Chapter 35

Chapter 35

T HE truce between James Stewart and Francis Stewart-Hepburn had not worked out Though the king had signed an agreement on August 14, 1593, to pardon his noble cousin and his equally noble supporters, and to restore all their estates, titles, and honors, he was soon tempted to go back on his word. On September 8, a convention of parliament was held at Stirling, and James attempted to modify the promises he had made in August On September 22, the king forbade his cousin and his supporters to come within ten miles of him unless summoned by James himself. Should they disobey, the charge against them would be high treason. Maitland's power had not waned.

The royal gauntlet thrown down, it was picked up by Bothwell and armed friends. They assembled outside Linlithgow in early October while the king was in residence. On October 22, Bothwell was called before the high council to answer to the charge of high treason. Refusing to attend the proceedings, he was denounced. All was quiet for several months, and then in the spring of 1594 James called twice for a levy of forces to bring his cousin to the king's justice. Suddenly Bothwell appeared with a powerful force outside of Leith. He had come, he said, to fight the Spaniards, whose imminent landing was rumored. His real purpose was to make a show of strength, in hope of bringing his royal cousin to terms.

James advanced towards Leith from Edinburgh while Botimell retreated in leisure towards Dalkeith, as though he were not being pursued at all. James was forced to go back to Edinburgh, having lost yet another encounter with his cousin. The border lord then slipped over the border into England, where he remained, quietly, until Queen Elizabeth was forced to acknowledge his presence and eject him.

Francis Hepburn now had two choices. He could deliver himself up to James, or he could join with the northern earls. Sensing that exile was near, he went north so he could see Cat before leaving his homeland. There was no one else left he cared to see. Hercules had been caught and hanged in the previous bitter February. Margaret Douglas and his children behaved as if he did not exist. Only Cat Leslie remained. Would she see him?

No one had told Cat so, but she knew intuitively that he waited at Huntley for her. Gathering her daughters about her, she told them she would be gone for a while. "But I'll be back, my little loves," she promised, "and then I'll nae leave ye again."

When Amanda and Morag had run off to play, Bess, now twelve, asked quietly, "Is Lord Bothwell at Huntley, mother?"

Cat's first reaction was to tell her daughter it was none of her business. But then she looked again at Bess, who hovered between childhood and womanhood, and thought better of it. The countess put an arm about her eldest daughter. "Yes," she said. "I believe that Lord Bothwell is at Huntley. Dinna be angry, Bess. Yer father gave me his permission to see Francis. Someday ye'll love a man. Perhaps then, Bess, ye'll understand yer mother."

"I shall ne'er love any man but my true, wedded lord, mother."

Cat laughed softly and squeezed her daughter gently. "How wonderful to be so young, and so positive, my darling. I hope that in my absence ye will help yer grandmother, and watch over yer sisters and the twins."

Bess Leslie looked at her mother for a moment, and then she clung to her. "Ye'll nae go away wi Lord Bothwell? Ye will come home? Ye'll nae leave us forever?"

"No, my child. I will be back." A lump rose in her throat. "I will come back to ye, Bessie luv. Dinna fear."

Before Cat left Glenkirk, Margaret Leslie took her daughter-in-law aside. "My son did a cruel and terrible thing to ye, Catriona. Go—say your final goodbyes to Francis Hepburn. Take whatever time ye need. But when ye return to Glenkirk, ye must again be a good wife to Patrick. He has been punished enough."

Now the beautiful Countess of Glenkirk rode eagerly across the hills that separated her home from Huntley. Ellen had wanted to come with her, saying that her niece had not the experience to accompany her mistress to a great house. Cat had cajoled her into staying with Bess, saying the young girl needed Ellen more than she did. The truth was that the countess did not want her old servant intruding on her reunion with Lord Bothwell. Susan was young and unsure enough to be discreet

At last the towers of Huntley Castle came into view, and Cat's heart began pounding. Conall rode up beside her. "I dinna suppose ye'll want us to stay," he said disapprovingly.

"No," she answered him. "I dinna need Leslie protection in the house of the Gordons. My grandmother was a Gordon."

" ‘Twas nae the Gordons I was thinking ye needed protection from, madame."

She smiled at him. "I dinna need any protection from my Lord Bothwell, Conall. Rather, he may need it from me."

Conall laughed despite himself. He had long ago given up hope of understanding his nobles. It only confused him to try.

They clattered into the courtyard of Huntley, where George Gordon and his lovely French wife, Henriette, awaited them. Having dismounted, Cat greeted them warmly, but her eyes were restlessly sweeping the courtyard. Lord Gordon laughed. "He got here about two hours ago, Cat, and insisted on having a bath. I doubt if he is ready to receive ye yet."

