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."
Again the silence, and then Patrick Leslie asked quietly, "When did she become yer mistress, Francis?"
"Not for a while," Bothwell answered in an equally quiet voice. He did not think that Patrick Leslie was entitled to detail. "It happened, cousin. It simply happened. Christ! What a coil." He leaned forward and spoke urgently. "Take her back to Glenkirk as quickly as ye can. She is nae going to be easy in this, but perhaps being wi her bairns will help."
The two men sat in silence for some time. Patrick rose quietly and added wood to the fire. Going to the cabinet, he took out another crystal glass and poured himself and Bothwell a good dram each of the potent whisky.
The pistol now lay in Hepburn's lap. Leaning forward once more, the whisky in his two hands, Francis said, "I love her, Patrick. I want ye to understand that. She wanted to go to France for her divorce, and I promised her we would if I failed to see Jamie this time. Now I wish to heaven I had not seen him! I return Cat to ye because I would nae have the destruction of yer family on my conscience. But if I ever hear that ye hae been cruel to her, I'll come. If it be from darkest hell, I'll come and take her back!"
It was with great shock that Patrick Leslie saw the naked pain in the deep-blue eyes of his cousin, the Earl of Bothwell. He, the husband, wanted to sympathize with his wife's lover. But he intuitively understood that if he so much as touched his cousin, the big man would lose control.
"Francis," said Glenkirk in a kindly voice. "I hae always loved her, from the time we were betrothed when she was a wee lass of four. I think she loved me because she was expected to love me, and she nae knew any others. I had known many women, and I appreciated the jewel that Mam had ordained would be mine. Had I not lost my temper two and a half years ago she would hae gone on loving me, but I did, and ye were wise enough to see her worth. Ye took what I so carelessly threw away. James has ordained that we be unhappy because he is unhappy. If he really loved Cat he would want her happy wi ye, as I do. Instead he forces her back on me. I swear to ye, man, that I will cherish her this time. She may never love me again, but this time I will keep her safe!"
Bothwell closed his eyes for a moment as if forcing back tears. When he spoke his voice was low and husky. "Ye must make love to her, Patrick. Dinna be polite wi her, and wait for her to recover her hurt. If ye do, ye'll never get her in yer bed again. We are so tied together, Cat and I-but ye can ease her pain if ye love her a bit. But, for pity's sake, man! Be gentle wi her. She is nae a castle wall to be breached. Treat her tenderly, and ye'll find she responds better." Glenkirk flushed, but Bothwell did not notice, and stood up. "One more thing, Patrick. Before I leave Scotland I will want to see her."
"Leave?" said Glenkirk, puzzled. "Is Jamie going to banish ye?"
"Nay. He is too subtle for that, but we canna seem to live in the same country, the kingly bairn and I. Besides… he is not given to keeping his word. Before long he will start to haggle over the terms made today, and our good John Maitland will egg him on to new follies. James is determined to be king, Patrick. Make no mistake about that. The old way of life is done here in Scotland. Lennox, Angus, and the others use me to fight Jamie. Dinna think I don't know that. After the next round I will have to go, and I know it. 'Tis only a matter of time for me. But before I go I would bid my Cat a final farewell if she'll see me. Promise me ye'll forbid her not."
"God, Francis! Ye ask a lot of me!"
Bothwell's blue eyes became hard. "Hear me, Patrick Leslie. I could leave this room now, ride to Hermitage, tell Cat I couldna see Jamie, and be on a ship for France by week's end. By the time any news got to her she'd hae her divorce from the obliging French, be safely wed to me, and we'd hae a bairn started. Yer family would lose everything. Who is asking a lot of whom?"
Glenkirk cocked an eyebrow. "If, Francis, I actually thought ye'd do that I'd kill ye now," he said pleasantly. "However, like me, yer a man of honor. When ye go, Cat will see ye if she wishes." He stood, and held out his hand to his cousin.
Bothwell grasped it. For a moment their eyes locked. Then Francis Hepburn exited the room the same way he had entered it, through the casement windows. Patrick Leslie was inexplicably saddened.
Chapter 33
BOTHWELL rode through the night and into the following morning, arriving at Hermitage towards midday. One look at his face told Cat the news was bad, but she asked nothing of him. Instead she led him to their apartments, pulled off his boots, and put him to bed. When Bothwell awoke that evening, she had a good supper ready for him. It wasn't until he had eaten that he spoke to her.
"The king has ordered yer return to Glenkirk by September first."
