick!" she pleaded huskily with him. "Please! I’m mad for ye, cousin! Marry yer milksop virgin if ye must, but take me! Be my lover. Yell nae regret it, Patrick!"

"By God," said Adam dryly. "What's yer secret, brother? Fve yet to receive such a marvelous invitation from any woman."

Patrick turned to his younger brother. "Ye want that?"

Adam looked back at him. "Aye. For some time now."

"Then take it! I'll sleep in your room tonight."

"No!" screamed Fiona angrily. "I want you, not that boy coxcomb!"

"My dear cousin," said the earl calmly, "from all the rumors I hear, ye hae certainly had much experience. Ye must know that making love to someone ye don't want is not only aesthetically distasteful, but damned boring to boot." Turning his back on her, he walked from the room.

Adam closed the door behind his brother and shot the iron bolt home with a loud thunk. "Well, Fiona luv," he drawled lazily, "I hae been wanting to get ye in this position for some time now."

"Go to hell," she spat furiously at him, and standing up she tried to walk to the door.

Adam reached out and, grasping an arm, pulled her back. "Nay, hinny," he said cruelly, crushing a pointed breast in his hand. "Nay! Tonight yell spread yer legs for me!" He pushed her back onto the bed, and Fiona suddenly felt afraid.

Since she'd first been tumbled in the straw of a darkened stable at thirteen by her father's head groom, she'd always held the upper hand in these situations. Helplessly she lay on the bed, and watched her cousin slowly strip off his clothes. The back and shoulders that faced her were broad and well-muscled. They ran into a narrow waist. Off came his trunk hose. His hips were slim, his buttocks nicely rounded. Adam Leslie turned around, and Fiona gasped in shock. Once she'd seen her father's prized stud stallion mounting a mare in a field. She'd hoped then she would find a man with one as big. Now suddenly he stood laughing before her.

"Aye, sweetheart! For five years ye've been running away from the very thing ye wanted."

"Jesu," she whispered. "Ye'll kill me wi that!" But the moist, secret place between her legs was throbbing hungrily. Practically crying, she held out her arms to him. His body quickly covered hers, and he felt her warm hand eagerly reach to guide him. Carefully he pushed into her, and having ascertained that she could easily receive his bulk, he began a slow, sensuous movement. Her body writhed wildly beneath him, her nails raking his back. As his movements became faster and fiercer, she began a low moaning that a few minutes later culminated in a shriek of pure joy.

He rolled off her and lay quietly catching his breath. Then, raising himself on one elbow, he looked down at her and said, "For a wench who's been whoring since she was barely pubescent, ye know damned little, and it's yer own fault! Ye've confined yer activities to amateurish lowlifes." Bending his head, he thoughtfully nibbled for a minute at a pointed breast while his fingers played between her legs. "Now I, sweetheart," he continued, "have been educated by the finest whores in Paris, London, and Aberdeen. I shall happily teach ye everything I know."

Still resisting him somewhat, Fiona said, "I've nae said I'd be yer mistress, you vain boy!"

"I dinna ask ye, my dear."

She looked puzzled.

"I am sure that by now," he said, "the church is used to giving Leslie cousins dispensations to wed."

Fiona was stunned. "I'm older than you," she protested feebly.

"By five whole weeks," he chuckled. "I’ll be twenty next week, luv." He pulled her under him again, and she could feel his hardness against her leg.

"I dinna want ye!" she raged at him. "I want Glenkirk!"

"Ye can't have him, hinny. He doesn't want you." He forced her legs apart.

"Ye hae no money!" said Fiona. "Besides, I'll nae live in someone else's house!"

"I have quite a good income from investments Grandmam made for me, as do you. Alone I am worth more than many a belted earl. I also hae a share in the family shipping, and the sheep businesses. Ye have a house in Edinburgh that belonged to yer grandmother, Fiona Abernethy. We'll travel for several years, and when wee King Jamie is grown, well return, live in Edinburgh, and go to court" He pushed deep into her, then lay quiet.

Fiona never understood why she spoke, but she said, "I canna have any bairns. Stewart's brat ruined me."

"I know," he replied with irritating calm. "The midwife ye called afterwards has delivered at least three of my bastards. It cost me two gold pieces to get that information. And sweetheart, I know it wasna Stewart's babe." He laughed as she swore a string of oaths. "Let Patrick, Jamie, and Michael carry on the family name wi a pack of babies," he said. "I want just you. BUT if I ever catch ye wi another man, I'll beat ye black and blue, and deny ye this-" he thrust viciously in her- "for a month!" His amber eyes narrowed, and glowed down at her.

The thought of losing what she'd been seeking so long made a shudder run through her. Wrapping her legs around him, she whispered in a frightened voice₉ "I'll be good, Adam! I swear it!"

The following day, to everyone's surprise, Adam Leslie announced to his assembled family that he was marrying his cousin, Lady Stewart. Since neither his mother, nor Fiona's parents had been informed, pandemonium broke loose.

Patrick spoke up in his brother's defense. "They asked my permission," he lied smoothly, "but, uncle, I must apologize to you for not consulting wi you beforehand. My own upcoming nuptials have addled my brain." He turned to his younger brother and said sternly. "It was nae yer place to announce yer intentions until I had spoken to our uncle."

Adam looked properly contrite.

"Come, my uncle of Sithean," said the Earl of Glenkirk. "Let us speak privately. Even a beautiful widow must have a dowry."

Before he could protest, the Lord of Sithean found himself borne off to the library, where Adam apprised him of the fact that his daughter would always be barren, and that he was lucky to get any son-in-law at all considering that fact.

"Then why do ye want her?" asked Sithean.

"Because, uncle, I love the minx."

Sithean said no more. He had never found his daughter particularly lovable, and he knew her reputation. Considering himself lucky to be rid of her again, he named a very generous figure for her dowry and was accepted. The wedding was set for the spring.

When their uncle had left, Glenkirk turned to his brother. "Why?" he asked. "Ye could have had pretty Isabella Forbes, and legitimate sons."

"Because, Patrick, I really do love Fiona. I have since I was a boy."

"She's a whore! Forgie me, Adam, but she'll lie wi any man."

"Not now she won't. Dinna look so skeptical, Patrick. Remember Nelly Baird?"

"Aye," said Glenkirk ruefully, recalling a particularly lovely wench he'd been keeping in Edinburgh. She'd been all his until he let his brother spend a night with her.

Adam laughed and then, becoming serious again, said, "Fiona will whore no longer. It's just that her capacity for love is great, and until last night no man was big enough to fill it. I am, and she's content now."

"But ye could hae had legitimate sons wi the Forbes girl."

"You and James and Michael will all have sons to carry on our branch of the family. I'd rather hae my little red-haired bitch."

"I'll not say ye nay, brother," said the earl, "for young Mistress Catriona Hay has me dancing a merry tune."

"Take my advice, Patrick, and tame the wench, or ye'll hae no peace in yer house."

"Aye, but how?"

Adam shrugged his shoulders. "That," he said, "is yer problem, brother. I've got my own, and her name is Fiona."

Margaret Leslie stormed into the library.

"How could ye!" she raged at her oldest son. "How could ye allow your brother to wed wi that… harlot? Sithean is chortling wi glee at having rid himself of the bitch a second time. Fiona may be my niece, but I will nae allow one of my boys to mate wi that she-wolf!"

Patrick drew himself up and looked down at his mother. "I would remind ye, madame, that I am the head of this family, not you. I make the decisions here. Adam is in love wi Fiona, and she wi him. Sithean has consented, and supplied a generous dowry. They wed in the spring. Ye will welcome her as ye have welcomed Catriona, and Ailis Hay, and as ye will welcome Isbella Forbes."

Margaret Leslie turned to her younger son. He took his mother's hands in his. "I do love her, mother," he said. "Ye had yer happy years wi father. Now I would hae mine wi Fiona."

Meg Leslie burst into tears, and her two sons put their arms about her.

"Ye were always willful. All of you boys!"

"Madame, we would be happy. You and our father set us the example," said Adam.

She sniffed delicately. Wiping her eyes, she smiled at them. "Very well, my lord earl, and my foolish younger son. I shall welcome Fiona, though I still believe it to be wrong. The lass has a streak of mischief in her. She can be wicked when she chooses. I dinna like it."

Chapter 4

THE Earl of Glenkirk wooed his bride-to-be with the elegance and grace of a French courtier. When Ellen brought Cat breakfast each morning, there was always something on the tray from Patrick. It might be simple, perhaps a sprig of pine and a gilded cone tied with red velvet ribbons. Or it might be as valuable as a carved ivory box holding a dozen diamond buttons. Cat and Patrick became better acquainted on short rides through the December snows, and long walks in the sleeping gardens.

Patrick Leslie was a well-educated man, and his young betrothed, who had struggled so hard for her own education, listened to him eagerly. It amused the earl to find this serious mind housed in such a lush young body. But it worried him that she was so innocent. Raised in the insular world of Greyhaven, she understood almost none of the facts of life.

She had grown secure enough in his company to suggest they be married on St. Valentine's Day. After Easter, Adam and his Fiona would be quietly wed- though all the family knew that wedding would be a mere formality. They were already living together as husband and wife. And Fiona, who had always run to the lean, was growing as plump and sleek as a cream-fed cat.

"She almost purrs," giggled Ailis Hay. "I only hope my Jamie's as good as the lasses say Cousin Patrick and Adam are."

"As good at what?" asked Cat.

Ailis' large blue eyes opened wide, then she giggled again. "Oh, Cat! Yer such a tease!"

"I dinna know what ye are talking about, Ailis. Ye hope Jamie's as good as Patrick and Adam in what?"

"In bed, you goose!" said Ailis, exasperated. "They say the Glenkirk men drive the lasses mad wi delight! I canna wait till I'm wed in June!"

"God, Ailis! Yer as big a whore as Fiona!"

Ailis' eyes filled with tears, and her blond curls quivered with outrage. "I am," she said with great dignity, "as virgin as ye are, Catriona Hay! But there the similarity ends! I look forward to my nights in the marriage bed, and I shall do my best to please Jamie. Yer as cold as ice. And if ye dinna change yer ways, the earl will seek solace in a warmer bed. Who would blame him?"

Cat stalked away from her cousin. Since the family had arrived for Christmas, Glenkirk's behavior had been quite correct. There had been no repeat of that night before the fire when he'd unleashed emotions in her she had never felt before, and still wasn't sure she could handle. She wanted to feel those feelings again.

That night, clad only in a soft linen shift, she crept from her apartments and hid in an alcove by the earl's rooms. It was cold, and he didn't come till quite late. She slipped from her hiding place and followed him into his room.

He turned. "Why, Cat, sweet. What is it?"

She shivered, and he quickly dropped his fur-lined cloak over her shoulders.

"Now, love, what is so important that ye come to my rooms in the middle of the night?"

Shyness overcame her. He picked her up in his arms and, cradling her, sat down in the chair by the fire. "Tell me, my sweet."

Her voice was low. "I want-I want ye to make love to me."

"Nay, hinny. If I believed that I should have ye stripped, and in my bed in an instant."

"Please, Patrick! I really do! Oh, my lord, I am so woefully ignorant! My mother has tried to remedy this, but she makes love sound so lofty and spiritual. Then Ailis chortles and giggles about the reputation of the Glenkirk men, and Fiona is sleeping openly wi Adam, and looks so damned superior and content. That's not at all spiritual. So… I dinna know what to expect. Please teach me! Even a little!"

"Very well," he said, and there was a hint of laughter in his voice, "but if ye become frightened, or want me to stop, dinna be afraid to ask me."

"All right, Patrick."

The room grew very quiet, the crackling of the fire the only sound. His one arm cradled her, the other was free. Slowly he pushed one side of her shift down, exposing a lovely globe-shaped ivory breast, its nipple colored deep rose. For a moment he gazed at the perfection of it. His hand cupped it tenderly, and squeezed. He felt her quiver ever so slightly, and his thumb reached out to rub the tantalizing pink point into hardness. He heard her gasp softly, and a smile spread across his lips.

He bent to kiss her, and heard his cloak fall to the floor as she wound her arms about his neck. Carefully he pulled the shift off her lovely body and dropped it on the cloak. He stroked her satiny skin. Though she trembled, she murmured contentedly and clung to him. Suddenly he stopped, and she protested.

"Please, my lord! More! I am not afraid."

But the earl was afraid, for his own desires were fast mounting. He knew he would soon have to stop, or he would take her there and then.

"Cat! Sweetheart! Listen to me. I am beginning to want you very much. If I dinna send ye away now, I may not be able to deny myself the pleasure of yer sweet body."

"Please, my lord, I want ye too. Take me now!"

Had she been anyone else he would have eagerly complied, but this was Cat, his innocent betrothed, who was just awakening to the joys of love. "Nay, hinny. In the light of morning things will look different. If I stole yer virginity now ye'd hate me for it later on."

Sighing, he slipped the shift back over her head. He carried her back to her own bed and tenderly tucked her in. "Good night, love," he whispered as he closed the door behind him.

Cat Hay lay still in the warmth of her bed and listened to the winter night. The fire burned with soft sounds. An owl hooted and was answered by a wolf. She now understood what her mother meant. But she also understood Ailis, and had more sympathy for cousin Fiona. She let her mind wander back over the last half-hour. Her breasts grew taut, and she flushed. For the rest of the night, Cat Hay alternated between restless sleep and restless wakefulness. He young body ached for Patrick's touch.

When they met to ride in the morning he greeted her in his accustomed manner. She followed his example until they were safely away from the castle. Then, turning slowly to him, she said. "I regret nothing of last night."

He smiled at her intensity. "There is nothing to regret, Cat. We but kissed and fondled. „. the innocent pastime of lovers since time began."

"I will come to ye again," she said.

He chuckled. "You will stay in yer own bed like a good girl," he commanded, "or I’ll nae be responsible for my actions."

She pouted at him. "I willna stay away."

He stared at her and realized, to his utter amazement, that she meant it. My God, he thought! She's a tigress! He said sternly, "If ye disobey me, I shall take a hazel switch, and beat your pretty bottom. I mean it!"

She appeared in his room again that night. Handing him a hazel switch, she shrugged her cloak off. She was naked. He threw the switch in the fire and, catching her to him, kissed her deeply. He allowed his fingers to stray between her legs. She moaned softly, and did not stop him.

The Twelfth Night festivities ended and the cousins departed for their own homes. The earl insisted that Catriona return to Greyhaven for a few weeks before coming back to Glenkirk for their wedding. Cat had not wanted to go. But she had been coming to Patrick's room each night, and he felt that if he didn't get some respite from the torture she was inflicting on him, he would do something they would both be sorry for.

Two weeks before the wedding she returned, bringing her dowry of clothing, jewels, linens, and furnishings. To Patrick's dismay she was moved into the apartments of the Earl and Countess of Glenkirk, of which his bedroom was a part. There had never been a lock on the door between the bedrooms. For him to put one on now would cause much talk. The first night of her return he stayed up late talking with Adam, hoping she would be asleep when he retired.

Finally he bid his brother good night and went to his room. The door between the rooms stood open. He listened, but there was no sound. Quickly and quietly he stripped his clothing off.

"Patrick." Her voice was sweet.

He turned to find her standing in the door between the rooms. She was as naked as he was. She held out a hand to him, and he groaned.

"Come, love. My bed is already warm."

He couldn't take his eyes off her lovely, generous breasts and sensuous long legs. Her honey-colored hair fell heavy and thick to below her tiny waist. Her eyes glittered as he'd never seen them do.

"If I get into yer bed tonight, Cat, there's no turning back. I'll play no more games wi ye. If I come to yer bed this night, sweetheart, I'll take yer virginity. Make no mistake about it! What I start, I'll finish!"

"Come, Patrick." She walked back into her bedroom.

He followed her. "Are ye certain, hinny?"

She turned and put her hand on his chest, sending a wave of shock through him. "I canna wait longer, my lord. Please dinna make me beg ye." She climbed into the big bed and held out her arms. Quickly he joined her and, catching her to him, kissed her strongly. He felt her tremble against him and shifted to look down at her.

"Yer sure?"

"Aye, my lord."

She quivered like a captive wild creature as his lips began to explore her body. His kisses burned deeply into her fair skin, and when his mouth closed over a hard little nipple, she felt a delicious mixture of pleasure and fear. His hand explored the moist secret place between her legs-teasing, stroking, caressing. Gently he moved a finger into her and she arched to meet it. She was tight, and her virgin shield intact. He would have to be very gentle in order to cause her the least possible pain.

There was time, though. He had the whole night before him. He wanted her excited to a peak. She was not his first virgin, and he had found that a maiden excited to her limit felt less pain than one who was tense. He took her hand and placed it on his swelling organ. She didn't pull her hand away, but shyly and gently caressed him, and suddenly bent and kissed its throbbing head.

A great shudder tore through him. Forcing her back beneath him, he kissed her deeply. Their tongues were spears of fire, exploring, scorching. Her body began to writhe beneath him, and Patrick smiled. Bending over her, he let his mouth travel to the tiny mole that perched at the top of the cleft between her legs. Then he ran his tongue down that appealing little cleft. She gasped in shock.

Now he was atop her, lovingly but insistently, moving her thighs apart. Gently he pushed into her and was delighted when, once again, she rose to meet him. It took all his self-control not to press too hard. He stopped and looked down at her. A fine, damp sheen covered her body, and he could tell she was a little frightened.

"Easy, love, easy, sweetheart," be crooned, and caressed her trembling body.

"It hurts, Patrick! It hurts!"

"Only a moment longer, love. One bad pain, then it will quickly get better," he promised. And before she could protest further, he drew back and thrust quickly through the barrier. Her eyes widened and she screamed once in pain-a cry he half-stifled with his kisses. But he had not lied. The pain began to subside at once. He moved softly within her, and, slipping into a brilliant new world, Cat moved her body in time with his. Waves of pleasure washed over her, and as the intensity increased she felt herself drawn down into a whirling, golden vortex. She heard a girl's voice cry out, and did not know the voice was her own. Then as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. She found herself cradled in Patrick's arms, weeping.

He was stricken with remorse and self-loathing. Covering her wet face with kisses, he pleaded with her to forgive him for being such a terrible brute. Cat caught him in mid-sentence, laughing through her tears.

"You great fool!" she said, giving him a weak chuckle. "What am I to forgive ye for? Making me a woman two weeks before our wedding?" She took his face in her hands. "I love ye, hinny! Do ye hear me? I am mad for ye, my lord! I couldna bear not having all of ye, for I am a willful wench, Patrick!"

Glenkirk looked down into her face and suddenly smiled. "I'll beat ye if you ever defy me, brat! I love ye wi all my heart, but I'll be the master of my own house."

"As long as I'm yer only mistress, m'lord!" she shot back.

He laughed. "What a minx you are, madame!" And he tumbled her back amid the pillows. "Go to sleep, or come morning everyone in the castle will know what we've been about." She cocked an eyebrow at him. He chuckled. "No more tonight, my greedy little lass. Yer too newly opened. If ye would walk in the morning, once is enough for this night. But come other nights, I'll love ye wi'out stopping the whole night long. No man with any fire in him could ever get enough of you, my bride."

In the morning, Ellen saw the bloodstains on Cat's bedsheets. But she kept silent, for 'twas no one's business that the bride and groom had celebrated their wedding night before they celebrated their wedding. She had been worried that perhaps her young mistress was marrying a man she did not love. Now she knew all was well. Cat would not have surrendered herself to Glenkirk unless she loved him.

Unfortunately, Fiona knew, too… No one had confided in her, but with alleycat instinct, she knew. Three days before the wedding she found Catriona alone and, with deliberate intention, said, "So ye finally let him stick it in ye, cousin. And before the wedding too," she said wickedly. "My, but yer brave!"

Cat blushed at having her secret discovered. But she was unwilling to let Fiona get the upper hand. "Jealous, coz?"

Fiona laughed. "Listen, my wee Cat. I've been fucking since I was thirteen. There's never been a man I couldn't have if I wanted him, and that includes yer precious Glenkirk."

"Liar!" spat Catriona.

"Nay," smiled Fiona sweetly. "I've had both Patrick and Adam. I'll stick wi my Adam. However, so there's no mistake about it…" And Fiona proceeded to describe Patrick's bedroom in detail.

Cat left her cousin without a word. Going to her apartments, she put on a pair of warm doeskin riding breeches, a silk shirt, fur-lined boots, and a heavy fur-lined cloak. She had sent a confused Ellen ahead to the stables to have Bana saddled. "But where are ye going at this time o' day?" she protested.

"I dinna know," said Cat, mounting Bana. "But when the great Earl of Glenkirk returns from Forbes Manor, tell him that I'd sooner marry the devil himself!"

Yanking Bana's head about, she kicked the mare and cantered across the drawbridge into the darkening winter afternoon.

Chapter 5

ELLEN picked up her skirts and ran, stumbling, back into the castle to seek the Master of Greyhaven. Finding him, she gasped out, "She's gone, Lord Hay! Mistress Cat has gone!"

Greyhaven did not quickly comprehend, but his wife did. "What happened?" she demanded of Ellen.

"I dinna know, my lady. She's been so happy to be back at Glenkirk, and looking forward to her wedding."

"I wonder," said Heather thoughtfully, "if it has all been a pretense."

"Nay! Nay, my lady! She's in love wi the earl, 'tis plain. They've been-" Ellen stopped, horrorstruck, and clapped her hand over her mouth, but Heather understood.

"How long?"

"Oh, my lady!"

"How long, Ellen?"

"The first night we were back. I found the stains the next morning, but something had been going on at Christmastime. He dinna force her! Of that, I'm sure, my lady."

"Are ye saying that Glenkirk's been lying wi my lass?" said James Hay indignantly.

"Oh, Greyhaven," snapped Heather, "be quiet! It's nae important that they've been sleeping together. They're being married in three days' time. Ellen-what did Cat do this afternoon? Where did she go?"

"She slept for an hour after the meal as she always does. Then she went to the Family Hall wi her embroidery. The earl hasna been here all day, so they canna have had a fight."

Checking, they found several people who had talked to Catriona that afternoon. But Meg Leslie, her daughters, Ailis Hay, and two of the servants all remembered that she was happy and excited.

"What can have frightened her?" wondered Meg.

"She wasna frightened, my lady," corrected Ellen. "She was in a blazing temper."

There was a clatter of horses in the courtyard and the barking of dogs as the earl and his brothers returned from Forbes Manor. The four of them had just concluded the betrothal agreement for Isabella Forbes. Laughing and joking, they entered the Family Hall, then stopped at the scene that greeted them.

"What is it?" demanded the earl.

"It's Cat," spoke his mother unthinkingly.

Patrick went white.

"Nay, she's all right!" said Heather quickly.

"Then what is it?"

"She's gone off in a temper, nephew. Probably a fit of bridal nerves," replied Heather, intending to soothe.

"When?"

"About an hour ago. She spent the afternoon in here. Then suddenly she went to her room, put on her riding clothes, and rode off."

"Who spoke wi her? How do you know when she went?"

Heather told him, and then turned to Ellen to tell her story.

"She came storming into her bedroom, my lord. 'Ellie,' she shouts, 'go to the stable, and tell them to saddle Bana!' 'My lady,' I says to her,' 'tis late, and the sun is close to setting.' 'Do as ye are bid!' she says to me. Oh, my lord! I've raised her since she was a baby, and never has she spoken to me thus. She was in her old riding clothes when she mounted the horse. 'Ellie,' she says, 'tell the great Earl of Glenkirk that I'd as soon marry the devil himself!' Then she rode off. I came right to my lady Hay, and told her."

Patrick Leslie's mouth was tight, and white around the lips. His eyes narrowed. "Someone must have upset her."

"Upset whom?" asked Fiona, coming into the hall. "What on earth is going on?"

Patrick kept his voice level. "Did ye see Cat this afternoon?"

"Aye. She was embroidering here."

The earl looked to his brother. Adam took his wife-to-be firmly by the arm and escorted her into the library. Frightened, Fiona faced the two brothers.

"What did ye say to Cat, dear cousin?" His voice was icy.

"Nothing, Patrick. I said nothing! I swear it! We talked of girlish things."

Reaching out, Adam caught his betrothed and, flinging her across a chair, laid his riding crop across her back. She screamed in pain and tried to escape him, but Patrick held her down by her slender white neck.

"Now, cousin," he said through gritted teeth, "love ye or not, Adam will, on my order, beat you to death if necessary. What did ye say to Catriona?"

"I told her that ye slept wi me." Fiona sobbed out the entire conversation.

"You bitch!" swore Patrick. "It took me weeks to win Cat's confidence, and ye hae destroyed it in three minutes!" He slammed out of the room.

Adam looked down at Fiona. "I warned ye, my love, that if ye caused trouble I would punish you." His arm rose, and she heard the whistle of the crop a second before it touched her back again.

"No, Adam." She cried out, but he was merciless. He beat her until she fainted a few moments later.

Glenkirk was organizing as quickly as he could. His favorite stallion was winded, so he ordered his second favorite, Dearg, to be saddled. He would allow only Ellen's brother, Conall More-Leslie, to accompany him. Before he left he spoke with his mother, his Aunt Heather, and Adam.

"God knows where she's gone. It may even take me weeks to trace her. She knows the countryside as well as any man. It's too late to stop the wedding, so Adam, ye and Fiona are to wed in our place." He looked closely at his brother. "Do ye still want the bitch?"

"Aye, brother. She's a naughty puss, but I think she'll behave now."

"Good! Tell the guests that the bride caught the measles and gave them to the groom. That should stop a scandal."

"Patrick, my son! Be gentle wi Catriona," begged Meg. "She's young and innocent, and Fiona has hurt her terribly wi her wicked lies."

"Madame," said Patrick coldly, "Catriona has been sharing my bed for almost two weeks now. I have treated her wi gentleness, and never forced her. She wouldna even face me wi her accusations, but assumed me guilty, and fled. I will nae forgie her lack of trust. I shall find her and bring her back, and wed wi her as planned. But before I do that I shall take a leaf from Adam's book, and beat her bottom so she may not sit for a week!"

Several minutes later he galloped across the drawbridge with More-Leslie. It was a cold night, but the moon lit their way. They rode first to Greyhaven, for Patrick suspected that Cat had fled home. She was not there. They turned their horses to Sithean, but there, too, they met with disappointment. They stayed the night, and the following morning began to comb the district.

But Cat had apparently vanished from the earth. No one had seen her.

St. Valentine's Day came, and Adam Leslie wed his widowed cousin, Lady Stewart. The guests chuckled when they heard the earl and his bride-to-be were suffering from the measles. Wasn't it lucky, they laughed, that the Leslies had another betrothed couple ready and waiting so the festivities would not go to waste.

It was a wonderful party, but the new Lady Leslie looked tired and subdued. Fiona, looking out at her guests from the head table, wondered what they would think if she told them the reason for her pallor. For the last three nights she had been tied to a chair and forced to watch Adam making love to a very pretty and obviously insatiable peasant wench. She had tried closing her eyes, but the sounds from the bed were too tantalizing. She watched fascinated, as Adam's enormous cock plunged in and out of the writhing girl. As her own desire grew, she suffered severe pain of both a mental and physical nature, and by last night she thought she would go mad.

This morning, however, he had told her that her punishment was over. Fiona swore never to cause her cousin hurt again, and promised that when Cat was found she would apologize and tell her the truth. Adam smiled, satisfied. He knew how to handle his wench.

But Cat couldn't be found. February gave way to March and March to April before word came. Ellen, home in Crannog to see her parents, discovered her mistress living with them! Cat, fleeing Glenkirk, had gone directly to Ruth and Hugh More-Leslie. Ruth, now in her sixties, had immediately agreed to hide the girl. Hugh, retired and in his seventies, hadn't been sure. But Ruth convinced him that her long dead mistress would have approved. Ellen was amazed.

"Surely the neighbors are suspicious," she said.

"Why should they be?" said Ruth. "They never see her. She rides her Bana an hour each night for exercise, but other than that she never leaves the house."

"She canna stay here forever, mother. Did she tell ye why she ran away?"

"Aye! That wicked Fiona! I knew when she was a child she would grow up bad."

"She did, mother. Very bad. So bad that she sent Mistress Cat off in this rage. What Fiona said, however, was a lie, and Mistress Cat was wrong to run off before asking my lord of Glenkirk to defend himself. He is hurt that she thought so little of him. Yet he loves her, and still wants to make her his wife."

"Well," said Ruth, with the wisdom of her late mistress, "then we must arrange for him to find her. But not here."

"There's A-Cuil, mother. Her grandmother, Jean Gordon, had it as part of her dowry, and now it belongs to Mistress Cat. It is small and secluded, set in the hills above Loch Sithean."

"How big, and in what condition?"

"Stone wi a slate roof, and put back into shape because of the wedding. There's a kitchen, and a parlor downstairs, and a bedroom on the second floor. There's also a small stable wi two loft rooms. That's about all there is to A-Cuil."

"It'll do," said Ruth. "How long a ride?"

"A good hour up into the hills," replied Ellen.

Ruth smiled. "I shall convince Mistress Cat to go there, and then I will go to Glenkirk, and tell the earl. In a quiet place, away from the rest of the family, they'll settle their differences."

Ruth was as good as her word. Persuading Cat that she would be happier if she could get outdoors more, now that summer was coming, and assuring her that A-Cuil was a good distance from Glenkirk, she sent the girl off. Ellen had been sent on to air the house and bring in food supplies. She had begged her young mistress to allow her to accompany her. Lonely, Cat had agreed.

A-Cuil was set high in a pine forest on a cliff that gave a view of Glenkirk, Sithean, and Greyhaven far below. It was hidden and quiet. For several days Cat prowled, restless, through the woods around her. At night she slept deeply in the big bedroom. Ellen, in the trundle, slept by her side. They had been there ten days, and Cat was beginning to feel safe.

With a bad storm about them that night they retired to the bedroom. Building up the fire, they ate a supper of toasted bread and cheese, and drank slightly hardened cider. Neither minded the lightning that crackled ominously about them, or the rolling peals of thunder. Suddenly the door flew open. Ellen gave a shriek of terror. The earl strode in.

"Yer brother's in the kitchen, Ellen. Is there a place ye both can sleep?"

"The lofts over the stable, m'lord."

"Run along, then."

"No! Dinna leave me wi him, Ellen."

Ellen looked helplessly at her young mistress. Gently, the earl took the serving woman by the arm and escorted her to the door. "Dinna come near this room unless I call you. Do ye understand?"

"Aye, my lord."

The door closed firmly behind her, and she heard the bolt slam home. Padding down the stairs, she found her brother and led him off to the loft rooms in the stable. "Is he very angry wi her, Conall?"

"Aye," said her brother calmly. "He's going to beat her."

"Never!" gasped Ellen. "He's mad for her!"

"Still," replied Conall, "he's going to beat her, and a good thing too. She's a wayward lass to have run from him like that. If he's nae the master in his own house from the first, he'll always have trouble wi her. That's no marriage for a man."

"If mother and I had known that he'd hurt her, we'd nae have let him find her."

"Sister," said Conall patiently as if explaining to a child, "he's not going to hurt her. He's just going to gie her a wee beating to help her mend her manners."

Ellen shook her head. She knew Cat Hay better than all of them. After all, she'd raised her. The earl was about to find out that beating his bride would never tame her.

Chapter 6

CAT Hay angrily faced the Earl of Glenkirk. Carefully he spread his wet cloak over the back of the fireplace chair and removed his damp linen shirt. He sat down. "My boots, Cat!" They were the first words he'd spoken to her.

"Go to hell!" she spat at him.

"My boots!" His green-gold eyes narrowed and glittered dangerously.

Her heart pounding wildly, she knelt and drew his boots off. I'm not afraid of him, she thought. But why was her heart beating so quickly? Standing up, he caught her by her long hair. Wrapping it around his hand, he drew her face to his. Grasping the top of her shift with his other hand, he ripped it from neck to hem and pulled it off her. "I warned ye once that if ye ever defied me I'd beat ye!"

And before she could protest, he'd pushed her onto the bed and brought his riding crop down cruelly on her buttocks. She screamed her pain and outrage at him and tried to escape. But, holding her down, he raised several angry red wheals on her bottom before stopping. Tossing the crop away, he raged at her. "Ye've led me a fine chase these last months, madame! Had Adam not been willing to wed immediately we would hae been embarrassed before every family in the district. Does it please ye to know that Fiona held the place of honor at our wedding?"

Turning over, she gingerly sat up and faced him with a defiant, tear-stained face. "You bastard!" she shrieked at him. "What ye put between my legs, ye put between hers also! I'll nae forgie ye that! Never!"

"Little bitch!" he shouted back. "How could ye believe her? Never did I lie wi Fiona. Once she waited in my room, but Adam was wi me. He'd been hot for her for years, so I slept in his room that night while he took his pleasure of her. Never have I slept wi that she-devil!"

"Why should I believe you? Yer bastards are scattered from one end of the district to the other! Fiona said she could have any man she wanted, and then proceeded to describe your bedroom accurately. What was I to think?"

"Why did ye believe her over me?" he demanded. "How could ye lie wi me, and not believe that I love ye and would do nothing to harm ye?"

"Liar! I hate ye! Get out of my house!"

"Yer house? Yers? Nay, Cat. This house is part of the dowry your father gave me along wi ye. It belongs to me now, as ye belong to me." He pushed her back onto the pillows and bent over her. "Yer my possession, Cat, as is Glenkirk, as are my horses, and my dogs. Ye are something for my pleasure. A thing on which to breed my sons. Do ye understand me?"

She raised her arm. Catching a glitter, Patrick twisted aside as the arm moved down. He wrenched the little knife from her hand and slapped her face. "A whore's trick, sweetheart! Is that what ye want? To be treated like a whore?"

"I'd be a whore before I'd be yer wife, Glenkirk! No man owns me! No man!"

He laughed. "Brave words, lass. However, since ye've expressed an interest, I'll teach ye some whores' tricks. Ye've not begun to be facile in bed yet. Not enough practice. But I'll remedy that in the next few weeks."

"What do ye mean?" Her heart was pounding uncontrollably.

"Why, my dear. Until I put my bairn in yer belly, ye'll nae go home to Glenkirk. I obviously canna trust ye to wed me till then. When ye ripen wi my son ye'll hae no other choice, will you?"

Standing, he swiftly pulled his trunk hose off, and then flung himself back on top of her. He found her angry mouth and kissed her cruelly. Sliding down between her legs, he pulled them over his shoulders and buried his head between her legs. Her cries of terror quickly became sounds of shamed desire as his velvet tongue stroked and probed her.

"Patrick! Patrick!" she cried. "No! Please. Oh, my God. No."

Desperately, she tried to escape the demanding mouth that sucked her, the insistent tongue that tortured her. His big hands held her round hips in an iron grip while he pleasured himself by sending waves of fire and pain through her. Sobbing, she tried to deny him the victory of her climax, but he forced her twice. Then, laughing, he mounted her and pushed deep within her to find his own release. She felt herself writhing eagerly beneath him. Finished, he rolled off her and said coldly, "That my dear, was lesson number one."

Crawling into a corner of the bed, she wept silently, her shoulders shaking with great sobs. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but Patrick Leslie was certain that the least sign of softening on his part would ruin everything. He didn't want to break her spirit, but he would be master of his own home.

For her part, Cat was too inexperienced to understand the subtle ways in which a woman can control her men without them knowing it. Patrick would have been surprised to know that her tears were not for what he had done to her, but for the fact that he had bested her.

He pulled her into his arms again and began to play with her breasts.

"No!" she protested.

He paid no attention to her, but instead crushed the softness in his hand. "God," he murmured against her, "God, but ye've got the sweetest little tits I've ever known." His lips caressed her fluttering belly, but when he went to move farther down she cried out.

"No! Not again!"

Laughing softly, he raised himself on one elbow and looked down at her. His hand forced itself between her legs, and his fingers played. "Didn't ye like lesson one, sweetheart?"

She tried to squirm away. "When I tell my father how ye've raped me, he'll kill ye!"

"Nay, hinny. He gave me his blessing to do wi ye as I pleased. He knows that in the end I will honor our betrothal agreement, and wed wi ye. That's all he wants."

Cat knew Patrick was right, and it infuriated her.

He pulled her under him and kissed her bruised mouth until she cried with hurt. His lips turned soft, the touch of his swollen penis against her thighs spread them as her hips arched hungrily to meet his downward thrust.

Patrick Leslie laughed softly. "By God, Cat, yer a hungry little bitch! I wonder if Fiona's as hot as ye are."

Her fists beat against his smooth chest. He laughed again, and then slowly went about the task of reducing her resistance to compliance. At last he fell into a deep sleep. Since there was no way she could escape him at that point, she fell into a sleep of her own.

In the early hours of the morning he woke her and took her again. Her young body ached from the unaccustomed activity. Understanding this, he lugged a tall oak-and-iron tub into the bedroom and placed it before the fire. While she watched, astonished, he carried up caldrons of hot water until the tub was full. From somewhere he produced a cake of sweet-scented soap. Picking her up, he put her into the water.

"Ye smell like a brothel," he commented.

"Then ye should be right at home!" she shot back.

He stripped the bed, threw the sheets out into the hallway, and remade the bed with fresh lavender-scented linens. Then he disappeared and returned a few minutes later bearing a goblet. She was out of the tub, sitting before the fire wrapped in a towel.

"Drink this."

"What is it?"

"Sweet red wine, a beaten egg, and some herbs."

It was delicious. Taking the damp towel from her, he picked her up, carried her to the bed, and tucked her naked body into the cool sheets and down coverlet.

"Go to sleep, hinny. It's been a long night for ye." He bent and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

"Where are ye going?" she asked. Before he could answer, she was asleep.

Patrick Leslie gazed down at the sleeping girl and thought how much he loved her, and how frightened he had been-imagining all sorts of terrible things happening to her-when she fled him. He wasn't going to give her another chance to run, and he certainly would not tell her of his feelings towards her. Women were better off unsure. Too, he couldn't bear it again if she said she hated him.

He bathed, dressed himself, and went down to the kitchen. Conall rose from the trestle.

"Sit down, man," commanded the earl. "Ellen love, gie me a bowl of that oatmeal your brother's enjoying so." She placed one before him. "Conall, I want ye to ride down to Glenkirk today, and fetch some clothes for Mistress Cat and myself. We'll be staying here for several weeks. Ellen, ye'll tell me what she needs, and I'll write it down."

"I can both read and write, my lord," said Ellen frostily. "If ye dinna mind, I'd prefer to write to Lady Hay myself."

"Very well, Ellen." He smiled at her. "Dinna disapprove, chuck. I do love her, ye know."

"Did ye beat her, my lord?"

"Ten strokes on her saucy bottom. I'll be master in my own house, Ellen."

"Only ten?"

"Only ten," he replied. "She deserved more, but I am a merciful man."

"Aye," agreed Ellen. "She did deserve more. When she was a child, however, beating her did no good. She was always twice as defiant afterwards." Ellen hoped he was paying attention.

"She's nae changed," he chuckled.

Ellen wrote her message to Lady Hay and asked that she send several changes of undergarments, two soft linen shirts, half a dozen gossamer silk night garments from Cat's trousseau, a velvet dressing gown, slippers, and some cakes of sweet soap. Cat, fleeing Glenkirk, had thought to bring her comb and brush and the brush for cleaning teeth that her great-grandmother had taught them to use. She gave the list to the earl.

"It's not a great deal, but I'll be here to wash for her. This is easy to carry, and will nae weigh Conall down."

"Good girl," he said, and turned to Conall. "Take Bana back to Glenkirk, and yer sister's mare also. The only horses I want here are our two."

"Oh, my lord," pleaded Ellen. "Dinna take Bana from her. She loves so to ride."

"She'll have her horse back when we return to Glenkirk. The more horses I leave here, the greater her chances of escaping me. I'll nae gie her that chance again. We stay here until she swells wi my child. Then I'll take her home, and wed her."

Ellen sighed. "She's going to be very angry, my lord."

"Since I shall be out hunting us a deer when she wakes, I'll be spared the brunt of her anger," he replied dryly.

It wasn't until early afternoon that Cat woke. Conall had just returned from his errand, and Cat opened her eyes to see Ellen kneeling by the little clothes chest. "What are ye doing?" she asked sleepily.

"Putting away yer clean clothes, luv. Conall has just brought them up from Glenkirk."

Cat was suddenly wide awake. "Where is Patrick?"

"He's been gone since dawn. Hunting a deer for us, he said."

"Gie me a clean shirt, and my breeches, Ellie. I shall take my morning ride though it be afternoon." She swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

Ellen took a deep breath. "I canna do it, Mistress Cat, and dinna bother being angry wi me. His lordship has sent yer Bana and my Brownie home to Glenkirk."

Cat swore fiercely. "The horny bastard! Then I'll walk out of here if I must, but I'll nae spend another night in this house while he's here."

"He has also ordered," continued Ellen, "that ye not leave the house for the next few days. Ye may go naked, he says, or ye may wear one of yer sleeping gowns. I am to gie ye no other clothes."

Cat felt a terrible rage within her, but she swallowed it, for her faithful Ellie was not responsible. "Gie me something to wear," she said wearily, "and dinna bother fussing, for it makes no difference. He'll have it off me soon enough, for there's only one thing he wants from his whore."

"Mistress Cat," scolded Ellen. "He is yer betrothed, and ye'll soon be wed. Ye would hae already been had ye not misjudged him, and run away."

"God's foot, Ellie! Has he won ye over then?"

Ellen said nothing else, but handed Cat a pale turquoise-colored silk nightgown. "I'll get ye something to eat," she said, and left the room.

Cat let the gown slide down over her lush form. Picking up her brush, she sat back down on the bed and slowly brushed the tangles from her honey-colored hair. So he thought that by taking her horse and clothes away from her he would keep her a prisoner. Well, perhaps for a while he would. She would bide her time. But eventually, a way would open, and then she'd run from him again. It no longer mattered that he had or had not slept with Fiona-though Cat was glad he had not. What mattered was that she could not and would not allow him possession of Catriona Hay. Nobody owned her. Until Patrick Leslie understood that she was a person, not an extension of him, she would fight him with all the strength in her.

Ellen came back into the room bearing a tray. "Fresh bread new from the oven! Half a broiled rabbit, a honeycomb, and some brown ale."

Cat found she was hungry.

"Yer all right if ye can eat like that," observed Ellen.

"Only a moonstruck idiot stops eating in a bad situation," said Cat. "If I'm going to think of a way to escape his high lordship, I've got to keep up my strength."

"Mistress Cat! I dinna know why the earl puts up wi ye except he loves ye!"

"He loves me? Nonsense, Ellie! He thinks he owns me, and it pleases him to show his superiority over me by abusing my body."

Ellen shrugged. She didn't understand Catriona when she spoke like that. Taking up the empty tray, she left the room, shaking her head.

Cat began to prowl the room. Until last night it had simply been a place to sleep. Now she looked on it as her prison. It could be entered only by a door from the stairway. There was a small fireplace on the door wall, and to the left was a bank of casement windows. There was one small, round window to the right. It was not a large room, and held only four pieces of furniture-a large canopied and curtained bed opposite the door, a low clothes chest at its foot, a small table on the single-windowed wall, and a chair by the fireplace. A pier glass hung on the bit of wall to the left of the door.

She stood by the windows looking out. From her vantage point she could see part of the valley below, and into the forest that surrounded the house. She saw Patrick coming out of the woods now. He was riding Dearg, and a buck was flung across his saddle. Conall ran to meet him and, taking the buck across his shoulders, went off in the direction of the stables. The earl followed.

Opening the bedroom door, Cat called down to Ellen. "Prepare a tub in the kitchen for the earl, Ellie. He's just brought in a buck, and he and Conall have gone to butcher it. I'll nae have him dripping blood all over my bedroom."

When he entered the bedroom an hour later clad only in a rough towel, she couldn't help but laugh. He grinned back at her.

"You see, madame. I've done as I've been told. Come now, and gie me a kiss."

Shyly she walked to him, and putting her arms about his neck kissed him.

"Jesu, yer sweet," he muttered, running his big hands over her silk-sheathed body and burying his face for a moment in her neck.

"Please, Patrick," she whispered.

"Please, Patrick, what?" he demanded thickly. He drew her over in front of the pier glass, and standing behind her gently slid her gown off. His big hands cupped her lovely breasts, and instantly the nipples sprang erect. "Look at yerself, Cat! I hae but to touch ye, and yer hungry for me!"

"No! No!" she protested, closing her eyes tightly.

He laughed softly, and turning her to him began to kiss her throat, her lips, her eyelids, with tiny, soft little kisses. His mouth began to move downward to her breasts. He knelt and, holding her firm but gently by the waist, kissed her shrinking belly, his kisses becoming more intense as they traveled lower. His lips found the tiny mole, and kissed it tenderly. Cat began to weep softly.

"Don't, sweetheart," he said gently. "There's nae shame in being a woman, and enjoying it."

"Ye knew?"

"Aye," he said, drawing her down on the floor in front of the cracking fire. "I knew. I've made love to enough women in my life to know when one is enjoying it, even when she struggles like a demon, and vows she hates me."

"I do hate ye," she insisted.

He chuckled. "Then in the next few weeks I'll gie ye cause each day to hate me more." Swiftly he slid between her legs and thrust his aching manhood into her softness. She tried to squirm away. "Nay, hinny! I told ye last night that ye belong to me. And what I hold, my sweet Cat, I keep!"

Chapter 7

THE spring sped by, and Midsummer Eve came and went. Still the Earl of Glenkirk held his beautiful betrothed a prisoner at A-Cuil. Often he rode the almost two hours down to Glenkirk so he might attend to his estate's business. Many days he hunted to provide game for his small household. But never did he spend a night away from Cat.

Though she would never have told him so, Cat now looked forward to the nights she spent in Patrick's arms. She was young, and healthy, and more than half in love with her handsome husband-to-be. As for the earl, he was passionately in love with her, and would have killed any man who dared to look upon her with even the slightest interest.

As the days grew warmer and longer, he took her upon his horse and rode with her through the forest and the high meadows. Several times they made love beneath the sun in fields of new heather. She was as warm as wine, and as sweet as honey. Patrick marveled that he, who had never been faithful to one woman for more than a week or two at a time, dreaded the thought of returning to Glenkirk and sharing her with even his family.

The return would be soon. Cat had not yet connected her loss of a show of blood with impending motherhood. Ellen had, and she sought a way to bring the matter to her young mistress's attention. One morning opportunity presented itself.

The earl had risen early and gone to Glenkirk. Ellen cheerfully entered the bedchamber bearing a tray that held a small pigeon pie, fresh from the oven. "Yer favorite," she chortled. "Doesn't it smell wonderful," she enthused, waving the tray beneath her lady's nose.

Cat went white. Scrambling from the bed, she grabbed the basin from the table and retched into it.

"Och," sympathized Ellen, putting down the tray and wiping the girl's damp forehead with the linen chamber cloth. "Back into bed wi you, my dearie." She tucked Cat in. "The naughty laddie, to make his mama so sick," she said coyly.

Cat stared at her tiring woman as if she had lost her mind. "What are ye babbling about, Ellie? And take that damned pie away, or I'll be sick again! Get me some brown ale to drink, and some oat cakes."

Ellen removed the offending pie and returned a few minutes later with the requested meal. She watched as Cat cautiously sipped the ale, and then, apparently satisfied, wolfed down the oat cakes.

"How do ye feel now?" she asked.

"Better. I canna think what made me so sick. It's the third time it's happened in the last week. Do ye think that perhaps something has gone rotten in the larder?"

"Mistress Cat!" Ellen was exasperated beyond all. "Ye be wi child! He's put his bairn in yer belly, and now we can go home!"

Cat's leaf-green eyes widened. "No," she whispered. "No! No! No!"

"Aye! Yer ripening! There's no doubt about it. The earl will be so happy!"

Catriona turned angrily on Ellen. "If ye dare to tell him, I'll cut yer tongue out! Do ye understand me?"

"My lady!"

Cat closed her eyes for a moment. Opening them again, she spoke calmly and quietly. "I will tell my lord of my condition, Ellie, but not yet. The moment he knows, he'll rush me down to Glenkirk. I dinna want to leave A-Cuil yet. Please. I canna be very far along. There is time."

Ellen was soft-hearted by nature. The thought that her young mistress wanted a little more time alone with the earl appealed to her sense of romance. "When was yer last show?" she asked.

Cat thought a moment. "Early May," she said.

"Ah, sweeting, yer a good three months along," said Ellen, "but we can wait a week or so before his lordship must know. The wee laddie will be a winter child."

"No hints, Ellie. No arch looks. I would surprise the earl."

And she might have told him, and gone meekly home to Glenkirk, had not Patrick himself spoiled it. Kept at Glenkirk for three days and nights by a foolish problem, he arrived back at A-Cuil as randy as a young stallion in first heat.

Cat had decided to tell him, and she ran joyfully to greet him only to have him sweep her up in his arms and carry her to their bedroom. Swiftly, without preliminaries, he tore his clothing off, shoved her down on the bed, pushed her nightgown up, and thrust into her. Cat was outraged.

Satisfied for the moment, he sat up against the pillows and pulled her back against him. He had always loved her breasts, and now he fondled them hungrily. Beginning to swell with her pregnancy, they were sore, and his touch irritated her. He further annoyed her by chuckling, "I think these sweet little titties of mine are growing bigger, Cat." He squeezed them playfully. "A man's loving care can work wonders, eh, love?"

He should have been warned by the ominous silence, but his mind was on other things, and his body was hungry for her again. He took her once more. Then, pushing her from their bed, he patted her buttock and asked for his dinner.

She descended to the kitchen. Ellen was long since in her bed, so Cat loaded a tray with half a roasted bird, a small cold game pie from the larder, bread, butter, a honeycomb, and a foaming pitcher of brown ale, to which she added a pinch of dried herbs. The earl was going to have an excellent night's sleep.

She served him sweetly, and almost felt guilty when he said, "You are going to be the most beautiful countess Glenkirk's ever had. Lord, sweetheart! How I love you!" The drugged ale was beginning to work on him. Climbing into their bed, he fell asleep.

From childhood Cat Hay had been able to wake herself on command. It was still dark when she rose and dressed herself in riding pants and a linen shirt. She packed a small bundle and, picking up Glenkirk's warm cloak, slipped out of the room and down the stairs. It was fully three hours till dawn. Cat crept softly into the stable. Above, in the loft, Ellen was snoring. Conall, she knew, was sleeping with his mistress of the moment, about half a mile away. Quietly she saddled Dearg. Putting a lead rein on Conall's Fyne, she led both horses from the stable.

She walked them a good quarter-mile from the house. Then, mounting Dearg and leading Fyne, she galloped off in the direction of Greyhaven. She planned to get there before even the servants were awake. Once in the house she would gather a few more clothes, her jewelry, and some gold from her father's cache.

Achieving her objective, she headed for the high road, but not before first releasing Fyne with a swat on his rump. He'd go straight to his stables at Glenkirk. Munching oatcakes, she rode along, chuckling to herself. She had outwitted Patrick! He had been so kind and loving in the last weeks that she had almost believed he accepted her as an equal. Last night, however', had told her the truth of the matter. It was as he had said. She was his possession, something for him to breed sons on. Well, she would soon teach him the folly of taking her for granted. She was nobody's slave.

She kicked Dearg into a gallop. Had Patrick really believed that by taking Bana from her she couldn't escape? If he had taken the time to learn as much about Catriona Hay the woman as he had taken learning about Catriona Hay's body, he would have known that there wasn't a horse bred she couldn't ride. It would have given her great pleasure to know that, at that very moment, Patrick Leslie was learning just that.

He had awakened with a headache and a funny taste in his mouth. Reaching out, he discovered that Cat was gone. A frantic knocking on the door tortured his head. "Come in, damnit!" he shouted. Both Ellen and Conall tumbled into the room, talking at once. "Silence!" he roared. "One of ye at a time. Ellen, you first."

"She's gone, my lord. Mistress Catriona has gone. She's taken both horses, and run away."

"When?"

"Sometime in the night. I am sorry, my lord. I sleep like the dead till six each morning. I never heard a thing."

"Where were ye?" said the earl, turning to Conall. "Nay. Dinna tell me. Ye were off sticking it in yer little shepherdess. Jesu!" he swore. "When I catch her this time she'll not sit down for a month!"

Ellen rounded on him. "Ye'll nae lay a hand on her. My little lambie! She's more than three months gone wi yer bairn. She planned to tell ye when ye returned from Glenkirk. What did ye do to her to make her flee ye, my poor Cat? Ye must hae done something."

Patrick flushed.

"So!" pounced Ellen. "Ye did do something!"

"I only made love to her," Patrick protested. "I'd been wi'out her for three days!"

"If only you Leslie men thought more wi yer heads and less wi yer cocks! So ye 'made love' to her? I can see it now." Her scornful glance swept the room. "Having come home, and wi'out so much as a by-yer-leave, ye fucked her. Was it once or was it twice? Then I'll wager ye demanded yer dinner." The earl looked shamefaced, and Ellen snorted. "God, mon! Where's yer sense? If ye'd been an Englishman or a Frenchie I'd expect stupidity, but a Scotsman knows that a Scotswoman is the most independent of creatures! Well, she's got a good start on ye now, and ye'll nae find her easily this time."

"She canna have gone far," said Patrick. "She's run home to her mother, mark my words on it."

Ellen shook her head sadly at him. "Nay, my lord. If she's run home to Greyhaven, 'twill only be to get her jewels, and perhaps steal some gold from her father. But where she'll go to hide, my lord, I dinna know. She's never traveled out of the district before."

"I thought her jewels were at Glenkirk."

"Nay, my lord. When Mistress Cat fled ye in February I brought them back to Greyhaven, and she knew it."

For a second Patrick Leslie looked stricken. Then, swinging his legs over the bed, he stood up. Without another word, Ellen handed him his breeches and left the room.

He spoke to Conall. "The nearest horses?"

"In the valley. Gavin Shaw has the nearest farm."

"Get going," said the earl. "I'll meet ye there."

Conall nodded and left. Patrick finished dressing and went down to the kitchen. Ellen handed him a large sandwich of bread and ham. "Ye can eat as ye walk," she said.

He nodded his thanks. "Pack everything up here for for me, Ellie. I'll send someone up for ye by afternoon at the latest. Will ye stay at Glenkirk until I find her? She's going to need ye more than ever now."

"I'll stay. Her apartments have never been properly refurbished, and there's the nursery to prepare."

Flashing her a smile, he left A-Cuil and began his walk down to the Shaw farm.

Several hours later Patrick Leslie knew that Ellen had been right. Cat was not at Greyhaven, and a check revealed that her jewelry and a generous portion of her father's household gold was missing.

He rode to Sithean, and stopped at Ruth's house in Crannog. Cat was not in either place. At Glenkirk his lovely mother berated him for a fool and demanded, in a voice he had never heard her use before, that he find Cat, and her expected grandson.

"James," she said, "can run the estate for ye while yer gone. Adam and Fiona are, unfortunately, in Edinburgh. They are going to France to visit our cousins."

"Mother, I dinna even know where to look for Cat."

She looked at him pityingly. "Ye hae a bit less than six months to find her, my son. Else the next rightful Glenkirk will be born a bastard."

Groaning with despair, he left the room. Cat Hay would have been terribly happy to see the desperate * look on the earl's face.

Chapter 8

FIONA Leslie pulled her hood over her beautiful face. Looking around to be sure she wasn't followed, she slipped into the Rose and Thistle Inn. "I seek Mistress Abernethy," she told the landlord.

"Up the stairs, to the right," came the answer.

Fiona mounted the stairs. She had no idea who this Abernethy woman was, but when the urchin had shoved the note into her hand, curiosity had overcome good sense. She knocked on the door. Hearing a voice bid her enter, she did. The woman by the window turned. "Cat!" she gasped.

"Shut the door, Fiona, and come sit down."

Fiona settled her black velvet skirts and looked at her beautiful cousin. "I thought Glenkirk held ye captive at A-Cuil? What do ye here?"

"I escaped him again, and I want yer help, Fiona."

"God's toenail, yer a fool, Cat!" she sighed. "I promised Adam that when we met again I would tell ye the truth. I never slept wi Glenkirk, though until his brother took me I was hot to." She grinned ruefully. "As a matter of fact, he wouldna have me! There I lay-mother-naked on his bed-and he wouldna have me! All he wanted was ye. And that's the truth!"

Cat smiled. "Thank you, Fiona. Thank ye for telling me. Patrick already told me he had not slept wi ye, and though I was inclined to believe him, I really do now."

"Then what are ye doing here in Edinburgh? I'll wager poor Glenkirk doesna know where ye are."

"Nay, he doesn't. He's probably looking for me now, but I'll nae go back to him! Nae until he acknowledges me as a human being and nae a brood mare! Help me, Fiona! I know we've nae been close, cousin, but I hoped ye'd understand. Ellen said that ye and Adam leave for France soon. Let me stay in yer house. No one has to know, not even Adam. I'm safer there than anywhere else. Patrick will nae think to look for me in Edinburgh, let alone in yer house."

Fiona chewed on her lip for a moment. Cat would soon be the Countess of Glenkirk, and a good friend to have. Still, if Adam learned she was helping Cat in her feud with his brother he would punish her again in that terrible way he'd twice used on her. Forcing her to watch him love another woman was the worst hell she had ever known, and she didn't owe her cousin a damned thing now that she had told her the truth.