But suddenly she saw him at the top of the staircase. For a moment they gazed at one another, spellbound. Cat took a few steps forward, but then her legs refused to cooperate further, and began to give way beneath her. He was at her side in seconds, catching her up in his strong arms, his deep-blue eyes devouring her. Her arms went around his neck as he bent and found her mouth. Everything—the courtyard, the horses, the servants, the Gordons—melted away as they abandoned themselves to each other. Hungrily, eagerly, their lips demanded more and yet more.

It was Henriette Gordon who broke the spell by turning to her husband and saying, "But George! You did not tell me that Lady Leslie and Lord Bothwell knew each other. I have given them apartments at opposite ends of the castle."

Francis Hepburn broke away from Cat, and both of them burst into laughter. "Oh, George," teased the Countess of Glenkirk, "how could ye hae overlooked even such a small detail?"

Huntley looked rueful. Bothwell gently put Cat down on her feet. "Can ye stand now, my darling?" he asked.

"Aye, Francis. Tis all right now."

The border lord turned to his pretty hostess and, taking her plump little hand, smiled down at her. "Which of the two apartments is the larger, Riette?"

"Lady Leslie's. I thought—with a woman's clothes and things—she would need the large suite." The Countess of Huntley was flustered by the turn of events.

"Will ye then," said Lord Bothwell with grave courtesy, "please hae my things moved in with Lady Leslie's? We shall, after all, be needing only one bed." He turned to his host. "George, ye will excuse us now until the evening meal. My lady and I hae been parted for over a year. I know ye understand." Putting an arm about Cat's waist, he led her up the stairs and into the castle.

Henriette Gordon faced her amused husband with outrage. Laughing, he led her into their home, and when he had told her the tragic story of Bothwell and Cat the pretty Countess of Huntley was on the verge of tears. "Oh, George! Les pauvres! James Stewart— il est un cochon!" she cried indignantly. And from that moment, she was their ally.

Bothwell waited patiently for an hour to be alone with Cat There could be no privacy with servants traipsing in and out Cat had ordered a hot bath to be set up for her by the fireplace. She was enchanted by the floral decorated porcelain tub. The hot water arrived, and Susan fussed until she found the hyacinth-scented bath oil. Francis Hepburn watched, amused, as the little maid shooed everyone out and tried to take him on as well. Laughing, he caught her by the waist and looked down at her. She blushed deep scarlet as his eyes boldly swept her. "Yer nae Ellen, are ye? Yer too young."

"No-no, sir," she replied shyly. "I am Susan, her niece. My aunt looks after young Mistress Bess now."

"Well, Susan," said Bothwell kindly, "yer to go to the servants hall and hae a good supper. And if any of the lads get rough wi ye, lass, yer to tell them they'll answer to me."

"But, sir! I must help my lady to bathe."

Gently but firmly, he propelled her out the door. "I will help yer lady to bathe, Susan. ‘Twill nae be the first time. And dinna come back until yer sent for, lass." He locked the door behind her, then turned to find Cat helpless with laughter.

"Ah, Bothwell, ye rogue! She will talk about this the rest of her life!" chuckled the Countess of Glenkirk.

"Take yer bath, madame," he commanded.

"Unbutton me," she countered, turning her back to him.

His fingers fumbled down the long row of tiny silver buttons. She was amused by his trembling hands. She shrugged the velvet riding gown off and stepped out of it. Beneath it she wore a low-cut silk underblouse, beribboned busk, three silk petticoats, and lace stockings secured by garters. She unbuttoned the blouse and removed it, but it was he who unhooked the little busk. Naked to the waist, she gazed up at him, her eyes bright with desire.

"Bathe," he repeated, his voice thick.

Sliding the petticoats over her hips, she let them fall about her ankles. Stepping out of them, she kicked the white silk mound away from her. She was now completely naked except for the dark blue lace knit stockings and their pink garters. Groaning, he turned away. She smiled to herself and quickly rolled the stockings down and off her shapely legs. When he turned back she was comfortably settled in her tub.

He sat down next to her. "Ye could tempt a band of angels!"

"Ye must hae been very true to me, Bothwell, to be so quickly roused. I am flattered."

He looked at her somberly. "The truth's that I have lifted every skirt I could, to try to bank the fire ye left in my heart. I failed miserably, because I have never stopped loving ye, or needing ye. I dinna expect I ever shall."

"Oh, Francis," she cried. "I have ached for ye all these many months. I have never stopped loving ye either."

"Yet," he said, almost bitterly, "ye gave yer husband another child—nay, twins!"

