Chapter 42

Chapter 42

T HE wedding guests departed the following day, leaving the families of the bride and groom alone to celebrate the holidays. It was the first time in many years that the Leslies and the Hays had gathered under one roof for Christmas through Twelfth Night.

It was a bittersweet time for Cat She knew it was unlikely she would ever be with them all again. She savored each day, and her bitterness against James Stewart increased as she realized even more fully what his lust would cost her.

When he had left that morning he had bowed low over her hand, turning it so he might kiss the palm and the inside of her wrist "Sensuous witch," he murmured low. "Ye drive me wild! Until spring, my love. Twill be the longest winter of my life."

Longer than ye think, ye rutting bastard, she thought, smiling sweetly up at him. "Until we meet again, Jamie hinny," she said softly.

"Farewell, madame," he said loudly for all to hear. "Our thanks for your magnificent hospitality!"

And he was no sooner across the drawbridge than she ran to her bedroom in the west tower. She tore the sheets from the bed and stuffed them into the fireplace, where they burned with a fierce whoosh of smoke and flame.

Astounded, Susan asked, "Could we nae have washed them clean, my lady?"

"There isn't enough water in the world to cleanse those sheets, my girl! Take the pillows and the featherbed to the linen room, and exchange them for fresh."

Cat picked up the exquisite nightgown she had worn and tossed it into the flames. Never again, she thought! Never again will I have to prostitute myself! Never!

"Get the hip bath from the garderobe," she commanded the two lads who brought in the day's supply of wood. "And then bring me enough hot water to fill it!"

She sat in the windowseat looking out over the tranquil black-and-white winter landscape. Behind her, two maids remade the bed with fresh linen. The tub was slowly filled with hot water, and then the room emptied but for her and Susan, who was pouring oil of wild-flowers into the steaming tub.

Cat rose and undressed. Naked, she surveyed herself in the pier glass. Her figure was still good although she was over thirty—her belly was still flat, her glorious breasts were firm, there wasn't an ounce of fat on her. She stepped into the tub and slid down into the hot water.

"Susan, bring the stool and sit near me," she said. "I would speak privately wi ye." The girl settled herself and looked trustingly into her mistress' face. "Tell me, child, do ye hae a special sweetheart?"

"Nay, madame. There are several lads who walk out wi me, but none I'd leg-shackle myself to for life."

"Do ye wish to marry, Susan?"

"I am nae looking, my lady. If the right man came along, perhaps. Me dad says I am like my great-grandma, with a wandering foot that ‘twill get me into trouble one day."

Cat smiled. "Would ye like to travel?" she asked.

"Oh, aye, my lady!"

"Susan, what I say to ye now is a secret, and because ye are loyal to me I know ye will nae repeat it The king seeks to make me his mistress, and though there are some who would think it an honor, I do not After Bess' wedding I am leaving Scotland. I shall never be able to come home again, though ye may if ye wish. I want ye to come wi me."

"Do ye go to Lord Bothwell?" the girl asked bluntly.

Cat nodded.

"Good! ‘Tis where ye belong now. I'll go wi ye. Ye'll need more than one to wait on ye. Will ye take my little sister wi ye? She's fourteen. Her name is May, and she admires ye something fierce. I've been training her, so she's no greenhorn."

Cat smiled again. "Thank ye, Susan. Aye, we'll take young May, but yer nae to tell her until the very last minute. Should the king even suspect that I flee …"

Susan nodded wisely. The conversation finished, she rose to see to the warming of the towels. Cat took a soft brush and, standing, scrubbed herself down. Sliding back into the water, she said, "There, James Stewart! 'Tis the last of ye!"

"Amen!" said Susan, wrapping Cat in a fluffy towel as her mistress rose from the tub.

Cat laughed happily. "Why is it, Susan, that we get on so well, and ye've only been in my service a few years? Yer Aunt Ellen served me from the day I was born, and now gets on my nerves so!"

" ‘Tis because she's been wi ye since ye were a babe, mistress. 'Tis nae easy to take someone seriously when ye've changed their nappies. She's better wi young Lady Bess. Besides, she's too old to change her attitudes and go gallivanting about the world."

