Love Wild and Fair (21 page)

“If,” the young queen told Cat, “I had had a schoolmistress like you, perhaps I should have been more inclined to learn.”

Cat laughed. “Nonsense, madame. Ye dinna fool me a bit. Ye know that ye will not only look magnificent at the coronation, but by knowing yer part well ye’ll truly be magnificent Yer subjects will be enchanted.”

It was a clever compliment, and the teenaged queen preening herself before the mirror thought again how much she liked the lovely Countess of Glenkirk. Such an agreeable lady.

Anna of Denmark was crowned Queen of Scotland at Scone on May 17, 1590. She played her part with a charming, youthful dignity that touched the hearts of

the crustiest old highland lairds assembled to see the next mother of the Stewart line. The evening was spent in the merriest of revels with a magnificent feast that featured roast boars, red deer, sheep, and sides of beef all basted by red-faced and perspiring kitchen boys. There were fowls of every kind—swans, larded ducks, capons in sweet lemon-ginger sauce, stuffed roast geese, partridges, grouse, quail, and pigeons. There were great bowls of raw oysters, and boiled shrimp, mussels, and clams with herbs. Broiled sea trout and flounders were served whole on great gold platters. There were also flaky pastries of minced meat, rabbit, fruits, and nuts. Smoked hams, eels, and potted hare were also offered. Young spring lettuces, scallions, and artichokes in vinegar filled silver bowls. Great crocks of butter were placed at intervals on the tables along with large trenchers of fresh breads. For the last course the guests were offered custards, jellies of every color and shape, oranges from Spain, early cherries from the south of France, and fruit tarts made with the dried fruits of last year’s harvest Silver bowls of sugared almonds and filberts were passed with the cheeses, the wafers, and the tiny goblets of spiced hippocras.

Wines and ales had flowed generously, and the entertainment had been continuous. There were minstrels, of course, and jugglers, dancing dogs and acrobats. Pipers had traversed the dining hall several times. Cat, who had eaten sparingly, was brewing a headache when her husband came to claim her for the dancing.

“Take me for some air instead,” she begged him.

They walked about the gardens in the cool May night.

“I never get to see ye, hinny, now that yer a lady of the queen’s bedchamber,” the earl complained to his wife.

“I know,” she sighed back. “Patrick, I want to go home! Ye were right! We should nae have involved ourselves

with the court.” Suddenly she was clinging to him. “Please take me home, my love. Now!”

He held her close and smelled the seductive sweetness of the scent she always wore. He stroked her lovely hair, and wondered about this passionate, almost desperate outburst Then he smiled to himself. Though he had been back less than a month, it was possible that she was breeding. She had, of course, threatened him after Morag’s birth that there would be no more children, but women were apt to change their minds. He hugged her indulgently. “Ye know we canna just go home, sweetheart We are part of the court now, and must get permission from their majesties. To do that we need a good excuse. I dinna have one, do ye?”

“No,” she replied sadly.

“Yer sure,” he asked her searchingly. “Ye could be wi child.”

“It’s too soon for even me to tell, Patrick.” Arms around his neck, she gazed up at him. “Shall I gie ye another son, my lord? Are six bairns not enough to assure yer immortality?”

“Only three of them are sons,” he teased her. “Besides, we hae such fun making them.” He bent and kissed her eager lips. “Damn me, Cat! I am tired of sharing ye wi the Stewarts. Let’s make another bairn, and go home to Glenkirk!” Finding her mouth, he kissed her again, and would have gone on doing so had not an insolent voice drawled, “Shocking! And wi yer own wife, too, Glenkirk!”

Startled, the Leslies pulled apart to face the amused gaze of the Earl of Bothwell.

“Who the hell—” began Patrick, but Cat had already launched herself at Bothwell. “Francis! You beast! How could ye?”

Catching her angry little fists, he laughed down at her. “I wish a woman would kiss me like that” Turning

to Patrick, Francis Hepburn held out his hand. “Glenkirk, I’m Bothwell! We’re distant cousins of a sort, and not only do I envy ye yer beautiful wife, sir, ye’ve a fine brood of bairns also!”

Patrick Leslie shook the hand offered him. “So yer the Wizard Earl. I’m pleased to meet ye, man! I owe ye my thanks for escorting Cat home last autumn.”

“ ‘Twas my pleasure,” replied Bothwell, “but I’ve disturbed yer tryst for a reason. The queen seeks ye, Cat Best to hurry, my darling. Some farradiddle over a torn hem or such, and only Lady Leslie can make it right.”