She whirled to face him, her eyes mirroring shock.
"If ye do not," he continued, "Jamie will reclaim the lands and goods of the Leslies of both Glenkirk and Sithean, as well as the H
ays of Greyhaven."
"Let him!"
"Cat!"
"Let him, Bothwell! Wi'out ye I am a dead woman!"
He held her tightly in his arms. "Cat! Cat! Think, lass. Think! How many children hae ye?"
"Six."
"And among yer cousins, how many bairns are there now?"
"At least thirty," she said.
"And ye hae twenty cousins, and yer brothers, and yer parents' generation, and the More-Leslies. My God, Cat! Close to a hundred people! And then, my darling, we have my children to consider too. All these innocent people destroyed-the children and the old people. Nay, love. Neither ye nor I could build a life on the wreckage of both our families."
"Dinna send me away, Bothwell," she whispered piteously. "I would sooner be dead."
"If we run, if we attempt to escape Jamie in any manner, he will destroy our people. He was quite firm wi me. He wants us punished, and he has found the most exquiste torture to inflict upon us and on Patrick Leslie as well. He still loves ye, Cat. Dinna be afraid to return to him."
She looked up at him. "How can ye talk to me like this, Francis?"
"Because I must! Christ, Cat! I canna bear it!" His voice was breaking. "Yer my life, lass!"
They wept. The border lord and his love clung to one another and wept until they could weep no more. Then they stood together, holding onto each other until Francis Hepburn swept her up in his arms and carried Catriona Leslie to bed.
In the night she awoke to find him gone from their bed. For a moment she was frightened until she saw him standing by the windows looking out on the moonlit landscape. He turned and she could see his face was wet with tears. She pretended sleep, realizing it would only add to his agony if he knew she had seen him. A dull pain throbbed in her chest, and she stuffed her fist into her mouth to stifle the cry that rose in her throat.
For the next few days neither Bothwell nor Cat could bear to be out of each other's sight for more than a few minutes. Knowing that only a month remained to them was, as the king had anticipated, a terrible torment. It was finally Cat who made the decision that was to ease them through their last weeks.
"I want to go to the lodge," she told him. "I came to ye there. If I must leave ye, 'twill be from there."
He had already told her that the king had forbidden him to come within ten miles of Edinburgh, and he was expressly forbidden to accompany the Countess of Glenkirk from the borders. She would be escorted by Lord Home.
Bothwell sent his servants up into the Cheviot to clean, freshen, and stock the house. They would live as they had lived in the beginning-alone, to themselves. On the day they rode out from Hermitage together for the last time, they had three weeks left. They had not bidden the servants goodbye, for neither of them could have borne an emotional scene. Hercules would welcome Lord Home when he arrived to take charge of Cat, and would bring him to a meeting place.
It was late summer, and already the evenings were cool. They spent their days riding, walking, sitting silently on a hidden promontory that overlooked the border valleys, watching the eagles soar off into the west wind. Their nights were spent in a rapture of lovemaking such as neither of them had ever known, made bittersweet by the knowledge that they would soon be parted.
One morning she came downstairs to find him just entering the house. "Look, Cat," he said, holding up a fish. "I've caught a salmon, and I've found some late cress."
Cat burst into tears, remembering that on her first day in this house with him he had said almost the same words to her. As the realization came to Bothwell he swore, and then he swore again, for today was their last day. Managing to control herself at last, she looked at him through wet lashes. "And I suppose that smell from the kitchen is lamb broth?"
He nodded. She couldn't help but laugh, so doleful was his expression.
"Clean yer fish, Bothwell," she said lightly, "but I dinna want to eat it till late. What kind of a day is it?"
"Warm. 1 found a field full of Michaelmas daisies near the stream. "Let's go swimming!"
Her green eyes sparkled. "And will ye make love to me in the daisies afterwards?" she teased.
"Aye," he answered her slowly, his own blue eyes quietly serious.
She flung herself onto his chest, and clung to him. "Oh, Bothwell! Bothwell! I dinna think I can bear it!"
His arms tightened about her for a moment. "Go and get dressed, lass. I'll clean this fish, and get us some bread and cheese to take along today."
They rode slowly in the late-August sunshine. The valleys glowed below them in faintly purpled haze. They did swim in the icy waters of the stream, and afterwards he did make love to her. She kept laughing as fat bumblebees buzzed them while they lay amid the pungent flowers. Afterwards they ate the bread and cheese he had put into their saddlebags, drank dry white wine from a flask, and munched early apples. Too soon the sun began setting, and they rode home.
