Chapter 37

Chapter 37

T HE holidays had passed. Deepest winter had settled upon the land. The Leslie children had long since returned to Glenkirk. Though the king knew that Bothwell sheltered with the Gordons, he had not learned that the Countess of Glenkirk was with her lover. James sent the Earl of Huntley an arrogant letter offering him a full pardon if he would turn Bothwell over for execution. The great highland chief gave orders that the royal messenger be fed and allowed to rest the night. In the morning he had the man brought before him.

"I want the king, my cousin, to know that this message comes directly from me," he said quietly. "I do not believe that James would even hint that I violate the laws of hospitality. Therefore, I do not believe that this letter is from him." The Earl of Huntley quietly tore the parchment in two pieces and handed them to the royal messenger. "I return this to my lord the king in hopes that it will help him to trace the bold traitor who so blatantly uses the king's name for his own foul ends."

When Bothwell learned of Huntley's brave and clever ruse, he thanked him, but said, "I must go now. This is the end, and if James would really have me dead, there is no hope. Maitland thinks he has won," and Bothwell laughed harshly. "He actually believes that by breaking the back of the nobility he can substitute his own influence. But if he really thinks that, then he is a bigger fool than all the rest! Those stern men who molded the king did a better job than they realize. Jamie may be superstitious and a bit of a coward, but he will be the only king in this land, mark my words!"

"Wait at least until the spring," protested George Gordon. "And there is Cat. She is a brave lady, your Countess of Glenkirk, but this will break her heart."

Bothwell didn't need to be told that. They had been living in a fool's paradise, pretending they were normal people. She had been sleeping when he had left her to join Huntley, but he believed she would be awake now.

She was. Awake, and being sick into a basin. When she had finished he wiped her mouth with a damp towel and, holding her close, said, "I ought to beat yer backside black and blue for this."

She said nothing, so he continued. "My foolish, foolish love! Have ye gone mad? Ye canna foist this bairn on Glenkirk. Do ye think he will welcome ye back swelling wi our bastard?"

"The child is mine," she replied, looking fiercely at him.

"This child is ours, Cat. Yers and mine. With Patrick in England there can be no doubt. Christ! He's a proud man! He'll nae accept the bairn."

"He'll accept it," she said grimly. "He owes me that!"

"My God," said Bothwell in amazement. "Do ye mean to make him pay the rest of his life for one night's indiscretion? Hasn't he been punished enough?"

"No!" she spat angrily out at him. "In time, perhaps, I will forgie Patrick. But I will never forget. Never! That indiscretion, as you call it, has cost me everything—my happiness, my peace of mind. Where am I in all this? Oh, God! It is so easy for ye men, with yer pride and yer damned sacred code of ethics! I have been destroyed by the three of ye. Patrick used me like a common drab to soothe his injured pride. Yet I am expected to be grateful that he took me back. James dirtied me, and I will never be able to wash away the stain he left on me. And ye, Francis?" She rounded on him. "What was my first attraction for ye? That Jamie wanted me? Is that why ye fell in love wi me, my lord? To spite the king? Another victory over the royal bairn?" She wanted to hurt this man as they all had hurt her.

His big hand slashed out and slapped her before he realized it. Her eyes filled with tears, but she made no sound. Instead her fingers gingerly touched her cheek, and felt the welts. Her head was ringing with the force of his blow, but she could hear his voice raging.

"I love ye!" he shouted, and his fingers dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her arms. "I hae from the beginning, but ye were the Virtuous Countess, and I respected that virtue. Ye see, my love, I only seduced those women who wanted to be seduced. When Jamie bragged he had forced ye into his bed, I was ashamed for him, and I ached for the shame ye must be feeling. Then Patrick and James hurt ye, so I grabbed at the chance they so foolishly offered me. I love ye! Yer a spoilt, stubborn bitch, but I love ye, Cat! It is hard enough to leave ye behind, my darling, but to know that I leave ye wi my child in yer belly—" He stopped. Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger he tipped her face up to him. "Why, my darling? Why did ye do this to us?"