Cat stood up, and held her hands out, pleading. "Please, Fiona."

Fiona's glance caught a little swell of belly that Cat had certainly never had before. Comprehension dawned. "My God, coz! Yer carrying his bairn!"

"Aye," said Cat bitterly. "Do ye know what he said to me, Fiona? That I was a 'thing' to get his sons on. I hate him!"

Fiona didn't think Cat really hated Patrick, but she understood how she felt. These Leslie men were so damned proud. All Cat wanted from Glenkirk was acknowledgment of her status as a person. In a few months' time he'd be frantic, and willing to agree to anything just so his son would be born legitimate.

Fiona felt the wait would do them both good. Besides, she thought, I really do owe my dear brother-in-law for slighting me. She turned to Cat and said, "The house is yers, sweeting, but I've already let the servants go.”

"I need no one."

"Dinna be foolish, chuck. Ye need someone. I’ll send a note to Mrs. Kerr. She usually keeps an eye on the house for me when I am not here. I'll tell her my poor widowed cousin, Mistress Kate Abernethy, is coming to stay, and would she please look after her. Have ye enough money?"

"I think so, and I've my jewels too."

"If ye run short, or need to pawn something, go to the House of Kira in Goldsmith's Lane. And Cat, go at once to see Dr. Robert Ramsey. He's but a few doors from my house, around the corner on High Street. Remember 'tis the heir to Glenkirk ye carry in yer belly."

"Thank you, Fiona," said Cat softly. Suddenly she leaned over and kissed her cousin's cheek.

"We leave tomorrow morning," said Fiona gruffly. "Come in the afternoon. Mrs. Kerr will let ye in and gie you the key." She stood up. Pulling the hood over her face, she said, "Make peace wi Patrick soon, Cat. The Leslies may be arrogant, but by God, they're men!"

Late the following day, Cat moved from the Rose and Thistle Inn to Fiona's house. The house had originally belonged to Cat's and Fiona's grandmother, Fiona Abernethy, wife to the first Earl of Sithean. The cousins' mutual great-grandmother, the legendary Janet Leslie, had felt it fitting that the house go to Fiona Abernethy's namesake, and so Fiona Leslie had inherited it.

It was not a large house. Built about seventy years before, it was a mellowed red brick, well covered with ivy on three sides. The basement held a good kitchen, a pantry, a still room, and a wash room with several large tubs for doing laundry. The main floor held a charming dining room, a formal parlor, a small family parlor that opened into the garden, and a full library. On the second floor were four bedrooms, each with its own dressing room. And in the attic were rooms for the maids.

The house had a small stable where Cat housed Dearg, and the garden was filled with flowers, herbs, and fruit trees. Set off fashionable High Street, it was quiet, and little traffic passed by.

Mrs. Kerr, a cozy, plump widow of middle years, was sympathetic. She had, she confided to Cat, once been in the same position. Her husband had been killed in a border skirmish with the English when she was six months pregnant. She had raised her boy alone, and a fine lad he'd turned out to be, too! He was apprenticed to a butcher now.

"Did my cousin, Lady Leslie, tell ye how my husband died?" asked Cat.

Mrs. Kerr shook her head.

"A border skirmish also," said Cat sadly. "In the Cheviot, only two months ago."

"Aye," said the other woman, nodding in sympathy. "I remember it. But they lost more lads than we did."

Alone once again, Cat chuckled to herself. "Kate Abernethy" would soon be established. She had recognized Mrs. Kerr as a gossip-a kindly soul, but a gossip.

The following day, she took Fiona's advice and visited Dr. Ramsey.

He examined her and then advised, "Unless there's an emergency, ye'll not likely need me, my dear. That's a fine, healthy laddie yer growing there, and yer Mrs. Kerr should be able to deliver him with no trouble. But if ye should need me, dinna hesitate to send around."

Settled into Fiona's house now, Cat found she was enjoying herself. She was no longer sick in the mornings, and her appetite was picking up. Never in her life had she been so far from home. No mother. No father. No Glenkirk. No Ellen. No one to answer to except herself. Mrs. Kerr came each morning to tidy the house and see that she was properly fed, but she left before dark each evening.

As autumn advanced, Cat walked the more respectable streets of Edinburgh, exploring the town. Her dress was simple though expensive, her pregnancy obvious, and her manner modest. No one bothered her. As the days grew colder she confined her walks to the garden or to short trips to market with Mrs. Kerr.

These outings fascinated her. At Greyhaven, food had simply been there. In accompanying her housekeeper, a whole world opened up to Cat. Mrs. Kerr expanded this new world when she took Cat shopping for cloth to make garments for the baby. It was not long before Cat was saying, "Mrs. Kerr, I must go to the ribbon shop. I seem to be out of that lovely blue silk for the baby's bonnets. Do we need anything at the butcher, since I'll pass it on my way?"

Mrs. Kerr did not think it strange at all that her young mistress was so innocent of everyday matters. Cat had explained to the good woman that she had been orphaned early, and raised in a country convent It was a common story.

As the days grew shorter, Mrs. Kerr decided that young Mistress Abernethy should not be alone in the evenings. Her niece, Sally, was brought into the house to look after Cat. Sally was twenty, and as plump and cheerful as her aunt. Her presence made the evenings less lonely for Cat. The two young women sewed, or Cat read to them before the fire. Cat liked her enough to ask her if she would stay on and help look after the baby. Sally was delighted.

Fiona and Adam celebrated Christmas in Paris with their Leslie cousins. The New Year brought greetings from Glenkirk. Adam shook his head. "He's not yet found her. It's as if the wench had disappeared off the face of the earth." He looked at his wife. "Would ye ever do that to me, love?"

"Nay," said Fiona, glancing quickly away.

Adam looked at her more closely. "My God!" he shouted. "Ye know where she is! Ye do! Don't ye?" The look in his eyes was terrible, and Fiona panicked.

"She's in our house in Edinburgh! She made me promise not to tell! I thought she would be home, and safely wed wi him by now!" Then Fiona laughed. "She's got courage, has Cat! Good for her!"

"Ye know," said Adam ominously, "how I'm going to punish you, Fiona, don't ye?"

Fiona's temper snapped. If Patrick could be brought to heel then so could Adam. It wouldn't hurt to try. "Ye do, Leslie," she shouted back at him, "and I'll spread my legs for the first man that comes through that door! I'll nae be treated like a naughty child any longer!"

For a moment they glowered at each other, and then Adam laughed. "I dinna think ye and Cat were friends."

"We weren't, but we are now. We must both contend with Leslie arrogance. Your ass-eared brother called her a 'thing on which to breed his sons.' Do ye blame her for fleeing him? I don't!"

"I've got to tell him, Fiona, else the innocent bairn will be born on the wrong side of the blanket."

“I know," she agreed. "The Glenkirk courier is still here. Send your message back wi him. And Adam-tell Patrick to use Cat gently. She does love him, you know, but she wants him to love her for herself and not just for the children she can gie him. He must treat her wi respect. This was all his own fault."

"I think," he said teasingly, "that being married to me is good for ye, sweetheart. Yer gaining in wisdom." He ducked as a pillow flew by his head.

"Write yer letter, Leslie, and come to bed," she answered him. "Cousin Louise showed me some fascinating pictures today, and I'm dying to see if we can do the same things." She looked provocatively over her shoulder at him.

Adam Leslie gazed back at his lovely wife. "I shall be your most willing and eager pupil, madame," he said, raising a rakish eyebrow.

Chapter 9

THE Leslie courier had no difficulty in reaching the French coast from Paris, but once there he was forced to cool his heels. A nasty winter storm was brewing, and no captain was willing to set off across the North Sea. It wasn't that the fellow minded holing up in the cozy little French inn. He enjoyed the hearty food and excellent wine. But he knew the news he carried was of great importance to the earl. Lord Adam had given him a gold piece, and told him the earl would give him another.

Finally one windy but sunny morning, the courier stood in the center of the taproom, holding the gold piece high. He announced, "This to the man who gets me safely to Aberdeen! And another from my master, the Earl of Glenkirk, when we get there!"

The coin was plucked from his hand by a black-bearded man. "If this wind holds, laddie," he said, "I'll hae ye there in no time!"

The courier reached Glenkirk on the morning of February 2. Not only did the earl replace the gold piece he'd been forced to spend, he gave his messenger two more. The seacaptain was rewarded as had been promised.

Patrick Leslie left Glenkirk on the afternoon of February 2. He stopped at the abbey and asked Cat's uncle, Abbot Charles Leslie, to accompany him to Edinburgh.

"We’ll have to ride hard, uncle. Ellen says she's nae due for at least two more weeks, but ye canna tell wi a first bairn."

Charles Leslie nodded, went to his apartments and returned a few minutes later. The monk's robe was gone. Abbot Charles had become a tall, hard man of forty-five, booted and ready to ride. "I'll do better in Edinburgh," he said, "if I dinna look like a priest in that heretic town."

Several days later they stood in front of Fiona's house in Edinburgh. Sally opened the door. Her eyes widened in approval of the two imposing figures.

"Is yer mistress at home?" asked the earl.

"She's sleeping, my lord." Sally wasn't sure who this handsome stranger was, but there was no doubt in her mind that he was a lord.

"We will wait then," said Charles Leslie, moving into the house. "I am her uncle."

Sally put them in the formal parlor and went to get Mrs. Kerr. The housekeeper arrived a few moments later bearing a tray with wine and biscuits. "I am Mrs. Kerr. Might I know the nature of your business, gentlemen? My mistress is in a very delicate condition at this time."

"She's nae had the bairn?" Patrick's voice was anxious.

"No, sir. Not yet, but within the next few days for sure."

"Tell me, Mrs. Kerr," asked the abbot, "are ye of the new kirk, or the old kirk?"

Years of religious feuding had made the townspeople wary. But for some reason, Mrs. Kerr trusted this man. Looking quickly around, she answered without hesitation, "The old kirk, sir."

"I am the Abbot of Glenkirk Abbey," the older man said. "This is my nephew, the Earl of Glenkirk."

Mrs. Kerr bobbed a curtsy.

"And," continued the abbot, "the young woman who calls herself Mistress Abernethy is in fact the Lady Catriona Hay, the earl's betrothed wife. For reasons I'll nae go into, my wayward niece has twice fled her marriage. Now, however, the time for foolishness is over. Within a few days' time the earl's son will be born. He must, of course, be legitimate. If ye would be so good as to show me to my niece's bedchamber, we will see her now."

Mrs. Kerr said not a word, but moved quickly out of the formal parlor and up the stairs, the earl and the abbot following her. On the second floor she pointed to a door. "That is my lady's room. Let me waken her, my lord." A few minutes later she stuck her head through the door and beckoned the men inside. Then she turned and hurried back down the stairs to tell Sally this extraordinary turn of events.

Cat Hay, wearing a dark-green velvet dressing gown, stood with her back to the blazing fireplace. "Well, uncle. What brings ye here?" she asked calmly.

For the briefest moment Charles Leslie was reminded of his grandmother, Janet. "I've come to hear ye exchange yer wedding vows wi Patrick," he said.

"Such a long ride for nothing," she said.

"Niece! Yer time is very near. Ye carry wi'in yer belly the next rightful heir of Glenkirk. Would ye deny him his birthright?"

"Save yer breath, uncle. I will nae wed wi Patrick. He does not want a wife. He wants a brood mare-a thing on which to breed his sons. He believes he owns me. He told me so himself."

Patrick winced. "Please, Cat. I love ye, hinny. I've been crazy wi worry over ye and the bairn. Please, sweetheart! 'Tis my son you carry."

"Nay, my lord. Not yer son. Yer bastard!"

The earl staggered as if she'd struck him, and for a moment Charles Leslie felt sorry for his nephew. It was going to be no easy task getting Cat to speak her vows, but he had not risen to the office of abbot by meekness.

"Leave us, nephew." When Patrick had left, and the door closed behind him, Charles Leslie turned to his niece. "All right, Catriona, let us talk. I want the whole story. A year ago ye were willing to marry Patrick. What happened to cause this breach between ye?"

Sighing, she eased herself into a chair. "At first it was but a misunderstanding. Fiona claimed to be sleeping wi him, and I was furious, and why not? He claimed to love me, and yet appeared to be sleeping wi another woman."

"You might have asked him, child," said the abbot.

"Uncle! His reputation preceded him, and I was a very young girl. When he found me at my house, A-Cuil, he beat and raped me, uncle! He said I was 'a thing on which to breed his sons,' and I'd nae go home till I was carrying his child, because then I would have to wed him. I would hae no other choice."

The abbot silently thanked God that he had chosen the religious life. Women, particularly those born into his family, could be such damned nuisances.

Cat continued. "He called me his 'possession.' I am no man's possession! When Patrick acknowledges me as an individual, and not as a part of himself, then I will consider the matter of marriage."

Charles Leslie sighed. It was worse than he had thought. However, and he chuckled at the realization, his niece was a remarkable strategist. She had the Earl of Glenkirk by the throat. If he wanted his son- the abbot never considered that the baby might be a daughter-then he must agree to her demands. The abbot decided to appeal to Cat's maternal instinct

"Have ye no feeling for the bairn, niece?"

"No," she answered. "Should I?"

Charles Leslie exploded. "God's nightshirt, girl! Ye are the most unnatural mother I hae ever known! To have no feeling for yer child?"

Cat laughed. "Dinna be silly, uncle. Why should I hae any feeling for my child yet? I dinna know him. I hae never seen him. What is there for me to get soft about? A dream? Foolishness! If I dream the lad a blue-eyed redhead, and he arrives wi brown eyes, and black hair…" She stopped a moment, and then said in a solemn voice, "… or worse yet, a blond lassie! Why, uncle, I should be very disappointed then. And that's overlooking the fact that the bairn's father and I are not exactly on the best of terms."

Charles Leslie pursed his lips. "Ye are being deliberately difficult," he said.

"Aye," she rejoined sweetly. "It comes from being tired. I bear a heavy load, uncle. Ye and Patrick are welcome to stay the night. If ye'll send Mrs. Kerr to me on yer way out, I'll gie her instructions for yer comfort."

He retreated as gracefully as he could to the library on the main floor. Patrick was waiting. The abbot shook his head. "It's going to take time, lad. She's got the upper hand, and is in no mood to settle easily wi you."

"She must!"

"Nay, lad. Be careful, now. That's where ye made yer first mistake. Ye assume ye can bring Cat to heel, and ye cannot. She is proud, and has a wide streak of independence that I've seen before. My grandmother, Janet Leslie, was very much like that. But she had wisdom to go with her willfulness."

"I wonder if she had it when she was Cat's age," mused Patrick.

"She must have to have survived all she did," replied the abbot. "However, nephew, our problem is Catriona. She is very angry with you because of the things ye have said and done to her. She feels yer interest in her is not for herself, but for her breeding ability. Ye must humor her. Women about to gie birth have strange notions."

"I dinna understand what she wants," complained the earl. "I love her. Isn't that enough?"

"Nay, nephew, 'tis not. You are considering only yerself. I am not sure I understand entirely what it is she wants, but I think she wants ye to take an interest in her as a person. To talk wi her, to consult wi her on matters affecting yer life together-not simply to make demands. Catriona is, after all, a well-bred and an educated young woman. I think, Patrick, that yer problem stems from consorting wi so many low women, that ye dinna know how to treat a well-born one. Catriona is nae a plaything. And until ye realize that, she willna hae ye."

The earl flushed. But before he could defend himself, Mrs. Kerr was at the door asking them to dinner.

"Will yer mistress be joining us?" the abbot inquired.

"No, my lord. She'll sleep till late afternoon."

They ate in silence. The abbot noted with pleasure that Cat kept a good table. There was a hearty soup filled with carrots, barley, and thick chunks of mutton. Next came large bowls of fresh-caught oysters, a joint of rare beef, a fat capon, artichokes in vinegar, and some pastries of rabbit and of venison. There was bread, hot from the oven, and "sweet butter. A tart of pears, apples, nuts, and spices and a fine cheese finished off the meal. Their goblets had been filled repeatedly with a good red wine.

Belching delicately, the abbot commented, "Ye’ll nae go hungry wi Catriona in yer house, nephew. She sets a good table."

"Provided I can get her into my house to start with," the earl said ruefully.

The afternoon was long, and the abbot retired to his room to sleep and to make his devotions. Restless, Patrick found his cloak and went out into the city. The gray February cold was bitter, and he could smell on the wind the snow that would begin falling by evening. He walked without thinking. He walked to calm the feelings that raged through him. Suddenly he caught sight of a small jewelry shop and went inside. The owner, recognizing wealth when he saw it, came forward.

"Do ye hae any rings for sale?"

"Yes, my lord. If my lord would be seated." He signaled an apprentice, who hurried forward with a chair.

Patrick sat down. "A lady's ring," he clarified.

"Ahhhh," smiled the jeweler. "His lordship wishes something for a good friend." He snapped his fingers at a second apprentice, who came forward with a tray.

Patrick scornfully eyed the contents. "Lord, mon! Is this the best ye can do? I'm buying a ring for my wife, not for my whore." A second tray was presented. Patrick smiled. "This is more like it, mon!"

Four rings nestled on the pale-blue velvet; a diamond teardrop, a ruby heart, a round sapphire, and a square-cut emerald. Each was set in heavy gold. Carefully he examined each, asking its price. At last, picking up the heart-shaped ruby ring, he said, "I'll take this one, but only on one condition."

"And that is, my lord?"

"Send one of yer apprentices to the Kiras in Goldsmith's Lane. Tell them the Earl of Glenkirk wishes an appraisal immediately."

The jeweler bowed and bade one of his lads go. His prices were honest, and for that he thanked God. Getting a customer like the Earl of Glenkirk was a feather in his cap. If the earl took the ring, the jeweler thought, his wife could have the new cloak she'd been hounding him for all winter, and his mistress would get the lace cap she wanted. The apprentice reappeared soon, bringing a man with him.

"Benjamin!" The earl stood and grasped the newcomer's hand warmly.

"My lord, it is good to see you. When did you arrive in Edinburgh?"

"Just today. My Uncle Charles has accompanied me. We stay at my brother's house off High Street."

"Yes," said Benjamin Kira. "I know the house. I spoke with Lord Adam and his wife before they left for France." He smiled at the earl. "So you're buying jewelry?"

"For my lady Catriona."

"Ahh," said Benjamin Kira. He knew most of the story, but was far too polite to say-so. "The ring, master jeweler." Slipping a small loop on his eye, he held up the ruby. "Ahhhhh. Yes. Hummm. Yes. Good. Very good!" He handed the ring to Patrick, and turned to the merchant. "Well, Master Adie, it's a beautiful stone. Well cut, nicely set. Your price?" The jeweler named it. "Very fair," pronounced Benjamin Kira. "In fact, you're getting a bargain, my lord. Let me see the other rings you showed the earl." He turned back to the jeweler. He examined the diamond, the sapphire, and the emerald, and then asked the price of each. "Too low, Master Adie," he told the surprised jeweler. "Raise the price on the emerald by twenty percent, and on the diamond and sapphire by ten percent."

Patrick directed Benjamin Kira to see that the jeweler was paid. Thanking him for his appraisal, the earl bid him and the jeweler good day. A blue-gray dusk lit the city, and snow was beginning to drift down in large, fat, sticky flakes. Briskly he walked back to his brother's house. Sally opened the door for him and, taking his cloak and cap, shooed him down the hall into the family parlor. "There's a good fire going, m'lord, and I'll bring ye some hot spiced wine."

He found his uncle and Cat engrossed in a game of chess before the fire. He said nothing, but sat down. Sally came in and set the goblet by his hand. He drank slowly, savoring the sweetness of the wine, the pungency of the spices, and the lovely warmth that began to seep through his chilled body.

"Check, and mate," he heard his uncle say.

"Yer far too skilled a chess player for an abbot," Cat complained.

"I generally win what I set out to win," came the reply.

"There speaks the Leslie in ye," Cat laughed. "I believe yer trying to tell me something, uncle."

"Yes, my child, I am. Whatever your misunderstanding wi Patrick, the bairn is the innocent party. Dinna let him be born nameless."

"Oh, he won't be nameless. I intend calling him James, after the king. I saw the lad out riding one day. Such a solemn boy, but verra bonnie."

Glenkirk bit his lip to keep from laughing. The minx was deliberately baiting the abbot, and she had succeeded admirably. Charles Leslie exploded in a rash of very unabbotlike Gaelic oaths. Cat stood up and curtsied. "Good night uncle. I find I am once again fatigued," she said, leaving the room. She had never, even once, acknowledged Patrick's presence.

"Someone ought to beat the wench on her backside!" growled the abbot.

"I already have," replied the earl. "It did no good."

The abbot snorted. "Tomorrow I will speak wi her again. Now, I am for my bed. I’ll need a good night's rest if I'm to contend with Catriona Hay."

Patrick stood by the window watching the snow. It was falling quite thickly now, and the deserted street outside was already well covered. The parlor door opened to admit Sally, carrying a tray. "Mistress thought ye might be hungry after yer walk, m'lord. She and yer uncle ate earlier." She put the tray on the table by the fireplace. "I'll come back in a bit, sir. Ye eat up now!"

The tray contained a steaming bowl of boiled shrimp, a plate with two thick slices of cold ham, a small, hot loaf of bread, a dish of sweet butter, and a pitcher of brown ale. Patrick devoured it all. When Sally returned she brought a plate of warm shortbread and a bowl of highly polished red apples. He ate all the shortbread and two of the apples. Sally, clearing away the tray, smiled warmly at him. "It does me good to see you eat, m'lord! It's like watching me brother, Ian. Now, sir, if you'll look in the cabinet there," she pointed across the room, "you'll find some good whisky. Will there be anything else before I go to bed?"

"Nay, lass. Thank ye kindly. Run along now."

Alone again, he poured himself a whisky and drank it slowly, enjoying its smoky bite. Trust Cat to find a man with a good still, he thought. Cat! Ah, sweetheart, I've hurt ye, and now I am going to have the devil's own time wi ye. My uncle may do all the diplomacy he chooses tomorrow, but I must talk wi ye tonight.

He put down his glass and exited the family parlor. Sally had left him a nightstick burning on the table by the stairwell. Slowly he climbed the stairs, dreading the moment he'd have to face her. Standing in front of her door, he knocked. For a moment, he hoped she was asleep. Then the door opened, and there she was in her green velvet dressing gown, her heavy, honey-colored hair loose about her shoulders. He stared tongue-tied, feeling like a fool.

"Patrick." Her voice was soft. "Either come in, or go away." She turned and walked back into the room.

He followed her, closing the door behind him. A fire burned in the grate, lighting the room. She had been in bed. Paying him no heed, she climbed back into the warmth of her quilts. Two huge pillows propped her up. He drew a chair up next to the bed and sat down.

"Well, my lord," she said, folding her hands over her enormous belly, "I think I am safe in assuming ye've nae come to rape me this night. What is it then ye want?"

"I want to talk. We'll leave the diplomacy and tact to our uncle the abbot. Ye and I can speak the truth to each other. I am a fool, Cat!"

"Aye," she agreed.

"I love ye, lass! What is done is done. If ye canna forgie me, can ye at least forget my boorishness? I'll do anything to win ye back."

"Can ye change the way ye think, Patrick? Because that is my price. I will nae be yer possession. Yers, or anyone else's! I canna be just Glenkirk's wife. I must be Catriona Hay Leslie, and only if ye think of me in that way, and treat me in that way, will others follow." She smiled gently at him. "Ah, hinny! I dinna think ye really understand, do ye? Perhaps ye canna."

"I am trying to, Cat. Would it help if I set aside a certain portion of yer dowry for you alone?"

"That's not quite what I mean, Patrick, but if yer willing I'll tell ye exactly what I want from a financial point of view. The investments that Grandmam left me were included in my dowry. They should not have been. They are mine alone, and I want them back. A-Cuil also belongs to me. It was my paternal grandmother's, and Grandmam saw that it was put in my name, as this house is in Fiona's name. Lord, Patrick! Ye knew Grandmam better than I did, and ye know how strongly she felt about a woman having something of her own."

"Of course ye may have A-Cuil back," he said, "but as to the investments, love, ye dinna know finance, and I canno allow ye to waste what Grandmam left ye just to satisfy a whim."

"Then we canna proceed any further in our discussions, Patrick. Good night." She turned away from him. She would not tell him that for two years now she had been handling the investments Grandmam left her. She had the brilliant guidance of Benjamin Kira. Of all Janet Leslie's great-grandchildren, Catriona Hay's investments were the richest because she listened and learned from the Kiras, that family whose help had meant so much to Janet Leslie. Cat had a flair for investment banking, and an almost psychic sense about decisions. But she would not tell Patrick these things. The decision to return to her what was rightfully hers must be his decision. She did not care what his reasons would be, for she didn't really expect him to understand how she felt. However, he must act without knowledge of her financial talent, or it would be no good.

She heard the door close quietly. Rolling over onto her back, her eyes swept the room. He was gone. She felt the tears-hot and salty-pouring down her face. Despite her calm demeanor she was frightened. The babe she carried was the next Glenkirk and she wanted him born with both his names, but she'd not give in to Patrick before he met her conditions. The child in her womb kicked, and she protectively placed her hands on her belly.

"Dinna fret, Jamie. Yer father will see it our way soon," she whispered. And it would have to be very soon, she knew, for her son should be making his appearance any time now. She wondered if Patrick was as restless as she was, and whether he was lying awake in his bed now as she lay awake in hers.

Chapter 10

THE snow fell all through the night, and Edinburgh woke to a sparkling silver-white city. Cat rose, relieved herself in the chamberpot, and climbed back into the warm bed. A few minutes later Sally arrived to start a fresh fire. She brought hot milk with a beaten egg and spices, and a plate of hot scones dripping butter and strawberry jam.

"Bless you," said Cat, sitting forward as Sally plumped her pillows. "I'm ravenous this morning. Is there any bacon?"

"There could be, my lady," smiled Sally. "Start wi what ye have, and I'll tell Mrs. Kerr."

Cat sipped her milk and greedily ate the scones.

"You look like something ten years old instead of a woman about to gie birth," laughed Patrick, entering the room. "There's jam all over yer face. Yer bacon, madame." He gracefully swept the plate under her nose and set it down in front of her.

"Thank you, my lord." She grabbed a piece of the bacon and chewed it with relish.

"May I breakfast wi you, Cat?"

"If ye wish."

"Sally lass! Bring it in!"

Cat waited until Sally had departed before speaking.

"Rather sure of yerself, aren't ye, Patrick?"

"Damnit, Cat! Is this the way it's going to be? Always sniping?"

"Until ye gie me back what is mine, it is not going to be at all!" She took another bite of scone, and the butter ran down her little chin.

"Yer going to call my bluff, aren't ye, Cat?" He could barely keep the amusement out of his voice.

"Aye," she drawled, looking straight at him. "Would ye like to wager I'll win too?"

"What stakes, madame?"

"A-Cuil against a house in Edinburgh, but I get to choose it."

"If ye win, sweetheart."

"I will," she said, swooping up the last piece of bacon.

He laughed, enjoying her outrageous confidence. It was a side of her he hadn't seen before, and he liked it. "If," he said, "I can find a conveyance of some sort, will ye come out wi me today?"

"Yes! My size has hindered me, and I've been indoors all the last few weeks."

Benjamin Kira owned a sleigh imported from Norway. It was red, with a black-and-gold design, and pulled by two black horses. The earl settled Cat comfortably, tucking several fur robes about her, took the reins, and set off through the city.

Catriona Hay was a beautiful woman. There were enough admiring glances directed at the sleigh to annoy Patrick considerably, but his glowering looks were enough to discourage any gallants.

Cat was wrapped in a brown velvet cloak. The hood, trimmed in a wide band of soft dark sable, framed beautifully her creamy, heart-shaped face. Several tendrils of honey-colored hair escaped from beneath the hood, their rich dark gold lying in delicious contrast to the dark fur. Patrick cursed to himself. He was going to have to give in to her demands! It wasn't merely the question of his son's name. He loved this headstrong vixen, and if he allowed her to escape him again, he'd never get her back.

"I’m hungry, Glenkirk," she announced, breaking in on his thoughts.

"There's an excellent tavern on the edge of town, sweetheart I thought we'd stop there."

He drove the sleigh smartly into the courtyard of the Royal Scot and, leaping down, tossed the reins to a young fellow. Cat flung back the fur robes and allowed Patrick to lift her out. Because of the snow, he carried her into the inn before setting her on her feet.

"A private room, sir?" asked the landlord.

"Nay, mon. The common room will do us fine if it isna too crowded."

They were seated at a window table by the large fireplace. Patrick took her cloak. Beneath it she wore a deceptively modest loose brown velvet gown with a creamy lace ruff collar, and cuffs. A heavy gold and topaz chain relieved the severity of the gown. Her hair was loose.

The landlord brought them goblets of hot spiced wine without waiting to be asked.

"We'll eat," said the earl. "Bring us yer best."

They had drunk two goblets of the wine before the waiter arrived, staggering beneath his tray. The first course consisted of a bowl of shrimp, prawns, and oysters, boiled in a delicate herb sauce. There was fresh bread and butter, a dish of artichokes in vinegar and oil, and a salad of cabbage. Next came roast duck, crisp and brown with a sweet-and-sour lemon sauce, three standing ribs of rare beef, thin pink slices of lamb on a shallow platter with red wine and rosemary, a whole broiled trout, and flaky little pastries filled with minced venison, rabbit, and fruit. The third course was a large bowl of stewed pears and apples in clotted cream, sprinkled with colored sugar. This was accompanied by jellies, sugared nuts, and a large cheese. Lastly came wafers, and little glasses of hippocras. Cat, who had never been shy at the table, ate with a particular gusto that amused the earl. At last she said, "I'm sleepy, Glenkirk! Take me home."

He paid the bill and complimented the landlord on the excellence of the food and the service. Having tipped everyone, he tucked Cat again into the sleigh and drove home. When he had returned the sleigh to Benjamin Kira and come back, Sally informed him that her mistress had retired to her room. He climbed the stairs and knocked. She bade him enter. She had exchanged the brown velvet dress for a pale blue silk chamber robe. She lay on her bed.

"I am feeling very fat and full," she told him. "I intend sleeping the whole afternoon away." She reached up, drawing him down to the bed. "Thank ye, Patrick. I did enjoy our outing so!"

"So did I, love," he answered. He bent and kissed her gently.

She took his hand and placed it on her swollen belly. A look of incredulous delight lit up his face as he felt the child in her belly kick. She laughed.

"Aye, hinny! My Jamie's a strong and healthy bairn!"

She had said "my," not "our." Patrick was hurt, but he tried hiding it, and instead said lightly, "Our Jamie, Cat. He's my son too."

"Nay, my lord of Glenkirk. I told ye yesterday. The bairn is my son. Your bastard."

Patrick stood. "I'll let ye sleep," he said quietly, and left the room.

He was close to giving in, Cat knew, and she was using every trick to weaken him. She knew he wanted her, and not just for the child. She didn't mind his desiring her body, for she also desired his. But until he gave her back her rightful property and saw the error of his ways, there could be no living with him. She fell asleep wondering how long it would be before he conceded defeat.

While she slept, Patrick was learning a very interesting fact from his uncle. The abbot had spent the morning in the library awaiting the return of his niece and nephew. He was feeling quite pleased with himself. He thought his talks with Catriona had begun to bear fruit. When Patrick entered the library he asked, "Well, nephew! When do I perform the wedding?"

"Not yet, uncle. She's still not ready to have me."

"God's foot, mon! What does she want? Do ye understand her? For I am nae sure I do."

Patrick laughed. "I think I am beginning to understand her quite well. She does nae wish to be treated as a chattel."

"Nonsense!" snapped the abbot. "Of course women are chattel. Why, even the Protestant heretics agree wi that."

"Nevertheless," continued Patrick, "she wants to be treated as an equal, and she says that both A-Cuil and the investments that Grandmam left her should not have been included in her dowry. She wants them legally returned to her. She says she'll nae wed wi me until she gets them."

The abbot thought a minute, then spoke. "Mam believed that women needed a little something of their own, and she did see that all of her granddaughters, and the great-granddaughters born before she died, had both a bit of property and some financial investments. A mad idea! No judge would uphold such nonsense. If Greyhaven included A-Cuil and the investments in Cat's dowry, then they are, of course, yours."

Hearing his uncle's reasoning, Patrick suddenly saw the unfairness of it all. In a flash he understood Cat's anger. "I have promised," he said, "to return A-Cuil to her. Has she ever done anything wi her investments other than collect the dividends?"

"Greyhaven mentioned something about it to me once, but I'm nae sure what he was talking about. You would have to ask the Kir as."

"I hae full intention of doing so," replied Patrick, "but uncle, if ye wish my son born legitimate, say nothing to Cat of this conversation. I am going to see Benjamin Kira. If she asks for me when she wakes, say I've gone out walking."

But when Cat Hay awoke she wasn't thinking of Patrick. She was thinking of the pains sweeping over her. She struggled to gain her feet, but no sooner had she done so than a flood of water poured down her legs. She screamed. Within seconds, both Mrs. Kerr and Sally burst into the room. It took but a moment for Mrs. Kerr to sum up the situation. She put a comforting arm about Cat

"Dinna fret, my lady. ‘Tis just the laddie deciding it's his time to be born. Sally, lass! Get some towels. Are ye in pain, my lady?"

"A little. The pains come and go."

"Rightly so," said Mrs. Kerr. "Sally! Go tell the abbot we'll need his help wi the table. Now, my lady, back into bed for the moment." She helped Cat back into the big bed.

Sally hurried downstairs to the library, where Charles Leslie dozed peacefully before the fire. Gently she shook his shoulder. "Sir! Sir!" Charles sleepily opened his eyes. "Mistress has gone into labor, sir. Mrs. Kerr and I will need yer help in carrying the birthing table."

The abbot was wide awake now. "Has the earl returned?"

"No, sir."

"Damnation!" swore the abbot. "I'll hae to run and fetch him."

Sally put a hand on his arm. "My lord, my little brother's in the kitchen. He'll go fetch the earl. There is plenty of time. First babies are always slow in coming."

"Gie the lad this," said Charles, handing Sally a copper. "There's a silver piece when he returns."

"Thank ye, m'lord. If ye'll wait here I’ll send the boy now."

She ran to the kitchen, where her ten-year-old brother sat spooning lamb stew into his mouth. "Here, Robbie. Run to Banker Kira's house in Goldsmith's Lane. Ask for the Earl of Glenkirk, and speak to no one else. Tell him his son is about to be born. If they dinna want to disturb the earl, tell them 'tis life and death." She gave him the copper. "And there's silver when ye come back!"

Clutching the copper, the boy grabbed his cloak, and ran.

At Benjamin Kira's home the Earl of Glenkirk sat sipping Turkish coffee and listening with growing amazement as the current head of the Edinburgh Kira family told him of Catriona Hay's financial acumen. "She's almost tripled her investment in the last two years," said Benjamin Kira.

"Surely ye tell her what to do," said Patrick.

"Not for the last two years, my lord. When she was twelve, she wrote and asked if I would instruct her in financial matters. I began simply, for I was not sure either that she was serious or that she had the intellect for it. The more I taught her, the more she wanted to know. She absorbed all I told her, and comprehended everything. Two years ago she began handling her own affairs. For about six months she would consult me before she made a move, but since then she has taken full charge. She's clever, my lord, very clever. I don't mind telling you in confidence that I have been following her lead myself, and a pretty penny I have made!"

Patrick Leslie swallowed hard. "Are ye telling me, Benjamin, that when Lady Catriona has instructed ye regarding her investments, ye hae followed her advice regarding yer own?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Did ye know that the Master of Greyhaven turned over Lady Catriona's investments to me last year when the wedding date was set?"

"I did not know, my lord. We were not notified here in Edinburgh. Lady Hay has been continuing to handle her own funds, especially since she has been here in town."

"And she will continue to do so, Benjamin. Your, brother, Abner, is a lawyer, is he not?"

"Yes, my lord."

"If he is here, I want to immediately draw up a paper legally returning Lady Hay's possessions to her. And Benjamin, she is never to know that I questioned you about her handling of the funds. I will be frank wi ye my friend. Lady Hay will shortly bear my child, and she refuses to wed wi me as was arranged years ago, unless I return her property. Naturally I'd nae hae the next Glenkirk born a bastard, but she is a stubborn lass, and neither my uncle the abbot nor I can move her."

"I'll send for my brother and his clerk immediately, my lord. You may trust my discretion. Women, at best, are unpredictable. Women about to give birth, however, are downright dangerous. It is best to just give in gracefully."

While they waited for the lawyer, young Robbie was shown into the room. "This boy," said the servant, "claims he must see the earl on a matter of life and death."

"Well, lad," said the earl kindly.

"I'm Robbie Kerr, Sally's brother. Her ladyship is having the bairn now."

"Jesu!" swore Patrick. "Is it born yet?"

"Nay, sir," said the boy calmly. "She's just begun her labor."

"Yer remarkably well informed for a lad of nine? Ten?" The earl was amused.

"Ten, sir. And I should be well informed. There's six after me."

"Your mother's to be commended, young Robbie," said Benjamin Kira.

"Nay, sir. Me mum died birthin' me. 'Tis my stepmother who had the six after me."

The earl paled and, noting it, Benjamin Kira said to him, "I'll send my wife back with the boy. She's a mother three times. She'll find out how far along your lady is. Don't worry, my lord. These first births are always long. You have plenty of time."

As Abner Kira and his clerk entered the room, Benjamin and the boy went to find Benjamin's wife. Husband and wife conferred in a language unfamiliar to Robbie. It sounded a bit like the Gaelic he'd heard spoken occasionally. Mistress Kira turned her lovely brown eyes on Robbie. "Well, laddie. Come along, and lead me to his lordship's house," she said.

Sally let them in, for Robbie took Mistress Kira to the front door. "I am Master Benjamin Kira's wife. His lordship sent me to see how his lady does."

Sally curtsied. "If you'll pray be seated, ma'am, I'll go fetch my aunt. She is wi her ladyship now."

When Mrs. Kerr came down the stairs she fussed, "Och, Sally has left you in the hallway. Come into the back parlor, and have a glass of cordial."

"Thank you, Mrs. Kerr," smiled Anna Kira, "but I must hurry back. His lordship, like most first-time fathers, is frantic. How does his lady?"

"He need not worry. Everything is proceeding normally. She'll nae deliver for hours yet."

"I think he'll be home long before," said Mistress Kira gently.

The two women looked at each other, their faces registering their understanding of the ways of men. They laughed. Retorting quickly to her own home, Anna Kira reassured the earl that Cat was fine.

By this time, Abner Kira had composed the document which made Catriona Mairi Hay Leslie, Countess of Glenkirk, sole owner in her own right of A-Cuil, and of the investments left to her by Janet Leslie. The document, written in duplicate, was signed by Patrick Leslie, Earl of Glenkirk, and witnessed by both Benjamin and Abner Kira. One copy was to be kept permanently in the Kira vaults. The earl took the other with him.

He hurried through the snowy twilight, the document clutched beneath his cloak. She would wed him now. She had to!

"Not yet," smiled Sally as she let him in and took his cloak.

"My uncle?"

"In the library, sir."

He moved swiftly down the hall and into the library. "Come, Uncle Charles, get what ever ye need to marry us. I've done what Cat asked, and I'm going up to her now." He was out the door before the abbot could speak. He ran up the stairs, two at a time, and burst into Cat's bedroom.

A long table, slanted to one end, stood before the fireplace. It was covered in muslin sheets. Cat sat upon it, propped up with pillows. The earl looked around, astounded.

"Birthing is a bloody business, my lord. I dinna believe in ruining a perfectly good mattress and feather bed," said Mrs. Kerr.

Patrick walked over to Cat and stood before her. Without a word, he handed her the rolled parchment. She broke the seal, unrolled it, and read it through. Her eyes closed for a moment as pain swept through her. Then, raising tear-filled eyes to him, she said softly, "Thank ye, Patrick."

"Catriona Hay, we've been pledged for over twelve years. Our child is being born at this very minute. Say ye'll wed me now." He stopped, and grinned. "Besides, this document is made out to Catriona Mairi Hay Leslie, the Countess of Glenkirk. Ye must wed me to get yer property back!"

"Patrick," she asked. "Ye hae returned my property, 'tis true. But has yer attitude changed? How do ye see me?"

It was a tricky question, and he knew that their fates and that of their child depended on his careful answer. "I see ye," he said slowly, "first, as Cat Hay-a competent and lovely woman. I hope to see ye also as my wife, as my mistress, as my friend, and as the mother of our children. Ye are nae one woman, sweetheart, yer many! Some of whom I've yet to meet."

"Patrick." She smiled at him through her pain. "I do believe ye are beginning to understand me. It canna hae been easy for ye. Thank ye."

She was going to accept. He was sure of it, and felt relief sweeping over him.

"Yes, my lord… my love… my dear friend, and dearer enemy!" She squeezed his hand. "I will honor the contract between us, and wed wi ye."

On cue, the abbot bustled in, carrying his portable altar. "Well, niece! No more foolishness! If ye'll nae speak yer vows yerself, I'll be forced to speak them for ye. I should hae thought of that months ago. I dinna suppose ye can stand at this point?"

"There is no need to threaten me, uncle. I will marry Patrick, but not for another five minutes. If ye'll both leave, I wish to dress for my wedding." She winced, and said to Sally, "The ruby-red velvet dressing gown. Ohhhh, Jesu!" The men left quickly.

Sally was worried. "The pains are much closer now, my lady. I dinna think ye can stand."

"Just for a few minutes. I will not be married lying down on a birthing table!" Another spasm shot through her.

Sally helped Cat out of her chamber robe and into the heavy velvet dressing gown, as Mrs. Kerr slipped out into the hall. "Say the words quickly, my lord abbot. Her labor has increased suddenly. The next Glenkirk will be born in a very short time."

Charles nodded. Sally stuck her head out the door and called. "Mistress wants the ceremony in the parlor by the fireplace."

While Mrs. Kerr and the abbot blustered disapproval, Patrick strode back into the bedroom. Cat stood shakily in her ruby-red velvet dressing gown. Her long, heavy hair was plaited and pinned up. held fast with gold and pearl pins. He did not miss the pain in her eyes. His arms were around her. Neither said a word. Picking Cat up, he walked into the hall and carefully down the stairs to the main parlor. The abbot, Mrs. Kerr, and Sally followed.

Charles Leslie opened his prayer book and began. Patrick and Cat stood before him, Cat holding Glenkirk's hand very tightly. He knew each time she experienced a contraction, for her grip tightened. He marveled at her strength.

The abbot, having noted his niece's pallor, went quickly through the ceremony. "The ring," he hissed at Patrick. Patrick handed him the ruby. Charles Leslie blessed it, returned it to the earl and watched him slip it on Cat's finger. Her eyes widened appreciatively at the heart-shaped stone, and she smiled up at him. He smiled reassuringly at her. After a few more words, Charles Leslie pronounced his niece and nephew husband and wife.

Patrick didn't wait for congratulations. He lifted Cat and carried her quickly back upstairs to the bedroom. Sally ran ahead, opening the door, as Mrs. Kerr followed close behind. The two women helped Cat out of the heavy gown and onto the birthing table. When he was sure she was as comfortably settled as she could be, Patrick drew up a chair and sat by her side.

"My lord, this is no place for a man," remonstrated Mrs. Kerr.

"Unless my wife objects I will remain to see my son bora." He looked at Cat.

She held out her hand to him. "Stay, my lord," she smiled at him. "Ye've already missed so much."

The pains were coming faster and harder. Her entire body was bathed in perspiration. She gritted her teeth and breathed deeply.

"Don't hold back, my lady," said Mrs. Kerr. "You must cry out, or it will go the worse for you."

"I dinna want my son entering the world to the sound of his mother's pain," she insisted.

"Nonsense!" snapped back Mrs. Kerr. "He’ll nae remember it, so busy he'll be with his own howling." Her eyes twinkled. "Why don't you swear-in the Gaelic-for he'll nae understand that."

The abbot of Glenkirk, waiting outside in the hallway, listened in amazement to the stream of colorful Gaelic issuing from his niece's chamber. It was followed some ten minutes later by a triumphant shout from Glenkirk, and the outraged howl of an infant. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Charles Leslie rushed into the bedroom. Mrs. Kerr was tending Cat while Sally wiped the birthing blood from the wailing child.

"I've a son, uncle! A son! The fifth Earl of Glenkirk," shouted Patrick. "James Patrick Charles Adam Leslie!"

"Aye, uncle," spoke up a tired but amused voice. "He has a son. The fourth earl has given birth to the fifth earl. And just fancy, he did it all by himself."

"I couldna hae done it wi'out ye, sweetheart," grinned Patrick.

"No, ye couldn't have," she laughed weakly. "When do I get to see the marvel I hae produced?"

" 'Twill be a minute, dearie," said Mrs. Kerr. "Yer all cleaned up, and-" she slipped a clean, sweetly scented nightgown of soft pale-lavender wool over her lady's head-"ready to be put back into your bed. My lord, would you be so kind as to carry the countess to her bed."

Gently, Patrick lifted Cat and placed her between the warmed sheets. Then he drew the down coverlet over her. Sally placed the sleeping, swaddled infant in Cat's arms. "God's nightshirt! He's so tiny! I've seen bigger Christmas capons." But there was pride in her voice. "He's got your hair, Patrick," she said, noting the damp tuft of black that Sally had brushed into a curl.

Mrs. Kerr took the baby back and handed him to Sally.

"She'll put him in his cradle, and sit wi him until he wakes. Do ye still wish to nurse him, or shall I hire a wet nurse?"

"I'll nurse him myself, Mrs. Kerr. At least for now. I do think, however, that Sally's sister, Lucy, should come and be her assistant in the nursery. Sally cannot watch the child all day and all night."

"Yes, my lady, but now you must get some sleep."

"In a few minutes, Mrs. Kerr. You'll see that his lordship and my uncle are well taken care of at supper?"

"Of course, madam," smiled Mrs. Kerr. "I'll see to it at once." She turned to go.

"Mrs. Kerr?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"Thank ye, Mrs. Kerr. For everything."

The housekeeper bridled with pleasure. " 'Twas an honor, my lady, to deliver the future Glenkirk." She turned to the abbot. "Come, sir. I'll wager all this excitement has raised an appetite in you." Together they left the room.

Patrick came and sat gingerly on the edge of his wife's bed. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. "Yer overproud, Cat Leslie, and stubborn beyond belief. But, by God, I love you. I am proud and lucky to hae ye for my wife… and my friend!"

She lifted her leaf-green eyes to him and they twinkled mischievously. "Ye owe me a house in town, Glenkirk, and as soon as I am able, I intend to get it!"

Patrick Leslie's deep laughter sounded throughout the entire house.

Chapter 11

JAMES Patrick Charles Adam Leslie had appeared on the twenty-fourth of February, 1578. Four weeks after his birth, Adam and Fiona Leslie arrived home from France. The earl had sent his messenger with news of his son's birth, and the younger Leslies returned in haste so as to be godparents to the child.

Charles Leslie performed the ceremony without delay. He had been away from his abbey for about two months now. Hiring a swift coastal cutter, he sailed north to Peterhead. He would be able to continue overland easily from there, and looked forward to spending his first night back on dry land enjoying the hospitality of Deer Abbey.

Fiona was amused to find Cat enjoying her maternity. "I didna think ye were the goo-ga type," she chuckled.

Cat grinned back. "Neither did I. It creeps up on ye wi'out yer knowing it. However, I dinna intend to hae another for several years."

"If Glenkirk's the rutting stallion Leslie is, ye'll hae no choice."

"I'll be careful," said Cat meaningfully.

"Why, cousin," remarked Fiona, raising an elegantly plucked eyebrow, "how different ye are from a year ago."

"It's been a rather busy year, Fiona."

And it got busier for Cat. She was looking for a house, for with Adam and Fiona back home, the little Edinburgh dwelling was too crowded. Adam had promised his wife they would travel, but that had changed now.

The second Glenkirk son, James, was married to Ailis Hay, and Ailis Hay's only brother, Francis, had died of a winter flux. Gilbert Hay had no other legitimate sons, and therefore James Leslie had become his father-in-law's heir. James and Ailis were moving to Hay House to learn the management of a small estate.

Michael Leslie would be marrying Isabella Forbes in less than two years, and taking over her estate. It was therefore up to Adam Leslie to learn the management of Glenkirk in the event that Patrick died before his son, James, reached his majority.

"Spend a year at Glenkirk, and ye can hae a year to travel," promised Patrick, seeing Fiona's disappointment.

Cat, meanwhile, had found a house to suit her. Like Leslie House it was on a quiet side street. But her choice was off Canongate, which ran towards the Palace of Holyrood rather than towards High Street. Built of brick, it contained a large and sunny kitchen, a pantry, a washroom, a still room, a storage room, a servant's hall, a comfortable room off the garden for the cook, and several cubicles for the kitchen help. The main floor held a wide reception hall, a bright formal parlor, a library, a dining room, a family dining room, and family parlor. The second floor was made up almost entirely of one great hall. Off it were several private anterooms. On the third floor were six bedrooms, each with its own dressing room, and indoor sanitary facilities. On the fourth floor was the nursery, and on the fifth, the servants' quarters.

The property had a flower garden, kitchen garden, and orchard. It also had a fine large stable. When the earl complained of the size of the house, he was reminded of the size of their families. Glenkirk House would serve for all the Leslies when they visited Edinburgh, and would be useful later on when the little king came into his own, and held court. Cat had hired Mrs. Kerr on a permanent basis to run her new house. She wanted to stay in Edinburgh at least till the end of June so she might attend to the ordering of the furnishings. Glenkirk gave her till mid-May.

"Why can't you and Adam go home alone?" she protested. "Fiona and I will stay in town to finish this business, and then join ye later."

Patrick laughed. "Madame," he said looking down at her, "I hae no intention of letting ye out of my sight ever again. Yer an impossible wench to catch up with, my dear. We'll return to Glenkirk together in mid-May. Ye'll hae to have yer business finished by then. Besides, what difference does it make if the house is finished now, or not?"

"Because, my lord, I hae no intention of spending the entire winter snowed in at Glenkirk. After Christmas, or before if it be possible, we will return to town for the winter."

The earl was amused. So she had plans to come to town each winter? He chuckled to himself. What a handful she was going to be. Best to keep her little belly filled with his children. A full nursery would keep her busy.

During the next few weeks Cat spoke with numerous craftsmen and, approving hundreds of sketches, ordered the furnishings. She arranged with Benjamin Kira that the craftsmen be paid, upon Mrs. Kerr's approval, after delivery had been made. She did not tell Patrick about this. The earl might have forgotten, but Glenkirk House belonged to Cat.

Before they left Edinburgh they were visited by George Leslie, the Earl of Rothes, who was the head of the Leslie clan. Both Patrick and Adam were pleased by the honor done their minor branch of the family. Cat, however, was not impressed.

"We're richer," she said. "He has decided to keep on good terms wi us in case he has to borrow money."

Though the men were shocked at this lack of respect, Fiona laughed. "Ye really are a bitch, Cat, but I happen to agree wi you. Besides, George Leslie is of the new kirk, and his family was implicated in the murder of Cardinal Beaton years ago. I dinna trust him."

They left Edinburgh for Glenkirk in mid-May. The earl, his countess, Adam, and Fiona all rode. Sally, Lucy, and the baby were comfortably settled in a wagon. A troop of Glenkirk soldiers under Conall More-Leslie escorted the party, for the roads were not safe. Many small merchants, hearing they planned to travel by way of Aberdeen, asked leave to travel with them. The larger the group, the safer everyone was.

They reached Glenkirk two weeks later. Fiona chuckled wickedly at the reception awaiting them. Lined up were the dowager countess Margaret Leslie, Cat's parents and brothers, Fiona's parents and brothers, all the Leslies of Glenkirk, and the More-Leslies of Cran-nog.

"Jesu," swore Cat under her breath. "They've dragged the whole clan out! The only one missing seems to be our uncle, the abbot."

"No, he's there. He just stooped to pick up Aunt Meg's glove." Fiona sounded as if she were going to laugh.

"Christ's toenail!"

"It's nae us, Cat.’Tis his next Earlship of Glenkirk they've come to welcome," returned Fiona as the mob descended upon them.

She was right. Poor Jamie was snatched from Sally and passed, howling his outrage, among the delighted relations. Cat angrily retrieved her son, soothed him, and quelled the protest from the group. Ellen called, "I'll take him, my lady."

"Ye most certainly will not," snapped Cat. "Yer far too good a maid, and I have missed ye," she told the crestfallen woman, who immediately brightened. "Sally," called Cat. "Take yer wet master."

She endured the welcoming banquet arranged by Patrick's mother before being allowed to escape to her apartments. Her mother cornered her long enough to ask whether all was well between her daughter and the earl. Assured that everything was fine, Heather breathed a sigh of relief and returned to her husband. As evening drew in, Cat yawned hugely. Meg Leslie smothered a laugh.

"I think," she whispered to her daughter-in-law, "that it would be perfectly permissible for ye to end this banquet."

Cat leaned over to Patrick. "Glenkirk! Must I fall asleep in the jellies before ye'll end the evening?"

"All right, sweetheart, but I'll stay awhile. Let us stand up now, and put the others who also wish to retire out of their misery."

They stood, giving the signal for those who wanted to leave. Cat politely bid her guests good night and hurried to the nursery. Jamie, his eyes bright, lay on his stomach sucking his tiny fist.

"He's such a good bairn," said the doting Lucy.

Cat picked up her son and cradled him for a moment. His tiny nose twitched.

"Och," crowed Sally proudly. "The smart laddie smells the milk!"

Jamie began to cry. Lucy took the baby from Cat while Sally hurried to help her mistress remove her bodice. Cat sat down. Taking her son again, she gave him her breast. When the child had sated himself and lay drowsily in her lap, she smiled down on him. "He's growing so big," she noted, her voice soft.

"Aye, madame," answered Sally, "and bright he is, too, our little lad."

Cat lay her son back in the cradle on his stomach and drew the coverlet over him. "When I see him so helpless, so tiny," she said, "it's hard to believe he'll be a great impossible man like his father some day."

The two nursemaids giggled, and the countess, rising, buttoned her bodice and bid them good night. She hurried to her own apartments, where Ellen had a steaming tub waiting. Stripping her clothes off. Cat climbed in and luxuriated in the warm fragrant water. She, who was used to bathing daily, had not had a bath since leaving Edinburgh two weeks before. "Ellen, tell the earl's man, Angus, to hae a bath ready for his lordship. I won't hae him climb stinking into my bed this night."

And while Ellen was gone, Cat lathered up her hair, rinsed it, lathered it, and rinsed it again. She climbed from the tub and sat naked before the fire while Ellen rubbed her hair dry and then brushed it till it gleamed. Finally, Cat stood and held her hair up while Ellen powered her body.

"Perfection! You are pure perfection!" Her husband stood in the doorway.

"Angus has prepared you a bath, my lord," she told him.

Lazily his eyes traveled the length of her body. She boldly returned his glance.

"Ye smell like sunshine, love."

"And you stink of horses and two weeks on the dusty road."

He laughed. "I'll nae be long. Good night, Ellen."

Ellen chuckled. "Which nightgown, my lady?"

"Dinna bother, Ellie. Just gie me a shawl."

Cat got into the big bed and, sitting up, drew a lacy wool shawl about her shoulders. "Good night, Ellie."

"Good night, madame."

Cat sat in her bed listening with amusement to the sounds coming from Patrick's bedroom. He splashed. He sang off-key. He made noises like a duck, and she laughed. A few minutes later he came naked through the doorway connecting the two rooms, and made straight for the bed. For a moment they just looked at each other. Then he enfolded her in a bear hug, and she snuggled contentedly into his arms.

"Are ye glad to be home, Cat?"

"For now, but I meant it, Patrick, when I said I wanted to spend part of each year in Edinburgh. Soon the little king will come into his own. He'll marry, and there will be a real court again. I dinna want to be a stranger in Edinburgh when that happens."

"Nay, hinny! We'll be no part of James' court Grandmam always said the key to survival was to stay out of politics, and out of court. We're but a minor branch of our clan, but we are the richest. We have always avoided trouble by not allowing ourselves to be noticed. We will continue to do so." He shifted his position and slowly began stroking her lovely round breasts.

"Then why," she demanded, "did ye buy me a house in town?" The nipples on her breasts were pinkly pointed, and she was furious at her body's quick response to him.

"Because I always pay my debts, madame." He bent and nibbled teasingly on the tip of her breast.

Angrily she pulled away. "I have furnished that house wi my own money! Am I not even to spend part of each year there?"

"Of course ye may. We'll go to town each year, I promise you. You can shop, see plays, and visit our friends. But there will be no getting involved with any Stewart court. Stewarts are always notoriously short of funds, and one can hardly refuse the king a loan. One can also not ask a king to return a loan. We'd be impoverished in a year!"

He pulled her underneath him and bent over her. "I'll talk no more of this tonight, madame, Countess of Glenkirk." His green-gold eyes glittered dangerously. "Are ye ready to be an obedient and dutiful wife, you impossible minx?"

Her slender fingers wound into his dark hair, and pulling his head down she kissed him slowly and expertly, her ripe body moving subtly beneath him.

