Love Wild and Fair

Chapter 38

CATRIONA Leslie sat quietly before her bedroom fire watching the dancing flames and trying to absorb the events of the past weeks. Her husband was dead, or so everyone assumed. She could not, however, imagine Patrick dead, nor did she feel he was. Still, she sighed, the facts seemed indisputable.

Eighteen months ago Patrick had sailed from Leith in a six-ship convoy aboard his flagship, the Gallant James. They were bound for the New World on a fur-buying expedition. It was a new venture in the Leslie interests, and the Earl of Glenkirk had gone along to be sure the new business would be successful.

In part Cat blamed herself for his departure. Though they had made their peace after Frances Anne's birth, and there was no enmity between them, neither was there anything else. To all outward appearances the Earl and Countess of Glenkirk were an ideal couple. But Cat pined every waking moment for her exiled lover, the Earl of Bothwell. She said nothing, but Patrick Leslie knew, and continuously cursed himself for the supreme act of stupidity that had cost him his wife's love.

For close to a year now the earl had toyed with the idea of mounting an expedition to the New World. Furs had always been an important part of European fashion, and the quality of skins beginning to trickle in from the New World was quite superior. "Why," asked Patrick, "should our ships carry such valuable cargo for others when we can buy the furs ourselves and sell them in Europe ourselves?"

So it was decided that the first Leslie ships would leave in early spring of 1596, followed three months later by a second group, commanded by the earl's brother, Adam Leslie. In the hope that his absence would give her time to heal and perhaps begin thinking of him in a more loving fashion, the Earl of Glenkirk chose to lead the expedition himself. Cat had even gone to Leith in the company of all their children to bid him a safe journey.

"I will bring ye back enough beaver to make a whole cloak," he promised gaily. "Dark fur shows yer beauty to perfection." And he kissed her tenderly.

"Go safely, Patrick, and return soon," she answered him.

"Ye’ll be all right, Cat?"

She smiled up at him, and for a brief moment he saw her as she had been before life had hurt her so badly. "I'll be fine, Glenkirk!" And the leaf-green eyes twinkled mischievously at him. "I am quite capable of being on my own-if ye call being wi nine bairns being alone!"

And they had parted. She had had no premonition of disaster, no premonition that she would never see him again. But six weeks ago, in mid-July of 1597, the second convoy of Leslie ships had returned to Leith heavy with a cargo of rich furs, and bringing also the terrible news. Adam Leslie, not even waiting to oversee the unloading, had spurred his horse cruelly to reach Glenkirk with the announcement that Patrick Leslie and his six ships had never reached their destination in the New World.

The king had quickly learned of the tragedy, and without consulting the Leslies, he declared young James Leslie the fifth Earl of Glenkirk. Cat was furious, though Glenkirk needed its lord. Once again James Stewart was interfering in her life. He had written to her this week that her mourning was not to exceed six months. She was to be back at court by spring.

His motive, couched in kindly rhetoric, made her laugh and swear alternately. The young earl was ordered to marry quickly to ensure the Glenkirk succession. Thank God, thought Cat to herself, that Patrick and I had the wit to betroth Jemmie to Isabelle Gordon two years ago-else King Jamie would interfere in that as well!

The king's letter continued. Since Patrick's mother, Meg, still lived, Glenkirk had the unusual distinction of having two dowager countesses. As the elder resided in the dower house, the younger must come to court so the young people might have their marital privacy, and so the older woman would not be disturbed.

Cat snorted. Ye dinna fool me, Jamie! Wi Patrick gone and Bothwell exiled, ye think to hae yer way wi me. Come to court and gie my son and his bride their privacy! Pah! Come to court and gie ye my body. You bastard! Ye say nothing of my other bairns. What would ye say if I arrived wi them all?

She was in a very difficult position and could not ask her young son for protection against the king.

But the young earl knew most of the reasons for~ his parents estrangement. Now, with the king seeking to entrap his mother again, Jemmie sought and found what he believed was a solution to free Cat without openly offending the king.

As he burst into her apartments she looked up, startled. "My God! Ye look so like Patrick," she said with a catch in her voice.

He knelt by her side, saying softly, "I hae the answer to yer dilemma, mother! I know how we may thwart the king wi'out bringing his wrath down on the Leslies!’Tis foolproof!"

She put a hand on his shoulder, and he saw the sadness in her face. "Jemmie, my love, I thank ye, but I am trapped, and I would nae shame yer father's memory by destroying his family-our family. The king wants me as his mistress and there is simply no escape for me. I must obey him."

"Nay! Listen to me! The king is nae aware that I know of his duplicity. What if after Bella and I and Bess and Henry are married this winter, we all troup to court, leaving ye here to complete yer mourning period. We return to find ye gone. Only a note remains… telling us ye've gone to visit our Leslie cousins in France in hopes of overcoming yer depression."

"And," said Cat, excitedly catching his mood, "if as soon as ye leave Edinburgh to return home, workmen arrive at Glenkirk House to completely refurbish it, the king will nae suspect that I dinna intend to return." She chuckled. "I will secretly transfer the deed to Glenkirk House to Bella, and my lodge, A-Cuil, to Bess. That way, when Jamie discovers that the bird has flown, he canna confiscate them. Yer right, my son! If ye play the loyal and loving subject then Jamie dare not touch anything Leslie. His involvement has been wi Bothwell, yer father, and me. If he believes ye know nothing, he can nae punish you or our family. His pride will nae permit it, for he is very anxious the English hae a good report of him. The old queen has never officially declared him her heir, and she might name Arabella Stewart, his first cousin. But, Jamie. Ye must publicly denounce my wicked behavior. Not even Bella must know of our plot."

He grinned at her. "Aye, mother. Ye are indeed a shameful hussy, but I'd hae ye no other way!" Then he became more serious. "Ye'll need money. I’ll ask the Kiras the best way of secretly handling funds for ye."

"Nay, Jemmie, but thank ye for the thought. There's nae been a need for ye to know, but I am a very wealthy woman in my own right. I will hae the Kiras begin to slowly transfer my funds to Europe."

"Where will ye go?" he asked her, knowing in his heart the answer she would give him.

She looked straight at him. "Why, Jemmie, I go to find Bothwell. If Francis will still hae me I will be the happiest woman alive."

"I dinna think ye need fear that Lord Bothwell doesna want ye. I understand he was recently expelled from France for killing a man in a duel. The unfortunate gentleman in question made an unkind remark regarding a lady of quality in Scotland who held Bothwell's devotion."

"And where is Francis now?" she asked evenly.

"Italy. He tried Spain, but the Spaniards are a bit too religious, and their court is quite stuffy. Ye'll find yer border lord in Naples. Go to him, mother, and be happy! Marry him as ye both always wanted. Glenkirk will ever be here for ye, but I dinna think you'll need it."

"Frances Anne?"

"Will remain here until yer safely established. I send her to ye then."

"Ian and Jane also," she said quietly.

James Leslie laughed softly. "I always suspected as much, though, thank God, father never did!"

She flushed under her eldest son's amused gaze. "Ye amaze me, Jemmie. How can ye be so tolerant?"

"I am tolerant because ye were always a good mother to us. I am tolerant because until the king forced ye into his bed ye were always a good and loving wife to my father. I am tolerant because the same hot blood that flows in your veins, mother, flows in mine. I have seen how other men look at ye, and as a page wi Lord Rothes' household I have overheard things. Whatever happened that lost my father yer love I blame on the king. I dinna suppose ye would tell me now, would ye?"

For a moment she was thoughtful, and then she spoke. "When yer father found the king wi me he was shocked and very, very hurt. The king might have saved Glenkirk's pride, but instead he cruelly praised my performance in his bed to your father. He took him into my antechamber and there they spent the next few hours drinking Glenkirk whisky, and talking. Afterwards, when they were both very drunk, they entered my bedroom, and…" She stopped for a minute, her face white with the memory. She resumed quietly, "Yer father and the king spent the rest of the night taking turns raping me. After several years I forgave yer father, Jemmie, but that night killed my love for him. I could understand, and, aye, even sympathize wi him, but for him to believe that I, who was ever faithful to him, had willingly betrayed him…" She stopped, momentarily lost for words. "He was ever stubborn, was Patrick Leslie! I loved him once, Jemmie, but I always questioned our marriage. We were, I suppose, too alike.

"I fled after that night to the only friend I had- Lord Bothwell. I only meant to gain time, to have a little peace, to think. But Francis and I fell in love. The rest ye know.

"As for James Stewart, I despise him! He plays the good Christian king, the perfect husband, the ideal father. Alas, he is a hypocrite, and the greatest lecher I hae ever known!"

"I thought he was nae interested in women, but preferred men," said Jemmie.

"Nay.’Tis a ruse he uses to hide his real desires."

"That father could treat ye sol He deserved to lose ye! If I had known, I would hae killed him myself!"

"Jemmie! Jemmie! Yer poor father suffered terribly for that one extravagant cruelty. He returned from Glenkirk eager to see me, and instead found his half-naked wife being fondled by the king. How would ye nae felt if it had been yer Bella? Nay! 'Tis James who is to blame! Yer father-may God assoil him- is gone. Francis is in the kingdom of Naples, and though I dare not communicate wi him, I will soon be going to him. The old life is almost over, and I will soon be on my way to Bothwell. For now, however, our thoughts must be on planning yer wedding to Isabelle Gordon."

"And yer plans, mother?"

"Will be taken care of, Jemmie.’Tis best ye know nothing more lest ye innocently gie me away. When I am gone, and until I am out of disgrace wi the king, ye can secretly get in touch wi me through the Kiras." She kissed him on the cheek. "Despite my love for Bothwell," she said, "I would nae leave ye if I dinna think ye could handle yer title and the duties that go wi it Learn a lesson from yer ancestors, Jemmie. Only the first Earl of Glenkirk lived to be a white-haired old man. Most of the others involved themselves wi the Stewarts and died young.

"If I had not been so insistent about going to court, perhaps none of this would hae happened. Yer father -and in fairness to his memory, Jemmie, I tell ye this-yer father warned me nae to get involved wi the Stewarts. I would nae listen, but ye must! Let yer Uncle Adam guide ye in business, and keep as much from court as ye possibly can."

"But what happens, mother, when the old queen in the south dies? What if our king goes to London?"

"He will, Jemmie. He impatiently waits for the day he may leave Scotland. Then yer Uncle Adam must go to London to represent our interests, but ye and Bella must remain here. Glenkirk must never be ruled by an absentee lord. 'Twould be its downfall. Teach yer sons a love of this land so it may never be wi'out a Leslie."

"Ye talk as if ye'll ne'er see Glenkirk again, mother."

"I won't, Jemmie. I dinna think James will ever forgie me the insult I will deliver him. Rest assured that should I ever set foot on English or Scottish soil while our royal cousin rules, I shall be quickly and quietly arrested, imprisoned, and aye, even killed. When I go, I am gone. I only pray that Francis still wants me."

James Leslie snorted. "He does! Of that I hae no doubt. God! How desperately he sought to keep ye! If ye had both been less honorable people… but then ye were not, and ye sacrificed yerselves for us Leslies. No more, mother! Though I will publicly condemn ye, ye go wi my blessing, and with my love."

The smile she gave him was radiant, and he was slightly taken aback. "Jesu, mother! If that is the way ye smile at all the men who please ye, I am surprised ye hae not been ravished at least a hundred times!"

She laughed happily. "A thousand, my impudent young lord! Now be off wi ye, Jemmie! I hae a wedding to plan." He turned to go. "Jemmie." He looked and she held his eyes while she rose in a gesture of respect. "I am most grateful to ye, my lord, most grateful. Ye'll make a fine earl. I am so verra sorry I canna be here to watch ye govern."

Young James Leslie bowed quickly to his mother and then was gone.

Chapter 39

JAMES Leslie's fiancée, Isabelle Gordon, was a younger daughter of George and Henriette Gordon, the Earl and Countess of Huntley. As Huntley House had been burned to the ground two years before by a group of fanatic dissenters, she was to be married at Glenkirk. Some said the Gordons had been singled out not because they were Roman Catholic-half of Scotland still was-but because they had openly sheltered the Earl of Bothwell several years ago.

Now, however, the king had given his blessing to the marriage, and was even coming to the wedding, which would be celebrated on December 20. The young couple would then keep the Christmas through Twelfth Night holidays there before going to Edinburgh for the winter season.

As soon as the wedding date was set, young Isabelle came to Glenkirk. Cat insisted, "She must learn how to run this castle if she is to be its chatelaine."

"But, madame," protested the future Countess of Glenkirk, who was pretty and sweet-natured though inclined to be lazy, "surely ye will always be here to help me."

"Nay, my dear Belle, I will nae be making Glenkirk my home. The king has suggested I return to court. I will be making my home in my townhouse in Edinburgh. Jemmie's grandmother, however, will be in the dower house should ye need advice on running the household. 'Tis really she ye should go to anyhow. Meg knows Glenkirk better than any of us."

George Gordon looked across the cozy family hall at Cat. "Bella, my dear," he said smoothly, "will ye run to the nursery and see that old Nanny has settled the littlest bairns for the night?"

"Yes, papa." Isabelle dutifully rose and did as she was bid. Yet she wondered what they wanted to talk about that she was not allowed to hear.

"Do ye need help, Cat?" asked Huntley when his daughter had gone. "Dinna tell me that Jamie has dared to pursue ye again."

"He has, George. I am allowed six months to mourn Patrick, and then I must present myself at court for the king's pleasure."

"The bastard!" swore Lord Gordon.

"Dinna fret, George. I will follow my heart."

The Earl of Huntley looked at the widowed Countess of Glenkirk, and a slow smile spread over his face. "Jesu! What a vixen ye are!" Then more seriously, "He'll nae take his vengeance on Jemmie and Belle, will he?"

"Nay, George. What reason could he offer in public for attacking two innocent and loyal young subjects? They know nothing of the matter."

"Is this why ye asked to have the wedding date set now?"

"His majesty suggested it, George. He felt the Glenkirk succession should be protected as soon as possible."

Gordon chuckled. "More likely he felt ye should be In his bed as soon as possible."

Cat laughed out loud. "Poor Jamie would be very upset to know how transparent his motives are."

"Why shouldn't they be to us, Cat? Hell! The Stewarts have fucked every noble family in Scotland. We're all cousins!"

Henriette Gordon leaned forward in her chair and asked softly, "What will ye do, Cat?"

"Dinna ask me questions I canna answer, Riette."

"But, Cat-"

"Hush yer pretty mouth, woman," said her husband.

So while she openly went about the business of preparing a lavish wedding for her eldest son, Cat Leslie secretly prepared for her escape to Italy. In this endeavor the Kiras, the Leslies' bankers and business associates for many years, willingly helped.

Over the next few months Cat's vast fortune would be transferred to the Kiras' Rome bank, by way of Paris. Though the King of France might have to cooperate with Scotland, the pope in Rome did not- especially when the matter involved a noble Catholic widow fighting to preserve her virtue against the chief Protestant heretic in Europe.

It was decided that Cat would sail down the North Sea, into the English Channel, and across into France. From there she would go overland to Italy, as the sea route was much too dangerous. The Mediterranean teemed with Turkish pirates. She would have her own coach, driver, footmen, and outriders. The only other person at Glenkirk aware of Cat's plans was Con all More-Leslie, Glenkirk's assistant captain-at-arms. Cat wanted only Glenkirk people in her entourage, and Conall was the man to arrange it.

"Well," he said dourly, "if it has to be marriage to Lord Bothwell or royal whoredom to Jamie Stewart, Bothwell is the lesser evil. I'll help ye, Mistress Cat, but gie me time to choose my men carefully. Catholics only. The Protestants would be too uncomfortable in Italy. Single, uninvolved men wi no one to come home to, so they'll stay wi us. No youngsters-too hotheaded.

But able men in their twenties or thirties. And I’ll nae talk to any till just before we go. Less chance of the word getting to one of Jamie's spies. Who will ye take to serve ye?"

"Susan, mayhap one other."

He nodded, not surprised that she already had it all worked out. She was like her great-grandmother, Janet Leslie, and never did anything without carefully thinking it out. Too many people had underestimated her intelligence and resourcefulness.

He chuckled, and she asked, "Why do ye laugh?"

Blue eyes crinkling with mirth contrasted with his weathered face. He replied, "Because I would gie a year's pay to see the look on Jamie Stewart's face when he finds out ye've escaped him again!"

"Oh, Conall," she admonished him, her own laughter bubbling up, "hae ye no respect for the crown?"

"The crown, aye! But Cousin Jamie? 'Tis either a foolish man or an overly stubborn one who pursues a woman who so obviously doesna want him. Are these qualities that make a good king? I dinna think so."

"But in his kingly duties he is a good king, Conall. 'Tis in his personal life he falters. He has never really been comfortable wi his fellow man, though he would desperately like to be." She turned to the windows facing out across the hills. "Ah, Conall! All I ever wanted to do was live my life quietly at Glenkirk."

"Pah!" snapped the older man. "Dinna delude yer-self. Ye've always been too restless. 'Twas nae Lord Patrick who yearned for court." Her stricken look stopped him. "Ah, lassie, dinna fret over it now! I'm a Leslie myself-albeit from the wrong side of the blanket-and I know 'tis the women in this family who hae always been the wild ones."

As the autumn deepened she took every opportunity to ride the Leslie lands, leaving the wedding plans in Meg's competent hands. But Meg had always understood Cat far better than anyone else, and one day the older dowager accompanied Cat on her ride.

" 'Tis much too lovely a day to be indoors," Meg announced loudly, for the benefit of the stableboys. "If I look out my window at those fields of Michaelmas daisies once more, I shall go mad." She pulled herself into the saddle and chuckled. "Lord! It must be two years since I last rode. Come along, Cat!" And she gently kicked the fat sides of her old brown mare.

Cat followed, wondering what had possessed Meg to come riding with her. They rode in silence for at least fifteen minutes, then Meg slowed her horse to a walk and moved up next to her companion. Cat turned to face her. "Well, Meg? What gets ye onto old Brownie? And dinna rhapsodize to me over Michaelmas daisies!"

Meg Leslie laughed. "I thought that was a rather nice touch, my dear, but ye are right of course. Michaelmas daisies dinna interest me. Now tell me, Cat, when do ye leave us?"

Cat was not startled, and answered quietly, "After Bess and Henry's wedding."

"Ye go to Francis?"

"Aye."

"Is it safe for the family?"

"I believe so with all my heart, Meg. Since the king doesna know that Jemmie knows the situation between us, I dinna believe he will hold our young earl responsible for my defection. He will be angry, but Jemmie will be angrier, and will vehemently castigate me for the wretched manner in which I refused the wonderful honor offered me."

Meg laughed again. "Then Jemmie knows yer going."

"Knows? Why, bless me, Meg! He arranged it! I was all ready to gie up, and yield myself to James. But Jemmie feels his very innocence in the matter will save us. He feels that this is the only chance I will have to escape, and he is right. What reason could James possibly give for an undue display of vengeance on our family now? We are at peace, and the Leslies of Glenkirk hae always been loyal to the crown. This is the one time I may flee wi'out endangering our clan."

"And if Francis has found a new love, my dear? He was always a man for the lasses, and never particularly constant."

"He was to me, Meg," replied Cat quietly.

"Aye," said the older woman. "He was… but he is gone from ye almost three years, Cat."

"He loves me yet, Meg, as I love him. I feel it."

"But," persisted Meg, "if he doesna, will ye return home?"

"Not as long as James pursues me, Meg. I simply cannot be the royal whore. I will settle in France if Bothwell doesna want me."

"He will, Cat," said Meg gently. "I simply wanted to be sure ye knew what ye were doing. There are many women in yer position who could be happy enough being the king's mistress."

"If I loved Jamie," said Cat, "I would be content But I hae never been a woman who could lie wi a man she disliked, and I dinna care for the king. I will nae forgie him for what he did to poor Patrick. It was the act of a cruel man, and I detest deliberate cruelty!"

Then Meg said something that brought tears to Cat's lovely eyes. "Ye go wi my blessing, my dear. Strange as it may seem I know that Patrick would approve yer course. He never forgave himself, ye know."

"But I forgave him, Meg. I could no longer love him as I once did, but I did forgie him." She smiled. "Jemmie knows nothing more than that I go before spring.’Tis better that way. Conall is coming wi me. Susan also, though I've said nought to her yet."

"What provision hae ye made for the children, Cat?"

"Colin and Robbie will remain wi the Earl of Rothes' household until they are each fourteen. Then they are to go to the University in Aberdeen as Jemmie did. Afterwards, their European tour, and then marriage. Jemmie and I hae just finished negotiating a marriage agreement wi my brother. Wi his only son dead, he is without an heir, and has four daughters to marry off. Colin will wed the eldest when he is twenty. As my brother's heir, he will be the next Master of Greyhaven. Robbie will wed wi the next daughter in the following year. I hae settled a good sum on Robbie, and bought him a fine house wi good lands near Greyhaven so he may always be quite independent of his older brother.

"Amanda I hae betrothed to Charles' heir. My daughter will be the next Countess of Sithean."

Meg raised her eyebrows. "I thought my daughter Janet aimed higher for her son."

Cat laughed. "Janet is not simply wed to a Leslie, she was born one. Her son may hae a title, but my daughter has an enormous dowry! And, by strange coincidence, Amanda is in possession of several hundred acres of pastureland needed by Sithean for their sheep.

"Little Morag will become Malcolm Gordon's wife. She's to hae a very large dowry, and a manor house of her own. Even younger Gordon sons come high!"

Meg's eyes sparkled. "Dear lord," she said breathlessly, "ye grow more like Mam as ye get older!" Then she became serious again. "The bairns? What of them? Ye canna leave yer little ones."

"Jemmie will send them to me when I am settled, Meg. Twould be dangerous for them to travel wi me, and they would slow me down. If the king sends his people after me, the bairns will make me vulnerable. Twill be only for a few months."

Meg nodded "I suppose 'tis best" They rode in silence for a while longer. Then Meg spoke again. "Cat, I know I hae no right to ask, but Ian and Jane-"

"Are Bothwell's also. Aye, Meg. Even he did not know until just before he went into exile. When we first parted I thought I should never see him again, and I wanted his child. Patrick, however, no sooner had me back then he was bedding me, and he kept on bedding me until 'twas quite obvious I was wi child. He assumed the twins were his, and for all our sakes I said nought."

"Ye were right, my dear. But, poor Francis, having to leave Scotland knowing that he was leaving not only ye, but his bairns also. Ah, my Cat, ye both deserve yer happiness."

"Thank ye, Meg. Ye hae always been a good friend to me."

The older woman leaned from her saddle and, reaching out gripped Cat's hand. "Yer more daughter to me than my own two. Be happy, Cat! Please be happy!"

Chapter 40

JAMES Stewart smiled sweetly at his wife. "No, no, Annie! 'Tis unthinkable. Ye canna possibly go to Glenkirk for young James Leslie's wedding." He patted her distended belly fondly. "Nay. We must nae endanger the bairn."

"But it is so close to Christmas!" wailed the ^queen, "I do not want to be without ye then."

"I will be back to spend Christmas wi ye, Annie."

"Ye cannot unless ye leave immediately after the wedding, and that would be most rude!"

"Then I will nae be back," said the king irritably. "What difference does it make? I will be here for New Year's and Twelfth Night."

"But in Denmark we always celebrate Christmas en famille!”

James was becoming annoyed. "Ye are nae in Denmark, Annie! Yer Queen of Scotland!" he roared, and the queen began to cry.

Dear heaven, thought the king, I canna hae her guessing why I dinna want her wi me.

"There, there, m'dear," he said convincingly. "I canna offend the Leslies of Glenkirk. I must go to the young earl's wedding, especially since 'tis my cousin of Huntley's wench he weds. The Gordons gie me trouble enough, and I will nae gie them an excuse to start more trouble by not going to their daughter's wedding. 'Tis winter, and the roads are bad. Be reasonable, sweetheart. Ye canna go junketing all over Scotland in yer present condition."

"The child," sniffed the queen. "That's all the good I am to ye, Jamie. A royal brood mare!"

"We can hae many bairns, Annie," said James, "but where would I get another like ye?"

The queen's lovely sky blue eyes filled to overflowing. "Oh, Jamie," she said in a choked little voice.

The king put an arm about his wife. "Now let us hear no more of this foolishness."

"Yes, Jamie," said the queen, sighing happily. But he barely heard her, so intent was he on thoughts of the lovely Cat Leslie, who would soon be his.

It was over four years since he had seen Cat, and their last meeting had not been everything a man hopes for from the woman he desires. But now, alone and unprotected, the widowed Countess of Glenkirk should prove more obedient to her royal master's wishes.

Awaiting his arrival, Cat knew what she might expect. She realized that she could not escape James' attentions even in her own house, and she steeled herself to be sweetly complacent so he might not suspect that she intended fleeing. She must not even speak openly with Jemmie.

With her son's marriage impending, Cat had removed her things from the apartments of the Earl and Countess of Glenkirk. It had not been easy leaving the rooms that had been hers all these years, but in a few weeks they would rightfully belong to young Belle. To camouflage her plans for escape, she went to the expense of redoing an entire suite of rooms for herself in the west-tower apartment, which had once belonged to her great-grandmother, Janet, before that lady built her own castle at Sithean. The tower had not been used since, and Cat fancied she could feel the other woman's presence.

"Well, Mam," she sighed aloud, "I am in another coil. Ye always warned us to stay clear of the Stewarts. My willfulness has cost us all, and now I must flee my home or submit to the king's lust. I wonder what ye would think of me if ye were here today."

She walked to the bedroom windows and gazed out across the Glenkirk hills to Sithean's loch, and to Greyhaven, her childhood home. Here she imagined her great-grandmother waiting for her lover, Colin Hay, the Master of Greyhaven. Well, if Mam could defy convention to be with her lover, thought Cat, then so can I!

She sighed. Ah, Bothwell! 'Tis almost three years since the terrible day I stood on Rattray Head and watched that damned ship take ye from me. And in all that time we hae nae dared to even correspond. I dinna doubt that there hae been many women in yer bed, but is there one who's love has made ye forget me? Dear God! Please! No!

And as she closed her eyes in an agony of doubt his face swam before her darkened eyelids. That dearly beloved rugged face. The deep sapphire eyes, the sensuous mouth, the marvelous auburn hair and elegant short tailored beard he always had.

As she leaned against the cold stone she imagined the velvet firmness of his broad shoulder, and his big hand gently stroking her long hair. Suddenly, for the first time in all these long months, Cat wept. She wept in great gulping sobs. She wept for Patrick Leslie, and the happy years they had had before James ruined their lives. She wept for their loss of innocence-both hers and Patrick's. But most of all she wept for the Earl of Bothwell, the man she loved, cruelly exiled and impoverished because of his cousin's jealousy. Francis -who so loved his castle, Hermitage, and his beloved borders-forced to wander Europe alone and friendless.

But soon, she vowed, soon she would seek him out across Europe, and when she found him… She stopped. What if he had remarried? After all, even Francis might have to compromise his honor in order to live. No! He had not remarried. But they would marry when she found him, and then Jemmie would send their bairns to them, and they would live to a peaceful old age, far from the intrigues of the court.

But first, she must contend with Cousin Jamie. He would come crawling into her bed when he arrived for the wedding. Well, and she laughed through her tears, he would find her eager. She, who was so used to regular lovemaking, had not had a man since her husband went off those long months ago. She despised James, but her body craved a man's touch. For once it would be she who used him!

Seeking out her eldest son, she warned him, "Ye must nae let the king know that yer aware of his nocturnal visits to me while he's here."

The young earl was shocked. "Jesu, mother! Would he dare, under our very roof?"

She laughed at his outrage. "Dare? He is the king. Lord, Jemmie, James would dare almost anything with regard to his personal desires! If ye understand this, ye will understand him. Dinna be fooled by his show of piety and learning. He is outwardly pious because it keeps his Protestant kirk contented, and out of his private affairs. He is learned, yea, but he is also superstitious, cruel, and willful. Never trust him, no matter how fair he speaks to ye. Learn from my mistakes, Jemmie. Dinna involved yerself wi the king or the court."

"But what should be our attitude towards the Stewarts, mother?"

"Loyalty in times of danger to the crown or to the country. At all other times, maintain yer distance. When forced to be wi the king, show admiration and affection. Be agreeable wi'out being a toady. Jamie can be most charming, and his humor is quite droll. He doesna mean to play the villain. Ye simply must nae get too involved."

Jemmie nodded, but his brow was furrowed. "I wish he were nae coming to the wedding. Do ye think the queen will be wi him? At least her presence may help to keep his lust in check."

"She will nae come, Jemmie. I hear she is breeding again, and the king will use it as an excuse to keep her in Edinburgh. Dinna fret, my son. If I am to escape royal James, he must believe that I am ready to accept his will. His visit here will reassure him completely. The widow of Glenkirk will receive him hesitantly, but sweetly. I shall worry about my position, and he will offer comfort and encourage me to trust him completely. And once he has assuaged my fears, he will leave feeling very self-satisfied and manly."

Jemmie Leslie looked at his mother in frank amazement. "Yer the most devious woman I've ever known," he chuckled. "I would nae like to hae ye for an enemy, madame."

Cat laughed aloud. "'Tis strange," she said, "but yer father once said that same thing to me."

Five days before the wedding was to be celebrated, James Stewart arrived at Glenkirk. He was greeted by his distant cousins, the Leslies, and his closer cousins, the Gordons. His amber eyes lingered a moment on the black-garbed Countess of Glenkirk, and Cat flushed uncomfortably under his gaze. It was her duty, and Meg's, to escort the king to the suite of rooms set aside for the occasional royal visitor.

James' glance swept the large rooms, each warm with its own blazing fire. "Most attractive, dear Cousin Margaret. Ye Leslies hae the knack of making a man feel welcome. I hope all yer rooms are as pleasant"

"Oh, yes, James," replied Meg. "I may call ye James, mayn't I? After all, I could be yer mother." Giving his arm a little squeeze, she smiled up into his face, her eyes twinkling in a kindly fashion, and Cat wondered if she were going mad. What on earth possessed Meg to simper so? "I am," continued the elder dowager, "supposed to make my home in the dower house, but I am here in the castle more often than not. I live in the south wing, where the sun can warm my old bones. The earl's suite is in the east wing, so that the morning sun-according to tradition-may wake him early, and send him about his duties."

Christ in his heaven, thought Cat, where is she getting such nonsense?

"The royal suite has always been here in the west wing so royal visitors will nae be wakened early, but find their rooms filled with warm afternoon sunlight after a morning's hunt," finished Meg triumphantly.

"What a charming and thoughtful custom," said the king. He turned to Cat, who had maintained her silence all this time. "Ye no longer reside in the earl's suite?"

"No, sire." Cat kept her eyes modestly lowered.

Meg chattered on. "Oh, no, James! We hae redone those rooms for little Belle. Cat's apartments are right here in the west wing-in the tower! She was her great-grandmother's favorite girlchild, and dearest Mam lived in the west tower. So, when Cat had to pick other rooms, she chose Mam's. Why, there is even a secret entrance from here to those rooms!"

"Meg!’Tis a family secret," chided Cat softly.

"Ahhhh," breathed the king, "but I am family, sweet Cat. Tell me, Aunt Meg, what of this secret entrance?"

Meg giggled. "I am nae sure," she said, "but Cat would know. Come, dear one. I always remember Mam chuckling about that secret entrance where she used to let Colin Hay in when he came calling. I know ye know where it is, and it does have an exit into this very apartment, doesn't it?"

Cat hesitated, then spoke low. "Aye. It does."

The king tried to keep the impatience from his voice. It was obvious that the old woman liked him, and was slyly attempting to further his cause. "Come, Cat, dinna be coy wi me! What of this secret entrance? Is there one here?"

She walked across the bedchamber to the fireplace and pressed a rose carving on the left side of the mantel. A small door swung open. Taking a lighted candle from a wall sconce, Cat beckoned them to follow her. The flickering light wound up the cool, winding passage for two and a half flights. Then Cat stopped. Reaching up, she touched the molding around a door. The door sprang open. Walking through, they found themselves in what was obviously a woman's bedchamber.

"Gracious!" gasped Meg.

The king simply smiled.

"If ye followed the passage down," said Cat, "ye would exit at the bottom of the tower into a little courtyard."

"Fascinating," said James. "And now," he took the candle from Cat, "I shall see if I can find my way back alone."

"We will leave our door open, James, until yer safely back," said Meg. "Call out, my dear."

The king slipped through the door and began his descent. The flickering candle disappeared from view. At last they heard him call, "I am safe, Aunt Meg," and a door clicked closed.

Cat then closed up her end of the passage and, turning to her mother-in-law, exclaimed, "Jesu, ma-dame! Ye surely missed yer calling. Ye should be selling maidenheads in the Highgate!"

Meg laughed. "Ye dinna think he suspects?"

"Nay. The only thing he suspects is that yer on his side. Bless ye, Meg! Now our Jemmie will surely be safe after I go. James will think all Leslies adore him!"

"And ye must indeed go, my dear. The way the king looks at ye, Cat. Dear heaven! It turns my blood cold! He would devour ye! Will ye be safe wi him here?"

"Aye, Meg. I am well used to handling Jamie. This time, however, I must play the shyly reluctant and very repentant mistress. 'Twill nae be easy, but the king must never guess that I merely bide my time." She went to the garderobe and drew out a deep-violet velvet gown. "I dinna think Patrick would mind if I came out of mourning for Jemmie's wedding." She turned. "Damn me, Meg! Where is he? I canna believe he is dead, and yet if his ship did not reach the New World, where is he? Am I a fool? Is it only that I feel guilty over his going?"

Meg nodded. "I hae had the same feeling. Surely I should feel something if my eldest child were dead. He is gone, and yet he is not. Still, ye go, Cat. Do ye feel he will ever return?"

"Not to me, Meg. I feel that Patrick has somehow passed from my life. If I did not feel that, I could nae go, even wi the threat of the king hanging over me."

"Get some rest, my dear," said Meg kindly. " 'Twill be a long evening, I fear." And she hugged Cat before she left.

Cat did not even bother to call her tiring woman. Instead she removed her dark gown, lay down upon her bed, and slept fitfully. When she awoke, Susan was busily filling the new porcelain hip bath. "Which scent, madame?"

"Lilac," said Cat, stretching lazily. "I am wearing the violet velvet gown, Susan. When ye've finished there, bring me my jewel case."

A few minutes later she sat sifting through her many necklaces, deciding what she would wear. A chain of gold filigree worked with chunky baroque pearls and large amethysts caught her eye. She held it against the violet of the dress and smiled. An hour later she was ready, bathed in lilac-scented water, gowned in the low-necked violet velvet, her generous breasts swelling provocatively above a single ruffle of creamy lace. Her honey-colored hair was parted in the center, drawn back over her ears, and twisted into a knot of curls at the back of her head. From the front it looked very severe. From the rear the tawny curls, caught with mauve and white silk flowers, were bewitchingly feminine.

In the great hall of Glenkirk that night there were over two hundred diners, including the Leslies of Glenkirk, headed by young James, the Leslies of Sithean with their earl, who was Cat's first cousin, Charles, and the Hays, with Cat's father as their chief. The immediate family totaled some ninety-five persons, not counting the More-Leslies, who were the family's bastard line. There were numerous Gordons, as George Gordon, Earl of Huntley, was the chief of his clan. And there were the king and his many retainers. In her entire life Cat had never seen the castle so full.

At the high table the king found himself between the bride-to-be and her mother. To his chagrin, Cat was seated on the other side of her son. The beautiful widow of Glenkirk did not lack for admirers. When at last the long meal ended, the dancing began. But Cat refused the eager gallants, pleading that she would dance at her son's wedding, but not before. She was, she gently reminded them, still in mourning.

She remained demurely seated on the dais, watching while the king danced first with Bella, then with Meg, and finally with Henriette. His duty done, James Stewart returned to the dais and sat next to Cat. A page put a goblet of chilled wine in his hand, and he sipped appreciatively. Finally he spoke. "How is it possible, madame, that yer more beautiful now than ye were four years ago? I am mad for ye, Cat! I long to be alone wi ye!"

"Yer majesty is most kind."

He made an impatient noise. "Why are ye so formal wi me, love? Ye hae nae said a warm word to me since I arrived."

"Yer majesty has me at a disadvantage," she said in a low voice. "We did nae part on the best of terms."

He laughed, softly triumphant. "We will resolve all that later, my love. Now, gie me a little smile." And reaching over, he tipped her face up to his.

She raised her leaf-green eyes to his amber ones and smiled shyly at him. The king could feel desire sweeping him. He wanted her, as he had always wanted her, but this time he intended gaining the upper hand immediately. She was a passionate little vixen, but once she accepted him as her master, he believed that she would be loyal.

Towards midnight Cat laughingly announced to their guests that those who wished to retire might, and those who did not might dance, drink, and play until dawn. Predictably, the older members of the gathering departed. The king, however, remained behind. It took time for Cat to bid her guests good night, but she was finally free to retire.

She allowed Susan to remove her gown, shoes, and jewelry and put them away. Thoughtfully she removed her silk underblouse and handed it to her tiring woman, who already had an armful of ruffled petticoats. Standing naked in her stockings and garters, she said, "Go to bed, Susan. 'Tis late, and I can finish myself. I will sleep late, so dinna disturb me till midmorning."

Susan curtsied and left the room. Cat sat down on the bed. Removing her lace-edged garters, she rolled her stockings off. Brushing her thick hair, she recalled her last scene with James. After a time, exhausted by all the wedding preparations and by memories, she fell asleep. She awoke at the touch of a warm mouth against the nipple of her left breast. Startled, her eyes flew open and looked into a pair of very amused amber ones. Then suddenly the king's eyes grew serious, and he said, "Get up, Cat. We hae things to settle between us first."

Puzzled, she threw back the covers and stepped naked from the bed. His eyes grew warm at the sight of her, but he spoke coldly. "I am willing to forgie ye yer past misbehavior, madame. In the spring ye will return to court, and live openly wi me as my mistress. Ye will obey my slightest whim. I will brook no disobedience, Cat! Ye belong to me! Do ye understand?"

"Aye," she whispered. She was stunned by his new forcefulness.

"Then prostrate yerself as a slave would, and beg my pardon."

A wave of nausea shook her. "Jamie, please! Must ye shame me so? I know I must obey ye, but dinna make me do this."

"Cat, yer a proud woman. I cannot believe that ye truly mean to obey me unless ye will do what I hae commanded ye no matter how distasteful to ye. If ye mean to be obedient, then ye must begin wi this."

Though her appearance remained meek, inwardly she burned with rage. If she refused him, he would be distrustful of her. She knew she must yield to his demand in order to allay his fears. Swallowing hard, she knelt, leaning over until her head touched his slippered foot. "Forgie me, my lord king," she said softly.

For a terrifying moment he rested his foot on her slim neck. The merest pressure on his part would have broken it. Cat bit her lip until it bled in an effort to prevent an outward show of fear or anger. Ye'll pay for this, James Stewart, she thought! Dear God how I hope ye hurt when I leave ye! May it rankle and eat at ye the rest of yer life, and may ye ne'er find another woman who'll please ye as I do!

Then suddenly his foot was gone, and he was raising her up. The smile he gave her was sweet. "Forgie me, my love, but I had to be sure ye would yield to me this time wi'out a fight. There is no other woman in this world I would trouble so much for, but ye are worth it, Cat! Christ! Ye excite me!" He drew her into his arms and kissed her, quickly forcing her lips apart so his tongue could roam.

It took all of her self-control not to push him away. Instead she took refuge in tears of relief, lowering her head and sobbing into his shoulder. Pleased, convinced that he had mastered her for good now, James became generous. He lowered her onto the bed, took her face between his hands, and kissed her again. His fingers moved to the slender column of her throat, and then to her full breast. Crushing the softness of her in his hands, he bent and let his hps wander.

It was with an awful stunning clarity that Cat realized she felt nothing. Her body, which had always succumbed to the delicious intensity of lovemaking, was not responding. Frightened, she struggled weakly beneath him. James, mistaking the movement for passion, forced his knee between her thighs and thrust into her. So wrapped up in his own desire was he that he did not realize she was feeling nothing.

Sick with fear that he might comprehend her thoughts, Cat thrust her hips up to meet him, murmuring endearments into his ear. Apparently he noticed nothing, and when his passion broke in a wild storm about her, she held him in her arms and, closing her eyes, made soft, crooning noises.

Sated, he lay atop her breathing hard. "Christ!" he swore. "I hae never known a wench like ye, Cat! No woman has ever satisfied me as ye do!" He rolled off her, propped himself up on an elbow, and gazed down at her. "Was it good for ye, too, love? 'Tis been many months, I know, since ye've had a man." Playfully he nibbled at her breast. "Do I please ye, Cat?"

She turned away from him, unable to speak for a moment. Now she knew how the whores of the world probably felt. Silent tears rolled down her face. He turned her onto her back and gently brushed the tears from her cheeks.

"They call me a wise king," he said, "but wi the lasses I am a fool. 'Twas Patrick who last held ye in his arms and loved ye. I can see ye have nae accepted that he is dead." He gathered her into his arms. "I love ye, my lady of Glenkirk. I hae missed ye so very much, Cat. I was overeager to possess ye. Dinna weep, sweetheart. Patrick would be happy to know yer safe wi me."

She made a strangled sound that he interpreted as further sorrow, and he held her closer.

He gave her a little squeeze and, releasing her, rose from the bed and crossed the room. "I will leave ye now, sweetheart, for this day has exhausted ye. I can see that." Opening the secret passage, he stepped through, saying, "Sleep well, my beautiful love." The door closed behind him.

For once in his life, thought Cat, James has left at just the right moment. She lay flat on her back, hands beneath her head, staring at the velvet canopy over her bed. What was the matter with her? She had always considered her sensuality a curse of sorts, but now she wanted it back! Only once before had her body refused to respond, and that had been after the terrible time when Patrick and the king spent a night raping and sodomizing her. She had finally gotten over that. What was wrong now? Was it James? Or was it her? The king would be here at least another five nights, and she had to do something.

What could she do? She was going to have to feign passion and hope to God she could fool him. Cat needed to talk with someone who would understand the problem, and there was only one person who might help her.

Though Adam Leslie rose early, his wife, Fiona, had to be wakened by her tiring woman. "Susan says Mistress Cat would speak wi ye. Here! Get up, Mistress Fiona! I've got yer robe for ye. Hurry!" called Flora.

Pushed and pulled into her gown, Fiona found herself led through a little-used back passage of the castle to Cat's apartments in the west tower. She found her beautiful cousin awaiting her impatiently.

"Leave us, Susan! I'll call when we need ye. li anyone asks, say I am still asleep."

As the girl closed the door behind her, Fiona helped herself to a goblet of watered wine and said, "Ye dinna look as if ye got any sleep at all."

"I didn't."

Fiona sprawled on the bed. "Let me guess," she said. " 'Tis the king again. He still harbors a passion for ye, I know. In the great hall last night he could scarce take his eyes from ye. Ye’ll nae escape him this time, Cat. 'Tis plain to see he means to hae ye."

"He already has, Fiona," said Cat dryly, "and he went away happy. There is only one problem. I felt nothing. He is as good a lover as ever, and God knows I needed it, and yet I could raise no passion. Last night he was so hot to possess me that he did nae notice. But what of tonight? My God, cousin! What am I to do? Fiona, forgie me, but before ye wed wi Adam ye had many lovers. Did ye feel passion wi all of them, or did ye pretend wi some? I dinna know how to pretend!"

"Nonsense," laughed Fiona. "Ye simply jog yer hips and roll yer head a bit. Then ye moan and breathe heavily. Most men are so intent on their own lust that they rarely notice whether a woman is really enjoying herself. Look, Cat, 'tis only a few nights. He will be gone after the wedding. Hold him tight, and tell him how marvelous he is, and that ye love what he does to ye. Ye know how, cousin."

"I think so, Fiona, but 'tis nae for a few nights. He has ordered me to court come spring."

"Hell, Cat! Why tell me that? Ye dinna intend going. Ye'll do what I would do if this were my dilemma. Ye’ll run to Bothwell! And if ye don't, then yer the biggest fool I've ever known! Is it any wonder ye feel nothing for Jamie, having had Francis Hepburn between yer legs? Now, there's a man!"

Cat laughed delighted. "I'm glad we are friends, Fiona! Yer so deliriously sensible. Jesu, though, coz! I was so frightened last night! Jamie was' randier than an old billy goat. And I felt nothing!"

Fiona's mouth twitched with amusement. "What did ye do?"

"I cried, and Jamie thought my tears were for Patrick. He soothed me by saying that Patrick would be relieved to know I was 'safe' wi him! Can ye believe the man?"

Fiona choked on her wine. " 'Tis a wonder Glen-kirk's ghost didn't rise up and kick the king's royal ass!" Then she said, "Well, 'twas a good start. If Jamie detects any reluctance on yer part now, he will believe it stems from yer inability to accept Patrick's death."

Cat looked worried. "Is it Jamie, Fiona, or is something the matter wi me?"

" 'Tis Jamie," Fiona said without hesitation. "Ye've ne'er been a cold piece. Leslie women never are. Oh, ye and I may be the most obvious in our sensuality, but dinna think that because they look so prim and proper those milksop cousins of ours are cool. My poor brother, Charles, is exhausted from all the demands of dear Janet, and I understand yer own brother has been known to flee his eager Mary on occasion. Why, I have it on the best authority that our brother-in-law James must service Ailis daily else she flirts wi the stableboys!"

Cat collapsed on the bed, helpless with laughter. "Oh, Fiona!" she gasped. "How will I ever look Janet, Mary, and Ailis in the eye again wi'out laughing? What a wonderful bitch ye are, coz! And just how do ye know all of this?"

Fiona raised an elegantly plucked eyebrow. "I hae never been unfaithful to Adam, if that's what yer thinking," she said, and then her cheeks reddened with a memory she shared with Cat. "Well… only once," she amended softly. "I am simply the kind of woman men talk to, Cat."

For a moment the two women were silent, and then Cat spoke again.

"Can I do it, Fiona?"

"If anyone can," Fiona replied, "ye can! Cousin Jamie, in taking one kind of happiness from ye, has unwittingly given ye another. Go after it, Cat Leslie! Dinna let anyone stop ye this time!"

Chapter 41

GLENKIRK Castle filled to the bursting point as the wedding day drew near. The Earl of Huntley was a power to be reckoned with in Scotland, and the presence of the king put a special seal on the whole affair. The guests overflowed into the dower house, into the very eaves of the castle. Cat had even been forced to allow some ladies and their tiring women to sleep in her antechamber. Her body servants were doubling up in Susan's room in order to free two small rooms. Servants who had accompanied guests were sleeping in every available nook and cranny.

Fortunately the December weather was good, and the guests were able to spend their days out of doors, hunting with the king, who had a passion for it. Cat did not enjoy hunting and used the excuse of wedding preparations to avoid it. But Meg and the Gordons, along with the younger family members, rode daily with James. The king was delighted with the elder dowager of Glenkirk, whom he now addressed publicly as Aunt Meg. She rode knee to knee with him each day, rarely leaving his side. Young Jemmie also showed an admiration for James, which pleased the king greatly. He enjoyed this healthy, normal family. Once Cat's position in his life became public he intended including them in his own growing family.

To Cat's immense relief, the king was too busy during the next two evenings to visit her. What she was not aware of was that her son Jemmie had slipped a sleeping herb into the king's wine. James Stewart was scarcely into his night shirt before he fell asleep.

On December 18, however, the king insisted that Cat ride with him. As she detested the long riding skirts that fashion decreed, she wore what she always wore when riding-men's green trunk hose, high leather boots, a leather jerkin, white silk shirt, wide belt, and a wide, heavy Leslie plaid to wrap about her in case of very cold weather. Tucked into her belt was a jeweled dagger, and she wore soft leather gloves.

The men of the party were of one mind: Catriona Leslie looked marvelous. Not only had she handsome breasts that jutted out as impudently as a young girl's, but she had a damned fine well-turned leg. The younger women admired her daring. Among the older ones, there were those who thought her costume shocking, and those who were amused by the countess' apparent eccentricity.

Though Cat detested the sport, she rode like a young Diana. At the kill, it was Cat who leaped from her horse and drove the dogs back with a small but fierce rawhide whip. What no one knew was that she had learned to handle the dogs in order to avoid seeing some beautiful wild creature's throat cut. The dogs took all her concentration.

They had killed but two does and a stag when the king ordered an end to the hunt. His amber eyes burned with desire as he looked upon the Countess of Glenkirk. The huntress had roused the king's passion, and to Cat's embarrassment, he did nothing to hide it. The men now eyed her boldly, and she knew they wondered if the king would bed her. The women looked at her with something akin to envy, for James Stewart had never publicly sought any woman but his pretty young queen. To be a king's mistress was considered an honor. Cat was distressed. She wanted no public acknowledgment of the king's feelings towards her.

