Love Wild and Fair (33 page)

Elizabeth chuckled. Bothwell had visited her court some years back. He had been young, but damn! He was a brilliant and elegant rogue even then. There was more to this than met the eye, yet her spies could come up with no explanation. So, because it pleased her to be perverse and to thwart James, and because she had always had a weakness for charming rogues, she lent her support to the border lord.

Again the winter closed in around them, and Cat was relieved. They kept Twelfth Night revels at Hermitage for the neighboring gentry. Though she was not Bothwell’s wife, she was treated as such by the local lairds and their ladies. They had no patience with the king’s unkindness towards their hero and his lady.

Cat had not seen her oldest children in almost a year. It was simply too dangerous for them to come now. She barely knew the two youngest ones, and sadly wondered if they remembered her at all.

Bothwell missed the children too. Catriona Leslie had the knack for making family life a warm and happy thing. Bothwell found it restful. And until they could marry, they dared not have a child of their own.

As the winter deepened Cat became increasingly eager to go to France, and finally he agreed that if, by the end of the year, he had not settled things with his cousin, they would leave Scotland.

W
HEN James Stewart learned that his cousin the Queen of England was financing his cousin the Earl of Bothwell he sent word to Sir Robert Melville, his ambassador in England, to persuade Elizabeth to cease. Publicly exposed, she had no choice but to agree. Francis Hepburn was now in danger on both sides of the border. But worse was to come.

On July 21, 1593, sentence of forfeiture was again passed against Francis Stewart-Hepburn, the fifth Earl of Bothwell. But this time his arms were riven asunder at the Mercat cross in Edinburgh. Shocked, the Duke of Lennox and other noblemen determined to help Both-well. If Maitland could turn the king against his own blood, what could happen to them?

Bothwell, accompanied only by his half-brother, rode for the capital. His borderers slipped into the city by twos and threes until Edinburgh had discreetly swelled with them. Catriona Leslie had been left behind at Hermitage.

“What will happen?” she had begged him. “I dinna know. If I can get to James I must convince him to restore my lands, which I hae given to my heir. And I will force him, if necessary, to allow the cardinal to grant yer petition of divorce. Then, love, we’ll be safe.”

“And if ye canna reach him, Francis?”

“Then, my darling, we’re for France. Let Angus fight the battle for his grandchildren.”

She clung to him, her mouth inviting his kisses, her body soft and yielding. Accepting the invitation, he made passionate love to her, then slept for several hours, cradling her in his arms. When she awoke he was gone, and she was frightened.

Early on the morning of July 24, 1593, James Stewart awoke to the faint gray light of early dawn. The air felt damp, and he wondered if it were raining. He heard a faint noise, a chair scraping the floor. “Barra, laddie? Is it you?” he called. There was no answer. The king’s heart began to pound violently against his ribs and his nightshirt became soaked in cold sweat. Ever so slowly, he turned and peered out of the bed curtains.

“Good morning, Jamie,” drawled Francis Stewart-Hepburn.

The king screamed. Scrambling to the other side of the bed, he leaped out and quickly turned the handle of the queen’s bedroom door. It would not give. James turned to face his antagonist, pressing his back to the queen’s door as though he could press himself through it. For a moment the cousins stared at each other—the one disheveled and frightened in a damp silk nightshirt, the other calm and assured in his red plaid kilt, his sword drawn.

Slowly Bothwell closed the space between them. The king was shaking. Francis Hepburn’s blue eyes narrowed. Catching his cousin’s face between his thumb and his forefinger, he growled, “Lo, now, my fine bairn. Ye that hae said I sought yer life … look how I hold it in my hand!”

The king swayed as if he would faint.

“Christ, Jamie! I’m nae here to kill ye,” said Bothwell impatiently. “Pull yerself together!”

James’ eyes rolled in his head, and he looked wildly

at the earl. “Ye’ll nae get my soul, Francis! Kill me if ye will, but ye’ll nae get my soul!”

“Jesu!” exploded Bothwell. “What in God’s name would I want wi yer soul, Jamie? I’ve but come to straighten this matter out between us. I dinna want yer life, yer soul, yer crown, or yer bloody kingdom, Jamie. I simply want my lands back for my heir and I want Cat Leslie for my wife. Gie me those things, and yer quit Bothwell forever if ye choose!”

“Maitland says ye want to kill me,” said the king.

