Chapter 21

Chapter 21

T HE court had settled comfortably back into Edinburgh. It was dull January. The Leslies' two oldest sons were also at court, having joined the household of Andrew Leslie, the Earl of Rothes, head of Clan Leslie. It was a relief to Cat to be able to see at least two of her children.

At this time Patrick Leslie decided to go home to check on his estates, and to see his other children. Unlike his wife, he had no official duties to keep him at court. Cat could not, however, be spared from service with the queen. Desperately she tried to forestall her husband's departure, but he laughed indulgently at her and teased, "Two years ago ye would hae rather died than go home to Glenkirk in winter. Now I believe ye would walk home!" Kissing her goodbye, he reassured her, "I'll be back in a few weeks, hinny. Would it cheer ye if I brought Bess wi me?"

"Nay, my lord! This court is no place for a young girl." She looked up at him astride Dubh. "Go carefully, Patrick, and come quickly back to me!"

There was something in her eyes that, for a moment, made him wonder if he should leave her. Then, laughing at himself for being a fool, he bent, kissed her again, and rode off.

It was not her night to serve the queen so, gaining permission, she went to Glenkirk House. The king

would not dare chance seeking her out when the queen was available. She slept safe in her own home for the next few days. Soon it was her turn to sleep in the royal antechamber, on call in the event Anna required something, and she was again safe from the king.

At the end of her duty period the queen took her aside. "I would prefer, my dear Cat, that you not leave the palace at night when you are not on duty. Are your apartments not comfortable?"

"Aye, madame. They are most comfortable. I go home so that my sons may see me easily when their duties allow."

The queen smiled indulgently. "You are a good mother, Cat, but you are also a lady of my bedchamber. We will arrange for you to see your sons, but please remain near me at night I awoke once with a terrible pain in my temple, and you were not there to rub it away."

"As your majesty wishes," replied Cat curtsying. She knew full well where the idea that she remain in the palace had really come from.

Several days later the queen's monthly indisposition occurred, and that same evening the king appeared in the Countess of Glenkirk's bedchamber. First she tried to hold him off with reason, but he refused to listen. He came at her and she fought him physically, her little fists beating at him. It amused him to master her and he did so, cruelly, ravaging her body. She recoiled from his touch and hated him with a frustrated fury she could not satisfy. She was forced to endure his attentions for the next four nights.

Every morning and every evening Cat prayed for her husband's speedy return. Not a day went by that the king didn't steal a few minutes to be alone with her. That she detested him seemed to add to his pleasure.

One night as she undressed after the evening's entertainment,

he appeared through the secret door. She wore only her white silk petticoats, and stood before her pier glass brushing her long dark-gold hair. Slipping up behind her, James slid an arm around her waist, and with his other hand cupped a globe-shaped breast.

Cat closed her eyes wearily, patiently enduring his unwelcome attentions. She had learned by now that to struggle was useless. As the king buried his lips in the soft flesh of her neck, a faint sound caught Cat's ear. Opening her eyes she saw her husband reflected in the pier glass, his face stiff with shock and hurt.

She would never remember in later years if she spoke his name aloud or merely mouthed it silently. It was enough, however, to rouse him, and his voice was icy. "I beg yer pardon, madame. I had nae idea ye were entertaining."

"Patrick!" she cried. "Patrick, please!" She tore herself from the king's grasp and took several steps toward him.

Behind her James Stewart looked at the Earl of Glenkirk. "I find yer wife charming, cousin, and I have been doing so for some time now. Do ye object?"

"Aye, sire," replied the earl, "I do object. Though little good it would do me, especially since the lady is so acquiescent." He turned to his wife. "I hope, my dear, ye have gotten a good price for yer virtue?"

"Come, cousin," soothed the king. "Dinna be angry wi Cat. She has done her duty by the crown admirably." He smiled winningly at the earl and, taking him by the arm, led him into the antechamber. "Let us hae a wee drink, Patrick. Yer wife keeps some remarkably fine whisky."

Numbly Cat continued the business of getting ready for bed. She was grateful she had dismissed Ellie for the evening. The tiring woman would only have tried to help her, and made matters worse. Kicking her petticoats off, she pulled a silk nightgown over her head and

lay down on top of her bed. She could hear the low murmur of voices in the next room as well as the clink of crystal glasses.

She didn't remember falling asleep, but suddenly she felt a slap on her hip, and Patrick's voice—slurred with drink—said, "Wake up, madame whore! Here's two customers for ye!"