"By God," he swore when she released him, "I never taught you that!"

"Didn't ye, my lord?" Her voice was honeyed.

"No!"

Her soft laughter teased him.

"You little bitch," he said. His hand wrapped itself around her heavy hair. "If I thought that any other man even considered sampling your ample charms…"

She laughed again, but her eyes and mouth were defiant. Suddenly, with a savagery that left her gasping, he took her.

"I'll never possess all of you, Cat, for yer quicksilver! But, by God, my dear, I'll spoil you for any other man!"

She began to struggle, but he laughed and began kissing tiny kisses over her face, throat, and breasts. He could feel her heart beating wildly beneath his lips. His big hands began caressing her hips and thighs, slowly stroking the silken flesh.

"Patrick! Patrick!" Her voice was frantic. "Please, Patrick!" She could feel her control going, and couldn't understand why she still fought him. Perhaps it was because she instinctively understood that at these times she and he both lost individual identity. It frightened her yet.

"Nay, sweetheart. Dinna fear what's happening. Go along wi it, hinny. Go along wi it!"

It was easier to surrender, and she did, allowing herself to be swept away into the whirling rainbow vortex that always gave such pleasure. She lost track of everything except the wave upon wave of exquisite sensation that followed one upon the other until the final rending climax.

Later that night she awoke to find the moon shining through the window and across the bed. Patrick lay sprawled on his back, snoring gently. Carefully, she pulled her leg from underneath his. Turning on her side, she leaned on an elbow and gazed down at him.

She took pride in his good looks as he took pride in hers. His fair skin was tanned in places from their two-week ride. Thick dark lashes spread fanlike on his high cheekbones. His straight nose broadened at the nostrils, and his mouth was wide and generous. Her eyes wandered to his broad, hairless chest. She blushed furiously as her eyes caressed the tangled mat of black hair between his long, muscular legs.

He was a strange man. On the one hand he treated her as an equal, and truly seemed to understand the conflicting feelings that raged through her. On the other hand he treated her like a slave. He was tender, thoughtful, wise, cruel, and didactic. He was hardly the average man, she knew. But then, she was hardly the average woman. In her early teens, she had resented Grandmam for forcing a match on her when she was too young to understand the importance of it. However, and she chuckled softly to herself, somehow that incredibly beautiful white-haired old lady had known. We are well suited, my lord, and I, thought Cat. We are damnably well suited! Satisfied, she turned over on her stomach and fell into a deep, contented sleep.

Chapter 12

THE picture was a charming domestic one. The dowager Countess of Glenkirk sat at her tapestry frame embroidering the wings on an angel. Her two-year-old grandson, Jamie, played before the fire under the watchful eye of Sally Kerr. Her son Adam sat going over the estate accounts. The earl was engaged in deep conversation with Master Benjamin Kira, his banker up from Edinburgh. Her two daughters, twenty-year-old Janet, who was married to the Sithean heir, and seventeen-year-old Mary, who would soon be wed to Greyhaven's eldest boy, sat sewing clothes for Janet's expected baby. Their men, Charles Leslie, and James Hay were all dicing in the corner.

Missing was the young Countess of Glenkirk and her cousin Fiona. They were, Meg knew, in Cat's apartment trying on the latest fashions Fiona had brought back from Paris. The younger Leslies had recently returned from a year of travel. They had been in Italy visiting Rome, and to the courts of Florence, and to Naples. They had been to Spain, to King Henri I’ll's court in Paris, and had spent a few weeks in England. Fiona could not stop talking about it all, and the more she talked, the more discontent grew in Cat.

Fiona, having seen all manner of wonderful things, couldn't resist bragging a bit. And, too, Cat had been penned at Glenkirk for over two years now with only a month's stay in Edinburgh late last winter.

Meg would not have told her son, but she knew that her beautiful daughter-in-law was using a method of birth control passed down from Mam. Cat wanted to see some of the world before she devoted herself to the raising of Leslies. Having raised six herself, Meg could not help but admire Cat.

Cat caressed the exquisitely scented lilac leather gloves Fiona had brought her from Italy. Her leaf-green eyes were narrow as she watched her husband get ready for bed. "I want to make a trip," she said.

"Yes, love," he replied absently. "We'll go to town again this winter if I can find the time." He looked up, startled as the gloves whizzed by his head.

"I do not want to go to Edinburgh, Patrick! Fiona has had a real trip to Italy, to Spain, to Paris, to England! She! The wife of a mere third son! I am the Countess of Glenkirk, and I've never been farther south than Edinburgh. I wouldn't have gotten even that far but for my own initiative."

"There is no need for ye to travel."

"There is every need! I want to!"

"I want sons, madame! So far ye've given me but one child."

"I'll bear no more bairns until ye gie me a trip!" she raged at him.

"That decision is not in yer hands, my dear," he said smugly.

"Isn't it?" she countered. "Ask yer mother, Patrick. Ask and see."

Curious, he spoke to Meg, who laughed softly and said, "So she's declared war on ye, eh, Patrick?"

"She canna stop the babes coming, can she?" His voice was anxious.

"She can and she has, my son."

"That's witchcraft!"

"Meg laughed again. "Oh, Patrick! Dinna be such a fool! There isn't a woman in this family who doesn't know certain secrets of beauty and health brought back from the East by Mam. I dinna blame Catriona. I was wed to yer father-may God keep him-when I was fifteen. You were born a year later, James and Adam at three-year intervals, Michael a year after Adam, and Janet the next year. I would never tell her, and you must not either, but your youngest sister, Mary, was an accident. I intended no more bairns after Janie. Do ye know that in the twenty-nine years I've been at Glenkirk I've never left it except to go to Sithean, or to Greyhaven? How I would have loved to have a trip somewhere… anywhere!"

It gave him pause. His own mother, who had so lovingly raised them, was discontented! Mary-an accident! And Cat was able to prevent children if she chose! He thought further. The little king was fourteen, and despite all the nonsense about a match between England's Queen Elizabeth and the French king's brother, Patrick was sure there would be no such marriage. Even if there were, a woman of forty-six was hardly apt to deliver a healthy child. In all likelihood, their own little king would one day rule both England and Scotland.

He wondered how long it would be before the two countries were one. When it happened, the capital would be in London, and Edinburgh would be left behind-a second-class city in the realm of the royal Stewarts, who were notoriously short of memory. It might even be necessary to five part of each year in England if his family, and their businesses, were to survive. He had talked that very evening to Benjamin Kira about the wisdom of moving some of their ships and a warehouse or two into London. Perhaps he would go to London to check it out. He could take Cat and his mother!

Before Patrick had come home to marry, he had paid a visit to Elizabeth's court and met the queen. She was a handsome female, but beneath the playful exterior was a cold, determined woman. She would have no man in her bed, for she would not share her power with anyone. Still, having made this choice, she resented women who threw themselves into their lover's arms.

Though he kept his feelings to himself, and would never allow his family to involve themselves, he resented the imprisonment of Mary Stewart. He had twice visited the court in Edinburgh while Mary reigned. She had been some years his senior. He had fallen in love, at ten, with the glorious Mary. Once she had spoken to him, acknowledging their distant cousinship through his mother. She was a charming and educated woman, and her choice of Darnley for a husband had been ludicrous. Though Lord Bothwell had been Mary's downfall, and Glenkirk didn't particularly like him, he would have been a far more suitable mate.

That Elizabeth envied Mary was obvious. The imprisonment of the Scots queen was cruel, and had been done, Patrick believed, on a whim. Therefore, he would only visit the English court. He could never live there, for he could not respect the Tudor queen.

He would put enough of his wealth in England so that when the time came that a Stewart king ruled the whole great land, from Lands End to the Highlands, he would be financially established. Then his family might go wherever they wished.

He said nothing to his wife or his mother, but closeted himself the next morning in his library with Benjamin Kira, and planned the purchase of two warehouses in London to house goods from half a dozen of his ships. It wouldn't be a great deal, but would be a start. Benjamin's London cousin, Eli Kira, would arrange everything.

Then he made arrangements with the Kiras for a trip to England. He debated the route and finally decided that the sea route was both quicker and safer at this time of year. A rider was dispatched immediately to Leith to arrange for the flagship of his fleet to sit off Peterhead awaiting them. Another rider was dispatched to Edinburgh to Master Kira's bank with instructions that a letter of unlimited credit be sent to their London branch for the earl. Conall More-Leslie and a troop of fifty men-at-arms were sent into England, and headed south to London to await their lord. Eli Kira rented a house for the earl in the most fashionable part of the city.

Adam Leslie was put in charge of both the Glenkirk estate and the Glenkirk heir. Patrick had no intention of exposing his only child to the dangers of travel. The boy would be safer with his doting nursemaids, in familiar surroundings. His arrangements completed, the earl announced one night at supper to his wife and his mother that they were going to England.

Cat's silver goblet crashed to the table. "What? Oh, my dear lord! Are we really going? When? God's nightshirt! I've nothing to wear!"

Meg Leslie smiled at her daughter-in-law and turned to her son. "Thank you, my dear, but I am much too old to travel," she said.

"Nay, madame. We want ye wi us."

"Yes! Yes! Belle-mere," begged Cat. "Ye must come! Yer hardly past forty, and that's nae too old to travel. Please say ye'll come!"

"I hae always wanted to see London," mused Meg.

"Then come!" Cat caught Meg's hands, and kneeling down, looked up into her mother-in-law's hazel eyes. "Come! Oh, what fun we'll have! The Globe Theatre! The Bear Gardens! Masques at court!" She turned anxiously to her husband. "We will go to court, Patrick?"

"Yes, my dear. I imagine I still hae a few friends there, and though I doubt her majesty will be wildly delighted to see two beautiful women arrive on her doorstep, the gentlemen of the court should be enchanted."

"Patrick!" Cat looked thoughtful. "What of Jamie?"

"We must leave him behind, sweetheart. I'll nae have him endangered."

Her face fell. "I canna leave my bairn behind, Patrick."

"He stays behind, Cat. Travel is dangerous." He looked at her. "And Jamie is our only child. Sally and Lucy are here to care for him, and Adam and Fiona will act as parents for us. We'll be gone but a few months."

It was too irresistible. "Jamie stays. I go," she said. She flung her arms about him. "Thank ye, Patrick!"

Despite her claims of a poor wardrobe, her trunks would have filled a wagon. Patrick put his foot down. "One trunk apiece. We'll buy what ye need in London. A new wardrobe for each of you." Cat and Meg looked gleefully at each other.

They reached Peterhead on an unusually balmy day. The Gallant James rode jauntily offshore. They were rowed out to the ship. Even being swung aboard in a boatswain's chair didn't faze Cat, though Meg was not delighted.

The journey south was surprisingly swift and smooth, and they suffered no seasickness. They didn't even encounter another vessel until they were about to enter the Thames and sail upriver to London. There they were hailed by another ship with a distinctly piratical look about it. Upon its quarterdeck stood a handsome young man with a beautifully kept mustache and beard.

Patrick laughed, excited. "Raleigh!" he shouted. "Raleigh! You pirate!"

The elegant on the quarterdeck peered across the small gulf separating their ships. "God's foot! Can it be? Glenkirk! Is it you?"

"Aye, you rebel! Come across, and have a glass of wine wi me."

A few minutes later the Englishman stood on the deck of the Gallant James wringing Patrick's hand.

"Have ye been to court yet?" asked the earl.

"Nay. I've not the money for it. I've been doing a bit of swashbuckling. The French ships are easy pickings. I'll be on my way to Ireland soon. Then perhaps, when I've some gold in my pocket and some decent accomplishments to my credit, I can present myself to the queen. I'm a simple West Country boy, Patrick. My only claim to fame thus far is to be the great-nephew of the queen's old governess, Kate Ashley, and the great-nephew also of Lady Denny. It's not really much to recommend one."

Patrick grinned. "Come on, you ambitious devil! I want you to meet my wife and my mother." He led the way to the great cabin in the stern of the ship. Knocking first, they walked into a beautifully furnished room with large windows looking out over the sea. Meg came forward. "Mother, this is Master Walter Raleigh." His eyes twinkled mischievously. "Lady Denny's great-nephew."

Raleigh shot him a black look, then smiled brightly at Meg and bowed over her hand. "Your servant, ma'am."

"And," continued Patrick, bringing Cat forward, "this is my wife, Catriona, the Countess of Glenkirk."

Raleigh dropped Meg's hand, and stared. "Christ, man!" he exploded. "No one's wife looks like that! A mistress perhaps, but only if you're a king and very lucky. But never a wife!"

The Leslies laughed, and Cat, without so much as a blush, replied, "Alas, I must disillusion ye, Master Raleigh. I am indeed the Countess of Glenkirk, a wife- and a mother also."

Lingering over her hand, Raleigh sighed. "Having seen perfection, and being unable to attain it, I shall be forced to remain a bachelor, madame."

"Raleigh, yer a most charming rogue. I fear for the virtue of all the lasses in yer West Country." She gently freed her hand.

Both Cat and Meg listened eagerly to all Raleigh said. Although he had not yet been to court, he was full of its gossip, passed on to him by friends. He was able to fill them in on the latest fashions, for Raleigh was a bit of a fop, and quite vain.

After a pleasant interval, the captain advised that the tide would be turning shortly. Unless they got into the river now, they would be forced to ride at anchor for twelve hours. Raleigh, immediately stood up. Kissing the ladies' hands, he bid them all adieu. The earl escorted him onto the deck. He said he hoped to see him at court before they returned to Scotland. Soon, with the help of a good wind, the Gallant James slipped into the River Thames and headed upstream.

Chapter 13

THAT Elizabeth Tudor had observed her forty-seventh birthday was confirmed by her mirror. Still, she was queen. And although it was an open secret that she had no intention of marrying, suitors continued to arrive. She was perpetually surrounded by gallants whose clever tongues spun lovely compliments.

This is partly what made the Scots Earl of Glenkirk so enticing. He was handsome beyond decency. Most of her courtiers were mustached, and bearded, and scented. The earl was smooth-shaven, leaving bare his elegant jawline, and there was about him a clean, masculine scent that bespoke regular washing. He was tall, topping most men by several inches, well proportioned, with good skin and dark, wavy hair. Those green-gold eyes were fascinating. Above all, he was well educated. The queen detested ignorance. And he did not curry favor as the others did. He would never become one of her favorites, but his courteous coldness fascinated her. She had never forgotten him, though several years had passed since he had been to court.

He had been only Lord Patrick then, but now he was back, a full earl. He knelt and took the hand she graciously extended. But the green-gold eyes with a hint of amusement deep within them never left her face. "Majesty," he murmured. He rose to his feet.

Elizabeth was grateful she was seated on a raised dais, but even so they were almost at equal eye level. It was a distinct disadvantage to the queen, who preferred gazing down from lofty heights upon her adoring court. Her amber eyes narrowed, and she spoke.

"So, Scots rogue, you have finally returned."

"Yes, yer majesty."

"And what naughty things have you been doing while you were away from us?" Elizabeth smiled archly.

"I hae gotten married and fathered a son, madame."

Several of the younger courtiers snickered, assuming the earl had ruined himself.

"And how long have you been married, my lord?"

"Two years, yer majesty."

"And how old is your son?"

"Two years, yer majesty."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, and the corners of her mouth twitched. "God's foot, Glenkirk! Don't tell me you were caught by an outraged father?"

"No, madame. I had been betrothed to my wife since she was a child."

There was a story here, thought Elizabeth, but not for the ears of her gossipy court. Let them wonder. She stood up. "Come along, Glenkirk. I want to hear about this in private." Leaving the assembled court, the queen led the way into a small anteroom. "No ceremony, man! Sit down!" She seated herself and poured out two glasses of wine. "Now, Glenkirk," she said, handing him one of the glasses, "explain."

"Cat was four and I thirteen when the match was made. We were betrothed for eleven years."

"Cat?" said the queen.

Patrick smiled. "Catriona, yer majesty. 'Tis the Gaelic for Katherine."

"So," said Elizabeth impatiently, "but how is it that both your son and your marriage are two years of age?"

"There was a misunderstanding, and she ran away three days before the wedding."

The queen's eyes widened again. They began to twinkle. "You have yourself a headstrong wench, eh, my lord?"

"Aye, madame, I do. It took me almost a year to pin her down."

"You must have pinned her down sometime before that, Glenkirk, if she was carrying your babe."

Patrick laughed. "She hid first wi some devoted, pensioned servants, then up in the hills at a small house that had been her grandmother's. I found her there, and all might have been well, but-"

The queen cut in. "You committed some great blunder, I'll wager."

"Aye," he admitted, "and she was off again. She fled to Edinburgh, where my brother and his wife were about to set off to France. She cajoled Fiona into letting her stay in their house, unknown to Adam. Fiona agreed, thinking Cat would think things out and return shortly to me. When, at New Year's, she discovered Cat was still hiding in Edinburgh and the bairn was less than two months away, she informed me. My uncle and I went immediately to Edinburgh. After some discussion, Cat and I were reconciled and married by my uncle, the Abbot of Glenkirk Abbey."

"I'll wager she made it hard for you, Glenkirk," the queen chuckled.

"She did," he said.

"And when was your son born?"

"Approximately an hour after the wedding ceremony."

Elizabeth, sipping her wine, began to laugh. She laughed until the tears ran. Gasping, she choked on the wine and began to cough. Without thinking, Glenkirk stood up, leaned over, and clapped her on the back.

When the queen had finally caught her breath she said, "I hope you have brought your wild wench with you, my lord, for I should like to meet her."

"I have brought her, yer majesty, and I've also brought my mother, Lady Margaret Stewart Leslie. I hope ye'll receive them both."

"I will, Glenkirk. Bring them anytime. Tell me, is your wife beautiful?"

"Aye, madame, she is."

"As beautiful as I am?" said the queen coyly.

"One can hardly compare the beauty of a child with that of a mature woman, yer majesty."

Elizabeth chuckled. "God's foot, Glenkirk! I do believe there's hope for you. That's the first real compliment I have ever heard you utter at my court."

Two days later Patrick brought his wife to court. As Cat advanced towards the queen the younger women thought how plain her gown was, and the more experienced ones envied her her cleverness. The Queen of England stood in a stiffly brocaded, beribboned, be-jeweled red velvet gown that glittered and gleamed beneath a huge gold lace ruff. The Countess of Glenkirk wore a full-skirted black velvet gown. The wide sleeves were edged in lace and slashed to reveal white silk scattered with gold-embroidered stars. The neckline was low, and framed in a high, well-starched, sheer lace collar. Around her neck were four long ropes of magnificent pale-pink pearls. She wore.only one ring, a large, heart-shaped ruby. Her hair, uncrimped, was parted in the center and drawn over her ears into a knot at the nape of her neck. A delicate little lace cap sat on the back of her head, and two fat pink pearls bobbed from her ears.

The maids of honor thought the countess' raiment too simple, but Leicester leaned over to Lettice Knollys, his wife, and whispered, "What a beauty!" to which Lettice whispered back, "Aye! I hope she'll not stay long at court."

The handsome couple had reached the queen. Gracefully sweeping off his cap, Glenkirk bowed low. His countess dropped into a graceful curtsy. They rose and faced the English queen proudly. For just a moment, Elizabeth Tudor wondered what she had missed by not following her heart.

"You are welcome at court, countess."

"I am most grateful for yer majesty's welcome," replied Cat carefully.

The queen turned to Patrick. "Your child is indeed most beautiful, Glenkirk," she said dryly. "Next time bring your mother with you. I should also enjoy meeting her." She turned back to Cat. "I hope your stay here will be a pleasant one."

Dismissed, Cat curtsied prettily. Thanking the queen, she backed off. Later she asked her husband what the queen had meant when she called her a child. He told her, and Cat laughed. A few days later they took Meg to court, and the queen received her politely, though not without pursing her lips and saying, "I don't suppose your sisters are ill-favored either, Glenkirk." Meg's warmth, however, won Elizabeth over.

Eli Kira had rented the Leslies a magnificent house on the Strand. It had a large garden ending in a terrace overlooking the river, and its own waterman to row them. They also had a house some fifteen miles from London in case they wanted to get away from the city.

Cat was in her glory. She cajoled Patrick into escorting her and Meg to one of Master Shakespeare's plays at the Globe Theatre. Afterwards she said she thought the young boys who played the female roles were quite sweet, but she really didn't see why they wouldn't allow women to act women's roles. They went to a bearbaiting, for she had wanted to see one. But the sight of a half-starved, moth-eaten bear being attacked by a dozen or more half-starved and brutalized dogs revolted her.

They entertained heavily both in London and at their country house, near Waltham Abbey. They were quite popular. The queen had put her stamp of approval upon them at their third visit to court. Elizabeth, scornful of decorative, frivolous women, had remarked to the young countess, "I understand you have been educated."

"Yes, yer majesty. My great-grandmother believed women should be. All her female descendants are offered a chance at learning. It takes wi some, wi others it doesn't I have not, however, had yer majesty's great advantages."

"Do you know mathematics?"

"Some, majesty."

"Music?"

Cat nodded.

"Languages?"

"Aye, madame."

"What languages?"

"French, Gaelic, and Latin well. Some Flemish, Italian, German. Spanish, and Greek."

The queen nodded, and suddenly phrased a question in Flemish, switching to Latin in mid-sentence. Cat replied in French, switched to Greek, and then to Spanish. The queen laughed delightedly and pinched Cat's cheek. The Glenkirks popularity was assured. "You are a pert minx, my dear," said Elizabeth. "I don't know why, but I like you!"

Cat made one good friend In England, the first she had ever had outside her own family. Lettice Knollys, the beautiful Countess of Leicester, older than Cat, had secretly married the queen's precious "Robin" two years prior. Six months later their secret was discovered and Lettice, Elizabeth's cousin, was just now being permitted back at court. She had been in deep disgrace for all that time.

Even now she trod very carefully. The Leslies' town-house was one of the few places Lettice and her husband could meet without offending the queen. Cat generously gave them a suite of rooms for privacy. The queen, in jealous spite, had offered them none.

There was a delay in Patrick's business, as there were no warehouses for sale along the waterfront. There was, however, a fine piece of property along the river that Eli Kira bought for them. Bidding was opened to the builders of London for the construction of two warehouses and adjoining docks to serve them. It became necessary for Patrick to remain in London and see the plans completed.

Meg chose to return home to Glenkirk. She had seen enough of London.

Patrick delegated half of his men-at-arms, under the faithful Conall, to take his mother home. Cat wanted them to bring Jamie back with them. It would be summer before she and Patrick could go home. Patrick overruled her and said she might return home with his mother if she chose.

"And leave ye to play the honeybee among all these English roses? I think not, my lord!"

"Jealous, sweetheart?" he inquired infuriatingly.

"Of yer admirers?" she replied sweetly. "I am no more jealous of yer admirers, my lord, than ye are of mine." Her lovely eyes and mouth mocked him, and Patrick thought how lucky he was to have her. He caught her in his arms and kissed her deeply. Molding herself to him, she returned the kiss with equal passion, thinking that if she ever caught him loving another woman she would kill him. If he had known her thoughts he would have been flattered. He hated the court gallants who looked at her with lust. Well, just a few more months, and they would be on their way home.

But it was not to be that way. After Christmas, Cat miscarried the baby she had so recently conceived. Devastated by this tragedy, she fell into a decline. She wept continuously, ate almost nothing, and slept fitfully. She saw no one. Even Lettice was not received. Finally, Ellen approached Patrick.

"There is only one thing for it. Ye must bring Jamie to her."

"Christ, woman!" exploded the earl. "It's mid-January, and the snow will be heavy in the north. Conall's just back!"

"Send Conall alone. He'll get there faster without the others, and he'll bring Sally and the child back safely. Lord, mon! Sally was raised on the borders. She can ride like a trooper, even wi the bairn. Send a messenger today ahead of Conall. Hugh can bring Sally and the child as far south as Edinburgh."

He didn't like it, but Patrick did as Ellen suggested. Once Conall was on his way, he told his wife of the mission. Cat brightened immediately. She began to eat. When her son arrived, three-and-a-half weeks later, she was almost her old self. She covered the surprised little boy with kisses until he squirmed away, protesting, "Mama, no more!"

Then the winter suddenly became harsh, and snow followed upon snow. Work was halted on the warehouses and docks until the spring thaw. Then in early summer, the plague visited London and the Leslies and their household fled to the country. By the time it was safe to return to the city, it was autumn again, and they were forced to spend another winter in England.

With the spring of 1582, Cat knew she was pregnant. They remained in England until the child was born, on September 7. Elizabeth Leslie, named for the queen, had managed to be born on her majesty's forty-ninth birthday. The queen insisted on serving as the baby's godmother when she was christened, four days later. The frightened Roman Catholic priest dared not say no to the queen. The baby received from her godmother a dozen silver goblets encrusted with aquamarines and engraved with the Leslie coat of arms.

Little Bess had been born in the country house. A month later, without ever seeing London, she set off home to Scotland with her parents and her four-and-a-half-year-old brother, who rode north on his own pony.

They crossed the border in a month. It was early November, but the day was mild and lovely. Cat and Patrick rode on ahead of their train, stopping on the crest of a hill. The birches seemed more golden and the pines greener than anywhere else on earth. Below them the valley shimmered in the faint purple haze of late afternoon. To the west was Hermitage, home to the Earls of Bothwell. Ahead of them lay Jedburgh, where they would shelter tonight.

"My God!" said Patrick. "Is it my imagination, or does even the air smell sweeter?"

Cat nodded and smiled up at him. She had enjoyed the trip, but her face radiated joy at coming home to Scotland.

"Almost home, sweetheart," he said. "If the weather holds we'll be in Glenkirk in another ten days." He held out a hand. She smiled again, and took it. My God, he thought! How she has changed! I took a girl to England, and I brought back a woman-a beautiful woman! "Will ye be sorry to be away from London, and court?" he asked her.

"Nay, Patrick. I'm too glad to be home."

"Glenkirk will nae be as exciting after London."

"But, Patrick! There's Edinburgh, and the king will be seventeen next year, and surely be coming into his own soon. Once he weds we'll hae our own court."

"Madame!" he roared. "I hae told ye we'll nae involve ourselves wi the Stewarts! They are nae to be trusted and forever in debt! We dinna need them. Ye'll not wheedle me in this matter."

Her lovely month was turning up at the corners in a very mischievous smile. "When the king comes into his own, Patrick, I am going to court! Whether ye come wi me or not is yer concern. I will remind ye, my dearest lord, that Glenkirk House belongs to me. I have nae furnished it at great personal expense to visit it for a month once every year or two, as pleases you. Nor did I furnish it for our relations to use while I sit home at Glenkirk. Adam has promised Fiona that she'll go to Jamie's court, and ye can do no less for me!"

So saying, she kicked Bana and cantered down into the purple valley.

The Earl of Glenkirk kicked his own horse and galloped off after his beautiful, wayward wife.

THE KING

Chapter 14

JAMES Stewart, sixth of his name and King of Scotland, lounged on his throne, watching the dancers. He followed one lady in particular, Catriona Leslie, Countess of Glenkirk. She was partnered by the king's distant cousin, Patrick Leslie, the Earl of Glenkirk. Catriona Leslie was the most beautiful woman at James' court. She was also reputed to be the most virtuous. This was unfortunate, because the king lusted for her. And what James Stewart wanted, he got. One way or another.

James Stewart had not known his mother, having been left behind when she fled to England. He had been raised by a series of warring Protestant nobles who used him as a pawn to further their own ambitions. They believed they had taught him to hate his mother. But here they had been outwitted by his old nurse.

Nanny had adored Mary Stewart, and when James' tutor spoke vitriol against the unfortunate captive queen, Nanny had countered with her own version of the truth. For the child's peace of mind, it was fortunate that her stories had been more plausible than his tutor's. The little boy asked the old lady about the references to his mother's affairs, and was told only that women were weak when it came to men. He did not understand that until he was fourteen.

Though he had long outgrown Nanny, she remained with him and saw to his comfort. James' guardians discovered it was cheaper to keep the old nurse than employ a bevy of housemaids.

Nanny saw the young boy's affections moving in a dangerous direction with the arrival of Esmé Stewart, Sieur D'Aubigney, from France. Fortunately, Esmé Stewart was merely ambitious, and Nanny saw her laddie safely embarked upon his sexual career by introducing him to a pretty, skilled, disease-free young whore. The whore's name was Betty, and she was honored to initiate her young king in the arts of lovemaking. He proved an excellent pupil.

Betty was a member of the old kirk, and it amused her to outwit the pious hypocrites of the stem, cold new kirk. These men preached about the sins of the flesh on Sunday morning and came masked to her door on Sunday afternoon.

James, too, enjoyed outwitting bis guardians. James was a Stewart on both his dead parents' sides, and Stewarts were quite sensual. He discovered a world of delights, and understood Nanny's comment about women being weak over men. James liked women.

James Stewart was twenty-three, and king. Tomorrow he would be married by proxy to a beautiful blond blue-eyed Danish princess named Anna. It would, however, be some weeks before he saw his sixteen-year-old bride and consummated that marriage. If he was to be married by proxy, James reasoned, then he must have his wedding night by proxy also.

The idea pleased him, but no whore could substitute for his royal virgin bride. It would not be fitting. Nor would it be kind to begin an affair with an impressionable young girl. His gaze strayed again to Catriona Leslie, who was laughing up at her husband. Yes! The most virtuous woman at court would be a fitting proxy.

There were problems, however. He had twice approached Catriona. The first time she had thought him joking, and teasingly reminded him that she was older than he was. The second time she realized his serious intent, and gently reminded him of her marriage vows. She would not, she told him firmly, break them. She loved her husband, and would bring no shame to his name.

Another man might have bowed and withdrawn gracefully. But James Stewart was not such a man. He knew, of course, that he could go to Patrick Leslie and tell him he wanted his wife. His cousin, head of the smallest yet wealthiest branch of the Leslies, could be counted upon to do the correct thing and turn a blind eye while the king dallied with his wife. James, however, liked his older cousin, and saw no reason to hurt him. The Earl of Glenkirk was a fiercely proud man. If the king wanted his wife he would have to acquiese, but he would never really be happy with Cat again.

But if Patrick Leslie were out of the way, then Catriona could be made to comply. It would be done secretly, so as not to harm the lady's reputation or her husband's ego. But it would be done. James wanted a taste of that which had held Patrick Leslie's unwavering interest for nine years. He was going to have it.

The dancing ended and the courtiers, hot with their efforts, drank eagerly from the goblets of chilled wine passed by the servants. James moved easily among them, talking and laughing. Eventually he came to the Leslies.

"Cousins!" He kissed Cat on both cheeks.

"So, Jamie, tomorrow ye take a wife," said the Earl of Glenkirk.

"Aye, Patrick. Though I do wish she were here rather than in Denmark."

"Patience, lad. She will be here before ye know it, and then will come times ye'll wish her back in Denmark!"

They all laughed, and James said, "Will ye and Cat be my guests, and stay here during the festivities? I know ye've a house in town, but I'd like to hae my family about me. Even Bothwell is back in my good graces."

"Why thank ye, Jamie," smiled Patrick. "We'd be honored, wouldn't we, sweetheart?"

"Aye, sire," said Cat "We are most honored by yer kindness."

James moved on, secretly exulting. Now he had her under his roof I

The following day the king's marriage to Princess Anna of Denmark was celebrated with much joy. That night the Earl of Glenkirk left for Melrose Abbey on urgent business. His countess, after a delightful evening of feasting and dancing, retired to her rooms.

Ellen helped her undress, and she then stepped into a small tub, where the woman sponged her down with warm, scented water. Dried and powdered, she held up her arms so Ellen could slip a sea-green silk nightgown over her. Climbing into bed, she ordered Ellen to bank the fire, and bid her good night.

Cat lay back on the plump pillows. It was a big bed, made bigger by Glenkirk's absence. They had rarely been apart in the nine years of their marriage, and she did not like being separated. Suddenly, as she began to doze, she heard a creaking noise. She sat up just in time to see a hidden door by the fireplace swing open. James Stewart walked through it.

"What are ye doing here?" she hissed at him.

"I should think, my dear, that the answer to that would be obvious."

"I'll scream the castle down!"

"No, my dear, ye won't. The scandal wouldna touch me. I am the king. Ye, nonetheless, are a different proposition. Yer family would suffer badly if ye publicly refuse me."

"I told ye I would nae be yer mistress, Jamie." She strove to hide her fright. She had not expected such persistence from him.

"I dinna accept yer decision, madame. Besides it is nae yers to make. Today I was wed by proxy. Tonight I intend consummating my marriage the same way, and I have chosen ye to be my bride."

"Never! I'll never yield to ye!"

"Ye hae no choice, my dear," he said triumphantly, and stripped off his robe. "Stand up, and come here to me!" he commanded her.

"No! And if ye force me I'll tell Glenkirk!"

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and her lovely mouth sulky in defiance. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and her anger with him excited him more than any other woman ever had.

"Tell Glenkirk?" He was amused. "If ye want, Cat, I'll tell him myself. But remember one thing, my dear. Patrick will forgie me. I am his king. He'll nae forgie ye. Now, come here to me!"

The truth of his words horrified her. If her proud lord knew that another man had lain with her, he'd cast her off. The king had trapped her as neatly as a rabbit. "You bastard!" she swore at him.

Laughing, James replied, "Nay, love, that rumor was settled before my birth." He held out his hand. Forced, she came to him. Her leaf-green eyes were blazing furiously. James laughed softly again. Oh, now she was going to fight him with her stubborn mind. Her body, however, would yield eventually. There was plenty of time, and he intended to go easily with her tonight.

"Remove the gown," he said quietly, and was pleased when she obeyed him without question.

Standing back, he viewed her with pleasure. She had a wide, well-padded chest that moved downward into the most beautiful breasts he had ever seen, lovely ivory globes with large dark-pink nipples. Her waist was slender and long, her full hips nicely rounded, her legs long and shapely. Her tawny hair fell to her hips. He could feel desire beginning to pound.

"God's bones, cousin! Yer beautiful!"

To his surprise she blushed pink, and James was frankly delighted. It was true then. She really had never known another man except Patrick. She really was the most virtuous woman at court. He would see she was rewarded by making her a lady of his wife's bedchamber. She would be an excellent influence.

Taking her hand again, he led her across the room to their bed. Picking her up, he placed her on it. The tempting triangle between her legs was plucked and pink, as befitted a lady, and at the top of the cleft sat a little black mole. "The mark of Venus," he murmured, touching it. He bent over and kissed the mole.

A great shudder ran through her, and James smiled to himself. He was going to take her quickly, for once the deed was done her foolish resistance would crumble. Gently but firmly, he parted her trembling thighs. Her eyes widened, and she gasped in surprise when he gently pushed into her. Like most male Stewarts, James was overly endowed. The suddenness of his attack made it impossible for Cat to struggle, so she decided to lie quietly while he satisfied his lust.

James, however, was too skilled a lover to allow passivity from his partner. Teasingly, voluptuously, he moved within her, deliberately rousing Cat's passion and making it nearly impossible for her to resist him. Only a supreme effort on Cat's part helped her to lie still beneath him. Her hands were balled into fists by her sides. By concentrating on the sharpness of her nails digging into her palms, she could blot out enough of what he was doing to her to remain a nonparticipant.

Discovering this, the king said, "Oh, no, my love," and, laughing, drew her arms up over her head. He held them there with one hand. Now his sensuous mouth found her fragrant but unresponsive lips. His insistent tongue forced first those lips and then her teeth apart, thrusting with skill. She sobbed, and another shudder shook her. She was close to yielding, for he had breached her defenses. Her lovely body, used to regular lovemaking, was simply not conditioned to resist pleasure. He increased the tempo of his movement. "Yield to me, love!" he whispered insistently.

"Never." But her voice was shaking.

"The deed is done, my love. Yield, and take yer pleasure of me as I take my pleasure of ye."

She would not answer him, but he could feel her fighting down the movement in her hips. Then it occurred to him what he must do. Loosing his hold on her hands, he said, "Put yer arms around me, my love." And he looked down into her leaf-green eyes. They were glistening with tears. "If Patrick walked into this room right now, Cat, and found me planted in ye, he'd nae stop to ask if ye were resisting me, or enjoying me. Dinna fight me any longer, my love. Yer beautiful body aches for me! Nothing can change the fact that I already possess ye! Yield!"

She still said nothing to him, but her eyes closed, and hot tears rolled silently down the sides of her face. Then her arms tightened around him, and her hips arched to meet his every thrust. Victorious, James Stewart lost himself in the deliciousness of her surrender.

Afterwards, propped on one elbow, he looked down on her, but she closed her eyes and would not look back at him. "This is how I've always imagined ye," he said to her, his voice low. "Yer eyelids purple wi exhaustion, the lashes wet on yer cheeks, yer body weak from love, and yer mouth bruised wi my kisses." He bent and kissed the nipples of her breasts.

Her eyes flew open. "I'll nae forgie ye this, Jamie Stewart!"

He smiled charmingly at her. "Why, of course ye will, my sweet love. Of course ye will!" Cradling her in the curve of one arm, he began to fondle her soft breasts. She tried to squirm away.

"Please, sire! Ye've had yer pleasure wi me. Now, find yer own bed!"

"Why, Cat, sweet." His voice held genuine surprise. "Surely ye dinna think that one taste was all I wanted? Nay, my darling! We hae the whole night ahead of us."

"Oh, no, Jamie! Please no!" She began to struggle against him.

He held her fast, and said regretfully, "My dear, I had hoped ye would see reason now that our preliminary bout is over. It will make no difference to Patrick whether I hae ye once or a dozen times. The simple fact that I've fucked ye will be enough. I know yer no wanton, my love, but ye canna deny yer body responds to mine. Why do ye insist on fighting me? I am gentle wi ye, and I know I am a good lover. Why do ye continue to resist?"

"Oh, Jamie," she said softly. "I really believe ye dinna understand. I hae never known any man but Patrick. Before we were wed, I resisted him, but I loved him. Of course my body responds to ye. He taught it to respond. But now ye come and claim the droit du seigneur of me. In bed my mind and body have always worked as one because I lay wi the man I love. But I dinna love ye, my lord. I cannot help but resist ye."

"Yer very fortunate, my lovely cousin," said James Stewart. "I hae never loved anyone. I dinna ken what it really means. I was raised by those who fed, clothed, disciplined, and educated me. I canna remember a kind word or a caress when I was a child. The only person who ever showed me any tenderness was my old nurse."

"Then I'm truely sorry for ye, Jamie, for to really love is to live life to its fullest. Yer problem is that ye've never had anyone of yer own. When the little queen comes home to Scotland, she will be yers alone. And when the bairns come-why, Jamie! Before ye know it ye'll hae a whole big family to love, and be loved by."

"Thank ye, Cat. Ye gie me hope." He smiled at her. "Ye really do belong at court, my love. Ye know what to say to yer king. I do look forward to the arrival of my queen, but now…" Gently he pushed Cat back against the pillows and, finding her mouth, kissed her with a practiced skill. Her first reaction was to struggle from his clutches. Then suddenly she realized the king was right. If Patrick arrived home now his reaction to her predicament, whether she resisted or cooperated, would be the same. Anger at her!

Her body was in real pain from resisting. I dinna love this man, she thought, but I can stand no more of this!

He stopped kissing her, and was looking down at her. Her eyes met his. "I'll never love ye, Jamie, and I am ashamed of what ye are making me do, but I yield to ye, my liege."

"Until the queen comes," he countered quickly.

"My lord! Ye'll destroy my marriage! Ye canna hide from Patrick the fact that yer laying wi me."

"I can if he isna here. No man in his right mind could taste of yer sweetness and stay but one night. I will send Patrick to Denmark wi a group of nobles to escort the queen home. Our liaison will be kept secret from the court. Yer reputation will remain intact. Yer husband's pride willna suffer."

She knew she must be satisfied with that. She could argue no more with him. "Thank ye, my lord," she whispered.

In answer the king bent his head and began kissing her quivering body, starting with the pounding pulse in her slender throat. He moved his lips to her chest, her taut breasts with their sharp, pointed tips, her rounded belly, the mole at the top of her cleft. Suddenly, he turned her over and took her in a way that Patrick Leslie never had. She gasped in shock and heard the king mutter thickly, "Here's one place Glenkirk's nae been before me." His hands cruelly crushed her breasts. To her amazement he brought them to a quick climax. They lay quietly side by side as their breathing returned to normal.

"I hope," said James Stewart, "that the queen does nae arrive too quickly. My love! Ye are magnificent! No wonder Patrick hasna strayed all these years!"

Her voice was trembling. "Patrick never did what ye just did tome."

"I know," he said. "Ye were a virgin there, but ye liked it, didn't ye, Cat?"

"No!"

He laughed. "Aye! Ye did! Glenkirk's used ye gently, my love. I'll teach ye many things, including how to please me." He rose and poured them each a goblet of wine, and added more wood to the fire. "Soon yer Patrick should return from Melrose Abbey. Within the week he'll be on his way with some others to meet my bride and escort her home. Dinna look so sad, my love. We hae a lovely month or two ahead of us."

Chapter 15

THE Countess of Glenkirk sat quietly before her mirror while Ellen brushed her thick honey-colored hair. She wore only her white silk petticoat and a low-necked underblouse. Cat Leslie was frightened, and she did not know what to do. Patrick was, she knew, within the palace giving his report to the king. When he finally came to their apartment, would he notice anything different? She prayed he wouldn't.

Since the twentieth of August-a week ago-James Stewart had been sleeping with her. God knew she hadn't encouraged him! In fact, after the first night, she had fled the palace for her townhouse. He had quietly but firmly ordered her return. Desperate, she had confided in her favorite brother-in-law. Adam Leslie listened. Shaking his head, he said, "There's no help for it, Cat. What the king wants, he takes, and he happens to want ye."

"If I went home to Glenkirk, Adam? Surely he wouldn't pursue me there."

Adam Leslie was truly sorry for Cat. She was willful and stubborn, but she loved Patrick. The agony she was enduring was unfair. Nevertheless, there was no help for it. "Ye canna leave court wi'out Jamie's permission, Cat. Ye know that."

For a brief moment she looked defiant, and Adam spoke cruelly. "Ye canna endanger the Leslies, Cat, because it doesna suit ye to be the king's mistress. He's chosen ye, and he's even been kind enough to agree to keep yer liaison secret. If ye defy him, he'll ruin us! God, woman! Yer no virgin, bargaining a good price for yer maidenhead! What Jamie wants has already been well used by Glenkirk!"

Briefly Cat hated Adam. "Ye'll not tell Patrick?"

"Nay, Cat. Dinna fear," he said more kindly. He hesitated. "Cat, thank ye for confiding in me. I'm truly sorry, lass, that I canna help ye, but I'm here should ye need to talk again."

She nodded. "Does anyone else know?"

"Only Ellen," she answered him.

Faithful Ellen vacillated between her mistress's agony and her own pride that Cat was exquisite enough to attract the king. "If ye dinna put a smile on yer face, he will wonder what's wrong," the woman said sharply.

Cat jumped. "Oh God, Ellie! I feel so dirty!"

Ellen put down the brush. Kneeling before her lady, she looked up and spoke. "What is done is done, ma-dame. Stop being so selfish! Yer thinking only of yerself. Think of the earl instead, my baby. Think of the family. Of yer own bairns. If ye want peace in yer life, this episode must be secret. And unless ye pull yerself together it won't be!"

Two tears slipped down the countess' face. Ellen reached up and brushed them away. "The king may touch yer body, my lady, but he can nae touch yer soul," she said quietly.

"How did ye get so wise?" Cat asked. But before Ellen could answer the door burst open and Patrick Leslie entered. Cat leaped to her feet and flung herself into his arms. Ellen discreetly withdrew as the earl found his wife's mouth. Kissing her deeply, his arms tightened about her until she cried out, "Patrick! I canna breathe!" He swept her up and deposited her on the bed.

She watched as he drew off his boots and outer clothing, and then stretched out next to her on their bed. He pulled her into his arms, pushed her blouse down, and kissed her lovely breasts. "I missed ye terribly, sweetheart," he murmured from the warmth of her. She cradled him against her, grateful he was back, and hoping he might save her from the further attentions of the king.

He raised his head up. "What were ye dressing for?" he asked.

"Another damned masque in honor of the Danish match," she answered.

"I think, considering I've been away, that Jamie might not miss us." He pushed her petticoats up past her thighs.

A smile lit her face, and she held out her arms to him.

But James Stewart did miss them. "I dinna see Glenkirk and his wife," he said casually to his cousin the Earl of Bothwell. "He came back from Melrose today."

"I'm nae surprised, Jamie," said Bothwell. "I imagine that Glenkirk has taken his wife to bed. If she were mine, and I had been away from her a week, that's what I would do." He grinned wickedly at the king. "The most virtuous woman at court! A pity, eh, majesty?"

"Considering the morals of most of the women at this court," said the king sharply, "I think Lady Leslie is refreshing. I intend making her a lady of my wife's bedchamber."

Oh ho, thought Bothwell. Cousin Jamie is interested in our beautiful countess. But he hides his lust nicely. I'll wager that only I, who know him so well, have spotted it.

The earl chuckled to himself. Because James was affectionate with those about him, and these were mostly males, he was thought to be homosexual. The plain truth of the matter was that the king, having been surrounded by men since his infancy, gave his affections where he could. Stewarts were loving creatures. Until recently there had been no suitable women for the king to fix his attentions on.

James had, in a burst of romanticism, willed himself half in love with his blond bride. But Bothwell knew that the king needed someone right now. If that someone was the Countess of Glenkirk, then well and good. She was neither ambitious nor a schemer. However, the earl did not think the king stood a chance. The lady seemed quite content with her dull but loving lord. A pity, really. Cat Leslie was a gorgeous creature, obviously made for love. Bothwell couldn't help but wonder if Glenkirk had awakened her completely.

James endured the evening. When he could leave without causing undue comment he did so. and suffered himself to be put ceremoniously to bed. He then called his chamberboy to him. The lad was invaluable, being mute but not deaf. His name was Barra, and he was privy to all the king's secrets.

"I'll be in the secret passageway," said the king. "I am locking the bedroom door from my side. Have ye yer key?"

Barra held his up.

"Good," said the king. "Dinna let anyone disturb me. If there's an emergency, you come after me alone."

The boy nodded wisely, and left the room to keep watch outside James' door.

Locking the door from inside, James walked to the fireplace and touched a small carving on its side. He took a lighted candle from the mantel sconce, counted off six paces, pushed the wall, and walked through the opening into the passage. He waited until the door had swung shut behind him and then moved quickly through the secret passageway until he came to his destination. He placed his candle in a holder high on the wall. Lifting a small flap, he peered into the room beyond.

Patrick Leslie stood naked by the table pouring out two goblets of wine. God, thought James, he is handsome, and well hung too-though not quite as well as I am.

The king watched as the earl moved back to the rumpled bed. Cat lay naked. Lazily she reached up for the goblet. Patrick sprawled next to her.

"Jesu, sweetheart, I hate being away from ye," the earl said.

"Then let's go home, Patrick! Ye were right when ye said we should nae involve ourselves wi the Stewarts."

"Why, hinny, I thought ye were enjoying yerself."

"I was, but these people who live at court and feed off it frighten me. I want to go home wi ye now!"

"We canna, sweetheart. I didna tell ye because I didna want our reunion spoiled, but Jamie has asked me to go to Denmark wi a group of nobles to escort the little queen home. I could nae refuse him, and we leave in a week."

Cat swore. She knew the king had planned to send her husband off, but she had not expected him to act so quickly and had hoped she could foil the royal plans. "Yer sending me home, Patrick, aren't ye?"

"I wanted to, hinny, but the king has asked that ye remain at court. He wants ye to be a lady of his wife's bedchamber. He has a high regard for ye, sweetheart."

Trapped! She was again trapped by James Stewart! The earl put down his goblet and, pulling Cat under him, kissed her hungrily. "I hae only a few days, ma-dame," he said, "before I must leave ye. It will be two months or more before we see each other again." His big hands caressed her breasts, her hips, her thighs.

Cat needed no encouragement. She yielded eagerly to her husband, unaware that the king himself was watching them.

James could not tear his eyes away from the scene below him. When the figures reached their simultaneous climax James felt the hardness in his own groin break, and the sticky fluid spurt down his leg.

I'll nae put up wi this for a week, he thought. The delegation to Denmark will leave as soon as I can arrange it.

Using the pose of an eager bridegroom, James waved his nobles off three days later. Cat knew why her husband had been torn from her early and was furious. The Eral of Bothwell suspected, and laughed to himself over the king's eagerness.

Suspecting that she would be angry with him, James stayed away from his reluctant mistress for two days. On the third day, however, Barra shyly pressed a rose on the countess' tiring woman. It was the signal for James to come that night. Ellen told her mistress.

"I'll nae receive him!" shouted Cat furiously.

"Be silent!" Ellen snapped. "Do ye want the whole world to know?"

Cat began to weep uncontrollably, and Ellen, sensing disaster, sent a Leslie servant running to fetch Adam. By the time he arrived, Ellen had already poured several drams of whisky into her mistress to calm her down.

"I am going to kill myself," the countess announced dramatically.

"Fine," said Adam Leslie. " 'Twill be far less of a scandal than if ye openly refuse the king's attentions."

"Ye'd let me do it, wouldn't ye, Adam? Have ye no feelings for Patrick, who loves ye?"

" 'Tis because I love my brother I've come. How do ye think he'd feel to return from Denmark to discover all he possesses forfeit to the crown, including the wife he adores? Christ, Cat! The king's already had ye! Why this sudden attack of nerves?"

"I dinna want to be any man's whore," she said."‘Tis my body, and I should hae some rights over it!"

"Well, ye don't," said Adam, angrily slamming his hand against the side of the chair. "Ye belong to the Leslies, and it is up to ye to do what is best for the family! Dammit, Cat! I am nae wi'out feeling! I hate the thought of Jamie Stewart lying wi my brother's wife,, but ye know that if the king had gone straight to Patrick and asked for ye, Patrick would hae said yea. This way at least he need not know. Do yer duty by the Leslies, Cat."

He did not understand at all. The whisky had calmed Cat somewhat, and she knew she had no choice. The king would use her as he wished. "I'm all right now, Adam," she reassured him. "I dinna know what came over me. I suppose it is because I miss Patrick. We've never been separated, ye know."

He nodded, relieved. "Then I'll be on my way home." He smiled at her. Thank God she wasn't going to cause any further fuss.

"Gie my love to Fiona," Cat said softly. Then, unable to resist, she added, "And best ye keep from court, Adam, lest Jamie decides to change his luck. Yer wife would have to do her duty by the family, ye know."

Adam hastily left his sister-in-law, her mocking laughter ringing in his ears.

Chapter 16

THE whisky had made her slightly drunk. "What time is it?" she asked Ellen.

"Past one," came the reply.

"I shall sleep till just before the evening meal. Wake me then. I'll be back here at ten. Have a bath ready for me. Put fresh linens on the bed, and be sure there is plenty of wood for the fire. I want wine, both red and white, and fruit and cheese in the cabinet. And marchpane. The king is mad for marchpane."

At eleven that evening the king entered the Countess of Glenkirk's bedroom through the secret passage. She rose from the bed and walked slowly across the room to him.

"Stand still!"

She stopped, and James feasted his eyes on his unwilling mistress. Her nightgown was exquisite, and had obviously been designed with seduction in mind. Of pale-green silk, it had long, flowing sleeves and a deep V neckline. The bodice appeared to have been painted on, molding her glorious breasts and tiny waist. The skirt rippled with hundreds of tiny pleats, and he could see the pearly sheen of her hips and legs shimmering through the silk.

Her tawny hair was piled at the top of her head and secured with several small gilt and pearl pins. She stared back at him proudly. She was so beautiful that he was almost afraid to touch her, but then desire overcame awe and he drew Cat into his arms.

His amber eyes never left her leaf-green ones, and when his arms closed tightly around her he could feel her trembling slightly, and was pleased by what he believed was her awe of him. He held her thus imprisoned for what seemed a lifetime, and then he bent and his mouth captured hers. Reaching up, he pulled the gilt pins from her hair, and it tumbled down over her shoulders in a perfumed cloud.

He pulled at the thin silk ribbon at her waist, and the gown opened easily. He watched as it slid to the floor. She turned without speaking, walked to the bed, and got into it. James forced himself to disrobe slowly, but once in bed with her he did not think he could wait She knew it, yet she held him off.

"I am nae a whore to be quickly fucked, Jamie."

"So ye can talk! I thought ye were angry wi me."

"I am! Twas nae kind of ye to send Patrick away so quickly!"

"My dear Cat, for three nights I stood in that damned passage and watched ye and yer husband make love. I could stand it no longer. Would ye rather I came through the door and asked yer husband to move over?"

Stunned, she could not answer. That anyone else had partaken of her private moments with Patrick infuriated her.

I hae a large score to settle wi ye, James Stewart, and I intend to settle it one day, she thought bitterly.

The king's mouth closed over the nipple of her breast and sucked hungrily. His hand was between her legs, seeking her soft, sensitive secret flesh. With exquisite expertise he caressed her, his fingers teasing with unbearable gentleness. Within minutes he had reduced her to a writhing passion.

She had wanted to punish him with coldness, but as her own desire grew she suddenly realized that the greatest harm she could inflict on James was to be the most voluptuous female he would ever encounter. She would ruin him for other women! She knew that once young Anna of Denmark arrived in Scotland, James would devote himself to her. Above all, he wanted a wife who belonged to him alone, and he wanted a family. He was the kind of man who couldn't jeopardize all that.

However, a teenaged virgin would hardly compare favorably with a woman as experienced as Cat was. She was no wanton, but Patrick had taught her well, and Cat was by nature a sensuous woman. She would now use her experience to revenge herself on James Stewart. Shifting her lovely body, she slid under the king and wound her arms about his neck. "Jamie," she whispered huskily. "Love me, Jamie hinny!"

He could scarcely believe his ears, but when he looked down at her he saw shining eyes and an inviting mouth. The king didn't question his good fortune. He took possession of the lips offered him. They were soft and yielding, and they drove him to a frenzy.

Her thighs opened and she arched her body to meet his downward thrust. Her legs wrapped tightly about him, and each time he drove within her, her little tongue darted within his mouth. His excitement was fierce and he was unable to control himself. Yet, within minutes, as she moved voluptuously beneath him, he grew hard again with lust for her. She whispered his name over and over again like a litany. He was mad with passion for her, but this time he held himself in check until she could find her heaven too.

Exhausted, they lay panting on the bed. Finally, he spoke. "Ye frighten me, Cat! Ye canna be human, for no woman can love like ye have just loved me!"

"But I can, my lord. Did I not please ye?"

"Aye, love, ye pleased me verra much. Did ye use witchcraft?"

Cat remembered that James was terribly superstitious.

She bit back her laughter. "Nay, my lord. I used only the sorcery of my body." Standing, she stretched tall, and then walked over to the cabinet.

"Red or white, my lord?"

"Red," he said, and she poured out two crystal goblets of the ruby wine. Carrying them back to the bed, she handed him one. Sipping it thoughtfully, he asked her, "Did Patrick teach ye to make love like that?"

"Aye," she answered him quietly.

"Ye've never known any other men, have ye?"

"Nay, Jamie, none. I am by birth a Hay of Grey-haven. Our home is quite isolated, and other than my brothers and my Hay and Leslie cousins, I had no contact with the world. I came to Patrick a virgin."

"Is yer family large?"

"I hae four brothers-one older, three younger-and my parents are both living."

"Yer fortunate, my sweet," sighed the king.

"They are but part of my family," she reminded him. "Dinna forget I have a husband and six children." She looked directly at James. "When the queen arrives from Denmark, your majesty, I am going home to Glenkirk and to my children. Ye may be the king, but I'll nae allow ye to destroy my marriage! I love Patrick Leslie, and I love our bairns. If I did not I would hae sooner killed myself than submit to another man's lust!"

He caught a handful of her hair and pulled her down to him. "Yet, madame, ye respond to my lovemaking, and ye will continue to respond as long as it pleases me."

"I respond," she answered defiantly, "because Patrick taught my body to respond."

"Are all the Leslies such paragons in bed?" he asked sarcastically.

"According to their wives, and the lasses in our district, they are. My cousin Fiona was an extremely restless woman until she married my lord's brother, Adam Leslie. Since then she has nae strayed once."

"Fiona Leslie," mused the king. "Aye! Sultry, wi auburn hair, gray eyes, and skin like ivory satin. I've seen the wench, but I didna realize she was yer relative. Perhaps some evening I may entertain the two of ye."

"Am I not woman enough for ye, Jamie?" Pushing him back onto the pillows, she kissed him expertly, and her hand slid between his legs. He quickly grew hard in the silky warmth of her skilled caresses, but before he could move to mount her, she took the initiative and mounted him instead. Triumphantly, she looked down into his surprised face. And before he could stop her she began to ride him as one would ride a horse, her round knees digging into him. No woman had ever done this to James Stewart. Shocked, he struggled beneath her.

She laughed, mocking him. "How do ye like being forced, my lord king?"

He could not escape the iron grip of the warm thighs that gripped him. To his shame and horror he felt himself pouring his seed in furious spurts into her. She collapsed on top of him. Angrily, he rolled over, forcing her underneath him. Her eyes were sparkling wickedly, and her mouth was laughing. Slapping her several times, he was amazed to feel his desire quickening again, so he thrust brutally into her, making her cry out in pain. The knowledge that he was hurting her seemed to soothe him.