"Because," she answered him softly, "because I canna bear to lose ye entirely, my love. Do ye think that because I am safe at Glenkirk ‘twill be easier for me? Christ, Bothwell! Twill be harder, never knowing where ye are, or if yer safe, or if ye lack for anything. When ye leave me this time I shall never see ye again in this life. At least the child will gie me hope, Francis, and ‘twill be a constant reminder to me of our love. Do ye understand that, my lord? Without the child I should retreat into some twilight world to escape the reality of what has happened to us. The child will help me to maintain my sanity."

"When Glenkirk tells ye he will nae let ye keep the bairn, send it to me. Twill nae be easy, but ‘twould be a comfort to hae our son wi me in my exile, and the child shall nae suffer the stigma of bastardy. I will legally acknowledge him so he may bear my name."

She laughed. " ‘Twould be a damned inconvenience to ye, my gallant lover, to tramp about Europe wi a wee bairn. Besides, my lord, ‘tis a lass I carry. I know. I am always damnably ill in the beginning wi the lasses!" Her eyes teared again for a moment "Once at Hermitage when Bess had been intolerably rude to ye, ye promised me that one day we would hae a lass of our own. Now we shall, and she shall be a comfort to me in my loneliness."

"And I shall never see her," he said softly.

"Yes, ye will! Each year I shall send ye her miniature, and ye shall see how she grows."

" ‘Tis small consolation, my dear, for a child I shall never hold in my arms. ‘Twas hard enough to leave just ye behind, but now…." He paused. "I dinna mind overmuch about the twins, for Glenkirk assumes them his, and they will grow up Leslies; but this poor wee bairn…." He put a big hand on her belly. "Who will see that my little lass is nae hurt?"

"I will," she answered him softly. "No harm will come to our daughter, Francis. I swear it!"

"If I were Patrick Leslie," said Bothwell quietly, "I should probably kill ye."

"The Earl of Bothwell might kill his unfaithful wife, but the Earl of Glenkirk will not," she answered him with assurance. "Patrick is far too civilized."

"And I am not?" He cocked an amused eyebrow at her.

"Nay, Francis, yer not! If ye were more civilized ye'd nae be in the coil wi the king! But, oh, my love, dinna change, for I love ye as ye are!"

He laughed, but soon turned serious again. "Dinna press Glenkirk too hard, Cat. He loves ye, and he is pricked wi guilt for what he did, but he is a man, sweeting. Tis a large morsel yer asking him to swallow, and I fear he will not."

She nodded, and he had the oddest feeling that she would be deliberately reckless.

Pregnancy seemed to calm her, as the time for his departure drew near. For him, it was the opposite. It worried him tremendously to have to leave her behind. They fought over money again.

Wealthy in her own right, she was eager to put her money at Bothwell's disposal. But he was as proud as she was rich, and would take nothing from her.

"Fool!" she shouted at him. "Wi'out gold yer as helpless as a beetle on its back!"

"I will manage," he replied tersely.

"Bothwell! Bothwell! Listen to me, my love. France is nae Scotland, or England. Ye hae no real friends to shelter ye. Ye must hae money to live. Please let me help ye. The money is nae Patrick's. Tis mine! Left to me, by Mam. Invested by me over the years. Please take it! Let me instruct the Kiras to place my wealth at yer disposal in their Paris bank."

"No, my darling," he said quietly. But he was touched by her offer and her concern. "I told ye once that I could not accept so much as a pennypiece from ye, for I love ye. I would not have history say that Francis Stewart-Hepburn loved the Countess of Glenkirk's money, rather than the countess herself."

"Alas, history never remembers women in love! My name shall die wi me." She looked up at him. "Dear God, Francis! How will ye live?"

"My sword will be fer hire. The French kings always have need of another good sword. ‘Twill earn me a place to sleep, and a full stomach. Dinna fret, my love. I shall survive."

"I wonder," she mused, "whether a bed and a meal are enough for the master of Hermitage, Kelso, Coldingham, Liddesdale, and Crichton?"