"Aye, my prim little Bess suits Ellie. Lord, Susan! In less than two months Bess will be a bride!"

"Aye, she's well settled. But what of the others?"

"'Tis taken care of, and we'll speak no more of it."

Susan took the hint. After helping her mistress to dress, she went about her other duties.

Christmas at Glenkirk was celebrated quietly with a beautiful midnight mass in the church of Glenkirk Abbey. Afterwards the family descended to the candlelit burial vault beneath the castle chapel and decorated it with greens. The rosary was said, led by Charles Leslie, the abbot. When the family departed, Cat remained behind, sitting on a small marble bench. In the flickering candlelight and deep silence she gained strength. Her eyes moved from tomb to tomb until it reached a large brass plaque that read: " patrick ian james leslie, fourth earl of glenkirk. born august 8, 1552. died at sea april 1596. mourned by his beloved wife, catriona mairi, and their nine children. rest in peace."

She felt the tears prick at her eyelids. "Oh, Patrick," she whispered, "they say ye are dead, and I dinna believe it, though it goes against all logic. But dead or alive, I know ye'll ne'er return here, Patrick. Jamie is after me again, and I must flee or else bring dishonor to Glenkirk. I am going to Bothwell, and I know ye would understand."

She stood up and moved to her great-grandmother's tomb. "Well, ye great schemer," she said softly, "even in death ye got yer way. I wed yer precious Patrick, and hae given Glenkirk a new generation. But now I will hae my way, Mam!" And a prickle went up her spine as she detected a faint silvery laugh. Or did she? She walked to the staircase. Turning to look back, she smiled. "Farewell, my bonnie ancestors!"

On New Year's Eve the weather was clear and cold, and the sky shone with bright stars and a nearly full moon. A huge feast was held that night, and the pipers circled the table so many times that Cat thought her head would burst with the noise. A few minutes before midnight the family ascended to the battlements of the castle and stood in the cold to watch great bonfires flaring among the surrounding hillsides. Scotland welcomed the new year, 1598.

A lone Glenkirk piper played the softly haunting "Leslie's Lament." As the pipes sounded in the deep winter stillness, the music was echoed by Sithean's piper across the hills.

Cat could not stop the silent tears that slipped down her cheek. Luckily, they went unnoticed by all except Jemmie, who put a comforting arm about his mother. Later as they walked towards the great hall she flashed him a quick smile and said, "I hope ye'll be as intuitive of yer wife's feelings as ye are of yer mother's."

His eyes twinkled. "Ahh, madame, I am. I certainly am!"

Her laughter was warm. "What a dear rogue ye are, Jemmie. Yer father was as proud of ye as I am. I know he would be relieved that Glenkirk is in such good hands now."

He gave her a grateful smile and, taking her aside, said, "I hae a wonderful New Year's gift for ye. Let me gie it to ye now." And he pulled her down the corridor to the earl's apartments. Sitting her down in a chair in the antechamber, he rushed into his bedroom. He returned a minute later with a flat red leather box.

For a moment she looked at the unopened box in her lap. Whatever was in it was of great value, she was certain. It was the first valuable thing he had ever given her. Another proof, she pondered sadly, that his father was gone. Shaking off the unhappy thought, she opened the box, and gasped. Nestled in black velvet lining was the most beautiful pendant Cat had ever seen. Circular, part of it was fashioned in a quarter-moon shape and the rest was a crisscross of openwork studded with tiny diamonds, and hung with tiny tinkling bells.

"Jemmie! Jemmie!" She lifted it out, admiring the exquisitely delicate chain.

"'Tis a copy of one that Mam owned."

"I never saw Mam wear anything like this, and ‘tis neither wi the Glenkirk or the Sithean jewels," remarked Cat.

"Yer right, mother. She left it behind when she returned from Istanbul. Father told me. In her apartments in the palace there was a wall of tile in the bedroom—by the fireplace, I believe. There was one tile with a thistle pattern. She had the wall behind it hollowed out, and lined in a fine wood. ‘Twas there she kept her jewels safe. On the night she left, the pendant was overlooked in her haste. It had been lying towards the back. Mam told father that she always regretted the loss. The sultan had made it for her to celebrate the birth of their first son, Sultan Suleiman. ‘Tis probably still there."