Afterwards he spoke quietly to her. "Yer the most exciting woman I hae ever lain wi, Catriona Leslie, but if ye ever do to me again what ye did this evening, I'll beat ye black and blue. I am nae a maid to be used in such a fashion!"

"I ask yer majesty's pardon," she said softly, but somehow he felt her voice wasn't contrite enough. "Sometimes," she continued, "Patrick likes me to love him in that fashion. He says it excites him to play wi my breasts while we-"

"If I want to fuck ye and play wi yer tits I can love ye in the Greek fashion," he interrupted her. "In fact, I hae a mind to do it now!"

"No, Jamie! Damn! Not that, please! I hate it! Noooo!"

Now it was the king's turn to laugh. He wanted to punish her further, and this was the way. She would feel the shame he had felt. Forcing her over onto her stomach, he took her quickly, cruelly bruising the lovely breasts. He was pleased as she wept and struggled to escape him. She was much subdued when he had finished with her, and James felt he had gained mastery over her again.

They slept for a few hours. Then, roused by the sight of his naked, tousled and sleepy mistress, the king took her again. This time he was gentle. He smiled down at her afterwards and said, "I'll be late this evening, my pet. Closer to midnight." After taking a piece of marchpane from the plate on the nightstand, he put on his dressing gown and disappeared through the passage door.

Cat fell back onto the pillows. She was exhausted. Her body felt battered and bruised, and she wasn't sure she would be able to walk. But-and she smiled as she fell asleep-if she could keep up the pace, James would soon have memories to burn his brain forever. No other woman would ever satisfy him. That was to be her revenge. It did not occur to her that James simply might not let her go.

Several hours later, Ellen looked in on her mistress. What she saw decided her course of action. "The countess is unwell this morning," she told the two undermaids. "Here is a silver piece between ye. There's a fair just outside the city. Ye may go, but be back by early afternoon. Ellen locked the doors of the apartment and, returning to Cat's bedroom, sat down with her knitting.

Cat awoke several hours after noon. "What time is it?" she demanded.

"Past two. Good God, my lady! What did he do to ye?"

"Everything," said Cat wearily. "Where are Silis and Una?"

"I sent them off when I saw the condition ye were in. They'll be back soon."

"I want a tub. A hot, hot tub!"

"Ye canna go on like this each night," scolded Ellen.

Cat laughed ruefully. "Nay. I can't. Dinna fear, Ellie. Last night the king and I were but gauging each other. Now he has my measure, and I hae his!"

An hour and a half later the Countess of Glenkirk was seen riding outside the city accompanied by six of her men-at-arms. She was vastly admired by the common folk, who, knowing her reputation as the Virtuous Countess, pointed her out to their daughters as an example.

Throughout the late summer and early autumn Catriona adorned James' court. There was not a nobleman, young or old, who did not desire her. Lady Leslie did not succumb. She remained warm, charming, gracious, witty-and unobtainable.

Adam Leslie was frank in admiration. "No one," he said to her, "no one would ever know yer sleeping wi the king. Patrick would be proud of ye."

"I doubt it," she answered him dryly. "By the way, best to keep an eye on Fiona. Jamie referred to her as a sultry wench. I think he rather fancies her." Cat enjoyed Adam's discomfiture.

"How long until the little queen arrives?" he asked.

Cat grew serious. "She set out once, but the storms hae been unusually fierce. I understand her ship was forced into Oslo, and there she waits until the sea calms." Cat lowered her voice. "There is talk of witchcraft. Already several women hae been questioned. Jamie grows anxious. I would nae be surprised to see him go to fetch her himself."

"Leave Scotland?" asked Adam incredulously. "Why? Let him send the high admiral for her."

"Bothwell will nae go. He says that all the fines Jamie has imposed on him during their last quarrel hae impoverished him, and he has nae the money for such an expedition."

Adam laughed. "He has nerve, the border lord, to brave his royal cousin's anger again. Do ye really think James will go?"

"Aye. After all, he wants his wife, not someone else's."

Cat smiled. She was responsible for the King's mood. For ten weeks now he had been sharing her bed. For the first time in his sad life his nights were filled with warmth and even a kind of security. The woman who slept with him was kind and tender and generous. His marriage bed would be just as delightful, she assured him. Too, there would be the pleasant duty of siring children. The Danish royal family was large, and surely Queen Anna would prove fruitful. Why, by this time next year, James could be a father!

The more Cat talked, the more eager James Stewart became to be with his bride. When he could stand it no longer, the king arranged his government to run smoothly in his absence. Leaving as regent his cousin, Francis Stewart-Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell, James departed Leith for Oslo on October 22, 1589. Luck was with him. The breezes were fresh, the skies bright blue, and the seas easy. He reached Norway quickly.

With the king away there was no point in her staying at court, so the Countess of Glenkirk made plans to go home. James had, however, exacted a promise from her that she would return when he brought his queen home. She had agreed, believing she would be safe from his attentions with the queen in residence. She longed for Patrick, and wondered if he were as lonely as she.

Chapter 17

WHEN King James reached Oslo in early November he Was met by the nobles he had sent to accompany the queen home. They escorted their impatient king to the house where the Danish princess was staying. A startled servant answered the thundering knocks, and James Stewart swept in demanding to see his bride.

Directed to a second-floor salon, the King of Scotland ran lightly up the stairs. Bursting in, he cried out, "Annie luv! 'Tis yer Jamie! Gie us a kiss, lass! I hae coom to take ye hame to Scotland!"

The startled princess, who had worked very hard to learn English, could hardly understand the wild man before her. A look of obvious distaste on her face, she backed away. Then the Earl of Glenkirk stepped forward and, in slow, unaccented English, said to her, "Your royal highness, may I have the honor to present his gracious majesty, King James of Scotland."

The princess curtsied prettily. James Stewart was immediately enchanted. She was even prettier than her portrait. Anna of Denmark was slightly shorter than the king, with silky yellow hair, sky-blue eyes, and a pink-and-white complexion. She had a little cleft in her chin, and when she smiled, two fetching dimples peeped out from either side of her rosebud mouth. She was all youth and innocence, and James instantly remembered all the things Cat had promised him marriage would be.

"His majesty would like to give you a kiss of welcome, your highness," continued the earl.

Anna of Denmark did not even look at the king. Instead, she spoke directly to Glenkirk. "Please tell his majesty that Danish ladies of good breeding do not kiss gentlemen before they are married to them." Curtsying again to the assembled group, the princess signaled to her ladies and left the salon.

Open-mouthed, the king watched her go. Then he swore. "Jesu! What manner of ice maiden hae I been contracted to wed?"

His courtiers, many of whom had already learned about the promiscuity of Danish ladies, dared not say a word. Finally Patrick Leslie spoke up. "She's really a nice little lass, cousin, but ye took her unawares. I think she was probably embarrassed, and maiden-shy. Undoubtedly she wished to meet ye in fine array rather than the simple gown she was wearing. As a married man of many years I can tell ye women put great store by their appearance, especially at a first meeting."

The other courtiers murmured their agreement. Somewhat mollified, James said, "Cat sends ye her love, Patrick. I hae given her permission to go home to Glenkirk until we return to Scotland."

James was escorted away by Danish court officials, to be housed in another building until after his wedding. The Earl of Glenkirk meanwhile sought one of the princess's ladies, and told her to dress her mistress elegantly for her next meeting with the king.

They had been married by proxy on August 20. They were now formally and officially married by a Presbyterian minister who had come with the king from Scotland. The wedding took place on November 29, in a local church. A feast was held for Scots and Danish nobles. The new Queen of Scotland loved dancing and parties above all things. The evening was gay, and so were the queen's ladies.

One of them, a Mistress Christina Anders, had singled out the Earl of Glenkirk. From the first she had seen of him in early September, she had determined to have him. That he was married made no difference to her. So was she, and to her third husband, a boy of twelve.

Christina Anders was seventeen. She was petite, with silver-gilt hair and dark sapphire eyes. She was a sea goddess in miniature. She had been married at ten to an old count who liked little girls. Widowed at thirteen, she was wed to a middle-aged man who enjoyed deflowering virgins. Christina was still a virgin. When her second husband was murdered by an angry peasant, Christina quickly married herself to his heir, an eleven-year-old boy. This left her free to pursue her own life, financially secure. She had left her husband alone on his estate with his tutor, and come to Copenhagen to renew her friendship with Princess Anna, a childhood playmate. Naturally when Anna was betrothed to the King of Scotland she asked her old friend to be one of her ladies. It would have been unthinkable for Christina to refuse.

Though several men had sought Christina as a mistress, she refused any permanent liaison. She enjoyed her freedom. Then, too, her sexual preferences were sophisticated.

The Earl of Glenkirk was not unaware of Mistress Anders' interest. Since his marriage he had not strayed from his lovely wife's bed. Now, however, he faced a long cold winter without her. Patrick Leslie loved his wife, but he was no saint, and the woman who was so obviously offering herself was very tempting.

Christina had gone out of her way to look charming at the royal wedding. She wore midnight-blue velvet, so her hair looked as silver as possible and her skin its whitest The more she danced, the pinker her cheeks became. She pointedly ignored the Earl of Glenkirk, much to his amusement. He might have played a harder game with her, but he had decided to bed her that night. If she proved a disappointment he could easily dismiss her without any hard feelings, blaming the wedding excitement for his lapse. On the other hand, it could be the beginning of a delightful affair.

Calculating carefully, he moved into the figure, and when the dance stopped several minutes later, Christina Anders found herself opposite Patrick Leslie. Clamping an arm about her waist, he looked down, and asked, "Wine, madame?"

She nodded, and he brought it.

"Tonight?" he asked bluntly.

Caught unawares, she nodded mutely.

"What time?"

"Eleven," she said softly.

Smiling, he bowed and walked away.

Christina sat sipping her wine. It had been so easy. She was sorry that she had no rooms of her own in which to entertain him. The queen's maids of honor slept dormitory-fashion near their mistress. Once the queen had been put to bed she would be free to go to him. Her heart beat faster. His manner told her that he would be a masterful lover.

Margaret Olson approached her. "The Scots stallion grows impatient to mount his mare," she said softly. "It's time to put the queen to bed."

Christina laughed. "You are such a bitch, Mag! All right, but let's hurry! I have a rendezvous with Lord Leslie tonight" She smiled proudly.

"He's a big, handsome thing," said Margaret. "I cannot decide who to sleep with. Both Lord Home and Lord Grey have asked me."

"Try one this week, and the other next. Soon they'll all be going back to Scotland, and we'll be left to return home."

"I won't," said Margaret Olson. "I am going with the queen. She asked me a few minutes ago. and she is going to ask you too. Be nice to your lover if you want to keep him when we go to Scotland."

"He has a wife there, Margaret."

"I know. I have heard the men speak of her. They say she is beautiful and headstrong. They call her the Virtuous Countess. That information should be of some help to you, my dear."

Giggling, the two maids of honor hurried to their mistress's side. With a flurry of flying skirts, Queen Anna and her ladies fled the hall, pursued by a group of shouting young men. Gaining the safety of the royal apartments, they collapsed, laughing madly. Countess Olafson, who was, at twenty-four, the oldest of the queen's ladies, tried to bring about some order.

"Ladies! Ladies! His majesty will soon be here, and there is much to do. Karen, you keep watch outside the door, and tell us when the king is coming. Inge and Olga, see to the bed. Margaret and Christina, you two help me undress her majesty."

They hurried to prepare the room and the young queen for her eager bridegroom. The scented sheets were warmed, the queen undressed and wrapped in a lovely white silk nightgown embroidered in silver and gold thread. While Margaret and Christina put the queen's wedding gown away, Countess Olafson sat the girl down and brushed her long yellow-blond hair.

Suddenly Mistress Karen burst into the room. "They're coming, your majesty! The king and his men are coming!"

The queen was hurried into the bed. She sat, plump pillows at her back, her blond hair unbound, looking flushed and a bit afraid. The door flew open and the king was half-shoved, half-carried into the room by the boisterous Scots and Danish noblemen.

“Yer majesty, his majesty," said drunk Lord Grey.

“Look, gentlemen," said James Stewart triumphantly, "my sweet Annie awaits me in our bed as a good wife should! Does this not portend a happy marriage for us?"

The queen's ladies giggled, and the king's gentlemen gently hustled him behind a screen, where they undressed him and put a silk nightshirt on him. They helped him into the bed, and he sat next to his young queen while a servant passed wine to the assembled, and health was drunk to their majesties from silver goblets. At last, with much good-natured joking and laughing, the courtiers left James and Anna to their pleasure.

In the silence that followed, the king turned to his wife and said, "Now, madame, I should like that kiss I asked ye for three and a half weeks ago."

Shyly Anna lifted her chaste lips to her husband. Touching them with his own. he gradually increased the pressure, forcing her back onto the pillows. He opened her nightgown and gazed with pleasure at the fresh, virgin body that belonged to him alone. She murmured a faint protest as he kissed and caressed her. As his desire mounted, Anna lay quietly acquiescent, her blue eyes closed.

Actually she liked what James was doing to her, and she liked the delicious tingly feelings that were racing up and down her spine and fluttering inside her. She wondered if there was something she could do that would make James feel as good as she felt. She would ask him later on when she knew him better.

Sitting her up, he pulled her nightgown over head and tossed it on the floor. He stood and yanked his own -nightshirt off. Anna's eyes widened in shock. Between her husband's legs was a mass of reddish fur, and sticking out from the middle of that fur a great live tiling that bobbed up and down, and pointed straight at her. Shrieking, she shrank back, covering her eyes with her hands.

James looked surprised. "I've nae stuck it in ye yet, Annie luv."

"Stick it in me?" she quavered. "Why?"

James looked faintly annoyed. "Did no one speak to ye about a wife's duties, Annie?"

"I was told I must submit to my lord in all things," she whispered.

He looked relieved. "That's right, luv. Ye must submit to me in all things. Now this." he said grasping his maleness, "is my manroot, and between yer legs is a sweet little hole where I shall put it. Ye'll like it, Annie, I promise. 'Twill feel so good." The king had never had a virgin, but his lust was hot, and he had no intention of allowing this foolish girl to deny him.

"Will it hurt me?" she asked him, for somewhere in the dim recesses of her mind she remembered her older sisters talking, and there was something she couldn't quite put her finger on now.

"Aye," he answered her matter-of-factly, "but only the first time, luvie."

"No," she said. "I don't like to hurt, and I don't want you to stick me with that ugly thing." She pointed at him and shuddered.

James was stymied. " 'Tis a husband's right!" he protested.

Her rosebud mouth pouted. "No," she repeated – firmly.

James Stewart's eyes grew crafty. "Very well, my sweet," he said, getting back into the bed. "We'll just kiss and cuddle a bit then."

"Yes, I like that," the little queen answered him happily.

James drew his wife into his arms. Kissing her deeply, he began to caress her expertly, until she was squirming with uncontrolled excitement. Before she realized what was happening, he mounted her and, guiding himself, pushed into her. Gasping, she struggled beneath him. Bucking her body so as to throw him off. she succeeded only in driving him further into her. Suddenly he drew back and plunged deep. Anna screamed in genuine pain, but James covered her mouth with his and kept up the rhythmic movement, ignoring the warm trickle that flowed down the insides of her thighs.

As the pain eased, Anna felt herself begin to enjoy what was happening to her. She was still angry with her husband for deceiving her. Then, suddenly, the body laboring over her stiffened, jerked several times, and collapsed. Anna felt strangely unhappy. In the silence that followed, the clock on the mantel struck eleven.

At the other end of the house, in the apartments of the Earl of Glenkirk, there were fires in both the anteroom and the bedroom. Patrick Leslie stood before the anteroom fireplace wondering if he had done the right thing in encouraging Mistress Anders. Guiltily, he realized that a good whore would have served his purposes. But when he heard the door open behind him and turned to see her, he was glad he had asked her.

"Come in, Mistress Anders."

She was wearing the same dress she had worn earlier. And she was even lovelier by firelight.

"Will ye join me in a goblet of wine, my dear? I hae a lovely white-delicate and sweet." His eyes caressed her warmly.

"Thank you, my lord," she said in a soft voice, and stood by his chair looking into the fire.

He poured the wine. Handing the goblet to her, he watched as she drained it. The earl sat down in his chair and, reaching up, pulled Christina into his lap and kissed her. "Dinna be shy wi me, little Cairi," he said.

"What is it you call me, my lord?" she asked him.

"Cairi. The Gaelic for Christina is Cairistiona. 'Cairi' simply means 'wee Christina,' and yer a wee bit of a thing."

She snuggled into his lap.

"How old are ye?" he asked her.

"Seventeen, my lord."

"Jesu, I am thirty-seven! I could be yer father."

"But you are not, Patrick," she said, pressing herself against him. Pulling his head down, she kissed him passionately. "I came to have you make love to me." Standing up, she slowly undid her dark velvet dress. Next came her snowy petticoats, silk underblouse, and beribboned busk. She stepped out of them wearing only dark silk stockings upon which were embroidered tiny gold butterflies.

She was unbelievably exciting. Smiling slowly, he stood up and followed her lead until he stood tall and naked above her.

She looked up at him and ordered, "Take off my stockings."

Kneeling, he slowly rolled them down, one at a time, and then slipped each one off its small, slim foot. The perfume of her body drove him nearly mad. She had anticipated this when, earlier, she had stroked musk on her freshly washed skin. Still kneeling, he pulled her down to the floor in front of the fireplace. Christina spread her legs wide and held out her arms to receive him.

She was warm, and sweet, and experienced, and he was immensely pleased. The woman beneath him moved smoothly, and he allowed her release twice before taking his own. He rolled off her, and they lay relaxed before the fire.

"You think I am overbold," she said quietly in her low, husky voice, "but I wanted you, Patrick Leslie. I have never been any man's mistress, but I want to be yours."

"Why me?" He was flattered, but he was also no fool.

"Because I want you, and because for once in my life I should like to have a normal relationship with a man. My first husband was an old man who could not perform in a normal manner. My second husband, having deflowered me, was no longer interested. My third is a child, and I am free to do as I choose. I choose to become your mistress."

"Only while I am here," said the earl. "When I return home, my dear, ye'll cease to exist for me. I may sleep wi ye now, but make no mistake, little Cairi, I love my wife."

"I agree to those terms, Patrick. And now, as it is damnably cold on this floor, may we please get into bed?"

He stood and, scooping her up, walked into the bedroom and put her into the bed. "I feared a long, cold winter, Cairi. Now, though it will still be long, it will nae be cold," he said. He climbed into bed with her.

Chapter 18

FOR the first time in her married life Catriona Leslie was really on her own. She closed her Edinburgh house, telling Mrs. Kerr that she would return when the court reconvened. To the horror of Glenkirk's captain-at-arms, she planned on riding home immediately, without a proper escort.

"Well all be murdered on the road, sure as hell,” grumbled Conall More-Leslie.

"Five gold pieces we make it safely," she laughed.

"Jesu, madame, the earl will skin me if anything happens to ye!"

"Leave her be!" snapped his sister, Ellen. "She needs to go home, for whether or not she realizes it she gains strength from Glenkirk. There is little likelihood of the earl returning before spring, and she will be less lonely among her bairns."

They did not, however, travel poorly escorted. Learning of her plans, Francis Stewart-Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell, offered to escort her himself. She could hardly turn down James Stewart's favorite cousin, and regent of Scotland.

Francis Stewart-Hepburn was a tall, handsome man with dark auburn hair, an elegantly barbered short beard, and piercing blue eyes. He was an educated man, unfortunately born in advance of his proper time. His amazing fund of knowledge and his many scientific experiments terrified the superstitious-educated and uneducated alike. Though he alternated between new and old kirk, he was not a particularly religious man. Too, sad women trying to bring excitement into their lives by playing at witchcraft, had sometimes named Lord Bothwell as their leader. Francis Hepburn was therefore whispered to be a warlock. He was not, but rumors often persist.

Cat knew the rumor to be nonsense, but it amused Francis Hepburn's macabre sense of humor not to deny it. Besides, it terrified his cousin James, who alternated between love and hate for Francis. For some reason the king brought out the devil in Bothwell. Although Francis was fond of his cousin, as one might be fond of a clumsy hunting dog, there were times when he simply could not resist playing on the king's absurd fears.

James admired Francis and would have given anything to be like his tall, assured cousin. Consequently, in an attempt to impress the Earl of Bothwell, James had told him of his affair with the Countess of Glenkirk.

Though he congratulated his cousin on his good fortune, Francis was shocked. He himself had loved many women, married and unmarried, but he had never forced one as the king was forcing Glenkirk's wife. That she was being forced he knew instinctively, for he was sensitive to people, and though she tried to appear her old self, he saw the faint darkness beneath her eyes and heard the hollow tone in her laughter.

Gallantly, he set out to become her friend and confidant. And he did. But something else happened that Francis Hepburn had not planned on. He fell in love with the Countess of Glenkirk, a state he was forced to hide from her and from his jealous royal cousin as well.

Cat had never had a man for a friend, but she enjoyed Francis Hepburn's companionship greatly. He was a font of knowledge, and Cat rarely found anyone learned to talk with. Since everyone assumed their relations were chaste, the court thought the relationship eccentric. All laughed to see the greatest rake at court and the most beautiful woman enjoying intellectual discussions.

The Earl of Bothwell's lineage was an interesting one. His father had been John Stewart, Prior of Coldingham, an illegitimate son of James V-whose daughter, Mary Queen of Scots, began spelling her surname "Stuart," a spelling that eventually prevailed in the royal line. Francis and James Stewart shared the same grandfather. The earl's mother had been Lady Janet Hepburn_s only sister to the last Earl of Bothwell, James Hepburn, who was Mary Stewart's third husband. James Hepburn left no legitimate issue, and his title and estates had gone to his nephew, Francis, who added his uncle's last name to his own as a gesture of respect.

Francis Hepburn's father had died when he was scarcely more than a baby. Francis had only an illegitimate brother and sister. His mother remarried, and he was ignored in early childhood and then shipped off to be educated in France and Italy.

He had returned home to Scotland in his teens, an elegant, self-assured, educated man. He was quickly married to Lady Margaret Douglas, daughter of the powerful Earl of Angus. Lady Margaret was a widow with a son, and slightly older than Francis Stewart-Hepburn. She did not like her second husband, and he did not like her. Theirs was a marriage of convenience and they dutifully sired children to maintain the line, but between them there was not a bit of warmth. Margaret Douglas was relieved that her sensuous, oversexed husband sought other beds. She did not want him in hers.

The Earl of Bothwell, with a troop of fifty wild borderers, escorted the Countess of Glerikirk home. Conall was not sure he approved, but his lady's safe journey was what mattered. Cat insisted that Bothwell stay at Glenkirk a few days, and though he meant to stay but three or four, he ended up staying through Twelfth Night. Since the dowager countess had been a cousin to his father, he was considered a cousin himself, and treated as a member of the family. The Glenkirk children called him Uncle Francis, the boys following at his heels like admiring puppies and the little girls flirting outrageously with him. Bothwell adored it. His own children had been taught by their mother to give their loyalty and obedience to her alone, and he felt no kinship with them. Even Glenkirk's younger brothers treated him with a rough camaraderie and called him cousin. The men hunted, wenched, diced, and drank with him. It was the closest thing he had ever had to a real family, and he loved it.

When he finally left, on the day after Colin Leslie's sixth birthday, it was with great regret. But he had been left in charge of Scotland, and the time for self-indulgence was over. Bothwell was above all things a disciplined man. He left with Cat a small Damascus-steel sword with an exquisite openwork handle of Florentine gold scattered with tiny semiprecious stones.

"For your eldest boy's birthday next month," he said.

"Oh, Francis! It's marvelous! Jamie will love it- though I know he'd rather ye were here."

"I wish I could be, but I've indulged myself long enough, Cat. Cheer up, my darling! The winter will go quickly, and Patrick will soon be home."

"James has insisted that I come back to court when he brings the queen home," she said, frowning. "I told Glenkirk I would hae no more bairns, but Francis, I swear I am going to do my damnedest to get wi child when my lord comes home! The only way I'll escape James Stewart's attentions is to be safe at Glenkirk, but I'll nae get permission unless I am big in the belly."

Francis Hepburn kissed her lightly and rode away to a long and lonely winter. And it was a snowy, gray, cold, depressing winter. Had Cat not loved her children she would have gone mad, but she did, and their company saved her.

James Leslie celebrated his twelfth birthday, and if he was disappointed that his father seemed to have forgotten him, Francis Hepburn's gift made up for it. They had had no word from Patrick in months, and though Cat knew he was safe, she missed him terribly. The nights were the worst. It was now seven months since she had seen him. Alone in their big bed she wept bitterly, and swore to herself that when he came home she would obey him, and not ever return to court. He had been right not to want to involve them with the royal Stewarts. What had it gained them. Separation and shame!

Spring came, a lovely, early, warm spring. The hawthorn and pussy willow were in bloom. The hillsides around Glenkirk sprouted in yellow and white, and Easter Sunday was sunny. The Glenkirk courier who had been with the earl in Denmark arrived bearing a pouchful of messages. There was even one with the royal seal that, opened, revealed her official appointment as a lady of the queen's bedchamber. A small personally scrawled note enclosed with it from James himself stated that he expected to see her back at court when he got there. She tossed it aside impatiently and reached for the letter from her husband. It was short, almost impersonal, and she was disappointed.

"Beloved," he wrote. "By the time this reaches ye we should be under sail and on our way home. It has been a long, hard winter here, and I have missed ye. The king's wedding was performed in Oslo, but we returned to Denmark for Christmas, and have been here ever since. Tell Jamie that I am bringing him a surprise for the birthday I missed. I send my love to ye, and to all our bairns. Your devoted husband, Patrick Leslie."

It was not the letter of a man hungry for his woman, and Cat was furious. The bastard, she thought angrily, and wondered if he had taken a mistress or was simply tumbling an occasional doxy. If he did have a mistress, then she must be part of the court. Would she be left behind, or would she be coming with them? "I'll soon find out," she muttered aloud. Damn! Here was a fine situation.

She wanted to get pregnant to escape the attentions of the king. Yet, if she did, she would have to return home to Glenkirk, leaving Patrick at court to entertain his mistress. There was only one thing to do. She would have to get rid of the whore.

On May 1, 1590, James and his queen arrived at Leith in the lead ship of a convoy of thirteen. The road to the capital was lined with a cheering populace. Their pretty young queen sat comfortably ensconced in a gilded chariot drawn by eight white horses, each dressed in red velvet blankets embroidered in gold and silver thread.

In Edinburgh the nobility were assembled to greet Anna. Catriona Leslie stood with Francis Stewart-Hepburn as the royal progress arrived at Holyrood House. She immediately spotted Patrick lifting a petite woman down from her horse. The woman had silvery hair, and was dressed in pale-pink velvet trimmed with some kind of gray fur, probably rabbit.

"Ye were in Leith, Francis. Who is the wench Glenkirk is lifting down?"

Francis Hepburn smiled wolfishly and wondered how Cat had found out so quickly. "She is Mistress Christina Anders," he said. "A childhood friend of the queen's, and a lady of the bedchamber."

"Who's bedchamber?" snapped Cat. "She's at least four months gone wi child. Damn Glenkirk! I'll roast him for this!"

Bothwell chuckled. "I am sure ye'll find a way to get even wi him."

"I will," she replied grimly. Then, "Oh, Francis! I missed him so much! It's been months since I last laid eyes on him. How could he?"

The Earl of Bothwell put a comforting arm about Cat. "Probably because he was lonely, and needed ye. So he took a woman to cheer him. 'Tis no great thing."

"I was lonely too, Francis. I burned for him every night he was away-even when the king was wi me."

"Dinna feel sorry for yerself, my darling," said Lord Bothwell. "She may have had the fire to keep Patrick warm this winter, but she doesna hae the fire to keep him permanently. See how his eyes are scanning the crowd? He's looking for ye."

"I am sure he is," she answered. "Looking to see if I've caught him wi his whore! God, Bothwell! Look how she clings to his arm! I'll scratch her face to ribbons!"

Francis Hepburn chuckled deep in his throat. "If ye make a scene in public all the sympathy will be to poor Mistress Anders. However, if ye greet Glenkirk in good wifely fashion, the sympathy will lie wi ye. My wife always plays that game when she ventures out of Crich-ton. Everyone knows yer called the Virtuous Countess because of yer faithfulness and devotion to yer lord. If ye really want to get even wi him, play the part to the hilt!"

"Bothwell, I adore ye! Yer so wonderfully diabolic!" said Cat gleefully. "How do I look?"

His blue eyes swept over her with obvious approval. She was dressed on this cool spring day in a very simple mulberry velvet gown. It had long, fitted sleeves with ecru lace cuffs, and a small stiff ecru lace collar. She wore her famous pink pearls. Though she had four ropes of them, she wore only two. She had removed her matching cape, which was trimmed in sable. Her dark honey-colored hair was caught up in a gold mesh net, and held with pearl and gilt pins.

"Dinna bat yer wicked green eyes at me, my darling," said Bothwell in a low voice. "I need no encouragement to ravish ye. If Patrick doesn't rush ye home to bed, he's a bigger fool than I think."

They had reached the reception room. Francis Hepburn squeezed Cat's hand and then gave her a little shove toward the door. Giving her skirts a small shake and her hair a final pat, she nodded at the major-domo.

She walked through the door and down the center of the room to the foot of the two thrones. Her head was high, and she could hear the faint whispers around her. Gracefully she sank into a curtsy, her head bowing for just a second.

"Welcome home, my lord king, and to ye, dearest madame, a gracious welcome to Scotland from all the Leslies of Glenkirk."

James Stewart beamed on her. "Cat! Yer as lovely as ever! Annie luv, this is Glenkirk's wife, Cat Leslie. I hae made her a lady of yer bedchamber, so she'll be serving ye now."

Anna Stewart looked down at the countess and felt sorry for her friend Christina. Not only was the countess beautiful, but her expression was sweet and kind. "Thank you for your welcome, Lady Leslie," said the queen.

"I will do my best to serve ye well, my queen," said Cat. Then before she could be dismissed she turned again to the king. "A boon, cousin!"

"Name it, my dear."

"It has been almost nine months since I have seen my husband, sire. Now that ye are so happy in yer own marriage, perhaps ye can understand how I feel. I hae not yet even seen my husband except from a distance. May I please take him to Glenkirk House for just this night?" She cocked her head appealingly and smiled sweetly.

"Oh, James," said the queen, "say yes! I give Lady Leslie my permission. Please give her yours."

"Glenkirk! Where are ye?" roared the king.

The earl stepped forward, and as he did Cat saw the little hand that tried to hold him back. For a brief moment they looked at each other, then Cat flung herself into his arms and kissed him passionately. Unable to help himself, he kissed her back.

"God's foot, Glenkirk! Take her home to bed," chortled the king.

They turned and, bowing to their majesties of Scotland, walked from the chamber. Just before exiting, Cat turned her head ever so slightly and looked directly at Christina Anders. Passing Francis Hepburn, she winked.

"Why," asked the queen of her husband, "do they call Lady Leslie the Virtuous Countess? I thought it was because she was cold, and only did her duty by her husband."

The king laughed. "Lord, no, my innocent Annie! Cat Leslie is deeply in love wi her husband, and always has been. She is called the Virtuous Countess because, unlike so many women at this court, she will nae sleep wi any other man. She is a most faithful wife. They hae six bairns. The reason I cho'se her to serve ye is that I thought she would be a good influence on ye."

"Oh," said the queen, feeling even sorrier for Christina Anders.

"Francis Stewart-Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell," called out the major-domo. The queen turned to greet the new arrival.

Chapter 19

SAFELY in their coach, the Earl of Glenkirk turned to his wife. "I have never seen ye gie a better performance, Cat."

"Would ya rather I had caused a scene and attacked yer mistress in public?" she asked him quietly.

"I am sorry, hinny. I dinna mean to hurt ye. Who told ye?"

"Ye did. The letter ye sent me was hardly that of a man longing for his wife. Ye hae put more warmth into yer correspondence wi the Kiras. One letter in all that time! Was she selling her wares on the dock when yer ship came into port that ye couldna find time to write to me? Jamie was devastated ye forgot his birthday! If Francis hadna left him the sword-"

"Francis?"

"Bothwell," she said. "He escorted us home to Glenkirk after the king left Edinburgh last year. His father and yer mother are cousins, so that makes him our cousin. He stayed till just after Twelfth Night. The children," she said with malice, "adore him, and yer brothers had a fine time wi him. He's a good friend, Patrick, I like him."

"Perhaps, madame, I should inquire what ye were doing while I was away on king's business. Francis Hepburn is a notorious rake."

"Dinna try to cloud the issue, Patrick! Francis is my friend, nothing more, and ye should not even have to ask. Besides, he is married. Can ye tell me that Mistress Anders is naught but a friend to ye? And the child she carries is nae yer bairn?"

He had the grace to flush, and she laughed. "Patrick! Patrick! Only the Leslie women know the secret of preventing conception. Yer so used to me that ye got careless wi yer whore."

Realizing that she wasn't too angry with him was a great relief. He would not tell her that Christina Anders had tricked him, hoping to have a greater hold on him. He had been tiring of the Danish girl and, knowing it, she had become pregnant. He had tried to make her stay behind in Denmark, but she refused to give up her post as lady of the royal bedchamber and threatened to cause a scandal if he told the queen. These things, however, Patrick Leslie would not tell his wife.

"Do ye love this girl?" asked Cat.

"God, no!" he burst out. "Damn, Cat! I am no courtier, and there I was alone in Norway and Denmark wi the Stewart court. Do ye know what they do all day? They dice. They drink. They play at games. They change clothes. Aye! Clothes are very important to them! They wench. It is still a source of amazement to me how frequently they change partners. They are the most useless people alive! Had I not found a Kira in Copenhagen, I would hae gone mad!"

"A Kira?"

"Aye, sweetheart! They've a bank in Copenhagen, and I was able to keep track of our business through them. It gave me something to do."

Picturing poor Christina Anders waiting patiently while Patrick kept track of his ships and cargoes made the Countess of Glenkirk laugh. Then she asked, "Ye are sure the bairn is yers?"

"Aye. Cairi is many things, but she's nae a wanton. The child is mine."

"What will ye do about it, Glenkirk?"

"I will acknowledge it, and see to its support."

"And its mother? What will ye do about her?"

"I told her from the first that I love my wife, and that our liaison was only a temporary thing. I meant it then and I mean it now."

They had reached Glenkirk House, which was located just off the Cannongate, near Holyrood House. Cat swept in and up the stairs, bidding Mrs. Kerr a good day. The earl remained below while the servants fussed over him.

Ellen was waiting for her mistress. "Is it true?" she asked. "Has the earl come home wi another woman? Well! Ye certainly need not feel so guilty now!"

Cat whirled around. "If ye ever even hint at that again ye'll end yer days alone at Crannog! Do ye understand me, Ellie?"

The bond of love between mistress and servant was strong. Realizing how deep the hurt done Cat really was, Ellen apologized. "I must be getting old and foolish, my baby."

The countess caught her tiring woman's hand and squeezed it. Then her eyes twinkled. "Yer gossip is partly correct, ye nosy old woman! His Danish mistress is part of the queen's entourage, and quite an embarrassment to poor Glenkirk. She went and got herself wi child to try and hold him. Poor Patrick! He's been married to me for so long he's forgotten how treacherous women can be."

"Will ye forgie him?"

"Of course. He's come home to me, and he's quite ashamed at having been caught. As long as he discards her, I will be content Now, Ellie, see to my bath. I think that wicked new black silk nightgown will do. Glenkirk's about to receive a welcome he'll nae forget!"

Ellen laughed. "The Danish girl may deliver three sons to the earl and she'd still nae have a chance wi him against ye, my lady."

When Patrick Leslie entered his own apartments a short while later he found that his valet had prepared a steaming oak tub in front of the blazing fireplace. Stripping off his clothing, he said, "Burn them, Angus," and then climbed into the tub. The water was faintly perfumed and slightly oily. His winter-dry skin soaked it up. He sniffed appreciatively.

"Oil of musk," Cat said, and he looked up to see her standing in the doorway that connected their bedroom. She walked across the room and, flinging off her black silk robe, mounted the steps and joined him in his tub. Putting her arms about his neck, she molded herself to him and kissed him hungrily. As her little tongue darted back and forth exploring his mouth, her hands fondled him beneath the warm water.

He had needed little encouragement. The mere sight of her had roused him. Loosening his grip on her, he reached down and, cupping her buttocks in his hands, raised her. As her slim legs tightened about his waist he thrust deep within her. He heard her catch her breath. "Damn ye, Patrick! Did ye have to be away so long?"

Much later they lay in their big bed, happy and content with each other. Cat slept naked, safe within – the curve of Patrick's arm. He lay awake wondering what had ever possessed him to get involved with Christina Anders when a clean whore would have served his purposes and given him no trouble.

At Holyrood House, Christina Anders cursed the fact that it was too late to get rid of the bastard growing within her. To try at this stage of the game might kill her. One look at the Countess of Glenkirk had told her the battle was lost. And the fantastic act that the countess had put on for just her benefit! How she had known so quickly was a mystery to Christina, but that she had known was patently obvious. The Danish girl sighed and wondered what would happen to her, and to the child she carried.

She did not have long to wonder. The following day the Countess of Glenkirk reported for duty as a lady of the queen's bedchamber. Anna took immediately to Catriona Leslie as to a charming and warm older cousin. No help there, thought Christina. Her aid, however, came from the most unexpected quarter. At the first opportunity, the Countess of Glenkirk separated Mistress Anders from the others. They walked in the park surrounding Holyrood House.

"How far gone are ye?" asked Cat with her usual directness.

Christina was frightened, but she stopped and looked up at the tall, beautiful woman. "Madame, I do not know what you mean."

Cat took the girl's arm. "Listen, my dear, I hae been wed to Patrick Leslie for twelve years. We hae six children, and what I guessed at, Patrick has confirmed. Now, when is the bairn due?"

Christina's composure crumbled. "Autumn," she whispered.

"Dinna fret, my dear," she heard the countess say to her. "Leslies take care of their own, and yer bairn is a Leslie."

"The child is a bastard, my lady."

"Pish!" said Cat impatiently. "Patrick's great-grandfather, the second earl, fathered a bastard son, the first of the More-Leslies. They have always served us since then. The More-Leslies are respected, and respectable. Your child will be taken care of, and ye need not worry. Yer lucky in that respect. Good God, girl! Why did ye nae pick an unmarried man who would possibly have married ye? Yer of good family."

"I am married, madame. To my third husband, a boy of twelve. Even if my lover had been free to wed me, it would have taken too long to get an annulment, and I can scarcely claim a boy not yet potent as this child's father. I appreciate and will accept your aid, but my child will not be raised as a servant! He is of good blood on both sides even if he is not legitimate."

Cat smiled. Christina Anders had given the countess the weapon she needed in order to control the situation. "Ye will be a good mother, my dear, and the Leslies will see yer bairn is raised as befits a noble bastard. However, if ye attempt to ensnare my husband again, I will see ye sent back to Denmark in disgrace and yer child will be sold East into slavery." So saying, the Countess of Glenkirk patted the girl's arm kindly and walked away.

Christina shuddered. She had no doubt that Catriona Leslie meant exactly what she said, and could do exactly what she threatened. Christina did not love Patrick Leslie. He had merely been a refreshing change. She was not about to get into a fight with his countess over him Just as long as the baby was taken care of, she would be satisfied. The earl may have confessed his infidelity to his wife, but Christina would wager he had not confessed to all the presents he had lavished on her„ She chuckled. She had done quite well.

That evening Cat managed a few minutes alone in their rooms with her husband. "I have had a talk wi Mistress Anders," she said calmly. The earl looked uncomfortable. "I told her," continued his wife, "that the Leslies take care of their own, so we will see the child is taken care of, but she's nae to see ye again."

"Cat! Ye had no right to tell her that!"

She flew at him. "Damn ye, Patrick! I have been patient wi ye, and kind to yer highborn doxy, but I've nae intention of sharing ye wi yer whore!" She turned her back to him.

Putting an arm about her, he pulled her back against him and pushing her tawny hair aside, kissed the nape of her neck. "I've never intended spreading myself between two women," he said gently, "and I hae no thought to involve myself wi Cairi again. But she is bearing my child. ‘Tis a lonely time for her, sweetheart. Dinna be unkind. 'Tis nae like ye."

"I was alone when I carried Jamie," she answered him.

"Aye. But ye were safe in Fiona's house wi Mrs. Kerr, and Sally. Ye were in yer own land, and anytime ye chose ye could have called on half a dozen people for aid. Cairi has none of these advantages. She is alone in a strange land, and in imminent danger of disgrace should her condition become known. I only mean to offer the hand of friendship should she need it. Nothing more." He kissed the fetching little nape of his wife's neck again, and one hand gently fondled a soft, round breast

"Damn ye, Glenkirk," she said through gritted teeth, but she turned and raised her face to him. His mouth found hers, and she felt her legs weaken. Bending, he scooped her up and deposited her on their bed. "No," she sighed reluctantly at him. "We canna now. I am due back wi the queen."

It was his turn to mutter, "Damn!" and she couldn't resist a giggle. Struggling to her feet, she smoothed her skirts down and, smiling wickedly at him over her shoulder, left him to cool off.

Patrick Leslie chuckled deeply to himself. What a wench she was! She had kept him ensnared for twelve years. Though she was stubborn, independent, willful, and perhaps too intelligent for a woman, she had never bored him. She was still the most fascinating woman he had ever known. It never occurred to Patrick that the very qualities in her that distressed him were the ones that made her so interesting.

Thinking over the last few days, he realized how lucky he was. Cairi Anders had been a lovely diversion, though he was sorry she was pregnant. At least she had made no scenes, and he was grateful to her for that. As to his wife, he sighed with relief. She could have made it very difficult for him, but she had not. She had been unbelievably generous.

While Patrick Leslie thought about his wife, Cat was in the queen's anteroom fending off the king. Struggling furiously, the Countess of Glenkirk yanked James Stewart's hand out of her bodice. "Damnit, Jamie! Behave yerself!"

"‘Tis hardly a warm welcome home ye gie me, Cat luv," protested James.

Cat swept him a curtsy. "Welcome home, yer majesty," she said coolly. "Now please allow me to pass, sire. I am already late for the queen."

"When may I see ye?"

"Publicly at any time, sire. Privately, never! I would remind yer majesty that ye are a married man now, and I have always been a married woman."

"Annie does nae pleasure me as ye do," he said.

"Her majesty is still hardly more than a maid, Jamie. It is up to ye to teach her what pleases ye."

"I am no schoolmaster," he replied sulkily. "Now, madame, let us fix a time that we may be together."

Catriona Leslie looked steadily at her king and her eyes were green ice. "In yer mother's day the word of a Stewart was good," she said cruelly.

Before he could reply the door to the queen's bedroom opened, and Countess Olafson called, "Ah, Lady Leslie! There you are! The queen has been asking for you."

Cat again curtsied to the king, but as she swept by she heard him say softly, "Ye'll pay dearly for that remark, madame."

Chapter 20

THE Countess of Glenkirk had no time to ponder the king's threatening remark. She was far too busy. The queen was to be crowned almost immediately. Her coronation robes, requiring many tiresome fittings, were all to be Scots-made. And then, too, Anna had to be taught the ceremony. Unfortunately, Anna of Denmark was not very bright. Beautiful, innocent, charming, and generous she was. But she was also extravagant, empty-headed, silly, and hot-tempered.

Fortunately, Catriona Leslie had the patience needed to drill the queen. She also had wisdom enough to make a game of it so Anna would not become bored.

"If," the young queen told Cat, "I had had a schoolmistress like you, perhaps I should have been more inclined to learn."

Cat laughed. "Nonsense, madame. Ye dinna fool me a bit. Ye know that ye will not only look magnificent at the coronation, but by knowing yer part well ye'll truly be magnificent. Yer subjects will be enchanted."

It was a clever compliment, and the teenaged queen preening herself before the mirror thought again how much she liked the lovely Countess of Glenkirk. Such an agreeable lady.

Anna of Denmark was crowned Queen of Scotland at Scone on May 17, 1590. She played her part with a charming, youthful dignity that touched the hearts of the crustiest old highland lairds assembled to see the next mother of the Stewart line. The evening was spent in the merriest of revels with a magnificent feast that featured roast boars, red deer, sheep, and sides of beef all basted by red-faced and perspiring kitchen boys. There were fowls of every kind-swans, larded ducks, capons in sweet lemon-ginger sauce, stuffed roast geese, partridges, grouse, quail, and pigeons. There were great bowls of raw oysters, and boiled shrimp, mussels, and clams with herbs. Broiled sea trout and flounders were served whole on great gold platters. There were also flaky pastries of minced meat, rabbit, fruits, and nuts. Smoked hams, eels, and potted hare were also offered. Young spring lettuces, scallions, and artichokes in vinegar filled silver bowls. Great crocks of butter were placed at intervals on the tables along with large trenchers of fresh breads. For the last course the guests were offered custards, jellies of every color and shape, oranges from Spain, early cherries from the south of France, and fruit tarts made with the dried fruits of last year's harvest. Silver bowls of sugared almonds and filberts were passed with the cheeses, the wafers, and the tiny goblets of spiced hippocras.

Wines and ales had flowed generously, and the entertainment had been continuous. There were minstrels, of course, and jugglers, dancing dogs and acrobats. Pipers had traversed the dining hall several times. Cat, who had eaten sparingly, was brewing a headache when her husband came to claim her for the dancing.

"Take me for some air instead," she begged him.

They walked about the gardens in the cool May night.

"I never get to see ye, hinny, now that yer a lady of the queen's bedchamber," the earl complained to his wife.

"I know," she sighed back. "Patrick, I want to go home! Ye were right! We should nae have involved ourselves with the court." Suddenly she was clinging to him. "Please take me home, my love. Now!"

He held her close and smelled the seductive sweetness of the scent she always wore. He stroked her lovely hair, and wondered about this passionate, almost desperate outburst Then he smiled to himself. Though he had been back less than a month, it was possible that she was breeding. She had, of course, threatened him after Morag's birth that there would be no more children, but women were apt to change their minds. He hugged her indulgently. "Ye know we canna just go home, sweetheart. We are part of the court now, and must get permission from their majesties. To do that we need a good excuse. I dinna have one, do ye?"

"No," she replied sadly.

"Yer sure," he asked her searchingly. "Ye could be wi child."

"It's too soon for even me to tell, Patrick." Arms around his neck, she gazed up at him. "Shall I gie ye another son, my lord? Are six bairns not enough to assure yer immortality?"

"Only three of them are sons," he teased her. "Besides, we hae such fun making them." He bent and kissed her eager lips. "Damn me, Cat! I am tired of sharing ye wi the Stewarts. Let's make another bairn, and go home to Glenkirk!" Finding her mouth, he kissed her again, and would have gone on doing so had not an insolent voice drawled, "Shocking! And wi yer own wife, too, Glenkirk!"

Startled, the Leslies pulled apart to face the amused gaze of the Earl of Bothwell.

"Who the hell-" began Patrick, but Cat had already launched herself at Bothwell. "Francis! You beast! How could ye?"

Catching her angry little fists, he laughed down at her. "I wish a woman would kiss me like that." Turning to Patrick, Francis Hepburn held out his hand. "Glenkirk, I'm Bothwell! We're distant cousins of a sort, and not only do I envy ye yer beautiful wife, sir, ye've a fine brood of bairns also!"

Patrick Leslie shook the hand offered him. "So yer the Wizard Earl. I'm pleased to meet ye, man! I owe ye my thanks for escorting Cat home last autumn."

" 'Twas my pleasure," replied Bothwell, "but I've disturbed yer tryst for a reason. The queen seeks ye, Cat. Best to hurry, my darling. Some farradiddle over a torn hem or such, and only Lady Leslie can make it right."

Sighing, Cat quickly kissed her husband. Impudently thumbing her nose at Bothwell, she gathered up her skirts and ran off. Both men laughed, and then Francis Hepburn said seriously to the Earl of Glenkirk, "If she were my wife, Leslie, I would get her away from the Stewarts, and their damned court. She is too much of a temptation."

"Aye," said Patrick, "and she wants to go. Last year I couldn't force her home, but suddenly she must go. I dinna understand it, Bothwell, but I am glad."

"Then take her home, man! As soon as possible."

Glenkirk had no time to think about Francis' words, for the court was on the move again. Two days after the queen's coronation, Anna of Denmark officially entered her Edinburgh capital to be greeted by the nine Muses › and the four Virtues. The royal procession moved along High Street, stopping at St. Giles Church, where the queen and her court listened to a long, dull sermon.

That evening the court faced another gargantuan feast, and to Anna's delight there was a masque extolling Spring. The ladies of the court were each assigned parts. They were flowers, birds, trees, animals, elements, and all things pertaining to the season of spring. The only man in the entire production was the Earl of Bothwell, magnificently attired in silver and white, who played a very amused North Wind. Educated in Europe, and having spent a good deal of time at both the French and English courts, Bothwell was quite used to these masques and saw nothing unmanly in them.

As the North Wind it was his delightful duty to attempt to chase off Springtime, played by the queen herself wearing flowing robes of pink and pale green. Springtime's coterie of tender creatures followed their majesty. This lead to much scampering about and giggling. North Wind was finally vanquished by South Wind, who wore diaphanous robes of pale blue and silver, and who was portrayed by the Countess of Glenkirk.

The king was bored to tears by the entertainment, though he did remark that the South Wind had the prettiest pair of tits he'd ever seen. James thought these amusements silly. The queen, however, was enchanted, and extremely pleased by the success of her own efforts. The younger members of the nobility were happy to see an end to the dull, psalm-singing court of the king's regency and bachelorhood.

That night Cat and Patrick slept together in their own apartments. They worked happily at conceiving another child, but did not do so. As the weeks went by Cat became more distraught. It was obvious to her, as the newness of young love wore off, that the serious young king and his feather-headed wife had nothing in common other than a passion for hunting. Increasingly Cat caught James Stewart's eyes upon her, and was frightened. She might hate him, but she could not refuse him! He was king.

Then Patrick announced that the king had delegated him to go to Hermitage Castle with Francis Hepburn, its master, and make arrangements for Twelfth Night Revels. The queen had expressed a desire to see Both-well's famous border home. Hearing her husband's news, Cat hurried to her mistress.

“May I go wi them, yer majesty?" she pleaded prettily. "What do men know of women's comforts? As Lady Bothwell never leaves Crichton, she will be no help."

The queen laughed. "It is a scandal how much you love your husband, my dear Cat. Yes, yes! Go along with the handsome Glenkirk. I do not blame you for wanting to be with him. Now that Christina is well again, I can get along without you for a few days."

"Thank ye, madame," said Cat, kissing the queen's hand.

"Thank you for taking such good care of my childhood friend in her illness," said the queen meaningfully.

Cat curtsied and exited. Safe outside, she chuckled to herself. Mistress Anders' predicament had been kept a discreet scandal. The Danish noblewoman had been delivered of a daughter in October. The child, Anne Fitz-Leslie, was being boarded with a healthy young farming family, near the city. The queen repaid the Countess of Glenkirk's generosity by letting her go with her husband on king's business.

Catriona and Patrick rode with Francis Hepburn at the head of Bothwell's borderers. The evening was clear and cold, with a heaven full of stars and a bright moon. They had left in late afternoon and they rode the entire night, breaking their journey several times to warm themselves with dreams of potent, smoky whisky in nameless inns. Wherever they stopped, the welcome was always a warm one for the Earl of Bothwell and his men.

Back at Holyrood, James Stewart hummed a little tune to himself as he slipped through the secret passageway that connected his bedroom with Cat Leslie's. The queen would be unavailable to him for a few days, her womanly time being upon her. He had sent Patrick Leslie off with Bothwell. And now the king looked forward to rediscovering the Countess of Glenkirk. Opening the door at the end of the passage, he stepped into the room and was confronted by a startled Ellen, who curtsied low.

"Where is your mistress?" demanded James.

"Gone to Hermitage, your majesty," stammered Ellen.

"I dinna gie her permission to leave court! Shell be punished for this disobedience!"

"The queen sent her, sire," said Ellen desperately.

"What?"

"The queen sent my lady to Hermitage wi my lord of Glenkirk, and my lord of Bothwell," repeated Ellen. "Her majesty felt a woman's touch would be needed in the preparations for Twelfth Night."

James managed to master the anger growing within him. Reaching into the pocket of his dressing gown, he grudgingly drew out a gold piece. Handing it to Ellen, he said quietly, "Tell yer beautiful mistress that I will nae gie her up." Then he reentered the secret passage, which closed behind him.

Ellen sat down on the bed with a relieved sigh. Now she understood Cat's hasty departure. Ellen disliked the king's hypocrisy intensely. He played the moral man and the devoted husband while lusting after another woman. If only they could go home.

It was not, however, to be so simple. Like a cat at a mousehole, the king watched and waited for his opportunity. It made no difference to James that what he had already done to Cat was wrong according to the laws of the very church he was sworn to uphold. There was one thing which all the dour churchmen who had raised him couldn't erase from the royal Stewart's mind, and that was the absolute fact of the divine right of kings. Like the five Jameses before him, this James upheld the laws of the land and the church only after his own wants had been satisfied.

In attempting to punish the king by being the most exciting woman he would ever encounter, Cat had unwittingly infected him with a sexual hunger that only she could now satisfy. Her coldness enraged him. He would have her if he had to ask her husband for her. That he might destroy her marriage and perhaps even her whole life made no difference to the king. The Countess of Glenkirk was his subject. She belonged to him. She would obey him.

Like the good hunter he was, the king stalked his prey and smelled its fear. While the court stayed at Hermitage Castle he did manage, for a few minutes, to separate her from the rest of the crowd. Finding herself alone with the king, Cat looked frantically around.

James laughed. "Would I could take ye here in just the few minutes we have, my dear, but alas, I canna."

She said nothing.

" Twas neatly done, madame," the king continued, "but why did ye run away from me, Catriona? I sent Patrick away before I came to ye. And what did I find? Yer tiring woman packing yer clothes, and a cold, empty bed."

Cat's heart was pounding violently, and she was icy with a mixture of fear and anger. Gathering her courage, she looked up at him and spoke. "Jamie, I can say it no plainer. I dinna want to be yer mistress. Please, sire! Ye promised me that when ye brought the queen home ye would free me. I love my husband, and he is nae a man to share his wife wi another-even his king. Why do ye do this to me, Jamie? Yer wife is a fresh and lovely girl open to yer instruction in the arts of love. Why must ye hae me?"

He didn't answer her question. Instead he said quietly, "When we return to Edinburgh I expect ye to receive me, madame, without any further argument If ye will not, I will be forced to ask Patrick's permission, which ye know he will gie me. If, however, ye come freely we will continue to keep our liaison secret from the rest of the world-including yer husband."

Her lovely eyes shone with tears. "Why, sire? Why?"

"Because, madame, I wish it, and I am the king," he said coldly, and walked away from her.

For several minutes she stood very still gazing with unseeing eyes out of the window at the Cheviot Hills. Then, sensing she was no longer alone, she whirled about to see the Earl of Bothwell standing there. Wordlessly they looked at each other, and then Francis Hepburn held out his arms to her. Flinging herself into them, she wept against his velvet-covered chest. A spasm crossed Bothwell’s face as his arms tenderly held her. When she had regained her control he loosed her. Tipping her heart-shaped face up, he asked, "What happened wi Cousin Jamie?"

"I yield, or he asks Patrick," she answered softly.

"The little bastard!" snarled Bothwell. "What a pity the queen dinna miscarry of him."

"Francis, hush!" She covered his mouth with her hand. "To even think such a thing is treason."

He tore her hand away and swore softly. "I wish to God I was the warlock they accuse me of being! I'd like to send Cousin Jamie to the seven devils! Ah, my darling, I canna help ye, and I hae never felt so helpless in my whole life." He took her by the shoulders and looked down at her. "If I can ever help ye, come to me. Ye will remember that?" Then he took a large silk square from his doublet and wiped the tears from her face.

Her slender hand reached up and gently touched his face.

"Bothwell," she said softly, "yer the best friend Fve ever had." Then she turned and left him standing in the little windowed alcove.

Francis Hepburn gazed out at the familiar Cheviot and sighed. For the first time in his life he had found a woman he could love, and not only was he married but she was also married. To add a further complication, she was lusted after by the king. The irony of the situation struck him, and he laughed sharply. Once again life had dealt him a bad hand.

Chapter 21

THE court had settled comfortably back into Edinburgh. It was dull January. The Leslies' two oldest sons were also at court, having joined the household of Andrew Leslie, the Earl of Rothes, head of Clan Leslie. It was a relief to Cat to be able to see at least two of her children.

At this time Patrick Leslie decided to go home to check on his estates, and to see his other children. Unlike his wife, he had no official duties to keep him at court. Cat could not, however, be spared from service with the queen. Desperately she tried to forestall her husband's departure, but he laughed indulgently at her and teased, "Two years ago ye would hae rather died than go home to Glenkirk in winter. Now I believe ye would walk home!" Kissing her goodbye, he reassured her, "I'll be back in a few weeks, hinny. Would it cheer ye if I brought Bess wi me?"

