Love Wild and Fair (30 page)

“Aye,” added Bothwell. “The soles of her feet were burned black, and her throat was cut, poor lass. We pried this out of her hand. Do ye recognize it?” He dug into his pouch and held up a silver button.

Home took it and nodded. “One of Maitland’s men. The badge on the button is the chancellor’s. He probably sought knowledge of the woman wi ye. The bastard! He’s found the weapon he sought to destroy ye.”

“He’ll nae destroy me, Sandy. But tell me, what of Margaret and the children?” “With Angus.”

“James made her leave Crichton? And she went? God’s bones, I dinna believe it! Margaret always loved

Lord Home laughed. “She sought the king, Francis. Said only Hermitage belonged to ye, as ye had turned everything else over to yer eldest boy. James sent her and the children back to Angus.”

Bothwell choked back his laughter. “Poor Margaret Of course she must regain the estates for my heir. However, I am sure Angus will see to that In fact, I imagine he’s already anxious to get Margaret out of his house.”

“And what of Hermitage, Francis?”

“If James wants Hermitage he must come himself and take it There are two things I hold dear in this world,” said Bothwell. “My home, and Catriona. I’ll nae gie him either.”

But Cat was frightened. “Let us leave Scotland, Francis,” she begged him. “Jamie has taken everything ye own, and he will take me too if we do not flee him.”

But he would not entertain the idea of running, even

when a messenger arrived from the Kiras with word from the Abbot of Glenkirk. The cardinal had denied Cat’s petition for divorce. Charles Leslie, dissatisfied with the answer, had personally gone to St Andrew’s and explained the situation to the cardinal. It was then that the cardinal explained to Charles Leslie that he had been informed by Chancellor Maitland’s confidential secretary that the king would be highly offended if the divorce were approved. Considering the precarious situation the old kirk faced in Scotland today, the cardinal would do nothing to jeopardize it further. Unless James changed his mind, Cat Leslie could not have her freedom. Nor could she marry Francis Hepburn.

Again she begged him. “Take me away, Francis. In France the church will nae have to answer to the King of Scotland, and I can obtain my freedom.”

“For a price, my darling.”

“I am a very wealthy woman, Francis. I can bribe any cleric living. Damnit! What is my money for if I canna have what I want?”

Francis Hepburn laughed, and put an arm about Cat “My dearest spoilt darling,” he said tenderly. “Even if I must leave Scotland to satisfy James, I would still make my peace wi him before I go. And I must retain Hermitage for the son ye will gie me one day.”

“Oh, Bothwell, ye great fool! Jamie does nae intend to let us be together. Please take me away now! I care not if we can ever wed if only we are together!”

But Francis thought they could manage. Francis Hepburn was a man of honor. He did not really understand yet that the boy cousin he had done some of his growing up with intended to be
the
King of Scotland in
every
way. And he did not fully appreciate how much his royal cousin desired Catriona Leslie. The

king wanted Cat back. And if he could not have her, then neither could Francis Hepburn.

During that summer of 1591, Bothwell rode the borders with his lovely mistress and Lord Home. They raided into England, but in general the peace between England and Scotland was kept During that summer, James made his royal progress from Holyrood Palace in Edinburgh to Linlithgow, where his mother was born, to Stirling, to Falklands, and then across the Firth of Forth and back again to Edinburgh.

T
HE Earl of Glenkirk stood nervously before the king. It was the first time Patrick had seen him since that terrible morning eight months prior. James looked up at Patrick Leslie.

“Why have ye pursued this divorce, Glenkirk? I informed the cardinal that it would be displeasing to me if ye and Cat were divorced.”

“Sire, Cat wishes her freedom I saw her in June, and she’ll nae return to me. She’s a different woman.” “Do ye know where she is, Cousin Patrick?” “No, sire. She would nae tell me.” “I know where she is,” said the king softly, leaning across his oak desk. “She ran from ye so she might be Bothwell’s whore! And Cousin Francis is so besotted by her that he has divorced Angus’ daughter in order to wed Cat. But … he’ll nae wed her! She will nae get her divorce!”

Patrick Leslie was stunned. He could hardly believe what the king was saying. And then in a clear and blinding flash, he remembered her saying so many times, “Francis is my friend. Nothing more.”