"But how did ye know what the pendant looked like if ye never saw it?"

"Mam described it in detail to father several times. He described it to me. He often said ye were like her—proud and willful, yet wise."

"Thank ye, Jemmie."

Suddenly he was a boy again. "I wanted ye to hae something to remember me by!" he said, his voice trembling ever so slightly as he fought to keep it under control.

"Why, my darling," she said catching his face between her hands, "I will nae forget ye! Yer my firstborn, and we share more than ye realize. When ye were but a wee little fish swimming about in my womb, I used to talk to ye. Ye were my strength."

He laughed. "What did ye speak on, mother?"

"All sorts of foolish things, Jemmie," and she paused a moment "Ye'll nae be able to come for a few years, but once Jamie has forgotten me, ye and Belle can come to visit us."

He looked at her sadly and said softly, but very distinctly, "Damn James Stewart to a fiery hell!" And turning on his heel, he left the room.

Cat closed the jewel case with a click. "Ye echo my own sentiments, my son," she said, and followed h im from the room.

The day following the Feast of Twelfth Night the young Earl and Countess of Glenkirk left for court, accompanied by the bride's parents. The rest of the guests dispersed in their various directions. In four and a half weeks Cat's daughter would wed, and then Cat would be free to go on her way.

There had always been a tension between mother and daughter because of Lord Bothwell. Not knowing her parents' problems, Bess, her father's favorite, had automatically taken his part But Bess was now in love with her prospective husband. It was having a softening effect on the girl. Cat debated telling Bess that she would soon be leaving Scotland.

It was Bess, however, who spoke to her. A week before the wedding she came to her mother and said, "Once ye told me that when I fell in love I should understand how ye felt about Lord Bothwell. I returned ye a snide answer, mother. But now I understand … I truly do! Why do ye stay in Scotland? When the king was here at Christmas he looked at ye in a way that frightened me. Ye must find Uncle Francis, mother, and go to him. Only then will ye be safe!"

Cat hugged her daughter. "Thank ye, Bess. I will go now wi a lighter heart knowing ye really understand."

Bess' eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak, but Cat gently covered the girl's mouth with her hand. "Jemmie will speak of it wi ye one day, love."

"Yes, mother, I understand," said Bess, smiling at her.

What a pity, thought Cat, that we have become friends now that I must leave her.

The wedding of Bess Leslie and Henry Gordon was a quiet one compared to the previous wedding. Only the family attended. Jemmie and a sparkling Isabelle returned for the festivities, and two days later escorted the newlyweds back to Edinburgh for the winter season at court Before they left, both Bess and Jemmie came to say a private farewell to their mother.

Jemmie was tall and looked so painfully like his father at that age that tears sprang up in Cat's eyes. Bess, so radiantly happy, was a dark-haired mixture of both her parents. "I want ye to know," said Cat softly, "that I love ye both well. How I shall miss ye!"

They both clung to her, and Bess began to weep. "Nay, hinny," scolded Cat gently stroking her daughter's hair. "If the new bride is sad, the king may find me out. Be strong, my daughter, and help me win this battle that I fight wi Jamie. He must not suspect that any of ye knew."

Bess mastered herself. "The others?" she asked.

"I'll speak wi them, but nae the bairns. I know ‘tis a great burden I put on ye, but please, Bess, and ye also, Jemmie, look after them for me. Later, when it is safe, ye may all come to visit wi me. But now I must travel quickly. Ye understand that?"

They nodded, and she kissed them each in turn. Leading them to the door, she saw them out Later on that day she stood on the top step of the castle's main entrance, waving gaily and calling loudly for all ears to hear, "I will see ye in the spring, my dears! Gie my loving regards to his majesty!" She stayed there waving until they were out of sight before retiring to her tower to weep in private.