To break the tension she swung back into the saddle and, looking boldly about, declared in a loud voice, "Ten gold pieces there's nae a man here who can beat my lolair back to the castle!" And pulling her horse about sharply, she kicked him into a gallop.

A dozen men-the king included-galloped after her. Adam Leslie turned to his wife, who was biting her lip with laughter. "She thinks to cool his ardor," said Fiona in a low voice to her husband, "but she only inflames him all the more."

Cat bent low over Iolaire's neck. The big golden-bay gelding moved with smooth strides, easily outdistancing his pursuers. "Go, my great, gold love," she crooned at him. "None can beat ye!" Suddenly she saw a dark, wicked-looking beast drawing up alongside her. It was the king's midnight-black stallion. James was a magnificent horseman, and he was determined to win. But Cat was not the type of woman to give him victory. He would have to take it if he could.

A dozen horses thundered down out of the forested hills onto a flat stretch of road that led to the castle. Wild highland yells rent the air, and it seemed that sparks flew from the flying hooves as they struck the frozen ground. On the castle battlements, Glenkirk's men-at-arms cheered their lady as the bay led and roared disapproval as the black gained. The men shouted as the bay pulled ahead again and galloped across the lowered drawbridge into Glenkirk's courtyard, followed just a second later by the king on his black, and a minute later by the rest of the party.

Cat leaped lightly from her saddle, tossing the reins to a stableboy. She rubbed the bay's muzzle and whispered something in its ear. Running up the steps, she turned.

"I'll be collecting the gold ye all owe me this evening, gentlemen!" And she laughed at their expressions. "Ah, Sandy," she teased Lord Home, "ye know Iolaire's speed. Of all people why did ye take my wager?"

"That damn new gray of mine was supposed to be so fast, Cat," muttered Lord Home irritably.

Laughter greeted his remark, and Cat called again, "There's meat and wine in the great hall, gentlemen. Eat hearty!" And she disappeared into the castle.

Laughing and talking, the noblemen dismounted and trouped up the steps into the great hall. It wasn't until they had poured themselves great goblets of sweet, golden wine and were tearing off chunks of meat and bread that they noticed the king was not among them. Looking about him, one man observed, "Looks like Jamie's not through riding for the day."

"Aye," murmured another softly but distinctly, "but I'd surely rather mount and ride that honey-haired mare than that wild black brute of his."

There was laughter, and then someone observed, "I wager the mare is wilder than the stallion."

"But sweeter!" shot back another man.

Laughter rang as each of the noblemen tried to mask his thoughts about the beautiful Countess of Glenkirk.

James Stewart mounted the stairs to Cat's apartments two at a time and strode angrily into her bedroom. Naked but for her silk shirt, she showed no surprise as did the frightened face of her maid. "Go along, Susan dear. I'll call ye when I need ye." The girl fled the room.

"Well, Jamie?" Her glance was haughty, and only the jumping pulse in her throat revealed her nervousness.

"Vixen!" he snarled, his face dark with anger. "You wanton vixen! Ye had the whole pack of them after ye like dogs after a bitch! Ye belong to me, Cat! I'll hae no other man imagining what 'twould be like to be between yer legs!"

He was in a high rage.

Lunging, he ripped away her silk shirt and shoved her back onto her bed. He was on her instantly, his knee forcing her thighs apart. Astounded, and equally angry, Cat fought back. She tried to claw him with her nails, but he caught her wrists with one hand and held them fast above her head. She twisted furiously beneath him, but James thrust his hardness into her unwilling and unready body. She cried out with pain and renewed her struggle. He lowered his head and cruelly bit her nipples. Cat screamed and struggled harder, but her resistance seemed to inflame him. He was gaining great pleasure from hurting her.

Frightened by the fury in his face, she changed her tactics. Her struggles ceased, and her hips began the sweet rhythm that maddened him so very much. His grip lessened. Freed, she caught his head in her hands and raised it to her lips. "Nay, hinny," she whispered huskily, arching to press her soft breasts against his damp chest. "Dinna hurt me, Jamie luv! Love me, my lord! Love me now!" And her ripe mouth found his, pressing demandingly against his lips until they opened and allowed her little tongue to dart like a flame in his mouth.

His cruelty turned to yearning and he hungrily sought to satisfy them both. "Witch," he murmured against the silken tangle of her golden hair. "I always said ye were a little witch! Ahhhhhh, my sweet love!" And then he lay quietly against her pounding heart.

Cat lay weak with relief. Her lack of ardor had once again escaped James' notice. Instead, he praised her sexual performance. "Christ, love! Ye leave me drained!" He placed a burning kiss on her breast where his teeth had marked her slightly. "I am sorry, Cat. I dinna mean to hurt ye, but ye made me so jealous, love. I couldna bear for them to look at ye so! Yer a mistress to be proud of, Cat. Ye drive men mad wi just looking at ye! Come back to court wi me after the wedding! I canna wait any longer for ye, sweetheart."

Cat caught her breath. Here it was, the thing she had feared all along. Reaching up, she gently touched his face. "Nay, Jamie hinny.’Tis but a bit over three months since ye declared Patrick dead. If ye do not care for my reputation, I do. After Jemmie's wedding there is Bess' to attend to, and then 'twill be but a little while till spring.’Tis not so long, my lord. Will it nae be sweeter for the waiting, Jamie? Do not let the gossips say ye hold me in so little regard that ye will nae gie me time to mourn my lawful husband. Come spring no one can say I dishonored Glenkirk in my rush to gain yer favor and yer protection."

"Always prudent, always careful." His voice purred approval. "What a perfect mistress yell be, Cat! By this time next year I'll hae ye full to bursting wi my son, and what a son he'll be, our bairn! I'll wait, sweetheart! I'll wait!"

She smiled sweetly at him, thinking, I'd rot in hell before I'd bear yer bastard, James Stewart!

But she was truly safe now. When he left Glenkirk this time she would never see him again. Cat could feel almost kindly towards him now.

Again that night she escaped his attentions, and she managed to forestall him the following night as well, by pleading the wedding on the following day, for which she must be rested.

James Leslie's wedding to Isabelle Gordon was a triumph of good planning, good food, and good weather. The bride was radiantly lovely, the groom elegantly handsome. The wedding feast lasted a long time, with many courses and entertainments. At last, Cat, Bess, and Henriette took Isabelle from her new husband and, pursued by a group of rowdy young bucks, gained the safety of the earl's suite. The lovely wedding gown was removed and taken away by Belle's maid.

Quickly she was dressed in a pale shell-pink nightgown. Her face, hands, and neck were bathed in warm perfumed water, and her mother brushed her long, dark hair.

"Remember what I have told ye," said Henriette Gordon in a low voice.

Her daughter nodded.

"What did ye tell her?" asked Cat, amused.

"That she must defer to Jemmie in all things," replied Henriette simply.

"Nothing else?" Cat was incredulous. "Riette! How could ye?"

The little Countess of Huntley was close to tears. "Cat, I tried! Only yesterday she was my babe, and now suddenly she is fifteen and grown! I tried to tell her of what happens between a man and his wife in the marriage bed, but she looked so damned superior… it embarrassed me!"

"Get the Countess of Huntley some wine," Cat commanded a servant girl. "Bess, watch the door." She turned to Isabelle. "Well, my girl, do ye know of that which occurs between a man and a woman?"

"Nay, belle-mère," whispered the girl, her eyes lowered.

"Christ's bones," swore Cat. But before she could say another word, the door gave way and a group of men burst into the room pushing Jemmie ahead of them. While the caudle cup was passed about, Cat managed to get next to her son. Smelling of much wine, he bent to give her a kiss.

"Jemmie," she whispered urgently, "Belle is completely innocent. That ninny Henriette was too shy to talk wi her own daughter. Be extra-gentle wi the lass tonight. What happens the first time will color her whole attitude towards lovemaking."

He nodded quietly, his eyes becoming serious. "I understand, mother. I promise to be kind."

The toast drunk, the jests and good wishes shouted, the bridal chamber was emptied of all but the inhabitants for whom it was intended. In the crush of exiting the king found his way to Cat's side. "I must leave in the morning if I am to be home for Christmas. I shall be in yer bedchamber in an hour."

One last time, she thought. After this night I shall be forever free of ye, James Stewart.

But what was she to do tonight? Fiona's voice came back to her. "Love him, Cat. Ye know how." Returning to the great hall, she stayed long enough to drink another toast to the new Earl and Countess of Glenkirk and then, bidding the guests enjoy themselves, she departed.

Alone, for she had given Susan the night off, she filled a basin with water warmed in the fireplace kettle. Adding scented oil to it, she stripped her clothes off and cleansed her skin. Taking up a small bristle brush, she dipped it into a tiny crystal vial of salt and scrubbed her teeth. Lastly, she anointed her body with rare musk, touching the stopper between her breasts, at the base of her throat, and on the soft insides of her thighs. She was careful in her selection of a gown, for she wanted James to remember every detail of this night for the rest of his life. She hoped it would be a long, long life.

Her choice was an exquisite gossamer silk fashioned à la grecque. It was spring-green to match her eyes, and fastened only on the left shoulder, from which it fell straight to the floor in a rippling line of pleats. It shimmered as she walked, and her body gleamed temptingly through the thin silk. The garment was similar to one she had worn for the king several years ago. She was sure he would remember.

Brushing her hair vigorously with a brush dipped in musk, she secured it atop her head with several tortoise-shell pins and brushed the loose ends about her finger into damp curls. The king always enjoyed loosening her hair, and tonight she must capture his attention in every way so that when he finally left her, he would believe he had spent the most ecstatic night of his life.

Ready now, Cat rang for a maidservant to come lay the peat fire, then dismissed her for the night. Alone, she made herself as comfortable as possible on the oak settle by the fire, and waited. Her thoughts flew back to just a few short years before when she had been a cherished wife. Everything had been so simple.

The creak of the fireplace door alerted her, and she sprang up, forcing a smile of welcome. The king stepped into the room and, blowing out his candle, placed it on the mantel. His amber eyes swept her slim body in its translucent gown, resting for a moment on the fullness of her breasts.

Silently he crossed the room and without a word undid Cat's shoulder fastening. The gown slid to the floor with a hiss of silk. Drawing the tortoiseshell pins from her hair one by one, he dropped them on the thickly carpeted floor.

"Stand before the pier glass," he commanded her.

She obeyed him wordlessly, and was not surprised when he joined her a moment later. He had removed his creamy silk nightshirt and was as naked as she. She couldn't help thinking that he was a handsome man, with a firm, well-muscled body, and extremely large genitals. All the damned Stewarts were overendowed and oversexed, she thought sourly.

Putting a surprisingly hard arm about her, he drew her against him, and his head bent to place a burning kiss on her shoulder. Then he reached up and crushed her breasts passionately. Eyes closed, she shivered her revulsion and prayed he thought it was desire. She felt one hand caressing her belly, the long fingers moving lower to explore the warm wetness of her. Squirming from his grasp, she caught his hand and led him to the bed.

Her mouth curved in what she hoped was a seductive smile, and she spoke huskily, "Let me love ye, Jamie hinny." And pushing him back onto the bed, she knelt over him, her magnificent breasts hanging above him. The amber eyes were bright with lust. Half-sitting, James closed his mouth over the rosy nipple of one breast, but she laughingly pulled away from him, stopping his protest with a kiss.

Her lips covered his face with little kisses that were more like delicious little nibbles as they moved lower. Her soft kisses scorched his chest, moving down to his flat belly and lower until her mouth found his manhood. Taking it in her warm mouth, she nursed on it as a babe would its mother's breast.

The king groaned and shivered. "Christ! Christ! Ahhhhh, you witch!" and he moaned his pleasure over and over as his body arched to meet her mouth.

When he was hard and ready for her, she released his organ and mounted him. His half-closed eyes were glazed with passion as he reached up to fondle her breasts, and Cat rode him smoothly until he poured his foaming seed into her body. His arms tightened about her, and he rolled her over onto her back and looked down at her. "Once," he said thickly, "I told ye I would nae be ridden like a maid, but… oh, Cat! I dinna know, my love! I dinna know! When ye come to me in the springtime ye will do again what ye have done tonight. Yea; my huntress, ye'll fuck me sweetly, won't ye?"

She said nothing, but instead she stroked his long back, cupping his round buttocks in her warm hands and gently kneading them. He quickly grew hot for her again, and with an almost pained sob of pleasure thrust deep into her. Finally exhausted, the king fell into a deep, relaxed sleep. He lay on his stomach, his face turned away from her, one arm thrown carelessly across her. For a long time she lay quietly on her back. Then, convinced of the depth of his slumber, she gingerly removed the offending arm and slipped from the bed.

Wrapping a light wool robe about her, she crawled into the windowseat and gazed sightlessly out into the night. Hot tears poured silently down her cheeks, and her body shook with muffled sobs. Again she had felt nothing, and she had performed like a whore in the Highgate. But worst of all was the fact that James hadn't known. He had eagerly accepted all she gave with no knowledge of her feelings, or of the deception she played. Patrick Leslie would have known, and Francis too-but then, they had truly loved her. The king, for all his fine words, merely lusted for her. Though he might not know it, what he really wanted was a highborn whore to service the hot desires which his dull Danish queen could not.

As the shock eased. Cat began to feel a burning anger. James had used her as he would a common trull, and she hated him with a fierce fury. She had been forced to soil herself in a way she would never forget. But in doing so she had gained the revenge she had planned so long ago. The memory of this night would live with him forever. It would burn in his dreams like a flaming brand, and he would wake with aching loins.

Smiling cruelly, she rose from the windowseat. Shrugging off the robe, she climbed back into the bed, snuggling down beneath the goosedown coverlet. The king still slept, snoring gently now. Propped on one elbow, she gazed down on him, and her lips formed words he never heard. "Goodbye, Jamie! May ye rot in Hell before I ever see ye again!"

Chapter 42

THE wedding guests departed the following day, leaving the families of the bride and groom alone to celebrate the holidays. It was the first time in many years that the Leslies and the Hays had gathered under one roof for Christmas through Twelfth Night.

It was a bittersweet time for Cat. She knew it was unlikely she would ever be with them all again. She savored each day, and her bitterness against James Stewart increased as she realized even more fully what his lust would cost her.

When he had left that morning he had bowed low over her hand, turning it so he might kiss the palm and the inside of her wrist. "Sensuous witch," he murmured low. "Ye drive me wild! Until spring, my love. Twill be the longest winter of my life."

Longer than ye think, ye rutting bastard, she thought, smiling sweetly up at him. "Until we meet again, Jamie hinny," she said softly.

"Farewell, madame," he said loudly for all to hear. "Our thanks for your magnificent hospitality!"

And he was no sooner across the drawbridge than she ran to her bedroom in the west tower. She tore the sheets from the bed and stuffed them into the fireplace, where they burned with a fierce whoosh of smoke and flame.

Astounded, Susan asked, "Could we nae have washed them clean, my lady?"

"There isn't enough water in the world to cleanse those sheets, my girl! Take the pillows and the featherbed to the linen room, and exchange them for fresh."

Cat picked up the exquisite nightgown she had worn and tossed it into the flames. Never again, she thought! Never again will I have to prostitute myself! Never!

"Get the hip bath from the garderobe," she commanded the two lads who brought in the day's supply of wood. "And then bring me enough hot water to fill it!"

She sat in the windowseat looking out over the tranquil black-and-white winter landscape. Behind her, two maids remade the bed with fresh linen. The tub was slowly filled with hot water, and then the room emptied but for her and Susan, who was pouring oil of wild-flowers into the steaming tub.

Cat rose and undressed. Naked, she surveyed herself in the pier glass. Her figure was still good although she was over thirty-her belly was still flat, her glorious breasts were firm, there wasn't an ounce of fat on her. She stepped into the tub and slid down into the hot water.

"Susan, bring the stool and sit near me," she said. "I would speak privately wi ye." The girl settled herself and looked trustingly into her mistress' face. "Tell me, child, do ye hae a special sweetheart?"

"Nay, madame. There are several lads who walk out wi me, but none I'd leg-shackle myself to for life."

"Do ye wish to marry, Susan?"

"I am nae looking, my lady. If the right man came along, perhaps. Me dad says I am like my great-grandma, with a wandering foot that 'twill get me into trouble one day."

Cat smiled. "Would ye like to travel?" she asked.

"Oh, aye, my lady!"

"Susan, what I say to ye now is a secret, and because ye are loyal to me I know ye will nae repeat it The king seeks to make me his mistress, and though there are some who would think it an honor, I do not. After Bess’ wedding I am leaving Scotland. I shall never be able to come home again, though ye may if ye wish. I want ye to come wi me."

"Do ye go to Lord Bothwell?" the girl asked bluntly.

Cat nodded.

"Good!’Tis where ye belong now. I'll go wi ye. Ye’ll need more than one to wait on ye. Will ye take my little sister wi ye? She's fourteen. Her name is May, and she admires ye something fierce. I've been training her, so she's no greenhorn."

Cat smiled again. "Thank ye, Susan. Aye, we'll take young May, but yer nae to tell her until the very last minute. Should the king even suspect that I flee…

Susan nodded wisely. The conversation finished, she rose to see to the warming of the towels. Cat took a soft brush and, standing, scrubbed herself down. Sliding back into the water, she said, "There, James Stewart! ’Tis the last of ye!"

"Amen!" said Susan, wrapping Cat in a fluffy towel as her mistress rose from the tub.

Cat laughed happily. "Why is it, Susan, that we get on so well, and ye've only been in my service a few years? Yer Aunt Ellen served me from the day I was born, and now gets on my nerves so!"

"‘Tis because she's been wi ye since ye were a babe, mistress.’Tis nae easy to take someone seriously when ye've changed their nappies. She's better wi young Lady Bess. Besides, she's too old to change her attitudes and go gallivanting about the world."

"Aye, my prim little Bess suits Ellie. Lord, Susan! In less than two months Bess will be a bride!"

"Aye, she's well settled. But what of the others?"

" 'Tis taken care of, and we'll speak no more of it."

Susan took the hint. After helping her mistress to dress, she went about her other duties.

Christmas at Glenkirk was celebrated quietly with a beautiful midnight mass in the church of Glenkirk Abbey. Afterwards the family descended to the candlelit burial vault beneath the castle chapel and decorated it with greens. The rosary was said, led by Charles Leslie, the abbot. When the family departed, Cat remained behind, sitting on a small marble bench. In the flickering candlelight and deep silence she gained strength. Her eyes moved from tomb to tomb until it reached a large brass plaque that read: "Patrick ian james Leslie, fourth earl of glenkirk. born august 8, 1552. died at sea april 1596. mourned by his beloved wife, catriona mairi, and their nine children. rest in peace."

She felt the tears prick at her eyelids. "Oh, Patrick," she whispered, "they say ye are dead, and I dinna believe it, though it goes against all logic. But dead or alive, I know ye'll ne'er return here, Patrick. Jamie is after me again, and I must flee or else bring dishonor to Glenkirk. I am going to Bothwell, and I know ye would understand."

She stood up and moved to her great-grandmother's tomb. "Well, ye great schemer," she said sofdy, "even in death ye got yer way. I wed yer precious Patrick, and hae given Glenkirk a new generation. But now I will hae my way, Mam!" And a prickle went up her spine as she detected a faint silvery laugh. Or did she? She walked to the staircase. Turning to look back, she smiled. "Farewell, my bonnie ancestors!"

On New Year's Eve the weather was clear and cold, and the sky shone with bright stars and a nearly full moon. A huge feast was held that night, and the pipers circled the table so many times that Cat thought her head would burst with the noise. A few minutes before midnight the family ascended to the battlements of the castle and stood in the cold to watch great bonfires flaring among the surrounding hillsides. Scotland welcomed the new year, 1598.

A lone Glenkirk piper played the softly haunting "Leslie's Lament." As the pipes sounded in the deep winter stillness, the music was echoed by Sithean's piper across the hills.

Cat could not stop the silent tears that slipped down her cheek. Luckily, they went unnoticed by all except Jemmie, who put a comforting arm about his mother. Later as they walked towards the great hall she flashed him a quick smile and said, "I hope yell be as intuitive of yer wife's feelings as ye are of yer mother's."

His eyes twinkled. "Ahh, madame, I am. I certainly ami"

Her laughter was warm. "What a dear rogue ye are, Jemmie. Yer father was as proud of ye as I am. I know he would be relieved that Glenkirk is in such good hands now."

He gave her a grateful smile and, taking her aside, said, "I hae a wonderful New Year's gift for ye. Let me gie it to ye now." And he pulled her down the corridor to the earl's apartments. Sitting her down in a chair in the antechamber, he rushed into his bedroom. He returned a minute later with a flat red leather box.

For a moment she looked at the unopened box in her lap. Whatever was in it was of great value, she was certain. It was the first valuable thing he had ever given her. Another proof, she pondered sadly, that his father was gone. Shaking off the unhappy thought, she opened the box, and gasped. Nestled in black velvet lining was the most beautiful pendant Cat had ever seen. Circular, part of it was fashioned in a quarter-moon shape and the rest was a crisscross of openwork studded with tiny diamonds, and hung with tiny tinkling bells.

"Jemmie! Jemmie!" She lifted it out, admiring the exquisitely delicate chain.

" 'Tis a copy of one that Mam owned."

"I never saw Mam wear anything like this, and 'tis neither wi the Glenkirk or the Sithean jewels," remarked Cat.

"Yer right, mother. She left it behind when she returned from Istanbul. Father told me. In her apartments in the palace there was a wall of tile in the bedroom-by the fireplace, I believe. There was one tile with a thistle pattern. She had the wall behind it hollowed out, and lined in a fine wood. 'Twas there she kept her jewels safe. On the night she left, the pendant was overlooked in her haste. It had been lying towards the back. Mam told father that she always regretted the loss. The sultan had made it for her to celebrate the birth of their first son, Sultan Suleiman. 'Tis probably still there."

"But how did ye know what the pendant looked like if ye never saw it?"

"Mam described it in detail to father several times. He described it to me. He often said ye were like her- proud and willful, yet wise."

"Thank ye, Jemmie."

Suddenly he was a boy again. "I wanted ye to hae something to remember me by!" he said, his voice trembling ever so slightly as he fought to keep it under control.

"Why, my darling," she said catching his face between her hands, "I will nae forget ye! Yer my firstborn, and we share more than ye realize. When ye were but a wee little fish swimming about in my womb, I used to talk to ye. Ye were my strength."

He laughed. "What did ye speak on, mother?"

"All sorts of foolish things, Jemmie," and she paused a moment. "Ye'll nae be able to come for a few years, but once Jamie has forgotten me, ye and Belle can come to visit us."

He looked at her sadly and said softly, but very distinctly, "Damn James Stewart to a fiery hell!" And turning on his heel, he left the room.

Cat closed the jewel case with a click. "Ye echo my own sentiments, my son," she said, and followed him from the room.

The day following the Feast of Twelfth Night the young Earl and Countess of Glenkirk left for court, accompanied by the bride's parents. The rest of the guests dispersed in their various directions. In four and a half weeks Cat's daughter would wed, and then Cat would be free to go on her way.

There had always been a tension between mother and daughter because of Lord Bothwell. Not knowing her parents' problems, Bess, her father's favorite, had automatically taken his part. But Bess was now in love with her prospective husband. It was having a softening effect on the girl. Cat debated telling Bess that she would soon be leaving Scotland.

It was Bess, however, who spoke to her. A week before the wedding she came to her mother and said, "Once ye told me that when I fell in love I should understand how ye felt about Lord Bothwell. I returned ye a snide answer, mother. But now I understand… I truly do! Why do ye stay in Scotland? When the king was here at Christmas he looked at ye in a way that frightened me. Ye must find Uncle Francis, mother, and go to him. Only then will ye be safe!"

Cat hugged her daughter. "Thank ye, Bess. I will go now wi a lighter heart knowing ye really understand."

Bess' eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak, but Cat gently covered the girl's mouth with her hand. "Jemmie will speak of it wi ye one day, love."

"Yes, mother, I understand," said Bess, smiling at her.

What a pity, thought Cat, that we have become friends now that I must leave her.

The wedding of Bess Leslie and Henry Gordon was a quiet one compared to the previous wedding. Only the family attended. Jemmie and a sparkling Isabelle returned for the festivities, and two days later escorted the newlyweds back to Edinburgh for the winter season at court. Before they left, both Bess and Jemmie came to say a private farewell to their mother.

Jemmie was tall and looked so painfully like his father at that age that tears sprang up in Cat's eyes. Bess, so radiantly happy, was a dark-haired mixture of both her parents. "I want ye to know," said Cat softly, "that I love ye both well. How I shall miss ye!"

They both clung to her, and Bess began to weep. "Nay, hinny," scolded Cat, gently stroking her daughter's hair. "If the new bride is sad, the king may find me out. Be strong, my daughter, and help me win this battle that I fight wi Jamie. He must not suspect that any of ye knew."

Bess mastered herself. "The others?" she asked.

"I'll speak wi them, but nae the bairns. I know 'tis a great burden I put on ye, but please, Bess, and ye also, Jemmie, look after them for me. Later, when it is safe, ye may all come to visit wi me. But now I must travel quickly. Ye understand that?"

They nodded, and she kissed them each in turn. Leading them to the door, she saw them out. Later on that day she stood on the top step of the castle's main entrance, waving gaily and calling loudly for all ears to hear, "I will see ye in the spring, my dears! Gie my loving regards to his majesty!" She stayed there waving until they were out of sight before retiring to her tower to weep in private.

The following day would see her two younger sons, fourteen-year-old Colin and twelve-and-a-half-year-old Robert, on their way. Colin was going to the University of Aberdeen, and Robert back to his duties as a page with the Earl of Rothes’ household. That night she drew her four older children about her and told them that she would be leaving Glenkirk, and why. She had worried about disappearing from their lives without explanation and had decided that telling them was worth the risk. Her judgment was vindicated when her nine-year-old daughter, Morag, said quietly, "I am glad ye go, mother. I dinna like the king." Ten-year-old Amanda nodded in agreement. "Aye, Dinna worry for us, mother. Besides, ye've seen to our futures rather well. I shall enjoy being Countess of Sithean."

Cat couldn't help but laugh. "Yer such a practical little puss," she told her daughter.

"When?" asked Robbie.

"Soon."

Colin began to chuckle.

"What is so funny?" his mother asked him.

"I'm sorry I'm nae still wi Rothes," said the boy-man. "I'd enjoy seeing Cousin James' face-the sanctimonious lecher!"

"Thank God yer not wi Rothes!" said Cat. "Ye'd gie me away for sure." But she laughed. "Conall said almost the same thing," she told them, and the girls and Robbie joined in the mirth.

The following morning the boys were gone, and for the next few days Cat was dejected. She spent a good deal of time in the nursery playing with her three babies. Then one evening she appeared unexpected in her mother-in-law's bedchamber. Meg understood instantly. Wordlessly, she rose and hugged Cat to her.

"So soon?”

Cat nodded. "‘Tis dark of the moon, and there is no better time for me to go unnoticed. If I stay any longer I will nae be able to go, Meg. It tears at me even now!"

"Then God go wi ye, my daughter."

"Oh, Meg! Ye were always closer to me than my own mother. I shall miss ye so much! Try to explain to my parents, Meg."

"I will, my dear. Dinna think too harshly of yer mother. She has always lived in her own sensuous little world where the only other occupant was yer father. I will make her understand. And who knows-when yer safe, we may even come visiting!"

"My bairns… ye'll be sure to look after them, Meg?"

"Aye."

"And ye’ll nae let them forget me until I can send for them?"

"Nay, love. Now go, Catriona! Go before ye make a foolish and emotional decision." Gently Meg kissed Cat's cheek and pushed her from her chambers.

For a moment Cat stood in the cold, dark corridor. I’ll nae see this again, she thought, and the tears flowed down her cheeks. My God! If anyone sees me I'll be hard put to explain.

Fiercely she wiped the wetness from her cheeks and ran through the back passages of the castle to her own apartments. The servants-with the exceptions of Susan and her young sister, May-had all been sent to bed.

"Is everything done?" Cat asked Susan.

"Yes, my lady. Conall and his men hae seen to it He said we were to leave as soon as ye returned." She hustled Cat into the bedchamber, where she had a steaming tub waiting. " 'Tis the last yer apt to get for a while."

Cat smiled weakly. "Did ye pack everything I told ye? And ye hae my jewel cases?"

"Aye to both questions. If the king's men come looking they'll find most of yer clothes still here awaiting yer return. Ah, what fun 'twill be to buy ye new clothes in France!"

The heaviness was beginning to lift from Cat's shoulders. "Ye and May shall have some new clothes too," she promised.

Within the hour she was dressed and ready. Then Susan, who stood behind her, unexpectedly fastened about Cat's neck the lion pendant given her by Lord Bothwell. "I thought ye should be reminded of what yer going to, my lady, nae what yer leaving."

Cat smiled, suddenly happy. "Susan, I didna think ye could understand the wrench this is for me. I thank ye, Susan, for helping me through a hard, hard time. Yer a good friend to me, and I willna forget it."

Catching up her fur-lined cloak, she walked to the fireplace and pressed the carving that opened the door to the secret passageway. "Be sure the door is shut tight behind ye, girls," she said, and taking a candle she stepped into the corridor.

Minutes later they exited at the foot of the west tower, where Conall waited with three horses. Cat swung herself onto Iolaire's back while Susan and May rode pillion. With Conall leading the way, they rode out from Glenkirk unseen by the watch. On a hill high above the castle they were joined by a party of men so large that Cat was taken aback.

"Christ!" she swore. "How many are there, Conall?"

"Fifty. I couldna hae ye chasing all over Europe wi just half a dozen men to protect ye. Ye can afford it." And raising his arm he signaled the start of their journey.

"Wait!” she commanded. Turning Iolaire, she looked back down onto Glenkirk, looming dark against a darker sky. For a moment she hesitated, torn with one final doubt. Leave Glenkirk? Leave her bairns? Leave Scotland? Leave nearly all she held dear? And then she saw James' sensuous face before her, and she heard his voice, low and insinuating, saying, "… and ye will do to me what ye did this night…" Yanking her horse about, Cat shouted, "Forward!" and galloped away.

They would be sailing from Rattray Head, where Bothwell had left from so long ago. Since the Gallant James had disappeared with Patrick Leslie, the Leslie's new flagship, New Venture, would be taking Cat to France. Cat thought the name most appropriate.

They rode through the night, stopping twice to rest the horses. At dawn they made camp in the ruins of Huntley Castle. The ride in the cold night air had given Cat an enormous appetite, and she happily accepted a small rabbit broiled on a stick which was brought to her by one of the men. Susan supplied a loaf of bread, a cup, and a flask filled with sweet wine. Cat shared these offerings with her two servants and happily stuffed herself. Full at last, she wrapped herself in her heavy cloak and went to sleep by a small fire kindled in what was now a freestanding fireplace.

When she awoke it was midafternoon, and the camp was quiet. Susan and May were sleeping near her. She lay for a few minutes, drowsy and warm within the safety of her cloak, then slept again. When she woke in late afternoon the camp was abustle with the activities of cooking. Several lambs were turning over the cook fires, and on a large flat stone boasting a smaller fire beneath it rested a number of fresh-baked loaves. Well away from the heat stood several unopened casks of ale.

"Conall! To me!"

"Madame?"

"Where did all of this come from?"

"My lord of Huntley told his people to be on the lookout for ye and to see we were well fed and cared for while on Gordon lands."

Her face softened. "Why, bless George for that," she said. Then, "There's nae too much ale, is there? I dinna want the men too drunk to ride. We've a long night ahead of us, and we must reach Rattray before dawn."

"Just enough to keep them happy, my lady. There's a small cask of wine for ye too. Dinna forget to refill yer flask for tonight."

She nodded, and accepted the tin plate Susan handed her. It held thin, juicy slices of meat, early green cress, and hot bread dripping butter and honey. The cup was filled with rich malmsey, and put at her side on the ground. Again Cat stuffed herself. Afterwards, as the men ate, she stood and addressed them. "Conall has told ye of my journey. If any of ye have changed yer minds about going, now is the time to say so, and to return to Glenkirk. If ye go back, I only ask that ye remain silent as to my whereabouts." Silence greeted her words, and looking out at the Glenkirk men she felt quick tears prick her eyelids. Fighting to control herself, she said simply, "Thank ye. Thank ye all."

They were ahorse within the hour, and rode through most of the dark night. She could smell the sea long before they reached the coast, its salt tang growing stronger with every passing mile. They arrived at the rendezvous well before their deadline, and Conall signaled towards the sea with a lantern which he had managed somehow to stow in his bulging saddlebags. From the darkness came an answering light.

He drew forward a familiar-looking young man. "My son, Andrew," he announced gruffly.

Cat raised an eyebrow. "Dinna tell me, Conall. Ye couldna find the time to wed wi his mother, but a Leslie always recognizes bis own. Am I correct?"

"Aye, madame," he drawled, and she laughed. "Andrew and ten of the men will sail on the New Venture wi ye," he said. "I'll go wi the others and the horses on the Anne la Reine from Peterhead."

"Will ye be long behind us?" Cat asked nervously. "I dinna like landing in France wi so few men."

"We'll be ahead of ye. The Anne la Reine is lighter and a bit faster than the New Venture. Yer coach, horses, coachmen, and grooms left three days ago, and will be waiting for ye. Dinna fret, lass. I'll be waiting for ye."

She smiled warmly at him. "All right, Conall." Then she turned her smile on the young man. "Well, Andrew More-Leslie, not enough pretty girls to keep ye home at Glenkirk?"

"Too many, my lady-and an equal number of angry fathers."

Cat laughed. "Yell do, lad!"

They descended to the beach to meet the longboat. It slid up onto the sand and the sailors scrambled out to pull it safely onto the beach. For a moment Cat flew back in time, remembering when she had stood before on this wet and windy beach. It had been a bit less than three years ago, and she had ridden with the Earl of Bothwell to bid him goodbye as he began his exile. She had thought never to see him again. Now she stood on this very beach ready to begin her own self-imposed exile.

An officer detached himself from his men and bowed over her hand. "First Officer Malcolm More-Leslie at yer service, my lady. I am Hugh's son."

"Yer Susan and May's older brother?"

"Aye, madame."

"Is not the captain a More-Leslie?"

"Sandy. Alan's boy."

"Good God, Conall, I certainly sail well protected by the family!"

"He would have wanted it that way," Conall muttered fiercely.

Cat put out a hand and patted the older man's arm. "Ye wanted to go wi him, eh, Conall?"

"Aye! But he'd nae hae it. 'Stay home, Conall,' he said. 'Who else can I trust to look after her?' "

"Christ, man! Dinna tell me this now at the moment of my departure!"

"Madame, if I dinna think he'd approve of this road ye take, I'd nae be here. But I am, and while 'tis in my hands, I'll keep ye safe." And then he blushed beet-red as she stood on tiptoes and soundly kissed his cheek.

"God go wi ye, Conall," she said, and joined Susan and May, who were already in the boat. Without further ado the small boat was on its way through the darkness to the New Venture. Then she was being swung up and out over the water, and when she opened her eyes again she was on the deck being greeted by the captain.

"I've put ye and yer lasses in my own cabin, my lady. Ye'll be more comfortable there," he said.

"Thank ye, cousin," she said, bringing a flush of pleasure to his ruddy face. He'd heard about Cat Leslie, and what a fine woman she was. Her acknowledgment of their relationship-however tenuous that relationship was-pleased him. Too, it brought him extra stature in the eyes of his men. "Will ye take yer main meal wi me and my officers?" he asked.

"Gladly!"

The captain bowed. "I’ll be about my business now, madame. Duncan will see ye safely to yer quarters."

The New Venture was a big, sleek caravel of some eighty tons. She carried a full dozen guns, and had been designed for speed and maneuverability, yet generous cargo space. Her crew's quarters were dry, warm, and comfortable, outstanding for the times. There was a separate cook's area incorporated into the seamen's quarters so the men might have warm food or ale when they finished their duties. The Leslies demanded absolute obedience and loyalty from their sailors, but they paid them well and cared for them properly. Consequently, Leslie employees were the best.

Duncan, the ship's boy, led Cat and her two serving women to a large cabin high in the stern of the ship. Through the leaded and paned bow windows Cat could see that the stars had faded and the sky was growing lighter. The cabin was comfortably furnished, with a good-sized bed and two trundles. There were Turkey carpets on the floor, and velvet hangings at the bow windows and the two smaller ports. Beautiful brass lamps lit the room, and on an oak table stood two decanters of wine-one red, one gold.

"Could ye eat, m'lady?" asked Duncan.

"Is there any fruit aboard, lad?"

"Apples, ma'am, and some Seville oranges."

"Bring both, and some hard cheese and bread."

"Ohh, my lady," said May plaintively, "I'm starving! I could eat a big bowl of porridge, I surely could! Wi honey and clotted cream!"

Cat laughed at the girl. "Not this morning, my lass. If ye would nae succumb to mal de mer ye will eat and drink sparingly this day."

Later, when the two young women lay sleeping, Cat sat in the velvet windowseat and watched the coast of Scotland slowly growing smaller. Above her she heard, "Set the course for Calais! East-southeast." And an echoing voice answered, "East-sou'east!"

The beautiful leaf-green eyes strained towards the fading coastline. A tear slid down her pale cheek, and then another, and another. She wept softly, bitterly, until the sadness began to lift and she had a sudden awareness of excitement growing within her. Behind her lay her old life, but ahead lay her very reason for life! Ahead was Francis Stewart-Hepburn! She could not be so ungrateful as to weep over what the gods had taken from her-not when they had given so much.

Chapter 43

THE messenger sent by the king of Scotland to the younger dowager Countess of Glenkirk returned quickly to Edinburgh.

"What do ye mean she wasna there?" demanded the king in a tight little voice.

"She's gone to France, the auld dowager said, and proper upset she was too. Seems the young one just took off early one morning wi'out a word to anyone."

James sent for the Earl of Glenkirk, and his sister, Lady Elizabeth Gordon. "Do ye know where yer mother is?" he asked them.

"At Glenkirk, sire," said the earl without hesitation.

"She is nae at Glenkirk!" answered the king fiercely. "She is in France!"

For a moment both young faces registered surprise, then Bess said to Jemmie, "She went after all! Oh, I do hope 'twill cheer her!"

"What do ye mean, Lady Gordon?"

Bess smiled sweetly at the king and then said in the same warm, confidential tone she'd used with her brother, "Why, sire, she spoke of visiting our Leslie cousins in France. Ye see, 'tis been a terrible year for her. First our father dying. Then Jemmie marrying and coming wi Bella to court, and then my marrying and coming to court. Colin is away at the university and Robbie a page wi Rothes. Why sire-there's scarcely anyone home but the bairns! She's been so lonely. She said she might go to France for a bit, but then she said nay." Bess smiled again, and shrugged elegant little shoulders. "I suppose she changed her mind again. We women are so unpredictable."

Amused, the king suppressed a smile, and then his mouth tightened in anger. "She was to come to court this spring."

"Oh, yes," said Bess brightly. " 'Twas the last thing she said to us when we left Glenkirk after my wedding-that she would see us at court in the spring, and to gie her loving regards to the king." She turned and stared accusingly at her brother. "Jemmie! I'll wager ye forgot, dolthead! How could ye?"

A small smile played at the corners of the king's mouth at the embarrassed look on the young earl's handsome face. They were such a charming family! "Thank ye, Lady Gordon. Ye may leave us. Jemmie, stay. I would speak further wi ye."

Bess curtsied prettily and left the room. James looked sharply at James Leslie. He saw nothing but open honesty and admiration. The king pursed his lips and said slowly, "Yer mother has displeased me, Glenkirk. In a sense she has deliberately disobeyed me." The young face looked genuinely distressed. "I commanded yer mother's presence at court this spring. In fact-" he paused a moment for effect-"I planned to make her my mistress, and she was well aware of it."

Surprise and incredulity registered on the young face. “Sire! This is a great honor ye do Glenkirk! Christ, sir! What can I say!" Then, "Damn me! Her behavior is intolerable! I always felt my father spoiled her. But I am sure she will return soon. She is simply willfuL but I dinna believe disobedient."

The king looked pleased. There was no nonsense here. The lad was with him. She'd have no place to hide now. This was one Glenkirk he'd have no trouble with at all! The earl considered it an honor that James had singled out his mother-and rightly so! "I will send word to my good friend, King Henri, that yer mother is to be sent home."

Jemmie looked earnestly at the king. "I will write her also, sire. I am now the Lord of Glenkirk, and I honor my mother as much as she merits it, but she must understand that 'tis my word that is law at Glenkirk, not hers. She is, after all, but a woman, and therefore must be guided. Yer majesty has offered her yer protection. I will nae allow her to fling such graciousness away."

The king was pleased, but alone he brooded. Did she really intend returning? Or, as the little nagging doubt in the back of his mind suggested, had she fled him again? He had warned her once what he would do to her family if she refused him, but that was when her husband was alive. It would have been possible to trump up charges against Patrick. But the young earl was a different matter. Punishing him would be far too transparent, and would reap terrible consequences for the king.

The Leslies of Glenkirk were no longer a defenseless clan without powerful ties. The king's own cousin, George Gordon, the Earl of Huntley, was as troublesome in his way as Bothwell had been. He was not going to stand idly by and allow his daughter Isabelle's happiness to be destroyed, and James wanted no open clan rivalries left behind when he mounted the English throne. Then, too, there was the young Earl of Glenkirk himself. In the short time he had been at court he had made himself very popular, and he was openly admiring and supportive of the king. One could hardly accuse such a charming and loyal young man of perfidy. Besides, James genuinely liked the new Earl of Glenkirk.

The king slouched low in his chair, fingering the diamond-and-black-pearl necklace he had sent to Cat with the messenger. He thought anxiously that she must come back. She must! He could not-nay, would not- spend a lifetime yearning for her. But what if she did not return? He groaned aloud. She must!

Chapter 44

THE New Venture had made an easy passage from Rattray Head to Calais. The captain was heard to remark that in all his years of sailing he had never encountered such fair and constant winds in the North Sea, let alone the North Sea in late February. The Anne la Reine had arrived some twelve hours ahead of Cat's ship, and Conall and his men awaited their lady on the docks.

Because Conall deemed it safer, Cat and her two servants rode inside the coach on the four-day trip to Paris. Her entourage was extremely impressive. Two coachmen sat on the box, two footmen rode behind. Four grooms on horseback followed behind the coach, each leading yet another horse-lolaire among them. Conall led fifteen men, while Andrew, with another fifteen, brought up the rear. On each side of the coach rode ten men.

Besides Cat and her servants, there was one other occupant of the coach, and when Cat had disembarked at Calais she had almost fainted at the sight of him. Conall had grasped her arm and said sharply, "‘Tis his bastard half-brother. He's been raised here."

And the young priest stepped forward and raised her hand to his lips. "I should not have startled ye so, madame. I have always been flattered to know that I look like Patrick. I did not realize how much until this moment."

"Aye, Father. Except that yer hair is blond and his was dark, yer his mirror image. Even the tone of yer voicel"

Learning of her visit-for Cat had sent a message ahead to her two uncles-the priest had come from Paris to meet her. His name was Niall Fitz-Leslie, and he had been the only bastard of the third Earl of Glenkirk. His mother had been the youngest daughter of the laird of Rae, and she had caught the earl's eye when Meg was pregnant with her last baby. The third earl had been unable to resist the ample and available charms of the laird's daughter. Nine months later Niall had been born.

Upon learning of his daughter's condition, the old laird had sent her off to his sister in Caithness. There she had remained until she died when her son was ten. The third Earl of Glenkirk had always seen to his bastard son's support, and when Niall was left motherless, his father had sent him to be raised by his brother, Donald, in France. Thus, Meg had never known of her beloved husband's one deviation. Formal recognition by his father had made Niall's acceptance into the church a certainty.

Donald Leslie of Glenkirk had been a third son, and it had been necessary for him to make his own fortune. With his cousin, David Leslie of Sithean-himself a fourth son-he had gone into military service as a mercenary. It was while serving France that the two cousins caught the fancies of two young heiresses who were also related.

Donald had wed himself to Ren6 de la Provence, and sired six children in rapid succession-five of them sons, so his father-in-law, the old Sieur de la Provence, had been made happy in his old age. Now that he was dead, Donald was the Sieur de la Provence.

David Leslie-brother to Cat's mother-had done equally well by marrying Adèle de Peyrac, the only child of the elderly Sieur de Peyrac. He had sired four sons. The two Leslie cousins had, as part of their marriage contracts, agreed to add their wives' names to their own. Hence in France they were known as Donald Leslie de la Provence and David Leslie de Peyrac.

Cat had never met either of her uncles, as they had left Scotland before she was born.

"The entire family is quite excited by your visit, madame," Niall told her. "We realize, of course, that you are in mourning."

"No longer. Patrick would nae have liked it."

"I was saddened to learn of his death. I liked him."

"Ye knew him?"

Niall Fitz-Leslie smiled. "Yes. I knew him. When he was returning home to Scotland he stopped unexpectedly in Paris, and there was no time to remove me to another place. I will never forget the look on his face when he saw me. 'Twas a look of pure surprise. Then he laughed, and said, 'Little brother, I must obviously greet you so!' Before he left we had a long talk, and he told me of our father's death. He continued to pay for my support with our uncles, and after I became a priest he settled an amount on me with the Kiras. A man, he wrote me, is still a man even if he is a priest, and should always have his own money. He was a good man. I will pray for him."

"He was a good man," Cat replied. Then she looked at the young priest, and said, "Father, I should like you to hear my confession. Among other things it will answer all the questions I see in your eyes." She lowered the window of the coach and, hailing the nearest man, called, "Tell Conall I want to stop for a rest as soon as possible."

A few moments later the coach pulled into a sheltered clearing, and Susan and May exited to stretch their legs. Kneeling on the padded floor of the luxurious vehicle, Cat put her two slim white hands into the large, tanned one of the priest. She remained this way for almost an hour while she spoke softly of the last few years of her life.

The priest's face remained impassive throughout her recital. When she stopped he said, "In the eyes of the church you have certainly sinned grievously, but you have paid a far greater penance than your sin demanded, my daughter. Your current flight puts your family here in some small jeopardy should King Henri be asked by King James to aid in your return. I think, however, that your king is gauche in pursuing you when you so obviously dislike him. Lord only knows Henri Quatre is a lover of great renown, but he has never, to my knowledge, forced a woman. James Stewart is obviously a barbarian. You will, of course, forestall any threat to your family here by staying only a short time?"

"I will, mon père. Only long enough to buy new clothes, as I left most of mine behind at Glenkirk."

The priest grinned. "An admirable excuse for a new wardrobe, ma belle cousine."

She laughed. "I really do want to hurry, for I am most anxious to reach Lord Bothwell."

Niall Fitz-Leslie raised Cat up. "Sit back now, madame. Our business is over." He smiled at her. "Does Lord Bothwell know you are coming?"

"No. I dared not communicate with him before I left Glenkirk. I will arrange with our Paris bankers to send a message to Naples."

"I think he will be a very happy man," remarked the cleric. "When he was here at King Henri's court he seemed so… so…" The priest struggled for the right word. "… so incomplete! I realize that sounds strange, but something seemed to be missing in him and for him. Now I know what that something was."

Cat's face lit up, and Niall was staggered by the sudden flash of pure beauty. "Mon Dieu, chérie! You almost make me regret my vows of celibacy!" he said.

Her clear laughter rang within the coach. "You definitely have the Leslie charm, mon père. It is a good thing you have taken holy orders. There are already too many lusty Leslie men running about this earth!"

They continued their journey through Picardy into Isle de France, and up to Paris. Cat was enchanted with the city, and quite amazed to discover how unlike London, Edinburgh, or Aberdeen it was. She had assumed that all big cities were much alike. Paris was unlike any place she had ever seen. Now she understood why the current king had switched his allegiance from Protestantism to Catholicism in order to end religious wars in France, remarking that "Paris is well worth a Mass."

Cat would be staying with her Uncle David, whose house was thirty miles southeast of Paris, near the royal residence of Fontainbleau. When they reached the far side of the city, Niall instructed the coachmen as to the proper roads to travel, and rode on ahead so David Leslie de Peyrac might know of his niece's imminent arrival.

It was late afternoon when the coach and its escort drew into the courtyard of the Chateau Petit. Before Cat's grooms could jump down, two liveried footmen were at the coach door, opening it, lowering the steps, and helping Cat down. An elegant gentleman stepped forward. Had he not looked so like her mother, Cat would not have recognized him as her uncle. Smiling, he kissed her on both cheeks. "Catriona, welcome to France!" The Sieur de Peyrac drew forward a tall, dark-eyed woman. "Your Tante Adèle."

Cat curtsied.

"Welcome to Petit Chateau," smiled Adèle de Peyrac. "I am sorry your visit must be so short."

"Nonsense, ma femme! Catriona will stay as long as she likes!"