Sighing, Cat quickly kissed her husband. Impudently thumbing her nose at Bothwell, she gathered up her skirts and ran off. Both men laughed, and then Francis Hepburn said seriously to the Earl of Glenkirk, “If she were my wife, Leslie, I would get her away from the Stewarts, and their damned court. She is too much of a temptation.”

“Aye,” said Patrick, “and she wants to go. Last year I couldn’t force her home, but suddenly she
must
go. I dinna understand it, Bothwell, but I am glad.”

“Then take her home, man! As soon as possible.”

Glenkirk had no time to think about Francis’ words, for the court was on the move again. Two days after the queen’s coronation, Anna of Denmark officially entered her Edinburgh capital to be greeted by the nine Muses and the four Virtues. The royal procession moved along High Street, stopping at St. Giles Church, where the queen and her court listened to a long, dull sermon.

That evening the court faced another gargantuan feast, and to Anna’s delight there was a masque extolling Spring. The ladies of the court were each assigned parts. They were flowers, birds, trees, animals, elements, and all things pertaining to the season of spring. The only man in the entire production was the Earl of Bothwell, magnificently attired in silver and white, who played a

very amused North Wind. Educated in Europe, and having spent a good deal of time at both the French and English courts, Bothwell was quite used to these masques and saw nothing unmanly in them.

As the North Wind it was his delightful duty to attempt to chase off Springtime, played by the queen herself wearing flowing robes of pink and pale green. Springtime’s coterie of tender creatures followed their majesty. This lead to much scampering about and giggling. North Wind was finally vanquished by South Wind, who wore diaphanous robes of pale blue and silver, and who was portrayed by the Countess of Glenkirk.

The king was bored to tears by the entertainment, though he did remark that the South Wind had the prettiest pair of tits he’d ever seen. James thought these amusements silly. The queen, however, was enchanted, and extremely pleased by the success of her own efforts. The younger members of the nobility were happy to see an end to the dull, psalm-singing court of the king’s regency and bachelorhood.

That night Cat and Patrick slept together in their own apartments. They worked happily at conceiving another child, but did not do so. As the weeks went by Cat became more distraught. It was obvious to her, as the newness of young love wore off, that the serious young king and his feather-headed wife had nothing in common other than a passion for hunting. Increasingly Cat caught James Stewart’s eyes upon her, and was frightened. She might hate him, but she could not refuse him! He was king.

Then Patrick announced that the king had delegated him to go to Hermitage Castle with Francis Hepburn, its master, and make arrangements for Twelfth Night Revels. The queen had expressed a desire to see Both-well’s famous border home. Hearing her husband’s news, Cat hurried to her mistress.

“May I go wi them, yer majesty?” she pleaded prettily. “What do men know of women’s comforts? As Lady Bothwell never leaves Crichton, she will be no help.”

The queen laughed. “It is a scandal how much you love your husband, my dear Cat. Yes, yes! Go along with the handsome Glenkirk. I do not blame you for wanting to be with him. Now that Christina is well again, I can get along without you for a few days.”

“Thank ye, madame,” said Cat, kissing the queen’s hand.

“Thank you for taking such good care of my childhood friend in her illness,” said the queen meaningfully.

Cat curtsied and exited. Safe outside, she chuckled to herself. Mistress Anders’ predicament had been kept a discreet scandal. The Danish noblewoman had been delivered of a daughter in October. The child, Anne Fitz-Leslie, was being boarded with a healthy young farming family, near the city. The queen repaid the Countess of Glenkirk’s generosity by letting her go with her husband on king’s business.

Catriona and Patrick rode with Francis Hepburn at the head of Bothwell’s borderers. The evening was clear and cold, with a heaven full of stars and a bright moon. They had left in late afternoon and they rode the entire night, breaking their journey several times to warm themselves with dreams of potent, smoky whisky in nameless inns. Wherever they stopped, the welcome was always a warm one for the Earl of Bothwell and his men.

Back at Holyrood, James Stewart hummed a little tune to himself as he slipped through the secret passageway that connected his bedroom with Cat Leslie’s. The queen would be unavailable to him for a few days, her womanly time being upon her. He had sent Patrick Leslie off with Bothwell. And now the king looked forward to rediscovering the Countess of Glenkirk.