The following day would see her two younger sons, fourteen-year-old Colin and twelve-and-a-half-year-old Robert, on their way. Colin was going to the University of Aberdeen, and Robert back to his duties as a page with the Earl of Rothes' household. That night she drew her four older children about her and told them that she would be leaving Glenkirk, and why. She had worried about disappearing from their lives without explanation and had decided that telling them was worth the risk. Her judgment was vindicated when her nine-year-old daughter, Morag, said quietly, "I am glad ye go, mother. I dinna like the king." Ten-year-old Amanda nodded in agreement "Aye. Dinna worry for us, mother. Besides, ye've seen to our futures rather well. I shall enjoy being Countess of Sithean."

Cat couldn't help but laugh. "Yer such a practical little puss," she told her daughter.

"When?" asked Robbie.

"Soon."

Colin began to chuckle.

"What is so funny?" his mother asked him.

"I'm sorry I'm nae still wi Rothes," said the boy-man. "I'd enjoy seeing Cousin James' face—the sanctimonious lecher!"

"Thank God yer not wi Rothes!" said Cat. "Ye'd gie me away for sure." But she laughed. "Conall said almost the same thing," she told them, and the girls and Robbie joined in the mirth.

The following morning the boys were gone, and for the next few days Cat was dejected. She spent a good deal of time in the nursery playing with her three babies. Then one evening she appeared unexpected in her mother-in-law's bedchamber. Meg understood instantly. Wordlessly, she rose and hugged Cat to her.

"So soon?"

Cat nodded. " ‘Tis dark of the moon, and there is no better time for me to go unnoticed. If I stay any longer I will nae be able to go, Meg. It tears at me even now!"

"Then God go wi ye, my daughter."

"Oh, Meg! Ye were always closer to me than my own mother. I shall miss ye so much! Try to explain to my parents, Meg."

"I will, my dear. Dinna think too harshly of yer mother. She has always lived in her own sensuous little world where the only other occupant was yer father. I will make her understand. And who knows—when yer safe, we may even come visiting!"

"My bairns … ye'll be sure to look after them, Meg?"

"Aye."

"And ye'll nae let them forget me until I can send for them?"

"Nay, love. Now go, Catriona! Go before ye make a foolish and emotional decision." Gently Meg kissed Cat's cheek and pushed her from her chambers.

For a moment Cat stood in the cold, dark corridor. I'll nae see this again, she thought, and the tears flowed down her cheeks. My God! If anyone sees me I'll be hard put to explain.

Fiercely she wiped the wetness from her cheeks and ran through the back passages of the castle to her own apartments. The servants—with the exceptions of Susan and her young sister, May—had all been sent to bed.

"Is everything done?" Cat asked Susan.

"Yes, my lady. Conall and his men hae seen to it. He said we were to leave as soon as ye returned." She hustled Cat into the bedchamber, where she had a steaming tub waiting. "'Tis the last yer apt to get for a while."

Cat smiled weakly. "Did ye pack everything I told ye? And ye hae my jewel cases?"

"Aye to both questions. If the king's men come looking they'll find most of yer clothes still here awaiting yer return. Ah, what fun ‘twill be to buy ye new clothes in France!"

The heaviness was beginning to lift from Cat's shoulders. "Ye and May shall have some new clothes too," she promised.

Within the hour she was dressed and ready. Then Susan, who stood behind her, unexpectedly fastened about Cat's neck the lion pendant given her by Lord Bothwell. "I thought ye should be reminded of what yer going to, my lady, nae what yer leaving."

Cat smiled, suddenly happy. "Susan, I didna think ye could understand the wrench this is for me. I thank ye, Susan, for helping me through a hard, hard time. Yer a good friend to me, and I willna forget it."

Catching up her fur-lined cloak, she walked to the fireplace and pressed the carving that opened the door to the secret passageway. "Be sure the door is shut tight behind ye, girls," she said, and taking a candle she stepped into the corridor.

Minutes later they exited at the foot of the west tower, where Conall waited with three horses. Cat swung herself onto Iolaire's back while Susan and May rode pillion. With Conall leading the way, they rode out from Glenkirk unseen by the watch. On a hill high above the castle they were joined by a party of men so large that Cat was taken aback.

"Christ!" she swore. "How many are there, Conall?"

"Fifty. I couldna hae ye chasing all over Europe wi just half a dozen men to protect ye. Ye can afford it." And raising his arm he signaled the start of their journey.