"It will not be long, uncle. I am bound for Naples, and I must reach there without delay. I stop only long enough to arrange for a new wardrobe in Paris, and to rest."

"You need not travel back to the city," said Adèle. "I have an excellent dressmaker who will come to the chateau. We will send for her tomorrow morning." And taking Cat's arm in a firm grip, she led her up the main staircase to an exquisitely decorated suite of rooms.

As the doors closed behind them, Cat pulled out of her aunt's grasp and, whirling about, said, "Very well, tante, let us talk!"

Adèle de Peyrac smiled. "Good. You are sensible. Tell me quickly now why have you come to France. I certainly hope you do not think you can make your home with us now that your son is married."

Cat was incredulous. The woman must be mad! "God's bones, madame! Why on earth would I want to live with you?"

"Do not be angry, my dear," replied Adèle. "We all know that a dowager countess has far less access to the gracious life as her son's mother than she had as her husband's wife. Perhaps you and your son's new wife do not get along, and it has been necessary for you to remove yourself? I do not imagine it is easy to be poor."

Cat resisted the strong urge to slap the smug face before her. "Madame," she said icily, "I do not know what gave you the erroneous idea that I am poor, but I beg to inform you that I am a very wealthy woman in my own right. I was when I married Glenkirk, and I still am. If I chose to I could live with my son and his bride, who is a sweet and loving girl. However, I prefer to remarry. I am on my way to Naples to do just that!"

"Remarry whom?"

"Lord Bothwell," said Cat evenly.

"Mon Dieu! He is a savage, and yet he is most charming, or so I have been told." With this pronouncement Adèle de Peyrac left the room.

Susan sniffed. "She doesna like us, does she, my lady?"

Cat laughed. "No Susan, she doesna like us."

"How long must we stay here, my lady?"

"Just a few weeks, Susan.’Tis still winter, and I would wait a bit."

The following night Cat met her Uncle Donald and his wife, Renée, who was as warm with her Scots niece as Adèle was cold. "I wish you had stayed with us, chère Catherine. Adèle is not a particularly hospitable woman."

Cat patted the plump, dimpled hand. "It's all right, ma chère tante. I only stay a few weeks, and then I am gone."

Renée de la Provence leaned forward and whispered, "I must speak alone with you as quickly as possible. Make some excuse to go to your room."

A bit later, Cat discovered her Aunt Renée already awaiting her in Cat's room.

"Is it true, Catherine, that you are rich?"

Cat bit back her laughter, for the little woman looked so distressed. "Yes, tante, I am rich."

"Oh dear! Adèle thought at first that you were poor, and she could barely wait for you to come and be as quickly gone. Tonight, however, she told me that you were rich, and that she intended wedding you to her eldest son, Giles."

"Impossible!" Cat was angered and astounded. "I travel south to wed with Lord Bothwell. Besides, I thought all the de Peyracs were wed."

"Giles is a widower, and though he is my own nephew, I must tell you I do not like him. He was married for five years to the daughter of my friend Marie de Valmaison. Two years ago the girl committed suicide. Before she was wed to Giles she was the sweetest-natured, brightest and sunniest girl imaginable! But afterwards she became quiet… and frightened, always looking to Giles for approval of every word she spoke. It was as if she feared him."

"Do not fear for me, Tante Renée. I will wed no one but Francis Hepburn."

"Nevertheless, child, beware Giles de Peyrac."

Back in the main hall of the chateau, Cat was introduced to her six de la Provence cousins-five charming young men and their wives, and a delightful sixteen-year-old girl named Marguerite, whom everyone called MiMi. Then her Uncle David's sons and their wives were presented to her. She quickly understood her aunt's fear and dislike of Giles de Peyrac, although his brothers were all pleasant enough.

The eldest de Peyrac son was tall and as austere as his mother, with an almost Spanish look about him. His hair was dark, and his black eyes held a peculiar gold flame that flared when he was excited. He took her hand, turning it over to kiss the inside of her palm and quickly tickling it with his wet tongue. Cat snatched her hand back, outraged. She was furious and repelled by his behavior, as well as disgusted by the strange eyes that plunged deep into her décolletage and slowly swept upward to her face.

"We have much in common, ma belle cousine," said Giles de Peyrac. "We are both left widowed in our prime, and," he paused, "we are both experienced."

She ignored the remark, giving him a perfunctory smile, and turned away to talk with MiMi. But when it came time to sit down to the meal, she found him next to her. To Cat's intense embarrassment, he made a great fuss over her, choosing the choicest viands to put on her plate, and insisting she drink from his cup. She could barely manage to be civil. Quickly turning to her other dinner partner, she discovered it was Niall Fitz-Leslie. His eyes were brimming with amusement, and she said quietly in Gaelic, "Do you not think my aunt is obvious in placing her odious son on one side of me, and a priest on the other?"

"The thought of her favorite child possessing your wealth is very tempting, Catriona." Then, "How did ye know I spoke Gaelic?"

"Ye told me ye spent several years in Caithness. What else would ye speak there?"

Annoyed at being ignored so pointedly, Giles de Peyrac asked, "What is that gibberish you speak? It has an ugly sound."

Cat gave him a cold look while Niall said, " 'Tis Gaelic we speak, cousin. Madame la comtesse speaks to me of my youth."

Cat managed to avoid her reptilian cousin the rest of the evening, and with the arrival the following day of the Parisian dressmaker she was prepared to forget him entirely. The woman had brought three assistants and an enormous collection of fabrics. One look at Cat, and she chortled, "Ah, madame la comtesse! What a pleasure it will be to dress you! Mon Dieu! What a tiny waist! What magnificent breasts! Such skin, eyes, hair! I can see that once you arrive at court it will not be long before our Evergreen Gallant has a new mistress. When I have finished with you, madame, there will be no one more ravishing!"

Cat laughed happily. "I regret I shall be a disappointment to you, Madame de Croix. I am not going to court, but to Italy to be married. You must make my clothes in the Italian fashion."

The little woman's face fell. "Where in Italy, madame la comtesse?"

"Naples."

"Ahhhh!" The smile reappeared. "Naples! The climate is temperate, and the nobility fashionable! We will use light velvets, cottons, linens, and silks of all weights. The necklines will be very, very low, the skirts fluid and flowing. You will be a vision!" She signaled to her assistants, who immediately began unrolling bolts of materials.

Cat gasped. Never had she seen such a marvelous display of fabric or colors. A soft lilac-colored silk caught her eye, and she pointed to it. "For my wedding gown," she said.

Madame de Croix smiled broadly. "Oui! But only for the overskirt. For the underskirt we use the same color in a light velvet, which we will embroider with gold thread and seed pearls. The sleeves will flow like water, and we will embroider their edges too. Very appropriate for Naples. Now, if you were to remain here and go to court, I should design the sleeves tight at the shoulder and wrist and full in the center, but-" she shrugged-" 'tis too stifling a fashion for a warm city. Now, madame la comtesse, let us get your measurements."

Clad only in her shift, Cat stood upon a stool while the dressmaker and her three assistants buzzed about her, chattering in their quick Parisian French. Suddenly Cat became aware of another person in the room, and looking up saw Giles de Peyrac leaning against the open bedroom door staring avidly at her. Ignoring him, she said to Susan in Gaelic, "Fetch Conall to remove that vermin!"

An uncomfortable few minutes passed, and then Conall was standing next to Giles de Peyrac. Speaking in soft, careful French, he said, "We can do this two ways, my lord. Either ye leave quietly, or on my lady's very explicit orders I will remove you."

Saying nothing, the Frenchman turned and departed, Conall following.

"How long," asked Cat. "would it take to make one dress for me? Could you do a dress in one day?"

"Using three girls, I could, madame la comtesse."

"Then send to Paris, Madame de Croix. I want two dozen of your best seamstresses, and I will pay their wages myself. Twelve are to work on my gowns and the others are to do everything else-the shifts, night-garments, cloaks, embroidery, whatever!" At the woman's incredulous look, Cat smiled. "Send someone you trust to the banking house of Giscard Kira, and ask whether Madame la Comtesse de Glenkirk can afford such extravagance. You will find that I can. I wish to be gone from Chateau Petit within two weeks!"

Shuddering, Cat glanced at the now-empty doorway.

Chapter 45

TWO days before Cat's departure, an unfamiliar horseman rode into Chateau Petit. Within the hour Cat was summoned to the library. David Leslie de Peyrac looked uncomfortable and a trifle nervous. Sprawling in a chair was an elegant gentleman who leaped to his feet as Cat entered the room.

"My niece, Madame la Comtesse de Glenkirk. Catriona, this is Monsieur le Marquis de la Victoire."

The elegant bowed low over her hand, kissing it reverently and holding it a moment too long. His blue eyes swept her admiringly, and he couldn't resist ogling her just a trifle, the waxed points of his moustache twitching slightly. "Madame, I am your devoted slave," he murmured with a violet-scented breath.

Cat's laughter rang clear, and her leaf-green eyes twinkled. "You overwhelm me with such attentions, monsieur le marquis," she protested prettily.

Delighted with this beautiful woman, who was obviously skilled in court repartee, the marquis spoke again. "Madame, it is my unbelievable good fortune to have been chosen by the king to escort you to Fon-tainebleau."

"Your king wishes to see me? There must be some mistake, monsieur le marquis. I am merely traveling through France on my way to Italy."

"You are the widow of Patrick Leslie?"

"Yes."

Then there is no mistake, madame."

"I will need time to change, monsieur le marquis. And, of course, I must be properly chaperoned. I shall be accompanied by both my tiring women, my confessor, and my captain-at-arms and his men. And, of course, we shall travel in my coach."

"But, of course, madame! All the proprieties will be observed."

Another hour passed, and Cat found herself traveling the seven mile's through the forest between Chateau Petit and Fontainebleau. On Niall's advice she had dressed herself in an elegantly seductive dark-green velvet dress that emphasized the color of her eyes and the whiteness of her skin. The neckline was cut very low to reveal the full swell of her breasts. Over it she had flung a hooded cloak fashioned of alternating bands of dark-green velvet and soft dark beaver. It closed at the neck with a large gold clasp set with an emerald.

Niall spoke quietly to her as they rode along. "Don't underestimate him, Catriona. Henri de Navarre is a shrewd man. Answer his questions candidly, but tell him only what you think he needs to know, no more. He enjoys women, especially women of spirit and intelligence. He has great charm."

"But what," she asked, "can he want with me?"

"I imagine James Stewart has discovered your absence, and has sent to his fellow king for aid in obtaining your return."

"I will not go back, Niall!"

"If that is why Henri wishes to see you, ma belle, then use all your charms to dissaude him. I know you can."

"Mon père!" Cat was shocked. "What is it you are telling me to do?"

"Whatever you must. Do you or do you not wish to be Lord Bothwell's wife?"

"I do! Dear God, I do!"

"Then do whatever you must do to achieve that goal."

A few minutes later they reached Fontainebleau, and the marquis was at the coach door to escort Cat to the French king. "Your women and your other people may wait here," he told her.

Niall slid easily from the coach to the courtyard. Looking directly at Robert de la Victoire, he said quietly, "I think I shall visit my old friend, Père Hugo, the king's confessor. I will be ready to return on your command, madame la comtesse."

Clutching her cloak about her, Cat followed the marquis through a maze of winding and dimly lit corridors until finally he stopped. Pointing to a paneled door, he directed, "Through there, madame." And turning around, he disappeared into the darkness. Cat gritted her teeth and, grasping the door handle, turned it and entered into a beautifully furnished small library.

At first glance the room appeared empty. Then a tall man stepped from a curtained alcove. "Come closer, madame la comtesse. I will not bite you."

She walked directly up to him and swept him a low curtsy. "Monseigneur, you are gracious to receive me."

A smile briefly touched the corner of his mouth. "Remove the cloak, madame. We will talk."

Cat unfastened the gold clasps. Laying the garment neatly on a chair, she turned back to the French king. He had a sensuous, handsome face, with deep-brown velvet eyes. They scrutinized her with frank approval. His gaze moved downward from her beautiful face to rest quite openly on her lovely breasts pushing above the neckline of her gown.

"Magnifique," he breathed. "I can well understand James Stewart's frantic desire to get you back, madame la comtesse."

Though she had been half-expecting it, the shock was almost too much for Cat. She swayed slightly. Instantly the French king was at her side, a strong arm about her waist. "I will not go back, monseigneur! Not unless it be in my coffin!"

Henri de Navarre was distressed. "Ahh, no, chérie, I cannot allow that to happen."

She swayed again, and the king scooped her up and swiftly carried her through the curtained alcove to a bed. His long slender fingers expertly loosed the laces of her bodice. Pouring a small amount of amber liquid into a goblet, he put an arm about her shoulders and forced her to drink.

Cat gasped, and coughed. "God's nightshirt! Whisky!"

The French king laughed. "An excellent restorative."

Suddenly aware of her dishabille, Cat struggled to relace herself, but another wave of dizziness overcame her, and she fell back. The king leaned over her, pinioning her gently between his arms. "Do not be afraid, chérie. I will not make you return to your king. It is all too obvious that he repels you, and I have never believed in forcing women. Sweet surrender in the battle between the sexes has far more charm than rape." The brown eyes caressed her warmly, and Cat felt herself blush under his very ardent gaze. His voice was soft. "Would you surrender to me, chérie?" he asked, and she barely had time to murmur, "Monseigneur," before his mouth closed warmly over hers.

Expecting to react as she had with James, Cat was startled to feel a tremor run through her body. The mouth on hers was tender, and expert. She felt herself relax. Her eyes closed, and she sighed deeply.

He laughed softly, and the slim fingers quickly undid her laces, baring her completely to the waist. His mouth moved down the slender column of her throat to the twin silken globes of her breasts. She couldn't stop him, though for a brief moment she tried to, struggling to escape the outrageously delicious feelings that were sweeping over her. This was wrong! She didn't even know him.

“Non, non, chérie," he gently admonished her, pressing her back among the pillows. "You want this as much as I do."

And she realized with shock that he spoke the truth. She did not know him, yet she needed his very masculine body in order to reassure herself of her womanhood. James had made her feel like a whore. Henri of Navarre, a virtual stranger, was making her feel alive and feminine again.

His lips traced a pattern across her faintly trembling breasts, moving downward to her quivering navel. His large, soft hands caressed her with an expertise that left her breathless and half-fainting. She felt those hands beneath her full skirts, stroking her satiny thighs, and then moving to touch her more intimately. A throbbing, aching tightness began building within her. She cried out, "Monseigneur!" and felt him seeking her. Her breath was coming in short quick little gasps, and she sobbed gratefully as his hardness penetrated her.

He moved smoothly, delighting in her passionate response, lingering happily within her warmth, holding himself in perfect check as she sought and found her own heaven. Then, taking her one final time to the heights of ecstasy, he joined her in fulfillment. Cat, excited by this expert lover, first fainted and then drifted off into a relaxed sleep.

When she awoke several hours later he was quickly at her bedside with a glass of cool wine. Blushing furiously at the memory of what had passed between them, she accepted his offering with lowered eyes.

"Look at me, chérie," he gently commanded her. His hand imperiously raised her heart-shaped face to his. "I pity James, and I certainly envy my friend Lord Bothwell," he said.

Her leaf-green eyes widened, and she swallowed hard. "You-you know Francis?"

"Yes, chérie, I do. We spent many happy hours together before he so foolishly killed a de Guise in a duel. I have enough trouble with that family as it is, and I was forced to exile my friend."

"Then you know I journey to Naples to wed Francis?"

"Yes, chérie."

"And all along you intended to let me go my way?" "Yes, chine.ⁿ

"Ohhhhhh!" Her eyes were wide with outrage. She struggled off the bed, desperately trying to lace herself up. "My God, monseigneur! How could you? How could you?"

Henri de Navarre could not help himself, and he began to laugh, catching at the angry little hand that pummeled his chest. "Because, you adorable creature, with a courtful of delicious and willing beauties, your Francois did nothing but sigh and moon over you! I simply could not believe such perfection existed. But now," and he smiled down at her, "I believe, ma chérie!” He tipped her face up to his. "You will not tell my good friend, Francois, that I took shameful advantage of you. Will you, chérie?"

Her lower lip began to tremble, and she struggled to retain her dignity. "You are an impossible man, monseigneur," she scolded him, beginning to laugh in spite of herself.

His fingers expertly laced her up. "Was it so terrible, what we did? I was under the distinct impression that you enjoyed yourself as much as I did."

Her eyes met his, and he heard her say, "I did, monseigneur, but for a reason you would not suspect."

"Tell me!"

"Last Christmas when my son wed Isabelle Gordon, James Stewart came to Glenkirk to spend his days hunting and his nights in my bed. When he touched me I felt nothing. I was forced to pretend an emotion I did not feel so as not to offend my royal cousin's pride. After several nights of it I became afraid that perhaps something was actually the matter with me."

"And today," chuckled Henri de Navarre, "you discovered that there is nothing the matter with you, n'est-ce pas?”

"Yes," she said softly.

"I am delighted to have had a part in reassuring you, madame la comtesse," he returned dryly.

She laughed mischievously. "Do not play the wounded one with me, monseigneur! 'Twas you who seduced me!"

Henri smiled down at her. "I will not deny, madame, that this has been a delightful interlude." His finger touched the tip of her nose, and he sighed. "But now you must return to your uncle's chateau, and prepare for your journey to Italy."

She caught up his hands and kissed them. "Merci, merci, monseigneur! Mille mercis!”

He again took her face in his two hands. "You love him very much, don't you, chérie?”

"Yes, monseigneur, I love him. It has been a long and very lonely three years. I have been as half a person without him."

"I have never felt like that about anyone," replied the French king.

"I do not believe many people do, monseigneur, and I dp not understand why Francis and I were singled out to share such a love-but we do!"

Henri de Navarre gently traced a finger down her cheek. "How lovely you are, chérie, with all your innocent love shining out of those marvelous green eyes. Go safely to your beloved rogue, and tell him that I miss him. What an addition you both would have been to my court!" Picking up her cloak, he carefully draped it around her shoulders. Taking her hand, he led her to the door and opened it. "Here she is, mon père-safe and sound." He took her hand. Kissing it, he said, "Adieu, madame la comtesse."

The door to the study closed, and she was alone in the corridor with Niall Fitz-Leslie. The priest led her back to their coach in the courtyard. When they were safely on their way, he asked, "Well, madame, did you leave the lion's maw unscathed?"

Cat laughed. "Almost, mon père. Still, I like your king."

"Then you are free to go on to Lord Bothwell?"

"Yes, Niall. I am free."

The following day the two families gathered to bid Cat farewell. She retired as soon after the evening meal as was politely possible, for they planned an early start. Already the coach and a smaller secondary vehicle, brought to transport Cat's new wardrobe, had been packed and stood ready but for their horses. That very morning the Marquis de la Victoire had arrived with a certificate of safe passage from Henri de Navarre for Madame la Comtesse de Glenkirk. It would enable her to travel unmolested through France, and through various Italian territories as well.

In the deep of the night Cat woke suddenly, aware that she was not alone. Standing silently in the darkness at the foot of her bed was a man. She knew at once who it was. "What do you want, Giles?"

"How did you know it was me, Catherine?"

"Who else would dare to intrude on me, Giles?"

"Are you really leaving us in the morning?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because," she said patiently, as if explaining to a child, "I travel to Naples to wed Lord Bothwell."

"He is not the man for you, Catherine! He is a cruel, crude Northerner. He killed my friend, Paul de Guise. You do not know what kind of a man he really is!"

" 'Tis you who do not know Lord Bothwell, Giles. I have known him for years. I love him, and I always have loved him."

For a moment Giles de Peyrac was silent, then she heard a sharp intake of breath. "You! Then you are the woman he mourned! You are the woman for whom he scorned and insulted Clarice de Guise!" Giles de Peyrac moved from the darkness into the half-light by Cat's bedside, and his voice was strained, vindictive. "We stripped him of almost everything he had in reparation before the king exiled him. When he left France he and that mangy servant of his had naught but the horses they rode and the clothes on their backs. Now you think to go to him, and make his life pleasant? My best friend is dead!" The strange gold light flickered in Giles de Peyrac's eyes. "I wonder, ma belle cousine, how your lover will receive you, knowing that I have used you like an animal? And he will know!"

"Giles!" She deliberately raised her voice, but he was so lost to reason that he did not notice. "Giles! Leave my bedchamber at once!” She heard a soft movement in her dressing room, and knew with relief that she had wakened her tiring women.

Giles de Peyrac reached out. Grasping the neckline of her nightgown, he ripped the sheer material away easily. Before she could stop him, he flung himself on her. Cat screamed, a scream cut off by his hand on her mouth. Cat twisted her body wildly, trying to escape the hands that pinched and hurt her. The black eyes glittered cruelly, the little gold flame flickering madly. "That's it," he whispered in an excited voice, "fight me! Fight me! I like it when women fight me!"

My God, Cat realized. He's mad! But I won't be raped again! Not again!

Suddenly Giles de Peyrac was lifted off her, his arms pinioned back by Andrew. "I warned you, lad," said Conall quietly, and then he plunged his dirk directly into his prisoner's heart Giles de Peyrac's odd eyes widened in surprise and then went blank as he crumpled to the floor. Amazed, Cat watched as Niall stepped from the darkness. Having administered last rites, he commanded, "Dump him outside the walls by the servants" gate. It will look like footpads." Andrew and Conall picked up the body silently and carried it from the room.

Gasping, Cat began to weep with relief, vaguely aware that she was being gathered against a broad chest. Niall Fitz-Leslie held her easily, his hand stroking the tawny hair. Suddenly be became aware of the soft bare breasts pressing against his chest His heart began to beat wildly, and for a brief moment he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation. Then, gathering his weakening self-control, he said quietly, "Giles de Peyrac was a depraved monster who virtually killed his own wife. I want you to forget this ever happened. Are you all right now?"

Still clinging to him, she turned her tear-streaked face up to him, and he groaned, "Christ, Catriona! Don't look at me like that! I am a priest, but I am a man also, ma belle!ⁿ

"Then let me go, Niall. I can feel you trembling against me. Go away before we are foolish!"

Reluctantly he released her, and she drew the sheets up over her nakedness. Though celibacy was a vow often broken among the priesthood, he himself had never before been tempted. He had had his share of wenches before admitting to his vocation, and had never regretted leaving carnality behind. But now?

As if reading his thoughts, she said quietly, "Honest doubt makes for a stronger faith, mon père. Thank you for rescuing me, but I would rest now. Twill soon be dawn, and whatever happens I must be on my way today."

He nodded dumbly.

"Will you hear my confession before I go? I think it would be best to keep this in the family."

Finding his voice, he said, "Yes. Come to the chapel at dawn. I will be waiting." And he slowly walked from the room.

Susan came to see that she was all right. Cat smiled wanly and patted her arm. "I am fine. Thank ye for getting Conall. I knew if I raised my voice ye'd hear me."

Susan flushed. " ‘Twas nae me, my lady. Twas May. She sleeps light."

"Thank God for it! Now go back to bed, child. Twill soon be morning."

Cat dozed in the darkness until her inner sense told her that dawn was near. Waking, she dressed herself quietly and made her way to the chapel, where Niall waited. The young priest was composed again, but had a haggard look about him. Kneeling, Cat placed her hands in his and began her confession. He listened quietly as she recited a list of small indiscretions, and the slightly larger sin of her few hours with Henri de Navarre. The penance he gave her was light, and his hand shook slightly as he absolved her, touching her bowed head. She looked up at him, then, green eyes twinkling, and said, "And for your sins, mon père, three Aves and three Paters."

Niall Fitz-Leslie choked back his laughter. "Catriona, you are impossibly irreverent, and I thank you. I have made a great to-do over nothing, haven't I?"

"Yes, mon père, you have. There is a world of difference between the thought and the deed."

"Merci, ma fille."

She kissed the hand extended to her, rose, and allowed him to escort her from the chapel. Lowering his voice, he spoke in Gaelic. "The body has not been found yet If you leave quickly you should be gone before it is."

"We are ready now."

"Have you eaten?"

"No. We will do so on the road."

When they entered the courtyard of the chateau they found David Leslie de Peyrac awaiting them. "Adèle bid me say her adieu if you left. She seemed to feel you might stay, though I know not why." He kissed her soundly on both cheeks. "Before you go, niece, will you satisfy my personal curiosity? From whom do you run?"

"From James Stewart," she answered him frankly.

"And King Henri knows, yet gives you safe passage?"

"Yes, uncle."

The Sieur de Peyrac chuckled. "Go with God, niece, and if you should ever need my help you have but to ask. Though with your powerful friends, I doubt you'll need me."

"Sometimes family is best, uncle. Thank you," she replied and kissed him. He handed her into the coach and she leaned from the window and said, "Adieu, mon père et mon beau-frère Niall. Thank you for everything."

Niall Fitz-Leslie kissed the slim hand extended him. "Adieu, ma belle. Be happy."

"I shall! Conall, forward!"

And the Countess of Glenkirk's entourage rumbled out of the courtyard of Chateau Petit, and onto the main road which led through the Forest of Fontainebleau and south to the Mediterranean coast. As soon as they were clear of the castle, the coach pulled into a clearing and Cat descended, a bundle under her arm, and disappeared into the thick undergrowth.

Several minutes later she reappeared dressed for riding in her hose and leather jerkin, her hair tucked beneath a tam. She tossed her clothes to Susan and May within the coach as Conall rode up leading Iolaire. Swinging easily into the saddle, she stretched. Clamping her knees against the horse's sides, she kicked him forward.

"I'm free, Conall," she laughed. "At last I am free! To Naples! To Bothwell! I am free!"

Chapter 46

DOWN the plump backside of France they rode through towns and villages that eventually began to blur and hold a sameness. Nemours… Briare… Nevers… Lyons… Vienne… Avignon… Marseilles. And now Cat got her first glimpse of a southern sea, so different from the cold north. It dappled aqua here, green there, turquoise to the left, purple to the right, and clear to its sandy or coral bottom.

They remained several days in Marseilles, and Cat delighted in the city and its waterfront markets with fruits and fish and spices. There were French, Spanish, Turkish, Russian, Moorish, English, Venetian, Genoese, Sicilian, and even black sailors! Seeing the ships lining the quaysides she wished that she could sail out into the Golfe du Lion through the Ligurian Sea, past Corsica and Sardinia, and into the Tyrrhenian Sea to Naples. But Cat knew well that beyond the safety of Marseilles' harbor, Turkish corsairs lurked waiting to pounce upon any poorly guarded ship.

Before they left Marseilles, the messenger sent to Naples by Giscard Kira joined them to report that, though he had delivered the message to the villa where Lord Bothwell was staying, he had not seen Bothwell. The earl had been away. Cat became anxious to resume her journey. Giles de Peyrac had said that Francis had been stripped of everything but his clothes and his horse. If Francis was living comfortably, he must have a wealthy protector. It could, of course, be a male friend, but Cat would have wagered her entire new wardrobe that it was a woman.

It was. Angela Maria di LiCosa was a contessa by both her marriage to Alfredo, Conte di LiCosa, and her birth as the daughter of Scipio, Conte di Cicala. Her mother, Maria Teresa, had been born a Muslim in the Ottoman Empire. At fourteen, Maria Teresa had been captured in a raid by Christian knights, and her captor, Scipio di Cicala, had not hesitated in ravishing her. But he had fallen deeply in love with his slavegirl and she, finding herself pregnant, did the intelligent thing. She converted to Christianity and married her lover in time to legitimatize their eldest son. Their youngest child was Angela. She grew to be as beautiful as the angels for whom she was named, and as wicked as the devil she worshipped. Her parents-especially her gentle mother-despaired of her, and as soon as she was old enough, they married her to Alfredo di LiCosa, twenty years Angela's senior.

She came to her husband a virgin, but soon tired of his lovemaking. After giving him two sons, she began taking lovers. Alfredo di LiCosa was a sophisticated man, and as long as his wife was discreet, he turned a blind eyes to her infidelities. After all, he had his diversions too. Besides, she was absolutely insatiable, and he was no longer a boy. Even when Angela brought her lovers into his house he did not mind, provided there was a good covering excuse for their being there. Proprieties must always be observed.

Francis Stewart-Hepburn had come into the house of Alfredo di LiCosa innocently enough. From France he had gone to Spain, but feeling the hot breath of the Inquisition on his neck he had left for Naples with his manservant, Angus. He brought with him an introduction from a friend of the Spanish king to the Conte di LiCosa, who was happy to shelter him. That Lord Bothwell should become the contessa's lover was inevitable. Francis appreciated beautiful women, and Angela di LiCosa was indeed a beautiful woman.

Willow-slim, she had exquisite, high, cone-shaped breasts, and a waist a man could span with his hands. Her skin was milk-white' with no touch of color, even in the cheeks. Her eyes were like a night sky-deep and fathomless-with beautiful winged brows riding high above them. Her long, straight hair was blue-black, and hung nearly to her ankles.

She was a charming woman when she chose to be, and she generally chose to be charming with men. Other women she merely tolerated, or ignored. She was not particularly well educated, though she could write and read a little. She had been raised to be an ornament, and she was successful in that.

In the Earl of Bothwell, Angela di LiCosa recognized a man of wit, charm, education, and great sexual appetite. And Bothwell, always desperately seeking to blur the memory of his only love, was willing to be Angela's lover as long as it amused him.

He was no saint, and he had to live. Cat had offered him her entire fortune before he left Scotland, but he had refused to take even a pennypiece from her. She had raged angrily at his foolish pride, knowing that money could mean safety to him. From those for whom he cared only in passing, Francis would accept money. It was his way.

The thought of him in another woman's arms sent Cat spurring out of Marseilles. They raced through Toulon following the coastal road to Monaco, where she spent but one night in an ordinary inn, refusing the prince's invitation to rest a few days at his palace. The party moved on into the state of Genoa, and through Tuscany to Rome. Conall forced her to stop in Rome and rest a few days. "Christ, woman," he roared. "Yer killing my men wi this pace! The earl knows yer coming. He'll be rid of his doxy before ye get mere!"

She was exhausted, with deep purple shadows beneath her eyes. She slept for two days, but on her third evening in Rome she told Conall, "We leave in the morning. I want to make Naples in three days."

"I sent the coaches ahead wi half the men this morning," he told her. "Susan and May are wi 'em."

"I wondered where my women had got to, and thought that perhaps some of these dark-eyed young men had lured them away."

Conall sniffed. "Not likely. They're my brother's own girls, and I'd nae like to answer to Hugh if harm befell them."

"‘Tis a pity ye dinna think so piously when yer happily fucking wi another man's daughter, ConalL" she answered him, a mischievous light dancing in her eyes.

He glowered at her. "Do ye think ye can get yerself up and ready to leave by dawn?" he demanded.

"Aye," she drawled back. "And will ye be sleeping alone also, Conall?"

He burst out laughing. "Gie over, lass! Ye've a wicked tongue in yer pretty head for sure! I'll be up. See that ye are!"

The following morning saw Cat and her men on the road to Naples. By their second evening they had caught up with the lumbering, laden coach and baggage wagon. They were nearer to Naples than they had anticipated. The following day, Cat rode until they were within a few miles of the city, stopping then at a small inn to bathe and change clothes.

The innkeeper's wife clucked with disapproval at the dusty, long-legged woman who strode into her inn and up the stairs to the best bedroom. But a tub of hot water and almost two hours later the innkeeper's wife smiled broadly her approval at the exquisitely gowned and coifed woman descending the stairs.

Cat and her women reentered the coach, which proceeded into the city and to the house of Signor Pietro Kira. It was midafternoon, and the banker was away on business. His eldest son escorted the countess to her newly purchased home near the village of Amalfi, south of Naples. It was, the young Kira explained, fully furnished and staffed according to instructions received from Benjamin Kira in Edinburgh.

Cat gasped at the view through the coach windows. The road they traveled was precariously high above the sea, which glittered in at least three shades of blue beneath them. Finally they turned into a small tree-lined side road, through gates with a bronze plaque reading "Villa del Pesce d'Oro." Within minutes an exquisite house came into view. It was unlike anything Cat had lived in before. The roof was of red tiles, the villa itself a pale, creamy yellow. The white gravel driveway swung around in a circle and up to the house. In the center of the circle was a velvety green lawn bordered with flower beds already filled to overflowing with multicolored blooms. In the middle of the lawn was a round fountain with a laughing cupid riding a golden fish. All the area about the house was planted with flowers of every description.

"Ohhhh, my lady," breathed young May. "‘Tis the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!"

"For once the child doesna blather nonsense," agreed Susan. "At home the snowdrops will be but daring to poke their little heads up, and here 'tis already June!"

Cat smiled at them both, thinking that this was a house for lovers. And if he was not already waiting, Bothwell would soon be here. The coach stopped, and her grooms let down the steps as the house servants emerged from the villa. Young Signor Kira introduced them. There was the major-domo, Paolo, and his wife, Maria, the housekeeper-cook. There were two kitchen maids, two housemaids, and half a dozen gardeners.

"Lord Bothwell," she asked Paolo, "has he arrived yet?"

"No one has come, Madonna."

Cat turned to Signor Kira. "Your messenger said he delivered my note to Lord Bothwell's villa. Where is his villa?"

"Quite near, signora contessa."

She turned to Paolo again. "Have one of the gardeners show my captain the way."

"Sì, Madonna!"

"Conall, go!"

The highlander swung back into his saddle. "‘Tis shameful how anxious ye are," he grumbled.

"Dinna fret," she shot back at him. "I'm sure that currant-eyed wench ye've been ogling will wait," and she laughed at the rude noise he made as he rode off. She turned to the young Kira. "You are my guest tonight, signor. It is too late for you to ride back to the city alone."

They entered the villa. Cat was very pleased. The main floor boasted a square foyer with a center staircase and three salons, a library, a family dining room, a formal dining room, and three kitchens. Maria spoke as they ascended to the second floor. "It is a very small house, I fear, Madonna. There are only six bedchambers. However, the third floor is spacious, and I have given your women a nice room just above you." She waddled down the hallway to a pair of carved doors with lion-head decorations and exquisite gold-and-porcelain handles. Flinging open the doors she announced, "Ecco, Madonna! Your bedchamber."

Cat walked into a spacious, airy room with two long double windows that opened onto small iron balconies over the rear gardens. The room looked out to the sea. There was a large high bed hung with sheer, sea-green silk draperies, and a matching coverlet. The furniture was a warm, well-polished walnut and the walls were cream-colored with gilt designs near the upper part and on the ceiling. Heavy silk draperies-also sea-green- hung on either side of the two windows. Between the windows, sheer creamy silk curtains blew in the soft breeze. On the cool tile floors were thick sheepskin rugs. Across from the windows and to the left of the bed was a large fireplace with a carved marble mantelpiece. The only other furniture in the room was a large armoire, a table, and some chairs.

On the wall opposite the bed and to the right there was a door. Maria opened it with a flourish. "Your bath, signora contessa," she said.

Cat's eyes widened. The walls and floor of the room were a marvellous blue tile, and in the center of the floor was a large sunken marble tub, shaped like a shell, with golden fish ornaments at one end.

"Look, Madonna," said Maria excitedly. She leaned over and twisted one of the three golden fishes on the edge of the tub. Water flowed into the tub. "And when you wish to empty it," she chortled, pulling the center fish up, "see! Is it not marvelous? The last owner of this house was a Turkish merchant. They bathe far more than is healthy, but no matter!"

"How is the water made hot?" asked Cat.

"It is stored in a porcelain barrel which always has a low flame burning beneath it."

"Look, Susan, May! Isn't it wonderful? No more lugging barrels of water! You can draw me a bath right now! Lord Bothwell will soon be here!"

And while Cat swam about her scented tub, Conall followed the young gardener several miles across the hills to another great villa, well hidden within the trees. Here the gardener stopped and pointed.

"Well, come on," said the Scotsman.

"No, signor capitano. I go no further. If she knows that I came to help take her man away, she will curse me!"

"Who?" Conall was puzzled.

"The witch!"

"What witch?"

"The Contessa di LiCosa. It is her house. The Lord Bothwell is her lover."

Conall thought for a moment. Well… the man had to live. And yet, he had not been at the villa to greet the woman he professed to love. Conall had assumed that they would meet somewhere on the road between Rome and Naples. Then he remembered what the messenger had told them. He had not delivered the message directly into Lord Bothwell's hand because the earl had not been at the villa. Was it possible that the earl had never received the message? Yes! It most certainly was! A typical woman's trick!

"Wait here for me," he told the nervous gardener and started his horse up the road. He rode unchallenged. When he reached the house he found it ablaze with lights. Dismounting, he banged on the door. It was opened a few moments later by an imperious-looking major-domo. "I wish to see Lord Bothwell."

"I am sorry. He cannot be disturbed. Who shall I say called?"

"I am Captain More-Leslie, man," said Conall, pushing the officious servant aside, "and I intend disturbing his lordship right now! A Bothwell! To me! A Bothwell! A Bothwell!"

From the upper story of the house Conall heard the slamming of a door, and Francis Stewart-Hepburn appeared, leaping lightly down the stairs, sword drawn. Walking to Conall, he peered closely at him. "Conall? Conall More-Leslie?"

"Aye, my lord."

A smile lit the earl's face, and he grasped Conall's hand with his free one. "Christ, man! 'Tis good to see ye! What are ye doing here?"

"Ye didna receive the message delivered here for you several weeks ago?"

"No. Are ye sure yer messenger came here?"

"Aye, my lord, he came. He was told ye were away, but that the message would be delivered to ye on yer return."

"I havena left here in months, Conall." Suddenly the earl's face went white. "Cat? Is she all right?"

Conall sighed with relief. "Aye, my lord, she is fine, but she grows very impatient for yer company. She awaits yer lordship at the Villa del Pesce d'Oro."

"What?”

"Aye, sir! She is waiting now. If ye've nothing of value here, let us get yer man Angus and go!"

Francis Stewart-Hepburn smiled slowly at Conall More-Leslie. "I've nought of value here, man. Angus! To me!"

Then suddenly, at the top of the stairs, there appeared one of the most beautiful women Conall had ever seen. She glided down the stairs like a cat and purred in a deep voice, "Caro? Where do you go? Our guests will soon be arriving."

"Why was I not given the message delivered here several weeks ago?"

"What message, caro?" But her dark eyes flashed angrily at Conall.

Bothwell saw her and laughed. "You are a very bad liar, Angela mia. I warned you that one day I would turn to you and say goodbye. This is that day."

"Now? With guests coming? Could you not wait until tomorrow? Who will be my host?"

"You might ask your husband, Angela."

"Francisco!" She held out her beautiful hands in a pleading fashion. "I love you!"

He laughed again. "Angela mia, you are a marvelous actress. There is only one thing in this world that would take me from your side, and she is waiting for me now. Adieu, cara mia!"

Within minutes they were on the road back to the Villa del Pesce d'Oro, and they never heard the shrieks of outrage made by the beautiful Contessa di LiCosa.

"What is Cat doing here?" shouted Lord Bothwell over the wind and the pounding of the horses' hooves.

"She will tell ye herself, my lord," Conall shouted back.

The sun was sinking into the western sea when they reached the villa. She waited in the doorway, and he slid from the saddle before his horse had even stopped. Everything was suddenly very quiet as they stood stock still looking at each other. The servants were frozen silent, not daring to move, so charged was the very air about them.

"Cat." His voice caressed her, and she swayed. "Cat, my precious love, how come ye here?"

"I am a widow, Francis. Patrick is dead."

"God assoil him." They moved towards each other. "Angus! Fetch a priest!" commanded Lord Bothwell. And then he caught her to him, and slowly enfolding her in his arms, he found her eagerly waiting mouth. He drank in the sweetness of her, murmuring softly against her lips.

Surrendering herself completely to the storm tearing at her, she clung to him. She could hardly stand. She could hear her heart pounding within her own ears. Finally she managed to gasp, "Why a priest?"

His strong arm supporting her, he looked down into her upturned face. "Because, my darling, I intend marrying ye now! Tonight! Before kings, or families, or anyone can come between us ever again!"

"Oh, Francis," she whispered, "I hae missed ye so damned much!" And she began to cry.

"Dinna weep, my darling. Yer safe wi me now, and this time no one will separate us! Now, love, tell me- why did Jamie relent, and let ye come to me?"

"He didn't, Francis. I ran. Jemmie is now the Glenkirk, and he felt 'twas the only chance I would have. What was between James Stewart, Patrick, and us had nothing to do wi Jemmie. He didna think that Jamie would try and revenge himself on the Leslies now." She drew him into the house.

"Does our royal cousin know where ye are?"

"He was told that I went to France to recover from my widow's depression, but I imagine he's very angry at me, for I was ordered to return to court this spring. He even sent to King Henri and demanded his aid in arranging my return. Henri of Navarre sends his regards to ye."

"Ye met him?"

"Aye. He was most kind. He told me how very much he regretted having to send ye away."

"Henri was always kind to women," chuckled Both-well. "Young or old. Fair or ugly. He has unbelievable charm, and the ladies love it!"

But before he could pursue the conversation further, Cat led him into one of the salons overlooking the sea. Whirling about, she demanded, "And who is the owner of the villa in which ye hae be staying?"

"The Conte di LiCosa," said Bothwell smoothly.

"Is it his wife or his daughter ye've been sleeping with these long nights, my lord?"

Francis' deep-blue eyes twinkled. "Jealous, my darling?" he teased.

"If she ever looks at ye again I will tear her heart out!"

He laughed happily. "Beware, my darling. The Contessa de LiCosa is reputed to be a witch."

"Is she?" Cat was not impressed.

He chuckled. "She likes the peasants and the other uneducated masses to think so, and she really is quite talented in herbal medicine. She enjoys the small power her reputation gives her. She's half-Turkish, as her mother was born in Morea and captured by Angela's father years ago. She has two brothers, the older of whom, in an odd quirk of fate, was himself captured by Turks twenty years ago. Just as his mother once converted to Christianity, he became a Muslim. He is now one of the sultan's generals."

"Is she very beautiful?" asked Cat.

"Yes," replied Bothwell honestly, "but the peasants call her l’Angela del Diavolo-the Devil's Angel." He moved to take her in his arms. "Cat, my love, I dinna want to talk of Angela. My God, I canna believe 'tis ye! Do ye know how many times I have dreamed of such a reunion, knowing it was impossible? Do ye know how I have longed for ye, sure that I would never hold ye in my arms again in this life? I have lain alone more nights than not aching for ye!" Gently he traced his finger down a tear streak. "Our bairns?"

"WelL" she whispered in a choked little voice. "Safe at Glenkirk wi Meg. Jemmie will send them to us when 'tis safe. A few months at most, and then we shall be a family at last."

His arms tightened about her, and his mouth brushed against hers. "I should like to be a bridegroom before I am a father, my darling."

She laughed softly. "Perhaps ye should have thought about that before ye sired three children on me, my lord."

"‘Tis siring the fourth one I'm looking forward to, my pet!"

The door to the salon opened on them, and a grinning Conall entered accompanied by Angus and a black-robed cleric. "So, Francisco!’Tis you who summon me in such unruly fashion!"

"Bishop Pasquale! When did you get back from Rome?"

"This afternoon, and a good thing I did. These two wildmen came roaring into the church demanding a priest They frightened my priests half to death! What is your great need of a priest, Bothwell? You don't look to me as if you're dying."

The earl drew Cat forward. "My lord bishop, may I present to you Caterina Maria Leslie, the Countess of Glenkirk. We wish to be married."

"No, Bothwell. There have been no banns read."

"Waive them, my friend!"

The bishop smiled. "Why should I, Francisco? My child," he said, directing his gaze on Cat, "how well do you know this man?"

"He is the father of my three youngest children, my lord bishop," answered Cat. "We would have been wed six years ago had our king not threatened the Cardinal of St. Andrew's with persecution of the church if he dissolved my marriage. Now I am a widow, and though King James seeks to make me his mistress, I fled my land to wed with Lord Bothwell. Please, my lord bishop, waive the banns. I have been traveling almost two months, and have come over a thousand miles. My lord and I have been separated three long years. Marry us tonight!"

"How long have you been widowed, my daughter?" asked the bishop.

"My first husband sailed for the new world two years ago this month. His ship never reached its destination."

The bishop looked at the two people standing before him. They were certainly not impetuous children, but adults obviously in love. That in itself was unusual in marriage between people of rank. Then, too, the bishop liked Lord Bothwell, and believed that the sooner he was safe from Angela di LiCosa, the better. That the beauteous woman before him could separate Bothwell permanently from Angela he had no doubt.

"Very well, Francisco and Caterina. I will marry you tonight. Be at the Church of Santa Maria del Mare in Amalfi within the hour."

"There is a consecrated chapel here in this villa, my lord bishop," said Cat softly.

"Very well, my daughter. Here it shall be. When?"

"Give me but time to change my clothing." She turned to Bothwell and spoke in Scots English. "When I wed wi Patrick 'twas in a dressing gown, and I was already in labor wi Jemmie. All this winter I hae done nothing but prepare brides for their weddings. So, beloved, for you and for me, I shall take time to be a bride."

He took her by the shoulders and kissed her forehead. "Go along, my love. I shall see the bishop is comfortable."

Bishop Pasquale settled himself comfortably and sipped appreciatively at the goblet of sweet pale-golden wine that Lord Bothwell handed him. "I have always believed that you were born under a lucky star, Francisco, else your head would long ago have parted company from your shoulders. Your betrothed is a lovely creature. So the Scots king covets her?"

"Aye. He hides his lust from public view, but what he did to her-I shall not distress you with unsavory details. But before James Stewart forced her into his bed by threatening her family she was a good and faithful wife. She was called the Virtuous Countess, and that in itself was what first attracted him."

"And when did you become involved with her, Francisco?"

"I knew her at court, but not until she was forced to flee from both the king and her husband-who was shocked and hurt to discover her dilemma-did we become intimate. We were friends, and she had nowhere else to go. What happened between us… simply happened. I have never known such happiness as I have with her. Nor have I ever known such agony as without her."

The bishop nodded. "My son," he said, "do you know how fortunate you are? I know kings who would give anything for what you have. Cherish it! Cherish this woman who makes you so happy! God has blessed you both greatly."

At the end of the hour Cat reentered the salon with her two tiring women, and found only Conall awaiting her. He was dressed-to her amazement-in his Leslie kilt, and full highland regalia.

"Where did ye find that, man?"

He looked shocked. "Ye dinna think I'd travel wi'out my kilt, lassie? If I'd died on the journey, what would ye hae buried me in, pray? However, 'tis in the capacity of yer father that I act now. Being yer nearest relative here, I shall lead ye to yer betrothed." Offering her his arm, he swept her from the room and to the chapel. Behind them Susan and May, each in her finest, followed.

The chapel of the villa had been in existence longer than the house. It was small, and of Romanesque design. Used as a mosque by the villa's former owner, it had been rededicated to the Christian faith on the orders of Benjamin Kira, the Jewish banker who knew and admired his client's quiet devotion to the Roman faith in a Scotland turned Protestant. When he had been informed that the house purchased for the Countess of Glenkirk had an ancient chapel, Kira ordered it refurbished at his own expense. This was his gift to the extraordinary woman he had admired since her girlhood, and whom he would very likely never see again.

The chapel was simply furnished with a white marble altar topped by two magnificent heavy gold candlesticks studded with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and amethysts. There was a matching carved gold crucifix. The small windows were newly redone in precious stained glass, and the vigil lamps were of heavy ruby glass hand-blown in Murano, set into holders of filigreed gold and silver. The entire chapel glowed softly in the light of at least fifty beeswax tapers.

As Conall led her down the chapel aisle to the altar, Cat saw her six houseservants and all of her Glenkirk men standing witness to the ceremony. No one would be able to question the legitimacy of this marriage. As her eyes swept past them she saw Bothwell waiting for her. He, like Conall, was attired in full dress kilt. Suddenly clearly aware of what was happening, she smiled happily at him.

He smiled back at her, his eyes shining approval of her gown. The sleeveless lilac silk overdress glowed softly in the candlelight, and the slightly darker underskirt with its gold and pearl embroidery shimmered. The sleeves of the underdress were of lilac gauze, and her rounded arms gleamed seductively through them. Her honey-colored hair was parted in the center and caught up over her ears in a mass of ringlets that spilled down over the back of her neck and shoulders. She wore a misty mauve veil topped by a small crown of sweet-smelling night-blooming white flowers.

Conall solemnly led Cat up to Lord Bothwell and placed her slim hanad firmly into his. "Treat her well, man," growled Conall huskily, "or ye'll answer first to me before the young earl has a go at ye!"

"She is my life," returned Bothwell quietly, meeting Conall's look evenly.

As the ceremony got underway, their joy was so great that neither quite believed it was happening. They went through the ceremony in a haze, hearing the bishop's words vaguely and responding automatically. And then it was over. They were wed! For a moment they stood staring at each other. Then they began to smile at one another, and they could not stop. Finally the bishop stepped down and put an arm about them. "It is true, my children. You are wed. Do I dare hope there is a bit of wine left with which we may toast this happy occasion?"