Angrily she scrambled to her feet "Yer drunk! Both of ye! Get out of my bedroom! I canna stand the sight of either of ye!"

"Not so drunk we canna fuck! Right cousin Jamie?" Grasping the bodice of her nightgown, Patrick ripped it to the hem, tore the two pieces off her, and flung them across the room "Get into bed, my dear, virtuous wife, and open yer legs for the king. Ye've done it before, and very well, according to our royal cousin." He pushed her back onto the bed and before she could protest, the king was on top of her, driving into her unwilling body.

She was neither ready nor willing for the assault, and its effect was that of forcible rape. She struggled wildly beneath James, which merely increased his desire. He came quickly. Rolling off her, he said, "Yer turn, Patrick," and before a shocked Cat realized what was happening her husband had mounted her and pushed deep within her.

She could hear her own screaming.

Her thighs were sticky with another man's seed, and yet he took her. Outraged, she fought him violently, and was slapped into unconsciousness for her pains. Throughout the night they took turns raping her and drinking her whisky, until at last, in that darkest part of the night before dawn, a drunken James Stewart returned to his room via the secret passage and the very drunk Earl of Glenkirk fell into a deep sleep.

Fearful at first of awaking him, Cat lay quietly. Then, sure he was really asleep, she crawled slowly from the

bed. Moving quietly and painfully across the room to the fireplace, she stirred up the fire and added some kindling, then heated the hanging kettle over it. Pouring some water into a small ewer, she took a cake of soap and a rough linen cloth and scrubbed herself until her skin was raw. Next she went to the trunk at the foot of the bed and, lifting out her woolen trunk hose, silk riding shirt, and plaid doublet, put them on. She pulled on her boots, picked up her fur-lined cloak, and silently left the apartment.

It was not yet dawn when she entered the stables. The boy on duty was fast asleep, half-buried in a pile of straw. Quickly Cat saddled Iolaire. She dared not take Bana, as she would have been spotted easily on the white mare. Leading the gelding from the stable stealthily, she mounted it and, muffling herself in her cloak, rode boldly up to the main exit of the palace.

"Messenger for Leslie of Glenkirk," she croaked in a husky voice.

"Pass," said the soldier, thinking how glad he was not to have to ride out at this early hour.

She rode south and slightly east, keeping away from the main roads. She was aware of neither the bitter cold nor approaching daylight. She felt neither hunger nor thirst. Several times she stopped to water and rest her horse, and when evening came she sought her bearings. Finding them, she headed for a small religious house, where she begged a night's shelter. Up at first light, she left a gold piece with the startled nun who kept the gate. Mounting Iolaire, she continued on her journey.

At midday she was spotted by two riders. Cat put her horse into a gallop but, unsure of the countryside, was quickly run down. She found herself facing two bearded young borderers, who grinned delightedly at her.

"I dinna know which is better," said the taller of the two. "The horse or the woman."

"The horse is yers, man," answered his companion. "I'll take the woman!"

"Touch me at yer peril," she snarled at them. "I am for Hermitage, and Lord Bothwell!"

"Ye'll nae find the earl at Hermitage," said the tall borderer. "He's at his lodge in the Cheviot."

"How far from here?"

"Two hours' ride, sweetheart. But if ye've a mind to bed a Hepburn, my father was one, and I'd be happy to oblige."

Cat drew herself up tall and, looking levelly at the two men, said coldly, "Take me to Lord Bothwell, or suffer the consequences when he finds out ye've not only detained me but refused me aid as well."

Something in her voice told them she was not bluffing. "Follow us," said the tall man. Whirling their horses around, they galloped off. Two hours later, as promised, they arrived at a small lodge, well hidden within the hills. At the sound of hoofbeats the door opened and the Earl of Bothwell himself stepped out The taller fellow spoke out.

"We found this lady some two hours from here, my lord, riding for Hermitage. When she told us she sought ye, we brought her here. I hope we did the right thing."

Bothwell walked over to Iolaire and, reaching up, pushed away the hood of the all-concealing cape. "Cat!" he breathed.

Two large tears rolled down her cheeks. "Help me, Francis," she begged, holding out her arms to him. "Please help me!" Then she crumbled out of the saddle into his arms, fainting.

Cradling her tenderly, he turned to the two startled men. "Ye did right to bring this lady to me. But remember, lads, ye hae never seen her. When I can be of help to ye, I will be." He walked swiftly back into the house with his precious burden.