She laughed, and the sound was silvery in the quiet of the room. "Oh, Bothwell, ye great fool! The bairns are yers! The bairns are yers!"

He was incredulous. "Ye canna be sure, Cat."

"But I can," she said. "I can. Oh, my sweet lord, did ye not think it strange when ye had already fathered so many bairns, and I was mother to six, that we had no child of our own?" He nodded, and she continued. "When Mam returned from the east she brought wi her a secret for controlling conception. All the women in our family know it. Until we were safely wed I could not let us have a child. When the king forbade my divorce I knew I dared not gie Jamie a weapon to use against us. Then he ordered us parted, and I realized I couldna leave ye wi'out something of ye to sustain me. I was over a month pregnant when I left ye, Francis! Glenkirk waited not a moment before claiming his rights, so he assumed the twins were his—especially when his mother said that twins ran in her family, and always came early."

"What did ye call them?"

"Ian and Jane."

"Ye named them after my parents?"

"Aye, but Patrick thinks they are named after his paternal grandparents."

"What are they like, my wee bairns? What are they like, Cat?"

The silvery laugh tinkled again. "Francis! They're but bairns! Five-month-old bairns." Seeing his crestfallen look, she tried. "The lad is auburn-haired and blue-eyed. He is bright, I can tell, and very demanding. His sister is a blue-eyed reddish-blonde of very much the same temperament. The wet nurses and the nursery staff adore them, for they both hae great charm."

It was what he had wanted to hear, and his eyes misted. She felt a catch in her throat, and silently cursed once again their cousin the king. To keep from crying she said to him, "Hand me that cake of soap, my love," and proceeded to scrub herself down. When she had finished she stood and stepped out of the tub. Francis wrapped her in a towel and began to rub her dry. She stood quietly, luxuriating in the delicious sensation of his hands on her once again.

She could tell by his touch that he was near to losing that perfect control he prided himself on, and she wanted him as she had never wanted him before. Turning, she slid her slender arms about his neck. "Now, Francis," she said quietly. "Take me, now! I have waited over a year to be wi ye again, and ‘tis nae time to be standoffish."

Pulling away from him, she walked slowly across the room and climbed into the big lace-trimmed, lavender-scented featherbed. Undressing, he asked, "Did Glenkirk nae make love to ye enough that yer so eager, my darling?"

"Glenkirk took every opportunity to use me, and though my body responds to him, I hae never since we last made love been able to find the heaven I find wi ye, Francis. Aye, my lord, I am eager for ye!" She held out her arms to him, and he waited no longer.

They cuddled together beneath the warmth of the coverlet. He had her cradled within one arm while the other caressed her soft breast and then wandered boldly to stroke her rounded belly, her firm, trembling thighs and the soft hidden places of her body. Her breath was coming in short gasps, but she suddenly squirmed free of him and pushed him back on the pillows.

Bending over him, her lips began a tantalizing descent down his long body. She was exciting him unbelievably, her petal-soft lips gentle, touching him here and then there, moving lower and lower until she reached his swollen manroot. Tenderly she took it in her hand and kissed the pink, throbbing head. Then, taking it into her warm mouth, she drew on it for just a moment. His whole body jerked, and he cried out as if in agony. Frightened, she released him. She looked into his face. "I only wanted to taste of ye, my love," she whispered.

He pulled her back under him, and looked passionately down at her. "What do I taste of?" he demanded thickly.

"S-salt," she answered him suddenly, feeling very shy.

He laughed softly. Quickly sliding down and between her slender legs, he slipped his hands beneath her round buttocks and lifted her up, so he might taste of her also. She cried out—half in joy, half in shame. She wanted him to take her this way even though she felt it was not quite right. "Sweet! Sweet!" she heard him murmur. "Christ, yer sweet, my love!"

She could feel herself slipping away into that golden world of sweet fulfillment that she had been unable to attain since last being with him. As the delicious ache began to spread through her lower belly, his hardness thrust into her, and she cried aloud her happiness.

Afterwards—almost immediately—they both fell into deep contented sleep, still joined, their bodies intertwined. When she awoke it was to find him awake too, and watching her. She smiled and touched his cheek gently. He caught her hand and tenderly kissed the palm and the inner wrist. Their eyes met, and she trembled, so great was the depth of his emotion. That two people could love as deeply as she and Bothwell loved terrified her.

Propping himself on one elbow, he ruffled her dark-gold curls. "What happened to yer lovely hair?" She told him the story of her meeting with the king, and he shook his head wonderingly. "Ye defied him for me? Christ! How that must hae hurt Jamie!" He put his arms about her. "Yer my wench, and have been from the start, haven't ye? My God, how am I going to survive wi'out ye? I have nae done well so far."