Cat blushed, which the bishop found charming in a woman over thirty. Bothwell laughed happily and, pulling himself together, put an arm about his wife and led the way back to the main part of the villa, where Maria and Paolo had rushed ahead to bring up several bottles of wine from the cellars. A few of the Glenkirk men had brought their bagpipes with them, and they began to serenade the newlyweds. Cat gazed at them intently. There was one wedding gift that only her men could give her husband.

Standing before them during a lull in their playing, she spoke quietly. "My mother was born a Leslie of Sithean, and I was wed for eighteen years to the Glenkirk. Tonight ye hae been witnesses to my second marriage to the Earl.of Bothwell. We are both exiled from Scotland, exiled by our king, who threatened the Leslies with destruction unless I became his mistress. What ye hae just witnessed in the chapel of this villa is my answer to King James. Ye hae protected me loyally, and brought me safely to my dear husband. Now ye must decide what yer futures will be. Ye may return to your homes at Glenkirk, and ye’ll hae my blessing. Or ye may pledge yerselves to the Earl of Bothwell. The choice is yers."

Conall stood. "The men who came wi ye came because there is nothing to keep them at Glenkirk. We are happy to pledge ourselves to Lord Bothwell… but on one condition. Should the Leslies or our homeland ever need us, we will go." He directed his gaze to Bothwell. "We know that ye would go under those circumstances if ye could, sir."

Francis nodded. "I would," he said. Turning to his wife, he said simply, "Thank ye, love.'⁸

She smiled back at him. "I will retire now, my lord," she answered him softly.

She hurried up the stairs to the master bedchamber, followed by her women. Silently, the three women removed Cat's gown and petticoats. While Susan hung the gown within the armoire and May brought Cat’s basin of warm, scented water, Cat rolled her stockings off. Naked, she took the cloth handed her and washed herself. Pulling the pins from her hair, she fiercely brushed her tawny mass until it gleamed in the candlelight Susan slipped a simple long, loose gown of palest lilac over her, and then the two servants withdrew.

"Lord," whispered young May in a shocked voice, "my lady Cat is overeager for her husband."

"Nay, silly puss," chided her older and wiser sister. "She but wanted time alone before he comes."

"What on earth for?" asked May.

"Ye'd need to be more of a woman to understand that, pet."

Puzzled, May shook her head.

Cat stood on one of the bedchamber balconies overlooking the moonlit garden. She welcomed the soft night air on her skin, and smelled the sweetness of the night blooms. Her mind was whirling. This morning she had wakened a widow, but now she was a bride awaiting her husband in their nuptial chamber. Everything had happened so quickly. For a moment she was frightened. Then she heard his voice.

"Cat."

She turned and saw him standing across the room, gazing longingly at her. He held out his arms, and suddenly she was shy. She hesitated. Instantly comprehending her mood, he moved quietly across the room and gently enfolded her in his arms. His hand slowly caressed her silken hair, and a tremor ran through her. “’Tis been a long, long time, my darling," he said.

"I feel so foolish," she whispered into his shoulder. "I am behaving like a virgin faced with a stranger instead of a grown woman faced with her beloved and wonderfully familiar husband."

"Nay, my darling. I love yer shyness. Ye hae always had a charming innocence about ye that I love. If ye dinna want to make love we will not. I know ye are tired after yer long journey."

"Francis! Kiss me!" And she raised her head up.

For a moment he gazed lovingly at the face turned expectantly to him. His slender fingers explored it, gently touching her cheeks, her closed eyelids, her nose, her mouth, her stubborn little chin. Then he bent, his arms circling her waist, pressing her against him. His mouth tenderly touched hers. He had always made love to her with incredible gentleness, and that had not changed. Yet she felt that tonight there lurked beneath the surface of that calm a fierceness that he was fighting to hold in check.

Deep within her a flame of passion flickered, and she shuddered. The mouth on hers suddenly became more demanding, and her arms slid up and around his neck. His hands caressed her long back, and she moaned softly, her body beginning to tremble weakly against his. Slowly he moved across the room until he felt the bed against the back of his legs. They fell to the bed. Turning quickly, he reversed their positions so that she was beneath him. Smiling down at her, he undid the row of tiny ribbons holding her gown together. She caught his hands, and their eyes met.

"Francis, I love ye! Dear heaven, how I love ye!"

"And I love ye, my beautiful, precious wife!" His head dipped low, and his mouth found her breast. She gave a soft cry, and he reassured her. "Only if ye want it, sweetheart."

"But I do, Francis! How can I make ye understand how much I want ye? For three years-since that last night we made love in the guest house of Deer Abbey -I have dreamed of being in yer arms again „.. though I dinna believe it could happen. I have hungered for the feel of ye, the taste of ye! Other men have possessed me. My poor Patrick, who sought so desperately to regain that which he had lost Our cousin, James, who thought he could command my love and who used me like a common whore. I sheathed my body in a protective coating so they should nae destroy me. Tonight for the first time in three years I feel completely alive, Francis, and if ye dinna make love to me now, I shall die!"

"I hae always said," he answered, smiling that slow smile she loved so, "that ye were the only woman who could keep up wi me. For three years I hae tried to forget ye between the legs of any woman who smiled my way. I dinna have to forget any longer, my sweet Cat. But I warn ye, my darling, my hunger is fierce this night!"

The leaf-green eyes regarded him levelly. "Do your worst, my lord!" she challenged, and pulling his head down, she kissed him slowly, tauntingly, daring him oh.

He felt a stab of desire pierce him, and forcing her lips apart he ravaged her mouth tenderly. His tongue flickered across her taut breasts, teasing the nipples into hard little points. It moved on, sliding between the warm valley of her breasts arid down to her navel. She cried out as a burning began and spread through her loins. Sated momentarily with her sweetness, he easily straddled her, lowering his head so his mouth might close over a pink and tempting nipple. She moaned beneath him, struggling to shift him into a closer proximity, her rounded hips thrusting upwards hungrily.

"Please, Francis," she begged him. "Please, now!"

He wanted to prolong the delight, but as hungry as she was for him, his own desire was even greater. His hand caressed the heart-shaped face. "All right, love," he murmured into her ear, and thrust deep within her, gaining an almost equal pleasure from both his possession of her and the long shuddering sigh that tore through her.

She was whole again for the first time in three years! Lost in that lovely silvery-gold world between consciousness and unconsciousness, she murmured contentedly as his hardness sent wave after wave of pleasure pouring over her. And it didn't stop even when the hardness broke, flooding her with his seed. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her tenderly.

She said nothing, her beautiful eyes saying it for her, and he smiled happily. "Sweet Cat," he whispered. "My beloved adversary, my dearest love. 'Tis all right now, my darling. 'Tis all right. We hae come home at last."

Chapter 47

THE little Church of Santa Maria del Mare was the fashionable house of worship for the noble and wealthy who lived near Amalfi. On the fourth Sunday in April of the year 1598, the Earl and Countess of Bothwell attended midday mass. As they walked together afterwards from the church, Cat saw an exquisitely dressed and very beautiful woman standing just ahead. Instinct and Francis' slight pressure on her arm told her that this was her husband's cast-off mistress.

Before he could speak, the familiar deep voice called, "So, Francisco! This is your new whore!"

The silence in the church piazza was instantaneous as heads turned to view the coming battle.

Cat froze. Bothwell's eyes were blue ice, but his voice was steady and honied as he turned to Alfredo, Conte di LiCosa, and said, "Fredo, may I present my wife, Caterina Maria, the Contessa di Bothwell. Bishop Pasquale married us five nights ago."

"And a more beauteous and radiant bride I have never seen," injected the bishop, confirming the earl's announcement.

The Conte di LiCosa bowed over Cat's extended hand. "Contessa, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you." His dark eyes twinkled.

The corners of Cat's mouth turned up for a moment, and she murmured a polite response. Then her leaf-green eyes slowly and coolly raked Angela di LiCosa, who stood looking furiously back at her with blazing black eyes. Finally Cat turned away. Looking up at her husband, she drawled clearly, "Really, darling, she's hardly up to your usual standard."

Angela di LiCosa stepped angrily forward, her hand raised threateningly. Cat, not flinching, grasped the hand in her own. "Do it, madame, and you will spend the rest of your life minus a hand," she hissed. "And while we have this moment together, my dear, let me warn you to forget Francis. He will not come back to you." She dropped the other woman's hand.

Angela rubbed her wrist. "Then why do you warn me?"

"Because I can see you are that foolish type of woman who will persist because her pride is damaged. Remember that he left your house at the mere mention of my name. We were wed that same night. Do not embarrass us, or your family. There is more binding Francis and me than you can imagine."

Cat turned her back on the other woman. Taking her husband's arm, she moved away to accept the congratulations and good wishes of the neighboring nobility, all of whom were delighted to see the Contessa di LiCosa get her comeuppance.

Alfredo di LiCosa chuckled. "Well, my dear, I had never thought I should live to see the day when you were bested."

"Be quiet, you snake!" she snarled furiously at him. "I will kill her! No! That would be too easy. I will make her suffer! I will do it slowly. Painfully! She will wish she were dead!"

The Conte di LiCosa, smiling at his friends and neighbors, hustled his angry wife into their coach. "You will do nothing, Angela! Do you understand me? Nothing! Your reputation already has the Inquisition looking in your direction."

"Let them look," she spat back at him. "They can prove nothing!"

"The Inquisition does not have to prove anything! Just a hint of suspicion is enough. Face the truth, my darling. Francisco amused himself with you as you amused yourself with him. It is obvious that the man is deeply in love with his wife. Let it be! I do not want Lord Bothwell for an enemy, and if I must choose between him or you, it will be him! He, at least, is trustworthy."

But Angela di LiCosa could not forget the beautiful Cat. The Contessa di Bothwell had to be at least several years older than she was, and yet she did not look it. Nor did she use the heavy cosmetics of the day. Her skin was flawless, with its own lively natural coloring. Her body was young and firm. Angela imagined that beautiful face and body scarred, ruined. Would Francisco love her then? The answer sounded resoundingly in her head. Yes, he would!

Angela had seen how Bothwell had looked at his wife. He had never looked at Angela that way. Angela had never admitted the painful fact to herself before, and the reality outraged her: Francisco had never looked deeply at her at all.

During the next few weeks, Angela di LiCosa's desire for vengeance grew. It seemed that every noble family in the area had to give a party for the newlyweds, and she and Alfredo were always invited. Refusal was unthinkable. The Countess of Bothwell quickly became a popular figure among the men and the women. She was lauded for her beauty, her charm, her wit. Lord Both-well-always the rover-barely left his wife's side, and the looks of adoration that passed between them became legend.

It was this very devotion that gave Angela her idea for the perfect revenge. In these past weeks she had learned that Lord Bothwell and his bride had been in love for years, but had been separated for varied reasons until only recently. Together at last, they were gloriously happy. Angela di LiCosa decided to separate them-permanently. She had thought of having one of them assassinated-preferably Cat. But the finger of suspicion would have pointed directly at her, so she discarded that idea. Too, the pain of separation would be greater if they both lived. If the beautiful Countess of Bothwell were forced to submit to another man's attentions and if her husband knew it and were powerless to rescue her, the anguish would be unbearable.

She believed her plan to be foolproof. No one was likely to consider her responsible. Angela's oldest brother had been captured by the Turks at the age of eighteen. When he had gone off to sea, determined to fight the Ottoman corsairs who were constantly raiding their coast, his Turkish mother had told him, "If you are captured, loudly proclaim your nobility. Tell them that you are the son of Ferhad Bey's daughter, Fatima of Morea, who was captured twenty years ago. Submit to Islam as I have to Christianity and your fortune will be made!"

He had been captured, for to pursue the Turk in the Mediterranean was foolhardy. But he remembered his mother's words and followed her advice. He was saved from the marble quarries and entered in the Princes' School. Over the years he rose swiftly through the ranks until he had become one of the empire's most skilled generals. Called Cicalazade Pasha, and trusted by his captors, he might have escaped back to his homeland.

But he chose not to go home. The best he could hope for in Italy was to succeed to his father's title, conte, and inherit a moldering castle that grew more expensive to maintain as each year passed. He would be married off to the best dowry available and expected to father several sons. If he were lucky he would be able to afford one elegant mistress. If not, he would have to make do with the local peasant women.

As Cicalazade Pasha he owned a magnificent palace on the Bosporus, well staffed by an army of slaves. He was married to a granddaughter of Suleiman the Magnificent, and he had recently been appointed a grand vizier to Sultan Mohammed, his wife's cousin. He maintained a large harem which catered to his sophisticated and varied sexual tastes. Cica Pasha's hobby was beautiful women. All through the civilized world, his slave merchants were on the lookout for beautiful, exotic women to satisfy his appetite. Beauty and personality attracted him. Virginity mattered not. His harem was stocked with rare beauties, and fabled throughout the East.

Angela di LiCosa gave credit where credit was due. The Countess of Bothwell was an unusually beautiful woman, and Angela was quite sure that her rapacious brother would welcome the exquisite addition to his bed. There would be no problem in transporting her victim either, for a Turkish fleet lurked off the coast. Angela knew one of its captains.

He was called Khair-ad-Din after the famed admiral of the time of Suleiman the Magnificent. One of his duties was to carry messages between Cicalazade Pasha and his Italian family. Angela could get in touch with him easily. She would learn how soon he planned to sail home.

Several days later a peasant woman sat drinking wine with a sailor in a Neapolitan waterfront cafe. "You tell Khair-ad-Din that I don't care how dangerous he thinks it is! I must meet with him personally. There is a small, crescent-shaped beach two miles to the southeast of Amalfi. I will be there tomorrow night an hour after sunset. The signal will be two lanterns burning on the beach." The woman got up and hobbled out. The sailor finished his mug. Cursing softly under his breath, he slapped some coins down on the table and left the cafe, The following night a boat rowed by six sweating black slaves slid onto the sand of that beach. An enormous man dressed in bright-red pantaloons and a red-and-black-striped shirt, his large waist wrapped with a gold cloth sash from which protruded both a jeweled dagger and a scimitar, heaved himself out and walked up onto the beach. He had small feet for such a large man, and they wore elegant gold leather boots with red tassels.

A heavily masked and cloaked woman stepped from the shadows. "I am the Contessa di LiCosa," she said.

"Take off the mask so I may see with whom I speak," said Khair-ad-Din gruffly, and when she did he nodded. "You look nothing like your brother. Well, little girl, what can I do for you?"

"I want you to take a gift to my brother.⁵*

"You got me off my ship to tell me you want me to carry some damned trinket to my lord Cicalazade? Women! Pah!"

"This is a very special gift, captain. It is a woman for my brother's harem. She is a prize beyond compare, a noblewoman of beauty, breeding, and charm. Bring her safely to my brother. I will reward you in gold, and I am sure you will gain great favor with my brother."

"Who is this woman, contessa?"

"Her identity is not your concern, but her villa is on the other side of this point. You probably know the house well, for it once belonged to Abdul Mehmet, the merchant. In a few days this woman's husband will be called away. If you attack the house at dawn in his absence you will meet no resistance. There are only six houseservants, five of whom are women. I assume she also has a body servant. I don't care what happens to the servants, but treat this woman gently. I want her delivered safely to my brother."

Khair-ad-Din looked sharply at Angela di LiCosa. "Why do you do this, signora la contessa? It is not like you to seek slaves for your brother. Is this a plot between you and the woman's husband, to rid him of her?"

Angela's face reflected hate so virulent that Khair-ad-Din stepped back in surprise. "I hate them both," she hissed. "‘Tis my vengeance on them. He will die a thousand times knowing that she is a slave, and that he is powerless to do anything about it!"

"What if the woman dies?"

"Not her," laughed the Contessa di LiCosa cruelly. "She will survive, hoping to return to her beloved Francisco… but that will never happen!"

Khair-ad-Din considered a moment. Even if the woman were a gift from Cicalazade Pasha's sister, he too would gain a certain measure of favor by conveying her safely to her new master. "How will I know when it is safe to kidnap the woman?"

"Watch the skies off this beach in the hours before and after midnight for the next few nights. A red rocket will be the signal that you may attack the following dawn." She held out a bag to him. "A small token of my gratitude, captain."

Feeling the weight of the bag, he smiled broadly. "Signora la contessa, it is a pleasure to do business with you. Is there any other message you wish to send your brother?"

She handed him a sealed packet and, without another word, turned and disappeared back into the shadows. Khair-ad-Din made a small grimace and, turning, walked back down the beach to his boat. She was a cruel one, was the Contessa di LiCosa. He wondered what her poor victim had done.

As his boat bobbed back over the waves to his ship, he thought that perhaps he should clear out the cabin next to bis. It was a decent size and could be made comfortable for a woman and her servant. He had decided that he would instruct his men to bring along the lady's woman to serve her. It had been his experience in dealing with women captives that those who had a friend did better than those who were all alone. If this poor woman did not reach the grand vizier in good condition, then he would be blamed.

Safely back aboard his ship, he called his officers together and told them of the planned raid on the Villa del Pesce d'Oro. "Other than the noblewoman and her servant, take no captives. We're not a stinking slave carrier. Treat them gently, or by Allah, I’ll castrate the lot of you! No rape. The woman is for Cicalazade's pleasure and his pleasure only."

"What about the servantgirl?" asked the first officer.

"Well… perhaps when we're safely under sail. But waste no time at the villa."

"You can't expect the men to pass up a group of young girls, captain. They rarely get ashore on this type of duty."

"All right, all right," chuckled Khair-ad-Din indulgently. "Let the men who go with you have the servant girls, but bring me the lady and her personal servant untouched."

"About two dozen men should do it," said the first officer. "Now all we need do is sit and wait for the next few days."

Chapter 48

CAT sat crosslegged in the center of a very tumbled bed watching her husband dress. She was naked and rosy from their recent lovemaking, and her pretty mouth pouted. "Why can't I come wi ye, Francis?"

"Because, my beautiful bride," he smiled at her, " 'tis nae a social call I am making. The Duke of Avellino wants us to clean out the bandits that have recently been infesting his district."

"I've gone on border raids wi ye," she protested.

"Aye," he smiled again, his eyes misting at the memory. "Ye were the most fetching borderer I ever knew wi yer sweet bouncing breasts, and yer long legs in their green hose. Damn, Cat! I miss it, and I miss our Hermitage, but this is Italy, my darling. If ye rode wi me I would nae be taken seriously as a mercenary, and despite the fact ye are a rich woman, I feel better earning my living wi our men. We should nae be gone more than two weeks. Why don't ye write to Jemmie, and see if he can arrange to send the children? I think 'tis time our bairns met their father."

She smiled teasingly at him. "Will ye miss me, Bothwell?" And she stood up, stretched, and slunk provocatively across the room.

He gently smacked her pretty bottom. "Dinna wiggle yerself at me, wench!’Tis hard enough to have to leave ye after less than two months." He bent bis head and found her eager mouth. "Oh, Cat! Sweet Cat!" he murmured between hungry kisses. Then, "Damn! Ye've done it again! I never knew a woman who could rouse me so!"

She laughed low and wriggled out of his grasp. "Go play at war, my randy lord!"

He looked at her ruefully. "Put some clothes on, nymph, and bid me and our men a proper goodbye."

She arrived in the foyer of the villa in time to hear Conall say, "I still think we should leave some men here to guard the villa."

"Guard us from what?" demanded Cat "My God, I never knew such a peaceful place!"

"I don't know," said Bothwell thoughtfully. "Conall could be right There are always pirates lurking off the coast."

"There is nothing of value here to attract pirates. Dinna be foolish. Ye need every man ye've got."

The two men looked at each other and shrugged. Cat was right They joined their men, who were mounted and waiting. Conall climbed into his saddle and moved to the front of the group, but Bothwell stood for a moment facing his wife, his elegant hands on her shoulders. "I wish ye could come wi me, my darling," he said, "but it should nae take us long to wipe out the nest of mangy beggars that disturbs Avellino's peace. Thank ye for gieing me yer Glenkirk men for my own. Christ! To be useful again!" He crushed her to him. "I love ye, Catriona Stewart-Hepburn!" And he kissed her passionately, his mouth bruising hers with a sweetness that sent desire racing through her. Her lips were petal-soft, and warm beneath his. He began to wish the Duke of Avellino's bandits safe in hell.

"Are ye for Avellino, or are ye for bed, my lord earl?" demanded Conall's scathing voice.

Bothwell reluctantly moved away from his wife. "If that man were nae the best captain in Christendom I would cheerfully strangle him," he said through gritted teeth as he mounted his own stallion.

Cat laughed softly. Putting a hand on her husband's leg, she smiled up at him. "I love ye, Francis. Come home safe to me." She turned to Conall. "Take care of him. Always be at his back."

"Aye! Aye!" said the captain impatiently.

Then they were off down the driveway, the dust swirling around and behind them. She stood before the villa until they had all disappeared. Then, running inside, she called to Paolo.

^u Sì, signora la contessa?"

"What engagements do we have planned for the week?"

"Only a dinner party on Saturday evening at the Conte di LiCosa's villa."

She sighed with relief. "Cancel it, Paolo. With Lord Bothwell away, I have the perfect excuse to avoid that wretched woman."

Paolo smiled. He liked the Contessa di LiCosa no more than his mistress did. She was an evil woman. The following day he did as his mistress had ordered, and sent word to the di LiCosa villa that the Countess of Bothwell could not attend the fete, due to her husband's absence.

Angela di LiCosa laughed happily. The timing was unbelievable, and her own alibi was now unchallengeable. It would be so easy to slip away from her party to signal Khair-ad-Din. Better yet, she could send her servant to make the signal. A roomful of people would attest to her constant presence! And as the Villa del Pesce d'Oro's gardeners would not be at work on Sunday, the pirates' raid would go unnoticed for a full day. By that time the Countess of Bothwell would be well on her way to Cicalazade's harem. Angela's laughter reverberated wildly through the house. Hearing it, the servants crossed themselves, and murmured among themselves. "When l’Angela del Diavolo laughs, beware!"

And that evening at her fete the Contessa di LiCosa was more charming, more delightful than ever before. The party was such a success that it did not end until close to dawn, when the last of the guests stumbled, happily drunk, to their beds.

Across the misty hills at the Villa del Pesce d'Oro a scream tore through the clear dawn. Cat sat straight up in bed, wide awake, listening. Hearing another shriek and the sound of running feet, she leaped from her bed and ran to the window. The sight before her momentarily froze her with terror.

The garden was swarming with men in baggy pantaloons, and it did not take more than a second to realize that they were under attack by Turkish pirates. Maria, the cook, and her two little kitchen maids lay upon the ground being raped, surrounded by men who were waiting their turns. The two housemaids were fleeing from some four or five men across the garden. Paolo lay in the kitchen garden near a basket of freshly cut herbs, his head bashed to a bloody pulp.

"Christ hae mercy," whispered Susan's voice next to her, and then Cat heard little May weeping with fright. "Get into the linen chest, you two," she commanded them. "They'll nae touch me. I’ll be ransomed. Hurry!"

Susan was already opening the chest. Quickly pulling out an armful of sheets, she helped May to snuggle down. "Stay there until yer absolutely sure they're gone, lass. Then go quickly to Carlo the gardener's home, and remain hidden till his lordship returns!"

"But Susan," protested the girl, "ye must hide wi me!"

"I must stay by my lady Cat, lassie." Susan gently covered her younger sister with the linens and closed the chest firmly down.

Cat looked at her tiring woman. "They'll rape ye, Susan. I wiE nae be able to stop them."

Susan looked levelly back at her mistress. "I’m nae a virgin, my lady, but May is, and it would surely kill her. Besides, ye'll need me."

There was no more time for talk. The bedroom door splintered under a strong shoulder and burst open, revealing close to a dozen men. Unable to control their terror, the two women screamed, clinging to each other in fright. A huge figure of a man came through the door. He examined them briefly, then said to Cat in guttural Italian, "What is your name, little girl?"

"I am the Contessa di Bothwell," said Cat, amazed to find that she still had a voice.

"And the other?"

"My tiring woman, Susan," she answered him, beginning to shake.

"Don't be frightened, little girl," said the giant. "I am Captain Khair-ad-Din of Sultan Mohammed's imperial navy. I have orders to transport you to the harem of our grand vizier, Cicalazade Pasha. Neither I nor my men will harm you."

Cat's eyes grew wide with a mixture of fury and fear. "No!" she shouted. It was too much. Three years separation from Francis! A wild flight from Scotland, and James Stewart. Then, at last-happiness. Now it was to be snatched away from her! "Nooooo!" she screamed. "No! Noooooo!" And as the giant stepped forward to reach for her, she paled and collapsed onto the rugs.

Khair-ad-Din nodded to one of his men, who picked Cat up carefully and started out the doorway with her. Susan needed no encouragement to follow, but her own heart almost stopped when one of the men asked the captain in Italian, "Shall we fire the house?" Khair-ad-Din snorted. "And let the entire district know we're here?" he snapped. "No, fool!"

As they crossed the garden Susan was glad that Cat had fainted. The women servants lay naked, their throats cut, their limbs twisted grotesquely. Three of the maids had the bloody stain of their lost virginity on their bruised thighs, and Susan silently thanked God that May had not had to suffer this cruelty. That her turn was coming she had no doubt. She was afraid, for she had lied to Cat, and was as virgin as the day she was born.

As they helped her into the little boat that would take them to the great ship anchored off their beach, the men's hands were all over her. They laughed as she angrily slapped them away. They spoke their ribald comments in Italian so she would understand them. Susan gritted her teeth and reminded herself that she was Susan More-Leslie of Glenkirk, and not to be terrorized by a bunch of ragtag foreigners.

Her fears lessened somewhat when she and Cat were put into a comfortable cabin. The sailor who had carried Cat lay her carefully upon the bunk and left the room. The lock turned in the door. Looking around, Susan found a pitcher of water, a silver ewer, and a soft linen cloth. Susan poured some of the water into the basin, wrung the cloth out in it, and lay the compress upon her mistress' head. She rubbed the slender wrists, peering worriedly into Cat's still, white face.

The door behind her opened, and Khair-ad-Din entered the cabin. "How is the little girl?" he asked kindly.

"Still unconscious, and no thanks to you!" snapped Susan. "You frightened her half to death telling her she was being put in a harem. Whatever the ransom for us, Lord Bothwell will pay it."

"There is no ransom. I have orders to convey this woman to the harem of our grand vizier, Cicalazade Pasha. She is a gift to him from his sister."

Susan looked puzzled. "His sister? Who is this sister, and what right has she to give my mistress to her brother? My mistress is a freebom noblewoman, and a cousin to the King of Scotland!"

"The vizier's sister is the Contessa di LiCosa," said Khair-ad-Din.

Susan was astounded. "That bitch? By God, I’ll kill her myself when I get my hands on her, the jealous whore!"

A great rumble of laughter burst from Khair-ad-Din. "My very thoughts on the woman, little girL But tell me, why does she hate your lady so?"

"Because," said Susan angrily, "the Contessa di LiCosa covets my lady's husband, and he will have nothing to do with the witch."

The captain nodded. Sensing sympathy, Susan said quickly, "Oh, please sir! My lord and lady are rich beyond measure. Return us, and they will reward ye a hundred times more than ye ask!"

"I wish I could, little girl, for I do not like being part of a woman's war. But alas, I cannot. The man to whom I take your mistress stands high in the sultan's favor. If he learned that I had disobeyed his sister-and he would -I should be flayed alive! I am truly sorry, little girl. You and your beautiful mistress must accept your fates. It will not be so bad. Cicalazade Pasha is good to his women."

Susan was desperate. She could hear the creak of the ship as it prepared to get under way. ^MOh sir, you do not understand. My lady and her husband are but newly married after many years of separation. She will surely die without him. And when he finds her gone he will tear the earth apart to get her back."

"That is not my problem, little girl. I must get you safely to Istanbul. Your mistress will not die, for I can see she is of stronger stuff than that Look at her now. She is no longer unconscious, but merely sleeps."

Susan knelt at Cat's side and saw that the captain spoke the truth. Cat's breathing was regular and even, and the color was back in her cheeks. "Thank God," breathed Susan. Khair-ad-Din left the cabin, locking it behind him.

Susan sat by the sleeping woman all day. Cat did not awaken, and Susan knew it was because she was still in shock. That evening Khair-ad-Din returned to the cabin, and his large hand fell on Susan's shoulder. "Now, little girl, the time has come for you to entertain my officers."

Susan stood up, her face white with fright "Please," she pleaded with Khair-ad-Din.

"I might have let you be taken by my crew in the same way as those girls at the villa were taken," he said quietly. "But because you are her servant I saved you for my officers. They will not hurt you, little girl. There are only three of them." Opening the cabin door leading to the officer's common room, he gently but firmly, pushed her through and closed the door behind her.

Susan stood frozen, praying that if she didn't move the men would not notice her. The three sat across the room around a low table, drinking coffee and talking. Then one looked up and called, "Why here's the wench! Come here, girl!" She shrank back against the door, her heart hammering wildly as the man stood up and came towards her. He was tall and swarthy, with dark hair and eyes, even white teeth, and a well-barbered black beard. He pulled her away from the door and into the light. Susan cried out, and the man's eyes softened. "Don't be shy, girl. We want to be friends-don't we, lads?" The two other men grinned at Susan, and she shivered.

"My name is Hussein, and I am Khair-ad-Din's first officer,, The fellow with the bushy beard is Abdul, the second officer, and the beardless youth is Ibrahim, our navigator. Here, you two savages," he berated his companions, "give the wench some coffee. She looks cold and frightened."

Sitting back on the cushions, he pulled Susan down onto his lap. Ripping the front of her nightgown to the hem, he began fondling her breasts. Hussein laughed indulgently when she screamed. "Come on, little girL don't be foolish. You know why you're here. Whether you cooperate or not the results will be the same. You're going to be fucked. It won't be so bad. You could be one of those poor creatures back at the villa who serviced the crew. We won't hurt you. We just want a bit of loving."

The tears spilled down her cheeks. "Please,'' she sobbed, "oh, please don't I am so afraid. I-I-I've never-"

"By Allah," said Hussein, "I think we've got us a virgin!" He tipped her face up to his. "Are you a virgin, little girl?" Wordlessly she nodded. "Get the dice, Ibrahim," commanded the first officer. "We always dice to see who has the first taste when we have a virgin," he explained matter-of-factly to Susan, "Stand still, girl."

She obeyed, terrified. He towered above her for a moment and then bent and tore the rest of her garment from her, the thin material of her nightgown shredding as she fought to hold onto it. He laughed at her efforts and patted her bottom. Outraged, she rallied and slapped at him, then gasped with shock as he squeezed one of her breasts. "There she is, gentlemen, and as pretty a piece as I've seen in a long time. Clean… sweet as honey with breasts like summer melons!"

For a moment the three men gazed hungrily at the girL Then Abdul growled, "Come on! Make your toss! I'm so hard already you could break it off!" Smiling, Hussein handed the dice to the young navigator. "Go on, Ibrahim. You first." Ibrahim's toss netted him a three, and he laughed good-naturedly. "I always end up last." Abdul snatched up the dice, and chuckled as an eight showed. He eyed the naked girl, licking his lips in open anticipation. "You'll have to go some to beat that, Hussein," he gloated, but the first officer coolly took up the dice and, after rolling them around in his palm for a moment, suddenly threw them across the table. "Allah curse you," muttered Abdul as nine came up. Hussein laughed. Ibrahim, snatching up the dice, said to the angry second officer, "Come on, Abdul… we might as well continue dicing while lucky Hussein has his turn with the girL"

Pushing Susan down onto the cushions, Hussein straddled his terrified prize. Hungrily he kissed her, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, darting about like wildfire, rousing emotions in the unwilling virgin that she had never known she could feel. His hands seemed everywhere, feeling eagerly, touching gently, squeezing cruelly. Then his hand was between her legs, seeking to ascertain the truth of virginity-he grunted satisfaction to find her intact. Struggling wildly, she tried to fight him off, and he laughed.

"I like spirit, wench, but you'll not win!" She felt his manhood hard and seeking against her thighs, and she tried to turn her body away. To her shame the other two men were kneeling at her side, encouraging Hussein and offering advice.

"Is the little virgin too much woman for you, Hussein?" mocked Abdul. "Get off her, man. I'll show you how to put it in right!"

"Can we hold her down for you?" teased Ibrahim. "I'll take the fight out of her when it's my turn."

"She'll have no fight left after a real man's had her, boy," bragged Abdul.

At that point Susan felt a burning pain spread through her loins, and she screamed with it But as Hussein moved quickly back and forth within her, the pain lessened and her screams died to a wailing moan. To her everlasting shame she could not control her own hips, and they moved in time with Hussein's. The man atop her suddenly convulsed and collapsed on her. He was quickly polled off. Above her, the bushy, bearded Abdul loosened his baggy pantaloons and fell on her. She tried to buck Mm off, but he slapped her cruelly, and her teeth cut her lower lip, drawing blood. He was in her quickly but, to the amusement of his companion, was as quickly drained of his passion.

The boy was immediately in his place, groaning and straining above her. Unable to bear any more, Susan fainted. But when she had regained consciousness, she found that her ordeal was not over. She was forced to submit to each of them again.

Finally, they let her sleep. But again in the morning she was forced to service each of them. By this time, however, her shame had eased, and she demanded they bring her water for washing the dried blood and semen from her thighs. Laughing and patting various parts of her anatomy, they brought her a small wooden tub and a rough towel, and somewhere Hussein found a sliver of soap, which he offered her, grinning.

Clean and wrapped in a towel, she demanded of him, "And what am I to wear, you who were so quick to tear my only garment?"

"There's a trunk in your cabin. You'll find suitable garments in it for both you and your mistress." Then he patted her cheek. "You're a good little wench," he said kindly. "I hope we didn't hurt you too greatly last night."

"No," she whispered, blushing furiously. And fleeing back to the cabin next door, she allowed herself the luxury of a few tears. She found the trunk and, opening it, saw that it contained all manner of indecent-looking garments. She lifted out sheer silk pantaloons, gauze blouses, brocaded boleros, see-through little veils, and soft kid slippers.

"Are ye all right?" The question made her jump, and she turned to see Cat sitting up in the bunk.

"Aye, my lady."

"Were ye raped?"

Susan's head drooped, and she sank down beside her mistress. "Aye," she whispered.

"Why did ye lie to me, lass? Ye were a virgin, weren't ye?"

Susan nodded, then said simply, "I couldn't leave ye alone, my lady. I thought ye'd need me. It wasn't too terrible. Just the officers, and there were only three of them-one just a boy."

Cat put a protective arm about her servant. "Oh, Susan! I am so sorry, my dear. I would nae have had this happen to ye for all the world. I was no help to ye at all, fainting like a green girl! What has happened? Where are we? And who are they?"

"Everyone at the villa is dead except May. Once they had us they did not search further, thank God. They are Turkish corsairs, and have orders to convey us to Istanbul. Ye are to be a gift to the grand vizier, Cicalazade Pasha-from his sister, the Contessa di LiCosa."

"What?" Cat's face was incredulous. " 'Tis absurd! She carina do such a thing!" Then, "My God! She has! I hope Francis strangles her! If her brother is anything like Angela…"

"Khair-ad-Din tells me that the vizier is very important. There will be no ransom. And no escape."

Cat closed her eyes for a moment, then said, "We must not panic. Yesterday I gave in to fear, but I will not allow it to conquer me again. I must survive to revenge myself on Angela di LiCosa. I must survive to return to Francis. Dinna be afraid, my faithful Susan." The leaf-green eyes twinkled for a moment. "Ye did tell me ye wanted to travel, did ye not, lass? What stories ye'll have to tell yer grandchildren!"

Susan couldn't help but laugh, and Cat was relieved. The young woman was indeed made of strong fiber. Well, why not? She was a Leslie!

"Get dressed, my girl, and pick something out for me too. My God, the garments are thin enough, aren't they? Oh, Susan-one thing. Confide in no one but me. Trust no one but me. Together we shall outwit the Turk. And I, for one, shall enjoy it!"

Happy to see that she had cheered Susan, Cat wondered silently to herself if there would ever come a time again when her life was quiet and orderly. Then, forcing herself to the humor in her predicament, she laughed and said, "Oh, well, I should probably be very bored with an orderly existence!"

Chapter 49

EVEN the fates seemed to be conspiring to whisk her quickly to her destination. The ship sped down the Tyrrhenian Sea through the Straits of Messina, and into the Mediterranean towards Crete, where they stopped to take on water and fresh food. A small shiver ruffled Cat's outward calm as she gazed at the shoreline and realized that she was following in her great-grandmother's footsteps.

For the first time the fairy story of Janet Leslie's life became real to her great-granddaughter, and Cat was afraid. She wondered if the thirteen-year-old Janet had been afraid. At least I won't be exhibited naked on the slave block, she thought with relief. If you please the grand vizier you won't, a small nagging voice whispered in her head. But what if he does not like you? How can you possibly compete with young girls? You are over thirty!

"Why do you frown so, little girl?" inquired Khair-ad-Din, who had taken to playing chess with her in the evenings. "Are you finally ready to admit that I am a better chess player than a mere woman?"

Forced from her nightmare, Cat laughed. "No, you old sea trout! I am not!" Then her lovely face became serious again.

"Tell me," he said. "Share your troubles with me, and perhaps I can ease them."

"I am afraid, Khair-ad-Din. I am no nubile virgin to be offered to the grand vizier. I am a grown woman with children. I have been married twice. What can I possibly offer Cicalazade Pasha? He will laugh at his sister's gift, and sell me in some slave market."

The fat man sitting opposite her looked back at her with sympathy. "Little girl," he said patiently, "have you looked in a mirror lately? There is not a man alive who, given his choice between you and some poor virgin, would choose the virgin. And neither would Cicalazade Pasha. His harem is quite famous. The vizier prefers beauty, charm, and wit to innocence. Let the sultan amuse himself with a weekly procession of virgins-not so with my lord Cicalazade. And another thing, my beauty. If my lord Cicalazade desires to sell you off, I will buy you myself!" And his laughter rumbled throughout the cabin. "I have as much chance of that as I do of being pope," he wheezed, chuckling happily.

The ship sailed on into the Aegean Sea, skirting the small Greek islands. When the ship slipped through the Dardanelles and into the Sea of Marmara, Cat felt a wrench of real loss, knowing that she now had truly left her world.

Already the Turkish clothing she wore felt familiar and comfortable, and she could not help but wonder what Cicalazade Pasha was like. Perhaps when she explained the situation to him he would accept a ransom for her, and allow her and Susan to return home. His reputation belied that of a man so desperate for a woman that he would hold one against her will. Cat comforted herself with that thought. He sounded almost civilized.

They reached Istanbul in late afternoon when the sun was spreading its light across the Golden Horn, giving the newcomers an understanding of the famed waterway's name. Khair-ad-Din sent a messenger immediately to the palace of the grand vizier, and within an hour a closed litter and a troup of armed guards appeared at the ship to take them away,

"It is unlikely I will ever see you again, little girl," said Khair-ad-Din to Cat. "May Allah guide you-even if you are a better chess player than I am."

The tears sprang to her eyes. Impulsively, she kissed Ms cheek. He patted her shoulder and led her onto the deck, where he turned her and Susan over to a black eunuch. -

"I suppose, captain," said the eunuch pettishly to Khair-ad-Din, "that they do not understand Turkish. Which of the barbaric Western tongues must I use?'"

Cat stamped her foot angrily and, speaking in flawless Turkish, berated the eunuch. *Toad! Uncircumcised spawn of pig's offal! How dare you speak to me in such a fashion? In my land I am a great lady. I will not be shown disrespect by such as you!"

The eunuch almost fainted, and Khair-ad-Din bit back his laughter. "The noble lady speaks the truth, Osman. Though she be here against her will, she is a special gift from Cicalazade's sister. She and her servant are to be treated gently."

Osman eyed Cat warily. Here was trouble. His judgment of women slaves was always infallible, and this one would be trouble. "How is it, noble lady, that you speak our tongue? Does your servant also?"

"I learned many languages as a child,” replied Cat, "and yours was one of them. My servant is just learning, but has a good ear."

The eunuch nodded. "It is always easier when they understand yom,” he observed to Khalr-ad-Bin as if Cat wasn't there. "Very well noble lady," he said, turning back to her, "if you and your woman will follow me to the litter." He looked at them. "Are your veils tight? Ah, yes, I can see that they are."

And before she could say another word, she and Susan were hustled off the ship. She barely had time to turn and raise her hand in a gesture of farewell to Khair-ad-Din. The curtains were pulled tightly shut, and she felt a little jolt as the slaves raised the litter and trotted off. She and Susan looked at each other in wonder. Where were they going? They would have given anything to peek through the hangings, but when they ventured a peep out, Osman squeaked with outrage.

The litter moved at an even pace through the noise, breeze, and sea smell of the waterfront to the noise, heat, and human smells of the city, and then to the cooler, quieter area near the Yeni Serai of the sultan. Here along the shores of the Bosporus near the imperial palace was located the smaller palace of the grand vizier. Safe within its courtyard the litter stopped, and was set down, and the curtains opened.

"Please to step out, noble lady," said Osman, and they climbed from the litter. "Your servant will be taken to your quarters, noble lady. You are to come with me to Haramid, the grand eunuch." And Susan found herself being led off by a black slavewoman.

Cat followed Osman into the palace through what seemed a maze of corridors, and finally through a large, carved door into a square room. Sitting on a pile of cushions was a short but enormous coal-black man, dressed in red and blue silk robes. Upon his head was a cloth-of-silver turban with a large center ruby.

"Make obeisance to the grand eunuch," hissed Osman frantically, falling to his knees and bowing low.

"Insect," she whispered fiercely at him. "I am a king's cousin. I kneel to no one but God and my lord."

Rich laughter rumbled forth from the great mountain of flesh. "Well said, woman! My lord Cicalazade likes spirit-provided it is tempered with wisdom." The voice was high, and seemed strange in so large a man. "Osman, wait outside." And as Osman left, the head eunuch turned to Cat. "I am Hammid, master of the vizier's household. What is your name, my beauty?"

Drawing herself up proudly, she said, "I am the Lady Catriona Stewart-Hepburn, the Countess of Bothwell. I am a cousin to his majesty King James of Scotland, who will, on the death of Queen Elizabeth, also be King of England. I am here against my will, having been kidnapped with my servant from my home by your master's sister. She covets my husband, and he refused her. She thinks to revenge herself on us by sending me here. If you will but send word to my husband, Lord Bothwell, he will pay your master double whatever ransom he wishes. There will be a rich reward for you also."

"The vizier is not in the habit of collecting ransoms, woman. You were not sent here for that purpose, as you are well aware. If the vizier's sister wished to extort monies from you she would have done so. She wished you removed from your husband, and saw a chance to do her brother a good turn at the same time." He watched her from beneath hooded lids to see the effect his words would have on her. This was his way of judging her worth. He would have been very disappointed had she not showed spirit.

"I am a married woman," said Cat. "I will not submit to your master. I would sooner be dead!"

The eunuch's laughter again rumbled across the room. "Nonsense," he said. "You are life itself! Do not make idle threats. I have dealt too long with your sex to know when they are serious about suicide." He saw the glint of tears in her eyes, but she shed not a one, and he was pleased that she showed courage in this difficult situation. "Do not be afraid, woman. You are not to be delivered shrieking to my master. You will need a few days of rest to recover from your ordeal, and to observe our ways. Come closer now so I may see you better."

She slowly moved forward until she was standing directly in front of him.

"Disrobe for me, woman."

"No!" She looked startled at -his request, even mutinous.

Hammid sighed. "I do not wish to embarrass you, woman, but if you do not obey me I shall simply call in Osman, and he will do it for me."

For a moment she stood rigid with anger, determined to make it difficult for him. Then, realizing the futility of her situation she shrugged and slowly pulled the veil from her face and then from her head. Next she removed the satin brocade bolero. Her fingers trembled as she undid the tiny pearl buttons on the gauze blouse and took it off. Lastly she kicked the kid slippers from her feet, and stepped from the silk pantaloons.

"Put your hands up behind your head, woman," and when she obeyed him he murmured, "Superb" at her beautiful rounded breasts with their dark-rose nipples. "Loosen your hair, and turn for me." The tawny, honey-colored hair tumbled almost to her waist. He smiled. "When my master sees you, woman, he will be lost You are a delight to the eye. Now dress yourself again, and Osman will take you to your quarters, where your body servant waits. Are you hungry?" She nodded. "I will give orders that you be served a supper immediately. Afterwards you will have a bath, a massage, and a good night's sleep. You will be a new woman. In three days' time I will take you into the city myself, for there is something I wish you to see."

He clapped Ms hands, and Osman reappeared to lead her out Hammid sat motionless for a moment after they left, and then said, "Well, master, I think your sister has unknowingly done you a great kindness. What do you think of the woman?"

A tall man stepped from behind a carved screen behind the grand eunuch. "She is magnificent! Allah, Hammid, I am eager to have her! Already my loins burn to have her beneath me, helpless and half-fainting with my love!"

"Gently, my lord. She will be yours, I promise you, but first I must win her over and gain her trust. This is a prize worth waiting for, my lord."

"But will she yield, my friend? I see a stubborn streak in her that will be hard to break."

Hammid smiled. "She will yield, my lord. Did you note the lushness of her body? It is the body of a woman used to almost daily lovemaking. It has been several weeks since she was captured, and Kapitan Khair-ad-Din assures me that she was untouched during the voyage. Though her mind will not admit to it, her body already grows eager for a man's touch. We will make her world one of sensuous delights until her sexual hunger far outweighs her desire to withstand us. A week, two at the most, my lord Cica, and she will be yours!"

Cicalazade Pasha's white teeth flashed in a smile. "What shall we call her?"

"Incili," replied Hammid.

"Incili-the Pearl-yes! I like it, Hammid!"

And while they continued to talk, Cat followed Osman again through the maze of corridors, realizing suddenly that they had crossed some invisible line and were in the harem section of the palace. There were women everywhere, women of all races and colors, women of privilege and servants. Cat was able to hear some of their comments, but managed to keep her face impassive.

"Allah! What a beauty!"

"I wonder if the brain matches the face?"

"They seldom do, Feriyke."

"Lateef a Sultan will certainly have her royal nose put out of joint by this one."

"Isn't that too bad."

Then there was laughter, and then she was being led into a pleasant, airy room, and Susan was there. Mistress and tiring woman fell happily into each other's arms.

"I was so worried," said Susan. "Can we be ransomed?"

"No," said Cat. "We will have to think of something else. However, I am safe from the vizier for the present."

Osman, unable to understand them, demanded, "What language is it you speak, woman? Speak Turkish, or if your slavegirl is not facile enough to converse with you, speak French or Italian so I may understand you."

Cat laughed at him. "We speak Gaelic, the tongue of our ancestors, but if it discomfits you we will speak Turkish."

Osman looked uncomfortable. "The slaves will bring you supper, noble lady. Afterwards the grand eunuch has given orders that you be taken to the baths. I will return in the morning to see you."

They were brought a large bowl of lamb chunks in a sauce of onions and peppers, two small loaves of hot, flat bread, a dish of yogurt, half a dozen ripe peaches, and a little bowl of sugared almonds. A decanter of lemon sherbet was provided for drink. The slavegirl who served them brought two bowls and two goblets, but there were no implements for eating. When Cat asked why, she was told that new captives were never given anything that might aid them in suicide. They would have to use their fingers, and the flat bread which had been provided. They ate ravenously, as they had not eaten since midmorning, and were surprised to discover how good it all was.

When they had finished, the slavegirl brought them a bowl of perfumed water and towels. Then an old slavewoman arrived to escort them to the harem baths. Susan was expected to fend for herself, but Cat was put into the capable hands of the bath mistress, who first saw that she was thoroughly washed, including her hair. Next a pale-pink paste was carefully smeared over the haired areas of her body, and when it was wiped away a half-hour later, she was completely denuded of body hair. While she waited for the pink paste to do its work, her fingernails and toenails were carefully pared. It would have been unthinkable for her lord and master to be scratched. She was exposed to a steam room, and then to a more temperate bath where she was stretched out on a marble bench and massaged. Cat was so relaxed and weak by this time that she could barely walk back to their quarters, where she immediately fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

The next three days were spent quietly, with Osman coming each morning to escort them, heavily veiled, on their walk through the vizier's gardens. Each afternoon she was escorted to the baths, where she was bathed and massaged with oils and creams until her skin began to be extremely sensitive to the touch of nearly anything. In the evening she was allowed to watch certain of the harem entertainments, usually dancing. Cat was at first astounded and then intrigued by the open sexual suggestions made by the dancer's movements.

As boredom began to set in on the fourth day, Osman arrived with the information that she must put on her outdoor clothing and veil and follow him. "Your slavegirl will remain here."

"It's all right," Cat told a protesting Susan.