“I am,” continued the king, “arranging to lure Both-well into Leith in a few days’ time. The chances are favorable that Cat will be with him I want ye there to take her home. If she repents her folly she may return to us at court”

“Sire! Cat no longer wants or loves me.”

The king looked coldly at the Earl of Glenkirk. “I dinna care whether she loves ye or not I want ye to take her back. And I want ye to make sure she stays wi ye. Ye may leave me, cousin. I hae work to do.”

Patrick Leslie returned to his townhouse. Making himself comfortable in the library with a cheerful fire and a decanter of whisky, he sat down to think. She had fled to Bothwell, yet he was sure that she was not Francis Hepburn’s mistress when she left him. That had obviously happened later, and now Bothwell was in love with her—enough in love to have divorced Margaret Douglas. But unless the cardinal gave her a divorce, Cat could not wed anyone else. Patrick didn’t know whether to be happy or sad. He was expected to go to Leith on the king’s command and kidnap his wife. After that Lord Bothwell would undoubtedly come north with his men to retrieve her.

“Damn these Stewarts!” he said out loud. He was caught between them, and all because of his beautiful wife. Oh Cat, he thought wistfully. Three men want ye, but only one can have ye, and ‘tis nae the one ye want He wondered why she had not fled with her lover when she learned that her divorce petition was denied. But then he remembered what he knew about Bothwell. He was an honest man, and that would surely lead to his downfall. The king had little of honor or honesty.

The following day Patrick was summoned by Maitland’s confidential secretary, who told him that Bothwell was expected in Leith in two days. He always quartered himself at the Golden Anchor Tavern on the waterfront Lady Leslie would be with him.

Two days later, on the 18th of October, the Earl of Glenkirk waited in a private room at the Golden Anchor Tavern for the Earl of Bothwell’s arrival. He had told the landlord that he was Bothwell’s cousin, and had

come to meet with him. Since the landlord believed the border lord’s visit a secret, he assumed that anyone who knew of it must have been so informed by Bothwell himself.

The Earl of Glenkirk waited alone. He had no intention of forcing his wife to return to him. He knew he was deliberately disobeying the king, but he had his pride. In the quiet of the misty dawn he heard suddenly the arrival of a party of horsemen in the yard below. There were footsteps on the stairs, and the door to the private parlor flew open. “Good morning, Cousin Francis,” he drawled. “Come in and join me for breakfast.”

Francis Hepburn was surprised, but then a slow smile crossed his face. “Cousin Patrick, a good morrow to ye,” he answered, and accepted the tankard of ale handed him.

The two men sat facing one another.

“Is Cat wi ye?”

“Nay. I left her at Hermitage. Something didna smell right about this meeting.”

“Aye,” returned Patrick Leslie. “'Tis a trap, but ye’ve time yet.”

“What are ye doing here, Glenkirk?”

“Cousin Jamie sent me to reclaim my wife.”

“I’ll nae gie her back,” said Bothwell softly, and his blue eyes glittered dangerously.

The two men looked at one another for a moment, then Patrick said quietly, “I still love her, Francis, but I know I’ve lost her. For God’s sake, man, take her away and be happy before James destroys ye both!”

“I must make my peace wi the king, Patrick. I want Cat for my wife, and I want Hermitage for our children.”

“Take her away, Francis. Once ye gave me that same advice, and I heeded ye not. Then when I found the king wi his hands all over my wife I lost first my temper and then Cat Dinna make the same mistake I did.”

“I would never do to Cat what ye did. I know what she went through. She relived it in her sleep for weeks. Christ, man! Why didn’t ye just kill her?”

“If I had, cousin, ye would not have known the happiness ye know now,” he replied angrily.

“Touché,”
said Bothwell. He stood up. “Gie Maitland my regrets, Patrick. Tell him a pressing engagement.” Francis Hepburn swung a leg over the window sill and grinned. “I’ll go the back way for safety’s sake. Take my horse, Valentine, home wi ye. I know ye’ll keep him safe.” Then he was gone.

When Maitland and the king’s soldiers arrived a short time afterwards they found the Earl of Glenkirk finishing up a large breakfast.

“Where is he?” demanded the chancellor.

“A pressing engagement called him away,” said Patrick Leslie, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Your wife?”

“She was not with him, Maitland. Yer information was incorrect Bothwell knew it was a trap, and left her safe at Hermitage.”

“Ye dinna seem to mind that your wife plays Bothwell’s whore,” said Maitland venomously.