“Maitland is a puddock stool!” replied Bothwell.

The king laughed in spite of his fear. The border lord reached out and picked up the king’s robe. “Put it on, Jamie. Ye look chilled.” Drawing the king from the queen’s door, he helped him into the warm garment. Then, pouring a dram of whisky, he made James drink. Color began to flow back into the king’s face. Seeing this, Bothwell knelt before him and offered the hilt of his sword to his sovereign.

This simple act seemed to calm and even embarrass the king. “Oh get up, Francis, and put yer sword away.”

The earl complied and, rising, threw some wood on the fire. With the king’s permission, the two men sat facing one another.

“I suppose,” said the king resignedly, “that my palace is full of yer men.”

“Aye,” grinned Bothwell ruefully. “And Lennox’s men, and Angus’ men, and Home’s, and Colville’s, and Logie’s, and Burley’s, and Huntley’s. I’m nae a fool to come calling on ye, cousin, wi’out a few friends.”

“They stand by ye as they hae never stood by me.”

“Only because of Maitland, Jamie. Maitland wants to take away their rights. He is using me as a test, and they know that if I fall they are all in danger of falling. Their loyalty is to themselves.”

“And where is yer loyalty, Francis?”

“Like theirs … first to myself and my own.” “Yer honest, Francis.”

“I hae always been honest wi ye, Jamie, my bairn. Now, ‘tis time for ye to be honest wi me. I know ye’ll be fair about my lands. They rightfully belong to Margaret’s boy.”

“Not yer boy also, Francis?”

“I fathered him, Jamie, but he’s never been mine. None of them have. They’re all Margaret’s, and they’re Angus', but nae mine. That’s why Cat is so important. She is mine, and when we hae bairns, they’ll be
ours.”

“No, Francis, they’ll be bastards, for I’ll nae gie my permission for ye to wed wi Catriona Leslie.”

For a few moments the room was very quiet, then Bothwell said, “Why, Jamie?”

“Ye hae been honest wi me, cousin, so I will be honest wi ye. If I canna hae Cat, then ye canna hae Cat.”

“My God, James, do ye hate me so much? Ye’ve taken everything I own, and riven my arms at Edinburgh cross. I hae one thing left in this world. A wench. A green-eyed wench that I love above all things. If I died tomorrow she would nae come back to ye. What hae I done to deserve this unkindness from ye? Is this how ye repay my loyalty to ye?”

“She loves ye,” said the king quietly. “'Tis that I canna forgie her for, Francis. I lay between her silken thighs, but she gave me nothing of herself. I fucked her, and her lovely body responded as I have never known a woman to respond. But she gave me nothing for her love, and since her no woman has been able to satisfy me, including that sweet little featherhead I am wed to. But to ye, cousin, Cat has shown her face of love. She has defied convention, and both kirks of Scotland, to be by yer side. She, who adored her bairns, has nae seen them in several years for love of ye. I outlawed ye, and took all from ye, yet she stayed wi ye. I can forgie

neither of ye yer love, Francis. I cannot command her to love me, but I can command her not to wed wi ye, and I can see she obeys that command.”

“Christ, man! Hae ye no heart?”

“Love,” said the king, “I dinna understand the word. No one has ever loved me, nor hae I ever loved anyone except Cat. At least I think that is the feeling I hae for her. I am nae certain, having had verra little experience with love.”

“The queen loves ye, James, and I thought ye loved her.”

“Annie doesna love me, Francis. Lord, man! We hae nothing in common, except perhaps we will soon. She is pregnant, and will deliver a child this winter. However, she does enjoy being queen.”

The Earl of Bothwell looked carefully at his royal cousin. “In all the years we hae known each other, Jamie, I hae asked ye for little. Now, however—” and at this point Bothwell knelt on both knees before the king—"I beg ye, cousin! I beg ye to let me wed wi Cat. We will leave Scotland, and live quietly wherever ye say. In Christ’s name, dinna take her from me!”