She was led to a large litter and, once inside, was surprised to find herself sitting opposite Hammid, "Good morning.'⁸ he said cheerfully. "I see these three days of rest and relaxation have done you good. I did not think it possible that you could be lovelier, but you are."

"I was beginning to get bored. I am not used to inactivity. Is this all your women do? Sit around waiting to be summoned to their master's bed? How awful!" She stopped a moment to catch her breath and then asked, "Where are we going?"

"To the slave market You are a woman of great determination. I will show you what will happen if you oppose my master. His bedchamber must be like a beautiful garden-peaceful, fragrant, and a delight to the senses. If you do not yield to him, but fight him instead, he will order you sold off. If this happens, you and your servant will undoubtedly be separated, and it is very possible that your exquisite fairness will attract a slave broker from the Arabian Peninsula, or the African interior. I do not think you would enjoy being stripped naked and inspected by prospective buyers. I do not think you would enjoy being sold to a jungle chief. If you yield to my master, however, your safety and comfort are assured. The choice is yours."

The look she gave him was a candid one. "Why do you torture me, Hammid? You know that I must yield to your master."

He nodded. "You are an Intelligent woman, my beauty, but if you yield only your body to my lord Cica, he will know and be. offended. You must yield all-your mind and your body!"

"I cannot! And you cannot expect me to, Hammid!"

"You must!"

They rode in silence until finally the slaves stopped and the litter was lowered to the ground. The grand eunuch climbed out and, offering her a hand, helped her out. "There are many slave markets in this city," he said, "but this one deals only in beautiful women."

Cat looked about her, and saw women of varied ages, sizes, shapes, and colors. On the raised platform a beautiful girl was now being auctioned. She was completely nude, and the prospective buyers were not shy about poking and squeezing the girl. Her face revealed shame and fright. Cat shivered. Finally the girl was purchased by a man with a fierce mustache. Cat was forced to stand quietly watching for almost an hour. Then Hammid got involved in the bidding on an exquisite golden-blond Circassian girl of about thirteen. When he had secured her purchase Cat heard him tell the slave merchant, "Send the maiden to the Yeni Serai with the Vizier Cicalazade Pasha's compliments." Then he and Cat returned to their litter.

As they rode Cat said quietly, "I will try, Hammid, but I promise you nothing. It will not be easy for me."

He smiled. "Good! I have not misjudged your character. Do not be afraid, my beauty. I will give you time to accept your status. You will be happy, I promise you. The vizier is a magnificent lover and he will pleasure you as no man ever has. He is like a young bull-hot and inexhaustible."

Cat lowered her head as a flush swept her cheeks. It had been weeks now since she had last lain with Francis, and she was frankly edgy, but she would have died rather than allow Hammid to know this. The eunuch knew her thought and smiled. "I have decided upon your Turkish name," he told her. "You will answer to the name of Incili. It means Beautiful Pearl, and you are that indeed. We will call your servant Mara."

The next few days were quiet ones. Though she was permitted to mingle with the other women of the harem, she felt no particular urge to make friends. She was frankly curious about Lateefa Sultan, the vizier's wife, but she never saw her.

When she had been in the harem for over two weeks, she returned from the baths one afternoon to find the grand eunuch, Hammid, waiting for her.

"I am going to present you to the vizier tonight," he said.

Stricken, she implored him, "So soon?"

"The time is propitious," he told her. "Come now, Incili, you are no virgin, but a woman of experience. Does your lovely body not ache for a man's touch? Do you not crave a man's hardness deep within you? How long now has it been since you last lay swooning in a lover's arms?"

"Stop," she whispered. "Oh, please stop!"

"I have left special clothing for you. I will come for you at eight."

At eight she stood shivering in the hot summer night, waiting for Hammid. Her garments were the sheerest of pale-pink-mauve silk gauze. The pantaloons were embroidered at the ankles with a band of gold-and-silver thread, and a matching band rode her hips below her navel. A tiny sleeveless open bolero, its edges embroidered in seed pearls, barely covered her breasts. She was, of course, veiled. A second, longer veil had been placed over the first.

Hammid arrived with a small litter and walked alongside it as it was carried towards the vizier's bedchamber. "I will go in with you tonight. Do not be afraid, Incili. My lord Cica will be kind." Then they were there. His hand was at her elbow as he guided her through the door.

"I have brought the woman, Incili, as my lord commanded," the eunuch said to a tall man in the shadows. Hammid then removed the head veil, the face veil, and the bolero. As her breasts were exposed, Cat heard a soft intake of breath from the man. The eunuch's hands were swiftly drawing the pantaloons down and off. She was completely naked.

"Thank you, Hammid. You may go now."

As the door closed behind her she stood frozen, frightened, wondering what to expect. Then the man stepped from the shadows, and Cat saw before her the handsomest man she had ever seen in her entire life.

He was tall, and ruggedly tan, but where his white pantaloons rode low on his slim hips she could see his skin was as fair as hers. His hair was dark, wavy, and cropped short with just a touch of silver at the temples. His eyes were, to her surprise, a light gray-blue. He was nothing at all like his sister, Angela. His facial features were those of a classic Greek statue, with high cheekbones, straight nose, well-spaced eyes, and a full, sensuous mouth. He wore a beautifully clipped and tailored dark mustache.

He held out his hand, his eyes locking hers. Automatically she placed her slender hand in his. His touch was like fire. "I have never possessed anything as exquisite as you, Incili." The voice was warm velvet

"You do not possess me yet, my lord Cicalazade," she answered him coolly.

The white, even teeth flashed in a quick smile, and he laughed. "It is but a matter of time, Incili, is it not?" Bending, he picked up the larger of the two veils and, twisting it into a rope, put it about her waist and drew her towards him. As her breasts touched his bare chest she began to tremble, instinct warning her that this was not a man easily led. One hand firmly lifted her chin, bringing her face up so he might look down at her. He smiled. "Green eyes," he said softly. "They are beautiful, Incili, but then you know that, don't you?"

Her heart was hammering wildly, and she could not speak. She was furious with herself. What was the matter with her? She tried to turn away, but his head dipped quickly, and his mouth closed over hers. Unreasonable panic gripped her, and she struggled to escape him, but he simply held her closer, gently forcing her lips apart to allow his tongue entry.

She tore her head away from him, her eyes wide, gasping great gulps of air to clear her mind. Her hands flew up, palms against his hairy chest, trying to hold him off. He laughed low and, catching her hands in his, forced them behind her back so that once again their bodies were intimately pressing against each other. Again he took deliberate possession of her mouth, and when his tongue darted deep within her mouth, lightly touching, hungrily stroking, she felt deep within her the banked fires flicker into flame. Slowly she ceased her resistance, and began instead to respond to the warm pressure of his mouth.

Feeling her yield, he brought one hand around to delicately caress a round breast. "Incili…" His voice was low, edged with passion. "You rouse me as no woman ever has," and he was leading her through an alcove to a large bed upon a dais. Falling backwards onto the bed, he gently drew her down to him. He held her just slightly above him so that her breasts hung like ripe fruits. Lifting his head to them, he licked the nipples, sending shock waves of desire racing through her. Turning her over onto her back, bis dark head dipped, and his mouth closed hungrily over a breast, nursing on it eagerly, sending streaks of hot delight through her. His lips began a tortuous exploration of her beautiful body, searing her. And then he saw her tiny mole-that outrageously enticing little mark of Venus -perched high atop the cleft of her womanhood. His hand reached down to loosen his pantaloons. Squirming against her, he worked them down and off, returning his attention to the fascinating little mole that beckoned him onward.

His eyes widened with delight, and a little smile touched his lips. The mole was an invitation impossible to ignore. He bent and kissed it, pleased with the tremor that shook her. Now he was almost level with her again, and taking her hand, he guided it to touch him, groaning when her hand closed over him.

He gazed down for a moment at the beautiful woman beneath him. For the first time in his life he believed he had a woman whose sexual appetite matched his own. Her hand released him, and he swung over her, his hands gently spreading her thighs. He knelt between her legs now, and she raised her eyes to him, gasping at the great blue-veined ivory shaft that sprang from the black mat between his legs. Grasping her buttocks, he drew her slowly towards him and impaled her on his swollen manhood.

For a surprised moment he almost lost his control, for she was not only warm and moist but almost as tight as a virgin. Feeling her squeezing him, he groaned with delight. Regaining control of himself, he began to move smoothly within her. Then he slowly lowered her to the bed, straddling her more comfortably. Her body was covered in a fine damp mist, and her head thrashed wildly on the pillow. His big hands caressed her gently, and his voice sought to sooth her. Suddenly the leaf-green eyes opened and looked into his gray-blue ones. She began to weep softly.

"No, Incili. No, my exquisite one," he said tenderly. "I see the shadow of another man in your beautiful eyes. I would vanquish that man, for you will never see him again. You are mine for eternity!" he exulted. "Yield yourself completely to me, my beloved!"

"I cannot," she sobbed. "I cannot!"

The teasing hands caressed her again, and his lips pressed little kisses on her face and throat. "I will make you forget him," the deep voice promised. And again he began the sweet rhythm of passion, losing himself in her warmth and sweetness. When he had brought them to a tumultuous climax he held the weeping woman against his broad chest until, exhausted, she sobbed herself to sleep.

She slept like a child, relaxed and curled into a little ball. Smiling, he rose from the tumbled bed and, moving to a low table, poured himself a goblet of fresh orange sherbet. Sprawling on some cushions, he thoughtfully sipped and watched his beautiful sleeping slave. Hammid had been right, she was worth special handling. But Allah! She was a challenge! He had but to command, and the women of his harem strove to please him. Even his proud princess of a wife was eager that he be happy.

With Incili, however, the positions were reversed. It was he who was striving to win her over. He would continue to do so until he possessed her body and her soul. Never had he known such ecstasy as tonight's. He shivered, thinking what she would be like when she finally yielded herself to him completely.

Chapter 50

CAT awoke, surprised to find herself back in her own bed. Sitting up, she asked Susan, "How did I get back here?"

"He brought you. Lord Cicalazade himself! He said you looked so peaceful he did not want to disturb you. I was so frightened when he walked through the door carrying you, but he was very kind, not at all the monster I thought he would be. I like him."

"He is not a cruel man," Cat said dully. Then her voice began to quiver. "But I cannot reconcile myself to this life, Susan. I want my Francis! I want to go home! I want to be free!" And she began to cry.

When she had wept for some minutes without stopping, Susan sent a slave for the eunuch Osman, who hurried in, demanding, "What is it, Mara?"

"It is my lady, sir. She will not stop crying! I have done everything!"

Osman bent over Cat "Why do you weep, Incili? Does something pain you?"

Cat ignored Mm. In frustration, Osman sent for Hammid. The grand eunuch arrived and quietly dismissed Susan and Osman from the room. Then he sat down by Cat's bed and waited. The hysterical weeping continued for some minutes, then began to abate slowly until finally it stopped entirely. She sat up, her face wet and swollen. Wordlessly he handed her a large red silk handkerchief. After mopping her face, she noisily blew her nose.

"Very well, Incili, tell me what troubles you," he said.

"Everything!" she burst out. "I want to be free! I cannot bear being cooped up like this! In my country women are free to roam their own lands. Here I am confined to the harem and a daily walk in a walled garden. I hate it! I hate it!"

Hammid nodded understanding^. This was not an uncommon problem with new captives, and he was willing to make great concessions to see that this woman was content. For years he had sought for a woman who could balance Lateefa Sultan's influence over his master. The Ottoman princess was beautiful and clever. She had dutifully borne her husband three sons and twin daughters, but her sex drive was low. Consequendy she did not mind that her husband kept a large harem to satisfy his great appetite. But Hammid worried that his master might fall under the influence of the wrong woman. The wrong woman could turn Hammid's carefully tended household into a battleground of warring factions. The wrong woman could even affect national policy as long as Cicalazade Pasha was a vizier to Sultan Mohammed.

In Incili he had found exactly what he sought to counterbalance his royal mistress. He had quickly ascertained that she was not only intelligent, but ethical. She was a beauty with a wisdom seldom found in women. Most important of all, he had seen that her sexual appetite could be as great as his master's. Hammid even believed that Lateefa Sultan and Incili could be friends, and with these two women he hoped to aid Cicalazade in becoming a great vizier. For Hammid was an ambitious man, and to be master of a great man's household was a goal worth his reaching for.

"I will gain permission for you to walk in Lateefa Sultan's garden. It is not walled, but open to sea and sky. I will also suggest to our master that he take you cruising in his caique. Would you like that?" She nodded. "And later," he continued, "when you are more settled, I will allow you trips to the bazaars of the city."

"Oh, yes, please, Hammid!"

"Good! Now, are the hysterics gone?"

"Yes."

He smiled in a kindly fashion. "I am pleased, Incili. Lord Cica spoke to me this morning of his delight with you. You have pleasured him as no woman ever has. You are to go to him again tonight."

Cat's mind raced. She thought to herself, If I must endure this for the present, I will make it as pleasant for myself and for Susan as possible.

She looked at the grand eunuch. “I have no clothing. The lowliest maiden in this harem has more to wear than I! Am I to be parceled out little gauze garments each night? If I am to please my lord Cica then I must be allowed to choose my own wardrobe. It has been my experience, Hammid, that it takes more than skill in a man's bed to hold him. Or perhaps you really do not care if Cica Pasha grows quickly bored with me."

Hammid was delighted. She might not be completely ready to yield herself, but this typically feminine interest in clothing was extremely encouraging. "I will send for the women bazaar vendors so you may choose whatever you like. If you see materials you also fancy, buy them! I will have our seamstresses fashion garments for you. You may also purchase jewelry, cosmetics, and perfumes." He was feeling very generous. "When you have made your choices, Osman will see that the women are paid."

The bazaar vendors brought an enormous variety of things for Cat to look at. Cat treated herself generously, buying several dozen gauze blouses in whites and colors, pantaloons with matching jackets and long caftans in lime green, mauve, lilac, turquoise, pale blue, and blossom pink. She found several bolts of fabric that pleased her, a deep-blue silk embroidered with tiny silver stars, a heavy red satin, a pale-green brocade shot with gold threads, and two gauzes-one of gold, the other of silver.

From the cosmetic vendor she bought only a little kohl, refusing the white mercury paste, the henna, and the red paste used to color lips.

The perfume vendor fared better, leaving three crystal flasks with Cat. One held musk, one a fragrance of wild spring flowers, and the third a foresty thing of.green fern and moss with just a hint of ambergris.

Now came women with trays of jewelry, and Cat bought carefully-a dozen little gold bangles and a dozen of silver. Delicate gold chains, some plain, some studded with amethyst, garnet, topaz, aquamarine, or peridot caught her fancy. She bought several ropes of beads, both pink and white coral, turquoise and jade. She bought ropes of pearls strung on thin gold wires, and earrings to go with everything else she had already bought.

When Osman protested her extravagance, she rounded on him. "Go to the grand eunuch, insect! If he says no, then I will obey." Osman sighed and paid the happy vendors.

She ate lightly and then spent two luxurious hours in the harem baths being pampered, for word had already reached the bath mistress of Cat's favor with the master. Back in her room, she slept to be awakened in early evening, when she again ate lightly of fresh yogurt and fruit.

Studying the garments she had purchased, she decided upon the lime green. The ankles of the silk pantaloons had bands of a slightly deeper green, embroidered in gold-thread flowers. With it she wore a sheer, long-sleeved gauze silk blouse striped in the two greens, and topped it with a short, sleeveless lime-green silk jacket with its sides and bottom banded in heavy gold embroidery and seed pearls. The bolero was fringed in tiny pearls. Below her hips was tied a gold-and-green striped silk sash. Her kid slippers were studded with pearl flowers. Over her long, dark-gold hair she wore a long diaphanous green silk veil. About her neck she had fastened a rope of jade and a rope of pearls. Gold bangles jingled on her arms, and gold-and-jade earrings bobbed from her ears.

Hammid's fat face split into a wide grin when he saw her. "Magnificent, Incili!" he exclaimed. "You have taste, and a flair for style." He escorted her as far as the door to the vizier's bedchamber. There he left her, saying, "I wish you joy this night."

She walked into the room calmly to find him waiting. She saw the approval in his gray-blue eyes, and he teas-ingly said, "I hear you have been spending my money." Reaching out, he pulled the veils from her face and head.

"You imply you find favor with me, my lord," she said coolly, "yet until today the lowliest female in your harem had more than I. I am neither a greedy nor an acquisitive woman, but I must have clothes."

"With or without them you are the loveliest of women, Incili," and she saw the quick desire flickering in his eyes.

Seeing a chess set on the low table, she quickly asked, "Will you play with me my lord Cica?"

He was amused. "Do you play?" he asked.

"Very well, or so both my husbands told me," she answered with a poise she was far from feeling.

His hand indicated the pillows opposite the ivory chess pieces, while he himself sat opposite the black

onyx ones. Then suddenly a wicked light came into his eyes, and he said, "Wait!" She looked questioningly at him. "Remove your jacket, and your blouse, Incili. If you would forestall the inevitable, I shall at least have the delightful pleasure of your breasts." She flushed, and he was pleased. She was angry but she was forced to obey him. She was a wonderful, wild thing, and he was very much enjoying their battle. Eventually, of course, he would tame her completely. The thought of her begging his favors excited him greatly and, like a great beast, his manhood awoke and stretched itself.

She played with a serious concentration that he admired, and because he could not take his eyes from her beautiful breasts, he found himself in danger of losing to her. She deliberately thrust her breasts forward and moved in such a way that they bobbed provocatively. In order to even the odds again, he moved around the table to sit next to her. Casually putting as arm about her, he fondled a soft breast, enjoying her disconcerted gasp and the sadden hardening of a rosy nipple. His head dropped, and he kissed her silken shoulder while moving his king piece into an apparently vulnerable position. Flustered and unthinking Cat quickly moved her queen piece, and was horrified to hear the vizier chuckle. "Check, my distracting beauty, and-" he pushed her back into the pillows-"mate!"

Before she had realized what was happening he was atop her, laughing down at her. His hands stroked the tight, quivering globes beneath his touch. "Do not be angry with me, my sweet Incili. You are too delicious to resist, and I do not want to play games with you, I want to make love to you."

"I am not one of your soft harem beauties, quick to spread her legs for the master," she spat at him. "I will not yield. It will be rape!"

He laughed again, and his eyes twinkled. "All right," he said, "then it will be rape, which could be very titillating." And she felt his hands on her hips untying the striped sash and inching her silk pantaloons off.

"No," she shrieked. "No!" Straggling angrily against him, she tried to claw at him, and he laughed. He was stronger by far, and Cat began to tire. Successfully stripping her, the vizier slid his own pantaloons off while still straddling her. Now he lay his warm naked body the length of her naked body, enjoying the satiny feel of her. He made to kiss her, but she furiously turned away from him. Chuckling, he caught her head between his hands and his mouth swooped down on hers.

Gently he ran his tongue along her little white teeth, and though she tried to deny him, the fires of her own desire were fast rising. Her hps parted with a despairing little moan, and as his tongue darted into the fragrant cavity of her mouth, she shivered beneath him. His lips moved to tenderly kiss her eyelids and then her cheeks, wet with silent tears. He stopped, and raising himself on one elbow he asked quietly, "Why can you not give yourself to me completely? Your body longs for mine, yet you deny me a full victory."

"I-I-I do not love you, my lord Cicalazade. I love my husband. In my land a woman who yields her body to a man she does not love is considered the lowest of creatures."

"But I love you. No, Incili, don't look incredulous. I speak the truth. Were I only interested in your lovely body I should not care about your feelings. But I do care. Unless I have all of you, my love, I have none of you, and that is intolerable to me." The intensity of his voice was frightening. "You will never see your husband again. You belong to me now, but I will be patient, for I want you to love me." And the sensuous mouth was again closing hungrily over hers, demanding, searing.

Unable to stop herself, Cat clung to this passionate man and felt his hands stroking her trembling body. His lips were on her breasts, bis tongue tracing tantalizing patterns, torturing the nipples into hard, hurting little peaks. The teasing tongue moved across her shrinking belly, sinking lower and lower, seeking access to her sweetness.

His tongue was like soft fire burning into her writhing body, thrusting deeper and deeper until she was mindless with the waves of pleasure sweeping over her. Then he was in her, hard and hurting, making her cry out in rapture, begging him-to her shame-not to stop.

Never in all of his life had he wanted so desperately to prolong bis own passion. She consumed him with a flame of lust unequal to anything he had ever experienced as he strove to bring her to complete fulfillment. He didn't want to stop, but then his foaming seed was pouring fiercely into her, and she cried out her joy.

But afterwards she wept again in Ins arms, sobbing against the dark mat of his broad chest. He held her tightly while one hand caressed her tawny head, soothing her. For a brief moment he understood her anguish, for he knew that if he ever lost her his own world would be meaningless. He, Cicalazade Pasha, grand vizier to Sultan Mohammed III, caught in the silken web of his beautiful, unwilling slavewoman. What irony!

The weeping had stopped and he slept, cradling her against him. Awaking in the dark of night, he sensed that she was not sleeping. "Hammid tells me," he said softly, "that you are feeling confined. Would you like to go with me tomorrow night? It is the night of the full moon, and I own a small island down the Bosporus. On it is a little kiosk with a roof that opens to the sky. Tomorrow night I will take you there, and make love to you beneath the moonlit heavens."

He felt her tremble next to him and, turning, pulled her into his arms. His lips were tender, and so was his body now as he gently took her again, delighting in her little moan of surrender. This time she did not weep afterwards, but for a few moments cuddled sweetly against him.

It was fortunate that on the following day he had no state business to attend to, for he could not keep his mind on anything but Incili. He spent part of the morning conferring with his household master about the arrangements for the evening. Late in the morning he went to see his wife.

Lateefa Sultan was a great-granddaughter of Selim I. Her grandmother had been a half-sister to Suleiman the Magnificent She was a beautiful woman who had inherited the magnificent coloring of her great-grandmother, Firousi Kadin, and the gentle disposition of her grandmother, Guzel Sultan. Her long hair was silvery blond, and her eyes a turquoise blue. She had been married to Cicalazade Pasha as a girl, and their children were now grown and gone. She lived a quiet life surrounded by every comfort, secure in the friendship of her husband. One night weekly, each Friday, he visited her bed-but it was usually to sleep, for she did not particularly care for lovemaking. Since his vast harem satisfied that part of his nature and since she had dutifully borne his children, he respected her sensibilities. They were old and good friends, the vizier and his wife.

On this bright morning he sat with her in a small kiosk overlooking the water. He looked slightly haggard and was, she thought, beginning to show his age.

"In all the years we have been together I have never asked for a favor," he said.

She smiled. "It must be a large favor you ask, since you remind me that you have never before requested one.

"As an Ottoman princess you have never had to fear the advent of another wife, for I can have no wife but you-unless, of course, you give me your permission to take another. Until now I have never wanted to take another wife."

"It is the new slave, Incili," said Lateefa calmly. "Is it not enough that you possess her body?"

"No," he replied quietly. "I want more, and I do not believe she will yield it to me until she is my wife."

"Has she said so?"

"She is ignorant of our ways. I do not think it has occurred to her that I would want her as a wife. You would like her though, Lateefa."

"So Hammid assures me," she answered him dryly. Then, looking closely at him, she said, "I am not sure that I believe my own eyes, but they tell me you are in love. Can it be that after all these years the great Cicalazade Pasha is actually in love with a mere woman? Have you finally succumbed to that tender passion?"

"Do not mock me, Lateefa." His voice was hard.

"Oh, my dearest Cica, I do not! Believe me I do not! It's just that you have always prided yourself on the careful noninvolvement of your emotions. Now, however, I see a different man. Very well, my lord. Hammid tells me I will not have to play the forgotten Gulbehar to your beloved's Kurhem, so I will give you my permission to take Incili as your second wife. When will the happy event take place?"

"Later today, before I take her to the Island of a Thousand Flowers."

"So soon, my lord?"

"I would erase the past to which she clings so tenaciously. Once she is my wife she will begin to settle down." He knelt and, taking Lateefa's hands in his, kissed them tenderly. "Thank you, my gentle dove. You have always been the most understanding of women."

Lateefa, watching him stride back across the garden, felt a wave of pity sweep over her. She had not met the woman they called Incili and yet she felt that her husband, in seeking to possess this woman, sought the moon. It was a desire he could never fulfill.

Chapter 51

YOU are to become a Muslim, Incili," said Hammid quietly.

Cat's green eyes widened. "Never!" she answered.

"Do not be foolish, my beauty," chided the eunuch. "It is but a formality. Six times a day you must kneel towards Mecca and pray. Who is to know what is in your heart but God?"

Cat thought a moment. His words made sense, and undoubtedly her great-grandmother had thought the same way, for she could not have been a sultan's favorite wife and an avowed Christian too. Besides, survival and escape were all that mattered. "Very well," she told Hammid. "I will do what you ask."

Early in the afternoon she was given a special bath of purification and brought to a women's mosque near the vizier's palace, where she automatically answered the questions put to her by the elderly muezzin. By late afternoon she was officially a convert to Mohammed.

She was not, however, aware of the fact that as soon as she returned to Cicalazade's palace the vizier signed papers making her his second wife. According to Muslim law, neither her knowledge nor her consent were necessary. Only the permission of her legal guardian was required. Hammid, who accepted a large sum of gold as her bridal gift, was that guardian.

When evening came, Cat waited impatiently for the litter that would carry her to the vizier's caique. Her small excursion of the afternoon had whetted her appetite for freedom, and she had even managed to reconcile herself to the fact that, for the present, Cicalazade Pasha owned her. She had decided to cease her resistance to him. Her objective was to return to her husband in Italy, and in order to do this she must be able to speak with the Kira family in Constantinople. She could only gain that privilege if she were trusted, and she would only be trusted if she appeared to have accepted her fate.

Not even her loyal Susan must suspect her thoughts. It was a secret she would keep to herself until her plans were completed. She started guiltily at the sound of Hammid's voice.

"You look so serious, Incili. What is it you think of, my beauty? Profound thoughts are not good for a woman."

She laughed. "You have indeed caught me, Hammid, but I think you would approve the direction of my thoughts. I have been thinking that you are right I will not say that it is easy for me, but I have decided to try to accept my fate. After all, 'tis not so terrible a fate. Perhaps in time I shall be able to love my lord Cicalazade. Do you think it will happen, Hammid? The vizier does appear to harbor some small affection for me."

Hammid could scarcely control his delight and excitement. She could not have made her decision at a better time. "I can," he said carefully, "if you will allow me, ease some of your anxiety. Will you trust me?"

"I will try," she answered him, "but what is it you would do?"

"It is an ancient form of relaxation and suggestion called hypnosis. I will place you in a trance, and suggest certain things to you. When you awaken you will be more at ease with your situation. Do not fear this, however, for if you do not wish to obey my suggestions, the hypnosis will not work. Your own strong will is your best protection."

"I trust you, Hammid," she said. "Proceed.”

The eunuch took a gold chain with a small diamond tear from about his neck. "Watch the tear, Incili." He swung it slowly before her eyes. "Is it not beautiful with its rainbow colors?" The voice was soothing and kindly. Cat felt a delicious warmth wash over her. "You must concentrate on the tear, my child, and soon you will begin to relax." The pendant swung slowly, and Cat felt her body growing languorous, her eyes heavier and heavier as they slowly closed.

"Are you asleep, Incili?"

"Yes, Hammid."

The eunuch took a pin from Ms robe and, lifting her foot, jabbed it quickly into her tender sole. She neither pulled away nor cried out, and he was satisfied that she was really in a hypnotic state. "Are you ready to submit to Cicalazade Pasha as your lord and master?”

"Yes, Hammid. I will try hard to please him."

"I am happy with you, Incili, and I want you to be happy. You have only to follow the dictates of your body, my beauty. Let your lovely body overrule your quick intellect. Lord Cicalazade loves you deeply. You have affected Mm as no woman ever has. Will you not give Mm the satisfaction of knowing that he has pleasured you?"

For a moment she was silent, as if struggling with her emotions, then her soft voice said, "Yes, Hammid, I will yield myself to my lord Cica."

The eunuch smiled, satisfied. "Thank you, my dear. I am content that you will both be very happy. One other thing, however. You must not mention to the vizier that we have had this conversation."

"I will not."

"Very well, Incili. On the count of three you will awaken refreshed, and ready to spend a night pleasing your lord, One… two. „. three."

Cat's eyes opened. "Fascinating," she said. "I slept, yet I heard you clearly, and I feel ever so much more at ease. Hammid. Thank you."

The eunuch smiled again. "Are you ready to join the vizier now?"

"Yes."

"And again tonight I compliment you on your cos-tone."

Cat smiled. She enjoyed wearing the luxurious clothing of a priveleged woman, and she took great pains with her appearance. Tonight she wore pale-pink silk shot with silver threads. Her gauze blouse was rose, her jacket edged In silver and bits of blue lapis. Her hip sash and slippers bore alternating stripes of silver and turquoise. She wore silver baubles on her arms and large drop earrings of carved turquoise.

Susan had done Cat's hair in a new fashion. Drawn back and up, the honey-colored mass was woven into one large braid with turquoise ribbons and a string of tiny seed pearls. Across the beautiful face, Hammid fastened a veil of rose gauze.

She settled herself comfortably in the litter, almost bouncing with excitement in anticipation of her outing. The bearers moved quickly through the harem corridors, out across the gardens, and down to the private marble quay where the vizier's caique awaited.

It was a graceful vessel, completely gilded, with a red lacquer design along the sides. The oars were alternately pale-blue enamel and silver, and the slaves who pulled those oars were all coal-black. Those who pulled on the silver oars wore blue satin pantaloons sashed in silver. Those Who pulled on the pale-blue oars were garbed in blue-sashed silver cloth pantaloons. The awning of the vessel was stripped in red, gold, blue, and silver, and held up by four gilded posts carved around with flowers and leaves. The silk curtains were scarlet and gold gauze, and the deck was.polished rosewood. Beneath the awning was an enormous assortment of multicolored pillows, where Cicalazade Pasha awaited.

Hammid carefully handed her from the litter into the caique. Reclining comfortably on her side, she raised her eyes to him and said in a low sultry voice, "Good evening, my lord.''

A smile lit his face. "Good evening, Incili." Turning to the oarmaster, he nodded. The caique began to pull slowly away from the quay, moving directly into the Bosporus in the direction of the Black Sea. The sun had not yet set, and she could see the sammer-green hills tumbling into the water. Behind them the sky was a riot of pinks, golds, mauves, corals, and deep purple against blue.

Cat breathed deeply and the vizier laughed. "Do not tell me that the air outside my garden smells better, beloved."

"‘Tis the smell of freedom, my lord."

His eyes were troubled, and then he said quietly, "Do not chafe so, my beautiful captive dove. Today I have changed your humble status. My wife, Lateefa Sultan, is an Ottoman princess, and I may not have other wives except with her permission."

"I thought Muslim men were allowed four wives."

"All except those wed to imperial princesses. This afternoon, however, with Lateefa's permission, I took you as my second wife." Her eyes widened. Pleased, he continued, "You are, I know, wondering how this can be. Under Muslim law neither your knowledge nor your permission was necessary. You are no longer a slave, my precious one. Are you not happy?" His face radiated pleasure as he looked expectantly at her.

The blood was pounding angrily in her ears. It took tremendous effort but she quickly caught hold of her emotions. Speaking so softly that he was forced to bend to hear her, she said, "You do me an incredible honor, my lord." She was unable to say any more for fear of betraying herself.

It was enough. He drew her into his arms, kissing the mouth that opened easily beneath his. He covered the upturned face with kisses, moving to the slim pillar of her throat and down to her breasts. Eagerly he pulled the rose gauze blouse open, tearing it in his haste. Hungrily he sucked at her nipples, each in turn, and then, laying his head against her heart, he sighed contentedly, sure that he had won her over completely.

"Tonight we begin anew, my precious Incili." His deep voice vibrated with emotion. "The past is dead, my beautiful bride. Only the present and the future will concern us. Look! The full moon is rising, and above it, Venus, the planet of the Goddess of Love! Soon we will be at the Island of a Thousand Flowers, and there in the Starlight Kiosk we will spend a night of rapture." Raising his head from her breasts, he gazed at her, little gold lights dancing in his gray-blue eyes.

She was speechless. Drawing his head back down to her breasts so he could not see her face, she suppressed the urge to scream. Furious, she wondered how her great-grandmother had managed to live so many years in a Muslim world. So neither her permission nor even her knowledge had been necessary for marriage to take place! Now she knew why Hammid had insisted on her quick conversion to Islam.

He had pretended to be her friend, lulling her into a false sense of security in order to aid his master. She would never trust him again. But she would play the game-her way, this time-and Hammid would not know it. For the time being she would be the adoring second wife of the vizier. She would not allow outrage to betray her. She would make them all think she had been pacified and tamed.

The caique was approaching the island quay, and Cat could smell flowers. "My lord Cica," she said softly, "we near our destination. I would rearrange my blouse lest the slaves see what they should not."

Sighing, he raised his head. "I could stay like this forever, beloved."

"We will soon be in our bridal chamber, my lord, and then you may resume your dozing," she teased playfully.

"Neither of us will rest this night, my wife." His voice thickened with passion, and she shivered.

The caique bumped the quay, and the vizier leaped from the vessel to tie it fast. "We will not need you until morning," he told the oarmaster. "See the rowers are made comfortable, but do not unchain them. The temptation to escape would be too great." Reaching down, he took her hand and drew her out of the boat. "I regret we must walk, my love, but I did not wish on this night of nights to be burdened with slaves."

"My lord Cica forgets that I am no pampered Eastern beauty. In my country women not only walk but ride horses too. Lead on, my lord, I follow."

They ascended the island, climbing up a flight of stairs cut into the side of the cliff, and it seemed to Cat that the island was no more than a tall rock. However, when they had reached the top, she was surprised to find herself in a beautiful, carefully tended garden in the center of which was a marble kiosk. The moonlight was so bright now that she could easily see and identify many of the flowers. There were damask roses, Gold of Ophir roses, sultan's balsam, bougainvillea, lilies, sweet night-blooming nicotiana, and moonflowers. There were trees heavy with ripening peaches and pears, and cypress, pine, and other ornamental trees were set among the small bubbling fountains.

"It's exquisite," she said honestly. "Never have I seen such a beautiful garden."

"I laid it out myself," he told her proudly. She had not discerned this side of his nature. "Like my master, the sultan, I have learned a trade. He took her hand and led her down the white gravel path towards the kiosk, set in the center of an oval reflecting pool.

The kiosk, rectangular, was of cream-colored marble, with a small pillared porch. Crossing a narrow latticework bridge, they entered the kiosk through an open wooden door studded in brass nails. Cat was stunned by the room.

Directly across from her, a wall of leaded windows looked beyond the pool, across the garden, to the moonlit sea beyond. Beneath her feet was an enormous Medallion rug woven in red, green, gold, and varying blues. On the wall to her right a silk hanging depicted a Persian garden. On the wall to her left was a door, and next to it was another silk carpet, this one showing a pair of lovers seated in their garden. In one corner of the room was a low round brass table surrounded by pillows. Gold and silver lamps burning scented oil hung from the painted and beamed ceiling.

But the major piece of furniture in the room was an enormous square bed set upon a carpeted dais in the very center of the room. It had neither a head nor a foot. Nor were there any hangings. It was simply a square platform with silken sheets and a down coverlet. On the dais near it were several small low tables of ebony, inlaid with bits of colored mosaic or iridescent mother-of-pearl. Upon the tables were carafes of golden liquid and bowls of fruit, olives, and sugared almonds.

Coming silently up behind her, he put an arm around her, one hand cupping her breast while bis thumb rubbed the nipple. "Do you like it, beloved?"

"It is all unbelievably beautiful," she answered sincerely.

"Look above the bed," he said, and she glanced up to see the ceiling roll back to reveal a glass dome, giving a magnificent view of the night sky.

She gasped. "I have never seen anything like that! How it is done?"

"By a process far too complicated for your sweet little head to comprehend, my dove," he answered, spinning her about and kissing the tip of her nose.

Cat's temper rose, but she quickly swallowed it and tipped her face up to him, inviting him to kiss her again. He brushed his mouth lightly against hers and then said, "Let us to bed, my beloved."

"May I valet you, my lord?" She moved behind him to remove the sleeveless red-and-gold brocade robe. Beneath it he wore a silk shirt embroidered in gold and silver thread, blue pantaloons trimmed with silver, a jeweled blue sash, and red leather boots. She helped him with each item of his wardrobe, unable to keep her hands from straying to the broad hairy chest. None of her lovers had been particularly hirsute, and she was fascinated by his hairiness.

Naked, he sprawled on the bed. "Disrobe for me now," he commanded her, "and do it with grace."

The leaf-green eyes looked intently at him, and he felt a tingle go through his limp member. Then her fingers gently peeled back the sleeveless jacket until she was able to shrug it off. Her fingers moved to the rose gauze blouse, loosened it, and then stopped. Instead, she removed her sash. A delightful smile lit his features as she kicked her little kid slippers off. Then, turning her back to him, she slid the blouse off. She could hear his breath becoming faster, and ragged. Loosening the drawstring on her silk pantaloons, she let them slip slowly to the rug and, stepping away from them, she turned quickly to face him.

He smiled again. “The carafe with the gold liquid, Incili. Pour us each a goblet."

She caught the scent of rich wine. Puzzled, she looked to him. "I thought liquor was forbidden the Muslim."

"The sultan drinks," he answered, "and the mufti has ruled that when a sultan takes to drink it is permissible for all to do the same, and for poets to celebrate it. In general I hold with the Koran. I neither drink nor allow it in my household. But this night, beloved, is our wedding night. We will toast each other in the sweet wines of Cyprus." He raised his goblet and said, "To you Incili, my wife. Though you be second in my house, you are first in my heart." Looking directly at her, he drained his goblet.

Cat knew she was expected to reply in kind. Raising her own goblet, she spoke softly. "To you, my lord Cica. As long as it pleases Allah that I be your wife, I will endeavor to please you." And she drank her goblet empty.

"It is not necessary for you to call me ^smy lord' in the privacy of our bedchamber, beloved. You will call me Cica, or husband. Yes! Call me husband! I have yet to hear you say it to me. Say it, Incili! Say husband!"

Silently Cat prayed, "Forgie me, Bothwell," and then, looking at Cicalazade Pasha, she said, "Husband."

His eyes burned into hers, and she felt heat sweeping over her body. He smiled at her. "You can feel the heat, can you not? Do not be afraid. Hammid has put something into the wine that will enable us to prolong our pleasure. We will go on and on this night." She shivered, terrified at the meaning behind his words. Then he stood, commanding her to kneel before him. She obeyed him, and her heart hammered wildly when he said, "Taste of me, my sweet, as I will soon taste of you."

Before her his manhood lay limp, nesting within the wiry black hair. "Obey me!" His voice demanded sharply. With trembling hand she lifted the drooping member and kissed its tip. Knowing she had no other choice, she placed it in her warm mouth, and sucked. "Allah! Allah!" he groaned with delight. After a few minutes he reached down and pulled her up. They fell onto the bed, Cat on her back. His mouth found hers, and as his kiss deepened in passion, Cat felt the burning heat pouring through her body. His touch was inflaming her and she was losing control. She suddenly wanted him desperately, and she wiggled beneath him moaning her pleasure at the long skillful fingers that teased her desire, begging him to increase his efforts, allowing him complete and unchecked freedom with her body. Hammid's posthypnotic suggestion that she obey the dictates of her body and the powerful aphrodisiac was combining to drive her to a frenzy.

As he looked down at her she whispered, "You are like a bull, my husband! A mighty black bull!"

The gray-blue eyes glittered, and he answered, "And you, beloved, are the bull's mate-a sweet little golden heifer. Quickly, my pet. Onto your hands and knees, and I shall love you as the bull does the heifer." And he turned her onto her stomach, pushing her knees up. Swiftly he mounted her, sighing happily at the warm, wet welcome of her, his hands fondling the breasts that hung, quivering. She gasped with pleasure as he rode, crying her rapture at the waves of delight washing over her. It didn't stop. He was utterly inexhaustible as he drove deeper and deeper into her, again and again, until she finally fainted.

When she regained consciousness he had turned her onto her back and was bending anxiously over her. She reached up a slim hand, touching his cheek gently, and said, "'Tis all right, Cica." And then she felt him spreading her thighs to push himself into her again. Above her the moon passed slowly over the glass dome, leaving the black sky to fade with the dawn.

Chapter 52

FRANCIS Stewart-Hepburn reached Avellino to find that the bandits who had been plaguing the district had disappeared as suddenly as they had come. Their recent presence was distressingly evident in the burned-out farm's, fresh graves, and frightened women and children.

For several days Bothwell and his men poked about. Discovering nothing, they returned to the Villa del Pesce d'Oro and found an empty house. There were six new graves in the garden.

Fortunately for the earl's sanity, the head gardener had been waiting for his master to return. Nodding to the graves, Carlo said, "Paolo, Maria, and the maids. The little May is with me. Signora la contessa and Susan were carried off. Come, my lord. The girl can tell you. She was there but escaped somehow. I know not how, for she has not spoken much since she fled to us almost three weeks ago. I think, however, that she will speak to you."

At the sight of them, May flung herself into Conall's arms weeping. "Ohhhh, Uncle Conall, 'twas terrible! The pirates carried off my mistress and Susan!"

Conall grasped the girl hard by her shoulders. "Pull yerself together, lassie, and tell us exactly what happened. Think carefully, May, and leave nothing out."

Gulping her sobs back, the girl rallied. "Susan and I were sleeping on the trundle in my lady's room while ye were away. It was Sunday dawn, and we awoke to a terrible screaming. When we ran to the windows and looked out, the garden was full of Turkish pirates! Paolo was already dead. They bashed his head in while he was cutting the herbs for the breakfast eggs. Maria and the girls had their throats cut… after the pirates were finished with them. They were r-r-r-" But she couldn't get the word out, and Bothwell put a gentle hand over her mouth.

"Don't lassie. We can imagine what happened. Tell us how you escaped. Tell us of my wife and your sister," and he withdrew his hand.

Two large tears ran down the girl's cheeks, but she began again. "My lady bid my sister and me hide in the linen chest, but Susan would not. She told my lady it dinna matter what happened to her, since she was nae a virgin. 'Twas a lie she told, my lord, for Susan is as virgin as I am!" And unable to help herself, May began to cry again.

They let her weep for a few minutes, and then Both-well said quietly, "Go on, lass. What happened next?"

"They hid me in the chest, and bid me not move until 'twas absolutely quiet, and I was sure the pirates had gone. Then I was to go to Carlo's and remain until ye returned. No sooner was the lid down than I heard the bedchamber door being smashed in, and then I heard the pirates entering. They dinna hurt my lady or Susan, but they took them away."

"Did they say anything you could understand, Susan?" asked Conall.

The girl thought a moment, then her features cleared. "Aye! The captain was very polite to my lady. He said his name was… it sounded like 'Karoteen.' He also said he had orders to take my lady to the grand vizier, Cica-something Pasha."

"Santa Maria!" gasped Carlo. He did not understand the girl's story, because she spoke in her own language, but he understood the names she spoke.

"Khair-ad-Din, my lord," he said excitedly. "Kapitan Khair-ad-Din-the namesake, and some say the grandson, of the great Kapitan Pasha of Suleiman the Magnificent! He is in the personal service of Cicalazade Pasha, the grand vizier of the Ottoman Empire."

"But what would some damned Turk want with my wife?"

Carlo looked uncomfortable. Bearers of bad tidings were never liked. Still, his lord must know. "Cicalazade Pasha is only half-Turkish. His father is the Conte di Cicala, my lord. He is also the older brother of the Contessa de LiCosa."

"I will personally kill the bitch," said Bothwell in a deadly voice.

"Not if I reach her first," said Conall quietly.

Simultaneously they turned, mounted their horses, and rode to the Conte di LiCosa's home.

As quiet as the grounds at the Villa del Pesce d'Oro had been, those at the Villa del Mare were quieter. At first Bothwell feared it deserted. But when they reached the house a servant ran out to take their horses, and another escorted them to Alfredo di LiCosa.

"I want Angela," said Bothwell with no preamble.

"You are too late, my friend. The Inquisition has her. She will burn tomorrow in the main market square of Naples."

"Have you seen her? Can she still talk? Do you know what she did? She has sent my wife into slavery in her brother's harem! I must talk with her before she dies!"

"So that was it," sighed Alfredo di LiCosa. "Her servant, Barto, was caught signaling the Turkish pirates. He implicated her, and then accused her of witchcraft, claiming that she held his soul in bondage so he was forced to do her bidding. Naturally the Inquisition heard and came for her immediately. They have been waiting for something like this, for Angela has made no secret of her contempt for the church. It was as if she'd gone mad! She laughed at them, and made no attempt to save herself. I don't think she really believed it. They didn't even bother to torture her, they simply condemned her to the stake. And she truly doesn't care."

"Where is she being kept, Alfredo?"

"In Naples at the Inquisition prison. I will go with you, Francisco, and we will get Bishop Pasquale too. He can get us the necessary permissions."

Bothwell nodded. "Tell me, Fredo, is there anything Angela is afraid of? Anything at all? I must have a lever to force her to talk with me."

"Snakes," answered the Conte di LiCosa. "Angela is terrified of snakes."

Bothwell looked to Conall and nodded. "Go back to the gardener, man."

Conall returned the nod. "Aye! I'll get them, and I'll meet you at the cross of San Genaro on the Naples road."

With his captain-at-arms gone, Bothwell turned again to the conte. "I am sorry, Fredo. I would not add to your pain. I know you love Angela. I want my wife back. If I must move heaven and hell to get her, I will!"

"You'll never see her again, Francisco. If Angela sent Caterina to Cicalazade Pasha, your wife is gone. If you could even get as far as Istanbul she would already be either dishonored or dead. Face your loss, and accept it as I am accepting mine."

"Never! Do you think I care if she's forced by another man as long as I can have her back? Do not tell me that I cannot get her back, for I can, and I will!"

The Conte di LiCosa shook his head sadly, but as he had promised, he accompanied Bothwell on his journey. First they saw Bishop Pasquale who, hearing the story, changed from his clerical robes into his riding clothes and led the way to the Naples road.

Conall was already waiting by the San Genaro cross, a small covered reed basket attached to his saddle. It was close to evening by the time they reached the city. Had the bishop not been with them Bothwell was sure they would never have been admitted to the grim black stone fortress. All the windows were barred, and smoking pitch torches lit the entrance.

Riding authoritatively up to the entrance, the bishop demanded immediate entry and speech with the prison governor. They were quickly admitted. Conall gingerly removed the basket from the pommel horn of his saddle and followed the guard into the prison. They were immediately assaulted by the odor of rotting food, of unwashed bodies, of feces and urine. A low wailing assailed their ears.

"Jesu," whispered Conall to Bothwell, "we've gone to hell!"

The earl shot him a warning look, and they were led up a twisting flight of stairs to the governor's apartment. There they were greeted by Bishop Guido Massini, the prison governor, who said to Bothwell, "I have heard of you, my lord. There was some discussion in your country regarding witchcraft… and you are a heretic, I believe."

"No, Guido," said Bishop Pasquale quietly. "Lord Bothwell, having seen the error of his ways, has returned to Holy Church. He is married to a most virtuous and devout woman. They both attend mass regularly and are extremely generous to both the church and the poor."

"I am relieved to hear it," answered the bishop, a deceptively merry-looking little man whose smiling features were belied by his icy black eyes. "What may I do for you, my lord?"

"The prisoner Angela di LiCosa, Guido. We wish to see her. She is responsible for the abduction of Lord Bothwell's wife by Turkish pirates. Before she dies tomorrow we must learn from her what instructions she gave the pirates."

Bishop Massini was most irritated. "Is there no end to that woman's infamy? Yes, of course you may see her. However, even if she will tell you, there is little hope of your getting your wife back from the infidels."

But the bishop's face softened with Bothwell's look. "But I must! I must!" he said.

"I will write the pass for you."

"For my captain-at-arms also, and we must see her alone."

The bishop looked first at Bothwell's distraught face, and then at Conall's grim one. "What is in the basket?" he asked the captain. Then, raising a fat white hand, he hurriedly said, "No. I really don't want to know." Pulling out a prewritten parchment, he scrawled the name of Angela di LiCosa in one place and his own at the bottom. Holding out the parchment to Bothwell, he said, "Come back and have a goblet of wine with me when you have your information." He turned to the other two men. "Remain here if you do not wish to accompany them."

Francis looked to Alfredo di LiCosa, who shook his head. "No. I have said my goodbyes. I do not wish to see her ever again."

Bothwell and Conall followed the guard up a flight of stairs. "She is lodged quite decently, thanks to her husband," the guard remarked conversationally. "Most of the witches are below with the water rats."

"We are to see her alone," replied Bothwell coldly. "You are to remain outside the cell. And no matter what you hear, you will remain there unless my captain or I call you."