Glenkirk was at his throat before the words had died in the chancellor’s mouth. One big hand held the chancellor tightly at the neck, the other held a dirk to his plump belly.

“Ye are close to death,
Master
Maitland.” The chancellor’s eyes bugged, terrified. “Did yer mother never teach ye,
Master
Maitland, not to talk ill of yer betters? Whatever the problems between my wife and myself, they stem from the king, as ye well know,
Master
Maitland.” Glenkirk stressed the chancellor’s lack of a title, which he knew was a sore point with the man. “Dinna think,” the earl continued, “I dinna know that ye seek to complicate those problems in yer desire to destroy

Lord Bothwell and his influence,
Master
Maitland. Well, I dinna gie a damn for yer politics! My only interest is in seeing Catriona kept safe.” He gave the chancellor a shake. “Yer a fine statesman I’ve no doubt,
Master
Maitland, but ye know nothing of human nature. Ye took Cousin Jamie’s lust for my wife and used it to fan the fires of his envy of Bothwell. Had ye kept silent, Francis and Cat would hae been married and gone from Scotland.” Maitland’s eyes widened in surprise. “Aye,” said Glenkirk. “They were willing to accept exile. Now, ye fool, ye hae cornered them, and Christ, man! How Bothwell is going to fight James to keep her! How many lives and how much money will be spent in this war between the crowned and the uncrowned king?” He loosed the chancellor and pushed him away.

Maitland rubbed his throat, then spoke. “Ye love her still, my lord. I do not have to be a student of human nature to see that. How can ye let her go? Don’t ye want her back?”

“Aye, I want her back, but she doesn’t want me. And that,
Master
Maitland, is my fault. She loves Francis Hepburn, and if that makes her happy, then I want her to have him” He smiled sadly at the chancellor. “Ye dinna understand that kind of thing, do ye,
Master
Maitland? Ah, well. I’ll nae try to explain.” The earl picked up his cloak. “By the way, Bothwell’s horse is below. I’m taking it home wi me. Home to Glenkirk, and my bairns. Ye’ll gie my regrets to the king.” And he walked from the room, his footsteps echoing in the stairwell as he descended.

Francis Hepburn rode with all haste back to Hermitage Castle and Catriona Leslie. He was torn. If he could just get to his cousin, the king. If James would only restore his lands to his eldest son! If only the king would allow the cardinal to give Cat her divorce, he would promise to take her and leave Scotland. If James

understood their love, surely he would cooperate. If! If! If! But first the chancellor must be gotten out of the way. His was the dangerous influence.

But the autumn was too beautiful for much worrying. The days were deliciously warm, and faintly hazed in purple. Bothwell rode a new stallion—a great dark-gray brute called Sian, which means “storm” in the Gaelic tongue. Cat and her lover rode alone, much as they had in the early spring. Sandy Home had gone to his own estates.

They enjoyed being alone together. The servants at Hermitage sensed this, and behaved with exquisite tact. In the cold clear evenings when the stars seemed brighter and nearer the earth than ever before, the lovers sat before the fire. Sometimes they were silent, sometimes they talked of what they would do when the king relented and allowed them to wed. Sometimes they sang together while he accompanied them on a lute. His voice was a deep baritone, hers a lilting soprano. The sounds of their happiness spread throughout the castle, causing the servants to smile indulgently. Never had they seen Francis Hepburn so calm, so happy. And why not? Lady Leslie was a sweet, gentle lady who loved their earl with all her heart.

Just before Christmas, Francis Hepburn gave to his beloved the best of all possible gifts. On a cold, bright mid-December afternoon a coach rumbled up the drive to Hermitage. As Catriona and the earl stood waiting, the coach lurched to a stop, the door opened, and four passengers jumped out.

Cat gasped, and then flew down the steps to meet her four oldest children, who were running up the steps towards her. Kneeling, she opened her arms and gathered them to her. “Oh, my bairns! My beautiful, beautiful, bairns!” She said it over and over again, and her face was wet with her tears. Standing, her arms still around

the four children, she looked to Bothwell. He knew he had done the right thing.

He moved slowly down the steps. “Welcome to Hermitage,” he said to the four young Leslies.

“Thank ye, my lord earl,” the fourteen-year-old heir to Glenkirk spoke for them all. “We are grateful for the chance to see our mother again.”