Love Wild and Fair (26 page)

Putting an arm about her shoulders, he led the way into her bedroom. Gently he removed her pearls and placed them on the table. Next he opened the lavender gown, took it from her, and placed it over a chair. She pulled the pins from her hair, and it tumbled down her back. He caught his breath in delight at the perfection of her lovely breasts, glowing golden in the candlelight Having kicked her slippers off, she walked barefooted over to him, and her slender fingers tremblingly unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. Then, turning, she walked over to the bed while he finished undressing and got into it.

Trembling, she awaited him. And then he was with

her beneath the feather coverlet. He drew her lush body against his slender length and held her close. They stayed that way for what seemed an eternity, allowing the warmth of their bodies to mingle. Cat wondered if Francis felt the same desperate hunger that she did. She could not call it lust. The feelings she had ran too deep. Even the supreme act of possession did not entirely satisfy her.

He entered her, pushing deep within her pulsing warmth, and straining to go further, he cried out, “Ah, God! Tis not enough!” Cat wept with joy at the knowledge that his love for her was as deep as hers for him.

W
INTER deepened into early spring, the traditional time for raiding the borders. Bothwell had not gone along on many of these ventures, preferring to stay with Cat. His men missed him greatly, and, finally, Bothwell’s bastard half-brother, Hercules Stewart, spoke to the countess about the problem. “Could I go too, Hercules?” she asked him. He grinned at her. “To be sure, my lady! If Francis will permit ye.”

“Can ye use a sword or a pistol?” Bothwell asked when he was confronted by his half-brother and Cat “Well enough,” she replied. “My eldest brother taught me.”

He tested her and, satisfied, said, “Ye’ll do.” But he instructed Hercules not to leave Cat’s side.

So she rode out with Bothwell and his borderers, first at night, and then on daylight raids. Unafraid, she fought the English with a gusto that delighted the earl’s men. Yet she was kind to those of her own sex, and tender with the children. Soon stories began to filter out of the borders, stories about the beautiful lady who rode with Bothwell and his men.

South from Edinburgh rode Bothwell’s sometime friend, Lord Home. He was curious about these stories, and wanted to see for himself. Home rode alone. He wanted no gossiping servants along. It was late afternoon

as he neared Hermitage, stopping for a minute to gaze at the great castle in the distance. Hearing hoof-beats behind him, he drew into a strand of trees and waited. He recognized Bothwell’s stallion, Valentine, but the sleek golden bay beside him was unfamiliar. The two horses raced straight towards him, then pulled up in the grass just short of his hiding place. He could see Bothwell’s face easily, and heard him exclaim, “I win, madame! Pay yer forfeit!”

The laughter that greeted Bothwell’s words was soft, and Home leaned eagerly forward, but the woman turned and he could not see her face clearly. “Name your forfeit, my Lord!” she called in a clear voice. Bothwell cocked a wicked eyebrow. Reaching up, he lifted the woman down from her horse.

“Oh, Francis!” The woman laughed again. Hepburn’s arms closed about her. Lord Home could see only her profile, which told him little. Home was struck by the look of tenderness and love on his friend’s face. After gazing rapturously at his love for some time, Bothwell said, “Christ, my darling. How much I love ye! Come. Let us go home. Will ye race me again?”

He lifted her back onto her horse. Again Home was frustrated in his attempt to see the woman’s face, for her back was to him. “If I win, Francis, I shall claim a larger forfeit than one kiss!” Her meaning was obvious, and Home almost choked. Jesu! What a wench this woman was! Bothwell laughed low and replied, “If ye beat me, madame.” Smacking the golden bay on the rump to give Cat a head start, he mounted Valentine and galloped off after her.

Lord Home remained hidden for some minutes. What he had just witnessed had shaken him somewhat He had known Francis Hepburn for many years. At one time they had even been enemies. But, youthful vanities soothed, they later became friends. Home had

never seen Bothwell look so relaxed, or so peaceful. He had wenched enough with the man to know that Hepburn never took any woman seriously, not even his cold, correct Countess. Yet Home was sure the lord of Hermitage took this woman absolutely seriously. Mounting his own horse, Home headed down the hills to the great castle. His curiosity was truly aroused now.

In the courtyard he was met by Hercules Stewart, who offered greetings and took his horse. “I’ll go get Francis. He’s just ridden in, and will be glad to see ye.”