"Makes no difference to me," came the reply. The guard stopped before a door, found the right key, and opened the door.

They stepped through into the cell and heard the door close behind them. Angela di LiCosa stood, her back to them, gazing out through the barred window. "If you're another priest, go away," she said.

She whirled about. "Francisco, caro! So there is a God." But the welcome in her eyes died in Bothwell's icy gaze.

"I have come," said the earl coldly, "because I hope that even you will want to clear your conscience before you die. Regarding the matter of my wife, what exactly did you arrange?"

Her black eyes widened, and she burst into hysterical laughter. Outside the closed door the guard shuddered at the sound. Angela wiped the damp from her eyes with a ragged sleeve. "Really, Francisco! You are simply incredible! Yes, I arranged for your wife's disposal, but she must truly have God on her side, for that idiot servant of mine was caught. So… tomorrow I die. Alas, if I cannot have you then neither can she." She laughed again, a bit ruefully this time. "You will have neither of us, Francisco, and that isn't at all what I had planned!"

"Once more, Angela. What exactly did you do with her?"

The woman regarded him with some amusement and shook her head. Francis reached out and, wrapping the soft blue-black hair around his hand, cruelly yanked her to him. "I have no time to waste, Angela. Where is she?"

The black eyes glittered viciously, but she said nothing. Using his other hand, Bothwell ripped the prison smock from the woman's body and brutally shoved her onto the straw mattress of the cell cot. Before she realized what had happened, her arms and legs were bound to the cot posts in a spread-eagled position.

"What are you doing?" she shrieked. "I will call the guard!"

"He will not answer, Angela. I have the prison governor's permission to obtain my information in any way necessary. Now, what instructions did you give your Turkish friends regarding my wife?"

She regarded him coldly for a second and then, raising her head, spat full in his face. Bothwell nodded to his captain. Conall opened the woven basket. Looking into it thoughtfully, he chose a short, plump green snake. He handed it to Bothwell, who wrapped the reptile about his hand and caressed the weaving, darting head. Sliding it off his hand, he placed it on the straw mattress between Angela's open legs.

The Contessa di LiCosa shrieked wildly. "Francisco! For the love of God! Take it away! Take it away!"

"What exactly did you do with my wife?"

She strained against her bonds, her black eyes dark mirrors of terror, but still she would not answer him. He could see the pounding of her heart in her chest. The snake uncurled itself and began to move slowly towards her. She screamed again, a long wailing moan of animal fear.

"It goes for the warmth and moistness of you, Angela. Soon it will seek the darkness of your womb, where so many have been before it. And when it is safely up inside you wriggling around, I shall take another from the basket, and another, and another… until your belly is a nest of snakes. Can you feel them inside you already, Angela? Does it feel good, my dear?" The cruel eyes bore pitilessly down at her. For the briefest moment, amazement at his cruelty overcame her fear. But then the fear returned tenfold, slamming into her so fiercely that for a moment she couldn't draw a breath.

Finally she was able to gasp, "I sent her to my brother! Take that reptile away! I will tell you all! Only take it away!"

Casually Bothwell lifted the snake from the mattress and dropped it back into its container. "Talk then, you bitch, or I'll shove the entire basket up you!"

"I sent your precious bride to my brother, Cicalazade Pasha, the sultan's grand vizier. He is quite a connoisseur of beautiful women, and his prowess is legendary. She is not there yet, Francisco, but she will be soon. Then Cica's head eunuch will have her bathed and perfumed, and he will lead her to my brother, where she will be stripped naked for his inspection. When he has seen her-for I admit that she is beautiful-he will pleasure himself on her body."

"You bitch." snarled Bothwell.

Angela di LiCosa laughed. "You will never see her again! She is lost to you! Soon she will lie beneath my brother, moaning her desire." She lowered her voice to an intimate level. "They say he is a bull, and he will teach her to please him. You will have nothing but a memory, and the knowledge that another man is fucking her!" Angela's voice now became silky soft, and caressing. "Think of it, Francisco. Her tawny hair spread upon the pillows, her firm white legs eagerly open to receive her master's swollen manhood. She will beg for his favors! Living in a harem of a hundred other beauties, she will compete for his attentions as eagerly as any of them!"

The savagery of her words ripped into him, and Both-well rose from the edge of the cot, his face a mask of pain and anguish. Crossing the cell, he pulled the door open and exited. Slowly Conall moved to stand beside the condemned woman. For a moment he stood staring silently down at her. Angela was frightened, for this man did not regard her nakedness with desire. This one showed no emotion whatsoever. "You are a wicked woman," he said quietly, "but do not think that you have won. We will bring her safely back to us. I have not watched over her since she was a child to see her end this way."

Bending, he took his knife and cut through the con-tessa's bonds. And before she realized what he was doing, he lifted the basket of green snakes and dumped them in her lap.

As he left the cell he smiled wolfishly, hearing the shrieks behind. "Lock it up again," he commanded the guard. "It's not to be opened again until morning."

Conall More-Leslie was not surprised,, the following day, to hear that the Devil had come for the soul of Angela di LiCosa during the night, leaving her body and half a dozen green garden snakes as a memento of his visit. The crowd gathered to see a live Angela executed was disappointed. The body was tied to the waiting stake and burned to ashes, giving the cheering crowd a small satisfaction.

Chapter 53

CONALL More-Leslie allowed the Earl of Bothwell exactly twenty-four hours to wallow in his grief. Then he dragged Francis to a bathhouse in the Turkish quarter of Naples, where two burly bath attendants scrubbed the drunken man down. Next he was put into a hot steam room until every pore was open and running freely. Then he was sloshed with scented tepid water and allowed to sleep on a marble bath bench in a slightly less volcanic steamroom. Awakened after an hour with a cup of boiling Turkish coffee, he vomited up most of the wine he had imbibed and was then taken into another tepidarium to be shaved and bathed again. Lastly he was dressed in his own fresh, clean clothes, which Conall had brought with them. His old clothes were burned. Finally he was bowed back out into the street, where his captain waited.

Bothwell was so weakened that he could barely mount his horse, and he cursed Conall roundly. Conall simply said, "I've found a tavern several streets over owned by an Englishman who knows how to cook beef decently," and led the way to La Rosa Anglo. A table in a private room awaited them. The landlord, himself from the north of England, served them slices of hot half-raw roast beef dripping its bloody juices onto great slabs of Yorkshire pudding. The table held a pottery bowl of artichokes in oil and vinegar, a tub of sweet butter, and a hot round loaf of crusty bread. The flagons were filled to the brim with foaming brown ale, at the sight of which Bothwell's eyebrows shot up.

The tavern keeper grinned toothily. "Aye, me lord! October ale it is! I makes it and casks it meself each year. 'Tis no easy task in this place!"

Bothwell sat down. He didn't feel particularly hungry, but suddenly the scent of the beef began to work its magic on him and he reached for the salt. Half an hour later he pushed back his chair and said, "Thank you, Conall."

The captain nodded. "I've taken the liberty," he said, "of asking Master Kira to see you. He'll be waiting for us now, my lord."

"Can he help?"

"Possibly, my lord. The Kiras' main banking branch and their family head are both located in Istanbul."

Bothwell rose and paid the landlord. The man gaped at the generous coin in his hand. "Thank ye, sir," he babbled. "Anytime we can serve the border lord, we're proud to do so!"

But Bothwell had already mounted and was riding towards the Jewish section of the city, and Pietro Kira's house. Conall smiled, pleased that he had roused the earl from self-pity. They reached the Kira dwelling and were quickly ushered into the best salon. Servants hurried in with wine and biscuits.

Then came Pietro Kira, elegant in a long, fur-trimmed black gown, a large gold chain and pendant hanging about his neck and shoulders. He grasped Lord Bothwell's hand, saying, "I am so sorry to receive you under these circumstances, my lord. Let us sit down. You will tell me everything that you know."

The earl repeated what he had learned from young May, and from Angela di LiCosa. "Yes," nodded the banker, "we knew all of that, but it is good to have it confirmed. We have already sent a message to the head of the family in Istanbul. Do not be afraid for your wife, my lord. She has friends about her, and when the time is right we will contact her. She is a brave and resourceful lady."

"I would go to Istanbul as soon as possible, Signor Kira."

"Indeed you would, my lord, but you must not. At least not yet. Not until we have ascertained that the countess has arrived, is safe, and has been contacted by our people. For you to show up in the sultan's capital demanding your wife's return would be absolutely fatal to you and possibly also to your wife.

"Sultan Mohammed is a strange man given to alternating moods of great kindness and unbelievable cruelty. He is deeply fond of his vizier. If Cicalazade Pasha is taken with your beautiful wife and you arrive to demand her back, you could find yourself quickly dead, my lord. Let us move slowly and carefully. The countess is quite safe. It would not serve Cicalazade Pasha's purpose to hurt her."

"But how will I get her back, Pietro Kira? How?"

"When we know what we must regarding your wife's position, then we can plan, my lord. It may be possible to ransom her. More likely, we will have to abduct her. In the meantime, please return to your home and wait to hear from me. And, my lord, I think you should know that your wife's monies are at your complete disposal. Prior to her arrival here in Naples she arranged with the House of Kira that you and your children should inherit her wealth should anything befall her."

Bothwell looked pained. "I cannot touch a penny-piece of her money," he said.

Conall said quietly, "Ye'll need gold for the running of the household, my lord. Why not simply have all the bills sent to Signor Kira? He will keep a strict accounting. I know ye would ne'er take her wealth for yourself. But lord, man, yer her husband, and she'd nae thank me if I let ye starve to death afore she comes home!"

Bothwell nodded sadly, absently. "Whatever ye think is right, Conall. I leave it to ye."

Conall turned again to the banker. "Your messengers are swifter than ours, sir. Will you see that the young Earl of Glenkirk is informed that my lady's children are to remain safely with him until further notice? She had sent a message asking that they be sent out to her, but now, of course, 'tis impossible."

"We will see to it, captain," said Pietro Kira, already thinking about the message he would be sending to his uncle in the Ottoman capital.

Istanbul was the home of the Kira family. Once a small merchant family of Jews, they had, thanks to their matriarch Esther Kira, risen to become one of the most powerful banking houses in all of Europe and Asia.

Esther Kira had been born in 1490. At six, she and her small brother, Joseph, were orphaned and taken into the house of their father's oldest brother. At twelve, Esther was peddling hard-to-obtain merchandise to the harem ladies of the rich. At sixteen, she was allowed entry to the imperial harem, and at twenty, her family's fortune was made when she met Cyra Hafise, mother of Suleiman the Magnificent. When Sultan Suleiman ascended the throne in 1520, Esther Kira and her family were forever exempted from the paying of taxes for services rendered the crown. No one, including Esther's family, ever knew what those services were, but it would have been unthinkable to question the imperial word.

Considered of value now by her uncle, Esther was married off to his younger son. When her only brother-in-law died childless, it was Esther's sons who inherited the now-great banking house. That was only just, since it was Esther's efforts that had brought the Kiras their stunning success.

Just as Esther had been a favorite of Suleiman's mother, she became the favorite of Suleiman's favorite wife, Khurrem Kadin. and of Selim II's favorite, Nur-U-Banu, and of Murad I’ll's favorite, Safiye. Safiye was the mother of the present sultan. Esther Kira was now in her hundred and eighth year, showed no signs of slowing down, and enjoyed nothing more than a good intrigue. The times, she often complained, were not nearly as exciting as they had once been.

The current head of the House of Kira was Esther's fifty-three-year-old grandson, Eli, eldest son of her eldest son, Solomon, who had recently died in his mid-eighties. Eli Kira was confused as to what Cousin Pietro expected of him. He had, after all, never even slightly circumvented the law. let alone contemplated breaking it entirely by stealing a woman from someone else's harem. Obedient, however, to the lesson drummed into him since childhood, he immediately consulted with his grandmother.

The once lustrous dark hair was now snow-white, but the currant-black eyes had lost none of their sparkle. Had Cat's great-grandmother Cyra Hafise still been alive, she would easily have recognized her old friend. "I will," she told her worried grandson, "pay a call upon Lateefa Sultan. If this woman is indeed in the harem of Cicalazade Pasha, the princess will know." She chuckled richly. "And if this woman is anything like my lady Cyra…" She stopped, and the chuckle became a cackle of laughter. "Aiiiiii! May Yahweh have mercy on the poor vizier!" This information did nothing to reassure Eli Kira of the wisdom of his course, but he was a man of scrupulous honor, and his family's success was due to this woman's family. Therefore he owed her, and he would pay the debt.

Lateefa Sultan was delighted to see Esther Kira. "It has been much too long," she said, settling the old woman comfortably, and directing the slavewomen to bring sweet sherbets and the sticky paste candy that she remembered Esther loved.

"I am old beyond time, my child," said Esther Kira, "and it is not often I go to see friends. My strength is not as it once was."

Lateefa Sultan cocked her head to one side. "You know that I am delighted you are here," she said, "yet I do not fool myself that you have expended your precious strength on a mere social call."

The old woman nodded. "A new woman has recently been introduced into your husband's harem."

"There are many new women, Esther. They come weekly."

"Do not play word games with me, my child. I was old before you were born. You know the one of whom I speak."

"Incili," said Lateefa quietly. "I am quite sure you mean Incili."

"What do you know of this woman, my princess?"

"Very little, Esther. She was sent to my lord by his sister. He is besotted with her." Here Lateefa paused a moment. "It is not common knowledge yet, Esther, but Cicalazade Pasha has-with my permission, of course-taken Incili as his second wife."

Esther Kira sucked in her breath sharply. "Then it must be she whom I seek. Will you introduce me to her, Lateefa Sultan?"

"Who is she, Esther? How do you know of her?"

As they were alone, Esther decided to take the princess into her confidence. She would need her aid. "She was born a noblewoman in her own land," said the old lady. "Her first husband was a great lord of their country, her second a greater lord. She is beloved by her own king, who wanted her for his mistress. She is admired by the French king, who would have been delighted had she remained at his court. And more, Lateefa Sultan. What I would tell you now must remain a secret even from the Lord Cicalazade. Do you agree to it?" The princess nodded. "Your husband's second wife is a great-granddaughter of Cyra Hafise herself. Eighty years ago I smuggled the youngest of Cyra Hafise's and Selim I's sons, Prince Karim, out of the Eski Serai. I put him aboard a ship bound for Scotland. He was accompanied by my brother, Joseph.

"The little prince was six years old, and the last of Selim's sons other than his full older brother, Suleiman. Cyra Hafise was afraid that the child would be a rallying point for malcontents when her husband died and Suleiman ascended the throne. She did not want him killed. Though Suleiman loved his little brother, he would eventually have had to dispose of the boy if his own reign was to stay trouble-free.

"An epidemic of plague struck the city that summer, and Cyra Hafise and I arranged that it appear the little prince had the disease. She took him into isolation. After several days I smuggled the dead body of a child the same size as Prince Karim to her, and I took the living child out the same way. The long-decayed bones resting in the grave of Prince Karim are those of a poor, nameless boy.

"And that, my child, is why the Kiras were exempted from paying taxes when Sultan Suleiman became our ruler. Neither he, nor his father, nor anyone else in this land knew that Prince Karim lived. And in Cyra Hafise's homeland of Scotland, only my brother, Joseph, a priest, and Cyra Hafise's brother and father knew the child's true parentage."

Lateefa's eyes were wide in amazement, and old Esther Kira laughed. "There is more, my child! That was just the beginning of the intrigue. If you were to open the coffin of the great Cyra Hafise herself, you would find naught but stones! Twice Suleiman's favorite wife, Khurrem-may Allah curse her memory-tried to poison my dear lady. My lady Cyra knew but two ways to stop her. Either she had to go, or Khurrem had to go. Cyra Hafise's one weakness was that she loved her son too well. She feigned her own death, and returned to her homeland. Before she did so, however, she told Sultan Suleiman that he must be on his guard against Khurrem in the future. He wept and made a great protest at her secret going, but he heeded her not. Khurrem was later responsible for the deaths of Suleiman's two best sons-Prince Mustafa and Prince Bajazet. This left the misfit Selim II to inherit the Ottoman Empire.

"Do you know the day when Cyra Hafise actually died? On the very same day that Sultan Suleiman did! And Incili is a great-granddaughter of Cyra Hafise and Sultan Selim, and a granddaughter of Prince Karim, as you are a great-granddaughter of Firousi Kadin and Sultan Selim, and a granddaughter of Guzel Sultan." The old woman cackled and nodded her head. "Lateefa Sultan and Incili share more than a husband!"

"Does she know of her imperial ancestry, Esther?"

"I do not know that, my princess, but I would imagine she knows at least some of it."

"Then why has she not spoken?"

"Possibly because she was not sure how to use the information. She has probably not yet decided how to escape from here."

"Escape? Good heavens, Esther! Why would she want to escape from here? My lord is madly in love with her, and she has every luxury money can buy."

"She does not have her freedom, my child. In her land women are free to roam as they please. As for luxury, she is a fabulously wealthy woman in her own right. But most important of all… when she was stolen away she was a bride of two months, wed to a man she has loved deeply for many years. He reciprocates her feelings, and it has been all my nephew in Naples can do to keep him from coming with a rescue force to retrieve her. You must help me to aid her in escaping, Lateefa Sultan."

"I would never deliberately do anything to harm my lord Cica. He loves Incili as he has never loved anyone -even me. I do not want him hurt."

"Listen to me, my child. If Incili is one-tenth the woman her great-grandmother was, she will try to escape. She will die trying rather than be separated forever from her true husband. Will that not hurt your lord Cica more? He is a proud man, and if he is openly scorned by this woman, it will hurt him more. Until now you have held the place of honor in your husband's heart and household. But if Incili remains, he will soon put her above you. Your royal family will be publicly shamed, which means the sultan will become involved. Who knows what he will do?"

Lateefa Sultan looked wretchedly uncomfortable for a moment. Then she clapped her hands and a slave entered. "Go to the lady Incili, and tell her that Lateefa Sultan has an old friend visiting whom she would like to present to her."

When the slave had left the room, Lateefa turned to Esther Kira. "I have met her only once, but she is charming. I know that Cica will not accept a ransom for her. I have never seen him this way about any woman. He bitterly resents any time spent away from her."

"And how do you think she feels?" asked the old woman.

"In public she is quite reserved, but obedient. How she behaves in the privacy of her bedchamber I do not know. She has made no effort to make friends with anyone, and will be served only by her own servant, who came with her. The other women of the harem are fearfully jealous of her. She is extravagantly beautiful, Esther. She even makes me a little jealous."

Esther Kira smiled a little smile of remembrance. "Her great-grandmother," she said, "was the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. Her hair was the most fantastic red-gold, and her eyes were green-gold! Sultan Selim worshipped her and, strangely, his other three wives loved her too. Ahhh, my child! Those were the good days! Sultan Selim's four kadins were unselfish women, devoted to the preservation of the dynasty and the empire. Not like those creatures living in the Yeni Serai today who scheme for themselves alone.

"It began, you know, with that wicked Khurrem, and continues right down to the sultan's own mother, Safiye, who today fights with not only her son's favorite, but her grandson's as well! The sultans were once strong, and great warriors even as your own husband, Cicalazade Pasha. It is wicked wives and mothers who have ruined them!" the old woman finished passionately.

As her words died, the door to the apartment opened and a woman entered. She nodded pleasantly to the princess, saying, "Good afternoon, Lateefa Sultan. I have come at your request, and I thank you for including me in your party." Then the green eyes settled on Esther Kira, widened for a moment, and then grew puzzled. The visitor said softly, "But it cannot be."

"But it is!" the old woman chortled triumphantly. "I am one hundred and eight years old, great-granddaughter of Cyra Hafise. She must have described me very well if you recognize me."

"You are really Esther Kira?"

"Yes, child, I am. And Lateefa Sultan is your cousin, for she is the great-granddaughter of my lady Cyra's dearest friend, Firousi Kadin, who was your mutual great-grandfather's second wife. Come, my daughters, you must be friends-as they were."

The two younger woman looked at each other for a moment, and then Lateefa held out her hands to Cat. "Come, Incili. If I am to help you we should be friends, and trust one another."

Cat took the two hands in her own. "I have been very frightened," she said. "Now I no longer need be, knowing that I have friends. Thank you, Lateefa, and you also, Esther Kira."

"Ah, child," said Esther Kira, "how much like my lady Cyra you are when you smile. But otherwise, I should not know you."

"They say I look like my great-grandmother's mother," she replied.

The three women sat down around a low table, and the old lady leaned forward. "Your husband, my dear, is still safe in Naples, though restraining him and your captain-at-arms has not been easy. If you will please write and reassure him I will see that the letter is safely delivered. We have yet to come up with a plan for your escape. But, be patient. We will."

"My tiring woman was captured with me, Esther, and she must return with me. I cannot leave her behind."

Esther Kira shrugged philosophically. "One is impossible, two is only slightly more impossible."

Suddenly the doors flew open and Cicalazade Pasha strode into their midst. Lateefa and Cat rose quickly and bowed prettily. "Esther Kira!" boomed the vizier. "They told me you had ventured out, old friend. What brings you to my house?"

"I came to see the new beauty who has won your crusty heart, my lord. And Lateefa Sultan tells me the rumors in the city are true. You have taken a second wife. I have spent a pleasant time this afternoon being cosseted by your wives and having a good gossip."

The vizier beamed and put a possessive arm about each of the two young women. "The sultan himself would envy me my luck, eh, Esther? Is my Lateefa not sweet?" The princess gazed adoringly at her husband, who glanced fondly but briefly at her before turning hungry eyes on Cat. "And is my Incili not a rare and perfect jewel?"

Esther Kira saw the steel in the smile Cat turned on Cicalazade Pasha, and the tenseness of her body. This woman is a survivor, she thought to herself. We will get her safely to her husband.

She signaled to a slave, who helped her to her feet. "I must go, my dears. It has been a lovely visit." She turned to the vizier. "You will let your wives come to visit with me, will you not, my lord?"

"Of course, Esther, of course! In fact, I believe my Incili would enjoy being able to visit in the city. She chafes at confinement, don't you, my dove?"

"A bit, my lord Cica," came the soft-spoken reply.

"Then I will tell Hammid you both have my permission to shop and visit in the city whenever you want- provided, of course, that you go in a closed litter, and are chaperoned." Though he spoke to them both he saw only Cat. "Come. Incili," he said, "I desire your presence." He looked again at Esther. "You honor my house, my friend. Thank you for coming. Lateefa will arrange a proper escort for you. Come, Incili!" And he and Cat were gone.

Alone, Lateefa said softly, "You see how he is, Esther? He is wild for her. He will spend the rest of this afternoon, the evening, and the entire night in her company. Only a summons from the sultan will move him from her side."

"She does not love him, my princess. She endures the situation so that she may survive and escape. She is made of the same steel as Cyra Hafise. I see determination in her eyes, and the same firm set of the mouth as my dear lady had."

Lateefa sighed. "She is so very beautiful. It is no wonder Cica loves her."

"Beauty, pash!" snorted the old woman. "Beauty is a flower that fades quickly, my child. If the vizier loves her only for her beauty then he is a fool. Like her great-grandmother, Incili is a many-faceted woman. Besides, you are the image of Firousi Kadin, my dear, and she was considered as lovely as Cyra Hafise. Now, child, I really must go. Help me to my litter."

And leaning on Lateefa Sultan, Esther Kira made her way out of the courtyard.

Chapter 54

WITHIN the privacy of her bedchamber or his, the grand vizier insisted that his second wife be completely naked. Her tawny gold hair was pulled back and braided in one large braid, the hair mixed with jeweled ribbons. She was permitted to wear her thin gold and silver bracelets and anklets. She was expected to serve him unquestioningly in all his desires. She did so, quietly aware that this was the key to her survival. Outwardly sweet and calm, Cat raged inwardly at every humiliation. This sudden thrusting of her person into an age where women counted less than horses was a terrible shock.

When Cicalazade Pasha desired Incili, all the other slaves were instantly dismissed from his presence. He particularly enjoyed having her serve him in his bath. There she was expected to join him in the warm water, gently bathing his entire body with sweet soaps. Afterwards they rubbed one another's bodies with scented oils. These sessions generally ended as one might expect.

Cat, far from flattered, could not help but feel denigrated by the vizier's unquenchable desire. The fact of his keeping her nude was offensive, as well as a blatant invitation to his lust. He was insatiable, often taking her three and four times in a single night. Only her indomitable spirit and her passionate desire to escape kept Cat unbroken.

Most important to Cat was her friendship with Lateefa Sultan. The knowledge that they were cousins descended from Selim I and that their great-grandmothers had been the best of friends invited their own friendship. Lateefa told Cat stories she had heard from her grandmother, Guzel, stories of Guzel's childhood. Then the wives and children of Prince Selim lived above the shores of the Black Sea in a palace known as the Moonlight Serai. There was a feeling of love to these stories. Respect for Cyra Hafise was also evident in them.

"I wish I had known her," said Lateefa. "Grandmother Guzel and her sister, my Aunt Hale, always spoke of her with such love. She treated them as she treated her own daughter, Nilufer Sultan."

"I knew her," said Cat. "She died when I was a child of four, but I remember a beautiful and imperious old lady whose many grandchildren, grandnieces and grandnephews always deferred to her. In the great hall of Glenkirk Castle there is a large portrait of her, painted just before she came to Turkey. It was always difficult for me to reconcile the painting of that beautiful, proud young girl with the imperious, elegant old woman."

Lateefa's eyes sparkled mischievously, and she leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "Our religion forbids the painting of the human form but Firousi Kadin was an artist of some talent. She painted many little portraits of the family, and when she died she passed them on to her daughter, my grandmother Guzel, who passed them on to me. Come-I will show you!" She clapped her hands and said to the slave who answered her summons, "Fetch the red lacquer chest at the bottom of the large brassbound cedar chest."

When the small chest was carefully placed in her lap, Lateefa opened it reverently. The box was divided into several trays. Lateefa gently lifted a piece of velvet from the top tray, revealing six oval miniatures. There were two men and four women. Cat recognized her own great-grandmother and her best friend, Firousi Kadin, whose great-granddaughter Lateefa was her image.

The princess smiled. "Beautiful, weren't they? The Chinese is Zuleika Kadin, Selim Fs third wife. The tempestous-looking girl with the amber-gold eyes is Sarina Kadin, his fourth wife. The younger of the men is Sultan Suleiman, Cyra's eldest son. The older man is Sultan Selim I."

Cat stared at these people and at their offspring, whose miniatures were hidden in the subsequent trays. She was particularly enchanted with the chubby-cheeked toddler whom she learned was Prince Karim-her grandfather, Charles Leslie, the first Earl of Sithean! Born and raised a Scot, Cat had never even considered this small part of her heritage, yet there was no denying. that her maternal grandfather had been born an Ottoman prince even if he had lived most of his life as a Scot. She had just as much right to the title "Sultan" after her name as Lateefa had, though no one would ever know that fact.

"It is so strange," said Cat, "for me to realize that some of these people are also my ancestors."

"Knowing it, dearest Incili, can you not be happy with us?"

Cat sighed patiently. Her cousin was such a child. "Lateefa," she said quietly, "I am no child as Cyra was when she came to this land. Behind me are my second husband, for whom I defied my own king, and my nine children. I cannot simply dismiss these people from my heart. I do not love Cica. I love my true husband, Lord Bothwell.

"You, who do love the vizier, and have been his wife for so many years, should want only the best for him. Help me to escape, my cousin! Help me to return to my own lord! How would you feel if you were stolen from Cica, and forced to be wife to another? Do you know that the vizier always keeps me naked in his presence? That I am allowed to wear only ribbons and baubles?"

Lateefa flushed a delicate rose. Her voice was a whisper. "I did not know, Incili. He has ever been the sensualist. 'Tis why I never minded when he gathered a large harem. The others sated his appetite, so that after our children were born I was relatively free of his demands. I do not enjoy such things. Do you?"

"Only with my true lord, and then very much. Each time I must pretend to submit to our lord Cica it pains me. I feel less a real woman, more a doll, a thing."

Lateefa nodded, and then confided to Cat, "Once several years ago, Cica and my cousin, Sultan Mohammed, had a contest to see how many virgins they could take within the period of one day. Mohammed won, deflowering twenty-four helpless girls. Cica, however, was but one behind him, so they decided the real winner would be he who had impregnated the most girls. The sultan won with sixteen ripe maidens. Only nine of Cica's girls bore children.

"Lateefa, please!" Cat protested. "Let us visit Esther Kira tomorrow. I must plan my escape or I shall go mad. And see if our friend Hammid can find some tempting young charmers to divert Cica from my bed- even if only occasionally!"

The princess nodded sympathetically, and on the following day the vizier's two wives honored the Kira house with a visit. There Cat was able to write a brief note to Francis, assuring him of her safety, her love for him, and her desire to be speedily reunited with him. She saw the note dispatched, and then, turning to Esther, she asked, "Have you come up with a plan for my escape yet, Esther Kira?"

"Possibly, but your husband will have to come to Istanbul to aid us in our plan." She looked to Lateefa. "Go into the garden, my child. When Cicalazade Pasha asks you if you know how Incili escaped, I should prefer you to answer honestly that you do not know."

The princess nodded her agreement and gratitude, and left them alone. "I would," the old woman continued, "have your husband come to us traveling the same route you will return by. If it is familiar to him it will be easier later. Your pursuers will not expect you to travel overland. So you will do just that, at least partway.

"You will leave by small boat, and go down the Sea of Marmara through the Dardanelles into the Aegean Sea. Once there you will cross to the island of Lemnos, and from there to Thessaly. You will enter the Peneus River at its mouth, and travel upstream to its source in the mountains. When you can go no farther on the Peneus you will continue on foot across the hills to the Aous River, where a second boat will await you. You will then sail it all the way downstream into the Adriatic Sea, and cross over to Italy. Both these rivers run through sparsely populated areas, and except for two small towns on the Peneus you should encounter no one. There is always danger of recapture, however, for you travel exclusively within the boundaries of the Ottoman Empire until you land in Italy. If you are caught it will mean death."

"Better death with Bothwell than life with Cicalazade Pasha," said Cat fiercely. "When, Esther Kira? When?"

The old woman shook her head. "I never expected to meet another like Cyra Hafise. What do they feed you in that wild land of your birth, Incili, that makes its women so determined?"

Cat smiled slowly, the smile lighting her face with savage joy. "They feed us freedom, Esther Kira. Large doses of pure freedom, self-reliance, and independence! Now… when? When will I be able to shake the dust of this land from my slippers?"

"Patience, child! First we must smuggle your husband and his man into Constantinople. Then we must keep them hidden here, and wait for the right moment. When it arrives you must come at once, bringing nothing but your servant. What you need we will supply."

"You will tell me when he is safely here, Esther?"

"No, my child, I will not. If you knew you could not play the part of the vizier's loving second wife. I will contact you when it is time to make good your escape."

Cat felt the tears prick at her eyelids, and she swallowed back the lump in her throat. "You are right," she admitted. "I would not endanger him." Then a thought struck her. "Esther, where did my great-grandmother live when her son became sultan?"

"In the Eski Serai, the old palace. But it is in disrepair, and damaged by fire. No one has lived there since the time of Selim II. Why do you ask?"

"Are the rooms in which my great-grandmother lived still there?"

"Yes, child. The rooms were sealed by order of her son at the time of her 'official' death. Twenty-four years ago there was a terrible fire in the Eski Serai, but her apartments were in the Forest Court, separated from the rest of the harem, and the fire never reached there."

"I would go there, Esther Kira! In the rush of her secret departure, Cyra Hafise left something behind that was very precious to her. I know where it is, and I want it!"

The old lady's eyes sparkled. "I will take you there myself, child. I have not seen the Eski Serai since the great fire, and I have not been in Cyra Hafise's apartments in over fifty years. Once more before I die I would revisit my youth. Go into the garden and fetch Lateefa Sultan. We will never get away from the overvigilant Osman without her. Do you mind if she comes with us?"

"Not as long as she will agree that, should I find what I seek, it is mine."

"She will agree."

When Lateefa Sultan heard of what Cat and old Esther Kira planned she clapped her hands enthusiastically. "I have never been in the Eski Serai," she told them. "My grandmother lived outside it after her marriage, and my father was born in Guzel's house, not the palace."

"Who was your mother?" asked Cat.

"My mother was Aisha Sultan, the daughter of Cyra Hafise's only daughter, Nilufer, sister to your grandfather."

"Then we are doubly related," said Cat, surprised. "Why did you not tell me? What I seek could rightfully belong to you as a great-grandchild of Cyra Hafise."

"No, my cousin. Whatever you seek, you have the stronger claim, since you descend through the male line while I descend from the female. The right is yours, and besides-" the lovely turquoise eyes twinkled-"I somehow think Cyra would want you to have whatever it is. You are surely more like her than I am. Now let us go and fend off the diligent Osman so our visit may be a private one."

In the courtyard of the house, Esther Kira settled herself comfortably in her own large litter while the bearers stood ready. In the second litter Cat sat listening while Lateefa ordered their chaperon to remain behind.

"Master Kira is supplying us with a dozen guards," she told the eunuch. "Esther Kira and T would show Incili where my great-grandmother lived. There is no need for you to go. Stay and continue your visit with your friend, Ali."

Torn between duty and the very pleasant time he was having with the Kira family's head eunuch, Osman hesitated. As he did so, Cat slid from the Utter, her leafgreen eyes narrowing dangerously above her gossamer veil.

"Insect!" she hissed at him. "How dare you disobey my lady Lateefa Sultan? If you do not return inside the house this instant I shall tell my lord Cica of your insolence towards his first wife. He will have you beaten to death for your rudeness!" And turning her back on him she smiled wickedly at Lateefa, who was struggling to hold back her laughter. The frightened eunuch turned ashen and then fled into the house.

As the two women settled themselves into the litter, Lateefa chuckled softly. "You may have been born a Scot, my Western cousin, but there is Ottoman in you. And it shows!"

"When the enemy hesitates, Lateefa, never give him a chance to regroup either his thoughts or his forces.’Tis an old highland battle tactic."

The two litters were swiftly carried through the noisy streets until, as the noise began to fade, Cat could feel the bearers straining uphill. Finally they stopped. Leaning over, Lateefa drew the curtains aside. Stepping out, she offered a hand to Cat, who quickly joined her cousin.

Before them stood the fire-racked ruins of the once-great palace which had long ago crowned one of Constantinople's seven hills. Below them, sparkling in all its late-afternoon glory, was the Golden Horn. They saw the city itself and, off in the distance, both the Yeni Serai and the blue Bosporus. For a moment the three women stood transfixed, then Esther Kira said, "Come, my children, and I will show you the Forest Court where the great Cyra Hafise once lived." She signaled to two of the guards to follow them. "They can hear, but are mute," she said with a crafty smile. "They can say nothing of what they see or hear."

They followed the old woman around the crumbling walls of the Eski Serai until they came to a small iron gate overgrown with weeds. Here Esther stopped and said to their escort, "Cut the growth just enough so that we may pass, but not enough to cause notice in anyone else passing by."

"What if the gate is locked?" asked Lateefa.

"It should be, my dear, but I was entrusted with a key which will-after all these years-probably still work." So saying, she stepped forward and carefully tried the cobwebbed lock. After a moment of jiggling the cranky lock turned with a creeking noise. The rusted hinges protesting, the gate slowly opened. "Remain here," Esther commanded their mutes, and then she walked slowly into what had once been the garden of Cyra Hafise. The area was waist-high in ferns, weeds, and autumn flowers. They overran the once neat boundaries of their original beds and the mossy brick walks. The garden had been carefully tended until the fire of 1574. But now the hedges-untrimmed these last twenty-four years-stood like high green walls along the gravel paths. To the amazement of the three women, the fountains were still operable, and filled with not only water lilies gone wild, but enormous goldfish as well.

"Where does the water come from?" asked Cat.

"It is pumped underground from one of the old Byzantine or Roman aqueducts. This was originally an imperial palace when Mohammed the Conqueror took the city from the Byzantines. Ah, there is the Forest Court of Cyra Hafise."

Cat shivered suddenly. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected to be in Istanbul, let alone in the very palace from which her great-grandmother-that imperious old woman-had secretly ruled an empire. This was one of the places where Cyra had been young, beautiful, and very much loved by a great sultan. Cat had never before thought of Cyra in this way, the memory of the old woman being too strong. Awestruck, she followed Lateefa as Esther Kira opened a door into the building and stepped through into a dust-covered, cobweb-laden room.

All was still. Cat shivered again, feeling about her the ghosts of the past. Beside her Esther Kira stood lost in memory.

As Cat's eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, they sought and quickly found the tile fireplace wall. Walking over to it, she carefully looked for the thistle tile mentioned by her son. Finding it, she gently pressed the tile, and it fell into her hand. Without a moment's hesitation she reached into the opening, smiling as her fingers found and curled about a hard object in a soft, rotting velvet bag. Drawing it forth, she opened the bag, drew the pendant out, and triumphantly held it high. "Do your old eyes recognize this, Esther Kira?" And she danced over to the old woman, holding the pendant out to her.

Esther Kira nodded and smiled with remembrance. "The pendant made by Selim I himself to celebrate the birth of his first child, Sultan Suleiman! Look on the back. Here is his tugra. Why did she not take it with her, Incili? She prized it above all her jewels."

"In the rush of departure, young Ruth missed it They did not even realize it was not among her things until they reached Scotland. My eldest son gave me a copy of the pendant this New Year's. Since I am here, I thought I should like to retrieve the original. I would like you to keep it for me, Esther, or better yet send it to the Kira bank in Rome for me. When I escape I should not like to be encumbered with such a valuable jewel."

"You are wise to trust me with it, Incili. If it were found among your things it would be difficult to explain. I will wager that the vizier does not give you enough pin money to account for such an expensive toy!"

"Let me see it," asked Lateefa softly. And she reverently took it from the old woman's gnarled hands. "It is beautiful! How much he loved her. He placed her above all women. How wonderful to be loved like that! So few of us ever are." Sighing, she handed the pendant back to Esther Kira, who returned it to its bag and placed the bag in a pocket somewhere within her voluminous robes.

For a few minutes longer the women wandered about the imperial apartments of the long-dead Sultan Valide, Cyra Hafise. Cat could not shake the feeling that she was intruding. Replacing the thistle tile, she regretted that she had not thought to ask Susan along. Susan's grandmother, Ruth, had spent her early years in this very palace.

Finally Esther led them back out through the garden again to their litters. As they returned to the Kira house, both Cat and Lateefa were strangely silent. In the courtyard of the house they hugged the old lady and thanked her profusely for the tour as Osman stood fussily by, wanting to hurry them but not daring to do so. Returning to the vizier's palace, they talked softly of the secrets they shared, bound even more closely by the afternoon.

Cicalazade Pasha awaited them impatiently. His eyes were narrow, his expression sulky, and they should have been warned. But both Lateefa and Cat were happy, exhilarated by their outing.

"Where have you been?" he demanded. "I returned from the Yeni Serai to find my house deserted."

"We have been visiting Esther Kira, my lord," said Lateefa merrily. "She took us to the old Eski Serai, and we showed Incili where the great Cyra Hafise once lived. It was a delightful afternoon, and we thank you for giving us your permission to go."

"I have spent the afternoon devoid of companionship," complained the vizier.

"My lord Cica," teased Lateefa, smiling winningly up at him, "you have the most famous harem in the empire -next to my cousin, the sultan. I cannot believe that you were bored other than by choice."

Without warning the vizier's hand shot out and slapped Lateefa's face. Astounded, she gasped, her eyes filling with tears. Shocked, for he had never been known to beat his wife, the slaves stood impassive, scarcely breathing. But Cat flew at the vizier, furiously beating on his chest. "Don't you dare touch her!" she raged at him. "She did nought to you! You are unkind and unfair!"

Truly frightened now, Lateefa tried to pull Cat away. "No! No! Incili, you must beg my lord Cica's pardon," and she attempted to draw Cat down to her knees.

Cat turned from the vizier and gently touched Lateefa's cheek. A handprint showed white against the red. "Never! He had no right to slap you."

"He has every right," said Lateefa, desperately trying to stem the anger she saw burning in Cicalazade's gray-blue eyes. "He is our lord and master. We are nothing but that which he makes us, Incili."

"You can't really believe that?" pleaded Cat.

Turning, Lateefa knelt before the vizier, her head touching the toe of his outstretched boot. "Forgive me my insolence, my lord, and forgive her also. She is still new to our ways, and I know she meant no harm!"

Cicalazade Pasha put a gentle hand on Lateefa's head. "I will forgive her for your sake, my dear. But she must still be punished, lest others in my house think I am a weak master." He nodded curtly to two eunuchs, who grasped Cat by the arms. "Take her to the whipping post and prepare her for punishment," he commanded.

"Oh, my lord," sobbed Lateefa, raising a tear-stained face to him, "please do not whip Incili. She is my friend!"

The vizier again nodded to a eunuch. "Take the lady Lateefa to her apartments," he said quietly. Afraid, Lateefa obeyed him.

The eunuchs dragged Cat into the center of the courtyard, where, after removing her jacket, they chained her between two posts. Her gauze blouse was ripped away entirely, baring not only her long, lovely back, but her full breasts. Slowly the vizier walked across the courtyard and stood silent beside her for what seemed an eternity. Then, cruelly grasping her tawny hair, he pulled her head back and said in a soft voice, "The punishment will be mild this time, Incili, but never defy me again- publicly or otherwise. I adore you, my jewel, but I will not be shamed. That is why I will personally mete out this chastisement. If you will beg my pardon I will cease. Otherwise you will receive the full twenty lashes." He bent his head and kissed her fiercely, laughing softly.

She bit him on the lower lip, drawing blood.

"Little bitch."

He loosed her head and she heard him walk back across the courtyard, where Osman waited with the whip. "Fool!" The vizier swore at a eunuch. "Ply the lash. I don't want her skin marked like a crocodile's!"

The suspense was terrible, and Cat felt her heart pounding with a mixture of fright and anger. The whip cracked several times as the vizier tested it, and her stomach heaved uneasily. Then she heard a sharp hiss, and the first blow touched her back. Her teeth bit into her own lip now, also drawing blood. The third blow drew a soft moan from her, the fifth a small cry. On the eighth she could bear no more. She screamed, unable to bear the cruel pain. For he was not being gentle. Her back was afire, and the pain grew worse with each blow, yet she would not beg his pardon. Finally, unable to endure any more, she fainted. But Osman was quickly there, waving a burnt feather beneath her nose, dragging her back to the terrible reality of consciousness.

"Miserable woman," he chortled, "you will not escape your punishment!"

Forcing her eyes open, she glared at him with an icy green stare. She heard Hammid's voice saying, "You are a fool to antagonize her, Osman. The lady Incili is not out of favor, nor is she likely to be. She is only disobedient." Then the chief eunuch's face came into view. "Yield to him, my daughter."

The whip bit into her burning back. "Never!" she managed to gasp as the blackness rose up to claim her again.

The eunuch shook his head, then called out, "She craves your pardon, my lord." The look on his face dared Osman to challenge his word.

"Release her," commanded Cicalazade Pasha, "and see that her back is tended to at once. I shall expect her in my bed later this evening."

They carried her to her apartments, where both Lateefa and a white-faced Susan waited. Carefully the slavewoman removed the rest of Cat's clothing, and she was placed stomach down on her bed. Her back was a mass of angry red welts, and Susan began to weep.

"How could he? How could he? No one has ever treated my lady thus! No one!"

"Do not weep, girl," said Lateefa kindly. "It looks worse than it really is. See. The lash was plied, and the skin is not broken. There will be no scars, and in a few days both the pain and the welts will be gone." Then she carefully bathed the injured back herself with cool water, and gently rubbed a pale-green cream into the welts. "It's a special salve," she told Susan, "and it will take some of the pain from the welts. Now sit by your mistress until I return."

Lateefa hurried through the corridors of the palace to her husband's apartments. "I would beg leave to speak with you alone," she said humbly. Dismissing the slaves, he motioned for her to sit by him. "I myself have cared for Incili's injuries, my lord, but she will be unavailable to you for at least two or three days. She is yet unconscious, and running a slight fever… You punished her cruelly, Cica. Had the lash not been plied you could have killed her."

"She will be all right?" he asked anxiously, and Lateefa's heart contracted at the worry in his voice. Esther Kira is right, she thought. "I did not mean to hurt her," the vizier continued, "but she was so defiant! She would not beg my pardon until eleven lashes had been meted out."

"What did you expect, Cica?" asked Lateefa quietly. "This is no peasant girl you've taken for your second wife. This is a proud European noblewoman. She is used to speaking her mind. I am trying to teach her our ways, but it will take time. You must be patient with her."

"You like her," he said. "I am glad! I am glad that you have become friends."

"Yes, we are friends, Cica. Now, please, my lord, give her a few days to heal both her back and her spirit. She will not forgive you easily. This time I am afraid you will have to amuse yourself with your harem. You have ignored them shamefully since Incili came, and there is an outright rebellion there, my lord. Hammid can tell you."

"Very well," he acquiesced sulkily. "I give her three days. At the end of that time I expect her back in my bed, docile and obedient to my will."

Lateefa bit back the smile that threatened to burst forth. "It will be as you wish, my lord husband," she answered him quietly, and she left him to return to Cat's bedchamber.

"How is she?" she asked Susan.

"Still unconscious. A bit restless too, my lady."

"Go to your bed, Mara. Your mistress received this punishment in defense of me. It is only right that I sit with her tonight. Bring me my embroidery before you retire."

During the first few hours, Lateefa Sultan sat quietly, plying her needle. Twice she trimmed the wicks of the lamps and refilled them with scented oil. Once she rubbed the green salve into Cat's back again. Her eyes grew tired and blurred with the ache of watching the colored threads on the snow-white linen. She admired the beautiful lines of her cousin's back and buttocks, wondering if she really enjoyed a man's lovemaking as she said, or if she hated it as Lateefa did.

Within the harem there were those women who loved each other, Lateefa knew. This sort of thing was forbidden, but the eunuchs had a tendency to turn a blind eye to it, as a happy woman caused less trouble than an unhappy one. Lateefa was above the women of the harem by birth and by rank. None of them would dare approach her, and she had never approached any of them. She wondered whether a woman lover would be as rough as Cicalazade was.

Cat moaned, still unconscious, and turned over, calling, "Francis! Francis!"

Lateefa was stunned by the beauty of her cousin's breasts and torso. They were flawless and creamy. Bending over, Lateefa said softly, "Hush, Incili. It's all right now, my dear."

But Cat called again. "Francis! Francis! Oh, yes, my love! Yes!"

Lateefa could not understand the words, for they were not Turkish, but she could see from the look on her cousin's face what it was she dreamed about. It was the face of a woman being made love to by a man she adored. Cat thrashed slightly. Fearful that she would injure herself, Lateefa reached out to quiet her. Her hand brushed the unconscious woman's breast. Instantly the nipple sprang erect, and Cat moaned. Unable to help herself, Lateefa reached out and caressed the soft globe of rounded flesh, feeling a thrill as the beautiful woman on the bed strained to her touch.

Trembling, the princess rose from her chair and divested herself of her robes. She lay down on the bed next to Cat, her shaking hands caressing the naked body of her unconscious cousin, careful to avoid the sore back. Cat writhed beneath the touch. Lateefa bent her head, eagerly licking Cat's nipples. Cat moaned again, and Lateefa turned over on her stomach, her fingers teasing at her own womanhood, her hips moving against the action of her own hand until she collapsed with a great sigh of relief onto the mattress.

For a few minutes she lay there, flushed, her breath ragged. Then she rose from the bed, dressed, and picked up her embroidery. She sat back down in her chair, stunned by what she had done.

In the beginning of their marriage Cica had often made her caress him, and she had hated it. She had not hated touching Cat. Cat's skin was smooth and lovely. She dozed, to be awakened later by Susan's gentle touch.

"Let me watch now, my lady," said the girl softly. Nodding her silent thanks, Lateefa Sultan gratefully departed for her own bed, and for the shy, pretty new slavegirl she had recently acquired, who would be waiting up for her. The girl was lonely and frightened, Lateefa knew. Several times her hands had touched her mistress intimately. Blushing prettily with confusion, the girl had begged her pardon. Lateefa had thought nothing of it. Now, however, she knew that the girl would respond to her favor and her kindness, should she decide to proffer them. Cicalazade Pasha might take ten women to his bed every night. His wife Lateefa Sultan no longer intended being lonely.

Chapter 55

THREE nights later, her back sufficiently healed, Cat was back in Cicalazade's bed. Her return was a sulky and defiant one, but the vizier was bored with the succession of compliant beauties who had recently shared his bed and chose to be amused rather than angry. It was this very show of independence that made her interesting to him.

Though Cat came to understand his position, she could not forgive him.

The Christian New Year of 1599 began, and Cat, standing alone on Lateefa's terrace overlooking the sea, found herself straining to hear the sound of the Glen-kirk bagpipe. A single tear slid down her cheek, and she wondered if Francis were with the Kiras yet.