"I dinna want to think about it, Francis. Not today. Not now when we are together again."

"How long can ye stay wi me, my darling."

"As long as yer at Huntley. Glenkirk is in England until the spring."

"How damned convenient," murmured Bothwell. "However when he promised we might see each other again, I dinna think he meant ye should live wi me for any length of time." The border lord's eyes were brimming with amusement.

"I will do as I please, Bothwell! If I thought the Leslies could escape Jamie's wrath I would flee to France yi ye now! Both the king and my husband know that. Unfortunately I am bound to the Leslies. They hae all been at me since my return. My Uncle Patrick, the old Earl of Sithean, died two years ago, but his wife has nae stopped her whining that my shameless behavior endangers her precious Earl Charles, who is married to Glenkirk's sister, Janet. When I told my mother the truth of my estrangement from Patrick, she chided me for not making him understand the great honor done me by James Stewart. She, who was a virgin till her wedding night, and who has never known another man in her entire life but my father, chortled about the ‘honor' of being the king's mistress! They make me sick! All of them! And yet—I am bound to them, and I must sacrifice my happiness for their safety. But, my love, my very life—I will nae sacrifice this time wi ye. When ye leave Scotland, I shall never see ye again. I know it! I feel it! We are surely doomed to be separated, but I will hae this time wi ye!"

His arms tightened about her. "I know I hae never done anything in this life to deserve love such as yers, my sweet Catriona Mairi."

The clock on the mantel struck five, and she said, "Good Lord! We're going to be late for dinner! What will the Gordons think?" Reaching out, she yanked the bellpull. Disengaging herself from his grasp, she stood up.

He caught his breath at the perfection of her body. Without her long hair the beautiful line of her back was visible. He had made love to many women, but none could hold a candle to her. He was not a man to take pride in his ownership of a woman, but he was very proud that she loved him.

Susan arrived and modestly set up a screen for her mistress to dress behind. The Gordon valet assigned to serve Lord Bothwell rushed to cover the earl's private parts as he rose from the tumbled bed, but Susan's flaming cheeks told him that he had been too late. Unable to resist, Bothwell winked at the little maidservant. She almost swooned.

"Damnit, Francis! Stop teasing Susan! Ye've made her all thumbs. No, child. The pendant!"

Bothwell had dressed in a kilt, and Cat's gaze swept him. "Damn me, Francis," she said teasingly. "Ye've the handsomest pair of legs I've ever seen in a kilt."

He grinned wickedly at her. "And ye, madame, hae the handsomest pair of—" He was stopped by her warning look, and he laughed and said, "Well, ye do, my darling!"

She laughed helplessly. "Yer a most impossible man! Take me down to supper."

They descended from their tower to the hall below, where George and Henriette Gordon waited for them alone. The Earl of Huntley had been sure that Bothwell and Cat would not welcome company, so there was none.

George Gordon, called the Cock of the North, was related to the king. Cat had met him at court. He had wisely kept his wife from court. Henriette Gordon was petite, with soft hair the color of a daffodil, and enormous golden-brown eyes. She was elegant, and educated, and had charming Gallic manners and a warm heart. It did not take long for her to become friends with Cat Leslie.

Knowing that Bothwell would be with them through the winter, she had asked Cat to stay. Then she ascertained that though Cat's boys were no longer at home, her daughters were, and she invited them to Huntley for Christmas and Twelfth Night. When Cat demurred because she did not want to leave Meg alone, Henriette said she would invite the dowager as well.

The end result was that Bess, Amanda, and Morag were coming for the holidays. But Meg had been asked to Forbes Manor to stay with her youngest son, Michael, and his wife, Isabelle. She did not often get to see them, and she felt that this was the perfect opportunity. There was, she wrote, one complication. The twins would have to go to Huntley. Meg did not want them left alone at Glenkirk with the servants.

Bothwell was wild with excitement. "Our bairns!" he said. "I shall get to see our bairns!"

"Ye canna admit to their paternity," she cautioned him. "The world has never doubted that Patrick Leslie is their father. I will allow no one—even ye—to endanger them."

It was a new side of her that he saw—this fierce and protective mother. He put an arm about her. "Fate has nae dealt kindly wi us, has it, Cat?"

"We're together now, Bothwell," she answered him.

The unspoken questions—"For how long?" "Until when?"—lay between them, but neither Cat nor Francis could ask those questions.

So while the autumn deepened about them, they accepted the Gordons' hospitality. It allowed them a tranquil place to rest in their last months together. For just a brief time they might forget the public controversy that raged about Francis Stewart-Hepburn and the private one that raged about them both. When the future arrived they would face it courageously. But for now, they basked in their good fortune.