"Nay, my lord! This court is no place for a young girl." She looked up at him astride Dubh. "Go carefully, Patrick, and come quickly back to me!"

There was something in her eyes that, for a moment, made him wonder if he should leave her. Then, laughing at himself for being a fool, he bent, kissed her again, and rode off.

It was not her night to serve the queen so, gaining permission, she went to Glenkirk House. The king would not dare chance seeking her out when the queen was available. She slept safe in her own home for the next few days. Soon it was her turn to sleep in the royal antechamber, on call in the event Anna required something, and she was again safe from the king.

At the end of her duty period the queen took her aside. "I would prefer, my dear Cat, that you not leave the palace at night when you are not on duty. Are your apartments not comfortable?"

"Aye, madame. They are most comfortable. I go home so that my sons may see me easily when their duties allow."

The queen smiled indulgently. "You are a good mother, Cat, but you are also a lady of my bedchamber. We will arrange for you to see your sons, but please remain near me at night. I awoke once with a terrible pain in my temple, and you were not there to rub it away."

"As your majesty wishes," replied Cat, curtsying. She knew full well where the idea that she remain in the palace had really come from.

Several days later the queen's monthly indisposition occurred, and that same evening the king appeared in the Countess of Glenkirk's bedchamber. First she tried to hold him off with reason, but he refused to listen. He came at her and she fought him physically, her little fists beating at him. It amused him to master her and he did so, cruelly, ravaging her body. She recoiled from his touch and hated him with a frustrated fury she could not satisfy. She was forced to endure his attentions for the next four nights.

Every morning and every evening Cat prayed for her husband's speedy return. Not a day went by that the king didn't steal a few minutes to be alone with her. That she detested him seemed to add to his pleasure.

One night as she undressed after the evening's entertainment, he appeared through the secret door. She wore only her white silk petticoats, and stood before her pier glass brushing her long dark-gold hair. Slipping up behind her, James slid an arm around her waist, and with his other hand cupped a globe-shaped breast.

Cat closed her eyes wearily, patiently enduring his unwelcome attentions. She had learned by now that to struggle was useless. As the king buried his lips in the soft flesh of her neck, a faint sound caught Cat's ear. Opening her eyes she saw her husband reflected in the pier glass, his face stiff with shock and hurt.

She would never remember in later years if she spoke his name aloud or merely mouthed it silently. It was enough, however, to rouse him, and his voice was icy. "I beg yer pardon, madame. I had nae idea ye were entertaining."

"Patrick!" she cried. "Patrick, please!" She tore herself from the king's grasp and took several steps toward him.

Behind her James Stewart looked at the Earl of Glenkirk. "I find yer wife charming, cousin, and I have been doing so for some time now. Do ye object?"

"Aye, sire," replied the earl, "I do object. Though little good it would do me, especially since the lady is so acquiescent." He turned to his wife. "I hope, my dear, ye have gotten a good price for yer virtue?"

"Come, cousin," soothed the king. "Dinna be angry wi Cat. She has done her duty by the crown admirably." He smiled winningly at the earl and, taking him by the arm, led him into the antechamber. "Let us hae a wee drink, Patrick. Yer wife keeps some remarkably fine whisky."

Numbly Cat continued the business of getting ready for bed. She was grateful she had dismissed Ellie for the evening. The tiring woman would only have tried to help her, and made matters worse. Kicking her petticoats off, she pulled a silk nightgown over her head and lay down on top of her bed. She could hear the low murmur of voices in the next room as well as the clink of crystal glasses.

She didn't remember falling asleep, but suddenly she felt a slap on her hip, and Patrick's voice-slurred with drink-said, "Wake up, madame whore! Here's two customers for ye!"

Angrily she scrambled to her feet. "Yer drunk! Both of ye! Get out of my bedroom! I canna stand the sight of either of ye!"

"Not so drunk we canna fuck! Right, cousin Jamie?” Grasping the bodice of her nightgown, Patrick ripped it to the hem, tore the two pieces off her, and flung them across the room. "Get into bed, my dear, virtuous wife, and open yer legs for the king. Ye've done it before, and very well, according to our royal cousin." He pushed her back onto the bed and before she could protest, the king was on top of her, driving into her unwilling body.

She was neither ready nor willing for the assault, and its effect was that of forcible rape. She struggled wildly beneath James, which merely increased his desire. He came quickly. Rolling off her, he said, "Yer turn, Patrick," and before a shocked Cat realized what was happening her husband had mounted her and pushed deep within her.

She could hear her own screaming.

Her thighs were sticky with another man's seed, and yet he took her. Outraged, she fought him violently, and – was slapped into unconsciousness for her pains. Throughout the night they took turns raping her and drinking her whisky, until at last, in that darkest part of the night before dawn, a drunken James Stewart returned to his room via the secret passage and the very drunk Earl of Glenkirk fell into a deep sleep.

Fearful at first of awaking him, Cat lay quietly. Then, sure he was really asleep, she crawled slowly from the bed. Moving quietly and painfully across the room to the fireplace, she stirred up the fire and added some kindling, then heated the hanging kettle over it. Pouring some water into a small ewer, she took a cake of soap and a rough linen cloth and scrubbed herself until her skin was raw. Next she went to the trunk at the foot of the bed and, lifting out her woolen trunk hose, silk riding shirt, and plaid doublet, put them on. She pulled on her boots, picked up her fur-lined cloak, and silently left the apartment.

It was not yet dawn when she entered the stables. The boy on duty was fast asleep, half-buried in a pile of straw. Quickly Cat saddled Iolaire. She dared not take Bana, as she would have been spotted easily on the white mare. Leading the gelding from the stable stealthily, she mounted it and, muffling herself in her cloak, rode boldly up to the main exit of the palace.

"Messenger for Leslie of Glenkirk," she croaked in a husky voice.

"Pass," said the soldier, thinking how glad he was not to have to ride out at this early hour.

She rode south and slightly east, keeping away from the main roads. She was aware of neither the bitter cold nor approaching daylight. She felt neither hunger nor thirst. Several times she stopped to water and rest her horse, and when evening came she sought her bearings. Finding them, she headed for a small religious house, where she begged a night's shelter. Up at first light, she left a gold piece with the startled nun who kept the gate. Mounting Iolaire, she continued on her journey.

At midday she was spotted by two riders. Cat put her horse into a gallop but, unsure of the countryside, was quickly run down. She found herself facing two bearded young borderers, who grinned delightedly at her.

"I dinna know which is better," said the taller of the two. "The horse or the woman."

"The horse is yers, man," answered his companion. "I’ll take the woman!"

"Touch me at yer peril," she snarled at them. "I am for Hermitage, and Lord Bothwell!"

"Ye'll nae find the earl at Hermitage," said the tall borderer. "He's at his lodge in the Cheviot."

"How far from here?"

"Two hours' ride, sweetheart. But if ye've a mind to bed a Hepburn, my father was one, and I'd be happy to oblige."

Cat drew herself up tall and, looking levelly at the two men, said coldly, "Take me to Lord Bothwell, or suffer the consequences when he finds out ye've not only detained me but refused me aid as well."

Something in her voice told them she was not bluffing. "Follow us," said the tall man. Whirling their horses around, they galloped off. Two hours later, as promised, they arrived at a small lodge, well hidden within the hills. At the sound of hoofbeats the door opened and the Earl of Bothwell himself stepped out. The taller fellow spoke out.

"We found this lady some two hours from here, my lord, riding for Hermitage. When she told us she sought ye, we brought her here. I hope we did the right thing."

Bothwell walked over to Iolaire and, reaching up, pushed away the hood of the all-concealing cape. "Cat!" he breathed.

Two large tears rolled down her cheeks. "Help me, Francis," she begged, holding out her arms to him. "Please help me!" Then she crumbled out of the saddle into his arms, fainting.

Cradling her tenderly, he turned to the two startled men. "Ye did right to bring this lady to me. But remember, lads, ye hae never seen her. When I can be of help to ye, I will be." He walked swiftly back into the house with his precious burden.

Chapter 22

FRANCIS Hepburn had been alone at his hunting lodge. He occasionally shunned the company of his fellow humans and fled to some isolated spot, renewing himself spiritually and physically. It was his way of retaining sanity in a world that alternately admired and feared him. He liked the winter months, and he had been enjoying himself alone for several weeks.

Now his peace had been broken, and in a most disturbing way. He carried the unconscious Catriona Leslie into his house, upstairs to his bedroom, and gently laid her on his bed. He drew off her boots and, wrapping her cloak around her, pulled up a blanket and tucked it around her. Stirring up the fire, he put a brick in the ashes to warm. Then he drew the draperies shut on all the windows and lit a small Moorish oil lamp so she could see where she was when she regained consciousness. Taking the brick from the ashes with a pair of tongs, he wrapped it in a flannel and put it at her feet. Then, pouring a dram of potent whisky made in his own still, he sat on the edge of the bed and began to rub her wrists. Shortly she stirred, and he gently raised her up and put the dram to her lips. "Sip it slowly, my darling," he said.

She did as he bid her, and the color began to seep back into her cheeks. "Dinna tell Patrick I am here," she begged him.

"I won't," he promised. "Now, my darling, yer fair exhausted and chilled to the bone. I want ye to close yer eyes and go to sleep. I’ll be downstairs, and there are no servants to worry about."

He was talking to himself, for she was already fast asleep. Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he left her and descended the stairs. The lower level of his house was a large open room with a huge stone fireplace. It was furnished in a rough manner with animal skins, hangings, and heavy, old-fashioned furniture. Pulling a chair up by the fireplace, he poured himself a glass from a decanter of wine before sitting down.

He wondered what had driven the Countess of Glen-kirk out of Edinburgh. She was suffering from shock. Having learned some medicine from a Moorish physician, Bothwell understood her symptoms. "Poor lass," he said softly. "What in hell happened to ye?"

When Catriona awoke several hours later it took her a moment or two to realize where she was. She climbed from the big bed and padded downstairs in her stockinged feet.

"Francis? Are ye awake?"

"Aye, lass. Come over by the fire, and sit wi me."

She settled into his lap. For a time, neither of them spoke. He held her lightly, yet protectively, and she nestled against him, breathing the leather and tobacco scent of him. His heart was pounding wildly. He had always treated her casually, teasingly, in an effort to hide his feelings, and it had been fairly easy because he had never gotten too close. Now Francis Hepburn fought down his feelings lest he frighten her further. Finally, in desperation, he asked, "Are ye hungry? When did ye last eat?"

"Two nights ago. I stopped at a nunnery last night, but I could not eat then, or this morning."

"Ye should be hungry by now, my darling." He tipped her out of his lap gently. "Can ye set a table, Cat Leslie?"

"The word is 'countess,' my lord Bothwell, not 'helpless.' Of course I can set a table."

"We'll eat by the fire," he said cheerfully. "The cloth's in that chest, and ye'll find dishes and utensils in the larder over there."

She was surprised to see him bring out from the pantry, a few minutes later, a steaming tureen and a basket of hot bread. "Sit down," he commanded her. "Eat it while it's hot."

She was going to refuse him, but the soup smelled so good. It was a thick lamb broth with barley, onions, and carrots. She discovered it was flavored with peppercorns and white wine. He shoved a thick, crusty slice of hot bread dripping with butter in front of her and watched, amused, as she devoured it. When she had spooned up all the soup he took her bowl and returned to the pantry-kitchen. Soon he came back bearing two plates. "I caught a salmon this morning before ye arrived, and I found some early cress," he announced proudly. She ate the thin-sliced fish more slowly than she had eaten the soup. He was worried by her silence, and by the fact that she had already consumed three goblets of burgundy.

Sated at last, she sat back. "Where did ye learn to cook?" she asked him.

"My Uncle James believed a man needed knowledge of that kind."

She smiled a half-smile at him, and lapsed into silence again.

"What happened, Cat? Can ye tell me, my darling?"

After a time, she looked up. The pain in her eyes stunned him. Rising, he moved around the table and knelt at her side. "Dinna tell me if it's too painful."

"If I tell ye now, Francis, I'll nae have to speak of it again, and maybe I can forget in time." She began to weep softly. "Damn James Stewart! Oh, Francis! He has deliberately destroyed my life! I would kill him if I could. Patrick went home to Glenkirk, and I was alone. There was no one I could turn to at all. I tried to keep out of the king's way, but the lecherous hypocrite stalked me like a rabbit. Patrick came back from Glenkirk to find Jamie wi his hands all over me. The king could have saved me if he had wanted to do so, but instead he told Patrick what a marvelous mistress I was, and made it sound worse than it was. He dinna tell Patrick I was unwilling. Then the two of them got quite companionably drunk on my whisky and raped me. Oh, God, Francis! The king and my own husband! Not once, but time and time again-all night long! They wouldn't let me go, and they made me do things-" She shuddered. "Oh, Francis! Yer my friend. Please let me stay wi ye for now."

He was stunned by what she had told him. Stunned, and horrified. That James Stewart could have been that vengeful he fully believed, but that Patrick Leslie, an educated and enlightened man like himself, could have brutalized his own blameless wife astounded him. "My poor darling," he said gently. "Ye can stay wi me forever." Standing, he drew her from the chair. "Who saw ye go, Cat?"

"No one, though they will connect the rider who left the palace for Glenkirk wi me. The nuns who sheltered me last night live in an out-of-the-way place. In any event, only the gatekeeper and the mistress of travelers saw me, and not for long. There were no other visitors at the convent. Patrick will think I hae gone to A-Cuil."

He put his arms about her. "Ah, my darling! I am so sorry. So very sorry. Dinna fear. Yer safe wi me. The men who brought ye in will nae admit to having ever seen ye."

She stood quietly within the comforting circle of his arms, and then slowly she lifted her face to him. "Make love to me, Francis!" Her voice was urgent. "Here! Now! Make love to me!"

Wordlessly he shook his head at her. He understood the reasons behind her outburst. She needed reassurance, needed to be the one to do the choosing. But he was not sure if compliance with her desperate request would make matters better or worse. He loved her, and he wanted her, but dear God, not like this!

Angrily she pulled away from him. "Come on, Both-well! Yer reputed to be the best lover in Scotland!" She tore her shirt open, and off. Her beautiful breasts tumbled out in all their glory. Pushing her riding breeches down and off, she moved seductively towards him. She was naked as the creator had made her and he fought down his rising desire. "Come on, Bothwell!" she taunted him. "Love me, or are ye not man enough? If I'm worthy of a king, then I'm good enough for ye!" Her eyes glistened with angry, unshed tears.

If she had been a man he would have hit her, but he understood. Like a child fallen from its pony who must immediately ride again, Cat Leslie needed to make love with a man who would not abuse her. If not him, who? Francis Hepburn didn't wait to find another answer. Scooping the woman before him up into his arms, he carried her up to his bedroom and deposited her on his bed. Swiftly he stripped his own clothing off and joined her.

He was in her before she realized it, taking her with a gentleness she had never dreamed any man could. Tenderly he kissed and caressed her, striving to bring her the greatest pleasure. No man had ever loved her in such a fashion. Finally he could hold back his desire no longer, and released his boiling passion.

She began to weep great, gulping sobs. "I feel nothing! Dear God, Francis! I feel nothing! What hae they done to me that I feel nothing?" And she began to tremble uncontrollably.

Bothwell gathered her into his arms and held her tightly. The hurt done her was even deeper than he had feared. It was going to take time to bring her back, but he would do it. "Dinna cry, my precious darling," he said softly. "Dinna cry. They hae hurt ye terribly, and 'twill take time for ye to recover. Go to sleep now, my sweet love. Go to sleep. Yer safe wi me, my love."

Within minutes she slept deeply, breathing lightly and evenly. But Francis Hepburn lay awake, his anger growing with each minute. Once again he wished the role of warlock, often attributed to him, were true. Had it been he would cheerfully have disposed of both his cousins.

However, he knew that the woman sleeping within his arms was even now still emotionally bound to her husband, and he would not grieve her further by hurting Glenkirk. James was a different matter, though, and Francis Hepburn was going to think long and hard on the vengeance he'd wreak on his cousin. In the meantime, he would offer his house and his heart to the beautiful Countess of Glenkirk.

In the weeks that followed, Cat stayed hidden within Bothwell's lodge. There were no servants to gossip about them, and they were content to do for themselves. Sometimes Francis Hepburn would go on a border raid with bis men, leaving her alone for a day or more. She never minded, enjoying the solitude of the late winter and needing the time to heal. He had not used her physically since that first night, and she had not asked him to. But each night he was with her she slept content in the safety of his arms.

The Earl of Bothwell was deeply in love for the first time in his life. Though he realized this love might come to an end, he intended enjoying whatever time they shared. He adored her beauty, but had Catriona Leslie been the ugliest woman alive he would still have loved her. She was an educated woman who, unlike his estranged wife, could converse with a man on a great many subjects. More important, she was a good listener, and had the charming knack of letting a man believe that whatever he said-no matter how banal-was interesting. She was warm, and she had an outrageous sense of humor that matched his. Her beauty was merely a bonus.

In early spring Bothwell returned from a raid into England bringing with him a long, delicately worked gold chain set with tiny topazes ranging from palest gold to deepest taupe. He slipped it over her head. "Now yer a true border wench," he said softly. "Yer man has brought ye back some booty."

She smiled teasingly up at him. "Whose pretty neck did ye take it from?"

He grinned back at her. "If ye must know, I liberated it from an overstocked jeweler who made the mistake of getting caught in our raid." He looked down at her and, suddenly unable to help himself, caught her to him and kissed her hungrily. She trembled but grasped bis head and kissed him strongly in return.

Francis Hepburn's blue eyes looked gravely into Cat's leaf-green ones. She stood barefooted, on tiptoe, her arms about his neck. His hands moved gently to undo her dressing gown, unwinding her arms, and sliding the robe off to reveal her nakedness. Taking her face in his hands, he bent and kissed her deeply. Then his mouth gently touched her eyelids, her face, her throat.

His slim hands tangled in her honey-colored hair and then moved down to her shoulders. His mouth moved to her chest and then to her soft breasts. He slid to his knees and his lips traveled to her navel and then to the tiny mole.

Cat's whole body was quivering, and as her legs gave way she slipped to her knees too, and their lips met. Bothwell was deeply shaken. "Tell me yea, or tell me nay, my darling! But tell me now," he whispered hoarsely, "for I'll tell ye true, my sweet Cat. I want ye as I have never wanted any woman! But 'tis you I want, not a shadow!"

"Bothwell," she whispered softly, and he saw her face was radiant. "Bothwell! I feel! I feel! Oh, my lord! I want ye very much.

He drew her down to the fur rug. The crackling fire cast shadows over them as he stood tall above her to pull off his clothing. She smiled reassuringly up at him. He was the first man she had chosen in her whole life. Her husband had been picked for her by her great-grandmother, and the king had forced her. But she had chosen Francis Hepburn. And desired him very much.

Kneeling, he gently turned her over and kissed the nape of her neck. His lips moved down across her shoulders and traveled the length of her spine. He was gentle beyond belief, and she shivered deliciously.

Placing her on her back, he caressed her lovely breasts. They grew taut beneath his delicate touch, the rosy nipples becoming hard and pointed. He buried his face in the valley between them, his lips burning into her skin. She moaned softly. He smiled with relief. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed. Her breath came in quick little gasps.

In his travels Francis Hepburn had made love a great deal and had learned from many women. He now used his skill on the only woman he had ever truly loved, his desire being to prolong her pleasure.

Kissing the soft flesh of her breasts, he felt her heart pound wildly beneath his lips. He caught a tantalizing nipple in his teeth and bit it gently. She moaned again, and her hips began to move with the rhythm of love. His lips began to wander.

"Francis!" she cried out. "Dear God, Francis! Yell drive me mad!"

"Do ye really want me to stop, my darling?" His eyes were laughing. Silence was his answer. He gauged how far he might drive her.

He opened her legs and, drawing them over his shoulders, gently pulled her nether lips apart and tenderly kissed the soft coral flesh. She shuddered violently once, but forbade him not. His tongue caressed and probed, and she cried out in pleasure, her body arching. Her response fired him. and when he could bear it no longer, he pulled himself up and over her, and drove his throbbing manroot deep into her softness.

She received him joyfully, wrapping her long legs and her arms about him. Once within her he was able again to restrain himself. Their bodies moved in rhythm together, seeking to pleasure each other. Then she whispered urgently to him, "Francis! I can hold back no longer!" But he forced her to ease off, and then increased her desire to a higher peak. She was buffeted by the force of his passion, and frankly amazed that anyone could give such pleasure. She had never been loved like this, and when he at last allowed her release she cried out in delighted wonder to feel him coming too.

Still coupled, they lay breathing deeply, damp with their exertion. Then suddenly she cried out with genuine surprise. "My God, Francis! Yer growing hard again wi'in me! Oh yes, my lover! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

And it began again. He was himself amazed at his body's response, for he could not seem to get enough of her. Cat was insatiable tonight. She matched him passion for passion until they were both so exhausted that they slept where they lay, unaware that the fire had gone out and the room had grown chill.

He awoke to find her dropping a blanket over him. He pulled her down and kissed her. "Good morning, my darling."

The radiance of her smile reassured him. "Good morning, my lover," she answered him. Her mind was clear. She felt no shame. She gently disentangled herself from his grasp. "I'm fair frozen, Francis. Let me go, and I'll light the fire."

He watched her with a mixture of affection and admiration as she rekindled the fire. Within minutes the flames were leaping, and she turned her back to the fire. He sighed. "Ah, my darling! To be the flames that warm yer pretty bottom."

"Oh, Bothwell," she laughed, coloring becomingly. "Yer a wicked man!"

"Aye, my darling. I am." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Come, warm me, my pet. ‘Tis chill and lonely beneath this blanket."

She slid underneath the plaid wool and drew him into her arms and against her body. "Warmer now, my lord?"

His eyes sparkled with amusement. "Ye could bring heat into a stone statue, and ye know it, my sweet love!" Tenderly he kissed her. "Where were ye, Cat? Where were ye all these years?" He fell silent then, thinking of the night just past. "I love ye, Catriona Main," he said, and she was startled that he knew her baptismal name. "I hae never said that to a woman and meant it," he continued, "but as God is my witness, I love ye!"

Her eyes were bright with tears. "Bothwell! Oh, Bothwell! Dinna love me! How can ye love me? A woman who lay wi the king, and then ran away from her husband's honest wrath into the arms of yet another man. How can ye love me?"

"Ye didna lay willingly wi Jamie, Cat. There is no refusing the king. I could kill him for forcing ye!"

"And Patrick?" she asked. "What of my husband?"

"I would kill him too if I didna know it would grieve ye. He had the right to be angry, but not wi ye. And to do to ye what he did…"

"What would ye hae done to me if I had been yer wife, Francis?"

"If ye had been my wife, Jamie would nae have dared to force ye, but," he continued, seeing her urgency, "if he had dared, I would hae killed him wi'out a second thought. Ye, I would hae beaten for being so lovely.

"Poor Patrick," she said softly. "The look on his face when he saw Jamie fondling me… God, Francis! He was so terribly hurt."

Bothwell's lip curled. "So he eased his hurt by getting drunk wi Jamie and taking turns wi the king in raping his own wife!" The earl exploded. "Be quit of them both, Cat! I have been meaning to divorce Margaret for some time. Now, I'll do it, and ye must divorce Glenkirk and marry me! I love ye! I want ye! And, by God, I'll keep ye safe from the royal Stewart."

Stunned, she could only stare at him. "My children?" she finally managed.

"I'll gie ye all the bairns ye want, and if ye must hae yer wee Leslies, I'll take them gladly."

"I think Patrick might hae something to say about that," she said wryly.

Bothwell's blue eyes looked into her green eyes. "I dinna want to talk about Patrick," he said softly, and his mouth found hers. She yielded easily. Though her conscience troubled her slightly, her feelings for Francis Hepburn were deeper even than she knew.

His mouth gently touched her forehead, her closed eyelids, the tip of her little nose. She murmured contentedly, and he laughed in spite of himself. "A fine thing," he teased. "I seek to rouse yer deepest passions, and instead ye make contented noises like a well-fed bairn."

She giggled. "But ye make me feel content, my lord."

"Good," he said, "because I intend keeping ye here all day. There's never been a woman yet, madame, that I've wanted to keep in bed all day!"

"But we're not in bed," she pointed out. "We're on the floor, under a plaid, and if one of yer great borderers should come clumping in-" she paused and her eyes twinkled mischievously-"well, my lord, yer already grand reputation will become legendary!"

Roaring with laughter, Francis Hepburn stood up and, pulling her after him, carried her upstairs, where he unceremoniously dumped her on the bed. "I'll build the fire this time," he said, bending to light the kindling.

"Will ye indeed, my lord," she asked provocatively. Francis Hepburn, turning to look at the beautiful Countess of Glenkirk, knew that if the night just past had been sweet, the day would be sweeter yet.

Chapter 23

PATRICK Leslie had awakened late the morning after his return to Holyrood Palace with an ache in his head and a mouth that tasted of old flannel. Reaching for Cat brought back with tremendous shock the events of the previous evening. For a moment he lay perfectly still, unable to absorb the memories tumbling in on him. James and Catriona. Then he, and the king, and Cat.

"Oh, my God!" he whispered. Stumbling to his feet, he crossed the room to the fireplace wall, touched a piece of carving on the mantel, and watched miserably as the secret door swung open. Shutting it again, he returned to the bed and felt the place where she had lain. The sheets were icy, and he knew she had been gone for hours. He checked the trunk at the foot of the bed and found her riding clothes gone. The mantel clock chimed ten.

Dressing quickly, Patrick Leslie sought the captain of the guard. "I want to speak wi all the men on duty last night. When was the guard last changed?"

"At six this morning, my lord."

"And before that?"

"Midnight, sir."

"Those are the men I want, captain, the ones who took duty at midnight. How many were on gate duty?"

"Six men. Two at the main gate, two at the back gate, and two at the servant's postern."

Patrick thought a moment. The average person would have gone out through the back, or the servant's gate. "Send me the men who were on the main gate," he said.

Despite the violent emotions tearing through him, he could not help but chuckle wryly at discovering that he was right. A "messenger" for Glenkirk had passed through the main gate a few minutes before five that morning.

He sought his interview with the king through Barra, the chamberboy. He made it very clear that if James would not grant him immediate audience he would go to the queen. Within the hour Barra was guiding him through the secret passage. The king was still abed, having awakened with as big a hangover as Glenkirk's. Patrick wasted no time. "Ye remember what we did last night?"

The king flushed. "I was drunk," he muttered.

"So was I," replied his cousin, "but 'tis still no excuse for rape. She's gone, ye know-on horseback out the main gate, before five this morning. I intend making her excuses to the queen, and then I am going after her. When I find her I shall get down on my knees and beg her forgiveness. I only pray she will gie it me, though I am not at all sure she will do so. Remembering what we did to her, I couldna blame her if she refused. We shall remain at home at Glenkirk from now on, Cousin James, ever loyal to the Stewarts, but absent from this cesspool ye call a court."

James Stewart nodded. "Ye hae my permission," he said.

The Earl of Glenkirk returned him a look that plainly said he didn't care whether the king gave him permission or not. Then he found the question torn from him. "Was she willing, Jamie? Was my wife willing to whore for ye?"

There was a long silence, and then the king lowered his eyes and whispered, "Nay."

"You bastard!" said Patrick Leslie softly. "If ye were anyone else, I'd kill ye!" Turning, he reentered the secert passageway and closed it behind him. Dashing into his own bedroom, he found Ellen, startled by his abrupt entrance from the passage. "Pack everything that belongs to us. We're returning to Glenkirk, and we'll nae be back!"

"My lady-" began Ellen.

"Left early this morning," he said. "Now, hurry! I want to be out of here by afternoon."

He went next to the queen, and told her that he had returned late last night to fetch his wife. Their eldest daughter was seriously ill. Cat had left early this morning, begging him to make her excuses. Since it might be some months until she could return, the Earl of Glenkirk offered to sell his wife's position to whichever lady the queen chose. He would then buy the position for that lady, thus enriching the queen's private coffers. Anna always needed money. It was a very generous offer, and though she regretted losing the lovely Countess of Glenkirk, Anna Stewart had been worried lately that there were so many lovely ladies about her.

It wasn't her husband who concerned her, for, she thought smugly, he was quite unaffected by other beautiful women. But beautiful young girls attracted too many men, and invariably complications arose. She decided to give the open position to the widowed daughter of old Lord Kerr. The lady was a good woman, past thirty, and not particularly pretty.

Protocol satisfied, Patrick Leslie gave orders to his people to return to Glenkirk immediately. Then he set out alone for his castle. Cat already had a seven-hour start on him, and when he caught up with her, he wanted to settle their differences away from prying eyes.

As he rode he relived the previous night, seeing clearly now all the things his injured pride had refused to acknowledge then. Cat had begged him to take her from court, but he had begun to enjoy it himself, and had put her off. Ashamed of being forced into an intimate relationship with the king, yet equally fearful of his discovering that relationship, she had been helplessly caught in a trap. When he had walked into their bedroom to find the king fondling his wife's naked breasts, his reaction had been shock, followed by fury at his wife. How could he have misjudged her so? In all these years she had never given him reason to doubt her.

Now, looking back, he saw again her frightened white face staring out at him from the pier glass. Later, when they were taking turns raping her, he saw her leaf-green eyes mirroring shock, anguish, disbelief, and finally a blankness that was the most terrible of all.

Patrick Leslie rode steadily north and east, and as he rode he prayed that his wife would be waiting at Glenkirk. Another problem facing him was what to tell his mother and the children. They were all old enough to know something was wrong. He was grateful that his two oldest boys were in service. The younger children were easy, but he did not want to face his eldest son and heir. Thirteen-year-old Jamie Leslie adored his beautiful mother, and between them existed a special closeness. Cat loved all her children, but Jamie had always been her bairn.

When the towers of Glenkirk came into sight several days later the Earl kicked Dubh into a gallop, and the great black stallion, scenting home, responded eagerly. Patrick quickly sought out his mother. Margaret, the dowager Countess of Glenkirk, was still one of the most beautiful women in Scotland. Rising to her feet at the sight of her eldest son, she held out her arms.

"My darling! I didn't expect ye back so soon. Is aught amiss?"

He entered the security of that embrace and then, leading her over to the privacy of a windowseat, sat down with her. "I hae done a terrible thing, mother. A terrible thing to Cat. And I hae probably lost her." Kneeling, he put his head into her lap and wept. The sound he made was terrible-great, tearing sobs wrenched up from deep within him. His broad shoulders shook, and Meg Leslie, stunned, touched his head gently and said, "Tell me, Patrick. Tell me what ye hae done to Catriona."

Mastering his emotions, he slowly and carefully told his mother what had happened. Meg closed her eyes when he reached the part about the rape. "She must still have some feeling for ye, Patrick," said his mother, "for had it been me, I would hae stuck a knife into ye before I fled! And to answer yer unasked question-no, she is not here. What made ye think she would be?"

"Where else could she go, mother? Greyhaven? A-Cuil?"

"Nay. Heather was here yesterday, and said nothing. Ye may be sure that if Cat had gone home to Grey-haven her mother would have been all atwitter with worry, and told me. And she is not at A-Cuil. Cat's brothers have been up there hunting wolves, and came yesterday with Heather to bring me some skins."

"Then where is she?" he asked. "Christ in his heaven! Where has she hidden herself?"

"Ye want her back?" said Meg. "Why, Patrick? So ye may punish her further for not killing herself at James Stewart's first advance. Would ye hae preferred a dead and pure wife to a live, albeit slightly used one? God's toenail, my idiot son! It's nae as if James took the droit du seigneur of yer virgin bride! And why in heaven's name did ye assume her the guilty party? Undoubtedly because she is but a weak woman! Fool! Has she ever given ye cause for doubt? Never! She has been a loving wife since the day she married ye… though now I think perhaps she must have had a premonition of disaster when she tried to escape yer marriage. She's been a good wife and a good mother to yer six bairns." Meg stood up and paced furiously back and forth. "Ye dinna deserve her, Patrick! Now, get the hell out of my sight, my lord earl! I detest fools, and ye are a great fool! Ye disgust me!" Pulling her skirts back so as not to touch him, the dowager countess swept angrily from the room.

He stood where she had left him, thinking that he also disgusted himself.

"So ye found out," came his brother Adam's voice.

The earl turned. "I didna know ye were here," he said dully.

"Just arrived. I was on yer trail the whole way. Ellen came to see me before she left Edinburgh. How did ye find out?"

"I came back to Holyrood to find the king's hands all over my wife's naked tits. Did ye know? And Ellen too? Am I the only one at court who didn't know that the king was fucking my wife?"

"No one knew, Patrick, except Ellen because she is Cat's tiring woman and me because when James first delivered his ultimatum to Cat she came to me for help. I told no one, not even Fiona."

"My wife came to ye for help, and ye sent her into the King's bed? Was that yer idea of helping us?" Leaping the distance between them, Patrick Leslie hit his younger brother square on the jaw.

Adam staggered back. His hand came up to rub his injured chin. The earl advanced on him. "I'll kill ye for this, brother!" The younger Leslie's hand went to his dirk and, whipping it out, he held it before him. "For God's sake, Patrick! Listen to me for a minute!" The earl stopped. "James threatened to confiscate our estates and put us to the horn. He was all ready wi trumped-up charges, for he was determined to have Cat, and knew she would protect her family at whatever cost to herself. She was terrified. She didna want to lie wi the king, but neither did she want everything lost that was yers… or ours. It is not permitted for a woman to refuse the king, ye know that! And even if she had refused, Jamie would have taken everything. Then what would have happened to all of us? To Mother, and the bairns. Yes! I told Cat to yield! There was no other way. If ye had been in my position what would ye have done?"

Patrick's hands fell to his side. "Do ye know what I did to her, Adam, when I found her wi Jamie? I got drunk wi the king, and then we took turns wi her. All night, brother. Drink and fuck! Drink and fuck! She's run away from me, brother. I would gie my life to find her and beg her forgiveness!"

"Christ, man!" said Adam Leslie in shocked disbelief. "What a fool ye are! I dinna think she'll ever forgie ye for that, but I'll help ye to find her. God knows ye dinna deserve her. Where hae ye looked?"

"Our house in Edinburgh. Here. Mother tells me she's nae at Greyhaven, or at A-Cuil. She's obviously not in yer house, or ye'd hae told me. Could she hae gone to Sithean?"

"I'll ride over," said Adam, "ostensibly to bring Fiona's greetings to her parents. If there's been any word, our sister Janet will know and tell us."

But they soon knew that Cat was not at Sithean. Nor was she hiding in Crannog village with old Ruth. They had exhausted all the logical possibilities, and in the days that followed they checked back in Edinburgh with the Kiras. Cat had not withdrawn any of her vast funds, either in person or through an intermediary. The Earl of Glenkirk was becoming genuinely frightened. His wife has disappeared over a month ago, without a trace and without funds to sustain her. There were only two answers. Either someone was hiding Cat-and they could think of no one with whom she was that friendly -or else she was dead.

Chapter 24

FRANCIS Hepburn awoke at first light and lay quietly for a few minutes enjoying the silence before the birdsong. Turning carefully, he looked at Cat. She lay curled into a tight ball like a small child. In sleep she looked so innocent

Suddenly she awoke, opened her green eyes, and stretched. "Good morrow, my lord," she smiled up at him.

He smiled back, thinking how very much he wanted to make love to her now. "I hae a surprise for ye today, Cat. I'm taking ye riding."

A frightened look come into her eyes. "Patrick," she said.

"Patrick will eventually find ye, my darling, but 'twill be a long time before word gets to him, and then I promise to protect ye. Only someone who knows ye could tell him anyhow, and my people are loyal to me. They could see ye ride naked the length of the shire, and would nae admit to it."

She laughed. "All right, my lover, but I will need fresh clothes. Mine are worn, and I'd nae shame ye."

"Look in the trunk by the door, Cat I brought some things back from my last raid."

She admired the silk underclothes, several pairs of green trunk hose in finely spun sheer wool, and a half-dozen cream-colored silk shirts with pearl buttons. There was a soft brown leather jerkin with small buttons of polished staghorn banded in silver, and a wide brown leather belt with a silver-and-topaz buckle. It didn't take Cat more than a minute to realize that he had had the clothes made for her. She rose from the trunk and turned. "Yer so good to me, Bothwell," she said softly. "Thank ye."

He got up from the bed. "I'll get ye some water to bathe," he answered gruffly.

She blocked his way. Standing on tiptoe, she wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him. His hands stroked her long back, and her soft, silken buttocks. "Christ, you witch! Dinna tempt me now!" But he was already hard, hungry for her. Sweeping her up, he lay her back on their bed. His lips found hers again, and his body gently possessed her body. She sighed happily, and Francis Hepburn laughed low. "Little witch! Why can I never get enough of ye?"

"Or I of you, my lover," she murmured.

Afterwards they fell asleep, and it was not until the sun was well up that they awoke again. He brought water, and they washed, Going to the little trunk, she chose a set of lace-trimmed underwear, a shirt, trunk hose, the jerkin and belt. When she had finished dressing she found he wore a matching costume. Cat bound her hair back with a green velvet ribbon and, with a smile, Bothwell placed a small bonnet of Hepburn plaid on her golden head.

"Ye'll need new boots, lass." He dug deep into her trunk, and pulled out a pair. They were as soft as butter. "Ye'll find some silk and lace nightgowns in there too."

"How did ye do it, Francis? How?" She pulled the boots on.

"I'm the Wizard Earl, remember?"

Laughing, they descended the stairs and left the lodge. Cat's bay gelding, Iolaire, and Bothwell's great dark-red stallion, Valentine, awaited them. They spent the day riding the Northumbrian hills that separated Scotland from England. When hunger overtook them they stopped at a small cottage. The welcome was warm for Bothwell and his lady. Dark bread warm from the oven with fresh sweet butter, a broiled rabbit, and brown October ale satisfied them.

"Ye eat well here on the borders," Cat remarked to the woman of the house. She had a disturbingly familiar look.

"My father was the last earl, James Hepburn," laughed the woman, whom Bothwell called Maggie. "Cousin Francis sees we're well taken care of, don't ye, lovey?"

The earl smiled at Maggie. "I do, though keeping up wi Uncle James' obligations is a mighty task."

"Made greater," she shot back at him, "by yer desire to better his record."

They laughed. Francis kissed Maggie's cheek. Then he helped Cat into her saddle and, mounting Valentine, led the way back over the hills. He did not, however, take her back to the lodge. "I want to go to Hermitage," he said quietly. "‘Tis my home, and I want ye there. Will ye come wi me?"

"Yes," she answered him. "I am nae ashamed to be yer woman, Francis."

"I dinna think of ye as my woman, Cat. I think of ye as my wife… perhaps not in the eyes of your church, or the kirk, or even in the eyes of our fellow men. But as God created us, he meant us to be together. I intend that we shall be, my darling."

They rode proudly into Hermitage together, and Cat discovered that he had prepared for her, hoping she would come with him. The rooms of the Countess of Bothwell with its bedroom adjoining the earl's awaited her. They were newly refurbished with deep-blue velvet draperies and bed hangings, and a bedspread embroidered with the Hepburn lions in gpld.

"These rooms hae nae been used since the earl's mother, Lady Janet, died," said the little maid. "And," continued the girl, "before that Queen Mary stayed here! What a to-do the earl created, my lady, to get these rooms ready for ye! He told the housekeeper he was nae sure if ye'd even come, but if ye did he wanted the rooms fresh and inviting. It took a dozen women ten days to sew the bedspread alone!"

"What of Lady Margaret?" asked Cat. "Does she not stay here when she is at Hermitage?"

"Nay," replied Nell. "Her ladyship doesna come to Hermitage at all. She doesna like it. It frightens her, being so close to the border. Her first husband was Scott of Buccleuch from near here. She was caught in several raids, and it terrified her. She told the earl when they married that she'd nae come here ever. She loves Crichton best." Then, embarrassed by her talkativeness, she said hurriedly, "Ye'll be wanting a bath after yer long ride. I'll have it brought right up!"

Bustling out, she left the Countess of Glenkirk to look about her bedroom in amazement. It was a square, paneled room with two great leaded windows to her left, each with a built-in window seat. Each seat held a tufted pale-blue velvet cushion. Directly in front of her was a large stone fireplace with a carved marble mantel. Behind her was the door from the antechamber. To her right was the door to Francis' bedroom.

The polished oak floors were covered in thick Turkish carpets, mostly blues and golds with a touch of rose. The furniture was sparse, as was usual in a Scots house. On the wall near the antechamber door was a tall wardrobe. On the wall facing the windows was the huge bed and a nightstand. Between the windows, a round, highly polished table held a large, oval-shaped silver bowl filled with coral-pink winter roses. By the fireplace was a settle and a large comfortable chair. Scattered about the room were other simple chairs.

Burying her face in the roses, she inhaled their heady fragrance. "From my greenhouses," he said proudly. She turned to face him. Her eyes were wet, the dark-gold lashes separated. "I am always saying thank you to ye, Francis. Somehow it doesna ever seem enough."

"Ye hae brought me the first real happiness I have ever known, my precious love." He gathered her into his arms, and she felt the depth of his love in the heart beating wildly beneath her cheek.

No longer could Catriona Leslie deny her emotions. They swept over her in a great tide. Looking up into the rugged, handsome face of Francis Hepburn, she said, "I love ye, Bothwell! May God hae mercy on us both, but I love ye, and I would sooner die than be parted from ye, my lord!"

A great sigh of relief escaped the big earl and, bending, he took possession of the sweet mouth offered him. "Cat! Oh, Cat," he murmured against her lips. His arms tightened about her.

At that moment, the maid returned with a coterie of servants. They carried a tall oak tub and several caldrons of hot water. Bothwell released Cat. "I thought we might eat by the fire in the antechamber. Until then, madame."

Her eyes followed him as he returned to his own room. Ordering the other servants away, Nell went about the business of preparing the countess' bath. Climbing the steps to the tub, she poured a thin stream of clear liquid into the steaming water. Almost immediately the room was scented with the smell of lilacs. She left Cat to soak while she chose a simple gown from Cat's wardrobe. It was pale lavender silk with long flowing sleeves and a deep V neckline. Having done this, she returned to Cat, washed her lovely hair, and scrubbed her back. Wrapping Cat in a large towel, she sat her by the fire and dried the long hair, using first a rough towel, then a hairbrush, and finally a piece of silk to give it shine. Last, Nell pared Cat's fingernails and toenails and plucked her free of extraneous body hair.

Cat remained silent through all of this. She loved Bothwell, and he loved her. What would happen to them she did not know. There were so many other lives involved, but for now it was all right. Nell helped her into the silk gown, fastened the pearl buttons beneath her full breasts, and slid a pair of kid slippers on her feet.

"Where are my riding clothes?" she asked the servant.

"I've sent yer shirt and hose to the laundress, ma-dame. Everything else is in the wardrobe, and Will has gone to the lodge for yer trunk."

"Thank ye. Nell. Ye may go now. I'll nae need ye again this evening."

"Thank ye, my lady, but let me see to the removal of the tub before I go, and I'll take the spread from the bed also."

Cat smiled her thanks at the girl, and then went into the antechamber to await her lover. A decanter and two goblets sat on a silver tray on a table, and she poured herself some pale gold wine to still her pounding heart. There were so many problems, but she did not want to think of them tonight. All she wanted now was him, his strong arms about her and his mouth on hers. She wanted his laughter and sharp wit.

Two hefty servants lugged the tub from her bedroom and then returned for the tub from the earl's bedroom. Nell left, bidding Cat good night. The earl's man, Albert, finished up and left. Cat waited expectantly.

He came through the door wearing dark trunk hose, a white silk shirt buttoned up to the neck, a wide leather belt with a gold-and-ruby buckle, and soft leather slippers.

She flew to him. Holding her away from him, he asked, "Is it true? What ye said to me before?"

A smile lit her face. "I love ye, Bothwell! I love ye! I love ye! Now, my lord! Do ye believe me?"

"Aye, I believe ye, my darling! I was only afraid that in my passion, I had fooled myself into imagining you said those words." He drew her against him and gently kissed the tip of her nose. "The gown becomes ye, as I knew it would."

"Another something ye picked up on one of yer raids?" she teased him. "‘Tis a surprisingly good fit."

He chuckled and lightly brushed his fingers across her chest. "It lacks one thing. Turn around."

She turned, and he clasped a necklace of pale golden pearls about her neck. Moving her around again, he put a matching pearl teardrop on each of her ears. "There," he said quietly. "Perfection made better, if possible. These belong to ye, come what may. Patrick Hepburn, the first Earl of Bothwell, gave them to his bride." He gazed at her with open admiration. "Christ! Ye hae flawless skin, Cat. I've never seen pearls look so beautiful."

Servants entered, bearing silver trays of food. The earl led Cat to the table and seated her. He had ordered an excellent supper, in superb taste. They began with cold raw oysters, which Cat adored, and finished with a flaky tart of early strawberries from the Hermitage greenhouses.

Cat ate with gusto. Amused, he encouraged her, handing over to her the last piece of tart. When she had finished and bathed her hands, he spoke in a mock-serious voice. "Now, madame. Ye must pay for yer meal." Leading her over to the settle by the fireplace, he sat her down. "I want to sketch ye, my love. Perhaps I'll do a wax model later, and then sculpt ye."

"My God," she laughed, "ye sculpt! That's what that wax-image nonsense was about. That's why they say ye practice the black arts! Oh, the fools! The ignorant fools!"

Bothwell grimaced. "Oh, yes," he said. "My enemies would have poor gullible cousin Jamie believe that I make wax images of him to stick pins into." He picked up a lap easel and, fastening a piece of paper on it, began.

Cat sat perfectly still, thinking how lucky she was to be with him. She had never known such happiness existed, and if he had asked her to accompany him into the fires of hell she would have gone without question. Her eyes caressed him. She blushed, thinking she would rather be in bed with him than sitting here posing. At last he put down his work. His eyes caught hers.

"Ye are reading my thoughts," she exclaimed.

He smiled lazily. "It isna hard to read yer thoughts when ye blush like that. Besides, mine are similar. Come, my sweet love, let us to bed." He stood and offered her his hand.

She rose. "Why, Francis? For thirteen years I lived a contented, healthy life wi Patrick. But wi ye…" She paused seeking the right words. "Wi ye 'tis different.’Tis complete."

"Did ye always love Patrick?" he asked.

"He was the only man I ever knew. Greyhaven is very isolated. My great-grandmother betrothed me to Patrick when I was just four. He is nine years my senior. We were wed when I was sixteen. I wasna sure I even wanted to marry him then. He had a reputation as a terrible rake, and he was so arrogant!"

Bothwell chuckled to himself, imagining his stubborn Cat coming up against an equally stubborn Glenkirk.

"Still," continued Cat, "we dealt well together. He is a kind man, and I love our bairns."

"But ye do not really love him," said Francis Hepburn. "Yet yer lot has been better than mine. Yer a healthy woman, Cat, who enjoys her bedsport wi'out being lewd. My dear countess detests the physical aspects of marriage. Had she been able to get her hands on my fortune by means other than bearing me children, she would have done so."

"But yer bairns? Surely ye love them, Francis."

"In a way, but Margaret has raised them to be cold and correct. They dinna have the Hepburn or the Stewart charm. They tolerate me. It doesna make for a warm relationship."

"I am so sorry, my love," she said.

"Why?" He smiled down at her. "For the first time in my life I am in love. I am in love wi ye, my precious Cat! God help me! How I love ye! And ye, my darling. Ye too are in love for the first time in yer life. And I am the fortunate man!"

"Oh, Bothwell," she whispered, "what are we to do?"

"I dinna know, Cat. I hae no easy answers, but I will find a solution to our dilemma, I promise ye that."

Putting an arm about her shoulders, he led the way into her bedroom. Gently he removed her pearls and placed them on the table. Next he opened the lavender gown, took it from her, and placed it over a chair. She pulled the pins from her hair, and it tumbled down her back. He caught his breath in delight at the perfection of her lovely breasts, glowing golden in the candlelight. Having kicked her slippers off, she walked barefooted over to him, and her slender fingers tremblingly unbuttoned his shirt and removed it Then, turning, she walked over to the bed while he finished undressing and got into it.

Trembling, she awaited him. And then he was with her beneath the feather coverlet. He drew her lush body against his slender length and held her close. They stayed that way for what seemed an eternity, allowing the warmth of their bodies to mingle. Cat wondered if Francis felt the same desperate hunger that she did. She could not call it lust. The feelings she had ran too deep. Even the supreme act of possession did not entirely satisfy her.

He entered her, pushing deep within her pulsing warmth, and straining to go further, he cried out, "Ah, God! 'Tis not enough!" Cat wept with joy at the knowledge that his love for her was as deep as hers for him.

Chapter 25

WINTER deepened into early spring, the traditional time for raiding the borders. Bothwell had not gone along on many of these ventures, preferring to stay with Cat. His men missed him greatly, and, finally, Bothwell's bastard half-brother, Hercules Stewart, spoke to the countess about the problem.

"Could I go too, Hercules?" she asked him.

He grinned at her. "To be sure, my lady! If Francis will permit ye."

"Can ye use a sword or a pistol?" Bothwell asked when he was confronted by his half-brother and Cat.

"Well enough," she replied. "My eldest brother taught me."

He tested her and, satisfied, said, "Yell do." But he instructed Hercules not to leave Cat's side.

So she rode out with Bothwell and his borderers, first at night, and then on daylight raids. Unafraid, she fought the English with a gusto that delighted the earl's men. Yet she was kind to those of her own sex, and tender with the children. Soon stories began to filter out of the borders, stories about the beautiful lady who rode with Bothwell and his men.

South from Edinburgh rode Bothwell's sometime friend, Lord Home. He was curious about these stories, and wanted to see for himself. Home rode alone. He wanted no gossiping servants along. It was late afternoon as he neared Hermitage, stopping for a minute to gaze at the great castle in the distance. Hearing hoof-beats behind him, he drew into a strand of trees and waited. He recognized Bothwell's stallion, Valentine, but the sleek golden bay beside him was unfamiliar. The two horses raced straight towards him, then pulled up in the grass just short of his hiding place. He could see Bothwell's face easily, and heard him exclaim, "I win, madamel Pay yer forfeit!"

The laughter that greeted Bothwell's words was soft, and Home leaned eagerly forward, but the woman turned and he could not see her face clearly. "Name your forfeit, my Lord!" she called in a clear voice. Bothwell cocked a wicked eyebrow. Reaching up, he lifted the woman down from her horse.

"Oh, Francis!" The woman laughed again. Hepburn's arms closed about her. Lord Home could see only her profile, which told him little. Home was struck by the look of tenderness and love on his friend's face. After.gazing rapturously at his love for some time, Bothwell said, "Christ, my darling. How much I love ye! Come. Let us go home. Will ye race me again?"

He lifted her back onto her horse. Again Home was frustrated in his attempt to see the woman's face, for her back was to him. "If I win, Francis, I shall claim a larger forfeit than one kiss!" Her meaning was obvious, and Home almost choked. Jesu! What a wench this woman was! Bothwell laughed low and replied, " If ye beat me, madame." Smacking the golden bay on the rump to give Cat a head start, he mounted Valentine and galloped off after her.

Lord Home remained hidden for some minutes. What he had just witnessed had shaken him somewhat He had known Francis Hepburn for many years. At one time they had even been enemies. But, youthful vanities soothed, they later became friends. Home had never seen Bothwell look so relaxed, or so peaceful. He had wenched enough with the man to know that Hepburn never took any woman seriously, not even his cold, correct Countess. Yet Home was sure the lord of Hermitage took this woman absolutely seriously. Mounting his own horse, Home headed down the hills to the great castle. His curiosity was truly aroused now.

In the courtyard he was met by Hercules Stewart, who offered greetings and took his horse. "I'll go get Francis. He's just ridden in, and will be glad to see ye."

Lord Home waited in an antechamber, grinning to himself, wondering who had won the horse race. Suddenly the door burst open, and Bothwell strode in. He grasped Home's hand warmly.

"By God, Sandy! 'Tis good to see ye! What brings ye to Hermitage?" The big earl busied himself with a decanter and two heavy glasses.

"Curiosity, Francis. Curiosity is what brings me. There are stories in Edinburgh that ye ride the borders wi a beautiful woman by yer side. The court is fascinated. Shall I go back and tell them that Lord Bothwell has mocked them again? 'Tis but a lad in a wig, is it not?"

Bothwell handed Alexander Home a glass of his smoky whisky and smiled lazily. "Do ye want to meet her, Sandy? Do ye want to meet my lady? I have, by the way, asked Margaret for a divorce."

Home's eyebrows shot up.

"I have told Margaret that I will sign over to the children everything except Hermitage," Bothwell continued. "What is yer news, Sandy?"

Alexander Home thoughtfully sniffed his whisky and then sipped at it. "Am I to understand that Francis Stewart-Hepburn, the man who is called the uncrowned King of Scotland, has finally fallen in love?"

Bothwell did not answer him directly. He pulled the bellcord, and said to the servant answering it, "Ask my lady if she will join us." The two men sat in companionable silence for the next few minutes, until the door opened.

Bothwell leaped forward, putting a protective arm about the beautiful young woman. "Sandy, may I present Catriona, Lady Leslie. Cat, this is my old friend Sandy Home."

Lord Home bowed over the slender hand offered him, and then looked up into the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. His mind reeled over the announcement of her identity.

She smiled and gently disengaged her hand from his grasp. "Yes, Lord Home. I am the same Catriona Leslie who is the Countess of Glenkirk. And yes, Lord Home, I am she who is called the Virtuous Countess."

He flushed. "Madame, I…" He fought for the words.

She helped him out. "Yer surprised to see me here, my lord. Francis is free to tell ye the truth of the matter if he so chooses. Now, I must go speak to the housekeeper about seeing to yer comfort." She turned to Bothwell. "I'll have dinner served in the small dining room."

"Will ye join us, Cat?"

"Aye." She smiled again at Lord Home, then turned and left.

"Good Lord, Bothwell!" swore Alexander Home. "Catriona Leslie! Does Glenkirk know where she is? He explained that she went home to nurse a sickly bairn, and he sold her position at court."

"Good," said Bothwell. "I'll nae allow her back at court. And to answer yer question, Sandy-no, Glenkirk doesna know where she is. She has written to her uncle, the Abbot of Glenkirk Abbey, asking him to arrange for a divorce."

"How did this start?" asked Home. "Glenkirk and his wife were considered happy. Damn me, Francis! Ye've fooled them again! All that time ye claimed not to be sleeping wi her! How they laughed at court at.yer claims of friendship! Hepburn's 'met his match, they said, for she will nae spread her legs for him or for any man other than her husband. And all that time ye were sleeping wi her!" Home slapped his thigh and roared.

Then he heard Bothwell say quietly, "No, Sandy. That is nae the way it began. Fill yer glass again, man, and I'll tell ye the truth of the matter."

Lord Home needed no encouragement, for Francis Hepburn made the best whisky on the border, possibly even in all of Scotland. Settling himself back in his chair he listened, first with amazement, then with growing horror, and finally with outrage.

"God help me," finished the earl. "Fve loved her from the first, but I nae expected to win her away from Glenkirk. The damned fool, to throw away anything so precious!"

"Even if ye both gain yer freedom," said Lord Home quietly, "James Stewart will never let ye wed. Damn me, Francis! Ye grew up a bit wi the royal bairn. Ye know how vindictive he can be, and ye can hardly keep it a secret that yer divorcing Angus' daughter. And what of Glenkirk? When he learns his wife seeks her freedom and where she is, hell come roaring out of the north like a storm. He may hae lost his head in a moment of anger, but I’ll wager he still loves his wife and wants her back."

"She'll nae go," said Bothwell firmly, "and I'd nae let her. Look, Sandy. Ye know they call me the uncrowned King of Scotland. I dinna seek my cousin's throne, but ye canna convince Jamie of that. When Cat and I are safely wed we intend spending most of our time in Italy. I will only retain Hermitage for the son she will someday gie me. That is the price Cat and I will pay to the king for our happiness-exile from our beloved land. As to the Earl of Glenkirk, he'll cooperate or Cat will threaten to tell the whole story. Jamie will nae allow that. He has his position as king, and as head of the kirk. Ah, Sandy! I've waited all my life for happiness, and at last I have it! I never thought it possible."

Lord Home shook his head. It was all too simple. Much, much too simple. He hoped for Francis' sake that it could be made to work. Bothwell had always been restless. A great mind, educated far beyond his time, he was constantly defending his actions to lesser men. Love had calmed him. He was quieter, less formidable.

Alexander Home did not know Catriona Leslie beyond court gossip, but any woman who could exert such a strong emotional influence over the Earl of Bothwell had to be quite a woman. He chuckled. And damned if Hepburn dinna have all the luck. She was a beauty to boot! Home decided to stay at Hermitage and learn more about the Countess of Glenkirk.

He remained during the late part of the spring-a rare spring of unparalleled good weather continuing into the summer. He rode with them on border raids, and felt the same pride in the lovely highland countess as did Bothwell and his men. Home was touched by the charming ritual the lovers performed before each venture. Bothwell would turn to Cat and say, "A Bothwell!" To which she would reply softly, "A Leslie!" They dared not utter clan warcries aloud on the English side of the border.