"They will have to be until I can build a fuller life for myself. There are ways."

"Aye!" she hissed, suddenly furious at him. "Between some overblown duchess' legs, I'll wager!"

He laughed down at her. "Possibly, my darling. Yer love for me has blinded ye to the fact that I am a ruthless man."

"Take the money, Francis! Be safe, I beg of ye!"

"No, Catriona. No."

She knew she had lost It was useless to argue further. Still, she vowed to instruct the Kiras to deliver to him whatever he needed if he should ask. And the King of France would have a large bribe to assure Bothwell's welcome—and his safety.

Meanwhile, in Edinburgh, the king sought to bribe a merchant friend of Bothwell's to betray the earl. Instead, Master Tennant arranged for a ship to aid the earl in his escape to France. It would await Bothwell off Rattray Head on April 18.

Though Bothwell argued against it, Cat rode with him. Her condition was fine. "I will nae lose this bairn," she assured him. And she had arranged with the Abbot of Deer Abbey to shelter them on the night before he would sail.

As they took their leave of the Gordons, Henriette whispered to her, "My maid, Nora, says that Glenkirk arrived home three days ago." Cat knew that Nora had been walking out with a Leslie man-at-arms since Christmas. "Say nothing," she whispered back. Henriette nodded.

They rode towards the coast with a troop of Gordon retainers to protect them, and reached the abbey by day's end. The abbot greeted them nervously, for he lived in terror that the king would learn he had sheltered the Earl of Bothwell. Still he owed his friend Abbot Charles Leslie a great favor, which he now repaid by sheltering for one night the Countess of Glenkirk and her infamous lover.

Settled in the abbey guest house, Cat told Bothwell, "I dinna want to sleep tonight. We hae the rest of our lives to sleep." He understood, and held her close so she would not see the tears in his own eyes.

Lately, he had seen her build a shield about her emotions. She would, he knew, make no scene. He loved her the more for it, for had she weakened for even a moment he could not have left her behind—just as he could not live with her knowing he had destroyed the Leslies. Francis Stewart-Hepburn was, whatever his enemies said about him, an honorable man. It would be his downfall.

They spent the night sprawled before the blazing fireplace, talking. And just once—in the early hours before the dawn—he made love to her. For the last time his hands roamed gently over her lovely body, bringing her passion to a delicate peak. For the last time she felt his hardness within her, and abandoned herself to the rapture he always brought her. And when it was over he bent and kissed her softly swelling belly.

They rode out from the abbey before dawn, reaching the coast as the light grew. Standing on the cliffs above Rattray Head, they watched the bobbing ship, a black silhouette in the dark sea against the brightening sky. The signal had been given, and as they descended to the beach they could see a little boat making its way to the shore. The Gordon men-at-arms had positioned themselves discreetly about the beach.

Cat and Bothwell stood facing the sea. His arm was about her, yet she felt nothing. Then he turned her so she faced him, and gazed down at her. The small boat was almost to the shore. Pulling a sapphire ring with a gold lion on it from his finger, he gave it to her. "For my lass when she is old enough," he said.

She nodded wordlessly and put the ring in her pouch. He gently touched her cheek. "There will nae be anyone else, Cat. There never was anyone eke. Ye know that, don't ye?"

"Y-yes, Francis." Her voice shook slightly.

"Dinna grieve, love. Ye'll be safe wi Glenkirk," he said. And then he drew her into his arms, and for the last time took possession of the mouth he loved so much. She melted against the hardness of him, her whole body protesting their fate. Neither of them had ever realized that a kiss could be so sweet They clung to one another until an urgent voice pierced their awareness.

"My lord! My lord! We must hurry. Tis dawn, and the tide will soon be against us."

Reluctantly he pulled away, but his deep-blue eyes never left her leaf-green ones. "Farewell, my beloved," he said softly.

"Go safely, my dearest lord," she answered.

He turned and, hurrying across the sand, stepped into the little boat

"Francis!"