The winter deepened, and the vizier's passion for her did not abate. She no longer fought against him, having accepted that she must endure her fate until she could change it. With the new year she instinctively knew that Bothwell was near. Soon she would escape! The early spring came, and with it arrived problems along the Hungarian-Austrian border of the empire. The sultan would send Cicalazade Pasha to the border.

Mohammed III was a big man with fair skin, deep brown eyes, and black hair, beard, and mustache. He could be kinder than most and crueler than any man alive. Upon his ascension four years earlier he had ordered the execution of his nineteen brothers, the oldest of whom was eleven, and he had drowned the seven of his father's concubines who had had the misfortune to be pregnant.

His sexual appetite was legendary. His beautiful Venetian mother, Safiye, had encouraged his every desire in an effort to remain in control of him.

The sultan had one admirable trait. He was loyal to those who were loyal to him, and treated the men who served him with great kindness and generosity. Noting the crestfallen expression on his vizier's face, he asked, "What is it that stems your enthusiasm, Cica? A year ago you would have been eager for an assignment like this one."

The vizier sighed. "You will think me a fool, my padishah, but last year I took a second wife, and I am saddened at the thought of being away from her."

The sultan's eyes glittered. "I had heard that she is an exquisite creature. Is it true then?"

Cicalazade Pasha sighed again. "She consumes me with her beauty!"

"Take her with you, then. There is nothing unusual about a woman on campaign with her master."

"Thank you, my lord, but no," said the vizier, genuine regret in his voice. "If I took Incili with me, I should not attend to my lord's best interests."

The sultan chuckled. "I am grateful that you put our interests above your lust. But tell me, Cica, do you dare to leave Lateefa and your new wife together? They will undoubtedly tear each other and your house apart in your absence."

"Nay, sire! 'Tis amazing, but they are like sisters. In fact, several months ago I was obliged to chastise Lateefa, and Incili flew at me like a vixen in an effort to defend her friend. I beat her for her insolence, of course."

The sultan nodded sympathetically. "You were wise, my friend. Women are good only for one thing. They must ever be taught who is master." Then he clapped his vizier on the shoulder. "Cheer up, my friend! You'll only be gone a few months, and think how eager your Incili will be for your return."

The two men laughed companionably, and then the sultan said, "If Lateefa and Incili are friends, Cica, why not have them both in the same bed with you? Taking two women at once is delicious." He lowered his voice so that only Cicalazade would hear him. The vizier's eyes narrowed, then grew wide, and he replied, "I will try that when I get home, my lord. It sounds most diverting."

The sultan's eyes were dreamy. "It is, my friend. It is very diverting." Then he grew businesslike again. "I will have Yakub Bey see to the readiness of your troops. He is to be your second-in-command. Take your wife Incili to your island for a few days, but be ready to leave a week from now. Allah go with you."

Cicalazade Pasha rode back through the late morning to his palace. "Have Incili transported to the Island of a Thousand Flowers within the next few hours," he commanded Hammid. "I want the island well stocked with fruits, nuts, coffee, sherbets, eggs, and sweets. One hot meal daily is to be delivered in the early evening. I will allow only two servants on the island to serve us. Send Incili's woman, Mara, and a young eunuch."

Towards midafternoon Cat found herself being rowed down the Bosporus in the vizier's caique. Susan sat opposite her, wide-eyed, and a young eunuch sat in the front of the boat.

"Why," asked Susan, "are we being hurried to the island?"

"Because the vizier is being sent to quell a disturbance and will not be back for several months." She lowered her voice and spoke in Scots English. "Just a little while more, Susan, and I shall be free of him for the next few months." She did not tell her serving woman that she had received a message from Esther Kira that very afternoon, shoved into her hand by a jewelry vendor visiting the vizier's harem.

The message had read, "Make an excuse to stay on the island when it is time for the vizier to leave."

She had later burned the paper in a brazier, amazed that the Kiras already knew the vizier's plans when she herself had only just learned of them.

Unused to the East, she could not know that gossip was important in keeping up with current events. At the same time the vizier had been with the sultan, Esther Kira had been with the sultan's mother. After the vizier had left the palace, the sultan had joined his mother and her elderly friend for coffee. He related with some amusement how loath was his good friend Cica to leave his new bride. They had all enjoyed a good laugh at the vizier's expense. Esther Kira had returned home to inform Francis Stewart-Hepburn that he would, in a few days' time, be reunited with his wife.

The plan was really quite simple. They would wait until the vizier and his army were several days' march from the city, and then Lord Bothwell and Conall would take the island, killing the slaves. It would be several days more before the vizier's household discovered the absence of Incili and Mara. By that time they would all be on the Aegean.

Of all this, Cat knew nothing. When they arrived on the island, Cat delighted in showing Susan the gardens. They were alone but for a white eunuch, Feisal, the caique having returned to the vizier's palace. Cat showed the two servants the two tiny cubicles where they were to remain once the master arrived. They were expected to be useful but as invisible as possible.

No sooner had the vizier arrived than he commanded Cat to remove her garments. She protested. "I spend a fortune on clothes and jewels to please you, my lord Cica, and you rarely allow me to wear them."

"Wear them for your friends. I love you as Allah fashioned you."

Pouting, she obeyed him, slowly and teasingly removing each article of clothing as his eyes glittered hungrily. Susan then served them a hot supper. Cat noted that the meal was filled with foods and spices considered conducive to lovemaking. She shuddered imperceptibly, knowing that the next three days would be exhausting.

When the dishes had been cleared away, the vizier told Susan, "You may sleep, Mara. But tell Feisal to remain on call in his chamber."

"Yes, master," replied Susan as she left the room.

Now he turned his gaze on Cat. "Come here, Incili," and she moved around the low table next to him. Drawing her across his lap, he sighed with contentment as his hands began caressing her.

"Look at me," he commanded, and she raised her green eyes to meet his gray-blue ones. It was as she had feared. The pupils of his eyes were dilated, and tiny gold flames danced within them. He had obviously consumed a quantity of aphrodisiacs, and would be utterly insatiable. She trembled, and he laughed as if he knew her thoughts.

His deep voice was low and intimate. "We do not have to hurry, my love. Indeed, we will not," and his free hand slid between her legs to caress her. She felt her strength ebbing as the familiar languorous feelings began to wash over her. At first his touch was delicate, but it soon became an irritation. She tried to squirm away from him but he held her fast.

Cat began to experience a warmth where he touched her, and a moan escaped her. She could not believe it, but she was fast losing control of herself, sliding away into a rainbow world where exquisite sensation followed exquisite sensation until she was gasping with a passion she was unable to stop. It occurred to her vaguely that he had fed her the same aphrodisiacs he had taken.

Frightened, she cried out and tried to sit up, but he gently lifted her from his lap and placed her carefully on the colored cushions, her fair-skinned body in startling contrast against, the deep, rich colors of the velvets and satins. Looming over her, he looked like a colossus as he stripped his wide trousers off. Her heart beat wildly at the sight of his long, smooth, well-muscled legs. He knelt and, pushing her legs up, found with his mouth the place where his fingers had lately been. Soon satisfied that he had rendered her mindless, he drew her legs back down. Pulling himself up, he drove into her. She sobbed with relief.

He thrust cruelly back and forth, deliberately hurting her, yet the pain he inflicted was a part of the wildly sensual experience and she relished it. He caught a nipple in his teeth and bit down sharply on it. She screamed and tried to twist away, but then his hot tongue licked furiously at the injured nipple, soothing away the hurt.

She began to shiver violently and, unable to control it, she panicked. Desperately she sought to escape the man responsible for what was happening to her. But now, his passion mounting uncontrollably, he was unreachable. She fought him. She was being violently assaulted, buffeted by a stronger sexual force than she had ever known, and she simply couldn't handle it. Then suddenly it was over, and she was falling, falling away into the sweet peaceful darkness of unconsciousness.

A gentle stroking of her body was her first awareness of returning consciousness. Cat lay quietly with her eyes closed. Her whole being rebelled at this sensuous man who called her "wife," yet treated her solely as an object for his pleasure.

"Open your eyes, Incili."

She obeyed, keeping her lashes modestly lowered lest he see the terrible mixture of fear and repulsion she felt.

"It is time for you to bathe me, Incili."

"Yes, my lord Cica," she answered. Rising from the bed, she walked across the room to the bath. She was amazed that her legs could hold up. At her call the eunuch came and the bath was made ready. Her slim fingers decanted the bottles holding the both oils. She sniffed each, finally choosing an attar of roses. Pouring it into the tub, she dismissed the eunuch and called to the vizier, "Your bath is ready, my lord."

Naked, Cicalazade Pasha came into the bath, where Cat waited to serve him. He stood quietly while she laved his body with warm water. Now her hands were gently rubbing a soft soap over his broad chest and back. Kneeling, she soaped his legs, and his genitals quivered. She quickly caught up a boar's-bristle brush and scrubbed him down, sluicing him once more with warm, fresh water.

"There, my lord," she said briskly, "you may now soak in your tub."

The voice that answered her was amused. "Thank you, my love. Wash quickly, and join me," and he submerged himself in the large square green-tiled pool.

Slowly she soaped herself, putting off the moment when she must join him in the bath. He watched her from beneath hooded eyelids, knowing almost precisely what she was thinking and thoroughly enjoying her discomfort. He kept her nude and forced her to these menial duties in an attempt to tame her. Too, her helplessness gave him a delicious feeling of power. The pleasure he gained from this constant battle between them was far better than the easy conquest of a dozen other beautiful women.

Finally, unable to delay any longer, she was forced to enter the heavily scented tub. He immediately reached out and drew her against him, her soft breasts straining against his chest, the tender nipples irritated by the dark furry mat of his chest. His mouth closed over hers for the first time that evening, his probing tongue almost gagging her. He drew her arms around his neck. Then his hands slid beneath the water to cup her buttocks and, pressing her against the back of the tile tub wall, he raised her up and impaled her on his hardness. She gasped her surprise, but the sound was muffled by his lips. Pressing fierce little thrusts into her, he released his passion, and then held her more tenderly, for she was half-fainting.

Chuckling happily at his sense of dominance, he vaulted quickly from the water and, reaching down, drew her out. Weakened by the warm water and the vizier's lovemaking, but still obedient to her duties, she picked up a warmed towel from the top of the tile stove and wrapped it about him. Taking a second towel, she sat him down and dried him, careful to rub the dampness from between his toes. Stretching him out face down on a marble bath bench, she massaged his muscled body with body cream smelling of roses. As her hands skillfully kneaded the firm body, he rumbled contentment like a large, sleek cat.

Finally he called, "Enough," and rose up to reveal a once again engorged organ. Laughing at the look on her face, he said, "The night has just begun, Incili, and I have yet to get enough of you. I must somehow cool the fires you create in my loins if we are to be parted for several months."

She was shaking. Holding out her hands, she pleaded with him, "Please, my lord husband, no more! Not just yet!"

It was if she had not spoken. Catching her hands, he forced her facedown onto the same marble bench and, straddling her, he parted her thighs and entered her gently from behind. His hands raised her a little so he could fondle her breasts. He crushed the warm flesh in his big hands, reveling in its softness, pinching the nipples so that she cried out.

In that moment Cat's tolerance of Cicalazade Pasha vanished. He was using her like an animal, without any thought for her at all. Only the knowledge that she would soon be free of him kept her from shrieking her fury. As it was, her temples had begun to throb.

Grunting with pleasure, he finally loosed her and rose up, exclaiming, "I have labored hard so far this evening, and I am thirsty. Fetch me a sherbet, my dove!"

She stood for a moment on trembling legs, then left the bath and crossed the bedchamber to the table where the sherbet decanters stood. Mixing his favorites together, she looked carefully to see where he was, and found him sprawled on the bed looking up through the glass dome at the night sky. With a thumbnail she carefully flicked open the top of her turquoise ring and dropped a pinch of white powder into his cup. Esther Kira had given her the sleeping potion, but she had never dared use it before. Tonight, however, she could take no more, and she knew that the aphrodisiacs he had consumed would confuse him anyway.

She smilingly crossed the room and presented him with the cup. He drank it down thirstily and, carelessly flinging the cup to the floor, pulled her onto the bed. 'You are so beautiful," he said. "How you please me, Incili! You please me greatly. Did you know that, my jewel? I treasure you above all my women. Never has a mere female delighted me so much."

She pressed her face into his shoulder so he might not see it. "It makes me happy that I pleasure you, my lord husband," she lied smoothly.

He groped for her breasts, fumbling at her, his movements beginning to become clumsy. Then suddenly she heard him snore lightly. She eased herself out of his grasp and lay apart from him, waiting to see whether he missed her. He was sound asleep, drugged by the white powder she had slipped into his sherbet. In the morning she would add a different powder to his coffee, one which would counteract the effect of the aphrodisiacs and render him almost desireless. That should keep her safe for at least part of the day.

Rising from the rumpled bed, she returned to the bath. Filling and refilling the silver ewer, she laved herself over and over, washing away all evidence of the past hour. The bath was the one aspect of Turkish life she truly enjoyed. Dry again, she slipped a sheer nightgar-ment over her head. When he awoke he would object and demand its removal. But for now she would have some protection from the cool night air.

Laying herself at the farthest edge of the bed, she wrapped herself in a light wool blanket and immediately fell asleep.

When she awoke the sun was already rising. Cicalazade Pasha lay sprawled on his back snoring mightily, much as she had left him last night. She stretched and, unrolling herself from the blanket, got up. The air was chilly, so she lifted from her trunk a soft white wool caftan and slid it over her nightgown. She slipped her feet into a pair of wool-lined slippers and, checking again to be sure the vizier was asleep, she ran out into the garden.

The wet grass glistened diamondlike in the early sunlight, and the beds of tulips and narcissus were just beginning to open and perfume the air. A faint silvery haze hung just above the dark sea, and the surrounding hillsides were bright-green with spring growth. For a few minutes she was free again, and she reveled in it. If she could get through the next two days and could convince Cica to let her remain on the island, the Kiras would liberate her. Obviously it would be easier to free her from the island than from Cicalazade's palace. She was sorry she had not been able to say goodbye to Lateefa. When she was safe again she would send her kindly cousin a message through the Kiras…

Suddenly a smile lit Cat's face. She had just thought how she could convince the vizier to leave her on the island for a few days. She would use his masculine pride against him to gain her own ends. It would serve the bastard right!

It bothered Cicalazade that she had not become pregnant. He knew she had borne nine living children and he had sired Lateefa's children and forty on the harem women besides. He longed for a child of her body and, not knowing of the potion she took to prevent conception, could not understand why she had not swelled with his fruit.

She would tell him she believed she was pregnant. Pleading the strange fancies of a breeding woman, she would beg to remain a few extra days on the island. Should he refuse her she would weep and pout to gain her way. He would expect it, as he had no view of women other than as soft, foolish creatures.

A little breeze had sprung up, and Cat shivered in anticipation. She always enjoyed mapping battle strategy. Laughing to herself, she wondered which side of her ancestry was asserting itself-the Scots or the Turkish?

Chapter 56

NO!" said the vizier firmly. "I will not allow it, Incili."

She burst into tears. "You do not love me," she sobbed. "You have stolen me from my husband and used me like an animal! You care nothing for me! Would that the child and I were dead!"

"Child?" His mouth fell open. "What child?"

She raised a teary face to him. "I am not completely sure, my lord, for it is a trifle too early to be entirely sure, but there is a strong possibility that I am with child."

A look of incredulous delight passed over his face, and she nearly allowed herself a twinge of guilt. "A child," he breathed. "Then, my dove, there can be no question of your remaining here. I will not endanger my son."

She forced a fresh torrent of tears from her eyes. "I cannot bear to be penned within the harem right now, my lord husband! It is so pleasant and peaceful here." She lowered her voice so that he was forced to bend down in order to hear her. It also allowed him a wonderful view of her swelling breasts. The seductive scent that issued from the valley between those glorious bills was deliriously overpowering to the vizier.

"We have spent so many joyous hours here, my husband. It is the one place I do not have to share with anyone, even my dear Lateefa." She caught at his arm and pressed it meaningfully. "We have yet another wonderful day ahead of us and-" her lashes fanned down over her pink cheeks-"another wonderful night. Let me remain here dreaming but a few days after you leave me. I need a few more days to be completely sure. It would make me so happy. Don't you want me to be happy, my husband?" And her green eyes filled with tears that threatened to overflow while her soft mouth pouted.

He was tolerantly amused by the obviousness of her approach. She was so typically, predictably feminine, and it delighted him. The look she cast up at him bespoke a night of incredible pleasures should he consent to her wishes, and he could honestly see no harm in allowing her to have her way in this. She was no girl swelling with her first child. She was a successful and a proven breeder. He knew that pregnant women had strange whims which should be indulged whenever possible. She would be perfectly safe on his island with her female servant for companionship. But he intended sending back Osman and half a dozen others so there would be protection-not that anyone would dare to intrude on his island.

He tried to look stern and thoughtful, and she knew she had won. "Very well," he said. "I will allow you to remain for a week, but Osman will come to guard you."

"Of course, my lord," she answered him demurely. He pulled her across his lap into his arms. "Do I not get a reward, my dove?" She pulled his head down and kissed him deeply and convincingly, beginning another session of sensuality.

In the morning he left the island in his caique and was rowed back down the Bosporus to his palace in the city, where he made arrangements for Cat's stay on the island.

She stood on the stone quay waving him goodbye, but no sooner was he out of hearing than she whirled about with joy, shouting in her own language, "Goodbye, my lord vizier! Farewell forever!"

Susan was astounded at Cat's behavior. "My lady, are you all right?"

"Better than I have been in almost a year, my girl," laughed Cat. "Now that he is gone I dare tell ye. My beloved Francis is near, and yer Uncle Conall too! I dinna know when, but we'll be rescued in a few days at the most!"

"Thank God," breathed Susan fervently.

" 'Twill nae be easy," Cat warned her. "We hae a long and dangerous journey ahead of us. But I should rather die wi Bothwell than spend my days a pampered wife of Cicalazade Pasha!"

"Then yer nae wi bairn? He said ye were, and that I should take extra care of ye."

"God's bones, no! I'd nae bear that lustful devil's bairn! 'Twas but an excuse so we might remain here. 'Tis easier to escape from here than from the vizier's palace. Now, keep yer wits about ye, girl. Osman and a few others will be arriving later today to aid Feisel in 'protecting' me. Ye must nae gie them any reason to be suspicious of us."

"Will my lord kill the eunuchs here?"

"Of course. We'll need all the time we can get for a head start before they discover us gone."

"Good! I hate Osman, and I want him dead!"

Cat looked at Susan with amazement. "Why? What has he done to you?"

They had climbed back up to the top of the island. They sat down on a marble bench by the edge of a small goldfish pond.

"Ye know that eunuchs dinna function as normal men," said Susan, "but there are several ways of gelding a male. Some have the rod and sac cut away. These are usually small children. Boys who are older are gelded by simply cutting the sac away so they may not reproduce. Though they are not supposed to, they can function with the aid of special drugs. They cannot have children, of course. Osman is one of these. If a girl takes a eunuch's fancy…" She stopped. "Well, they have several ways of satisfying themselves."

"And Osman singled ye out?" said Cat furiously. "He dared? Why did ye nae tell me, girl? I would hae put an instant stop to it!"

"I thought ye had enough to contend wi, my lady," said Susan simply.

Cat put an arm about her servant and hugged her. "Ah, Susan! When we are safely out of this I swear ye'll nae lack for anything ever again. As yer great-grand-mam and yer grandmother were loyal to my ancestress, so hae ye been faithful to me. I will nae forget it."

"We are family, my lady, though ye be the mistress and I the tiring woman. A Leslie dinna forget his own."

"Aye, Susan, a Leslie dinna forget," replied Cat.

And as the two women sat quietly watching the fan-tail goldfish cavorting in the small blue-tiled pool, Both-well impatiently pa.ced a room in the Kiras' Instanbul house. His wife had been kidnapped almost a year ago, in the early summer of 1598. In mid-September of the same year, Lord Bothwell and Conall More-Leslie had begun a dangerous journey sailing a small fishing boat from Brindisi across the Adriatic Sea to Elyria, and the mouth of the Aous River.

They had entered the river by night and sailed up it for many days until they could go no farther. They had then left the boat, after dragging it ashore and well back into a hidden cave. As they hiked across the mountain forest the weather remained mild, and they encountered no snow. Reaching the headwaters of the Peneus River in Thessaly, they found, following Pietro Kira's directions, another well-stocked boat. Waiting with the boat was a young man who introduced himself as Asher Kira, the son of Eli.

Asher Kira was to escort them safely to the Kira house in Istanbul, and he would teach them the rudiments of Jewish domestic life. Bothwell and Conall were to be introduced into the household as a distant cousin and his servant, come to study the business methods of the main branch of the Kira bank. This would deflect curiosity and allow the two men freedom to move about the city.

Bothwell had grown a fine bushy auburn red beard for disguise, and dressed in the baggy pants, wide-sleeved blouse, turban, and embroidered sash and vest of the country, he was the very essence of the Turkish citizen. Conall with his black beard was even more impressive.

Asher Kira had piloted them successfully and they had arrived in Istanbul in mid-December of 1598. The trip had taken them exactly three months.

It was now April of 1599, and Bothwell had been waiting several months now for a chance to rescue his wife. Late one afternoon a servant entered the room where he was working on accounts and told him that Esther Kira would speak with him in her garden. When he entered the old woman's presence she motioned him to the bench next to her. Though she looked as if a puff of wind could blow her away, her voice was strong and her gaze unwavering.

"How do you get on, my friend?" she asked him.

"Well, madame, but I grow more anxious daily to complete my mission."

"I spent this morning at the palace. The vizier will be leaving the city for the Hungarian province in a few days. I would say that you will be able to retrieve your property several days after he's gone."

"Is she all right?"

"Yes. But it has not been easy for her, and the next few days will be the hardest. She knows the time is near, and she must use all her wiles to convince him to leave her on his island. That is the safest place for the rescue. I have thought and thought, and there is simply no way to take her from the vizier's palace without raising an immediate hue and cry which would bring almost certain recapture, with all its ensuing difficulties. The island is the only place we may take her from and still have time for getting away." She stopped for a moment. "My lord," she spoke gently to him, "my lord, there's something you must know. You were told that the vizier prizes Incili above all women. You were not told that after he obtained his royal wife's permission, he made Incili his second wife."

Bothwell swore a ripe oath under his breath, and Esther smiled briefly before continuing. "So, my lord, you will not simply be retrieving your wife, you will also be stealing his!"

Francis began to laugh. "What is it about the wench that all men who love her want to make her their wife?" he chuckled. "My poor cousin no sooner took his royal Danish bride for dynastic purposes than he was trying to force Cat to accept the position of maitress en titre. Her first husband, Patrick Leslie, had to chase her over half of Scotland for almost a year before he could get her to the altar. And I, may God help me, ended up an exile without lands or country for-among other alleged sins-trying to make her my wife. Now you tell me that Cicalazade Pasha asked permission of his royal Otto-mon wife to take my wife for his own?"

The old woman's cackling laughter joined Bothwell's deep chuckle. Stopping, she wiped her damp eyes and said, "We will go over our plans in a few days."

Chapter 57

SHE straggled up through the blackness, fighting the smothered feeling that overwhelmed her, clawing at the hard hand clamped over her mouth. Full consciousness returned as the voice in her ear became wonderfully familiar.

"Shhh, love!’Tis me.’Tis Francis!"

Her eyes flew open and then widened at the sight of the bearded man bending over her. The hand was taken away. Catching her breath, she laughingly sobbed, "Damn me, Bothwell, ye look like the sultan himself!" Then the tears spilled out of her and she flung herself at him, weeping soundlessly.

Holding her closely, he smoothed the head beneath his hand and said in a gentle, teasing voice, "Can I not go off to earn us a living, madame, without yer getting captured by pirates? Ye've led me a fine chase to be sure!" Her shoulders shook all the harder. "Sweetheart, 'tis all right," he soothed. "I am here to take ye home. Dinna weep, lass. Ye've been so brave. Esther Kira has told me how brave ye've been."

She squirmed out of his grasp and turned a stricken face up to him. "Do ye love me, Bothwell?"

For a moment he looked stunned, and then he mused, "Now, let me think a bit. I've crossed three seas and come through two straits. I must now turn about and go back the same way, dragging two women wi me. It will be a bloody miracle if we get to Italy alive! Perhaps I did it for the adventure of it? Christ, madame, what do ye think?"

"I am used, Bothwell. I am terribly used. I hae been the vizier's favorite. Do ye still want me back?"

He began to laugh, then became serious again. "My ever honest Cat. Do ye think I dinna know what yer life has b^en? Angela di LiCosa made it very plain what kind of a man her brother was. If all I wanted was a body in my bed, Cat, I might-though not easily, I'll admit-have substituted another woman for ye." He wound her tawny hair about his hand and pulled her to him. His mouth gently brushed hers, and his warm sapphire-blue eyes smiled down at her. "But then, my dearest love, who would have sworn at me in Gaelic, or helped me to raise our bairns, or talked wi me of Scotland on the long winter nights in the years to come?"

She caught her lip in her teeth, and her eyelids closed in a futile attempt to hold back the hot tears that poured again down her cheeks.

"Aye, Cat, I love ye," he said. "Now let us stop this foolishness. In less than two hours the sun will be rising.’Tis best if we're quickly gone from here."

The guards?" she asked.

"Conall and I dispatched them."

"There were six. Did ye kill them all?"

"Aye."

"The bodies?"

"Where they died."

"No! The vultures will get them, and the birds will be seen by the peasants. Someone is bound to get curious and investigate. The supplies for my week's stay came yesterday. No one will come here for at least a week unless something is amiss. Weigh the bodies with stones and sink them into the sea. Then there will be no carrion for the birds, and therefore no curiosity."

He shook his head admiringly. "Madame, ye constantly surprise me," he said, and handed her a bundle from the floor. "Yer traveling clothes. Get dressed while I get Conall and attend to the other business. Susan is waiting in the boat. Go down to the landing when yer ready, and dinna be fearful of the young man there.’Tis Esther's great-grandson, Asher. He goes with us partway."

" 'Tis nae the young men who frighten me, Both-well."

Standing up, he grinned rakishly at her. "Yer a fetching sight, madame, with yer pretty tits pointing at me like that. Would that we had some time. This bed looks comfortable."

"Never here," she answered him vehemently. "I've spent too many unhappy hours here! I'd sooner be tumbled under a hedgerow!"

"Once we are safely away from here, madame, I will see if I can accommodate ye," he chuckled, and ducked a well-aimed pillow. Laughing, he ran from the kiosk.

Cat sprang from the bed. I am alive again, she thought triumphantly. Once more I have survived!

And she laughed aloud as she undid the bundle he had given her. She found women's underclothes, but the dark-blue pantaloons, white shirt, vest, sash, boots, and turban of a young man. Dressing quickly, she pinned her hair tightly and covered it with a bandanna before placing the little turban on her head. Pulling on the boots, she stood up and wrapped the sash about her waist. Catching a glimpse of herself in a mirror, she unwrapped the sash, removed her shirt, and bound her full breasts with a linen cloth. Then she dressed again, adding the embroidered vest over her shirt. Another look in the mirror brought a smile to her face. No one looking at the young man would suspect him of being the vizier's beautiful second wife!

She looked about the room a final time, but there was nothing she wanted to take with her. From her conversations with Esther Kira, Cat knew that whatever she needed for the long journey would be provided by the Kira family. She would take none of the jewelry given her by the vizier. On her right hand she wore the heart-shaped ruby that had been given her by Patrick Leslie, and the turquoise ring Esther Kira had given her to hold potions. On her left hand was the great emerald wedding band Francis had given her. She needed nothing else. She didn't even turn back for a last look as she went through the kiosk door.

She walked swiftly through the lovely gardens. It gave her a savage pleasure to think that the man who had used her body as he might have used a dumb animal would no longer enjoy his beautiful island. That would be her small revenge on Cicalazade Pasha. He would always associate the island with her, and he would quickly hate his pleasure palace with its hundred memories.

Suddenly she stumbled over a body in the center of the neat gravel path. It was Osman. She felt no regret. Stepping over it, she continued on her way, carefully descending to the quay where the boat waited.

Exactly one week later the vizier's caique arrived to take his wife back to the palace. There was no one waiting on the quay, and after several minutes the oar-master climbed the stone steps to the island's top. He found both the gardens and the kiosk empty. He called out for Osman, but his voice died in the clear morning air. It was frighteningly obvious that the island was deserted. Running back down the steps to the caique, the oarmaster shouted, "Back to the palace!"

The caique made a tight turn and glided back down the Bosporus the way it had come. The oarmaster did not even wait for his boat to dock, but leaped to the landing and ran at top speed to find Hammid.

Finding him with the lady Lateefa Sultan, the oarmaster flung himself to his knees and cried, "Disaster, Hammid! There is no one living or dead on the Island of a Thousand Flowers. It is deserted. I searched myself."

Lateefa Sultan watched as Hammid turned ashen. Momentarily her loyalties were torn between the eunuch who had been with her almost her entire life and the beautiful woman who was her cousin. She was genuinely sorry about Hammid's position, but she was relieved that Incili was gone. The immediate problem was Hammid. Cica Pasha was going to hold him responsible for Incili's loss, and his anger would be fierce.

"I will go to the island myself," said the eunuch. "You must be mistaken. There has to be someone there!"

"There is no one, I tell you," repeated the oarmaster. "I even called out. The island is deserted."

"Change the rowers," commanded the eunuch. "I am going."

Several hours later he returned and sought Lateefa Sultan. "The island is indeed empty. There are no signs of violence. No blood. No bodies. Nothing. It is as if they never existed. What am I to tell the master, my princess? He adores Incili. She was to bear his child. What can.I say to him? He will kill me." This last was said with a sad finality, and Lateefa felt so sorry for the eunuch that she was almost tempted to tell him the truth-almost, but not quite.

"Tell him the truth, Hammid. You obeyed his orders. You sent Osman and four others to the island as my lord Cica instructed. You sent supplies for seven days, and at the end of that time you sent the caique. There has been no report of trouble. Why should you suspect that anything was amiss? Is it your fault the island was deserted?"

"I must go back to the island tomorrow," said Hammid grimly. "There has to be something that will tell me what happened! I will find it!"

"Do what you think is best," answered Lateefa Sultan.

The following day Hammid returned to the Island of a Thousand Flowers. Knowing he would spend a restless night otherwise, he had gulped a strong sedative so he might sleep and be clearheaded for his task.

Slowly he ascended to the garden, eyes on the ground, carefully studying the gravel paths. There had been no rain to wash away any evidence such as blood for seven days. The Starlight Kiosk was silent. He opened the doors and stood for a moment observing the room. The huge bed was rumpled and unmade, the faint imprint of her head still on the pillow. He walked closer and saw that her sleeping garment lay where she had thrown it. Nothing else in the room was out of place. Her clothes and jewels were neatly stored in her chest. Nothing was missing.

There were no signs of force. Eight people were missing, and he had absolutely no idea where they were or how they had gone. But he was going to do his best to find out. It was all well and good for Lateefa to say that he must tell the truth to the vizier, but what truth? My lord vizier, your second wife has mysteriously disappeared and we know not how. Cicalazade Pasha was not going to accept that.

Outside again in the garden, he gazed out over the Bosporus. The sunlight dappled the blue waters, and then, suddenly, he saw it. Six dark patches were contrasted against the aquamarine of the sea. Hurrying as quickly as his bulk would allow, he returned to the quay and spoke in low tones with the oarmaster. The caique was rowed out a bit into the stream and one of the rowers, stripped of his clothes, dove deep into the Bosporus. He surfaced moments later and was pulled aboard.

"What is down there?" demanded Hammid.

The rower shivered. "Bodies, lord. Six bodies, all with their throats cut."

Hammid nodded. "Return to the palace," he said, sinking wearily to the cushions. Now he knew, or thought he knew, what had happened to Incili. The eunuchs had been taken by surprise and murdered. Incili had been carried off. But, remembering the neatness of the kiosk, he revised his theory.

Incili had escaped. But who had helped her? She was in a strange land, cloistered from the world, yet she had managed to find aid and escape. As he searched his mind he kept returning to one constant: Esther Kira. The venerable grande dame of the House of Kira was the only person from outside the palace who had known Incili. Yet why would the old woman risk her family to aid a captive?

He commanded the oarmaster to row him to the Yeni Serai. There he spoke with his friend and mentor the Aga Kislar. The aga agreed that the situation was a delicate one, but he disliked the friendship between his mistress, the Sultan Valide Safiye, and Esther Kira. The old woman was a virtual institution with the valides, having been an intimate to four of them. She seemed indestructible, but if she was involved in this scandal then this was his chance to be rid of her.

The aga gained the sultan's ear, telling him only what he felt he should know. "Cicalazade Pasha's second wife appears to have been stolen from the vizier's island," the aga said. "We believe that we know some of the people involved, but we need your permission to proceed further. Will you sign this order?"

Recalling the conversation with his vizier of just two weeks ago, Mohammed III gave the aga his permission, and affixed his tugra seal to the order giving Hammid and the aga carte blanche to pursue their investigations. Soon a troop of janizaries was dispatched to the Kira house in the Jewish ghetto. The two black eunuchs followed them in litters.

Eli Kira greeted the two men and led them into a salon, where they were served coffee, honey, and almond-paste cakes, and sticky red and green candies. The banker knew there was something wrong when these two men came calling with a troop of the sultan's elite.

He waited a discreet time, indulging in small talk. Then, looking to the aga, he asked, "Well, my lord aga, why do you come to my home so heavily guarded? Is something amiss? Is there some unrest within the city that I have not heard about?"

"The wife of Cicalazade Pasha was stolen off his island retreat, Eli Kira. What do you know of it?"

The banker's face remained impassive. Not a muscle twitched, nor did any expression ruffle his features. There is no way they can know anything, Eli Kira silently reminded himself. His dark eyes now widened in surprise. "Lateefa Sultan stolen?" he exclaimed, hoping his look was incredulous enough.

A faint smile touched the aga's lips. Hammid's suspicions were correct. The Kiras knew something. "Not Lateefa Sultan," he said patiently, "but the vizier's new second wife, the lady Incili."

"Why should I know anything of this?" asked the banker haughtily. "I did not even know the lady."

"Perhaps you do not," conceded the aga, "but I will wager your grandmother does. The lady Incili was a stranger to this land. The only person from the outside she ever had contact with was Esther Kira, and the lady needed outside aid to escape."

"I thought you said she was stolen," said Eli Kira. "Is it not possible that she bribed the eunuchs to aid her? Why do you assume that because my grandmother casually knew this woman she has masterminded a plot? Where is your proof? You are insulting, my lord aga! I shall personally complain to the sultan about your actions!"

Slowly the aga drew from the sleeve of his robe a rolled parchment, which he handed to the banker. "If you will but take the time to glance at this, you will find that it is an order from the sultan giving me permission to take whatever action is necessary in this investigation. The sultan does not want his friend and valuable servant, Cicalazade Pasha, to be unhappy. And believe me, Eli Kira, the vizier will be very unhappy when he finds his favorite wife gone."

Eli Kira looked steadily and directly at the Aga Kislar, and then he turned his gaze on the vizier's grand eunuch. "I know nothing of this affair," he said firmly, "and if you have no tangible proof other than your outrageous suspicions, I must ask you to leave my house."

"No, Eli Kira. I intend questioning other members of your family. At this very moment, on my orders, my janizaries are entering your women's quarters."

"How dare you!" shouted the banker, his face going purple with outrage and anger. And he ran from the room towards the other end of the house, followed at a surprisingly swift pace by the two eunuchs.

They could already hear the shrieks of surprise and terror coming from the Kira harem, and the scene that greeted them was quite satisfying to the aga. He had wanted to instill just this type of fear in the Kira women. Now, as his reptilian gaze swept the room, he knew what tack to take.

Maryam Kira was white-faced and obviously very much frightened. She stood protectively clutching her two younger daughters, Rebecca and Sarah. Her eldest daughter, Debra, stood next to her mother, equally pale. Old Esther Kira was seated in a large chair looking frail but as fierce as a hawk. The room was full of brawny young janizaries, and several of the servant girls had obviously been molested.

Angry, red-faced, and fast becoming frightened, Eli Kira blustered at the aga. "This is the final offense, Ali Ziya! I shall send a messenger immediately to the sultan! You accuse us of some plot, but you offer no proof! You invade the privacy of my home with your soldiers, molest my servants, frighten my women! Show me some proof or get out!"

"Be silent! All of you!" All eyes turned to the old woman in the chair. "What is the problem, Ali Ziya? The Sultan Valide Safiye will not be pleased if I tell her of this unpleasantness."

The Aga Kislar looked to the old woman. Here was the real power behind the Kiras, this tiny, apparently delicate old woman with her all-knowing black-currant eyes. She stared unblinkingly at him, and he shivered. He smiled at her. "What have you done with Cicalazade Pasha's wife, Incili, Esther Kira?"

"What has happened to her, Ali Ziya?"

"I do not know, but I think you do."

"Nonsense! I know not of what you speak."

The aga smiled again, and decided to play his bluff. "Is this all of your family, Eli Kira?" he asked.

"No. There are my sons."

"Fetch them," came the command.

The banker nodded curtly to a servant girl, and several minutes later she returned with four of the boys.

"Is this all?"

"There is Asher, and our cousin John," said Debra innocently.

The aga pounced. "Where is your son, Asher, and who is this cousin?"

"They have gone off on business for the bank, and will not return for some time."

"Where? And who's this John Kira?"

"I sent them to Damascus, and our cousin comes from northern Europe."

"From Cousin Benjamin in Scotland," spoke Debra again.

Eli Kira shot his daughter a fierce look. "Be silent, Debra. You are not to speak unless spoken to. Your manners are too forward for a maiden."

"Ali Ziya!" All eyes turned to Hammid. "Ali Ziya!" The high voice was excited. "The woman Incili came from Scotland! I remember her telling me that when we first received her."

The aga's eyes narrowed. Here was his connection. He swung about and looked at Eli Kira and his sons. "Those two!" He pointed at the two youngest Kira boys. "What are their ages?"

"Thirteen and sixteen," came the reply.

"A good age," came the reply, and then the next words fell like hammer blows. "I will honor your house, Eli Kira. I will accept these two fine young men into the corps of janizaries."

"No!" shrieked Maryam Kira.

The banker's voice was firm, but his heart was beating very fast. "You cannot do that, Ali Ziya. I pay the head tax. My sons are exempt."

"This is an honor I do you, Eli Kira. Your sons enter an elite military unit dedicated to the sultan himself. You cannot refuse my generosity without offending my master. And… I will do your loyal family even further honor." His eyes swung over to where young Debra stood. "I am taking your eldest daughter for my master's harem. Never have I seen such beautiful eyes. Their violet color is quite unique. I am sure that, with the proper training, she will enchant him."

“No!" Eli Kira was shouting now. "The girl is betrothed! She is to be wed in two days!"

"You are wrong, my friend," the aga smiled. "In three nights I will present her to the sultan, and she will enter his bed as his new plaything. Perhaps she will captivate him. If not, she will live out her life in the Palace of Forgotten Women."

Maryam Kira flung herself at the aga's feet. "What is it you seek?" she begged. "I will help you if I can. But do not take my children, I pray you!"

"Maryam!" Eli pulled his groveling wife up.

"Eli! Eli!" She turned a frightened, tear-ravaged face to him. "What have you done? What is so important that you would sacrifice David and Lev? What is so important that you would condemn Debra to a life of loneliness and shame? If you know anything, tell him! In Yahweh's name tell him, I beg you!"

Eli Kira looked desperately towards his grandmother. Years of training now conflicted violently with his paternal feelings. He simply did not know what to do.

Esther Kira sighed. "Clear the room of all but Ali Ziya, Hammid, and my grandson, who ought to be told what this terror is all about. Do not touch any of my great-grandchildren, or you will learn nothing!"

"Take your men and wait in the courtyard. Touch no one and nothing," the aga commanded.

Slowly the room cleared until only the old woman, Eli Kira, and the two eunuchs remained. "Sit! Sit!" commanded Esther Kira. "This is a complicated story." And she settled herself comfortably. They looked expectantly at her. "Do any of you know when I was born?" she asked, and then cackled. "I was born on April first in the Christian year 1490. I am one hundred and nine years old! Now, of what I am about to tell you, my poor bemused grandson knows nothing. Since, however, my"-she stressed the word-"actions have brought difficulties to him, I think he should hear this."

Eli Kira kept his face impassive. There was absolutely nothing that he did not know of his family's business, but he understood what his grandmother was doing. By removing the blame from him, she was trying to save the family. It was a prime example of the first lesson she had ever taught him-survival at any cost. He felt a sudden burst of tenderness and affection for the lady who had built his family's fortune. He wished he might take her in his arms and hug her. Instead he sat quietly, a slightly expectant look on his face.

Good, thought Esther Kira, he understood my tactic. Then she continued. "Your suspicions are correct, Ali Ziya. I did help the woman you call Incili to return to her own people. So would you have, had you known who she was."

"She was a European noblewoman," came Hammid's voice.

"She was a descendant of Cyra Hafise," came back the reply.

"How can that be, old woman?" demanded Ali Ziya. "Cyra Hafise left only her son, Sultan Suleiman, and a daughter who was wed to Ibrahim Pasha. Of the imperial grandchildren, the princes Mustafa and Bajazet were murdered. Prince Janhagir died, Prince Selim became Sultan Selim II, and Princess Mihrmah was wed to Rustem Pasha. The children of Ibrahim Pasha and Princess Nilufer never left this land. Your vast age has finally addled your wits, Esther Kira."

"You are a third my age, Ali Ziya, and my wits are still sharper than yours," came the quick reply. "I was for many years a close friend and confidant of Cyra Hafise. I knew all about her, and her family. She had a brother, the Earl of Glenkirk. Incili is descended from him, and so was her first husband-also an Earl of Glenkirk. Her oldest son is the current earl. Because of the kind intervention of Cyra Hafise, the Kira family has managed the great fortune of the Leslies of Glenkirk for many years.

"I doubt that Incili ever heard of Cyra Hafise, but I almost fainted the first time I saw her. She is the mirror image of my long-dead friend, as Lateefa Sultan is of her ancestress, Firousi Kadin. To see them standing together took me back eighty-five years, and I thought for a moment that I had died and my two friends were coming to greet me."

She paused for a moment to gauge the effect this tale was having on her audience. In her grandson's eyes she caught a hint of admiration. The two eunuchs sat spellbound, and she chuckled within herself. Eunuchs were such children. She continued.

"After I had spoken awhile with the lady Incili and drawn her out a bit, I knew for certain who she was. With the aid of Lateefa Sultan, I attempted to get her to accept this as her life. But you yourself know, Hammid, how restless she was. Then her second husband and his servant arrived to rescue her. I introduced them into the house as John Kira, a cousin, and his servant. I secretly instructed him in the way of Jewish life so that during the time he was here no one would suspect his real identity and mission.

"I had no choice but to help him. He is a favorite cousin of the Scots king, who is the old English queen's heir. The Scots king is very fond of his cousin, and is bound to complain to the English queen, who will write to her friend the Sultan Valide Safiye, who will speak to her son, the sultan.

"The whole thing would have become a public scandal. The sultan's best friend and vizier, holding against her will in carnal bondage the cousin of Scotland's king? You know how these Christians are about sexual morals. How do you think the sultan would have felt caught in such a tangle?

"The woman, Incili, should never have been sent to Cicalazade Pasha. It was a vicious trick on the part of the vizier's sister, who is a jealous and cruel woman of bad repute." She turned accusingly to the grand eunuch. "You knew that, Hammid. Incili told you who she was, and begged you to have her ransomed. She could have made you a rich man. Instead, you used her to sate the never-satisfied appetite of your master in the hopes of furthering your own ambitions. Do you realize the embarrassment you could have caused the sultan and his government?"

Neatly she had shifted the blame from her own frail shoulders onto his fat ones. Eli Kira was open-mouthed in admiration. Ali Ziya was thoughtful.

"Incili is long gone," said Esther Kira. "Once again I have loyally served the House of Osman. When Cicalazade Pasha returns from his campaign, tell him that the lady Incili miscarried and died. She was not, by the way, really with child. It was a ruse she used to remain on the island so that her husband might rescue her. The eunuchs are dead and cannot talk. Your rowers can be sold off and replaced, and the oarmaster disposed of some way. No one else knows that Incili is gone. They will believe whatever you tell them."

"The sultan knows," said Ali Ziya.

"Tell him that the woman died, and that the eunuchs lied and hid themselves for fear of being blamed. Then tell him that everyone involved has been punished. It is not important to him, and he will forget."

Ali Ziya nodded. "You are right, Esther Kira. You know the imperial Ottoman well."

"I should," replied the old lady. "I have been dealing with them successfully for almost a hundred years."

The eunuchs stood up, as did Eli Kira. "I apologize, Eli Kira, for this invasion of your home. It did appear as if a crime had been committed in which your family was involved. I hope you will not find it necessary to complain to the sultan."

"No," said the banker quickly. "I understand it was just a terrible misunderstanding. You simply did your duty."

The Aga Kislar looked at Esther Kira. "You are a remarkable old woman," he said dryly. Turning, he left the room, followed by Hammid and Eli Kira.

Alone in the main courtyard of the house, the aga turned to Hammid. "Do as she suggested. If there is ever any question, I will back you up."

"Do you believe her, Ali?"

"Yes-and no," came the reply. The aga climbed into his litter, giving the signal for his departure. Returning to the Yeni Serai, Ali Ziya decided one thing. Esther Kira's influence with the imperial family must be discredited, and without a doubt she must die. Even in her old age she was far too astute, and very dangerous. Then too, she was a living link with a time when the Ottoman sultans were strong men who ruled alone, without the advice of women or eunuchs. Ali Ziya did not want to see that time return.

Chapter 58

THE coast of Thessaly stood dark in the early morning. Purple mountains speared the sunrise sky, snowcapped Olympus and Ossa towering above all. Between these two giants of the Pindus range spread the fertile plain of Thessaly, split by the Peneus River, which flowed into the Aegean Sea.

In that short time between the ebb and the flood tides, when the dark-green waters of the river mixed lazily with the turquoise waters of the sea, a small boat moved from the Aegean into the Peneus.

They had been anchored off this particular piece of coast all night waiting for the calm to get them safely into the river and the fioodtide that followed to sweep them up it. To the passing casual shoreline observer the boat contained four men and a woman. Obviously it was a family boat, a coastal trading vessel, heading upstream to Larissa to sell its cargo.

Within the boat the occupants heaved a collective sigh of relief. Another stage of their journey was over, and thus far it had been unbelievably simple. From the moment they had cast off from the Island of a Thousand Flowers, the skies had remained benevolent and the seas cooperative. They had sped down the Sea of Marmara past the island of the same name where imperial Ottoman slaves quarried marble for the sultan's export trade. Onward through the Dardanelles, and across the Aegean, Cat could not remember them seeing more than two other boats. They had stopped only once, at the island of Lemnos, to take on fresh water.

After all the blue and gold of the sea, the river was a startling change. Cat was stunned by the rugged beauty surrounding her. Seated in the bow of the boat, her dark cloak wrapped about her, she did not know which way to look next. To her right, the precipices descended like the gods themselves from Mount Olympus and fell steeply to the river. Mount Ossa rose the highest on her left, rising fifteen hundred feet straight up from the floor of the valley.

The valley was lush, and there were beautiful horses grazing in the grassy meadows.

"Are they wild?" asked Cat, for she saw neither houses nor people.

"Nay," Bothwell answered her. "They are specially raised, and have been since earliest times. Now the Turks own the ranches, but we're not apt to see any people until we reach Larissa. The Turks are on the ranches, and in the cities, and this river passes through only two towns."

The river began to narrow into a gorge. "The Vale of Tempe," he said, as their boat slipped into a close, greenlit world. "Legend says that Poseidon, the Greek god of the sea, created it so he might have a beautiful bower in which to woo a daughter of the river god."

Cat looked up at him, her green eyes reflecting the light of the vale. "How beautiful! Did he win her love?"

"I dinna know, but 'tis a most romantic place for lovers. The vale is also connected to the sun god, Apollo. A maiden named Daphne fled here to escape his lecherous advances. Daphne was dedicated to Apollo's twin sister, the virgin moon goddess, Diana. Apollo was determined to have Daphne, and he cornered her here. She cried out to Diana to save her from shame, and the goddess obliged her handmaiden by turning the girl into a flowering laurel bush. Since then the Vale of Tempe is sacred to Apollo, and in ancient times the laurel for the victor's wreaths at the Pythian Games was gathered here."

"Had you been Apollo and I Daphne, I would never have fled ye, Francis."