Returning safely over the border to their own land, Francis Hepburn would more often than not take Cat from the back of her own horse and place her in front of him on Valentine. One strong hand holding the reins and the other arm wrapped about his mistress's slim waist, they rode together talking intimately.

Lord Home's boyhood nanny had spoken of true love, but as he had grown and matured, Home had learned that in matters between men and women of rank there were only two paths. There was the dynastic path in which marriages were arranged to the best possible advantage of both families with no real consideration for the people involved. And there was lust Neither of these cases explained what had happened between the Earl of Bothwell and the Countess of Glenkirk. Alexander Home realized that he was witnessing true love at first hand.

Satisfied that Cat Leslie was no adventuress, out to take advantage of his friend, Sandy Home finally took his leave of the couple and returned to his home at Hirsel.

Chapter 26

DAVID Douglas, the Earl of Angus, was a quiet man. He avoided trouble. He disliked scenes. He was at present in his daughter's house at Crichton, and had just finished reading the letter sent her by her estranged husband.

"Well, father? What shall I do?"

David Douglas winced slightly. Margaret's voice was harsh. It annoyed him andLalways had. "What do ye wish to do, my dear? I dinna believe ye hae not already made up yer mind. Do ye love him, Margaret?"

"Nay," she answered.

"Then what is it? He has asked ye for a divorce offering ye everything he owns except Hermitage. Do ye want Hermitage too?"

"Nay! I hate the place!"

"Then gie him what he wants, daughter."

"But why does he ask me for a divorce now? He's always been happy enough living apart from me. Divorce was not mentioned before."

"Surely ye've heard the rumors, Margaret? 'Tis said a woman rides wi him now when he raids into England. It may be he wishes to wed this mysterious amazon."

"A fit mate for him!" sneered Margaret.

"Come, daughter," said Angus, "be quit of Bothwell. Sooner or later he will clash openly wi the king. He and James have always rubbed against each other. I dinna want ye and yer bairns caught in that fight."

"Ye are right, father," said the Countess of Bothwell. "And it is better that I take all I can get now. Will ye see to the arrangements?"

"Of course, my dear." David Douglas patted her hand. He was pleased. He could always count on Margaret to be cool and sensible.

At Glenkirk Abbey, Abbot Charles Leslie pondered a letter from his niece, the Countess of Glenkirk, in which she requested that he obtain her a divorce from Patrick Leslie. Divorce was not unusual in Scotland among the nobility of either church, but Charles was shocked that Catriona wanted her release. That it should come to this, after all the fuss to wed them! And they had seemed so happy all these years! He knew his nephew was in residence at the castle, and he sent one of the monks to fetch him.

The first thing Charles Leslie noticed when his nephew arrived was that Glenkirk looked tired and worn. Something was very wrong, and Charles Leslie wondered why he had not been told sooner. Without saying a word he handed the earl the letter, and while pretending to busy himself pouring the elderberry wine, he covertly watched Patrick's face.

Intense pain and sorrow creased Glenkirk's face. "She has not told ye why she seeks to divorce me. She is justified in her actions, ye know. But God help me, uncle, I dinna want to lose her!"

"Come, come, Patrick," said the abbot, further startled to see this breakdown in his usually assured nephew. "It canna be so bad. Is it that little Danish girl ye lay wi? Surely Cat doesna hold that against ye?"

"Nay, uncle. She forgave me that, and that is why what I did to Cat is doubly terrible."

Charles Leslie demanded an explanation. Upon hearing it he roared a string of oaths at his nephew. 'Tool! Stupid, arrogant fool! How could ye? Tell me no more. I’ll nae let my sister's only daughter return to ye!"

The earl protested nervously. "I will nae gie my consent until I have spoken wi her. Who delivered the letter?"

"A Kira servant"

"Then I shall go to Edinburgh to see the Kiras," said Patrick Leslie, "and I shall find Cat. If, after she has spoken wi me, she would still divorce me… then I'll gie my consent."

The Earl of Glenkirk rode secretly into Edinburgh. He did not want the king to learn of his visit. James had been very wary of the Leslies of Glenkirk since that fatal night in February. The earl explained to his Edinburgh housekeeper that his visit must not be public knowledge. Used to dealing with the eccentricities of the Leslies, Mrs. Kerr smiled cheerfully and nodded.

Patrick's next stop was the house of the Kiras in Goldsmith's Lane. Both brothers greeted him, and he could tell from the wary look of sympathy in Benjamin's eyes that the elder Kira guessed the reason for his visit. The amenities over, and Abner Kira gone, Benjamin and the earl sat before the fire.

"Well, Benjamin," asked Glenkirk, "where has she hidden herself now?"

"My lord," replied Kira, "my house has served yours since the days of your great-grandmother, but I cannot divulge that information. I cannot even tell you if I know where her ladyship is. I could no more break faith with her than I would with you."

Patrick had expected such an answer. "Then can ye get a message to her ladyship, Benjamin?"

"I think so, my lord. Shall I have parchment and ink brought?"

"Thank ye, my friend."

The writing materials were brought and Benjamin Kira left the earl alone. Patrick sat thinking for several minutes. Finally, he composed the following message. "Cat-I will nae gie ye yer freedom until ye hae spoken wi me face to face. If ye still wish to divorce me afterwards, I will nae stand in yer way. I hae wronged ye, but I beg of ye to hear me out. I still love ye. Glenkirk."

He sanded the parchment, rolled it, dripped wax on it, and sealed it with his signet. Leaving the room, he handed the roll to the waiting servant. "Gie it to yer master, lad. He'll know what to do wi it. Tell him I will be at my house here in town."

A few minutes later, Benjamin Kira handed the parchment to a messenger. "Take this to Lady Leslie at Hermitage Castle," he said. "And be sure you are not followed."

Cat did not want to see her husband, but Bothwell insisted. "Ye carina be certain in yer own mind that ye no longer love him unless ye can look him in the eye and tell him so. Ye can meet him at Kira's house. Stay wi yer cousin. Fiona. I shall go to Edinburgh too. I hae been meaning to do something about these stupid charges that I practice witchcraft against the king. Now is a good time. Too, since Margaret has agreed to gie me a divorce, there must be papers to sign."

"Do ye think Jamie knows about us?" she asked him.

"Nay. No one does except Home. We will ride to town secretly. Hercules can go wi us, and when we reach Edinburgh he will escort ye as far as yer cousin's house."

"What if I need ye, Francis?"

"I'll know if ye do, my darling. Dinna fear. We will complete our separate business quickly, and be safe back at Hermitage before ye know it."

So they rode to Edinburgh and parted. Fiona Leslie was delighted to see her cousin, and consumed with curiosity.

"Promise me," said Cat. "Promise me, Fiona, that ye'll nae tell Patrick I am here. He stays at Glenkirk House, and I hae nowhere else to go if ye will not shelter me."

"I would promise ye, Cat, but Adam is sure to tell him."

When her brother-in-law arrived home. Cat confronted him. "If ye tell Patrick I am here, I'll tell him ye advised me to sleep wi the king," she threatened.

"I hae already told him," said Adam, rubbing his jaw in remembrance.

"And did ye tell him ye offered me to Jamie when Jamie actually sought yer own wife?"

"That's nae true!" roared Adam.

"No, 'tis not. but I will tell Glenkirk that it is, and Fiona will back me up. won't ye, cousin?"

"Aye," said Fiona blandly, her smoky-gray eyes twinkling at her husband.

Adam Leslie flung up his hands. "All right, ye two bitches! Ye win. Ye hae yer refuge. Cat. When Glenkirk hears, I likely as not will receive another crack on my jaw."

Cat put her hand on her brother-in-law's arm. "Sit down, Adam. Ye too, Fiona. I would speak seriously wi ye both." They sat. Looking at Fiona, Cat said, "By now Adam has probably told ye that James forced me into his bed for a time." Fiona nodded, and Cat continued. "When Glenkirk found the king wi me, he was furious. What he did to me I will never speak of again. I hae now asked him for a divorce, and he will nae gie his consent unless I speak wi him face to face. I hae come to Edinburgh to do just that."

"Where hae ye been these last months?" asked Fiona.

Cat smiled. "I'll nae tell ye that, cousin."

Adam Leslie grunted and got up to pour himself some wine. If she wouldn't tell, she wouldn't tell. But Fiona had understood the softness in her cousin's voice, and thought with amazement, My God! She's in love! She is in love wi another man!

Fiona was desperate to learn the identity of Cat's lover, but she could think of no man that Cat had ever been friendly with outside the family. She was determined to find out somehow, however. Seeing Fiona's grim look, Cat laughed. "I'll tell ye eventually, Fiona, but not now." Caught, Fiona laughed back. "Ye always were the deep one," she returned.

On the following day a messenger was sent to the Kiras. The Countess of Glenkirk would arrive at their house to meet with her husband at one o'clock in the afternoon if the Kiras would send word to the earl informing him of the meeting.

Glenkirk arrived promptly. He was anxious to see Cat, sure that when he explained and apologized, their estrangement would be over. He had taken great pains with his appearance. A young maidservant ushered him into the room where Cat waited and then left, closing the door behind her.

The Countess of Glenkirk wore a high-necked deep-blue silk dress with ecru-colored lace cuffs. Her dark-honey-colored hair was braided and twisted into a severe knot on the nape of her neck. It was Cat, and yet somehow she looked different. "Patrick." Her voice was cool, and there was no welcome in it.

He rushed forward, stopping suddenly at the sight of the jeweled dirk in her hand.

"Touch me, and I use it," she said. "On you!"

"Sweetheart, please!" he pleaded. "Yer my wife, and I love ye." This was not going right

She laughed bitterly. "Ye didna feel so strongly two and a half months ago when ye and the king spent the night raping me! My God, Glenkirk! I was yer good and faithful wife for thirteen years! I never once gave ye cause for doubt. Yet the moment ye found me in the king's arms ye assumed me the guilty one, simply because I was a woman. Are men never the guilty ones?"

His voice shaking, he slipped to his knees and caught at the hem of her dress. "Cat! Cat! Will ye ever forgie me? When I awoke the next morning and remembered all that had past-Christ! Ye couldna have hated me any more than I hated myself. Can ye nae forgive me, hinny?"

"No, Patrick! I will never forgie ye for what ye did to me! Do ye know what it was like for me? Do ye know what it was like having to allow another man possession of my body? For a man, lovemaking is a physical thing. He hungers for a woman, but once he has had her the feeling dies. But for a woman, love-making is an emotional experience. Her passion for a man is alive before, during, and even after the act of love. James made me feel like a whore. He used my body, and it responded because ye had taught me to respond, but I felt nothing for him but hate. Every time he pushed himself into me I hated him, and I prayed ye would never know my shame, for I couldna bear to hurt ye. If only ye had felt the same tenderness for me, Patrick, I could forgie ye now. But when ye caught me wi the king, ye punished me when ye should have defended me. No, my lord of Glenkirk! I will nae forgie ye!"

He stood, and looked down on her. "What of the children?"

"I want my girls," she said. "Jamie and Colin are already wi Rothes, and Robbie will go next year. Ye may keep the children until the divorce is settled. After that-I want them. Ye may see them at any time ye want. They are all Leslies of Glenkirk and I would nae have them forget it. Nor would I have them hate their father, Patrick. What has happened between us is not the concern of our bairns."

"Ye are generous, madame," he said sardonically. "And now that we hae settled that perhaps ye would satisfy my curiosity, and tell me where ye hae been hiding all this time?"

"Nay. I will not tell ye, Patrick. Ye forfeited yer right to any control of my life on that night in February." Reaching for the bellpull on the wall, she yanked it and told the little maid, "Please see my horse is brought around." Cat turned once again to Patrick Leslie. "Farewell, my lord," she nodded coldly, and left him.

He was stunned. He could hardly believe what had taken place. He had lost her. There had been no love at all in the beautiful leaf-green eyes that had always lit with joy at the sight of him. He had willfully destroyed that Catriona Leslie, and the woman who bad risen phoenixlike from the wreckage was not his woman, nor was she ever likely to be. Sitting down, he put his head in his hands and wept. Several minutes later he left the Kira household and spent the rest of the day and the night that followed it getting very drunk.

Chapter 27

WHEN Francis Stewart Hepburn surrendered himself to his cousin, James panicked. Quickly he imprisoned the earl in Edinburgh Castle. The king, an overly superstitious man, was terribly frightened of witchcraft. Chancellor Maitland knew this and, in an attempt to break the back of Scotland's nobility, had fabricated the charges against Bothwell. Breaking the border lord, he thought, would crush all resistance to James. Unfortunately, the earl's fellow nobles were most irritated by Maitland's attempt to destroy their power. They refused to meet to try Hepburn. Until they did, justice was at a standstill because no one else could try him.

Cat was terrified by the news that Bothwell was locked in Edinburgh Castle. There was nothing she could do. She could not even communicate with her lover for fear of the king, and she had no idea how to reach Hercules. So she remained quietly with Fiona, awaiting word. She would not leave Edinburgh without Francis.

It was not long before she received a message from the loyal Hercules. She was to come, masked, to the Oak and Thistle Tavern the following afternoon, and ask for Mr. Prior. Cat was in a fever of impatience.

At two the next afternoon she slipped from the house and walked quickly through the June afternoon. It was raining slightly, which was to the good as few people were on the streets to see her. Entering the tavern, she inquired for Mr. Prior, and was shown a private parlor in the back of the building on the ground floor. There was Hercules.

She barely allowed time for the maidservant's exit before asking, "Francis?"

"Enormously comfortable in a large, well-furnished two-room apartment," said Bothwell's half-brother. "Eating and drinking the best that money can buy. A favorite with his captors, but beginning to be bored by Jamie's shilly-shallying."

"What do ye want me to do?" she cried.

"Francis has decided that too much more of the king's hospitality could kill him," chuckled Hercules. "So he'll be leaving Edinburgh shortly. Can ye hide him for a few hours? A day at most?"

"Aye! At my cousin Fiona's. Ye know the house. My brother-in-law, Adam, leaves tomorrow for Glenkirk. He'll be gone about two weeks, but no more. Can Francis escape within that time?"

Hercules Stewart nodded. "Within the week, my lady."

"I'll be ready. Is there some signal ye can gie me so I'll know when?"

"A boy will deliver a bunch of wild red roses and white heather to ye. 'Twill be that night." He poured out some red wine and handed her a goblet. "Drink it, madame. Ye look worn."

She smiled at him and accepted the wine. "I hae been so worried," she admitted. "I knew nothing but what the gossips in the marketplace said, and I didna dare inquire too closely."

Hercules looked at her. "How did that rogue of a brother of mine do it? How did he get the loveliest and bravest woman in this wild land to fall in love wi him?" He gave her a grin so like Bothwell's that her heart turned over. "He's always been lucky, the devil!"

She couldn't help but laugh. "I am the one who's lucky, Hercules. He is a great man, my Francis." She picked up her cloak from the settle. "I had best go now. I'll be waiting for yer signal."

The following day, Adam Leslie left Edinburgh, leaving his wife and Cat alone in the house. Almost immediately Fiona was at her younger cousin, demanding to know the name of Cat's lover. Cat laughed. "Not yet, Ona, but in a few days ye will not only know his name, but ye'll meet him." Fiona gnashed her teeth in frustration.

Two afternoons later an urchin knocked at the door of Fiona's house. Handing the maid a bouquet of white heather and wild red roses, he said, "Fer the lady o' Glenkirk." Exclaiming her delight, the little maid put the bouquet in a silver bowl and brought it to the Countess. Fiona raised an elegant eyebrow. "Charming," she said. "Does this mean I am to meet the gentleman soon?"

"Tonight," replied Cat "Can ye get rid of the servants?"

"It's been done. Darling Cat, 'tis Midsummer Eve, and everyone will be celebrating."

"Damn!" swore Cat. "I should hae guessed! Fiona, tell yer servants that they may hae tomorrow off as well. Please do this for me. My lord will nae wish to be seen by other than you and me."

Fiona agreed. 'They'll all be suffering the effects of too much ale, wine, and lovemaking, and be no use to me anyway. Oh, cousin! I am fascinated! Who is this man?"

"Bothwell," said Cat softly.

"But he's in prison!" said Fiona, and then her smoky-gray eyes widened and she clapped her hands over her mouth.

Cat had to laugh, but Fiona recovered quickly. "Ye really are the deep one! Are ye telling me that Francis Hepburn is the man? Ye hae been wi him since ye ran away from Glenkirk? He is yer lover?" Cat nodded. "Damn me!" said Fiona. "Ye really hae all the luck! First Glenkirk, and then the border lord himself!" Her eyes glittered. "What is he like?" she begged. "Is he really a warlock? Does he make love like mortal men?"

Cat choked back a fit of giggles, for she could see that Fiona was quite serious. "Nay, cousin. Francis is no warlock or wizard, and he makes love very nicely, thank ye."

"How did ye meet him, Cat?"

"At court. He was my friend then, not my lover."

"He has a wife, Cat."

"He is divorcing her as I am divorcing Glenkirk. We'll be wed by year's end, Fiona."

"Does Glenkirk know about Bothwell? Does the King?"

"Nay. Neither of them does. Say nothing, Fiona. I would rather no one know until Francis and I are safely wed."

"What should we do to prepare?" asked Fiona.

"Food, cousin! Francis eats ravenously when he's elated, and outfoxing both Jamie and Maitland will make him jubilant."

That evening, the servants gone, Catriona Leslie and her cousin Fiona waited. Cat assumed that Bothwell would not escape until late, when festivities were well underway. She was right. It was close to midnight when there came a knock at the kitchen door. Cat flew to open it, and two muffled figures slipped quickly into the room.

Flinging his cloak off, Francis Hepburn grinned impudently at Cat. "Good evening, my darling," he said.

Tears glistened in her eyes as Cat stepped forward. "Oh, Bothwell!" Suddenly she stopped. "Christ in heaven! What is that stink?"

He grinned sheepishly. "I'm afraid my mode of conveyance from the castle was not at all elegant."

"What was it?" she demanded.

He hesitated. "A dung cart."

She stared at him. "A dung cart?"

"It had a false bottom," he explained. "I hid there, while above me rested the contents of the entire castle stables."

Cat looked directly at Hercules Stewart. "There's a tub in the closet there," she said. "Please get it out and fill it with hot water for his lordship." She instructed the wide-eyed Fiona, "Get some of Adam's clothes and put them in my room. Bring a dressing gown here."

Hercules pulled out the hip bath while Cat began to heat water. When the tub was filled she took Bothwell's clothes from him and flung them into the fire. Before she would allow him to climb into his bath she led him naked into the scullery and sluiced him down. Once he was in the tub she scrubbed him down with a stiff brush and washed his hair. "Thank God, no lice," was her only comment. Bothwell chuckled as he climbed from the tub at last and wrapped himself in a large towel.

She sat him by the fire to dry his hair. Fiona re= turned with a long, soft robe of lightweight wooL which Bothwell quickly slipped on. Then he caught Fiona's hand and brought it to his lips. "Lady Leslie." He spoke in a low, intimate voice that brought a blush to her cheek and caused her heart to beat fast "I thank ye for yer hospitality. I hope I'll not inconvenience ye in any way."

" 'T-'tis an honor to hae ye in my house," stammered Fiona. "When yer ready we've a supper in the small dining room."

"Ye’ll join us, of course," said Bothwell, offering his arm to Fiona.

They had set on the sideboard a small meal of boiled shrimp, ham, ribs of nearly raw beef, roasted capon, a salad of cress and dandelion greens, hot bread, sweet butter, and fresh fruit. There were brown ale, red and white wines, and whisky. Cat watched indulgently, barely nibbling as the earl stuffed himself. Sated at last, he sat back and sipped a glass of whisky.

She had sat next to him so she might serve him. Fiona was at the opposite end of the table with Hercules. Pushing back his chair, Bothwell said softly to her, "Come sit on my lap, my darling." Cat settled herself comfortably. "Did ye miss me?" he asked gently.

"Aye," she whispered. "I was so frightened."

His mouth found her eager one and he kissed her passionately, feeling her lovely body come alive beneath his caresses. "Christ, I've missed ye," he muttered into her neck. "I had the money for whores, but I took nae a single one. I stayed true to ye, my darling, and I have nae done that before for any woman." Her hands caught his and pressed them against her taut breasts. He felt the little nipples hard against his palms. He rose, cradling her in his arms. "I am sorry, my darling, but I canna wait tonight," he said.

"Neither can I, Bothwell," she answered him softly. "Take me to bed. I burn for ye!" He complied willingly, walking from the room with his beautiful burden.

Fiona had watched the entire scene, fascinated. She could not hear what they said, but the open desire between her cousin and Francis Hepburn was stunning. Her own breath quickened, her lovely breasts became swollen, her full lips were moist. Guiltily, she looked up to see Hercules smiling a slow lazy smile at her. She blushed to the roots of her auburn hair, thinking, He's going to seduce me, and dear heaven, I am going to let him!

She tried to think of Adam and found to her horror that she could not even recall his face. Fiona stood up quickly and fled to the windows that opened on her gardens. She could smell the heady perfume of the damask roses, and silently cursed the fact that everything in the world seemed to be conspiring against her own sensuality. The air was charged with the passion created by Bothwell and Cat. Fiona was terrified by her mood, but at the same time she was elated.

Hercules was behind her now, putting an arm about her waist and drawing her back against him. He kissed her soft, bare shoulder, and then his fingers began to undo the bodice of her gown. Turning her about to face him, he pushed the gown from her shoulders and bent to kiss her lush, red mouth. Forcing her lips apart, his tongue ravished her mouth. For all her experience, Fiona nearly swooned. She made a token resistance, freeing herself to look up at him. "Sir," she protested weakly, "I hae never been unfaithful to Leslie before."

"How very admirable of ye, madame," he drawled. "Where is yer bedchamber?"

"Upstairs to the left." Fiona realized suddenly that the time for protest was long past. He picked her up as if she were a child, and carried her to her bed. As they moved up the stairs she suppressed a giggle. Why? thought Fiona Leslie. Why do I always end up wi the brother?

In the gray half-light of Midsummer Eve, Francis Hepburn made passionate love to Catriona Leslie until they fell asleep, exhausted. She woke at dawn to find him awake, watching her. Reaching up, she drew his head down to her breasts and cradled it there. "Ye'll incinerate me wi that look, my love," she whispered.

"I did not sleep well away from ye, Cat I need ye, my darling. I'll nae leave ye again," he murmured contentedly. Raising himself up slightly, he leaned over her and looked down into her face. It was wet with silent tears. Gently he touched her cheek. "Dinna weep, my sweetest love. We are safe together."

"For how long, Bothwell? For how long? I am afraid! They will nae let us be happy."

"Don't, love. Don't. I am taking ye home to Hermitage today. Here ye are too close to James Stewart. I think it frightens ye."

She clung to him, pressing her slender body against him until his desire for her overcame everything else. He saw that she hungered for him as strongly as he hungered for her. Her green eyes glittered. Her soft, round breasts hardened. He could feel the trembling in her thighs. His laughter was soft. "Dear Christ, yer my wench! There is no mistaking it! I never met a woman before who could keep up wi me-but ye do."

She pulled his head down to hers. "Come into me, my lover," she begged him, and then his mouth captured hers.

He was deep in the warm softness of her, straining to go further, feeling her strain beneath him as he released his boiling seed within her. As always-and it had never been this way with any other woman-he grew hard again inside her. He strove to pleasure this woman whom he knew loved him, and whom he loved above all others. His own delight was greatest when she cried out in joy.

Later, he cradled her in his arms, murmuring soft words and placing little kisses on her face, her hair, her throat He had missed her terribly. He had discovered that he needed her as he had never needed anyone before. He had always been a lone wolf. But now he had found a mate. And he was going to have to fight the king himself in order to keep her.

With the coming of the beautiful June dawn sounded the frantic tolling of the alarm bell at Edinburgh Castle. Bothwell sat up, instantly awake. "It took them long enough to discover me missing," he chuckled. "Ah, this is going to spoil Jamie's day." He gently swatted Cat's pretty backside. "Come on, Cat! Wake up! If we're riding home to Hermitage, I want a good breakfast first!"

"I am nae awake yet," she murmured, curling into a tight little ball.

He pulled the coverlet from her and began kissing her body. She stood it for a few minutes, then protested, "Damn ye, Bothwell! Ye could raise a corpse with those lips of yers," and she climbed from their bed. He watched with pleasure as she washed and then pulled on her riding clothes. It pleased him to note that she wore the gold-and-topaz chain he had given her.

"We'll eat in the kitchen, my lord. Shall I wake Hercules, or will ye do it? I'll wager a gold piece he's in Fiona's bed. I know for a fact that she's been faithful to Adam all their married life, but if she could resist that brother of yers and his passionate looks last night, I'll make a pilgrimage to Iona!"

Bothwell's laughter rang loudly. "No wager, Cat! If he's not in her bed, I'll go to Iona wi ye! Hercules is a winning rascal."

They opened their bedroom door and walked quietly across the hallway to the opposite room. They heard nothing. Cat gently opened the door and peered into the chamber. Hercules awoke at once and grinned wickedly at them. Fiona was curled naked in a corner of the bed, sleeping soundly and looking very tousled.

Closing the door again, Cat's mouth twitched with silent laughter. "I’ll be in the kitchen," she whispered, and ran lightly down the stairs.

The earl went back to their bedroom, where he shaved and bathed as best he could using the china basin. Finished, he went downstairs and discovered that Cat had ready a tempting breakfast of oatmeal, cold ham, and bread. Hercules was already seated at the trestle eating heartily and washing it all down with brown October ale. Bothwell joined his half-brother. After Cat had served the men she sat down with them and ate with her usual enthusiasm.

When he had finished the earl pushed back his chair. "Hercules, I want ye to take Cat to the edge of the city by the Lion Tavern. Wait there for me."

"Where are ye going?" demanded Cat.

"I hae a wee bit of unfinished business. Dinna fret, my darling."

"Ye should nae allow yerself to be seen, Francis. Ye deliberately bait Jamie."

"No one will harm me, my love." He drew his brother from the kitchen. Cat could hear only the murmur of their voices, and then laughter.

Sighing, she collected the dishes from the night before and this morning, and washed them all in the scullery. There must be nothing misplaced, nothing to give servants cause for gossip. When she returned to the kitchen, Bothwell was putting on his cloak. "Come kiss me, my darling," he said.

"Ye promise me yell be safe?"

"Aye, wench! I'll be safe. Now ye must leave wi Hercules in ten minutes. Be sure Fiona knows to keep silent."

Cat laughed. "Fiona will nae admit to even having met ye, let alone sheltering ye. Adam would beat her black and blue! I'll wager he knows yer brother's reputation."

Bothwell grinned at her. "I'll be wi ye soon, my love." And in a second he was out the back door into the stableyard, where Hercules was holding a prancing Valentine.

Cat left the kitchen and hurried up the two flights of stairs to Fiona's bedroom, carrying a tray with wine, bread, and a small honeycomb. "Wake up, sleepyhead," she called to her cousin. Fiona mumbled and snuggled down into the feather bed. "I'm leaving, Fiona. Bothwell and I must go home to Hermitage this morning." She put the tray on the bedside table. Fiona sat up. "My God!" said Cat. "Ye look like a castle surrendered after a great battle."

"I feel like it," answered Fiona. "Hercules lives up to his name." Suddenly she blushed. "Christ, Cat! Dinna tell Leslie! I've nae been unfaithful to him ever before. I dinna know what came over me."

"I do," returned Cat, laughing. "I'll nae tell on ye, cousin, if ye'll nae tell on me." She bent down and hugged Fiona. "Be good, and if ye need to get in touch wi me, the landlord at the Oak and Thistle can get a message to Bothwell."

"God go wi ye, Cat," Fiona said.

Bothwell, meantime, was riding through the city making sure he was plainly seen by the populace. A crowd began to follow him. He heard their excited voices behind him.

" 'Tis Bothwell!"

" 'Tis the border lord himself!"

"Francis Hepburn!"

"He's escaped the king!"

"Did Jamie really think he could hold Bothwell?"

"Bless me, Mary, he's as bonnie as they say!"

The earl rode to Nether Bow, where he brought his horse to a stop. The crowd kept a respectful distance, wary of Valentine's sharp hooves. "A good morrow, good people of Edinburgh," his deep voice boomed.

The crowd shifted, the spectators punching at each other genially and grinning.

"Is there a man here," said Bothwell, "who would earn an honest gold crown? A crown to him who'll fetch Chancellor John Maitland here to me. If he'll but come to get me I will willingly return to prison this instant!"

The crowd broke into delighted guffaws, and several men ran off in the direction of the chancellor's house to return a few minutes later saying that the chancellor's servants claimed he was not at home. The crowd hooted with derision. Then Francis Hepburn flung a purse of crowns to them. When they had quieted, Bothwell said, "Tell Maitland I'll be waiting for him if he's brave enough to come after me! I’ll be in the borders! And to my cousin, Jamie the king, I send my deepest loyalty."

Valentine reared up on his back legs as Hepburn shouted, "A Bothwell! A Bothwell!" and galloped unmolested from the Nether Bow, the approval of the crowd reverberating in his ears.

Chapter 28

WHILE Bothwell and his party galloped off to the borders, John Maitland set to work to undermine him further with the king. Maitland was a brilliant statesman. Like other statesmen of his time he was, by necessity, ruthless. He wanted only one power in Scotland-the monarchy-for then he, Maitiand, could rule through the king.

For years the royal Stewarts had been plagued by their earls. They ruled only by the cooperation of their nobility. They scattered their bastards generously among the daughters of the upper class, and then married those valuable bastards to the best families in hopes of joining themselves solidly to the powerful clans. They needed their great lords' support in order to rule unchallenged.

Maitland intended putting a stop to all this. He would break the power of these troublemakers. Beginning first with Bothwell on the borders, he would proceed to Huntley, the Cock of the North. If only, he sighed to himself, the great chiefs could be more like some of the smaller clan branches. He thought in particular of the Earl of Glenkirk, and his cousin of Sithean, a minor branch of Clan Leslie who had built up great wealth. They sought no political power, kept the peace on their lands, and rallied to the Stewarts in time of war.

The chancellor called for his coach and hurried off to Holyrood Palace to see the king. He found James in a panic, and the queen trying to calm him.

"How did he escape?" shrieked the king. "How? How? How? Edinburgh Castle is impregnable. Someone had to help him! I want to know who!"

"Sire, sire! Calm yourself," said Maitland. "Though no one saw Lord Bothwell leave, there is, I am sure, a logical explanation for his escape."

"No one saw him go?" whispered the king. "Witchcraft! Again he resorts to witchcraft!"

The chancellor hid a smile, pleased that his subtle inference had not escaped the king. But he had not reckoned with the queen.

"Nonsense!" she snapped. "I am sure the chancellor means nothing of the sort, do ye, sir? La, James! Do ye think Francis really flew out of his cell on a broomstick? More likely as not he bribed the watch! Men will do anything for money."

"His men won't," said the king sourly. "I've tried to buy information from them."

"Well," allowed the queen, smiling, "Francis is a rather special person."

"Is he?" asked Maitland, hardly surprised to find the queen in Bothwell's camp. Women were quite susceptible to the man's charm. Maitland did not understand it.

"Yes," answered Anna of Denmark, looking straight at the chancellor. "Francis Hepburn could charm a duck out of water."

"I want him found!" yelled the king. "I want him found, and brought back!"

"It will be done, your majesty. It will not be easy, but it will be done."

"If ye had gone to the Nether Bow this morning ye could have had him back in prison already," said the queen blandly. Her ladies giggled, and Maitland shot the queen a venomous look which she chose not to see.

"What's this?" demanded the king.

"Lord Bothwell rode to the Nether Bow earlier this morning, James, and offered to return to prison if our chancellor would but come and fetch him. The servants claimed he was not at home, but I understand he was at home, cowering in a cabinet."

The king began to chuckle, and the chuckle grew to laughter. "He outfoxed ye, Maitland!" chortled the king. "Trust Francis! He's a good fisherman, and he played ye like a salmon! He knew damned well ye'd nae dare venture out of yer house after him. He's made ye look a fool!"

"His behavior is an affront to the crown," snapped Maitland. "It undermines your majesty's dignity. He should be severely punished!"

"It undermines yer dignity, Maitland," said the king, but the chancellor's words had stung him. "How would ye punish him?" he asked.

"Forfeiture," said John Maitland promptly. "His offices. His estates."

"No! No!" cried the queen. "Francis is our cousin, James. I know he is reckless, and at times arrogant, but he is the kindest man I know-and he has always been your majesty's good friend. He has never conspired against ye, or lied to ye as others have."

"There are the charges of witchcraft, Annie."

"Ridiculous charges that no one believes! Your own peers are so offended by these charges that they will not even meet to try him! Please, my dear husband. Do not be harsh with Francis. He is our friend, and we have so few."

"We must make an example of this rogue!" thundered Maitland.

"Sir!" said the queen, angrily drawing herself up. "You quite overstep yourself!" She turned to the king. "I should be very unhappy, sire, if ye punished our cousin severely. 'Tis midsummer, and if I know Francis he has but run off to go swimming."

She made it sound so unimportant. James put an arm about his pretty wife. "Let me think on it, lovey," he said soothingly, and bent to kiss her.

The queen turned and, walking slowly to her bedchamber door, opened it. " 'Tis still early, Jamie. Dismiss Master Maitland, and come back to bed." Her blue eyes were innocent enough, but the look she gave him was very provocative, and the king felt a stirring in his loins.

Maitland was forced to retire for the moment. He was not one to give up easily. The queen had won this round by using her sex, a practice Maitland abhorred. He realized he needed something he could use against Hepburn which would anger the king and keep him angered long enough to allow for forfeiture proceedings.

Suddenly, memory pounced conveniently on the rumor about a woman who had ridden with Bothwell this spring. No one know who she was, but she was said to be very beautiful. Too, his spies had told him that when Bothwell had left for the border today, he had ridden with his bastard half-brother and a beautiful woman. Maitland didn't know whether knowledge of the lady would help him, but he felt he should have it. He sent for one of his most trustworthy men.

"Go to Hermitage Castle," ordered the chancellor, "and find out who Bothwell's woman is. I do not care how you get your information, but I must have it within a week."

Several days later the man returned and said to the anxious chancellor, "Lady Catriona Leslie, the Countess of Glenkirk."

"You are sure?" asked the amazed chancellor.

"I got it from her personal maid." The informant did not explain that he had lured the girl from the castle, tortured the name from her, and then cut her throat.

Maitland's memory leaped once again. The king's chamberboy had come into his pay, and he sent for the fellow. "What do you know of Catriona Leslie?"

Barra wrote his answer on the pad hanging from his waist. "She was the king's secret mistress, but she ran away from him. He still desires her." He tore the paper from the pad and handed it to the chancellor.

John Maitland read. Smiling, he handed Barra a small bag of gold. He was jubilant! Here was just the weapon he needed to destroy Francis Hepburn. But he had to be careful that his spies were absolutely correct.

Discreet inquiries over the period of a few days netted him the astounding information that Lady Bothwell had just been granted a divorce by the kirk. A further probe told him that the Countess of Glenkirk had applied for a divorce through her uncle, the Abbot of Glenkirk Abbey. The abbot was presenting her petition to the Scots prelate. Unable to contain his excitement, John Maitland hurried to Holyrood. By the time his coach had pulled into the courtyard, he had managed to calm himself somewhat. The king must not suspect that his chancellor knew his most intimate secret.

He waited almost the entire day until he was able to see the king alone. "I have," he said, "discovered an amusing sidelight to Francis Hepburn's life. I know the identity of the woman who's his latest mistress-the one who's been riding with him on raids."

James loved gossip. “Tell me, Maitland," he said impatiently. "Who is she?"

" ‘Tis the most amazing thing, sire. Of all the noblewomen in Scotland I would have said this lady was the least likely candidate for Bothwell's bed. He plans to marry her, and Lady Bothwell has just been granted a divorce by the kirk. The lady I speak of is in the process of gaining her own freedom."

"Yes, Maitland, very interesting, but who is she?"

"Why, 'tis the Countess of Glenkirk, sire. Lady Catriona Leslie. That lovely creature they call the Virtuous Countess here at court."

For the briefest moment James Stewart thought his heart had stopped. "Who, Maitland? Who did ye say?"

"Lady Leslie, sire. Glenkirk's wife."

The king looked sick, so Maitland chose that moment to ask permission to withdraw. But as he went he heard the command. "Dinna leave the palace tonight." The chancellor departed, smiling to himself. Bothwell was as good as destroyed. Maitland hadn't missed the look of anguish in the king's face.

James paced his bedroom angrily. Francis Stewart-Hepburn was his nemesis and always had been. Four years older than the king, he had always been bigger, stronger, brighter. They were both handsome, but Francis was handsomer-almost godlike, with rugged good looks. James studied hard to acquire learning, but Francis sopped up knowledge like a sponge, easily and without strain. Women flocked to Bothwell. He was charming. James was quite uncomfortable with women, having been brought up in a male society where women were rarely included. In short, Francis was everything his cousin James longed to be.

Bothwell had gone too far when he had taken Cat Leslie from the king, and James would not forgive him that after all the rest. In bitter frustration, the king overlooked the circumstances under which Cat had fled him. All James chose to know at this point was that Cat had apparently offered Bothwell what she had refused the king. She had given Francis her heart.

He would stop the lovers. Cat would not get her divorce. lames would instruct Chancellor Maitland to speak to the cardinal about it. He also intended declaring his popular cousin an outlaw. His estates and title would be forfeit. Cat could hardly remain with an outlaw.

James was angry with Catriona Leslie. He had honored this insignificant highland countess by making her a lady of his wife's bedchamber. She had disappointed him badly. She was no better than any of the other women at court who spread their legs for a man with such ease.

John Maitland came later on, as bidden, hoping he did not appear too eager. His face was a study in impassivity as the king ordered that Francis Stewart-Hepburn, fifth Earl of Bothwell, be put to the horn and his estates confiscated. The following morning a royal herald publicly announced the king's decision to the people of Edinburgh. He was pelted with garbage by the outraged citizens. They hated having their hero brought down.

The king was feeling put-upon. The queen was not speaking to him and she had locked the doors to her apartments. Lady Margaret Douglas had forced her way into his presence, insisting furiously that the crown had no right to confiscate anything other than Hermitage. She waved a paper which she claimed proved that Bothwell had signed over all of his estates except Hermitage to their eldest son, the earl's legitimate heir.

James turned on her. "While Francis was in my good graces, madame, his estates were his to do with as he pleased. Since he is no longer in my good graces his property is being confiscated by the crown."

"Ye cannot expect me to leave Crichton," snapped Margaret Douglas. "'Tis my home, and that of my children. Where are we to go?"

"Go to yer father, or go to the devil!" replied the king. "I care not, Margaret, but stay out of my presence! Yer forbidden at court."

Margaret Douglas retired, defeated. She would be back, for she didn't intend seeing her eldest son robbed of his inheritance. But she needed time to marshal her forces.

By the following day, Francis Hepburn knew that the king had declared war on him. He did not know precisely why. Breaking out of his prison in Edinburgh Castle had probably not prompted this.

"He knows," said Cat with the certainty of a woman's intuition. "He knows we are lovers."

"Nonsense," returned Bothwell. "Even Jamie could not be that petty."

But she knew she was right, and when Lord Home arrived several days later his conversation with Francis confirmed her suspicions. Sandy Home caught her hand and raised it to his lips. "The most beautiful, and the costliest hand in Scotland," he whispered. He loosed her hand and turned to Bothwell. "I've been charged by the king to take ye," he chuckled. "However, if yer not of a mind to return to Edinburgh in the summer's heat, I'll understand, and I think I'll join ye here on the border."

"What's put Cousin Jamie in such a temper?" asked Bothwell.

"Maitland. He suggested forfeiture two weeks ago, but the queen defended ye, reminding the royal ingrate of yer loyalty and yer service to the crown." Home looked serious. "I believe all would hae been well, but I think the king has found out that Cat is here. When he charged me to come to Hermitage and make ye a prisoner of the crown, he kept harping on yer 'lustfulness' wi a 'certain lady' of the court. I dared not question him, Francis, but I am sure he meant Cat. How in hell could he have found out?"

"The girl who has been my maid since I came to Hermitage was found murdered in the woods near here," said Gat. "She had been cruelly tortured."

"Aye," added Bothwell. "The soles of her feet were burned black, and her throat was cut, poor lass. We pried this out of her hand. Do ye recognize it?" He dug into his pouch and held up a silver button.

Home took it and nodded. "One of Maitland's men. The badge on the button is the chancellor's. He probably sought knowledge of the woman wi ye. The bastard! He's found the weapon he sought to destroy ye."

"He'll nae destroy me, Sandy. But tell me, what of Margaret and the children?"

"With Angus."

"James made her leave Crichton? And she went? God's bones, I dinna believe it! Margaret always loved

Lord Home laughed. "She sought the king, Francis. Said only Hermitage belonged to ye, as ye had turned everything else over to yer eldest boy. James sent her and the children back to Angus."

Bothwell choked back his laughter. "Poor Margaret. Of course she must regain the estates for my heir. However, I am sure Angus will see to that. In fact, I imagine he's already anxious to get Margaret out of his house."

"And what of Hermitage, Francis?"

"If James wants Hermitage he must come himself and take it. There are two things I hold dear in this world," said Bothwell. "My home, and Catriona. I'll nae gie him either."

But Cat was frightened. "Let us leave Scotland, Francis," she begged him. "Jamie has taken everything ye own, and he will take me too if we do not flee him."

But he would not entertain the idea of running, even when a messenger arrived from the Kiras with word from the Abbot of Glenkirk. The cardinal had denied Cat's petition for divorce. Charles Leslie, dissatisfied with the answer, had personally gone to St. Andrew's and explained the situation to the cardinal. It was then that the cardinal explained to Charles Leslie that he had been informed by Chancellor Maitland's confidential secretary that the king would be highly offended if the divorce were approved. Considering the precarious situation the old kirk faced in Scotland today, the cardinal would do nothing to jeopardize it further. Unless James changed his mind, Cat Leslie could not have her freedom. Nor could she marry Francis Hepburn.

Again she begged him. "Take me away, Francis. In France the church will nae have to answer to the King of Scotland, and I can obtain my freedom."

"For a price, my darling."

"I am a very wealthy woman, Francis. I can bribe any cleric living. Damnit! What is my money for if I canna have what I want?"

Francis Hepburn laughed, and put an arm about Cat. "My dearest, spoilt darling," he said tenderly. "Even if I must leave Scotland to satisfy James, I would still make my peace wi him before I go. And I must retain Hermitage for the son ye will gie me one day."

"Oh, Bothwell, ye great fool! Jamie does nae intend to let us be together. Please take me away now! I care not if we can ever wed if only we are together!"

But Francis thought they could manage. Francis Hepburn was a man of honor. He did not really understand yet that the boy cousin he had done some of his growing up with intended to be the King of Scotland in every way. And he did not fully appreciate how much his royal cousin desired Catriona Leslie. The king wanted Cat back. And if he could not have her, then neither could Francis Hepburn.

During that summer of 1591, Bothwell rode the borders with his lovely mistress and Lord Home. They raided into England, but in general the peace between England and Scotland was kept. During that summer, James made his royal progress from Holyrood Palace in Edinburgh to Linlithgow, where his mother was born, to Stirling, to Falklands, and then across the Firth of Forth and back again to Edinburgh.

Chapter 29

THE Earl of Glenkirk stood nervously before the king. It was the first time Patrick had seen him since that terrible morning eight months prior. James looked up at Patrick Leslie.

"Why have ye pursued this divorce, Glenkirk? I informed the cardinal that it would be displeasing to me if ye and Cat were divorced."

"Sire, Cat wishes her freedom. I saw her in June, and she'll nae return to me. She's a different woman."

"Do ye know where she is, Cousin Patrick?"

"No, sire. She would nae tell me."

"I know where she is," said the king softly, leaning across his oak desk. "She ran from ye so she might be Bothwell's whore! And Cousin Francis is so besotted by her that he has divorced Angus' daughter in order to wed Cat. But… he'll nae wed her! She will nae get her divorce!"

Patrick Leslie was stunned. He could hardly believe what the king was saying. And then in a clear and blinding flash, he remembered her saying so many times, "Francis is my friend. Nothing more."

"I am," continued the king, "arranging to lure Both-well into Leith in a few days' time. The chances are favorable that Cat will be with him. I want ye there to take her home. If she repents her folly she may return to us at court."

"Sire! Cat no longer wants or loves me."

The king looked coldly at the Earl of Glenkirk. "I dinna care whether she loves ye or not. I want ye to take her back. And I want ye to make sure she stays wi ye. Ye may leave me, cousin. I hae work to do."

Patrick Leslie returned to his townhouse. Making himself comfortable in the library with a cheerful fire and a decanter of whisky, he sat down to think. She had fled to Bothwell, yet he was sure that she was not Francis Hepburn's mistress when she left him. That had obviously happened later, and now Bothwell was in love with her-enough in love to have divorced Margaret Douglas. But unless the cardinal gave her a divorce, Cat could not wed anyone else. Patrick didn't know whether to be happy or sad. He was expected to go to Leith on the king's command and kidnap his wife. After that, Lord Bothwell would undoubtedly come north with his men to retrieve her.

"Damn these Stewarts!" he said out loud. He was caught between them, and all because of his beautiful wife. Oh Cat, he thought wistfully. Three men want ye, but only one can have ye, and 'tis nae the one ye want. He wondered why she had not fled with her lover when she learned that her divorce petition was denied. But then he remembered what he knew about Bothwell. He was an honest man, and that would surely lead to his downfall. The king had little of honor or honesty.

The following day Patrick was summoned by Mait-land's confidential secretary, who told him that Bothwell was expected in Leith in two days. He always quartered himself at the Golden Anchor Tavern on the waterfront. Lady Leslie would be with him.

Two days later, on the 18th of October, the Earl of Glenkirk waited in a private room at the Golden Anchor Tavern for the Earl of Bothwell's arrival. He had told the landlord that he was Bothwell's cousin, and had come to meet with him. Since the landlord believed the border lord's visit a secret, he assumed that anyone who knew of it must have been so informed by Bothwell himself.

The Earl of Glenkirk waited alone. He had no intention of forcing his wife to return to him. He knew he was deliberately disobeying the king, but he had his pride. In the quiet of the misty dawn he heard suddenly the arrival of a party of horsemen in the yard below. There were footsteps on the stairs, and the door to the private parlor flew open. "Good morning, Cousin Francis," he drawled. "Come in and join me for breakfast."

Francis Hepburn was surprised, but then a slow smile crossed his face. "Cousin Patrick, a good morrow to ye," he answered, and accepted the tankard of ale handed him.

The two men sat facing one another.

"Is Cat wi ye?"

"Nay. I left her at Hermitage. Something didna smell right about this meeting."

"Aye," returned Patrick Leslie. "‘Tis a trap, but ye've time yet."

"What are ye doing here, Glenkirk?"

"Cousin Jamie sent me to reclaim my wife."

"I'll nae gie her back," said Bothwell softly, and his blue eyes glittered dangerously.

The two men looked at one another for a moment, then Patrick said quietly, "I still love her, Francis, but I know I've lost her. For God's sake, man, lake her away and be happy before James destroys ye both!"

"I must make my peace wi the king, Patrick. I want Cat for my wife, and I want Hermitage for our children."

"Take her away, Francis. Once ye gave me that same advice, and I heeded ye not. Then when I found the king wi his hands all over my wife I lost first my temper and then Cat. Dinna make the same mistake I did."

"I would never do to Cat what ye did. I know what she went through. She relived it in her sleep for weeks. Christ, man! Why didn't ye just kill her?"

"If I had, cousin, ye would not have known the happiness ye know now," he replied angrily.

"Touché," said Bothwell. He stood up. "Gie Maitland my regrets, Patrick. Tell him a pressing engagement." Francis Hepburn swung a leg over the window sill and grinned. "I'll go the back way for safety's sake. Take my horse, Valentine, home wi ye. I know ye'll keep him safe." Then he was gone.

When Maitland and the king's soldiers arrived a short time afterwards they found the Earl of Glenkirk finishing up a large breakfast.

"Where is he?" demanded the chancellor.

"A pressing engagement called him away," said Patrick Leslie, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Your wife?"

"She was not with him, Maitland. Yer information was incorrect. Bothwell knew it was a trap, and left her safe at Hermitage."

"Ye dinna seem to mind that your wife plays Bothwell's whore," said Maitland venomously.

Glenkirk was at his throat before the words had died in the chancellor's mouth. One big hand held the chancellor tightly at the neck, the other held a dirk to his plump belly.

"Ye are close to death, Master Maitland." The chancellor's eyes bugged, terrified. "Did yer mother never teach ye, Master Maitland, not to talk ill of yer betters? Whatever the problems between my wife and myself, they stem from the king, as ye well know, Master Maitland." Glenkirk stressed the chancellor's lack of a title, which he knew was a sore point with the man. "Dinna think," the earl continued, "I dinna know that ye seek to complicate those problems in yer desire to destroy Lord Bothwell and his influence, Master Maitland. Well, I dinna gie a damn for yer politics! My only interest is in seeing Catriona kept safe." He gave the chancellor a shake. "Yer a fine statesman I've no doubt, Master Maitland, but ye know nothing of human nature. Ye took Cousin Jamie's lust for my wife and used it to fan the fires of his envy of Bothwell. Had ye kept silent, Francis and Cat would hae been married and gone from Scotland." Maitland's eyes widened in surprise. "Aye," said Glenkirk. "They were willing to accept exile. Now, ye fool, ye hae cornered them, and Christ, man! How Bothwell is going to fight James to keep her! How many lives and how much money will be spent in this war between the crowned and the uncrowned king?" He loosed the chancellor and pushed him away.

Maitland rubbed his throat, then spoke. "Ye love her still, my lord. I do not have to be a student of human nature to see that. How can ye let her go? Don't ye want her back?"

"Aye, I want her back, but she doesn't want me. And that, Master Maitland, is my fault. She loves Francis Hepburn, and if that makes her happy, then I want her to have him." He smiled sadly at the chancellor. "Ye dinna understand that kind of thing, do ye, Master Maitland? Ah, well. I'll nae try to explain." The earl picked up his cloak. "By the way, Bothwell's horse is below. I'm taking it home wi me. Home to Glenkirk, and my bairns. Ye'll gie my regrets to the king." And he walked from the room, his footsteps echoing in the stairwell as he descended.

Francis Hepburn rode with all haste back to Hermitage Castle and Catriona Leslie. He was torn. If he could just get to his cousin, the king. If James would only restore his lands to his eldest son! If only the king would allow the cardinal to give Cat her divorce, he would promise to take her and leave Scotland. If James understood their love, surely he would cooperate. If!. If! If! But first the chancellor must be gotten out of the way. His was the dangerous influence.

But the autumn was too beautiful for much worrying. The days were deliciously warm, and faintly hazed in purple. Bothwell rode a new stallion-a great dark-gray brute called Sian, which means "storm" in the Gaelic tongue. Cat and her lover rode alone, much as they had in the early spring. Sandy Home had gone to his own estates.

They enjoyed being alone together. The servants at Hermitage sensed this, and behaved with exquisite tact. In the cold clear evenings when the stars seemed brighter and nearer the earth than ever before, the lovers sat before the fire. Sometimes they were silent, sometimes they talked of what they would do when the king relented and allowed them to wed. Sometimes they sang together while he accompanied them on a lute. His voice was a deep baritone, hers a lilting soprano. The sounds of their happiness spread throughout the castle, causing the servants to smile indulgently. Never had they seen Francis Hepburn so calm, so happy. And why not? Lady Leslie was a sweet, gentle lady who loved their earl with all her heart.

Just before Christmas, Francis Hepburn gave to his beloved the best of all possible gifts. On a cold, bright mid-December afternoon a coach rumbled up the drive to Hermitage. As Catriona and the earl stood waiting, the coach lurched to a stop, the door opened, and four passengers jumped out.

Cat gasped, and then flew down the steps to meet her four oldest children, who were running up the steps towards her. Kneeling, she opened her arms and gathered them to her. "Oh, my bairns! My beautiful, beautiful, bairns!" She said it over and over again, and her face was wet with her tears. Standing, her arms still around the four children, she looked to Bothwell. He knew he had done the right thing.

He moved slowly down the steps. "Welcome to Hermitage," he said to the four young Leslies.

"Thank ye, my lord earl," the fourteen-year-old heir to Glenkirk spoke for them all. "We are grateful for the chance to see our mother again."

"The last time I saw ye, Jamie, ye called me Uncle Francis. Will ye do so again? Or perhaps, as ye are nearly a man, ye would prefer to call me just Francis."

The boy looked from the earl to his mother. He was confused. "Is my mother yer mistress?" he finally burst out.

"Jamie!"

"Nay, my darling, scold not the lad." He turned to young James Leslie. "Yes, lad. Yer mother is my mistress. She would be my wife but for the king, who is angry wi me and withholds permission for her divorce. If she had the divorce, we would have wed."

"Do ye no longer love our father?" asked nine-year-old Bess.

"I love Lord Bothwell, Bess. Your father and I will, however, remain friendly. Come now, my bairns!’Tis cold out here. Let us go inside the hall."

They brought the children into a comfortable chamber with a good fire, and the servants served watered wine and sweet cakes.

"Let me look at all of ye," she said happily. "Oh, Jamie! How ye have grown! Ye were nae taller than I when I saw ye last."

"I'll be going to the University at Aberdeen next autumn," he answered her proudly. "I will leave our cousin of Rothes in spring when Robert goes to be a page."

"I am so proud of ye," she told him, and he forgot his dignity long enough to hug her.

Her gaze lingered on her two younger sons, Colin, seven, and Robbie, six. Colin was already in service with the Earl of Rothes, and had begun to acquire the polish of a little courtier. His younger brother, still at Glenkirk, was yet a rough little highlander.

"Why did not Amanda and Morag come?" Cat asked.

"They are too young," answered Robbie with great superiority.

Bess shot him a quelling look that was so reminiscent of her grandmother, Meg, that Cat had to laugh. "Lord, my dear! How much like Meg ye look. Yer going to be quite lovely in a few years' time."

Bess blushed most becomingly, and said, "Grandmother Meg said she couldna bear Christmas wi all of us gone, and she knew ye would understand if she kept Manda and Morag."

"I do understand, lovey, and I am so glad to see ye four! How long can ye stay?"

"Colie and I must be back at Rothes' Edinburgh house no later than the week after Twelfth Night," said Jamie. "Bess and Robbie may stay all winter."

"Bothwell, ye wretch! Why did ye nae tell me? We must hire a tutor! Bess and Robbie canna miss a whole winter of lessons."

He laughed. "If I had told ye, 'twould not hae been a surprise. As to a tutor, I'll instruct the bairns myself this winter."

Francis Hepburn adored having Cat's children at Hermitage, and a whole new side of his character was revealed. He loved children, and he was good with them. After the initial discomfort over their parents' marital situation, the young Leslies of Glenkirk relaxed and enjoyed both Hermitage and the earl. How sad, thought Cat, that Margaret Douglas had estranged his own children from their father.

And in the dark of night when he lay deep within her he cried out, "Oh, my sweetest love! Gie me sons and daughters like Glenkirk's! Loving bairns of our own to raise in this new century that is coming."

She wanted to. Oh God, how she longed to have his child in her belly! Had she thought the king would relent if she became pregnant she would have done so, but knowing James' viciousness too well, she waited. The king was now using her against Bothwell, but if she and the earl became parents, their child would be the king's most valuable pawn. She was careful not to give him that pawn. But her heart ached, for she wanted Francis Hepburn's child desperately.

Chapter 30

ON Christmas day, as the Hermitage residents sat at dinner, two messengers arrived wearing the badge of the Duke of Lennox. Bothwell left the festive board and closeted himself with the men for close to an hour. When he returned, he said softly to Cat, "I must go to Edinburgh early in the morning. Dinna tell the bairns. I would nae spoil their day."

He finished his meal, and then called to the Leslie boys, "Come on, lads! I promised we'd go curling. Cat, love, please see to Lennox's men. Bess, will ye come and cheer us on to great victories?"

Cat saw to it that the duke's men were well fed and were given warm beds for the night, and that their horses were taken care of. Then, gathering up her cloak, she went to the little pond in the woods by the castle where the earl and her sons were playing at curls. Even little Bess had a broom, and was dashing wildly about the ice, her dark-brown curls flying, her cheeks rosy, her hazel eyes sparkling. Catriona Leslie didn't know who was enjoying the day more, Bothwell or the children. He was very handsome in his kilts, teamed with Bess against the three boys. Cat cheered them all on, her heart bursting with happiness. This was what she had wanted above all-her children, and Francis Hepburn. For this brief moment, she had it.

After they had seen the children safely to bed that night, they sat together in her bedchamber in a large chair before the fire. For a long time they said nothing. He absently stroked her lovely hair, and finally said, "Lennox says that Maitland seeks to have James put a price on my head. Maitland is spending Christmas at Holyrood wi their majesties. The turd! He tries to climb high, does Master Maitland. I must go to Edinburgh tomorrow and settle this thing once and for all. If I can see our royal cousin perhaps I can convince him to change his stubborn mind."