Lord Home waited in an antechamber, grinning to himself, wondering who had won the horse race. Suddenly the door burst open, and Bothwell strode in. He grasped Home’s hand warmly.

“By God, Sandy! ‘Tis good to see ye! What brings ye to Hermitage?” The big earl busied himself with a decanter and two heavy glasses.

“Curiosity, Francis. Curiosity is what brings me. There are stories in Edinburgh that ye ride the borders wi a beautiful woman by yer side. The court is fascinated. Shall I go back and tell them that Lord Bothwell has mocked them again? ’Tis but a lad in a wig, is it not?”

Bothwell handed Alexander Home a glass of his smoky whisky and smiled lazily. “Do ye want to meet her, Sandy? Do ye want to meet my lady? I have, by the way, asked Margaret for a divorce.”

Home’s eyebrows shot up.

“I have told Margaret that I will sign over to the children everything except Hermitage,” Bothwell continued. “What is yer news, Sandy?”

Alexander Home thoughtfully sniffed his whisky and then sipped at it. “Am I to understand that Francis Stewart-Hepburn, the man who is called the uncrowned King of Scotland, has finally fallen in love?”

Bothwell did not answer him directly. He pulled the

bellcord, and said to the servant answering it, “Ask my lady if she will join us.” The two men sat in companionable silence for the next few minutes, until the door opened.

Bothwell leaped forward, putting a protective arm about the beautiful young woman. “Sandy, may I present Catriona, Lady Leslie. Cat, this is my old friend Sandy Home.”

Lord Home bowed over the slender hand offered him, and then looked up into the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. His mind reeled over the announcement of her identity.

She smiled and gently disengaged her hand from his grasp. “Yes, Lord Home. I am the same Catriona Leslie who is the Countess of Glenkirk. And yes, Lord Home, I am she who is called the Virtuous Countess.”

He flushed. “Madame, I …” He fought for the words.

She helped him out. “Yer surprised to see me here, my lord. Francis is free to tell ye the truth of the matter if he so chooses. Now, I must go speak to the housekeeper about seeing to yer comfort.” She turned to Bothwell. “I’ll have dinner served in the small dining room.”

“Will ye join us, Cat?”

“Aye.” She smiled again at Lord Home, then turned and left.

“Good Lord, Bothwell!” swore Alexander Home. “Catriona Leslie! Does Glenkirk know where she is? He explained that she went home to nurse a sickly bairn, and he sold her position at court.”

“Good,” said Bothwell. “I’ll nae allow her back at court. And to answer yer question, Sandy—no, Glenkirk doesna know where she is. She has written to her uncle, the Abbot of Glenkirk Abbey, asking him to arrange for a divorce.”

“How did this start?” asked Home. “Glenkirk and his wife were considered happy. Damn me, Francis! Ye’ve fooled them again! All that time ye claimed not to be sleeping wi her! How they laughed at court at yer claims of friendship! Hepburn’s met his match, they said, for she will nae spread her legs for him or for any man other than her husband. And all that time ye were sleeping wi her!” Home slapped his thigh and roared.

Then he heard Bothwell say quietly, “No, Sandy. That is nae the way it began. Fill yer glass again, man, and I’ll tell ye the truth of the matter.”

Lord Home needed no encouragement, for Francis Hepburn made the best whisky on the border, possibly even in all of Scotland. Settling himself back in his chair he listened, first with amazement, then with growing horror, and finally with outrage.

“God help me,” finished the earl. “I’ve loved her from the first, but I nae expected to win her away from Glenkirk. The damned fool, to throw away anything so precious!”

“Even if ye both gain yer freedom,” said Lord Home quietly, “James Stewart will never let ye wed. Damn me, Francis! Ye grew up a bit wi the royal bairn. Ye know how vindictive he can be, and ye can hardly keep it a secret that yer divorcing Angus’ daughter. And what of Glenkirk? When he learns his wife seeks her freedom and where she is, he’ll come roaring out of the north like a storm. He may hae lost his head in a moment of anger, but I’ll wager he still loves his wife and wants her back.”