Opening the door at the end of the passage, he stepped into the room and was confronted by a startled Ellen, who curtsied low.

“Where is your mistress?” demanded James.

“Gone to Hermitage, your majesty,” stammered Ellen.

“I dinna gie her permission to leave court! She’ll be punished for this disobedience!”

“The queen sent her, sire,” said Ellen desperately. “What?”

“The queen sent my lady to Hermitage wi my lord of Glenkirk, and my lord of Bothwell,” repeated Ellen. “Her majesty felt a woman’s touch would be needed in the preparations for Twelfth Night.”

James managed to master the anger growing within him. Reaching into the pocket of his dressing gown, he grudgingly drew out a gold piece. Handing it to Ellen, he said quietly, “Tell yer beautiful mistress that I will nae gie her up.” Then he reentered the secret passage, which closed behind him.

Ellen sat down on the bed with a relieved sigh. Now she understood Cat’s hasty departure. Ellen disliked the king’s hypocrisy intensely. He played the moral man and the devoted husband while lusting after another woman. If only they could go home.

It was not, however, to be so simple. Like a cat at a mousehole, the king watched and waited for his opportunity. It made no difference to James that what he had already done to Cat was wrong according to the laws of the very church he was sworn to uphold. There was one thing which all the dour churchmen who had raised him couldn’t erase from the royal Stewart’s mind, and that was the absolute fact of the divine right of kings. Like the five Jameses before him, this James upheld the laws of the land and the church only after his own wants had been satisfied.

In attempting to punish the king by being the most exciting woman he would ever encounter, Cat had unwittingly infected him with a sexual hunger that only she could now satisfy. Her coldness enraged him. He would have her if he had to ask her husband for her. That he might destroy her marriage and perhaps even her whole life made no difference to the king. The Countess of Glenkirk was his subject. She belonged to him. She would obey him.

Like the good hunter he was, the king stalked his prey and smelled its fear. While the court stayed at Hermitage Castle he did manage, for a few minutes, to separate her from the rest of the crowd. Finding herself alone with the king, Cat looked frantically around.

James laughed. “Would I could take ye here in just the few minutes we have, my dear, but alas, I canna.”

She said nothing.

“ ‘Twas neatly done, madame,” the king continued, “but why did ye run away from me, Catriona? I sent Patrick away before I came to ye. And what did I find? Yer tiring woman packing yer clothes, and a cold, empty bed.”

Cat’s heart was pounding violently, and she was icy with a mixture of fear and anger. Gathering her courage, she looked up at him and spoke. “Jamie, I can say it no plainer. I dinna want to be yer mistress. Please, sire! Ye promised me that when ye brought the queen home ye would free me. I love my husband, and he is nae a man to share his wife wi another—even his king. Why do ye
do
this to me, Jamie? Yer wife is a fresh and lovely girl open to yer instruction in the arts of love. Why must ye hae me?”

He didn’t answer her question. Instead he said quietly, “When we return to Edinburgh I expect ye to receive me, madame, without any further argument If ye will not, I will be forced to ask Patrick’s permission,

which ye know he will gie me. If, however, ye come freely we will continue to keep our liaison secret from the rest of the world—including yer husband.”

Her lovely eyes shone with tears. “Why, sire? Why?”

“Because, madame, I wish it, and I am the king,” he said coldly, and walked away from her.

For several minutes she stood very still gazing with unseeing eyes out of the window at the Cheviot Hills. Then, sensing she was no longer alone, she whirled about to see the Earl of Bothwell standing there. Wordlessly they looked at each other, and then Francis Hepburn held out his arms to her. Flinging herself into them, she wept against his velvet-covered chest A spasm crossed Bothwell’s face as his arms tenderly held her. When she had regained her control he loosed her. Tipping her heart-shaped face up, he asked, “What happened wi Cousin Jamie?”

“I yield, or he asks Patrick,” she answered softly.

“The little bastard!” snarled Bothwell. “What a pity the queen dinna miscarry of him.”

“Francis, hush!” She covered his mouth with her hand. “To even think such a thing is treason.”

He tore her hand away and swore softly. “I wish to God I was the warlock they accuse me of being! I’d like to send Cousin Jamie to the seven devils! Ah, my darling, I canna help ye, and I hae never felt so helpless in my whole life.” He took her by the shoulders and looked down at her. “If I can ever help ye, come to me. Ye will remember that?” Then he took a large silk square from his doublet and wiped the tears from her face.