"See him when the queen is also present, Francis. He dare not let her guess the real reason why he refuses us. She is young, and she is soft-hearted. She will plead our cause because she likes us both. If ye can but get the king's signature on the divorce petition, my Uncle Charles says that a representative of the cardinal waits in Edinburgh to finish the transaction. One moment of weakness on Jamie's part, and we will be free to wed quickly before he can change his mind!"

Bothwell chuckled. "Are ye sure ye Leslies are nae cousins to the Medici? Yer great schemers." His hands began to wander, and she sighed contentedly. "Will ye be back in time for New Year's?" she asked. His mouth found the soft curve between her shoulder and her neck, and he kissed it. "I don't know, Cat. If I canna get here, the children's gifts are in my wardrobe, and your gift-" He stopped. "Nay. I'll not tell ye, for I want to gie ye yer present myself." He turned her so she faced him, kissed her, and then stood her up. "Let's go to bed, my darling."

Pushing the little ribbon straps from her shoulders, she allowed her nightgown to slide to the floor. "Will ye be gone very long, Bothwell?" She slipped into the featherbed.

Taking his own robe off, he joined her and pulled her close to him. "I'm nae sure how long I'll be gone," he said thickly as his desire for her rose.

Tears sprang to her eyes, but he kissed them away. And after their lovemaking she wept stormily in his arms.

"What is it ye do to me, Francis? Why is it ye can touch me as no one ever has before?"

"Do ye want to weep and shout all at once?" he asked. "I do! I think it has something to do wi loving each other." He kissed her tenderly. "Damn, I dinna want to leave ye, even for a few days!"

But he did, riding out before the sun was even up. She stood alone in the window of her bedchamber in the cold December dark, clutching her shawl to her breasts, and watched him go. She could still feel the hardness of his mouth on hers.

While she watched him riding away she prayed that the king would relent. James could not be so stubborn as to believe she would leave Francis Hepburn under any circumstances. Perhaps James had grown weary of fighting.

On the evening of December 27, Francis Hepburn, Alexander Home, about forty border chiefs, and their followers slipped through the Duke of Lennox's stables and gained entrance to Holyrood Palace. Their first objective was John Maitland. But as they rounded the corner of a badly lit passage, they startled a pageboy, who cried out in fright.

Maitland, hearing the shout and the tramp of many feet, withdrew into his inner chamber. Lennox gave orders for the door to be broken, but the Earl of Both-well, Lord Home, and Hercules, with most of their men, passed on, trying to gain entry to the royal apartments.

Maitland lowered one of his servants out of a window and gave him orders to toll the common bell. When it rang the citizens of Edinburgh came running from their houses and hurried towards the palace.

Lord Home pulled at Francis Hepburn's arm. "Come on, man! The game's up!"

But Bothwell was desperate. "No! I must get to Jamie. Damn, Sandy! I promised Cat!"

Hercules used his giant size to yank his brother around. "Listen, ye besotted fool! What will happen to her if I haul ye home on a slab? Come on now, man! We'll try again another time." He dragged the protesting earl down the passage.

Cat was so delighted to have him safely back that her disappointment was less than Bothwell had expected. Bothwell, however, was angry. "I wanted to start the New Year knowing we could set a wedding date," he complained.

"Dinna fret, my love. By this time next year 'twill surely all be settled," she soothed him. Pulling his head down, she kissed him passionately. "They canna separate us now," she whispered fiercely. "We belong to each other."

On New Year's Day the Earl of Bothwell handed out gifts to his staff, tenants, and retainers. In the afternoon he was able to be alone with Cat and the children. Though they did their best to hide it, the young Leslies were as excited by the prospect of gifts as children anywhere.

Jamie could hardly believe that the young red stallion prancing in the courtyard was really his. "He's a son of my Valentine," smiled the earl. "I call him Cupid."

For Cat's daughter, Bess, there was a beautiful cloak of burgundy velvet trimmed in soft pale gray rabbit fur with a little gold clasp studded in rubies. Colin Leslie, the budding courtier, received a round gold clan badge for wearing with his plaid. The griffin on it had sapphire eyes. Robert Leslie was given a puppy, born ten weeks earlier to Bothwell's favorite Skye terrier bitch.

The children were ecstatic. Bess put on her cloak, Colin pinned his badge to his shoulder, Robert found a lead for his puppy, and they all ran down to the courtyard to see Jamie try out his new horse. Bothwell and Cat watched indulgently for a few moments, and then turned away from the windows.

He wordlessly handed her a flat box which she opened eagerly. Cat gasped. On a bed of white satin lay a heavy gold chain which held a round gold pendant. Upon the pendant was a great lion rampant within a royal tres-sure debruised by a diamond-stubbed ribbon. The lion had emeralds for eyes, and diamonds studded his waving mane.

"Do ye mind that I mark ye wi my beast?" he asked her.

"I am proud to wear the Hepburn lion," she answered him.

Lifting it from its box, she handed it to him. "Fasten it on for me, my lord." When he had done so she preened before the pier glass, then walked over to the table and picked up the one remaining box. She handed it to him. In it was a large round emerald ring set in gold and into which his seal had been cut. "Emeralds are for constancy," she said in a low voice. "But wait, my lord. I hae one other thing for ye," and reaching into the purse that hung from her waist she drew out a plain gold band.

He laughed softly. Reaching into his own pouch he drew out a similar ring, which he gave to her. Her eyes closed, and two tears slipped out. "Damn, Bothwell! I did want to be wed to ye soon. Damn James Stewart! I hate him so!"

He held her close. "Poor love," he said. " 'Tis harder for ye than it is for me. I am sorry our raid failed. If James weren't so stinking stingy the passageway would hae been lit better and that bloody boy would nae hae cried out."

She began to laugh. The thought that the king's cheeseparing ways were responsible for her misery was ludicrous. Quickly picking up her thoughts, Francis laughed with her. Neither of them, however, laughed for very long.

Early on the morning of the 11th of January an exhausted messenger galloped into Hermitage. The king had personally penned a proclamation offering a reward to any man who would kill the Earl of Bothwell.

They were shocked, for they could not believe James would do such a thing. Maitland had, according to the messenger, frightened the king badly after the raid of December 27, and had convinced James that his cousin wished to kill him and rule in his place. After all, did they not call Bothwell the uncrowned king? If the king were prudent, he would kill Bothwell before Bothwell killed him.

Francis Hepburn got on his horse and rode directly to the capital. He wished to try to settle the matter with his cousin, in person. He was forced to retreat to Hermitage when the king rode out after him with a large troup of soldiers. James forced his horse into a bog in pursuit of Bothwell and then nearly drowned. This didn't help matters. Again there was talk of witchcraft.

The next three months saw a forced peace between the king and his cousin, brought on by the advent of severe winter weather. The roads were closed by heavy snows throughout Scotland. Cat could not have been more pleased. Though Jamie and Colin had returned to Rothes, Bess and Robbie remained. Cat could pretend during those precious months that they were a normal family. Bess, her father's pet, was more reserved with Francis than Cat would have wished, but Bothwell understood, and treated the little girl with grave respect.

"We'll hae a wee lass of our own someday," he whispered softly to his mistress.

The young Robbie adored Francis Hepburn. The fourth of Cat's children, with two girls after him, he was truly a middle child. No one had ever had a great deal of time for Robbie, but that winter the great Earl of Bothwell found the time. In this six-and-a-half-year-old boy he found a quick, inquiring mind, and an ability to recall the smallest fact. Delighted, Bothwell taught him a great deal. Bess frequently joined them, particularly when they studied languages.

Bothwell and Catriona had been together a year now, and he could not believe that in twelve short months his life had changed so much for the better. Though he was involved in a life-and-death struggle with the king, Both-well was sure that if he could see James and talk to him, he would be able to make him understand. When the warm weather came he would try again to get to the king.

In early April the roads opened again, and the earl and Cat escorted Bess and Robbie Leslie to Dundee, where Conall More-Leslie waited to return them to Glenkirk.

"Will ye never return to Glenkirk, mother?" asked Bess.

Cat put an arm around her eldest daughter. "Now, Bess, ye know that as soon as my divorce petition is granted I will marry wi Lord Bothwell, and live at Hermitage. Ye like Hermitage, don't ye?"

The girl nodded slowly, adding quickly, "But I love Glenkirk best of all! If ye marry Uncle Francis, who will be my father?"

Catriona Leslie saw once again how her divorce from Glenkirk would affect their children. Still, she thought, I hae been a good mother, and I will be a better one wed wi the man I love.

She bent and kissed the top of Bess's dark head. "‘Tis a silly question ye ask, Bess. Patrick Leslie is yer father. He always will be. Naught can change that Francis will be yer stepfather."

"Will we live wi ye?"

"Aye, lovely."

"And who will live wi father?"

"Lord, Bess! Yer grandmother is at Glenkirk, and yer Uncle Adam and Aunt Fiona come often. Then too, yer father might find another wife someday."

"I think I would prefer to stay wi father," said Bess quietly. "He will be lonely wi'out bairns about him. Jamie and Colin are already gone, and Robbie goes in a short time. If ye take Manda and Morag from Glenkirk, father will hae no one. Unless I stay."

Cat gritted her teeth. Bess showed Leslie traits at the damnedest times. "Let us talk about it another time, lovey," she said.

Bess looked levelly at her mother and said, "As ye wish, madame," and Cat had the feeling she had lost the battle.

Conall met them on time, and was surly almost to the point of rudeness. She spoke sharply to him. "Dinna choose sides in a battle ye know naught about, Conall." He reddened. "How is Ellie?"

"Well enough. She misses ye, my lady."

“Tell her when this business is settled I would like her to come to Hermitage wi me. I miss her too."

"I'll tell her, my lady."

"Go carefully wi my bairns," she said to him. Turning slowly, she rode back to where Bothwell awaited her.

Conall had to admit that the border lord on his gray stallion, and Lady Leslie on her golden-bay gelding, made a handsome couple. He felt a kind of sadness as they raised their hands to the bairns in a gesture of farewell, and then turned and rode off.

Chapter 31

WHEN the king learned that Bothwell was in the north, he left Edinburgh for Dundee. But by the time he arrived, the earl had already returned south to the borders with Cat. Francis Hepburn hoped that by remaining quiet and unassuming he could calm his nervous royal cousin. James, however, egged on by Maitland and constandy waylaid by either the Earl of Angus or his daughter-both lobbying for the return of Bothwell's possessions to the earl's heir-felt he was constantly assailed by Francis Hepburn.

When the parliament met on May 29, the king denounced the Earl of Bothwell, claiming he aspired to the throne and stating that he had no right to that throne. They might both be grandsons of James V, but Bothwell's line was the bastard one. Then the king proceeded to have his parliament ratify the sentence of forfeiture against his cousin.

Francis Hepburn was honestly astounded. He and Jamie had always rubbed each other, but he had tried hard to avoid an open confrontation with the king. That James could accuse him of wanting the throne was laughable. Of all the things he wanted in the world, the kingship of any land was the last on his list. However, he understood what his cousin was really up to. James was asking for support without doing so in plain words.

Had the nobility known that the king simply wanted their support, they might have given it to him. But they saw John Maitland behind everything James did, and the nobility of Scotland hated Maitland. Consequently, they all but shouted their support of Francis Hepburn and their defiance of the king.

"He wants to destroy ye," said Cat. "Is there no kindness in him? All we ask is to wed and live in peace wi him."

"Maitland wants to make an example of me, Cat, and the fact that Jamie wants ye back in his bed doesna help matters."

"Would it help ye if I returned to him? I would sooner die than hae him touch me again, but if he would restore to ye yer possessions I would do it for ye, my love."

Roughly he pulled her to him. "I would strangle ye, lass, before I would ever let any man touch ye! I'll nae let ye go! Christ, my darling, the very thought of my royal cousin wi ye infuriates me!"

"But I dinna want to be responsible for hurting ye, Francis. Oh, my love! Take me away! Please take me away before it is too late!"

"Gie me a bit more time, my love. Let me try to make my peace wi Jamie."

Frightened, she clung to him, and like a cornered animal she felt a net closing about them. Then she quickly shook it off. He needed strength now, not a weak and weeping woman.

Word came that the king was at his palace of Falklands. Bothwell and his supporters rode forth, and Catriona Leslie rode with them. Between the hours of one and two a.m. on the morning of June 20, 1592, they surrounded Falklands. Unfortunately James had been warned in time by the watch, and he retired with the queen to a fortified tower. By seven a.m. the local country people were streaming to Falklands to see what the matter was. Bothwell and his company were forced to retire. They did so to the cheers of the locals, who had recognized the border lord.

On July 2, a proclamation was issued for the raising of a levy to pursue the Earl of Bothwell. The proclamation was pointedly ignored by one and all. James retired to Dalkeith for the remainder of the summer. On August 1, the lairds of Logie and Burley smuggled Bothwell into the palace in hopes of getting him into the king's presence so he might publicly ask for royal pardon.

It had been decided that the queen's antechamber would be the ideal place for the earl to catch the king. James must pass through it on his way to his wife's bedroom. Francis Hepburn knelt before his queen. He took her extended hand, kissed it, and then turned it over and kissed the palm.

"Rogue!" laughed the queen, snatching her hand away. But her face was flushed and her heart beat quicker.

Bothwell grinned up at her and rose to his feet, "Thank ye, madame, for letting me wait for Jamie here. I must make peace wi him. And too, he must allow the cardinal to gie my lass her divorce so we may wed. Catriona has always been a loyal servant of yer majesty₉ and it hurts her too when Jamie punishes me."

"You love her very much, don't you, Francis?"

"Madame, I hae never known such happiness or such' peace since Cat came into my life. If only I were reconciled wi James. All we ask, yer majesty, is to live quiedy at Hermitage. We would even live abroad if it were the king's pleasure. I ask only to retain Hermitage for any bairns Cat will gie me. Our children must nae forget that they are Scots, and loyal subjects of James Stewart-as Cat and I are."

The queen was obviously touched by this speech. "I will plead your case, cousin. James is not thinking clearly at all. Master Maitland confuses him." She sat down and patted the space to her left. He sat next to her. "Beatrice," she said to Lady Ruthven. "Please watch for the king, and see we have plenty of warning." She looked to her other ladies. "The rest of you may make yourselves useful with your embroidery, or music. I wish to talk to the earl privately." The ladies of the queen's bedchamber settled themselves across the room from the windowseat where the queen and Bothwell sat conversing.

"Now, tell me, Cousin Francis, how did this great romance with the Countess of Glenkirk begin? I thought she truly loved her husband."

Carefully, he told her the story he had concocted when anticipating her question. "Cat and I became friends before yer majesty came to Scotland. Glenkirk and I are distant cousins. Did ye know his mother is a Stewart? I have always liked Cat. She is an educated woman, and I enjoyed being wi her. Never did anything improper occur between us in those early days. But as time went on, yer grace, I found that I was falling in love wi her. I fought my feelings, for I knew that she was no loose woman. Imagine my surprise to discover she was fighting the same feelings! Finally we could fight our emotions no longer. We love each other," he finished simply.

The queen's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "What of poor Glenkirk?"

"He loves her too, but is resigned to letting her go."

"Perhaps," said the queen, looking towards Christina Anders, "the earl might remarry. Mistress Anders' husband has recently expired from measles, and she is widowed again."

Bothwell did not think Patrick Leslie would marry Christina Anders, but he needed the queen's support, so he nodded affably and said, "Very possibly. But first he must be free, and the king will nae allow the Cardinal of St. Andrew's permission to sign the petition of divorce."

"I will help you, Francis," said the queen.

At this point Lady Ruthven returned white-faced. "Your grace. His majesty is in the corridor outside. He asks me to tell ye that he has learned the Earl of Bothwell is somewhere in the palace. He says he will punish anyone who tries to introduce the earl into his presence."

Francis Hepburn stood up. "Damn!" he said. And then turning to the queen he asked, "Is there another way I can leave?"

The queen led the way into her bedroom and, opening a small unobtrusive door, revealed a narrow staircase. "My tiring women use this. Follow it all the way to the bottom. It exits in the servant's courtyard."

He kissed her hand again in farewell. "Thank ye, madame, and God bless ye for yer help."

She smiled prettily at him. "I won't forget, Francis. Go with God."

The queen closed the door and returned to her antechamber. She picked up her embroidery. "Beatrice, go and ask the king if he intends standing in the corridor all night."

The queen's ladies giggled, and Anna bit her lip to keep from laughing as James entered her rooms with his guards. They rushed into her bedchamber, poking under the bed and behind the draperies with their pikes.

"Come, sire! What is the meaning of this?" demanded the queen.

"Bothwell is in the palace, Annie!"

The young queen drew herself up. "Well, sire! He is certainly not in my bedchamber. Or is this some new slander of Master Maitland's? First he alleges that the bonnie Earl of Moray is my lover… does he now say 'tis Bothwell?" She turned to her attendants. "Fling open the wardrobes, ladies, so the king may see we hide no earls!" She turned back to the king. "When ye have finished with this foolishness, please take your men and leave me. All this uproar has given me a terrible headache."

Disappointed, the king retired to his empty bed. Equally disappointed, Bothwell returned to Hermitage. He again set himself to living quietly, in hope of allaying the king's fears and calming his anger.

In October the king mounted a small expedition into the borders. Bothwell and Cat immediately left Hermitage for their secret and well-hidden hunting lodge. Hermitage Castle stood open to the king, who could not, under these circumstances, complain of his cousin's disobedience.

The king returned to Edinburgh only to be waylaid again by Lady Margaret Douglas. She had chosen to catch him publicly, in front of the gates of Edinburgh Castle, crying for mercy upon her and her children. In God's name she begged the return of Bothwell's property for her innocent children.

James was furious at having been placed in such an embarrassing position, and in public. He forbade the lady to enter his presence again. "I dinna know how Francis stood her as long as he did," said the king to his wife. "She doesna care for him-just his estates!"

This was the opening that Anna had been waiting for. "They were not happy, Jamie?" she inquired innocently.

" 'Twas a political thing. He's well rid of her."

"In that case, my love, why will ye not allow the cardinal to give Lady Leslie her divorce? Bothwell is deeply in love with her."

The king was startled. He had not been aware that his frivolous little queen knew of Bothwell's involvement with Catriona Leslie. He wondered nervously what else she knew, and decided to move cautiously. "Lady Leslie is nae a girl, Annie. She is the mother of six bairns. She is behaving like an infatuated maid, and must be brought to her senses."

"But Jamie! Glenkirk is willing to let her go, and now that my dearest Christina is widowed-oh, Jamie! Twould be so wonderful if Christina could be Glen-kirk's wife. Then my little goddaughter, Anne Fitz-Leslie, could be brought up properly."

"My dear Annie, the Leslies hae been wed for fourteen years. I canna allow them to dissolve their marriage on a whim. Twould set a bad example for the court. There must be more morality in our court. If I allow the Leslies to divorce, then every man who becomes infatuated wi another woman will want to divorce his wife, and every man's mistress will expect her lover to wed wi her."

The queen thought that the king was making a great deal more of the matter than was warranted, and she felt that if he wished to reform the court he might do better by way of example than refuse a divorce for a couple who wished to marry. These people did not want to sin. However, she could argue no further with him at this time. She was disappointed, for she liked Francis and would have enjoyed helping him.

On New Year's Day, 1593, the Earl of Bothwell appealed to the kirk for aid, begging them not to despise him on account of the king's anger. He needed their help, but the kirk ignored him. The old Queen of England, however, did not. She saw to it that the border lord was financially comfortable. England offered money, and sanctuary if he should need it.

Elizabeth Tudor did not like James Stewart. He was her logical heir (though she had not named him officially yet) but she thought him a mealy-mouthed hypocrite. He was shifty, saying one thing and doing another. She could not understand this sudden relentless pursuit of Francis Stewart-Hepburn. To the best of her knowledge, the Earl of Bothwell had always been loyal to the Scots crown.

Elizabeth chuckled. Bothwell had visited her court some years back. He had been young, but damn! He was a brilliant and elegant rogue even then. There was more to this than met the eye, yet her spies could come up with no explanation. So, because it pleased her to be perverse and to thwart James, and because she had always had a weakness for charming rogues, she lent her support to the border lord.

Again the winter closed in around them, and Cat was relieved. They kept Twelfth Night revels at Hermitage for the neighboring gentry. Though she was not Bothwell's wife, she was treated as such by the local lairds and their ladies. They had no patience with the king's unkindness towards their hero and his lady.

Cat had not seen her oldest children in almost a year. It was simply too dangerous for them to come now. She barely knew the two youngest ones, and sadly wondered if they remembered her at all.

Bothwell missed the children too. Catriona Leslie had the knack for making family life a warm and happy thing. Bothwell found it restful. And until they could marry, they dared not have a child of their own.

As the winter deepened Cat became increasingly eager to go to France, and finally he agreed that if, by the end of the year, he had not settled things with his cousin, they would leave Scotland.

Chapter 32

WHEN James Stewart learned that his cousin the Queen of England was financing his cousin the Earl of Bothwell he sent word to Sir Robert Melville, his ambassador in England, to persuade Elizabeth to cease. Publicly exposed, she had no choice but to agree. Francis Hepburn was now in danger on both sides of the border. But worse was to come.

On July 21, 1593, sentence of forfeiture was again passed against Francis Stewart-Hepburn, the fifth Earl of Bothwell. But this time his arms were riven asunder at the Mercat cross in Edinburgh. Shocked, the Duke of Lennox and other noblemen determined to help Both-well. If Maitland could turn the king against his own blood, what could happen to them?

Bothwell, accompanied only by his half-brother, rode for the capital. His borderers slipped into the city by twos and threes until Edinburgh had discreetly swelled with them. Catriona Leslie had been left behind at Hermitage.

"What will happen?" she had begged him.

"I dinna know. If I can get to James I must convince him to restore my lands, which I hae given to my heir. And I will force him, if necessary, to allow the cardinal to grant yer petition of divorce. Then, love, we'll be safe."

"And if ye canna reach him, Francis?"

"Then, my darling, we're for France. Let Angus fight the battle for his grandchildren."

She clung to him, her mouth inviting his kisses, her body soft and yielding. Accepting the invitation, he made passionate love to her, then slept for several hours, cradling her in his arms. When she awoke he was gone, and she was frightened.

Early on the morning of July 24, 1593, James Stewart awoke to the faint gray light of early dawn. The air felt damp, and he wondered if it were raining. He heard a faint noise, a chair scraping the floor. "Barra, laddie? Is it you?" he called. There was no answer. The king's heart began to pound violently against his ribs and his nightshirt became soaked in cold sweat. Ever so slowly, he turned and peered out of the bed curtains.

"Good morning, Jamie," drawled Francis Stewart-Hepburn.

The king screamed. Scrambling to the other side of the bed, he leaped out and quickly turned the handle of the queen's bedroom door. It would not give. James turned to face his antagonist, pressing his back to the queen's door as though he could press himself through it. For a moment the cousins stared at each other-the one disheveled and frightened in a damp silk nightshirt, the other calm and assured in his red plaid kilt, his sword drawn.

Slowly Bothwell closed the space between them. The king was shaking. Francis Hepburn's blue eyes narrowed. Catching his cousin's face between his thumb and his forefinger, he growled, "Lo, now, my fine bairn. Ye that hae said I sought yer life… look how I hold it in my hand!"

The king swayed as if he would faint.

"Christ, Jamie! I'm nae here to kill ye," said Bothwell impatiently. "Pull yerself together!"

James' eyes rolled in his head, and he looked wildly at the earl. "Ye’ll nae get my soul, Francis! Kill me if ye will, but ye'll nae get my soul!"

"Jesu!" exploded Bothwell. "What in God's name would I want wi yer soul, Jamie? I've but come to straighten this matter out between us. I dinna want yer life, yer soul, yer crown, or yer bloody kingdom, Jamie. I simply want my lands back for my heir and I want Cat Leslie for my wife. Gie me those things, and yer quit Bothwell forever if ye choose!"

"Maitland says ye want to kill me," said the king.

"Maitland is a puddock stool!" replied Bothwell.

The king laughed in spite of his fear. The border lord reached out and picked up the king's robe. "Put it on, Jamie. Ye look chilled." Drawing the king from the queen's door, he helped him into the warm garment. Then, pouring a dram of whisky, he made James drink. Color began to flow back into the king's face. Seeing this, Bothwell knelt before him and offered the hilt of his sword to his sovereign.

This simple act seemed to calm and even embarrass the king. "Oh get up, Francis, and put yer sword away."

The earl complied and, rising, threw some wood on the fire. With the king's permission, the two men sat facing one another.

"I suppose," said the king resignedly, "that my palace is full of yer men."

"Aye," grinned Bothwell ruefully. "And Lennox's men, and Angus' men, and Home's, and Colville's, and Logie's, and Burley's, and Huntley's. I'm nae a fool to come calling on ye, cousin, wi'out a few friends."

"They stand by ye as they hae never stood by me."

"Only because of Maitland, Jamie. Maitland wants to take away their rights. He is using me as a test, and they know that if I fall they are all in danger of falling. Their loyalty is to themselves."

"And where is yer loyalty, Francis?"

"Like theirs… first to myself and my own."

"Yer honest, Francis."

"I hae always been honest wi ye, Jamie, my bairn. Now, 'tis time for ye to be honest wi me. I know ye'll be fair about my lands. They rightfully belong to Margaret's boy."

"Not yer boy also, Francis?"

"I fathered him, Jamie, but he's never been mine. None of them have. They're all Margaret's, and they're Angus', but nae mine. That's why Cat is so important. She is mine, and when we hae bairns, they'll be ours."

"No, Francis, they'll be bastards, for I'll nae gie my permission for ye to wed wi Catriona Leslie."

For a few moments the room was very quiet, then Bothwell said, "Why, Jamie?"

"Ye hae been honest wi me, cousin, so I will be honest wi ye. If I canna hae Cat, then ye canna hae Cat."

"My God, James, do ye hate me so much? Ye've taken everything I own, and riven my arms at Edinburgh crors. I hae one thing left in this world. A wench. A green-eyed wench that I love above all things. If I died tomorrow she would nae come back to ye. What hae I done to deserve this unkindness from ye? Is this how ye repay my loyalty to ye?"

"She loves ye," said the king quietly. " 'Tis that I canna forgie her for, Francis. I lay between her silken thighs, but she gave me nothing of herself. I fucked her, and her lovely body responded as I have never known a woman to respond. But she gave me nothing for her love, and since her no woman has been able to satisfy me, including that sweet little featherhead I am wed to. But to ye, cousin, Cat has shown her face of love. She has defied convention, and both kirks of Scotland, to be by yer side. She, who adored her bairns, has nae seen them in several years for love of ye. I outlawed ye, and took all from ye, yet she stayed wi ye. I can forgie neither of ye yer love, Francis. I cannot command her to love me, but I can command her not to wed wi ye, and I can see she obeys that command."

"Christ, man! Hae ye no heart?"

"Love," said the king, "I dinna understand the word. No one has ever loved me, nor hae I ever loved anyone except Cat. At least I think that is the feeling I hae for her. I am nae certain, having had verra little experience with love."

"The queen loves ye, James, and I thought ye loved her."

"Annie doesna love me, Francis. Lord, man! We hae nothing in common, except perhaps we will soon. She is pregnant, and will deliver a child this winter. However, she does enjoy being queen."

The Earl of Bothwell looked carefully at his royal cousin. "In all the years we hae known each other, Jamie, I hae asked ye for little. Now, however-" and at this point Bothwell knelt on both knees before the king-"I beg ye, cousin! I beg ye to let me wed wi Cat. We will leave Scotland, and live quietly wherever ye say. In Christ's name, dinna take her from me!"

For the first time in all his life James had the advantage of his Cousin Francis. The border lord was at his mercy. In was too delicious, and the king could barely contain his excitement. Never had Francis exhibited a weakness of any sort, yet now he knelt and begged… and for a woman! A mere woman! No. Not a mere woman. An extraordinary woman. But Francis Hepburn was an extraordinary man, and they really did belong together. It was most unfortunate that he, James, did not choose to allow it. He looked down at his cousin. "Get up, Bothwell." The earl stood. "They call ye the uncrowned King of Scotland, Francis, and I know that Cat is yer chosen mate. Unfortunately it is a rule of royalty that kings and queens are nae ever happy in love. I see no reason why ye and Cat should be. If ye crawled from here to hell and back on yer hands and knees I should not change my mind. I will see that yer lands and yer honors are returned. They will remain yers to do with as ye please as long as ye remain at peace wi me. But on September first, I want Catriona Leslie here in Edinburgh, to return to her husband."

"Go to hell, Jamie!" said Bothwell. "She'll nae return to Patrick Leslie, and I'll nae let her."

"She will return to him, Francis, because if she does not, I will have Maitland find a way that will allow me to confiscate the lands and goods of not only the Leslies of Glenkirk, but the Leslies of Sithean, and even of Cat's own family, the Hays of Greyhaven. Ye know that Cat will nae allow three branches of her family to be destroyed! And our good Patrick will take her back for the same reason. As for ye, my reckless cousin, if ye try to defy me…" The king let it dangle, and Bothwell for the first time in his life felt the bitter taste of defeat. "There, Francis," said the king soothingly. "I hae given ye plenty of time to say yer goodbyes. I could hae said she must be back wi'in a week. Ye hae over a month." He smiled in kindly fashion at his handsome cousin. "It should add spice to yer relationship to see how many times ye can fuck her in one month."

Bothwell clenched his fists. "I will call the others to come in now. If I don't, I may give in to the urge to commit regicide. Yer a bastard, James. Ye dinna know what love is, and ye never will. 'Twill be a lonely life for ye, cousin, and in yer old age-for we Stewarts are inclined to longevity if we avoid wars-ye will have no memories to warm ye in the dark nights. I am sorry for ye, Jamie. Ye hae a mean spirit, and ye will always have to live with yerself."

Before the discomfited king could reply his chamber was filled with the great lords of the land. Seeing them all massed together, James became nervous again. Bothwell offered to leave, but the others would not allow it until the king had agreed to publicly pass an act of condonation and remission in Bothwell's favor. The Earl of Angus was delighted. His grandchildren would be well taken care of, and Margaret could leave his house now.

Bothwell left for Lord Home's Edinburgh house. He was sick at heart. He knew there was no way for him to win this battle. Home offered his friend a bed, a bottle, and a sympathetic ear. There was nothing else he could do.

A short distance away at Glenkirk House, Patrick Leslie suffered a similar agony. He had just returned from Holyrood, where the king had told him privately that his wife would be returned to him on September 1. That she was being forced to return bothered James not at all, but it bothered Patrick Leslie. His wife, whom he still loved, was in love with another man. She had lived with this man for two and a half years while trying desperately to divorce Glenkirk. He had resigned himself to losing her because he did not believe he deserved her any longer. Patrick Leslie didn't know if his wife could take this forced reunion. He wasn't sure he could. He was tired, and he was a mass of conflicting emotions. He sat alone in his library, and as the afternoon progressed he drank a great deal of whisky. As evening drew in he fell asleep.

When at midevening he awoke it was to find the Earl of Bothwell sitting across from him. Glenkirk moved to rise. "Easy, Cousin Patrick," said Francis Hepburn softly. "I've only come to talk." Glenkirk, eyeing the elegant silver and mother-of-pearl pistol in Bothwell's hand, sat back carefully.

"I am riding back to Hermitage tonight," said the border lord. "I dinna know how I can tell Cat of the king's order, but first I must know that ye'll be kind to her."

"Christ, man! I love her too!"

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Bothwell spoke again. "It wasn't until ye and Jamie had at her, Patrick. Ye know that, don't ye? Even when the king forced her, she was faithful to ye in her heart."

"I know that now," said Patrick Leslie. "But tell me, Francis, why did she go to ye if there was nothing between ye?"

Bothwell smiled softly with remembrance. "We were friends, Patrick. I know that is a hard thing to understand, but when the first excitement of court wore off she found she was bored. She really was the Virtuous Countess. Sexual games were not for her. Neither was gossip. She's far too educated for a woman, and for our times. I understand that because I am also too educated for the times. God! How we talked! And how she listened! All the questions she asked! So, when she was hurt and frightened, she wanted to go where no one would find her. Since I was her only friend she came to me."

Again the silence, and then Patrick Leslie asked quietly, "When did she become yer mistress, Francis?"

"Not for a while," Bothwell answered in an equally quiet voice. He did not think that Patrick Leslie was entitled to detail. "It happened, cousin. It simply happened. Christ! What a coil." He leaned forward and spoke urgently. "Take her back to Glenkirk as quickly as ye can. She is nae going to be easy in this, but perhaps being wi her bairns will help."

The two men sat in silence for some time. Patrick rose quietly and added wood to the fire. Going to the cabinet, he took out another crystal glass and poured himself and Bothwell a good dram each of the potent whisky.

The pistol now lay in Hepburn's lap. Leaning forward once more, the whisky in his two hands, Francis said, "I love her, Patrick. I want ye to understand that. She wanted to go to France for her divorce, and I promised her we would if I failed to see Jamie this time. Now I wish to heaven I had not seen him! I return Cat to ye because I would nae have the destruction of yer family on my conscience. But if I ever hear that ye hae been cruel to her, I'll come. If it be from darkest hell, I'll come and take her back!"

It was with great shock that Patrick Leslie saw the naked pain in the deep-blue eyes of his cousin, the Earl of Bothwell. He, the husband, wanted to sympathize with his wife's lover. But he intuitively understood that if he so much as touched his cousin, the big man would lose control.

"Francis," said Glenkirk in a kindly voice. "I hae always loved her, from the time we were betrothed when she was a wee lass of four. I think she loved me because she was expected to love me, and she nae knew any others. I had known many women, and I appreciated the jewel that Mam had ordained would be mine. Had I not lost my temper two and a half years ago she would hae gone on loving me, but I did, and ye were wise enough to see her worth. Ye took what I so carelessly threw away. James has ordained that we be unhappy because he is unhappy. If he really loved Cat he would want her happy wi ye, as I do. Instead he forces her back on me. I swear to ye, man, that I will cherish her this time. She may never love me again, but this time I will keep her safe!"

Bothwell closed his eyes for a moment as if forcing back tears. When he spoke his voice was low and husky. "Ye must make love to her, Patrick. Dinna be polite wi her, and wait for her to recover her hurt. If ye do, ye'll never get her in yer bed again. We are so tied together, Cat and I-but ye can ease her pain if ye love her a bit. But, for pity's sake, man! Be gentle wi her. She is nae a castle wall to be breached. Treat her tenderly, and ye'll find she responds better." Glenkirk flushed, but Bothwell did not notice, and stood up. "One more thing, Patrick. Before I leave Scotland I will want to see her."

"Leave?" said Glenkirk, puzzled. "Is Jamie going to banish ye?"

"Nay. He is too subtle for that, but we canna seem to live in the same country, the kingly bairn and I. Besides… he is not given to keeping his word. Before long he will start to haggle over the terms made today, and our good John Maitland will egg him on to new follies. James is determined to be king, Patrick. Make no mistake about that. The old way of life is done here in Scotland. Lennox, Angus, and the others use me to fight Jamie. Dinna think I don't know that. After the next round I will have to go, and I know it. 'Tis only a matter of time for me. But before I go I would bid my Cat a final farewell if she'll see me. Promise me ye'll forbid her not."

"God, Francis! Ye ask a lot of me!"

Bothwell's blue eyes became hard. "Hear me, Patrick Leslie. I could leave this room now, ride to Hermitage, tell Cat I couldna see Jamie, and be on a ship for France by week's end. By the time any news got to her she'd hae her divorce from the obliging French, be safely wed to me, and we'd hae a bairn started. Yer family would lose everything. Who is asking a lot of whom?"

Glenkirk cocked an eyebrow. "If, Francis, I actually thought ye'd do that I'd kill ye now," he said pleasantly. "However, like me, yer a man of honor. When ye go, Cat will see ye if she wishes." He stood, and held out his hand to his cousin.

Bothwell grasped it. For a moment their eyes locked. Then Francis Hepburn exited the room the same way he had entered it, through the casement windows. Patrick Leslie was inexplicably saddened.

Chapter 33

BOTHWELL rode through the night and into the following morning, arriving at Hermitage towards midday. One look at his face told Cat the news was bad, but she asked nothing of him. Instead she led him to their apartments, pulled off his boots, and put him to bed. When Bothwell awoke that evening, she had a good supper ready for him. It wasn't until he had eaten that he spoke to her.

"The king has ordered yer return to Glenkirk by September first."

She whirled to face him, her eyes mirroring shock.

"If ye do not," he continued, "Jamie will reclaim the lands and goods of the Leslies of both Glenkirk and Sithean, as well as the Hays of Greyhaven."

"Let him!"

"Cat!"

"Let him, Bothwell! Wi'out ye I am a dead woman!"

He held her tightly in his arms. "Cat! Cat! Think, lass. Think! How many children hae ye?"

"Six."

"And among yer cousins, how many bairns are there now?"

"At least thirty," she said.

"And ye hae twenty cousins, and yer brothers, and yer parents' generation, and the More-Leslies. My God, Cat! Close to a hundred people! And then, my darling, we have my children to consider too. All these innocent people destroyed-the children and the old people. Nay, love. Neither ye nor I could build a life on the wreckage of both our families."

"Dinna send me away, Bothwell," she whispered piteously. "I would sooner be dead."

"If we run, if we attempt to escape Jamie in any manner, he will destroy our people. He was quite firm wi me. He wants us punished, and he has found the most exquiste torture to inflict upon us and on Patrick Leslie as well. He still loves ye, Cat. Dinna be afraid to return to him."

She looked up at him. "How can ye talk to me like this, Francis?"

"Because I must! Christ, Cat! I canna bear it!" His voice was breaking. "Yer my life, lass!"

They wept. The border lord and his love clung to one another and wept until they could weep no more. Then they stood together, holding onto each other until Francis Hepburn swept her up in his arms and carried Catriona Leslie to bed.

In the night she awoke to find him gone from their bed. For a moment she was frightened until she saw him standing by the windows looking out on the moonlit landscape. He turned and she could see his face was wet with tears. She pretended sleep, realizing it would only add to his agony if he knew she had seen him. A dull pain throbbed in her chest, and she stuffed her fist into her mouth to stifle the cry that rose in her throat.

For the next few days neither Bothwell nor Cat could bear to be out of each other's sight for more than a few minutes. Knowing that only a month remained to them was, as the king had anticipated, a terrible torment. It was finally Cat who made the decision that was to ease them through their last weeks.

"I want to go to the lodge," she told him. "I came to ye there. If I must leave ye, 'twill be from there."

He had already told her that the king had forbidden him to come within ten miles of Edinburgh, and he was expressly forbidden to accompany the Countess of Glenkirk from the borders. She would be escorted by Lord Home.

Bothwell sent his servants up into the Cheviot to clean, freshen, and stock the house. They would live as they had lived in the beginning-alone, to themselves. On the day they rode out from Hermitage together for the last time, they had three weeks left. They had not bidden the servants goodbye, for neither of them could have borne an emotional scene. Hercules would welcome Lord Home when he arrived to take charge of Cat, and would bring him to a meeting place.

It was late summer, and already the evenings were cool. They spent their days riding, walking, sitting silently on a hidden promontory that overlooked the border valleys, watching the eagles soar off into the west wind. Their nights were spent in a rapture of lovemaking such as neither of them had ever known, made bittersweet by the knowledge that they would soon be parted.

One morning she came downstairs to find him just entering the house. "Look, Cat," he said, holding up a fish. "I've caught a salmon, and I've found some late cress."

Cat burst into tears, remembering that on her first day in this house with him he had said almost the same words to her. As the realization came to Bothwell he swore, and then he swore again, for today was their last day. Managing to control herself at last, she looked at him through wet lashes. "And I suppose that smell from the kitchen is lamb broth?"

He nodded. She couldn't help but laugh, so doleful was his expression.

"Clean yer fish, Bothwell," she said lightly, "but I dinna want to eat it till late. What kind of a day is it?"

"Warm. 1 found a field full of Michaelmas daisies near the stream. "Let's go swimming!"

Her green eyes sparkled. "And will ye make love to me in the daisies afterwards?" she teased.

"Aye," he answered her slowly, his own blue eyes quietly serious.

She flung herself onto his chest, and clung to him. "Oh, Bothwell! Bothwell! I dinna think I can bear it!"

His arms tightened about her for a moment. "Go and get dressed, lass. I'll clean this fish, and get us some bread and cheese to take along today."

They rode slowly in the late-August sunshine. The valleys glowed below them in faintly purpled haze. They did swim in the icy waters of the stream, and afterwards he did make love to her. She kept laughing as fat bumblebees buzzed them while they lay amid the pungent flowers. Afterwards they ate the bread and cheese he had put into their saddlebags, drank dry white wine from a flask, and munched early apples. Too soon the sun began setting, and they rode home.

As they rode she asked quietly, "What time tomorrow are we to meet Lord Home?"

"Two hours past sunrise," he answered her, staring straight ahead. And then he heard her whisper, "So soon."

The sun had sunk in a blaze of hot orange behind them. As if to mock them, Venus glowed bright in the darkening sky above. The horses easily found their path back to Bothwell's lodge, and while the earl fed and watered the animals and bedded them down, Cat cooked their supper. They ate in silence until she said, "We had burgundy our first night."

"Aye. And ye got drunk."

"I want to get drunk tonight."

He came around the table and pulled her up to face him. "No, my darling. I want ye to remember everything that has happened between us-especially tonight."

She began to cry softly. "I hurt, Francis! My heart hurts so very much."

"I hurt also, my love, but I'll nae let Jamie Stewart know that he's killing me by taking away the one thing I hold dear. Our pain must be a private thing. But Catriona, my sweet, sweet love! I dinna want to forget a moment of our love, because I will need it to sustain me in the times to come."

"Ye'll be alone now, Francis. Who will look after ye?"

"Hercules will, my darling. Hardly a suitable replacement for the bonniest woman in Scotland, but…" He stopped, and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Christ, Cat! Dinna weep, my precious love! I thank God Jamie is at least returning ye to Glenkirk. Patrick will look after ye."

"Aye," she said bitterly. "If he looks after me as well as he did before, 'twill be a short month afore I'm forced again to be the king's whore!"

"No, love! 'Twill nae happen! Patrick has promised me."

She stared at him. "Ye saw Patrick? When?"

"Last month when Jamie ordered me to return ye. I had to be sure he would care for ye properly. I had to know he wanted ye, for if he hadn't, I could nae have let ye go back. He loves ye very much, my darling. Even knowing ye belong to me, he still loves ye. Dinna be afraid to go back to Patrick Leslie."

She shivered. "He'll want to make love to me," she said in a low voice. "I'd as soon go into a convent than hae another man touch me."

Bothwell laughed softly. "Nay, Cat. Ye were made for love. Wi'out it that lovely body would shrivel and die. Dinna be ashamed of it, and dinna deny it." Drawing her into the curve of his arm, he slid a hand into her silk shirt, and caressed the soft swell of her breasts. She murmured contentedly, her leaf-green eyes half-closed. He laughed again. "See, my darling?" he gently teased her, drawing his hand from her warmth.

"Beast!" she managed to say before his mouth took possession of hers. He was gentle, always so incredibly gentle with her. He kissed her with a melting tenderness while he quickly undressed her. Then, without losing her lips, he lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs to their bedroom.

When he lay her on the bed she drew him down to her and slid her hands into his shirt, stroking his chest and broad back. She pushed the shirt off. Pulling him back to her, her soft bare breasts made contact with his smooth bare chest. He gasped with pleasure at the familiar contact, and felt the rising between his thighs. She loosed her grasp and whispered urgently, "Hurry, love!"

Quickly he tore off his remaining clothes and, mounting her, thrust deep into her throbbing warmth. His entry never failed to elicit a cry of pleasure from her. She strained to receive him, sobbing her frustration when he could go no further. He began a delicious torture, thrusting within her as deep as he could go, then pulling completely out of her until she begged him to stop, so painful had her own desire become. But he would not. He drove her to heights of passion she had not known existed, prolonging their painful pleasure, and when at last him own passion burst in a raging flood within her, she half-fainted from excitement.

Her head was whirling, her heart pounding, her ears filled with the sound of a ragged weeping that she gradually understood was her own. Bothwell gathered her into his arms and rocked her back and forth. His own senses were reeling. He had, in a terrible instant of clarity, realized that in a few hours he would send this woman out of his life, possibly forever.

Slowly their breathing returned to normal. She lay back against the pillows and drew him onto her breasts. "Why did ye wait until tonight to do that to me, Francis?" He said nothing and she continued. "It is so easy for ye men. Ye live by a strict code of honor that leaves no room for emotion. Tomorrow ye will turn me over to Sandy Home, who will turn me over to James Stewart, who will probably try to make love to me before turning me over to Patrick Leslie, who will make love to me because I am his wife, and it is his right. Ye will feel remorse at my loss. Sandy Home will regret the part he must play in this drama. Jamie will feel lust mixed wi a bit of guilt, but not enough to stop this terrible thing he is doing to us. And Patrick will feel apprehension at my return, which he will try to hide from me by being masterful.

"Where am I in all of this? I am alone again while ye all play at this game of honor. I am forced to submit my honor to a man I dinna love-all the while hungering for ye, Bothwell. Ye are all so honorable. So then why do I end up feeling like a whore? I would rather be dead, and even that is denied me."

"Dinna wish for death," he whispered huskily. "The only thing that keeps me sane in all of this is knowing that ye'll be alive and well wi Glenkirk." Sitting up, he looked at her, his blue eyes blazing angrily. "I care naught for honor, and if I thought we could build a life for ourselves from the wreckage of our families I would take ye away tonight! Could ye be happy knowing that we had destroyed Glenkirk, Sithean, and Greyhaven? Nay, love, I dinna believe ye could. At least my children have Angus and the Douglases. Yer Leslies hae been a law to themselves. Ye've taken an occasional outsider into yer group, but ye've been so busy preserving yer wealth together that ye hae no powerful ties."

"We needed none," she said. "Our wealth has been our power."

"It isna now, my darling, it is yer weakness. Now James Stewart uses yer wealth as a weapon against ye, and against me. I love ye, Cat. I love ye wi all my heart. I love ye as I hae never loved another woman, and when ye are gone from me my life will be an empty shell. I hae nothing left."

"Will we nae see each other again?"

"There will come a time-six months, a year or two from now-when I will have to leave Scotland. Before I go I will see ye… if ye still wish to see me. Patrick has promised me that."

She began to weep softly again, and he held her against him, stroking her long hair. There were no words left. Exhausted, they finally slept, waking several times before the dawn. He had to arise, but she caught him by the arm, and begged softly, "Once more, my rightful husband."

So with exquisite delicacy he made love to her, his mouth seeking the sweetness of her breasts, her belly, her thighs. Gently he entered her, bringing them quickly to a mutual satisfaction. Then, marveling, as he always did, he grew hard again within her. This time he took his time, enjoying her lovely body to its fullest, and again they dozed.

When she awoke for the second time he was already up, and a steaming tub stood before the fireplace. Without a word she arose and bathed. Downstairs he laid out a cold ham, oatcakes, and brown ale. She tried nibbling on an oatcake, but it tasted like ashes and she only managed to swallow it by gulping some of the bitter ale. She felt as cold as ice. Finally he said, "If we're to meet Sandy on time we must leave now." She looked up at him, her lovely leaf-green eyes mirroring his pain. Catching her to him, his mouth closed over hers, stifling her cry. For a moment he lost himself in the sweetness of her, and as Cat's lips parted beneath his and her warm breath rushed into his mouth, he groaned.

Suddenly she tore herself away from him and, fleeing outside, mounted her horse. For a moment he could not move. Then he palled himself together and joined her.

The day was gray and threatening. Here and there the trees showed an early touch of color. They were to meet outside the town of Teviothead at the St. Cuthbert's cross. They rode in silence. Though there was so much she wanted to say to him, she could not speak.

Hercules, Lord Home, and bis men were waiting. Francis Hepburn shook hands with his friend. "Ye'll look after her, Sandy? Dinna let her do anything foolish." His voice was almost pleading, and Alexander Home nodded wordlessly. Bothwell dismounted. He lifted Cat off her horse. They stood for one long moment looking at each other. Tenderly, he cupped her face in his big hand.

"Ye'll take care of yerself?"

"Aye."

"And ye’ll nae hold Glenkirk responsible for this? He would have had ye happy, even at the cost of losing ye."

"I know."

"And dinna let Jamie know he's won."

"Christ, no!" she exploded.

"I love ye, Catriona Mairi. Whatever happens, remember that Remember."

The beloved leaf-green eyes burned into his. "I love ye, Bothwell, and whatever happens I am always yers. James can force me back to Glenkirk, but he can never change the way I feel. I will never stop loving ye." She pulled his head down, kissed him passionately, and then quickly remounted her horse and kicked it into a canter,,

Startled, Home looked at the Earl of Bothwell and then signaled his men to ride off after her. For a moment Francis Hepburn looked after them. Then suddenly his big shoulders began to shake, and Hercules heard dry, wracking sobs. He stood, helpless, not knowing what to do. He had never known Francis to cry.

Unable to think of anything else, he threw an arm around Bothwell's shoulder. "Come on, Francis! Let's go home!"

Francis Hepburn turned to face his brother, and the empty look in his eyes made Hercules recoil. "I hae no home now, Hercules," said Bothwell. "She was my home… and now she is gone."

Chapter 34

A drizzle fell without letup, but Cat insisted on riding straight through to Edinburgh. She refused to spend the night at an inn, stopping twice instead so Home and his men could refresh and relieve themselves. She would take no food, but drank a cup of wine, which Lord Home instructed the innkeeper to lace with eggs and spices. Home's cousin, riding in their party, commented, "I hope ye get her to Edinburgh alive. Wi Bothwell behind ye and the king ahead of ye, I'd hate to be in yer boots, Sandy, if anything should happen to her."

"She'll get there," answered Lord Home grimly. "If only to hae the pleasure of spitting in the king's face. She's a brave lass, is Cat Leslie."

In the cold dark hours before dawn they reached Edinburgh. Lord Home insisted on stopping at this point. "Someone," he told Cat, "must go ahead to Holy-rood House and inform the king yer here. He has insisted on seeing ye."

She did not argue, so Home sent his cousin, quietly instructing him to go first to Glenkirk House and inform the earl of his wife's arrival. Then he was to go to Holyrood and inform the king.

Home took Cat to his own townhouse, where his servants served them with a warm fire and a good breakfast. "Ye must eat something, Cat luv," urged Home worriedly.

"Sandy, I canna eat, but get me some of that wine mixture. And I want a hot tub. I'm fair chilled, and 'twill nae do for me to appear before the king smelling of the road. Have one of yer men bring my saddlebags inside. I've a change of clothes." Her voice was calm, her request reasonable, but her eyes were fever-bright.

Having instructed his people, he put an arm about her and asked, "Are ye all right, Cat?"

"Dinna be kind to me, Sandy," she said softly. "If ye are, I'll break, and I canna break until I hae seen Cousin Jamie."

They set a hip bath before the fire and screened it off. The little maidservant took the cake of scented soap from her saddlebags and helped Cat bathe. When she came out from behind the screen, Home whistled low with both admiration and shock.

"God's bones, luv! Do ye mean to appear before James like that?"

She wore a low-necked gown of black velvet with long tight sleeves edged in cream-colored lace. Across her swelling breasts was draped a Hepburn plaid caught at the shoulder with a large gold pin, an emerald in its center. On her chest, above a marvelous display of breasts, rested the gold Hepburn lion pendant that Both-well had given her. "Do ye think the king will object if I show my loyalties?" she asked.

"Ye know damn well he will! Ye can gain nothing by defying him, Cat!"

"I can lose nothing either, Sandy! He's already taken my life from me."

Lord Home shook his head. He couldn't reasonably argue with her. Instead he handed her the goblet of wine. "Drink it, luv. Yer going to need yer strength for the battle ahead."

An hour later he was relieved of his burden when the king's chamberboy escorted the Countess of Glenkirk.ato the king's private closet.

James Stewart wore a floorlength robe over his silk nightshirt. She curtsied and rose to face him. The hooded amber eyes swept over her, and then he said coldly, "I dinna care for yer gown, madame."

"I am in mourning, sire."

"For whom?"

"Myself," she replied equally coldly. "I died yesterday."

"Dinna defy me, madame! Ye should be severely punished for yer wanton behavior!"

She laughed harshly. "Instruct me, yer majesty. 'Tis quite permissible for me to be yer mistress, but 'tis not permissible for me to be Bothwell's mistress. Is that correct?"

"I loved ye," he said quietly.

"Ye lusted after me! Nothing grander than that," she shot back. "And even when that sweet girl became yer queen ye were nae content and wouldna behave decently. Ye had to once again force yer way into my bed, though ye knew it would cause trouble. I begged ye not to destroy my marriage to Patrick Leslie, and when he caught ye wi yer dirty hands all over me, ye made it all worse than it had to be. But Jamie, I forgie ye that because in forcing me to flee yer cruelty I fled to Francis Hepburn. And I fell in love. He's worth a hundred of ye, Jamie. And though ye've torn us apart, even death will nae stop our love because it is greater than even the damned royal Stewarts!" She turned from him.

He was stunned by her violence. "Cat…" He softly used her name for the first time. "Cat, love, dinna turn from me. I hae hungered so for ye all these months." He touched her shoulder and she shuddered.

"For pity's sake, Jamie, dinna touch me! Ye disgust me!"

His hand reached up and caressed the shining dark-gold hair she had bound loosely with a ribbon. "Yer lovely hair," he said. "Yer lovely soft hair. How I remember it tumbled on the pillows when I made love to ye. Or dropping like a shining curtain around us in bed. It is so beautiful. So very beautiful," he murmured softly.

She turned to him then, and as he watched, fascinated and unbelieving, she reached down to the gewgaws that hung from her waist and drew up a small pair of gold scissors. Before he could stop her she had cut through the thickly bound plait of hair just above the ribbon. "If ye like my hair so, Jamie, ye should hae it, for 'tis all ye'll ever get of Cat Leslie!" She flung the golden mass at him, her face blazing contempt.

The king drew back, horrified. It was at this point that the Earl of Glenkirk entered the room. For a moment James and Patrick stood side by side. Seeing them together, Cat's heart began to pound violently. It was Glenkirk who realized what was frightening her and, leaping the space betwen them, he caught her as she crumbled in a dead faint. Before she lost consciousness he heard her cry out piteously, "Francis! Help me!"

Cradling his wife in his arms, Patrick Leslie said quietly to the king, "I'll bid ye good day, Jamie. When Cat is fit to travel I am taking her home to Glenkirk. If ye try to stop me, I swear I'll return her to Bothwell myself, and the devil take the consequences!"

But James said nothing. He stared at the silken rope of hair in his hands. Patrick Leslie, following the king's chamberboy, carried his unconscious wife to his carriage and ordered the coachman to drive quickly back to Glenkirk House. Mrs. Kerr, clucking sympathetically, helped put Cat to bed.

Patrick was relieved to see that she was now merely in a deep sleep. That she was exhausted emotionally as well as physically he did not need to be told, though Lord Home had talked with him as they left the palace. The Earl of Glenkirk sat by his wife's bedside throughout the day, watching over her. He learned how deep her love for Francis Hepburn really was. Patrick Leslie felt a great sadness come over him as he listened to his wife talking in her sleep. He was not sure he could ever win her back, but he realized once more that he still loved her.

Towards late afternoon he saw signs that she would soon be awakening. Stepping into the upstairs hall, he called to Mrs. Kerr, instructing her to bring a tray with capon, bread and butter, and a small decanter of sweet white wine. When Cat opened her eyes she saw Patrick crossing the room with a tray in his hands.

"Good afternoon, sweetheart," he said gently. "How do ye feel?"

"How long have I been asleep?" she asked him.

"About ten hours." Putting the tray down on the bedside table he fluffed the goosedown pillows, and helped her to sit up. "Mrs. Kerr fixed ye this tray." He placed it on her lap.

"Take it away. I canna eat."

Patrick Leslie drew a chair up next to the bed and sat down. He held a capon wing under her nose. "Lord Home told me that ye did not eat during the whole trip from the borders. When did ye have yer last meal?"

"Two nights ago." She said it so softly that he barely heard her.

"Eat," he said quietly.

She raised her head up and looked at him. Her lovely eyes filled with tears that spilled down her cheeks in a torrent. He quickly put down the poultry wing and tenderly gathered her into his arms. He felt her stiffen, but chose to ignore it. "Cry!" he commanded. "Damnit, Catriona! Cry!" At this, the great sorrow that she had been forcing down welled up and spilled over. She wept until her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, until she could weep no more. And all the while he held her protectively, crooning softly to her. When she was finally quiet he held her off from him a moment and, with a silken handkerchief, wiped her cheeks. But when he put the silk to her nose, she snatched it from him angrily. "I'm nae a child, Glenkirk!"

"No," he answered quietly, "yer not."

"Christ," she whispered at him fiercely, "how can ye want me back knowing that I love him? I will always love him!" She snatched the decanter up and poured herself some wine. The look she threw him was defiant, and pure Cat.

He laughed. "Dinna get drunk until ye've eaten something." He removed the decanter from the tray and put it on the bedside table. Going to the door, he called again to Mrs. Kerr to bring him a tray. It soon appeared, a distinct contrast to hers, containing raw oysters, several slices of ham, artichokes in oil, bread and butter, apples, a honeycomb, and a pitcher of red wine.