For the first time in all his life James had the advantage of his Cousin Francis. The border lord was at his mercy. In was too delicious, and the king could barely contain his excitement. Never had Francis exhibited a weakness of any sort, yet now he knelt and begged … and for a woman! A mere woman! No. Not a mere woman. An extraordinary woman. But Francis Hepburn was an extraordinary man, and they really did belong together. It was most unfortunate that he, James, did not choose to allow it He looked down at his cousin. “Get up, Bothwell.” The earl stood. “They call ye the uncrowned King of Scotland, Francis, and I know that Cat is yer chosen mate. Unfortunately it is a rule of royalty that kings and queens are nae ever happy in

love. I see no reason why ye and Cat should be. If ye crawled from here to hell and back on yer hands and knees I should not change my mind. I will see that yer lands and yer honors are returned. They will remain yers to do with as ye please as long as ye remain at peace wi me. But on September first, I want Catriona Leslie here in Edinburgh, to return to her husband.”

“Go to hell, Jamie!” said Bothwell. “She’ll nae return to Patrick Leslie, and I’ll nae let her.”

“She will return to him, Francis, because if she does not, I will have Maitland find a way that will allow me to confiscate the lands and goods of not only the Leslies of Glenkirk, but the Leslies of Sithean, and even of Cat’s own family, the Hays of Greyhaven. Ye know that Cat will nae allow three branches of her family to be destroyed! And our good Patrick will take her back for the same reason. As for ye, my reckless cousin, if ye try to defy me …” The king let it dangle, and Bothwell for the first time in his life felt the bitter taste of defeat. “There, Francis,” said the king soothingly. “I hae given ye plenty of time to say yer goodbyes. I could hae said she must be back wi’in a week. Ye hae over a month.” He smiled in kindly fashion at his handsome cousin. “It should add spice to yer relationship to see how many times ye can fuck her in one month.”

Bothwell clenched his fists. “I will call the others to come in now. If I don’t I may give in to the urge to commit regicide. Yer a bastard, James. Ye dinna know what love is, and ye never will. ‘Twill be a lonely life for ye, cousin, and in yer old age—for we Stewarts are inclined to longevity if we avoid wars—ye will have no memories to warm ye in the dark nights. I am sorry for ye, Jamie. Ye hae a mean spirit, and ye will always have to live with yerself.”

Before the discomfited king could reply his chamber was filled with the great lords of the land. Seeing them all massed together, James became nervous again. Bothwell

offered to leave, but the others would not allow it until the king had agreed to publicly pass an act of condonation and remission in Bothwell’s favor. The Earl of Angus was delighted. His grandchildren would be well taken care of, and Margaret could leave his house now.

Bothwell left for Lord Home’s Edinburgh house. He was sick at heart. He knew there was no way for him to win this battle. Home offered his friend a bed, a bottle, and a sympathetic ear. There was nothing else he could do.

A short distance away at Glenkirk House, Patrick Leslie suffered a similar agony. He had just returned from Holyrood, where the king had told him privately that his wife would be returned to him on September 1. That she was being forced to return bothered James not at all, but it bothered Patrick Leslie. His wife, whom he still loved, was in love with another man. She had lived with this man for two and a half years while trying desperately to divorce Glenkirk. He had resigned himself to losing her because he did not believe he deserved her any longer. Patrick Leslie didn’t know if his wife could take this forced reunion. He wasn’t sure he could. He was tired, and he was a mass of conflicting emotions. He sat alone in his library, and as the afternoon progressed he drank a great deal of whisky. As evening drew in he fell asleep.

When at midevening he awoke it was to find the Earl of Bothwell sitting across from him. Glenkirk moved to rise. “Easy, Cousin Patrick,” said Francis Hepburn softly. I’ve only come to talk.” Glenkirk, eyeing the elegant silver and mother-of-pearl pistol in Bothwell’s hand, sat back carefully.

“I am riding back to Hermitage tonight,” said the border lord. “I dinna know how I can tell Cat of the king’s order, but first I must know that ye’ll be kind to her.”

“Christ, man! I love her too!”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Bothwell spoke again. “It wasn’t until ye and Jamie had at her, Patrick. Ye know that, don’t ye? Even when the king forced her, she was faithful to ye in her heart.”

“I know that now,” said Patrick Leslie. “But tell me, Francis, why did she go to ye if there was nothing between ye?”

Bothwell smiled softly with remembrance. “We were friends, Patrick. I know that is a hard thing to understand, but when the first excitement of court wore off she found she was bored. She really was the Virtuous Countess. Sexual games were not for her. Neither was gossip. She’s far too educated for a woman, and for our times. I understand that because I am also too educated for the times. God! How we talked! And how she listened! All the questions she asked! So, when she was hurt and frightened, she wanted to go where no one would find her. Since I was her only friend she came to me.”