As they rode she asked quietly, "What time tomorrow are we to meet Lord Home?"
"Two hours past sunrise," he answered her, staring straight ahead. And then he heard her whisper, "So soon."
The sun had sunk in a blaze of hot orange behind them. As if to mock them, Venus glowed bright in the darkening sky above. The horses easily found their path back to Bothwell's lodge, and while the earl fed and watered the animals and bedded them down, Cat cooked their supper. They ate in silence until she said, "We had burgundy our first night."
"Aye. And ye got drunk."
"I want to get drunk tonight."
He came around the table and pulled her up to face him. "No, my darling. I want ye to remember everything that has happened between us-especially tonight."
She began to cry softly. "I hurt, Francis! My heart hurts so very much."
"I hurt also, my love, but I'll nae let Jamie Stewart know that he's killing me by taking away the one thing I hold dear. Our pain must be a private thing. But Catriona, my sweet, sweet love! I dinna want to forget a moment of our love, because I will need it to sustain me in the times to come."
"Ye'll be alone now, Francis. Who will look after ye?"
"Hercules will, my darling. Hardly a suitable replacement for the bonniest woman in Scotland, but…" He stopped, and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Christ, Cat! Dinna weep, my precious love! I thank God Jamie is at least returning ye to Glenkirk. Patrick will look after ye."
"Aye," she said bitterly. "If he looks after me as well as he did before, 'twill be a short month afore I'm forced again to be the king's whore!"
"No, love! 'Twill nae happen! Patrick has promised me."
She stared at him. "Ye saw Patrick? When?"
"Last month when Jamie ordered me to return ye. I had to be sure he would care for ye properly. I had to know he wanted ye, for if he hadn't, I could nae have let ye go back. He loves ye very much, my darling. Even knowing ye belong to me, he still loves ye. Dinna be afraid to go back to Patrick Leslie."
She shivered. "He'll want to make love to me," she said in a low voice. "I'd as soon go into a convent than hae another man touch me."
Bothwell laughed softly. "Nay, Cat. Ye were made for love. Wi'out it that lovely body would shrivel and die. Dinna be ashamed of it, and dinna deny it." Drawing her into the curve of his arm, he slid a hand into her silk shirt, and caressed the soft swell of her breasts. She murmured contentedly, her leaf-green eyes half-closed. He laughed again. "See, my darling?" he gently teased her, drawing his hand from her warmth.
"Beast!" she managed to say before his mouth took possession of hers. He was gentle, always so incredibly gentle with her. He kissed her with a melting tenderness while he quickly undressed her. Then, without losing her lips, he lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs to their bedroom.
When he lay her on the bed she drew him down to her and slid her hands into his shirt, stroking his chest and broad back. She pushed the shirt off. Pulling him back to her, her soft bare breasts made contact with his smooth bare chest. He gasped with pleasure at the familiar con
tact, and felt the rising between his thighs. She loosed her grasp and whispered urgently, "Hurry, love!"
Quickly he tore off his remaining clothes and, mounting her, thrust deep into her throbbing warmth. His entry never failed to elicit a cry of pleasure from her. She strained to receive him, sobbing her frustration when he could go no further. He began a delicious torture, thrusting within her as deep as he could go, then pulling completely out of her until she begged him to stop, so painful had her own desire become. But he would not. He drove her to heights of passion she had not known existed, prolonging their painful pleasure, and when at last him own passion burst in a raging flood within her, she half-fainted from excitement.
Her head was whirling, her heart pounding, her ears filled with the sound of a ragged weeping that she gradually understood was her own. Bothwell gathered her into his arms and rocked her back and forth. His own senses were reeling. He had, in a terrible instant of clarity, realized that in a few hours he would send this woman out of his life, possibly forever.
Slowly their breathing returned to normal. She lay back against the pillows and drew him onto her breasts. "Why did ye wait until tonight to do that to me, Francis?" He said nothing and she continued. "It is so easy for ye men. Ye live by a strict code of honor that leaves no room for emotion. Tomorrow ye will turn me over to Sandy Home, who will turn me over to James Stewart, who will probably try to make love to me before turning me over to Patrick Leslie, who will make love to me because I am his wife, and it is his right. Ye will feel remorse at my loss. Sandy Home will regret the part he must play in this drama. Jamie will feel lust mixed wi a bit of guilt, but not enough to stop this terrible thing he is doing to us. And Patrick will feel apprehension at my return, which he will try to hide from me by being masterful.
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