Warily she watched him wolf down his food while she forced herself to eat a slice of capon and some bread and butter. Knowing her sweet tooth, he laid a piece of honeycomb on her plate and was encouraged when she ate it. Then, having drunk up the little decanter of white wine, she took his pitcher of red and filled her goblet. He removed it from her hand.

"Ye'll be sick, Cat," he said, "and there is nothing more unpleasant than sleeping wi a drunken woman."

Her eyes widened. "Ye dinna mean to sleep in this bed? No! No! Ye canna be that cruel, Patrick. Gie me some time!"

It had come, and Patrick Leslie steeled himself for what he must do. He was shocked to discover that Both-well knew her a great deal better than he ever had. "Yer my wife, Cat," he said quietly. "Whether ye want to be or whether ye love me is nae longer important. By law ye belong to me, and though ye may not love me, I love ye very much. I hae been wi'out yer company now for over two years. I hae no intention of denying myself the pleasure of yer lovely body any longer."

While he spoke he carefully undressed himself. Now he walked over to the bed and, pulling back the coverlet, climbed in beside her. She tried to escape him by leaving the bed on the other side, but he caught her easily. Slowly and deliberately, he drew her fiercely struggling body to him. Forcing her back into the curve of his arm, he bent and captured her mouth. Her lips were cold and pressed tightly together. Gently he forced them open, plunging his tongue into her mouth while his free hand caressed the breasts he had skillfully freed from her bodice. She gasped as a wave of desire shot through her. Desperately she renewed her struggle. She did not want Patrick Leslie. She wanted Francis Hepburn, and she could hear his voice even now, mocking her. Just two nights ago he had said, "Ye were made for love. Ye canna deny that."

Her body was betraying her again, as it always had, by responding to lovemaking when she did not want it to. All the while her husband pleasured himself with her, her heart cried out to Bothwell. Glenkirk had never made love to her with such tenderness, and this calmed her somewhat. He moved rhythmically, finally crying out his relief. She found that, though his lovemaking had excited her body, she had not reached a climax emotionally. He realized it too. Withdrawing from her, he cradled her in his arms. "Go to sleep," he said gently. For some reason she felt safe, and obeyed.

They stayed in Edinburgh for several days, until he was sure she could travel safely. Each night he made love to her, as if to reaffirm his position. At last he took her home to Glenkirk. They arrived a week after Bess Leslie's eleventh birthday. Bess seemed to be the only one not especially glad to see her mother.

Jamie, the Leslie heir, was now fifteen and on short leave from the university. He stood as tall as his father, and from the saucy looks the servant girls gave him, Cat knew that her eldest son was already being instructed in the arts of love. The thought disturbed her a little, for she was only thirty-one. As she hugged him he touched the unfamiliar short gold curls.

"What happened to yer hair, mother?"

"I gave it to the king," she answered.

"Jesu! Ye defied him?"

"Aye."

He saw the pain in her eyes, and saw as well that she tried to hide it. Putting his arms about her he said softly, "Dinna grieve, mother. We love ye too, and are very glad to hae ye home again."

Colin and Robbie were home from Rothes. They swarmed over her like young puppies. In great contrast, Cat's two youngest daughters, Amanda, six, and Morag, five, were quite shy with the beautiful, sad woman whom Grandmother Meg said was their mother. Within a few days, however, Cat had won the two little girls over. Only Bess remained aloof.

"She is jealous of ye," said Meg with amusement. "Soon she will be grown, and she's been feeling her own femininity lately. Then ye come home-and lord, Catriona! Yer over thirty, and absolutely beautiful! 'Tis very hard on poor Bess. She adores Patrick, and up until now has had a great deal of his attention. Now he spends most of his time wi ye."

The matter came to a head when it appeared that Patrick's nightly efforts had borne fruit, and Cat began to swell with another child. The unhappy Countess of Glenkirk overheard her eldest daughter discussing the matter with her oldest brother.

"I think it is disgusting," raged the girl, "at her age. And especially after what she's done to our father by whoring wi Lord Bothwell!"

There was the sound of a slap, and Bess shrieked, "Ye hit me, Jamie. Ye hit me!"

"Aye," Jamie replied. "And, Mistress Jealousy, I'll smack ye again if ye ever speak of mother like that. We know naught of what happened between mother and father, but I do know that mother loves Francis Hepburn. She has come back because she loves us too, and would nae allow the king to destroy us."

"How do ye know that?" sneered Bess.

"Because John Leslie, the Rothes heir, is at University wi me, and he overheard his father telling his uncle that Glenkirk only got his wife back because the king threatened to destroy our whole family unless she left Bothwell."

"Good for the king!" gloated Bess. "He is a godly man."

Jamie laughed cruelly. "Yer a fool, little sister. Nay, perhaps just a foolish little virgin. The king lusts after mother, and when she refused him he forced her to leave Bothwell by threatening us."

"Then why does she hae father's child if she doesna love him?"

"To make peace between them, I would think, little sister. She is a brave and bonnie lady, our mother, and if ye are not civil to her in future I'll beat ye myself!"

Cat was amazed at how much her son knew and how wise he was at his age. She could also see that she would have to keep an eye on Bess. The child was growing quickly, and understood enough half-truths to be confused. Cat knew that her daughter's angry opinions were not her own, but were echoes of an adult voice. Suspecting the offender's identity, Cat took steps to remedy the situation.

When Cat had fled to Lord Bothwell, her faithful tiring woman had not known the reason for her mistress' behavior. Returned to Glenkirk, Ellen had taken care of Bess from the busy Sally and Lucy Kerr. As the months went by with no word from Cat, Ellen's confusion turned to anger. She unwisely expressed her anger to young and impressionable Bess. And now, with her lady's return, Ellen deserted Bess and resumed her duties with Cat, thus adding to poor Bess' bitterness.

Cat could see that Bess missed Ellen, and though Ellen had always been valuable to her, her over-solicitous attention had begun to get on Cat's nerves. Ellen seemed to think that Cat had done a terrible thing, and was fortunate that Patrick forgave her. Rather than scold her old servant, Cat took her aside and spoke to her confidentially. "Ellie, I am going to need yer help wi Bess. She is getting to the age where she needs an experienced hand to guide her. Ye looked after her while I was away. Would ye mind taking charge of her again? She is so fond of ye."

"I will do whatever ye wish, but who will take care of ye, my chick? Especially in yer condition."

"Ellie! Ye've become a foolish old woman.’Tis not my first bairn. I canna replace ye, but I think yer niece, Susan, would do nicely."

"Aye," said Ellen thoughtfully, thinking of her plain and sensible niece. "Susan is nae a flibbertigibbety girl. She would do her job well, and I will guide her. But could she not be Mistress Bess' woman rather than me?"

"I think that Bess would be happier wi ye, Ellie, and ye were so good wi me at that age. However, I will leave the decision to ye."

Ellen decided-as Cat knew she would-that Bess would be a better mistress. It was easy to boss a young and unsure girl, and she no longer understood her lady Catriona. Feeling important once again, Ellen took charge of Bess and spoke well of Cat to her daughter.

Cat made certain to spend time with her three daughters. Amanda and Morag had lost their shyness of their mother, which gave Cat joy. Bess, though she remained wary, was friendlier than she had been, and even joined in games Cat played with the little ones.

Eight months after her return to Patrick Leslie, Cat Leslie went into labor. "‘Tis too soon," worried the earl to his mother. "I'm surprised she's lasted this long," observed Meg. "Dinna look so worried, my son. By nightfall there will be at least two more Leslies in this house. Cat is carrying twins, and multiple births always deliver early. I know because my mother's last children were twins. They run in our family."

The dowager countess was correct. Cat easily and quickly delivered a son and a daughter before the sun set on May 1 of 1594. The boy was baptized Ian, the girl Jane. Patrick was delighted that his wife had so thoughtfully named their children after his paternal grandparents. Cat cradled each child before she slept, and then quietly announced that she would not be nursing these children. Wet nurses were quickly found for the twins.

In mid-June Patrick Leslie was visited by Benjamin Kira, and the result was a journey to London. Thinking she would enjoy the trip, he asked Cat to go with him. She refused.

"I'll be gone from late summer till next spring, sweetheart. Please come wi me. We've been back together such a short time."

"No, Patrick. Ye promised him that before he left Scotland we might see each other. If I am in England wi ye when he calls me, I will never see him again. Dinna ask me to go away wi ye again."

He did not, though it pained him to admit that he was saddened by her refusal. He had hoped the birth of their twins would help her to forget the border lord. On August 15, Patrick Leslie left Glenkirk bound for London.

On September 15 the Countess of Glenkirk received an invitation from George Gordon, the powerful Earl of Huntley, to visit him and his wife at Huntley Castle. Gossip had it that Bothwell was in the north. If he was, then Cat knew he would be with the Gordons. On September 17 the Countess of Glenkirk left her castle for Huntley.

Chapter 35

THE truce between James Stewart and Francis Stewart-Hepburn had not worked out. Though the king had signed an agreement on August 14, 1593, to pardon his noble cousin and his equally noble supporters, and to restore all their estates, titles, and honors, he was soon tempted to go back on his word. On September 8, a convention of parliament was held at Stirling, and James attempted to modify the promises he had made in August. On September 22, the king forbade his cousin and his supporters to come within ten miles of him unless summoned by James himself. Should they disobey, the charge against them would be high treason. Maitland's power had not waned.

The royal gauntlet thrown down, it was picked up by Bothwell and armed friends. They assembled outside Linlithgow in early October while the king was in residence. On October 22, Bothwell was called before the high council to answer to the charge of high treason. Refusing to attend the proceedings, he was denounced.

All was quiet for several months, and then in the spring of 1594 James called twice for a levy of forces to bring his cousin to the king's justice. Suddenly Bothwell appeared with a powerful force outside of Leith. He had come, he said, to fight the Spaniards, whose imminent landing was rumored. His real purpose was to make a show of strength, in hope of bringing his royal cousin to terms.

James advanced towards Leith from Edinburgh while Bothwell retreated in leisure towards Dalkeith, as though he were not being pursued at all. James was forced to go back to Edinburgh, having lost yet another encounter with his cousin. The border lord then slipped over the border into England, where he remained, quietly, until Queen Elizabeth was forced to acknowledge his presence and eject him.

Francis Hepburn now had two choices. He could deliver himself up to James, or he could join with the northern earls. Sensing that exile was near, he went north so he could see Cat before leaving his homeland. There was no one else left he cared to see. Hercules had been caught and hanged in the previous bitter February. Margaret Douglas and his children behaved as if he did not exist. Only Cat Leslie remained. Would she see him?

No one had told Cat so, but she knew intuitively that he waited at Huntley for her. Gathering her daughters about her, she told them she would be gone for a while. "But I'll be back, my little loves," she promised, "and then I'll nae leave ye again."

When Amanda and Morag had run off to play, Bess, now twelve, asked quietly, "Is Lord Bothwell at Huntley, mother?"

Cat's first reaction was to tell her daughter it was none of her business. But then she looked again at Bess, who hovered between childhood and womanhood, and thought better of it. The countess put an arm about her eldest daughter. "Yes," she said. "I believe that Lord Bothwell is at Huntley. Dinna be angry, Bess. Yer father gave me his permission to see Francis. Someday ye'll love a man. Perhaps then, Bess, ye'll understand yer mother."

"I shall ne'er love any man but my true, wedded lord, mother."

Cat laughed softly and squeezed her daughter gently. "How wonderful to be so young, and so positive, my darling. I hope that in my absence ye will help yer grandmother, and watch over yer sisters and the twins."

Bess Leslie looked at her mother for a moment, and then she clung to her. "Ye'll nae go away wi Lord Bothwell? Ye will come home? Ye'll nae leave us forever?"

"No, my child. I will be back." A lump rose in her throat. "I will come back to ye, Bessie luv. Dinna fear."

Before Cat left Glenkirk, Margaret Leslie took her daughter-in-law aside. "My son did a cruel and terrible thing to ye, Catriona. Go-say your final goodbyes to Francis Hepburn. Take whatever time ye need. But when ye return to Glenkirk, ye must again be a good wife to Patrick. He has been punished enough."

Now the beautiful Countess of Glenkirk rode eagerly across the hills that separated her home from Huntley. Ellen had wanted to come with her, saying that her niece had not the experience to accompany her mistress to a great house. Cat had cajoled her into staying with Bess, saying the young girl needed Ellen more than she did. The truth was that the countess did not want her old servant intruding on her reunion with Lord Bothwell. Susan was young and unsure enough to be discreet.

At last the towers of Huntley Castle came into view, and Cat's heart began pounding. Conall rode up beside her. "I dinna suppose ye'll want us to stay," he said disapprovingly.

."No," she answered him. "I dinna need Leslie protection in the house of the Gordons. My grandmother was a Gordon."

" 'Twas nae the Gordons I was thinking ye needed protection from, madame."

She smiled at him. "I dinna need any protection from my Lord Bothwell, Conall. Rather, he may need it from me."

Conall laughed despite himself. He had long ago given up hope of understanding his nobles. It only confused him to try.

They clattered into the courtyard of Huntley, where George Gordon and his lovely French wife, Henriette, awaited them. Having dismounted, Cat greeted them warmly, but her eyes were restlessly sweeping the courtyard. Lord Gordon laughed. "He got here about two hours ago, Cat, and insisted on having a bath. I doubt if he is ready to receive ye yet."

But suddenly she saw him at the top of the staircase. For a moment they gazed at one another, spellbound. Cat took a few steps forward, but then her legs refused to cooperate further, and began to give way beneath her. He was at her side in seconds, catching her up in his strong arms, his deep-blue eyes devouring her. Her arms went around his neck as he bent and found her mouth. Everything-the courtyard, the horses, the servants, the Gordons-melted away as they abandoned themselves to each other. Hungrily, eagerly, their lips demanded more and yet more.

It was Henriette Gordon who broke the spell by turning to her husband and saying, "But George! You did not tell me that Lady Leslie and Lord Bothwell knew each other. I have given them apartments at opposite ends of the castle."

Francis Hepburn broke away from Cat, and both of them burst into laughter. "Oh, George," teased the Countess of Glenkirk, "how could ye hae overlooked even such a small detail?"

Huntley looked rueful. Bothwell gently put Cat down on her feet. "Can ye stand now, my darling?" he asked.

"Aye, Francis. 'Tis all right now."

The border lord turned to his pretty hostess and, taking her plump little hand, smiled down at her. "Which of the two apartments is the larger, Riette?"

"Lady Leslie's. I thought-with a woman's clothes and things-she would need the large suite." The Countess of Huntley was flustered by the turn of events.

"Will ye then," said Lord Bothwell with grave courtesy, "please hae my things moved in with Lady Leslie's? We shall, after all, be needing only one bed." He turned to his host. "George, ye will excuse us now until the evening meal. My lady and I hae been parted for over a year. I know ye understand." Putting an arm about Cat's waist, he led her up the stairs and into the castle.

Henriette Gordon faced her amused husband with outrage. Laughing, he led her into their home, and when he had told her the tragic story of Bothwell and Cat, the pretty Countess of Huntley was on the verge of tears. "Oh, George! Les pauvres! James Stewart- Il est un cochon!" she cried indignantly. And from that moment, she was their ally.

Bothwell waited patiently for an hour to be alone with Cat. There could be no privacy with servants traipsing in and out. Cat had ordered a hot bath to be set up for her by the fireplace. She was enchanted by the floral decorated porcelain tub. The hot water arrived, and Susan fussed until she found the hyacinth-scented bath oil. Francis Hepburn watched, amused, as the little maid shooed everyone out and tried to take him on as well. Laughing, he caught her by the waist and looked down at her. She blushed deep scarlet as his eyes boldly swept her. "Yer nae Ellen, are ye? Yer too young."

"No-no, sir," she replied shyly. "I am Susan, her niece. My aunt looks after young Mistress Bess now."

"Well, Susan," said Bothwell kindly, "yer to go to the servants hall and hae a good supper. And if any of the lads get rough wi ye, lass, yer to tell them they'll answer to me."

"But, sir! I must help my lady to bathe."

Gently but firmly, he propelled her out the door. "I will help yer lady to bathe, Susan. 'Twill nae be the first time. And dinna come back until yer sent for, lass." He locked the door behind her, then turned to find Cat helpless with laughter.

"Ah, Bothwell, ye rogue! She will talk about this the rest of her life!" chuckled the Countess of Glenkirk.

"Take yer bath, madame," he commanded.

"Unbutton me," she countered, turning her back to him.

His fingers fumbled down the long row of tiny silver buttons. She was amused by his trembling hands. She shrugged the velvet riding gown off and stepped out of it. Beneath it she wore a low-cut silk underblouse, beribboned busk, three silk petticoats, and lace stockings secured by garters. She unbuttoned the blouse and removed it, but it was he who unhooked the little busk. Naked to the waist, she gazed up at him, her eyes bright with desire.

"Bathe," he repeated, his voice thick.

Sliding the petticoats over her hips, she let them fall about her ankles. Stepping out of them, she kicked the white silk mound away from her. She was now completely naked except for the dark blue lace knit stockings and their pink garters. Groaning, he turned away. She smiled to herself and quickly rolled the stockings down and off her shapely legs. When he turned back she was comfortably settled in her tub.

He sat down next to her. "Ye could tempt a band of angels!"

"Ye must hae been very true to me, Bothwell, to be so quickly roused. I am flattered."

He looked at her somberly. "The truth's that I have lifted every skirt I could, to try to bank the fire ye left in my heart. I failed miserably, because I have never stopped loving ye, or needing ye. I dinna expect I ever shall."

"Oh, Francis," she cried. "I have ached for ye all these many months. I have never stopped loving ye either."

"Yet," he said, almost bitterly, "ye gave yer husband another child-nay, twins!"

She laughed, and the sound was silvery in the quiet of the room. "Oh, Bothwell, ye great fool! The bairns are yers! The bairns are yers!"

He was incredulous. "Ye canna be sure, Cat."

"But I can," she said. "I can. Oh, my sweet lord, did ye not think it strange when ye had already fathered so many bairns, and I was mother to six, that we had no child of our own?" He nodded, and she continued. "When Mam returned from the east she brought wi her a secret for controlling conception. All the women in our family know it. Until we were safely wed I could not let us have a child. When the king forbade my divorce I knew I dared not gie Jamie a weapon to use against us. Then he ordered us parted, and I realized I couldna leave ye wi'out something of ye to sustain me. I was over a month pregnant when I left ye, Francis! Glenkirk waited not a moment before claiming his rights, so he assumed the twins were his- especially when his mother said that twins ran in her family, and always came early."

"What did ye call them?"

"Ian and Jane."

"Ye named them after my parents?"

"Aye, but Patrick thinks they are named after his paternal grandparents."

"What are they like, my wee bairns? What are they like, Cat?"

The silvery laugh tinkled again. "Francis! They're but bairns! Five-month-old bairns." Seeing his crestfallen look, she tried. "The lad is auburn-haired and blue-eyed. He is bright, I can tell, and very demanding. His sister is a blue-eyed reddish-blonde of very much the same temperament. The wet nurses and the nursery staff adore them, for they both hae great charm."

It was what he had wanted to hear, and his eyes misted. She felt a catch in her throat, and silently cursed once again their cousin the king. To keep from crying she said to him, "Hand me that cake of soap, my love," and proceeded to scrub herself down. When she had finished she stood and stepped out of the tub. Francis wrapped her in a towel and began to rub her dry. She stood quietly, luxuriating in the delicious sensation of his hands on her once again.

She could tell by his touch that he was near to losing that perfect control he prided himself on, and she wanted him as she had never wanted him before. Turning, she slid her slender arms about his neck. "Now, Francis," she said quietly. "Take me, now! I have waited over a year to be wi ye again, and 'tis nae time to be standoffish."

Pulling away from him, she walked slowly across the room and climbed into the big lace-trimmed, lavender-scented featherbed. Undressing, he asked, "Did Glenkirk nae make love to ye enough that yer so eager, my darling?"

"Glenkirk took every opportunity to use me, and though my body responds to him, I hae never since we last made love been able to find the heaven I find wi ye, Francis. Aye, my lord, I am eager for ye!" She held out her arms to him, and he waited no longer.

They cuddled together beneath the warmth of the coverlet. He had her cradled within one arm while the other caressed her soft breast and then wandered boldly to stroke her rounded belly, her firm, trembling thighs and the soft hidden places of her body. Her breath was coming in short gasps, but she suddenly squirmed free of him and pushed him back on the pillows.

Bending over him, her lips began a tantalizing descent down his long body. She was exciting him unbelievably, her petal-soft lips gentle, touching him here and then there, moving lower and lower until she reached his swollen manroot. Tenderly she took it in her hand and kissed the pink, throbbing head. Then, taking it into her warm mouth, she drew on it for just a moment. His whole body jerked, and he cried out as if in agony. Frightened, she released him. She looked into his face. "I only wanted to taste of ye, my love," she whispered.

He pulled her back under him, and looked passionately down at her. "What do I taste of?" he demanded thickly.

"S-salt," she answered him suddenly, feeling very shy.

He laughed softly. Quickly sliding down and between her slender legs, he slipped his hands beneath her round buttocks and lifted her up, so he might taste of her also. She cried out-half in joy, half in shame. She wanted him to take her this way even though she felt it was not quite right. "Sweet! Sweet!" she heard him murmur. "Christ, yer sweet, my love!"

She could feel herself slipping away into that golden world of sweet fulfillment that she had been unable to attain since last being with him. As the delicious ache began to spread through her lower belly, his hardness thrust into her, and she cried aloud her happiness.

Afterwards-almost immediately-they both fell into deep contented sleep, still joined, their bodies intertwined. When she awoke it was to find him awake too, and watching her. She smiled and touched his cheek gently. He caught her hand and tenderly kissed the palm and the inner wrist. Their eyes met, and she trembled, so great was the depth of his emotion. That two people could love as deeply as she and Bothwell loved terrified her.

Propping himself on one elbow, he ruffled her dark-gold curls. "What happened to yer lovely hair?" She told him the story of her meeting with the king, and he shook his head wonderingly. "Ye defied him for me? Christ! How that must hae hurt Jamie!" He put his arms about her. "Yer my wench, and have been from the start, haven't ye? My God, how am I going to survive wi'out ye? I have nae done well so far."

"I dinna want to think about it, Francis. Not today. Not now when we are together again."

"How long can ye stay wi me, my darling."

"As long as yer at Huntley. Glenkirk is in England until the spring."

"How damned convenient," murmured Bothwell. "However when he promised we might see each other again, I dinna think he meant ye should live wi me for any length of time." The border lord's eyes were brimming with amusement.

"I will do as I please, Bothwell! If I thought the Leslies could escape Jamie's wrath I would flee to France yi ye now! Both the king and my husband know that. Unfortunately I am bound to the Leslies. They hae all been at me since my return. My Uncle Patrick, the old Earl of Sithean, died two years ago, but his wife has nae stopped her whining that my shameless behavior endangers her precious Earl Charles, who is married to Glenkirk's sister, Janet. When I told my mother the truth of my estrangement from Patrick, she chided me for not making him understand the great honor done me by James Stewart. She, who was a virgin till her wedding night, and who has never known another man in her entire life but my father, chortled about the 'honor' of being the king's mistress! They make me sick! All of them! And yet-I am bound to them, and I must sacrifice my happiness for their safety. But, my love, my very life-I will nae sacrifice this¹ time wi ye. When ye leave Scotland, I shall never see ye again. I know it! I feel it! We are surely doomed to be separated, but I will hae this time wi ye!"

His arms tightened about her. "I know I hae never done anything in this life to deserve love such as yers, my sweet Catriona Mairi."

The clock on the mantel struck five, and she said, "Good Lord! We're going to be late for dinner! What will the Gordons think?" Reaching out, she yanked the bellpull. Disengaging herself from his grasp, she stood up.

He caught his breath at the perfection of her body. Without her long hair the beautiful line of her back was visible. He had made love to many women, but none could hold a candle to her. He was not a man to take pride in his ownership of a woman, but he was very proud that she loved him.

Susan arrived and modestly set up a screen for her mistress to dress behind. The Gordon valet assigned to serve Lord Bothwell rushed to cover the earl's private parts as he rose from the tumbled bed, but Susan's flaming cheeks told him that he had been too late. Unable to resist, Bothwell winked at the little maidservant. She almost swooned.

"Damnit, Francis! Stop teasing Susan! Ye've made her all thumbs. No, child. The pendant!"

Bothwell had dressed in a kilt, and Cat's gaze swept him. "Damn me, Francis," she said teasingly. "Ye've the handsomest pair of legs I've ever seen in a kilt."

He grinned wickedly at her. "And ye, madame, hae the handsomest pair of-" He was stopped by her warning look, and he laughed and said, "Well, ye do, my darling!"

She laughed helplessly. "Yer a most impossible man! Take me down to supper."

They descended from their tower to the hall below, where George and Henriette Gordon waited for them alone. The Earl of Huntley had been sure that Both-well and Cat would not welcome company, so there was none.

George Gordon, called the Cock of the North, was related to the king. Cat had met him at court. He had wisely kept his wife from court. Henriette Gordon was petite, with soft hair the color of a daffodil, and enormous golden-brown eyes. She was elegant, and educated, and had charming Gallic manners and a warm heart. It did not take long for her to become friends with Cat Leslie.

Knowing that Bothwell would be with them through the winter, she had asked Cat to stay. Then she ascertained that though Cat's boys were no longer at home, her daughters were, and she invited them to Huntley for Christmas and Twelfth Night. When Cat demurred because she did not want to leave Meg alone, Henriette said she would invite the dowager as well.

The end result was that Bess, Amanda, and Morag were coming for the holidays. But Meg had been asked to Forbes Manor to stay with her youngest son, Michael, and his wife, Isabelle. She did not often get to see them, and she felt that this was the perfect opportunity. There was, she wrote, one complication. The twins would have to go to Huntley. Meg did not want them left alone at Glenkirk with the servants.

Bothwell was wild with excitement. "Our bairns!" he said. "I shall get to see our bairns!"

"Ye canna admit to their paternity," she cautioned him. "The world has never doubted that Patrick Leslie is their father. I will allow no one-even ye-to endanger them."

It was a new side of her that he saw-this fierce and protective mother. He put an arm about her. "Fate has nae dealt kindly wi us, has it, Cat?"

"We're together now, Bothwell," she answered him.

The unspoken questions-"For how long?" "Until when?"-lay between them, but neither Cat nor Francis could ask those questions.

So while the autumn deepened about them, they accepted the Gordons' hospitality. It allowed them a tranquil place to rest in their last months together. For just a brief time they might forget the public controversy that raged about Francis Stewart-Hepburn and the private one that raged about them both. When the future arrived they would face it courageously. But for now, they basked in their good fortune.

Chapter 36

GREEN and gold September gave way to a rainbow October. The trees about Huntley were clothed in their traditional brilliant colors. November was a gray-and-brown month, startling in contrast to the beauty of the previous month. The first snow fell late, on St. Thomas' Night, and the Leslie children arrived that day.

They had come, Bess riding a gentle brown mare, the other children and their attendants in carriages, escorted by Conall and fifty men-at-arms. Twelve-year-old Bess Leslie strove to appear grown-up. She wore an elegant riding habit of claret-colored velvet, a matching cloak trimmed in sable, and a small hat atop her dark, neatly braided hair. Cat had never seen her eldest daughter with her hair up.

"She is très chic," murmured Henriette.

"And very young yet," replied Cat with a catch in her throat.

"She does not approve of you," laughed Henriette behind her plump, beringed white hand. "The young- especially young virgins-are so terribly intolerant."

"Aye," smiled Cat in agreement. "I was at her age. Poor Bess! She likes Francis. She canna help it, but she loves her father, and feels it is disloyal to him to be polite to Bothwell. She canna understand why I no longer care for her father, and I dare not tell her the truth, so I evade her questions, which only hurts and confuses her more."

"She would be more hurt, my friend, if she did know the truth. Come, Cat, do not fret. Let us go and meet your children."

Bess' serious young face lit up the moment she saw her mother. Forgetting dignity, she tumbled off her horse into Cat's arms. "Mama!" Cat hugged the girl to her. Then, releasing her, she admonished gently. "Bess, yer manners! Make yer curtsy to Lord and Lady Gordon, and Lord Bothwell." Blushing a rosy color, the girl turned and curtsied beautifully to the other adults.

Henriette Gordon kissed the girl on both cheeks and welcomed her warmly, and George Gordon murmured an appropriate welcome. But then Bothwell stepped forward and, taking the young girl's hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. "I am delighted to see ye again, Lady Elizabeth," he said. His blue eyes twinkled at her. Damn him, thought Bess. I dinna want to like him-but I do!

And for the briefest moment, Bess caught a glimpse of the man that so fascinated her mother.

Amanda and Morag Leslie descended the carriage to make pretty curtsies to their host and hostess. Cat kissed each of her daughters in turn. At last the Kerr sisters exited the second coach, each clutching a twin.

"Ahhh," said the Countess of Glenkirk. "Look, everyone! My littlest bairns." She drew back the cover from Jane's bunting, revealing auburn curls peeping from a lace-edged bonnet, and dark lashes resting on pink cheeks. The baby slept. Ian, however, was wide awake. Cat was startled by the familiar expression in his dark-blue eyes.

"Art awake, lovely?" she crooned at the boy, and took him from Sally. "Now here's my wee laddie. Madame et monsieurs. Je presente le seigneur Ian Leslie." She turned. "Here, Bothwell! Ye take him while I get my Jane from Lucy." She briskly handed him the child, scolding him, "Christ, Francis! He's nae wet! Dinna drop him!" Taking the baby girl from Lucy, she said, "Let's go indoors. 'Tis too raw out here for the bairns."

Francis Hepburn, looking nervous but pleased, followed her. He was admiring the clever way in which she had arranged for him to hold his son. Bothwell sat down by the fire in the Great Hall and held the child in a sitting position on his knee. "Hello, Ian, my small son," he said softly. The child looked back at him seriously and then, reaching a fat fist up to the bending man, grabbed a handful of hair, and yanked. "Owwwww!" roared the Earl of Bothwell, but a small chortle from the baby turned his outrage to mirth. "Yer a wee devil, lad," he chuckled, but Cat knew he was pleased with the boy.

"Best to gie Ian to his nanny now, Francis," she said quiedy. He obeyed her. "What do ye think of his sister, my lord?" Bothwell looked at Jane, who was now awake, and smiled down at the baby girl. To his delight the child smiled shyly back. "She looks a bit like ye," he said. "Aye," replied Cat, "but she's got red hair. Meg says her coloring is Stewart, but the Leslies have red hair too."

For just a moment longer Bothwell gazed hungrily at the two children. In his secret heart he cursed James Stewart. His son and his daughter would grow up Leslies, never knowing him or their true heritage.

He wanted these children desperately. Sadly he watched as the Kerr sisters removed the twins to the Gordon nurseries.

Christmas Day dawned cold and gray. Bothwell, who had always moved back and forth between old and new kirk as politics dictated, attended mass with the Gordons' Catholic household. As he knelt with his mistress on the cold stone floor of the estate church he wondered again why there was this battle over the way to worship. Did God, if there was a God, really care?

Looking at Cat's face, he revised his thinking. Aye, there was a God. The only trouble was that God seemed to be on the king's side, though why God should approve of James was beyond him. It showed a great want of taste.

In Scotland, New Year's and Twelfth Night were the gayest celebrations of the winter season. On New Year's Eve there was to be a great celebration with a feast that had kept the cooks busy for three days. The 31st of December was bitterly cold, but clear. Cat and Francis had gone riding.

Returning late in the afternoon, they found the stableyard deserted. Everyone, from the lord to the lowest retainer, was out gathering wood for tonight's midnight bonfire. Neither Cat nor Bothwell was stranger to the art of horse care. They led their mounts into the stable, unaware that Bess watched from the loft above.

Several hours after her mother left that morning, Bess had decided that perhaps she would like to ride. After an hour, the cold having forced her back, she returned to find the grooms gone. Leading her mare into its stall, Bess unsaddled the animal, rubbed it down, and fed her. Then, curious, she climbed to the loft to see what she could see. From the loft of the Glenkirk stables you could-on a clear day-see all the way to the loch, and to the towers of Sithean.

From the loft of the Huntley stables she could see nothing but hills and more hills. Disappointed, she was about to climb down when she saw her mother and Lord Bothwell enter the stables leading their horses. Elizabeth Leslie could not have said why she remained hidden in the Huntley's stable loft that day rather than announcing her presence.

The adults below her talked quietly to each other about ordinary things, of the celebration to come, and of what they would be giving the children. Bess learned that her mother and Bothwell would be presenting her with a longed-for strand of pearls plus a bracelet, earrings, and matching brooch of pearls and diamonds. At Twelfth Night she was to have a lynx cape, and a necklace and earrings of garnets.

"She grows so fast," sighed Cat. "We shall soon have to arrange a suitable match for her. George and Henriette have suggested that their second son, Andrew, might suit Bess."

"She's going to be a beautiful woman," agreed Bothwell. "Keep her from court."

Cat nodded. "I will hae no problem there. Bess is like her grandmothers. She prefers being a country mouse. She will make the man she marries an admirable wife."

Bess preened silently in her hiding place, pleased that her mother should have such faith in her. Then Bothwell leaned over and said something Bess could not hear. Her mother laughed and, grabbing a handful of hay, tossed it at the earl. The chase was on, and the two adults romped back and forth until they collapsed laughing in a pile of hay in the empty stall directly below Bess.

The young girl could not see what was going on beneath her unless she peered over the edge. Lured by assorted sounds, she carefully lay on her stomach and looked down. Bess had only the vaguest idea of what went on between a man and a woman. What she saw below enlightened her somewhat.

Her mother lay on her back in the hay, the pale-violet velvet skirts of her riding habit turned up. Cat's long, shapely legs, sheathed in knitted purple lace stockings, were spread, and between them Lord Bothwell labored back and forth. Bess could see nothing of great note, for both Bothwell and her mother were kissing passionately while breathing roughly, and murmuring unintelligible things to each other. Then her mother cried out quite clearly, "Oh, Bothwell! I adore ye!" and all was quiet but for the sounds made by the horses.

So that was lovemaking! Strangely, she wasn't shocked. It was a curious matter, and it did clear up things she had overheard the maids speaking about when they thought she wasn't listening.

Lord Bothwell stood and adjusted his kilt, then pulled Cat's skirts back down. Bess saw her mother sit up, and was amazed at how lovely she was-all rose with her tawny, tousled hair. "Damn, Francis! That was nae wise. What if someone had come in?"

"They would have left rather quickly, I imagine," the great border lord laughed. "Besides, madame my love, I dinna hear ye complaining," he finished teasingly.

Cat laughed helplessly. "I have always wanted to be ravished in a haypile," she admitted, and he echoed her laughter.

But slowly, Cat sobered.

"I dinna think I can bear it, my love."

"Hush, my darling. Dinna think about it. Let us enjoy the time we have left."

"Let me come wi ye, Francis! Please let me come wi ye!"

"Cat!" His voice was patient, and very tender. "Sweeting, we hae been through this before. We canna be responsible for the destruction of all the Leslies. Then too, my love, I am a poor man now. James has everything I own. How would we live?"

"Surely Jamie has forgotten me now that Prince Henry has been born.’Tis said he fair dotes on the bairn. Surely he would hae compassion on our children? As to our living-oh, Francis! I am a very wealthy woman in my own right. Just a word to my bankers, the Kir as, and my investments and gold can be placed anywhere in the world!"

Bess was shocked to hear her mother talk of abandoning her family, especially when she had promised to return to Glenkirk. She strained to hear what Both-well would answer. She did not have long to wait

"Never!" he spat. "Never would I allow a woman to support me! As to James softening his stand, ye may disabuse yerself of that notion, madame. James has not altered his stand! At least my children are half Douglas, and allied by blood to a great family which will protect them. But ye Leslies intermarry. Who will protect them? Unless we obey Cousin Jamie he will destroy them! Christ, my love! My sweet, sweet love! I hate the thought of losing ye, but I cannot build a life wi ye on the ruins of Glenkirk and all his family."

Bess could see her mother's face clearly now, and the tragic look was almost too much for the girl to bear. Cat stood very straight and, composing her face into a mask of passivity, said, "I am sorry, my lord, for adding to yer pain. What is it about ye lords of Both-well that turn sensible women into irresponsible ones? Mary Stewart lost both her kingdom and her only child for love of yer Uncle James. And here am I ready to sacrifice my entire family for ye."

He held her close. Her eyes closed, and she smelled the damp leather of his jerkin. Sometimes, she thought sadly, sometimes I wish I could just close my eyes, and nae wake up. I dinna know how I bear life wi'out this man.

Then she realized that he would be even more alone than she would be. There would be no spouse, no family, no bairns for him. Penniless, he would roam the continent selling his sword to the highest bidder. Or being kept by women. There would always be women happy to take care of Francis. So why would he not let her do it?

As if reading her mind he said, "No. Not a penny-piece, my love. Never from ye, for I love ye. Wi the others it does nae matter."

She looked at him ruefully, in control of herself now. "Let us go in and get dressed for dinner, Francis."

"I will never stop loving ye, my darling," he said quietly. And turning from her, he strode from the stable.

"Oh, Christ!" Bess heard her mother swear softly. "Dear Christ, help me to be braver than I am. He needs me to be strong now." Then she followed Lord Bothwell from the stables.

Bess remained quietly in the loft, stunned by what she had heard. She had grown up in the last half-hour, and for some reason it hurt. It had not been the sight of her mother and Lord Bothwell coupled in close physical embrace that upset her, but rather the fact that their love brought them pain. Bess did not understand that, for she had always believed that love would be sweet. If it brought pain rather than pleasure, why did they pursue it?

Slowly she climbed down the loft ladder, then picked herself clean of telltale hay. She could not ask her mother for answers, but perhaps later on she could pursue this puzzle. For now, she had to hurry and change lest she be late for the celebration.

Chapter 37

THE holidays had passed. Deepest winter had settled upon the land. The Leslie children had long since returned to Glenkirk. Though the king knew that Bothwell sheltered with the Gordons, he had not learned that the Countess of Glenkirk was with her lover. James sent the Earl of Huntley an arrogant letter offering him a full pardon if he would turn Bothwell over for execution. The great highland chief gave orders that the royal messenger be fed and allowed to rest the night. In the morning he had the man brought before him.

"I want the king, my cousin, to know that this message comes directly from me," he said quietly. "I do not believe that James would even hint that I violate the laws of hospitality. Therefore, I do not believe that this letter is from him." The Earl of Huntley quietly tore the parchment in two pieces and handed them to the royal messenger. "I return this to my lord the king in hopes that it will help him to trace the bold traitor who so blatantly uses the king's name for his own foul ends."

When Bothwell learned of Huntley's brave and clever ruse, he thanked him, but said, "I must go now. This is the end, and if James would really have me dead, there is no hope. Maitland thinks he has won," and Bothwell laughed harshly. "He actually believes that by breaking the back of the nobility he can substitute his own influence. But if he really thinks that, then he is a bigger fool than all the rest! Those stern men who molded the king did a better job than they realize. Jamie may be superstitious and a bit of a coward, but he will be the only king in this land, mark my words!"

"Wait at least until the spring," protested George Gordon. "And there is Cat. She is a brave lady, your Countess of Glenkirk, but this will break her heart."

Bothwell didn't need to be told that. They had been living in a fool's paradise, pretending they were normal people. She had been sleeping when he had left her to join Huntley, but he believed she would be awake now.

She was. Awake, and being sick into a basin. When she had finished he wiped her mouth with a damp towel and, holding her close, said, "I ought to beat yer backside black and blue for this."

She said nothing, so he continued. "My foolish, foolish love! Have ye gone mad? Ye canna foist this bairn on Glenkirk. Do ye think he will welcome ye back swelling wi our bastard?"

"The child is mine," she replied, looking fiercely at him.

"This child is ours, Cat. Yers and mine. With Patrick in England there can be no doubt. Christ! He's a proud man! He'll nae accept the bairn."

"He'll accept it," she said grimly. "He owes me that!"

"My God," said Bothwell in amazement. "Do ye mean to make him pay the rest of his life for one night's indiscretion? Hasn't he been punished enough?"

"No!" she spat angrily out at him. "In time, perhaps, I will forgie Patrick But I will never forget. Never! That indiscretion, as you call it, has cost me everything-my happiness, my peace of mind. Where am I in all this? Oh, God! It is so easy for ye men, with yer pride and yer damned sacred code of ethics! I have been destroyed by the three of ye. Patrick used me like a common drab to soothe his injured pride: Yet I am expected to be grateful that he took me back, James dirtied me, and I will never be able to wash away the stain he left on me. And ye, Francis?" She rounded on him. "What was my first attraction for ye? That Jamie wanted me? Is that why ye fell in love wi me, my lord? To spite the king? Another victory over the royal bairn?" She wanted to hurt this man as they all had hurt her.

His big hand slashed out and slapped her before he realized it Her eyes filled with tears, but she made no sound. Instead her fingers gingerly touched her cheek, and felt the welts. Her head was ringing with the force of his blow, but she could hear his voice raging.

"I love ye!" he shouted, and his fingers dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her arms. "I hae from the beginning, but ye were the Virtuous Countess, and I respected that virtue. Ye see, my love, I only seduced those women who wanted to be seduced. When Jamie bragged he had forced ye into his bed, I was ashamed for him, and I ached for the shame ye must be feeling. Then Patrick and James hurt ye, so I grabbed at the chance they so foolishly offered me. I love ye! Yer a spoilt, stubborn bitch, but I love ye, Cat! It is hard enough to leave ye behind, my darling, but to know that I leave ye wi my child in yer belly-" He stopped. Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger he tipped her face up to him. "Why, my darling? Why did ye do this to us?"

"Because," she answered him softly, "because I canna bear to lose ye entirely, my love. Do ye think that because I am safe at Glenkirk 'twill be easier for me? Christ, Bothwell! 'Twill be harder, never knowing where ye are, or if yer safe, or if ye lack for anything. When ye leave me this time I shall never see ye again in this life. At least the child will gie me hope, Francis, and 'twill be a constant reminder to me of our love. Do ye understand that, my lord? Without the child I should retreat into some twilight world to escape the reality of what has happened to us. The child will help me to maintain my sanity."

"When Glenkirk tells ye he will nae let ye keep the bairn, send it to me. 'Twill nae be easy, but 'twould be a comfort to hae our son wi me in my exile, and the child shall nae suffer the stigma of bastardy. I will legally acknowledge him so he may bear my name."

She laughed. " 'Twould be a damned inconvenience to ye, my gallant lover, to tramp about Europe wi a wee bairn. Besides, my lord, 'tis a lass I carry. I know. I am always damnably ill in the beginning wi the lasses!" Her eyes teared again for a moment. "Once at Hermitage when Bess had been intolerably rude to ye, ye promised me that one day we would hae a lass of our own. Now we shall, and she shall be a comfort to me in my loneliness."

"And I shall never see her," he said softly.

"Yes, ye will! Each year I shall send ye her miniature, and ye shall see how she grows."

" 'Tis small consolation, my dear, for a child I shall never hold in my arms. 'Twas hard enough to leave just ye behind, but now…" He paused. "I dinna mind overmuch about the twins, for Glenkirk assumes them his, and they will grow up Leslies; but this poor wee bairn…" He put a big hand on her belly. "Who will see that my little lass is nae hurt?"

"I will," she answered him softly. "No harm will come to our daughter, Francis. I swear it!"

"If I were Patrick Leslie," said Bothwell quietly, "I should probably kill ye."

"The Earl of Bothwell might kill his unfaithful wife, but the Earl of Glenkirk will not," she answered him with assurance. "Patrick is far too civilized."

"And I am not?" He cocked an amused eyebrow at her.

"Nay, Francis, yer not! If ye were more civilized ye'd nae be in the coil wi the king! But, oh, my love, dinna change, for I love ye as ye are!"

He laughed, but soon turned serious again. "Dinna press Glenkirk too hard, Cat. He loves ye, and he is pricked wi guilt for what he did, but he is a man, sweeting. 'Tis a large morsel yer asking him to swallow, and I fear he will not."

She nodded, and he had the oddest feeling that she would be deliberately reckless.

Pregnancy seemed to calm her, as the time for his departure drew near. For him, it was the opposite. It worried him tremendously to have to leave her behind. They fought over money again.

Wealthy in her own right, she was eager to put her money at Bothwell's disposal. But he was as proud as she was rich, and would take nothing from her.

"Fool!" she shouted at him. "Wi'out gold yer as helpless as a beetle on its back!"

"I will manage," he replied tersely.

"Bothwell! Bothwell! Listen to me, my love. France is nae Scotland, or England. Ye hae no real friends to shelter ye. Ye must hae money to live. Please let me help ye. The money is nae Patrick's. 'Tis mine! Left to me, by Mam. Invested by me over the years. Please take it! Let me instruct the Kiras to place my wealth at yer disposal in their Paris bank."

"No, my darling," he said quietly. But he was touched by her offer and her concern. "I told ye once that I could not accept so much as a pennypiece from ye, for I love ye. I would not have history say that Francis Stewart-Hepburn loved the Countess of Glen-kirk's money, rather than the countess herself."

"Alas, history never remembers women in love! My name shall die wi me." She looked up at him. "Dear God, Francis! How will ye live?"

"My sword will be fer hire. The French kings always have need of another good sword. 'Twill earn me a place to sleep, and a full stomach. Dinna fret, my love. I shall survive."

"I wonder," she mused, "whether a bed and a meal are enough for the master of Hermitage, Kelso, Coldingham, Liddesdale, and Crichton?"

"They will have to be until I can build a fuller life for myself. There are ways."

"Aye!" she hissed, suddenly furious at him. "Between some overblown duchess' legs, I'll wager!"

He laughed down at her. "Possibly, my darling. Yer love for me has blinded ye to the fact that I am a ruthless man."

"Take the money, Francis! Be safe, I beg of ye!"

"No, Catriona. No."

She knew she had lost. It was useless to argue further. Still, she vowed to instruct the Kiras to deliver to him whatever he needed if he should ask. And the King of France would have a large bribe to assure Bothwell’s welcome-and his safety.

Meanwhile, in Edinburgh, the king sought to bribe a merchant friend of Bothwell's to betray the earl. Instead, Master Tennant arranged for a ship to aid the earl in his escape to France. It would await Bothwell off Rattray Head on April 18.

Though Bothwell argued against it, Cat rode with him. Her condition was fine. "I will nae lose this bairn," she assured him. And she had arranged with the Abbot of Deer Abbey to shelter them on the night before he would sail.

As they took their leave of the Gordons, Henriette whispered to her, "My maid, Nora, says that Glenkirk arrived home three days ago." Cat knew that Nora had been walking out with a Leslie man-at-arms since Christmas. "Say nothing," she whispered back. Henriette nodded.

They rode towards the coast with a troop of Gordon retainers to protect them, and reached the abbey by day's end. The abbot greeted them nervously, for he lived in terror that the king would learn he had sheltered the Earl of Bothwell. Still he owed his friend Abbot Charles Leslie a great favor, which he now repaid by sheltering for one night the Countess of Glenkirk and her infamous lover.

Settled in the abbey guest house, Cat told Bothwell, "I dinna want to sleep tonight. We hae the rest of our lives to sleep." He understood, and held her close so she would not see the tears in his own eyes.

Lately, he had seen her build a shield about her emotions. She would, he knew, make no scene. He loved her the more for it, for had she weakened for even a moment he could not have left her behind- just as he could not live with her knowing he had destroyed the Leslies. Francis Stewart-Hepburn was, whatever his enemies said about him, an honorable man. It would be his downfall.

They spent the night sprawled before the blazing fireplace, talking. And just once-in the early hours before the dawn-he made love to her. For the last time his hands roamed gently over her lovely body, bringing her passion to a delicate peak. For the last time she felt his hardness within her, and abandoned herself to the rapture he always brought her. And when it was over he bent and kissed her softly swelling belly.

They rode out from the abbey before dawn, reaching the coast as the light grew. Standing on the cliffs above Rattray Head, they watched the bobbing ship, a black silhouette in the dark sea against the brightening sky. The signal had been given, and as they descended to the beach they could see a little boat making its way to the shore. The Gordon men-at-arms had positioned themselves discreetly about the beach.

Cat and Bothwell stood facing the sea. His arm was about her, yet she felt nothing. Then he turned her so she faced him, and gazed down at her. The small boat was almost to the shore. Pulling a sapphire ring with a gold lion on it from his finger, he gave it to her. "For my lass when she is old enough," he said.

She nodded wordlessly and put the ring in her pouch. He gently touched her cheek. "There will nae be anyone else, Cat. There never was anyone else. Ye know that, don't ye?"

"Y-yes, Francis." Her voice shook slightly.

"Dinna grieve, love. Ye'll be safe wi Glenkirk," he said. And then he drew her into his arms, and for the last time took possession of the mouth he loved so much. She melted against the hardness of him, her whole body protesting their fate. Neither of them had ever realized that a kiss could be so sweet. They clung to one another until an urgent voice pierced their awareness.

"My lord! My lord! We must hurry.’Tis dawn, and the tide will soon be against us."

Reluctantly he pulled away, but his deep-blue eyes never left her leaf-green ones. "Farewell, my beloved," he said softly.

"Go safely, my dearest lord," she answered.

He turned and, hurrying across the sand. stepped into the little boat

"Francis!”

He turned to find her running to the boat, and caught her outstretched hands. "I love ye, Bothwell! There was never anyone else but ye. There never will be!"

He smiled gently at her. "I know, Catriona. I always knew. Now, my darling, gie me a smile. Let me see but once more the smile that enslaves me."

It was terribly difficult, but as the boat moved away and their hands were pulled apart, she smiled radiantly at him, and caught his last words coming over the hiss of the waves. "I will love ye forever, Catriona Mairi!"

She stood on the damp sand in the chill of the April morning watching the cockleshell skim across the waves to the ship. She saw him climb safely aboard, and watched as the anchor was hoisted. The sails filled quickly and the ship began to move slowly away. She stood looking after it until her eyes burned, and the ship was no longer even a speck in the distance. She was unaware of the waves lapping over her boots.

Suddenly she heard a familiar voice say quietly, "Come, madame! It is time for ye to go home."

She turned to face her husband, and his eyes were slivers of ice. Reaching out, he roughly pulled her cloak aside, and his gaze disdainfully raked her rounding belly. The force of his blow sent her to her knees. Arms clutched protectively about her body, she looked defiantly up at him.

"Hurt his bairn, and as God is my witness, I will go after him! Then ye may contend wi James Stewart by yerself!"

Pulling her roughly to her feet, he snarled at her, "I let ye whore wi yer lover, but I will nae claim his bastard! When ye've birthed it, it goes!"

"Then I go too, Patrick," she shouted back at him. "Had ye protected me from the king's attentions I should have remained yer good and faithful wife. But ye did not protect me, and I fell in love wi Francis. Now I must live the rest of my life alone, apart from my love. But I hae his bairn, and I will nae allow ye to take it from me! Ye must kill me first! If ye try to steal my child, I will take it and go after him!" Her voice was rising steadily. "I have been forced to sacrifice my happiness, and his own, for the damned Leslies! Now ye would try to take the one living memory I have of Francis? Christ! I hate ye! I hate ye!"

Angrily he caught her by the arm, and his fingers hurt her cruelly. "Control yerself, madame," he said softly through gritted teeth. "There is no need to inform the entire district of our differences. We will continue this discussion at Glenkirk."

She pulled away from him. "There is nothing to discuss, Patrick." She began climbing the path to the top of Rattray Head, where her horse waited patiently. It was then she realized that the Gordons had gone, and Leslies stood in their place. A sudden weariness overcame her, and she would have stumbled but for Patrick Leslie's strong hand beneath her arm.

"Keep moving, madame. Twould not do for Lord Bothwell's brave and bonnie whore to fall on her beautiful face now. We are riding straight through to Glenkirk."

"That's almost three days from here," she protested.

"Aye," he answered grimly.

"Ye'll nae kill me, or the bairn, Glenkirk! I've ridden the borders wi him."

He said nothing, but helped her to mount. She was exhausted physically and emotionally, and needed rest. But he would stop only briefly, to rest the horses and allow his men to relieve themselves. With each mile she grew whiter. At one point Conall spoke up. "God's mercy, sir! Yer going to kill her for sure. Let her rest!"

But before Patrick could answer she spoke up. "No! We go straight through to Glenkirk!"

He shot her an angry look. "I make those decisions," he said.

"Go to hell, Glenkirk," she replied evenly, and spurred her horse ahead.

When they finally reached Glenkirk Castle she accepted his help dismounting, then walked alone to her apartments, where she collapsed on the floor.

She never knew that it was Patrick alone who cared for her in her delirium but he learned again from her fevered ravings how terribly he, James, and even Bothwell had hurt her. She relived it all, and sitting by her side he was forced to share it all. For a time she was back in the early days before their marriage, when she had shyly given him her innocence and then angrily fought him for her rights.

Far more shocking than he was prepared for was the sudden and intimate knowledge of what the king had done to her. Hearing her plead against performing the perversions that James had forced her into sickened him. And then he found himself reliving the rape through her eyes. Weeping bitterly, she sat straight up in their bed and, staring at him with sightless eyes, held out her hands to him-begging him not to shame her. He was devastated.

But the most painful experience of all for Patrick Leslie that night was to hear once more of her love for Bothwell. When she spoke of him, her face became a totally different face from the one he had always loved. It was a far more beautiful face-serene and mature. That she and Bothwell adored each other was obvious, and he who had loved her since she was a child ached to learn that only Francis Stewart-Hepburn's love could satisfy Cat.

He was touched to learn that she had tried to give Bothwell her wealth, and equally touched to learn that the great border lord had refused her. It was funny, thought Glenkirk, but had they not loved the same woman, he and Bothwell might have been friends. One thing he did not learn, however, was the truth about the paternity of the twins. Even in her great illness she protected her children.

Several days later she came to her senses again, and with a frightened gesture, clutched her belly.

"Dinna fear," Glenkirk said harshly, "ye still hae yer bastard!" And he departed, leaving her in the care of her servants.

Cat was a tough creature, and she quickly regained her strength. Her color returned, and she grew sleek and plump with the passing weeks. She spent her time resting, and with her children. Only Bess was old enough to know that the child her mother carried was not her father's, and Bess wanted no more wars with her mother. She made her peace with Cat by asking to be the child's godmother, and Cat agreed, pleased. Bess had grown up.

Meg could say nothing to Cat, unwilling to choose sides between her stubborn son and her equally implacable daughter-in-law. They were both so proud. The dowager finally resolved her dilemma by going off to visit her youngest son and his wife for an indefinite stay.

The Earl of Glenkirk treated his wife with a cold courtesy. They were bound together by the church and by royal command. Cat responded in kind. It appeared an impossible situation.

In mid-August of 1595, the Countess of Glenkirk was delivered of her ninth child, a daughter. The following day she sat up in bed receiving her family. At her back were lace-edged pillows, and her tawny hair hung loose and shining about her shoulders. It was not until late afternoon that the Earl of Glenkirk visited his wife.

She had given up hope of his coming, and was alone nursing her daughter. He stood in the doorway of her bedroom watching her, and for a moment his eyes softened. Then she looked up, and their eyes met. "May I come in. Cat?"

She nodded. Drawing up a chair by her bedside, he sat down and watched the child suck hungrily on the plump breast. Shortly the baby fell asleep, and before she could stop him, Glenkirk took the child from her. He cradled the infant in the crook of his arm, and looked down at it. It was pink-and-white, with a tiny heart-shaped face and damp auburn curls. Thick, dark eyelashes tipped in gold lay like half-moons on her cheeks. He had seen enough infants in his time to know that this one would be a great beauty.

"What will ye call her?" he asked.

"I had not thought on it yet," she answered.

"Since she is probably the last child we will ever have, I should like to name her," he said.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "What would ye call her?" she asked hesitantly.

"Frances," he said quietly. "Frances Leslie is to be her name."

For the briefest moment she did not believe she had heard him correctly, but his eyes were warm suddenly, and he smiled at her. "I will nae ask yer forgiyeness, Cat, for what I did to ye cannot be erased, or forgotten. But I dinna want James Stewart to destroy us and our family as he destroyed Bothwell. I know ye'll never love me again, but can we nae begin afresh, and be friends? I have never stopped loving ye, sweetheart, and I doubt I ever will."

She drew a deep breath, and felt her heart swell until it ached. A hard lump rose in her throat and tears burned her eyelids. Reaching out, she took his free hand and pressed it to her cheek. Then she looked up at him, and her eyes were like emeralds. "Bothwell was right," she said softly. "He said we would be safe wi ye."

Glenkirk lay the sleeping child in her cradle and then, returning to his wife's side, took both her hands in his. "1 am a luckier man than he, sweetheart. I have been given a second chance." He smiled again at her, and she tremulously returned the smile.

She would make her peace with him for her daughter's sake, and because they would be safe with him. But no matter how long she lived she would not forget Francis Stewart-Hepburn, the great border lord, the uncrowned King of Scotland, and her beloved. He would always live fiercely in her secret heart.