He turned to find her running to the boat, and caught her outstretched hands. "I love ye, Bothwell! There was never anyone else but ye. There never will be!"

He smiled gently at her. "I know, Catriona. I always knew. Now, my darling, gie me a smile. Let me see but once more the smile that enslaves me."

It was terribly difficult, but as the boat moved away and their hands were pulled apart, she smiled radiantly at him, and caught his last words coming over the hiss of the waves. "I will love ye forever, Catriona Mairi!"

She stood on the damp sand in the chill of the April morning watching the cockleshell skim across the waves to the ship. She saw him climb safely aboard, and watched as the anchor was hoisted. The sails filled quickly and the ship began to move slowly away. She stood looking after it until her eyes burned, and the ship was no longer even a speck in the distance. She was unaware of the waves lapping over her boots.

Suddenly she heard a familiar voice say quietly, "Come, madame! It is time for ye to go home."

She turned to face her husband, and his eyes were slivers of ice. Reaching out, he roughly pulled her cloak aside, and his gaze disdainfully raked her rounding belly. The force of his blow sent her to her knees. Arms clutched protectively about her body, she looked defiantly up at him.

"Hurt his bairn, and as God is my witness, I will go after him! Then ye may contend wi James Stewart by yerself!"

Pulling her roughly to her feet, he snarled at her, "I let ye whore wi yer lover, but I will nae claim his bastard! When ye've birthed it, it goes!"

"Then I go too, Patrick," she shouted back at him. "Had ye protected me from the king's attentions I should have remained yer good and faithful wife. But ye did not protect me, and I fell in love wi Francis. Now I must live the rest of my life alone, apart from my love. But I hae his bairn, and I will nae allow ye to take it from me! Ye must kill me first! If ye try to steal my child, I will take it and go after him!" Her voice was rising steadily. "I have been forced to sacrifice my happiness, and his own, for the damned Leslies! Now ye would try to take the one living memory I have of Francis? Christ! I hate ye! I hate ye!"

Angrily he caught her by the arm, and his fingers hurt her cruelly. "Control yerself, madame," he said softly through gritted teeth. "There is no need to inform the entire district of our differences. We will continue this discussion at Glenkirk."

She pulled away from him. "There is nothing to discuss, Patrick." She began climbing the path to the top of Rattray Head, where her horse waited patiently. It was then she realized that the Gordons had gone, and Leslies stood in their place. A sudden weariness overcame her, and she would have stumbled but for Patrick Leslie's strong hand beneath her arm.

"Keep moving, madame. ‘Twould not do for Lord Bothwell's brave and bonnie whore to fall on her beautiful face now. We are riding straight through to Glenkirk."

"That's almost three days from here," she protested.

"Aye," he answered grimly.

"Ye'll nae kill me, or the bairn, Glenkirk! I've ridden the borders wi him."

He said nothing, but helped her to mount She was exhausted physically and emotionally, and needed rest But he would stop only briefly, to rest the horses and allow his men to relieve themselves. With each mile she grew whiter. At one point Conall spoke up. "God's mercy, sir! Yer going to kill her for sure. Let her rest!"

But before Patrick could answer she spoke up. "No! We go straight through to Glenkirk!"

He shot her an angry look. "I make those decisions," he said.

"Go to hell, Glenkirk," she replied evenly, and spurred her horse ahead.

When they finally reached Glenkirk Castle she accepted his help dismounting, then walked alone to her apartments, where she collapsed on the floor.

She never knew that it was Patrick alone who cared for her in her delirium but he learned again from her fevered ravings how terribly he, James, and even Bothwell had hurt her. She relived it all, and sitting by her side he was forced to share it all. For a time she was back in the early days before their marriage, when she had shyly given him her innocence and then angrily fought him for her rights.

Far more shocking than he was prepared for was the sudden and intimate knowledge of what the king had done to her. Hearing her plead against performing the perversions that James had forced her into sickened him. And then he found himself reliving the rape through her eyes. Weeping bitterly, she sat straight up in their bed and, staring at him with sightless eyes, held out her hands to him—begging him not to shame her. He was devastated.