"Wait!" she commanded. Turning Iolaire, she looked back down onto Glenkirk, looming dark against a darker sky. For a moment she hesitated, torn with one final doubt. Leave Glenkirk? Leave her bairns? Leave Scotland? Leave nearly all she held dear? And then she saw James' sensuous face before her, and she heard his voice, low and insinuating, saying, "… and ye will do to me what ye did this night …" Yanking her horse about, Cat shouted, "Forward!" and galloped away.

They would be sailing from Rattray Head, where Bothwell had left from so long ago. Since the Gallant James had disappeared with Patrick Leslie, the Leslie's new flagship, New Venture, would be taking Cat to France. Cat thought the name most appropriate.

They rode through the night, stopping twice to rest the horses. At dawn they made camp in the ruins of Huntley Castle. The ride in the cold night air had given Cat an enormous appetite, and she happily accepted a small rabbit broiled on a stick which was brought to her by one of the men. Susan supplied a loaf of bread, a cup, and a flask filled with sweet wine. Cat shared these offerings with her two servants and happily stuffed herself. Full at last, she wrapped herself in her heavy cloak and went to sleep by a small fire kindled in what was now a freestanding fireplace.

When she awoke it was midafternoon, and the camp was quiet. Susan and May were sleeping near her. She lay for a few minutes, drowsy and warm within the safety of her cloak, then slept again. When she woke in late afternoon the camp was abustle with the activities of cooking. Several lambs were turning over the cook fires, and on a large flat stone boasting a smaller fire beneath it rested a number of fresh-baked loaves. Well away from the heat stood several unopened casks of ale.

"Conall! To me!"

"Madame?"

"Where did all of this come from?"

"My lord of Huntley told his people to be on the lookout for ye and to see we were well fed and cared for while on Gordon lands."

Her face softened. "Why, bless George for that," she said. Then, "There's nae too much ale, is there? I dinna want the men too drunk to ride. We've a long night ahead of us, and we must reach Rattray before dawn."

"Just enough to keep them happy, my lady. There's a small cask of wine for ye too. Dinna forget to refill yer flask for tonight."

She nodded, and accepted the tin plate Susan handed her. It held thin, juicy slices of meat, early green cress, and hot bread dripping butter and honey. The cup was filled with rich malmsey, and put at her side on the ground. Again Cat stuffed herself. Afterwards, as the men ate, she stood and addressed them. "Conall has told ye of my journey. If any of ye have changed yer minds about going, now is the time to say so, and to return to Glenkirk. If ye go back, I only ask that ye remain silent as to my whereabouts." Silence greeted her words, and looking out at the Glenkirk men she felt quick tears prick her eyelids. Fighting to control herself, she said simply, "Thank ye. Thank ye all."

They were ahorse within the hour, and rode through most of the dark night. She could smell the sea long before they reached the coast, its salt tang growing stronger with every passing mile. They arrived at the rendezvous well before their deadline, and Conall signaled towards the sea with a lantern which he had managed somehow to stow in his bulging saddlebags. From the darkness came an answering light.

He drew forward a familiar-looking young man. "My son, Andrew," he announced gruffly.

Cat raised an eyebrow. "Dinna tell me, Conall. Ye couldna find the time to wed wi his mother, but a Leslie always recognizes his own. Am I correct?"

"Aye, madame," he drawled, and she laughed. "Andrew and ten of the men will sail on the New Venture wi ye," he said. "I'll go wi the others and the horses on the Anne la Reine from Peterhead."

"Will ye be long behind us?" Cat asked nervously. "I dinna like landing in France wi so few men."

"We'll be ahead of ye. The Anne la Reine is lighter and a bit faster than the New Venture. Yer coach, horses, coachmen, and grooms left three days ago, and will be waiting for ye. Dinna fret, lass. I'll be waiting for ye."

She smiled warmly at him. "All right, Conall." Then she turned her smile on the young man. "Well, Andrew More-Leslie, not enough pretty girls to keep ye home at Glenkirk?"

"Too many, my lady—and an equal number of angry fathers."

Cat laughed. "Ye'll do, lad!"