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. The trip across the sea had turned her creamy skin a rich golden color, and her eyes appeared even greener than usual. Her rich honey-colored hair had been, in the Aegean, free of its bandanna and turban; and the sun had bleached it a pale gold. She was very lovely, and it had been months now since they had last made love. Unfortunately this was not the time, though the place would have been perfect. Ahead were the ruins of the Temple of Apollo, set high above the river within a grove of tall, ancient oaks. He would have enjoyed making love to her in that romantic setting.

Francis sighed, and catching her looking at him, grinned guiltily. She laughed softly. "I regret it also, Bothwell," she said, reading his thoughts.

"Yer a witch," he chuckled.

"Nay. Just yer other half, Francis," and she caught his big hand and pressed it to her lips.

"Will we get home safely, Bothwell?" she pleaded.

"We will get home safely, Cat. I promise you."

The Vale of Tempe behind them, the plain of Thessaly spread itself out again in the glory of early summer, and before the sun had reached its zenith, the walls of ancient Larissa came into view. Cat bound up her beautiful hair again, and Susan hid her pretty face behind the voluminous folds of a black feridji, leaving only her eyes visible.

After paying the dockage fee to the Turkish portmaster they were directed to a pier near the waterfront market. They tied up without incident.

"Saul Kira's house is near enough to walk," said Asher. "He is a widower, his children grown and gone. Only his widowed sister is in the house to care for him. We should be safe for the moment." And he led them across the crowded market, alive with mooing, baaing, clucking, and quacking livestock. The noise made by the animals and haggling merchants was ferocious, and Cat sighed gratefully when they had crossed the market square.

They entered the small courtyard to a yellow brick house. Saul Kira greeted them warmly, putting Cat and Susan into the custody of his sister, Abigail. Abigail bas Kira looked at Cat suspiciously, wondering whether this really was a young man. Cat drew off her headgear so that her long hair tumbled down her back. The old woman nodded, satisfied. "What can I get you?" she asked them.

"A bath," breathed Cat and Susan together, and then they laughed at their singlemindedness.

An hour later they were bathed, their hair washed free of sea salt. Abigail bas Kira had given them each clean clothing, and Cat's bandanna and turban were washed and dried. The Jews never wore them, so there were none in the house.

While Susan helped to lay the table, Cat joined the men. Bothwell put an arm about his wife. "Good news… and some bad," he said.

"The good?" she asked.

"We are not pursued. They felt they could not pick up the trail, and so they decided to tell your 'lord and master' that you had died miscarrying. We will have to continue to move cautiously, however, as I do not want us to run into any Ottoman officials asking embarrassing questions, or slavers with sharp eyes."

She sighed. "Thank God they dinna pursue us. But what is the bad news, my love."

"Esther Kira is dead."

"Oh, Francis! But then, she was a very old lady- well over a hundred. Well, God assoil her soul. I know she had a great one."

"Aye," he nodded. He was grateful that she assumed age was the cause of Esther's death. It had not been. There had been a sudden fluctuation in the valuation of the Turkish currency. Rumors flew through the city, and the people had deliberately been aroused against the bankers. Old Esther Kira, returning from the palace, where she had been visiting with the sultan's mother, was dragged from her litter and stoned. The following day the value of currency had miraculously returned to normal. By that time, Esther Kira was dead.

The sultan and his mother were lavish in their grief, but no one was ever brought before the kadi for this obvious murder.

The Kiras, however, plainly understood the nature of the warning visited upon them by the death of their matriarch. Asher Kira was told to go on to Italy with his charges, and settle in Rome with his uncle. The main branch of the Kira bank then returned to business as usual, but less conspicuously now, and without royal favor.

There was no need for Cat to know these things. Lord Bothwell did not want to burden his wife with guilt or grief. The worst of their journey lay ahead of them, and she would need all her courage and strength for that. There was no time for weeping. He did ask her if she wanted to communicate with Lateefa Sultan, but Cat decided to wait until they were safely in Italy. Then she would send her Ottoman cousin a special gift-a replica of Cyra Hafise's pendant-along with a letter.

There was no need to tarry in Larissa. The following day they bid farewell to Saul and Abigail and headed upstream to Tricca. As they left, Saul Kira released a pigeon who would fly to Istanbul as a signal that Eli Kira's oldest son had gotten as far as Larissa in safety.

They reached Tricca in two days. Still keeping to the guise of coastal traders they sold their small cargo of Brusa silks to a delighted broker who rarely saw such fine quality. They then loaded their boat with just a small quantity of trade goods for barter. It was unlikely that anyone would inspect the boat and discover that most of its cargo was stones.

They departed Tricca the day after their arrival and slowly began to make their way upstream. As they left the town behind, the river grew wilder and rockier, with little patches of Whitewater rapids. Bothwell and Asher took turns at the helm of the little boat while, from the bow, Cat and Susan alternated in keeping watch of the river ahead. Conall clung to his precarious perch high up on the mast, peering ahead for dangerous waters.

They could not travel at night now. For safety's sake they remained in the middle of the stream, using their sea anchor, and there was always a watch posted. As the countryside became wilder, less inhabited by farmers and herdsmen, it grew thick with bandits.

Finally they could go no further on the Peneus. They were near the source of its headwaters, and the stream became narrow, shallow, and very rocky. They would now have a two-day trek through the forest in order to reach the Aous River in Illyria, and then a short march to reach the spot where Bothwell and Conall had hidden their boat.

The little boat that had carried them in safety from the heart of the Ottomon Empire was sunk without a trace. Bothwell continued to take no chances.

They were in a vast forest, and it amazed Cat that Francis and Conall were able to find their way. The Earl of Bothwell enlightened his wife by explaining that when they had come through the forest on their way to Istanbul, he had cut small, deep notches into various trees along their route. After nearly a year, the marks were still there.

The woodland with its oak, elm, pine, and birch trees was similar to those found in Scotland. So was the wildlife. They saw deer, bear, wolves, and wild boar as well as fowl and birds of all kinds, most familiar.

They each carried only a small amount of food. There was a pouch of finely ground grain which, when mixed with water, could be boiled and eaten as a cereal, or boiled and then roasted on hot stones to make a cake. A second pouch contained dried figs, raisins, and peaches. Asher had a small brick wrapped in red and silver foil made up of dark, dried leaves which he called "te." Added to boiling water, it made a refreshing amber drink which they found sustaining.

They were all armed. Susan had a dagger. Cat and Asher had both dagger and scimitar. Conall and Both-well carried, in addition to those weapons, English longbows and arrows.

The first day they walked many miles before making camp. Conall managed to shoot two ducks. Susan and Cat plucked and cleaned them, and stuffed them with dandelion greens and some dried fruit. Bothwell, never able to resist fishing a good mountain brook, managed to catch three trout. It was a satisfying meal.

The following morning they carefully watered the fire down and buried it. They began to walk again. They reached the headwaters of the Aous River by midday, and another hour's march along the waterside brought them to an overgrown but still serviceable road. Stopping for a time to eat some fruit and drink some water, Cat asked about the road.

"Roman," answered Bothwell. "Illyria was a favorite province of the empire. There are two legends regarding its name. The Romans say the name is derived from Illyricus, the son of the Cyclops Polythemus and the sea nymph Galatea. The Greeks, however, claim that Illyricus was the son of Cadmus and Harmonia."

"Why was the province favored, Francis?"

"Because the Illyrians are born fighters-tough, hardy, natural soldiers. The Romans recruited heavily among them. In the third century after Christ the first wave of barbarians hit the empire, and Illyria became the last bulwark of the Roman and Western cultures. Most of the outstanding emperors of that period were Illyrian, elected right on the field of battle by their soldiers. Now, of course, 'tis just a part of the sultan's vast empire, but there are fewer Turks here because the population of this country turned Muslim when first conquered rather than lose control of their lands. The sultan has firm control of the cities and the lowlands, but here in the mountains the tribes are left to enjoy their ancient autonomy. They pay a high tribute for it… We'll have to move with caution here. I dinna want to attract any attention."

She looked levelly at him. "Are we in danger?"

"Let us just say I dinna want to run into any bandits. I would say we're safe as long as we keep moving, and as long as it's dark. Fearing pagan taboos, they do not attack at night."

It was midafternoon of the following day when they reached the cave where Bothwell and Conall had hidden their boat. It was still there, the cave entrance well covered and quite undisturbed. They might have dragged the boat to the river then, but Bothwell thought the women looked weary.

"We'll stop and camp here the night," he ordered. "Come morning we'll be fresh, and on our way at first light. Asher, help the women set up camp while Conall and I go hunting for our meal."

They decided to camp within the cave. There would be less chance of their fire being spotted, of wild animals, or of being caught in a sudden rain. Susan cut reeds from the riverbank and bound them to make torches for the cave. With Asher Kira's help she gathered firewood. Asher then left them to try his hand at fishing, and Cat gave her young tiring woman leave to bathe while she finished up within the cave. The lessons she had learned riding the Scots borders with Bothwell served her well now. She built a fire, lay out the cooking gear, and took a jug to the river.

Directly below the cave lay a small crescent-shaped sandy beach which bordered a shallow pool within the river made by an almost circular formation of rocks. Susan bathed in the pool and Cat promised to join her shortly.

Returning to the cave, she placed the jug on a rock ledge so that no one would trip over it, then looked about to see if she had forgotten anything. The fire burned hot in a carefully dug pit. On opposite sides of the fire the iron spit holders were imbedded firmly in the ground, the spit, a wooden spoon, and an iron pot nearby. When the men returned, the women would be ready for them.

Satisfied that she had done her part, Cat was ready to go swimming. Suddenly she heard a high scream of terror from Susan. Without thinking, she ran out of the cave and leaped down the small incline to the beach below. Too late, she realized her mistake. She was weaponless except for a dagger, having left her scimitar in the cave. There was a man on the beach and two more in the water, chasing after Susan, who swam frantically this way and that, trying to escape. The man on the beach turned to face Cat. Drawing her dagger, she crouched to meet him.

"The mermaid has a boy companion with her," he called in Turkish to his companions. Cat realized now that they were Ottoman soldiers, and not Illyrian bandits as she had first assumed.

Deepening her voice, Cat shouted, "Leave my sister be! We are loyal citizens of the sultan-may Allah grant him long life! Is this how the sultan's soldiers behave? Attacking helpless travelers?" Her voice rang with scorn.

They looked surprised, and for a moment Cat thought they might leave them in peace. Then one of the men waded from the water and made straight for her. Cat gasped, for the man stood close to seven feet tall. It took all her courage not to break and run. When he was quite close she called out, "Stop! Come no further or I'll slit your belly wide open!"

The giant stopped, eyeing her with some amusement. "I think, my young fighting cock, that you are really in no position to give orders. But my curiosity is aroused. You're not Illyrian, so why are you here?"

"We're from Tricca," answered Cat, "on our way to visit our grandmother, whose second husband is Illyrian. We came up the Peneus with a friend, a river trader. We have been walking for two days now, and our grandmother's house is but a few hours from here. My sister wanted to bathe before going on."

The giant smiled slowly, and a knowing fear clutched Cat. "I am Omar," he said. "A captain with the Illyrian regulars. We have been here in the mountains collecting the sultan's tribute from the local tribes. With Illyrians we must maintain good manners, lest we cause the sultan difficulties. Their women are forbidden contact with us, and we do not molest them. It has been weeks now since my men have enjoyed female companionship. Your sister is very pretty." He turned to his men. "Get the river nymph," he commanded sharply. Then he turned to Cat. "Pretty young men also make good sport," he laughed, jumping forward.

Cat's knife bit into his arm. Omar cursed roundly but kept coming. Several more times she bloodied him, but he kept forcing her backward until she found herself against the embankment below the cave. For a moment they stood still, facing each other. Her heart was beating wildly, and she was panting with fright and exhaustion. She could hear Susan screaming, and she trembled.

She leaped at him but he turned quickly, grunting with surprise as the knife buried itself deep in the muscle of his shoulder. With his good arm he hit her a fierce blow on the side of the head, and she fell to the ground. Her turban and bandanna fell away onto the ground.

There was a moment of silence while the captain removed the knife from his shoulder and dabbed the wound. Then he glanced back at the half-conscious woman at his feet. He shouted his delight. "By Allah! Another woman! A fighting wildcat, but a female!"

Reaching down, he pulled Cat up by the arm and, catching her face between his thumb and forefinger, looked hard at her. "By Allah!" he muttered almost to himself. "You're a beauty! A real little prize."

Numb, she stood quietly as he quickly and expertly stripped her naked. "Allah bless me! My fortune is made," the captain chortled as he ran his hands over her shrinking body. She shivered as feeling began to come back to her. "Easy, my beauty," he said quietly. "You need have no fear of me, and I'll protect you from my men. You're worth more to me as you are than bloodied by them. They'll sate their lust on the other."

She saw with horror that Susan had been dragged from the water and now lay on her back, held by one man while the other prepared to rape her. Her servant's plight roused pity in Cat, pity for the girl who had known only rape and depravity from men, never any tenderness or love. At least I have had that, thought Cat.

"Come!" The voice startled her from her reflections. The giant pulled her a little way down the beach and, sitting, drew her down into his lap. She braced herself for the struggle to come. His laughter rumbled as he saw her face contort with fear. "Don't be frightened, my beauty. I'm not going to force you, though Allah knows you would tempt a holy man. Alas, I have not functioned as a man since a fever took me several months back. Still," and he chuckled again, "I know other ways to make a girl happy. When my men sleep tonight perhaps we'll try some, eh?"

Cat shuddered. "What are you going to do with me?" she asked.

"Why-sell you, woman! Allah! Have you never looked in a mirror? You will bring me a fortune, though whether I can get a better price for you in the open market or from Fatima the procuress I will not know until we reach Apollonia."

Helplessness swept over Cat. Oh, God, she wailed silently! Not again. Then she caught herself. The captain and his two men were not aware that the helpless women they had captured travelled with three men. If she could only keep them here until the others returned, she and Susan had a chance. But once the two soldiers finished amusing themselves with Susan, their captain would want to be on his way. There was only one way to keep him here, and though she shrank from it, she knew she must detain them.

The captain was fondling her breasts. He might be temporarily impotent, but the thought was strong. So much the better. Saying a prayer for the men's quick arrival, Cat made her voice softly innocent and said hesitantly, "I have been a widow two years now, captain, and my husband was a very simple man. What… what…" She stopped. Lowering her eyes as if in confused embarrassment, she giggled nervously. "What did you mean when you said there are 'other ways' to make a girl happy?" she finished in a breathless rush.

Captain Omar's piglike little eyes narrowed and then began to glitter with anticipatory delight. "A widow for two years? A pretty girl like yourself, and no suitors to play with?"

"I was in mourning, and then my father became ill and my sister and I nursed him until he died. There was no time for suitors," she finished modestly.

"Surely your husband was a lusty man, and showed you many a fine bed trick?"

"Oh, no, captain! My husband was many years my senior. He was a wealthy man when I married him, and father got a very good bride price for me. When my poor husband died, however, he had lost his wealth through poor investments. Had my dear father not taken me back, I should have been destitute."

"You're no virgin still, are you?"

Cat knew she dare not lie. "Oh, no, captain! My husband did his duty by me once weekly."

"Once weekly? Once weekly!" roared the giant "Allah, woman! If you had been my wife I'd have fucked you three times nightly and double on the sabbath!" He chuckled. "So you were wed to a graybeard who could barely do it, and here you are a lusty, hot young widow, innocent of all the nice things a man can do for a woman to make her feel good. Tell me, my pretty one-would you like me to do some of those things to you now?"

Cat hid her face in the giant's shoulder. Taking coyness for assent, the captain chuckled again, the deep rumbling sound of a pleased tomcat, and ran a thick finger along the line of her tightly closed legs. Cat closed her eyes and concentrated on not screaming.

In the woods, downstream of the river, Asher Kira had heard Susan shrieking. Quickly, but cautiously, he had hurried to investigate. Shocked by the scene before him, the gentle young banker soiled himself. In his youthful fantasies he had imagined the taking of a reluctant woman, bat the unpleasant reality of rape terrified him. Gasping for breath, he fought to control his anger and disgust. Reason prevailed. He could scarcely fight off three men alone. Melting back into the thick cover of the undergrowth, Asher Kira set off for Lord Bothwell.

It took him over half an hour, for he moved carefully, marking his trail so he might find his way back easily. He found Conall first, and poured out his story. The Scots captain paled. Grasping the younger man by the arm, Conall pulled him along to the earl. Bothwell’s face darkened with rage, and he might have gone crashing back through the underbrush had it not been for the restraining influence of his companions.

"Ye'll nae stop the deviltry now, my lord," said Conall grimly. "What we want is to get them back alive."

Francis did not think that he could bear it. His beautiful, brave Cat was being hurt again! Could the fates not leave them in peace? And he knew in a fury that nearly overcame him, he was going to kill her tormenter himself.

It was almost night as they grimly made their way back to the campsite. Silently observing the beach from the little bluff above it, they saw that the three soldiers had made a fire and were seated about it. Susan was not to be seen, but Cat-still naked-was clasped in the captain's big lap. As they crept closer they could hear the men arguing.

"I don't see why you won't let us have her, captain," said one of the soldiers. "Because you can't do it yourself any more, you deny Mustafa and me."

"You have the other girl, Issa."

"She's unconscious now, captain," whined the soldier. "It's no fun fucking a woman who doesn't move. Let us have a go on Goldenhair. Come on, now. You've never been one to hoard the goods all to yourself."

"You're a pair of fools! This woman is a real beauty! If I don't let you two damage her we'll get a fine price for her in Apollonia. Then you can buy all the women you want. This one you leave alone!"

"We saw what you were doing to her before, captain," said Issa. "Let us do at least that. Aw, hell! She's got such wonderful big tits. I want a feel. Come on, captain! Let us have a little feel."

Captain Omar stood up, dumping Cat, and roared, "No! No! And again, no! You'll bruise the devil out of her. I know you two. You're animals! Fuck the other, and think about how much money this one will bring us when we sell her." Then he plumped himself down again, yanking Cat back into the comparative safety of his massive lap.

Watching from his hidden vantage, Bothwell thanked God she hadn't been raped. Susan, poor lass, had taken the brunt of the brutality. The earl vowed he would do his best to care for her. If they got out of this alive, Susan would never again lack for anything.

Slipping back into the forest, he signaled silently to Conall and Asher to follow him. They reached a small clearing, and Bothwell said quietly, "I think we're well advised to wait until they sleep. We'll each take one of them, but the captain is mine." The two nodded. The earl asked Asher, "Do ye think ye can kill a man, lad?"

Asher Kira nodded. "Yes, my lord, I can. After what I saw them doing to Susan, I can kill one of the men who did it."

The earl smiled grimly, and the three men settled down to wait.

The moonless night grew darker, and gradually the noise from the soldiers died until only snoring broke the stillness. Carefully now they crept up again to the perimeter of the camp. The fire burned low. The three men were all there. The man who should have been on guard slept as noisily as his companions. Bothwell shook his head in wonder. These Turks-alleged to be the world's finest military-were poor soldiers. Instead of sleeping in close formation about the fire, they were scattered-easy prey for man or animal.

The earl nodded to Conall and Asher. Shadowlike the three men stepped from the darkness into the faint glow of the firelight. Methodically they went about their task. A hard hand was clasped quickly about a mouth to stifle the cry while the throat was cut from ear to ear. The two soldiers died swiftly. Captain Omar was left.

A bloodcurdling Scots war cry ripped through the night. The Turkish captain scrambled to his feet, terrified. A quick glance about him told him his companions were dead. Slowly, he turned to face his adversaries. There were three of them-a beardless youth not worth bothering with, and two hardened veterans. Omar was no coward, but he did not like the odds.

"I am Captain Omar of the sultan's Dlyrian regulars," he said. "Who are you?"

The tallest of the men stepped forward. "My name matters not, spawn of pig's offal! You will not live long enough to repeat it!"

The insult was enormous, yet the captain was puzzled. "Do I know you, my lord? What is your quarrel with me?" He shifted his weight slightly.

"Do not move, captain," said the tall man. "My young friend has a pistol pointed directly at you. It is primed and ready. If his finger should slip…" He paused and smiled. "Have you ever seen a man die of a bullet wound, captain? A large hole blown clean through his middle? The guts oozing out onto the ground like a string of sausages? Move one step, and you will experience that most exquisite agony."

The giant Turk swallowed hard and glanced over at the boy he had regarded so lightly. Asher Kira glared coldly back. His slender hand was wrapped lightly about a large, evil-looking weapon. He seemed quite familiar with it, even comfortable. Captain Omar stood very still.

Bothwell turned to Conall. "Susan?"

"Alive, my lord," came the choked reply. The weatherworn face, wet with tears, implored him.

"Christ, mon, what sort of human does this to a young girl?" And he tenderly cradled the battered body of his niece in his arms.

"Cat!" The earl's voice called.

She came slowly from behind the captain, still naked. Removing his heavy cloak, Bothwell wrapped her in it "Asher will take you and Susan to the boat as soon as he and Conall have launched it"

"And you?"

"The captain and I have unfinished business."

"I will stay till it is finished," she stated.

A slow smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "You were never one to run from danger, were you, my love? Very well then. It would be easier if you had some clothes on, madame. Are there any extra among us?"

Nodding, she said, "I will not be long, Francis," and climbed back up to the cave. Taking Susan's extra undergarments, pants from Asher, and a shirt from Conall, she was able to put together a decent wardrobe. Her own sash and boots were salvageable.

While she dressed, the others pressed Captain Omar's strength into service. They dragged the boat from its biding place and anchored it in the river, just off the beach. Asher Kira waited in it with the injured Susan. Having regained consciousness, she alternated between relief and tears. Conall built up the fire to light the area while the two combatants stripped off shirts and boots.

"Understand me, Turk," said Bothwell. "If I do not kill you, which I intend doing, my captain will do it. But because I believe every condemned man has the right to know why he dies I will tell you now that the lady you intended selling into bondage is my wife. The girl your men brutalized is my captain's niece."

Captain Omar let the words slide over him, looking his challenger over. Bothwell was almost as tall as he, but weighed a good deal less. Omar felt confidence swelling through him. He would quickly crush the infidel dog. As for his bandy-legged companion, he presented no threat at all. But it would be wise to dispose of him quickly. Whirling, he turned on the surprised Conall and felled him with a great blow to the head. The Scotsman slid silently to the sand as Cat screamed his name.

Now Captain Omar turned to Bothwell. The two men circled each other, each assessing the other's strength. Their knives flashed in the firelight. Suddenly terrified, Cat knelt by the unconscious Conall, watching and praying.

There was a sudden glint of steel and a reddening wound. Then there was another, and another. The two men fought on, past taunts now, an occasional grunt punctuating the silence. Neither seemed to weary, and the firelight dappled their sweat-soaked bodies. Suddenly the Turk flung aside his knife and leaped at Both-well, enveloping him in a great bear hug. Bothwell was caught as surely as a rabbit in a snare. He could not struggle, and his knife dropped from his hand. The giant seemed to be squeezing the very life from him.

"Cat!" He managed to gasp. "To the boat, lass! Run!"

He felt a rib crack and struggled harder against both his massive enemy and fast-rising unconsciousness. He knew that if the blackness claimed him he was a dead man. The ignominy of the situation struck at his native pride.

That he, Francis Stewart-Hepburn, should die at the hands of a mindless Turk!.Through the roaring in his ears he thought he heard his wife's voice, and it gave him courage. If he died, she was doomed to a living hell.

Scrambling across the sand, Cat picked up first the Turk's knife and then Bothwell's. Legs shaking, she plunged both knives repeatedly into the mountain of flesh that was the Turk, but she could not seem to find a vital spot. Her blows were no more effective than a gnat's bite. But, like the insect, she became a great irritant. Dropping his half-conscious victim, Omar turned on her.

"Woman!" he shouted, and she jumped backwards. He reached for the knives and, disarming her, slapped her several light blows. Terrified for Bothwell, and feeling more helpless than she had ever felt, Cat dropped to her knees. The Turk turned back to the earl. Suddenly a roar tore the stillness. Spinning about, Captain Omar clutched at his middle, a look of pure surprise on his face. He removed his hands slowly to look, then clamped them quickly back over the hole in his belly as a length of pink gut rolled out. But he was not able to contain the blood that poured forth.

Sickened, Cat scrambled away from him, but he kept coming towards her, his lips moving, mouthing words she could not hear. The pink intestines were uncontainable now, spilling between his clutching fingers, blood spurting over her. Beyond him stood Asher Kira, the smoking pistol in his hands. Nearby both Bothwell and Conall lay unmoving on the damp sand.

Horrified, she slowly scanned the scene of carnage in which she had played a leading role. Suddenly Captain Omar crumbled dead at her feet. Terror filling her eyes, she screamed, "Oh, God! No more! No more! No more!"

Chapter 59

IN the cool green hills overlooking Rome there nestled a beautiful villa, commanding a view of the sea many miles beyond. A park surrounded the house, but the gates leading to it were always closed unless someone was entering or leaving. It was called simply Villa Mia, and had been built a hundred years before for a mistress of the Borgia pope, Alexander VI. The park was filled with greenery, deer, birds, and little lakes.

The house was now owned by the foreigner Lord Stuarti. The local people knew little else about him. The new lord had a large force of men-at-arms, but only their captain was ever seen entering the house. The servants were all women, imported from Rome. Tradesmen were stopped at the back door. No one from the surrounding area had ever been inside the villa.

There was a rumor that Lord Stuarti had a wife, but she was never seen, and it was known that he occasionally visited the widowed innkeeper, Giovanna Russo.

When the other women of the village attempted to elicit information from Giovanna, she would say nothing other than "He is a good man with much pain. Do not ask again for I will tell you nothing." This was strange, for Giovanna was a warm-hearted woman who was known to enjoy a good gossip. Eventually, however, the villagers accepted the mysterious Lord Stuarti and no longer paid any particular attention to the Villa Mia.

Francis Stewart-Hepburn had never intended to return to Naples. The Villa del Pesce d'Oro would have held too many frightening ghosts. So, the new villa had already been purchased, and was waiting when he and Cat returned. Bothwell thanked God he had a home to bring her to, and that it was isolated.

She had been near death for many weeks after the terrible ordeal, and he was convinced that only his own willpower, his desperate desire that she stay alive, had kept her alive.

Cat had drifted in and out of consciousness throughout the homeward journey running a low, steady fever. She would eat nothing, pushing food away angrily in her only show of emotion. It was all he could do to get liquids into her. He had kept her alive in spite of herself, getting her safely to Italy.

Strangely, it was Cat's plight which made Susan refrain from self-pity. Susan had suffered terribly, but hardly to the extent that her mistress had. The young woman blamed herself for Cat's plight.

" 'Tis my fault she is so hurt," she said, tears threatening. "But I will help to get her well, my lord! I swear I will," she vowed. Bothwell was grateful, and glad for her company.

When they reached the Villa Mia, young May was waiting. The two sisters embraced. May, grateful to both her older sister and her mistress for saving her in the attack on Villa del Pesce d'Oro, eagerly aided Susan in her efforts to bring Cat back to sanity.

The Countess of Bothwell had not spoken a word since the night of her rescue, and her beautiful eyes remained void of all expression. Sometimes the earl felt her staring at him, but when he turned, it was to be met with the all-too-familiar blank look. Still he loved her as never before and, desperate, tried to carry on as if all were normal.

He did not share her bed, sleeping instead in a room adjoining hers. At night the door between the rooms remained open so that he would hear her if she called. Though her face expressed nothing and she was mute, she seemed to understand all that was said to her. She communicated by looks and signs.

Other than her husband, Conall, and young Asher Kira, no men were ever allowed into her presence. The proximity of a strange male was apt to set her to weeping and moaning.

They had arrived in midsummer, and now as the Roman autumn progressed she began to venture out of the villa into the gardens for long walks. She was always accompanied by either Susan or May, and the gardeners were warned to remove themselves the moment she appeared. The mistress, they were told, had been very ill, and strangers upset her.

Now the gossip in the village began anew, and the talk was all about the Madonna Stuarti. Though the gardeners removed themselves from Cat's sight, no one had said they might not look upon her from the cover of the bushes. In the tavern of Giovanna Russo they raved about Cat's pale-gold hair (for her hair had never regained its tawny shade), they sang praises to her leaf-green eyes, they rhapsodized over her beautiful, unlined face and her young girl's figure.

Giovanna Russo filled their tankards with the region's best, slapped away roving hands, and listened. She had often wondered about her lover's wife, for he never spoke of her. Yet she was sure that the sadness afflicting him stemmed from a tragedy which had befallen his wife. He came to Giovanna for release only, but she was satisfied. He was the best lover she had ever had- strong, tender, and considerate.

One day, Giovanna managed to slip into the villa gardens. She needed to see her rival. Having seen her, Giovanna Russo was deeply torn.

If the beautiful lady became well again, Giovanna would lose her lover. Yet she loved Bothwell in her own fashion, and she wanted him to be happy. A kind woman, she began lighting candles for Cat in the village church.

One beautiful afternoon, Bothwell waved both his wife's attendants away and, tucking Cat's thin hand through his arm, walked with her out into the sunlit gardens. "Susan tells me yer taking more nourishment," he said. "It shows. That and the air have made yer cheeks rosy again."

She said nothing, but there was the faintest shadow of a smile on her Hps. They continued to walk in silence, and then, suddenly, he caught her by the shoulders and looked down into her face. "Cat! For God's sake, my darling! Speak to me!" He had recently seen the blank look receding from her eyes. "I love ye, hinny! More now than ever before. Dinna shut me out, Cat! Dinna go away from me again!"

"How can ye love me, Francis?" Her voice was low, so low that he was not sure she was speaking. But he had seen her lips move.

"Why shouldn't I love ye, sweetheart?"

Her voice dripped scorn. "God, Bothwell, hae ye no pride? I am dirtied! I am used filth, and I shall never be clean again!"

"You are unclean only if ye believe it, Cat. Men have used yer body cruelly, I'll nae deny it." His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her upper arms, and his eyes bore into hers. "But no man ever really possessed ye, my darling. Not ever! Yer soul was always yer own!"

"Be satisfied with yer plump innkeeper, Francis," she said wearily. "If any man touches me ever again, I shall die."

He was surprised by neither her attitude nor her knowledge of Giovanna. "Very well, my love, I shall not attempt to make love to ye. But there will come a night when ye will change yer mind. I will wait, Cat. But in the meantime, please dinna stop talking to me. If God wills that I have naught but the sound of yer voice for the rest of my days, I shall be satisfied."

For a moment her old smile flashed. "Hypocrite!" she said. But her eyes were twinkling.

From that afternoon on she began to improve. Without telling her, he had written to her son, the Earl of Glenkirk, requesting that their children be sent to them. The children would be arriving by Christmas. Bothwell pursued her, seeking her love and her trust once again. Each morning now he breakfasted with her in her bedroom after they had attended mass together in their chapel. Afterwards he left her, sometimes reappearing for lunch. He was always with her in the evenings.

He personally planned each evening, though she did not know this. With exquisite taste he chose the menu, the wines, the flowers that graced their table. He delighted in giving her little gifts, a small wood box inlaid with mother-of-pearl, a pale-green silk nightgown, a cage of brightly colored, singing finches. She accepted each offering quietly: the box with a smile, the nightgown with a blush, the birds with a little cry of pleasure.

Often now he caught her looking at him from beneath her thick lashes, and in the night-for he limited his visits to Giovanna and never went to her after dark-he heard her moving restlessly about her chamber. He did not approach her, for her wounds were still too grievously deep to allow her a physical life. He knew that a woman as deeply sensuous as Cat would eventually recover, and want love once more. He waited.

On December 21, the Feast of St. Thomas, a coach rumbled down the white graveled drive of the Villa Mia. As it drew up to the front of the house, Bothwell hurried his wife outside to greet their guests.

"How could ye," she raged at him. "I dinna want to see anyone!" But he chuckled. "Wait, hinny!’Tis a happy surprise."

Suddenly her heart began to beat wildly, with certainty. "Oh, Francis." She trembled. "Is it our bairns?"

His arm tightened about her shoulders. "Aye," he smiled. " 'Tis our bairns."

The coach stopped, and the footmen leaped to open its door. And then a boy appeared in the doorway of the coach, and it was Bothwell's turn to tremble. The child who stood there was his mirror image.

"Ian!" She pulled from her husband's protective grasp, and caught the boy in an embrace that he endured for only a moment. "Mother!" And he buried his small, suddenly vulnerable face in her soft neck. Then, demanding to be put down, he looked up at Bothwell. His sapphire-blue eyes were steady as he said, "My half-brother, the Earl of Glenkirk, has explained the situation, sir. He has given us the option to use either the Leslie name or yours. I think, father," and Bothwell trembled again, "I think we would prefer to acknowledge ye as our sire, since ye hae been so kind as to acknowledge us."

The Earl of Bothwell swallowed hard, and then grinned down at his small son. Unable to contain himself, he grabbed the boy up with a whoop and hugged him hard. The grin that came back at him nearly shattered his heart. And it was with great amusement that he heard the boy whisper conspiratorially, "Please, father, put me down or my sisters will feel slighted. They are used to being spoiled by the men."

Bothwell complied and turned back-to his wife, who knelt and embraced the two little girls. The larger of the two was Cat all over again, with tawny hair and leaf-green eyes. But the tinier of the two was a mixture of both her parents, with her father's auburn hair and her mother's green eyes. At a whisper from their mother, they turned to greet him, and the little piping voices that called him "papa" swelled his heart to bursting.

In the next few days she came back to life, and he knew that it was the children who had driven away the remaining ghosts for her. Now the air rang with the sound of children's voices. To Bothwell’s amazement, he reveled in parenthood.

This Christmas was their first all together. They attended a mass of thanksgiving in the villa's chapel, and then Cat and her daughters distributed alms and gifts to the poor of the village. The village women were awed by the slender beautiful woman with the pale-gold hair and green eyes who spoke their language so well. They were equally enchanted by Cat's daughters, who had decided they preferred the Italian versions of their names and were now called la donna Gianetta and la donna Francesca.

Their baskets empty, the earl's party stopped at the inn, where the ladies of the Villa Mia were offered seasonal refreshments. And while the children munched Christmas sweets and cuddled a litter of kittens they had found in the innyard, their mother coolly accepted a goblet of wine from the innkeeper, Giovanna Russo.

Innkeeper and Contessa studied one another for a moment. Then the innkeeper said in a voice audible only to Cat, "If I were lucky enough to be married to Francisco Stuarti, I should not continue to deny him my bed, signora la contessa."

"You know nothing about it, innkeeper," hissed Cat.

"I know that every time he lies with me he pretends 'tis you," came the retort.

Cat was stricken, suddenly close to tears. "I cannot," she whispered. "You do not know what has been done to me."

Intuitive comprehension rose in Giovanna. "Dio mio," she gasped. "So-being a rich noblewoman is no protection either!" And impulsively she caught Cat's hands and looked into her face. "It has happened to me also, signora. In the last damned war a troop of French soldiers…" She stopped and spat. "They used the inn as their headquarters. They were here almost a week, and in all that time I don't think I was allowed off my back more than a few hours daily, to cook for them, of course. They killed my husband because he objected. After they had gone I did not think I could ever stand to be touched by a man again."

"And yet you are my husband's mistress."

"The right man came along. He was simpatico, and I wanted him," smiled Giovanna. "Is not my lord Francisco simpatico to you? And in your heart… do you not want him?"

The beautiful tear-filled eyes gave Giovanna the answer she sought. "I will pray for you, my lady," she said quietly. And turning, Giovanna walked away from Cat, knowing that she had lost her kind Francisco forever.

Chapter 60

CAT had known she was not the first woman in the world to suffer at the hands of men. But there had been no room in her heart for anything besides her own hurt. Now she realized how many others had suffered. And she saw that she had been blaming Francis for many of her misfortunes.

Deep down, she felt that if he had not been involved with Angela di LiCosa, the kidnapping would not have happened. Yet it had, and no amount of wishing was going to change it. If she allowed it to kill their love, then Angela's evil spirit would triumph.

She struggled with herself for several days. For weeks she had been restless, waking nightly to walk ceaselessly about her room. She loved, him, yet she did not know if she could bear to have his hands on her. She was frightened, too, that she had been drained of all sexual feeling.

She knew she must make the first move. Being sensitive to her feelings, Francis would not. Too, if she were in control of the situation she might draw back at any time without hurting him.

On the 31st day of December, Bothwell rode into Rome on business. He promised to return by nightfall so they might celebrate the New Year together. For several hours after he left she debated with herself, hesitated and then decided. She did not deny to herself that she was afraid, but she could also not deny that she wanted him again.

While the maids made up her large bed with fresh lavender-scented linens, and the cook prepared a fat capon for a midnight feast, Cat spent the afternoon with her children. They remembered her well, and this confused her until she heard them relating among themselves incidents about her that they were in no position to recall.

"How do ye know these things?" she asked them.

"Why, Bess told us, mother," they replied. Cat sent her eldest daughter a mental prayer of thanks. Without Bess, it seemed, her little ones would have forgotten her.

This last afternoon of the old year she oversaw their baths, and when they sat about their supper table she sat with them. The meal over, she surprised them with a silver paper box of Pinoccati, a diamond-shaped red-and-brown sugar candy. Their nursemaid, Lucy Kerr, smiled as Cat told the children the wild wonderful stories of their homeland.

Finally she heard their prayers and tucked them into bed, kissing them tenderly, reveling in their happiness. Bidding good night, she hurried to her own room, where Susan and May were readying a bath for her.

"What will ye wear, my lady?" asked May.

"Put out the green nightgown that my lord gave me," she said.

Susan's eyebrow was raised just slightly as she reached for the bath scents. "Wildflowers," she heard her mistress say. "The ones we brought from Scotland, in the silver flacon." So, thought the tiring woman happily, she is finally going to try her wings again. Susan smiled to herself, and hoped that her lady's return to the world of sensual delights would be as pleasant as her own had been. Susan was in love for the first time in her life. The cause of her happiness was one of the men-at-arms who had accompanied them from Scotland. Robert Fitz-Gordon had taught Susan that love could be sweet. They were to be wed soon after the New Year.

Cat snuggled herself deep into the sweet water of the porcelain tub. Her pale hair had been carefully secured atop her head with tortoiseshell pins. The warmth of the water and of the nearby fire combined to make her drowsy and very relaxed. The two servants bustled about her, putting away her clothes.

She heard his footsteps in the doorway, and her eyes flew open. He stood for a brief moment gazing longingly at her, and then caught himself. "I beg your pardon, my darling. I dinna know ye were bathing."

"Francis!" Damn! She had not meant her voice to sound so desperate. He turned back to her. "I would have ye stay, and tell me of your day, my lord." Her heart contracted painfully at the hope she saw leap into his eyes. "Susan, May… ye may leave us. See that cook will have supper ready when we ring. Ye may have the rest of the evening to yerselves."

They curtsied and left quickly. "Come sit by me, Francis. How is Asher Kira?"

Seating himself, he spoke at some length of the business that had taken him to the city. He tried to keep his eyes on her face, but they kept straying to her soft breasts, but barely concealed by the water. He swallowed hard and forced his eyes upward again. She lowered her lashes, but he had caught a quick glimpse of the laughter in her eyes.

"Cat!" His voice was suddenly sharp, and she looked up at him. "I am no saint. I simply cannot continue to sit here and not touch you. Ye hae always had that effect on me-as ye know."

He rose, and she cried, "No, Francis! Dinna go from me." His eyes caught hers and held them in a puzzled gaze . Then he heard her say softly, "Do ye remember the first time I came to ye, Francis?"

"Aye," he answered, his eyes never leaving hers. "Ye rode two days to get to me, and ye were grievously hurt."

"I am once more grievously hurt, my lord," and her voice crackled, "but I would be yer wife again."

For a moment the room was silent, then he asked quietly, "Do you trust me, Cat?" She nodded. "Then stand up, my love."

She rose from her tub, the scented water cascading down her. He took the hard cake of soap from its little silver dish and, lathering his hands, began to soap her. She trembled under his touch, but stood quietly while his hands moved down her shoulders, back, and buttocks. Reaching for the sponge, he rinsed her off, the soapy water running down between her unsteady legs. 'Turn around."

She faced him, her eyes lowered. His hands now soaped her breasts, and he smiled faintly as the rosy nipples hardened. He moved on to her belly, which quivered beneath his fingers and lower, the soap sliding across her skin as one finger touched the tiny mole. She cried out sofdy, shuddering, catching at his hands with her own hands. For a long moment she held him in restraint, and then her hands loosed his and fell quietly to her sides. Wordlessly he continued to wash her, moving on to the satiny skin of her inner thighs. Again the sopping sponge rinsed her free of the suds.

He lifted her out of the tub and set her gently on the rug before the fire. Several large Turkish towels hung warming on the oaken rack. Removing one, he dried her carefully. Tilting her small, heart-shaped face to his, he smiled down on her. "There, my darling, that was nae so terrible, was it?"

"No." Her voice was barely a whisper.

Tenderly he put his arms about her and stood silently for a few moments while her shining head rested against his broad chest. Then he loosed her, saying, "I stink of horses, my pet. 'Tis your turn to wash me." And before she could protest he had pulled off his clothes and was climbing into her tub. He tried to settle himself for a soak. Looking at the great masculine animal attempting to lounge against her white porcelain tub with its dainty gold border and floral decor, his knees sticking out above the water, Cat giggled.

"And what," he asked in an aggrieved voice, "is so funny, madame?"

The giggles became a silvery peal of laughter. She laughed until the tears came to her eyes. Unaware of the cause of her amusement, but very relieved to hear her laughter after these many months, Bothwell laughed too. Finally controlling herself, she managed to gasp, "Francis! Ye look so silly in my little tub amid the little, pale flowers."

For a moment he looked disgruntled, then he gave her a wry grin. "I probably do, sweetheart," he agreed. "I miss the great oak tub we had at Hermitage."

For a moment they were silent, remembering the blissful days they had spent at his great border house before the king had exiled him from Scotland. Then Bothwell rose from the tub and said quietly, "Wash me as ye used to, Cat."

Shyly, she took the soap, losing it momentarily in the water, retrieving it, and then touching his back with shaking hands. As her fingers moved lightly over his skin she felt the familiarity of him return, and as she grew bolder, her hands became surer. He felt the lukewarm water sluicing down his back, and he turned to face her. Faintly amused, he watched as she scrubbed his chest, his flat belly, and then bravely moved lower to soap his genitals.

As he responded to her touch she gasped softly, color flooded her cheeks, and her eyes flew upward. He stood perfectly still, barely breathing. Regaining her courage, she rinsed him off. Stepping from the tub, he took his towel, dried himself, and asked, "Are ye brave enough to proceed, Cat?"

She nodded. Going to their bed, she dropped her towel and slid between the sheets, holding them open for him. He slipped beneath the sweet silk and drew her into his arms. She was as stiff and as unyielding as an oak staff. He held her gently, and when several minutes had passed she began to relax.

"I am so afraid, Francis," she whispered.

"I know, my darling," he answered, "but ye must remember that I hae never hurt ye, and I will not now."

"But ye want me."

"Aye, sweetheart, I want ye."

"Yet ye will not force me. Why?"

"Because I do love ye, Cat. Because I know that ye hae been cruelly used. Ye hae every right to your fear, but I swear to ye, love, I will not hurt ye."

Suddenly he felt her body shaking, and tipping her face up he saw that it was wet with tears. "Cat!" The word was an anguished plea. Then she felt his mouth closing over hers, and before she could think she found her body melted against his.

As the warmth of his love penetrated her, she felt her fears sliding away. Memories fell away as his lips kissed her. There were only the two of them now. All else was unimportant. Tenderly he ran his tongue along her lips, and felt them open, her warm breath rushing into his mouth. Gently he explored her, as though for the very first time, feeling her quivering against him.

"Look at me, Cat! Open your eyes, my darling. I am Francis, no one else, and I love ye!"

Shyly her dark-gold lashes lifted off her cheeks, and she looked at him. His eyes never left hers as his hands caressed her back, his long, slim fingers gently kneading away the tension. He drew her into the crook of his arm and cupped one breast in his hand. And all the while, he held her eyes with his own.

She shivered. She could feel her heart hammering wildly against her chest as if it wished to escape. A fire was pouring into her loins, and the wave of desire that slammed into her shook her terribly. That she could feel this way after all that had happened! With a fierce exultation she realized that she wanted him! She wanted him!

Gently he pushed her onto her back and, half straddling her, his lips ran riot across her body, closing over a pink nipple, moving lower, teasing her flesh with tiny kisses.

She arched to meet his mouth, catching at his head with trembling hands. He groaned, a sobbing sound, completely lost in the moment as she writhed under his hands and mouth. And then he heard, through his own pounding desire, the voice of his beloved pleading with him to take her, take her now.

Kneeling, he spread her thighs, and his voice was thick. "Look at me, Cat! I want you to look at me when I enter you! I want you to know 'tis me, not an awful nightmare memory!"

A tremor tore through her, but she raised her eyes to his and whispered again, "Take me, Bothwell! Take me now!" and without further hesitation he thrust himself into her while looking deep into her shining eyes.

She whirled through space, free and whole again, exulting in their love. And then suddenly she felt herself falling, falling through endless time. Through the dimness she heard him anxiously calling her name. Voicing a little protest, she opened her eyes to find him smiling happily down at her, her eyes warm and loving.

"Why, my darling," he said gently, "how far away ye were."

She flushed rosy, and he laughed softly. " 'Twould hae been a crime against nature if ye had continued being fearful of love, my darling." He touched her cheek with his finger. She caught his hand and held it against her face.

Then he heard her voice low and level. "I love ye, Francis, but if ye love me, I beg of ye, my lord, never leave me again, for each time ye leave me some catastrophe befalls me. If I am not being kidnapped, or chased by the Scots king, I am being bedded by Henri Quatre. Aye, Bothwell, ye may well look astonished. Yer charming royal friend ordered me to Fontainebleau, terrified me into believing that he was returning me to Jamie, and then seduced me."

Standing up, Cat walked across the room and picked up the gossamer silk nightgown Bothwell had given her. Sliding it over her head, she let it slither down her body. Its neckline plunged to her navel, the gown clinging to her like a second skin. She whirled about, and heard him swear, "Jesu!" as his blue eyes raked her from head to toe.

"Always," she went on, "just when I think I am safe, something happens. I must be safe from now on, Francis. I must.

"I am a very rich woman, Bothwell, and ye are a very proud man. We cannot live wi'out my money, but we can live wi'out yer excessive pride. It has cost us several years of togetherness, and it has almost cost us our lives and our bairns. I'll hae no more of it! If ye canna reconcile yerself to my fortune, then I might as well return to Scotland and beg Jamie's forgieness. As the king's mistress I will at least be safe-and hear me, Francis Stewart-Hepburn! I'll nae be chased, seduced, or raped ever again! I won't!"

Now it was his turn to rise from the bed. He walked across the room and, picking up a towel, wrapped it about his loins. The light from the fire dappled his broad back, and his face was grave. She could hear her heart thumping wildly, and she wondered what possessed her to issue such an ultimatum. What had she done? How would he respond?

He stood quietly on the window balcony of their bedroom. Coming up behind him, she slipped her arms about him, pressing her silken-clad body against him, her cheek against his hard shoulder. "Am I not worth it, Francis?" she whispered huskily. "Is it so hard for ye to accept that what was mine is now also yours? Would ye not be willing to share a fortune wi me? Are ye nae tired? I am, Francis. I am weary of being abused. I love ye, and would be wi ye."

She could feel his heart beating evenly beneath her hands, and he said softly, "We will nae be able to go home again, Cat."

"I know, Francis, and I shall miss Scotland, but for me home is where ye are. I have learned that in the years we have been separated."

"I suppose we could get used to the quiet life."

"Aye, Francis, we could."

He turned then so they faced each other. His hands rested lightly on her waist, hers on his shoulders. "Would ye really leave me, Cat?"

Tipping her head back, she looked lovingly up at him, her beautiful green eyes diamond-bright with tears. "Why, damn me, Bothwell! I could nae ever leave ye. I love ye! I hae always loved ye! And may God ha mercy on me, for I will always love ye!"

He sighed deeply with relief, and she laughed happily. "Why Francis, did ye doubt me?"

"My dear wife, from the moment we first met I could nae be sure what ye'd do, or what would happen next It has always been one of yer greatest charms."

Suddenly they heard bells all around them. From the village, from the villages in the valley below them, from the many churches in the city of Rome across the hills. The bells were tolling out 1599, the end of the sixteenth century. They joyfully rang in the new year, 1600, and a new century.

As Francis Stewart-Hepburn bent to kiss his wife, a jubilant thought ran through his mind. Together they had beaten them! He and his Cat had survived all the pain and the cruelty the world could inflict on them. Now, what could they not do in this wonderful new century?

"Happy New Year, my darling," he said, and then he found her mouth once more, sweeping her away into that special world that belonged to them alone, and where no man would ever again intrude.