But the most painful experience of all for Patrick Leslie that night was to hear once more of her love for Bothwell. When she spoke of him, her face became a totally different face from the one he had always loved. It was a far more beautiful face—serene and mature. That she and Bothwell adored each other was obvious, and he who had loved her since she was a child ached to learn that only Francis Stewart-Hepburn's love could satisfy Cat.

He was touched to learn that she had tried to give Bothwell her wealth, and equally touched to learn that the great border lord had refused her. It was funny, thought Glenkirk, but had they not loved the same woman, he and Bothwell might have been friends. One thing he did not learn, however, was the truth about the paternity of the twins. Even in her great illness she protected her children.

Several days later she came to her senses again, and with a frightened gesture, clutched her belly.

"Dinna fear," Glenkirk said harshly, "ye still hae yer bastard!" And he departed, leaving her in the care of her servants.

Cat was a tough creature, and she quickly regained her strength. Her color returned, and she grew sleek and plump with the passing weeks. She spent her time resting, and with her children. Only Bess was old enough to know that the child her mother carried was not her father's, and Bess wanted no more wars with her mother. She made her peace with Cat by asking to be the child's godmother, and Cat agreed, pleased. Bess had grown up.

Meg could say nothing to Cat, unwilling to choose sides between her stubborn son and her equally implacable daughter-in-law. They were both so proud. The dowager finally resolved her dilemma by going off to visit her youngest son and his wife for an indefinite stay.

The Earl of Glenkirk treated his wife with a cold courtesy. They were bound together by the church and by royal command. Cat responded in kind. It appeared an impossible situation.

In mid-August of 1595, the Countess of Glenkirk was delivered of her ninth child, a daughter. The following day she sat up in bed receiving her family. At her back were lace-edged pillows, and her tawny hair hung loose and shining about her shoulders. It was not until late afternoon that the Earl of Glenkirk visited his wife.

She had given up hope of his coming, and was alone nursing her daughter. He stood in the doorway of her bedroom watching her, and for a moment his eyes softened. Then she looked up, and their eyes met "May I come in, Cat?"

She nodded. Drawing up a chair by her bedside, he sat down and watched the child suck hungrily on the plump breast. Shortly the baby fell asleep, and before she could stop him, Glenkirk took the child from her. He cradled the infant in the crook of his arm, and looked down at it. It was pink-and-white, with a tiny heart-shaped face and damp auburn curls. Thick, dark eyelashes tipped in gold lay like half-moons on her cheeks. He had seen enough infants in his time to know that this one would be a great beauty.

"What will ye call her?" he asked.

"I had not thought on it yet," she answered.

"Since she is probably the last child we will ever have, I should like to name her," he said.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "What would ye call her?" she asked hesitantly.

"Frances," he said quietly. "Frances Leslie is to be her name."

For the briefest moment she did not believe she had heard him correctly, but his eyes were warm suddenly, and he smiled at her. "I will nae ask yer forgiveness, Cat, for what I did to ye cannot be erased, or forgotten. But I dinna want James Stewart to destroy us and our family as he destroyed Bothwell. I know ye'll never love me again, but can we nae begin afresh, and be friends? I have never stopped loving ye, sweetheart, and I doubt I ever will."

She drew a deep breath, and felt her heart swell until it ached. A hard lump rose in her throat and tears burned her eyelids. Reaching out, she took his free hand and pressed it to her cheek. Then she looked up at him, and her eyes were like emeralds. "Bothwell was right," she said softly. "He said we would be safe wi ye."

Glenkirk lay the sleeping child in her cradle and then, returning to his wife's side, took both her hands in his. "I am a luckier man than he, sweetheart. I have been given a second chance." He smiled again at her, and she tremulously returned the smile.

She would make her peace with him for her daughter's sake, and because they would be safe with him. But no matter how long she lived she would not forget Francis Stewart-Hepburn, the great border lord, the uncrowned King of Scotland, and her beloved. He would always live fiercely in her secret heart.