They descended to the beach to meet the longboat. It slid up onto the sand and the sailors scrambled out to pull it safely onto the beach. For a moment Cat flew back in time, remembering when she had stood before on this wet and windy beach. It had been a bit less than three years ago, and she had ridden with the Earl of Bothwell to bid him goodbye as he began his exile. She had thought never to see him again. Now she stood on this very beach ready to begin her own self-imposed exile.

An officer detached himself from his men and bowed over her hand. "First Officer Malcolm More-Leslie at yer service, my lady. I am Hugh's son."

"Yer Susan and May's older brother?"

"Aye, madame."

"Is not the captain a More-Leslie?"

"Sandy. Alan's boy."

"Good God, Conall, I certainly sail well protected by the family!"

"He would have wanted it that way," Conall muttered fiercely.

Cat put out a hand and patted the older man's arm. "Ye wanted to go wi him, eh, Conall?"

"Aye! But he'd nae hae it. ‘Stay home, Conall,' he said. ‘Who else can I trust to look after her?' "

"Christ, man! Dinna tell me this now at the moment of my departure!"

"Madame, if I dinna think he'd approve of this road ye take, I'd nae be here. But I am, and while ‘tis in my hands, I'll keep ye safe." And then he blushed beet-red as she stood on tiptoes and soundly kissed his cheek.

"God go wi ye, Conall," she said, and joined Susan and May, who were already in the boat. Without further ado the small boat was on its way through the darkness to the New Venture. Then she was being swung up and out over the water, and when she opened her eyes again she was on the deck being greeted by the captain.

"I've put ye and yer lasses in my own cabin, my lady. Ye'll be more comfortable there," he said.

"Thank ye, cousin," she said, bringing a flush of pleasure to his ruddy face. He'd heard about Cat Leslie, and what a fine woman she was. Her acknowledgment of their relationship—however tenuous that relationship was—pleased him. Too, it brought him extra stature in the eyes of his men. "Will ye take yer main meal wi me and my officers?" he asked.

"Gladly!"

The captain bowed. "I'll be about my business now, madame. Duncan will see ye safely to yer quarters."

The New Venture was a big, sleek caravel of some eighty tons. She carried a full dozen guns, and had been designed for speed and maneuverability, yet generous cargo space. Her crew's quarters were dry, warm, and comfortable, outstanding for the times. There was a separate cook's area incorporated into the seamen's quarters so the men might have warm food or ale when they finished their duties. The Leslies demanded absolute obedience and loyalty from their sailors, but they paid them well and cared for them properly. Consequently, Leslie employees were the best.

Duncan, the ship's boy, led Cat and her two serving women to a large cabin high in the stern of the ship. Through the leaded and paned bow windows Cat could see that the stars had faded and the sky was growing lighter. The cabin was comfortably furnished, with a good-sized bed and two trundles. There were Turkey carpets on the floor, and velvet hangings at the bow windows and the two smaller ports. Beautiful brass lamps lit the room, and on an oak table stood two decanters of wine—one red, one gold.

"Could ye eat, m'lady?" asked Duncan.

"Is there any fruit aboard, lad?"

"Apples, ma'am, and some Seville oranges."

"Bring both, and some hard cheese and bread."

"Ohh, my lady," said May plaintively, "I'm starving! I could eat a big bowl of porridge, I surely could! Wi honey and clotted cream!"

Cat laughed at the girl. "Not this morning, my lass. If ye would nae succumb to mal de mer ye will eat and drink sparingly this day."

Later, when the two young women lay sleeping, Cat sat in the velvet windowseat and watched the coast of Scotland slowly growing smaller. Above her she heard, "Set the course for Calais! East-southeast." And an echoing voice answered, "East-sou'east!"

The beautiful leaf-green eyes strained towards the fading coastline. A tear slid down her pale cheek, and then another, and another. She wept softly, bitterly, until the sadness began to lift and she had a sudden awareness of excitement growing within her. Behind her lay her old life, but ahead lay her very reason for life! Ahead was Francis Stewart-Hepburn! She could not be so ungrateful as to weep over what the gods had taken from her—not when they had given so much.