“She’ll nae go,” said Bothwell firmly, “and I’d nae let her. Look, Sandy. Ye know they call me the uncrowned King of Scotland. I dinna seek my cousin’s throne, but ye canna convince Jamie of that When Cat and I are safely wed we intend spending most of our

time in Italy. I will only retain Hermitage for the son she will someday gie me. That is the price Cat and I will pay to the king for our happiness—exile from our beloved land. As to the Earl of Glenkirk, he’ll cooperate or Cat will threaten to tell the whole story. Jamie will nae allow that. He has his position as king, and as head of the kirk. Ah, Sandy! I’ve waited all my life for happiness, and at last I have it! I never thought it possible.”

Lord Home shook his head. It was all too simple. Much, much too simple. He hoped for Francis’ sake that it could be made to work. Bothwell had always been restless. A great mind, educated far beyond his time, he was constantly defending his actions to lesser men. Love had calmed him. He was quieter, less formidable.

Alexander Home did not know Catriona Leslie beyond court gossip, but any woman who could exert such a strong emotional influence over the Earl of Bothwell had to be quite a woman. He chuckled. And damned if Hepburn dinna have all the luck. She was a beauty to boot! Home decided to stay at Hermitage and learn more about the Countess of Glenkirk.

He remained during the late part of the spring—a rare spring of unparalleled good weather continuing into the summer. He rode with them on border raids, and felt the same pride in the lovely highland countess as did Bothwell and his men. Home was touched by the charming ritual the lovers performed before each venture. Bothwell would turn to Cat and say, “A Bothwell!” To which she would reply softly, “A Leslie!” They dared not utter clan warcries aloud on the English side of the border.

Returning safely over the border to their own land, Francis Hepburn would more often than not take Cat from the back of her own horse and place her in front

of him on Valentine. One strong hand holding the reins and the other arm wrapped about his mistress’s slim waist, they rode together talking intimately.

Lord Home’s boyhood nanny had spoken of true love, but as he had grown and matured, Home had learned that in matters between men and women of rank there were only two paths. There was the dynastic path in which marriages were arranged to the best possible advantage of both families with no real consideration for the people involved. And there was lust Neither of these cases explained what had happened between the Earl of Bothwell and the Countess of Glenkirk. Alexander Home realized that he was witnessing true love at first hand.

Satisfied that Cat Leslie was no adventuress, out to take advantage of his friend, Sandy Home finally took his leave of the couple and returned to his home at Hirsel.

D
AVID Douglas, the Earl of Angas, was a quiet man. He avoided trouble. He disliked scenes. He was at present in his daughter’s house at Crichton, and had just finished reading the letter sent her by her estranged husband.

“Well, father? What shall I do?” David Douglas winced slightly. Margaret’s voice was harsh. It annoyed him and always had. “What do ye wish to do, my dear? I dinna believe ye hae not already made up yer mind. Do ye love him, Margaret?” “Nay,” she answered.

“Then what is it? He has asked ye for a divorce offering ye everything he owns except Hermitage. Do ye want Hermitage too?”

“Nay! I hate the place!”

“Then gie him what he wants, daughter.”

“But why does he ask me for a divorce now? He’s always been happy enough living apart from me. Divorce was not mentioned before.”

“Surely ye’ve heard the rumors, Margaret? ‘Tis said a woman rides wi him now when he raids into England. It may be he wishes to wed this mysterious amazon.”

“A fit mate for him!” sneered Margaret.

“Come, daughter,” said Angus, “be quit of Bothwell. Sooner or later he will clash openly wi the king. He and James have always rubbed against each other. I dinna want ye and yer bairns caught in that fight”

“Ye are right, father,” said the Countess of Bothwell. “And it is better that I take all I can get now. Will ye see to the arrangements?”

“Of course, my dear.” David Douglas patted her hand. He was pleased. He could always count on Margaret to be cool and sensible.

At Glenkirk Abbey, Abbot Charles Leslie pondered a letter from his niece, the Countess of Glenkirk, in which she requested that he obtain her a divorce from Patrick Leslie. Divorce was not unusual in Scotland among the nobility of either church, but Charles was shocked that Catriona wanted her release. That it should come to this, after all the fuss to wed them! And they had seemed so happy all these years! He knew his nephew was in residence at the castle, and he sent one of the monks to fetch him.

The first thing Charles Leslie noticed when his nephew arrived was that Glenkirk looked tired and worn. Something was very wrong, and Charles Leslie wondered why he had not been told sooner. Without saying a word he handed the earl the letter, and while pretending to busy himself pouring the elderberry wine, he covertly watched Patrick’s face.