Love Wild and Fair

by Bertrice Small

  "My darling! I didn't expect ye back so soon. Is aught amiss?"

  He entered the security of that embrace and then, leading her over to the privacy of a windowseat, sat down with her. "I hae done a terrible thing, mother. A terrible thing to Cat. And I hae probably lost her." Kneeling, he put his head into her lap and wept. The sound he made was terrible-great, tearing sobs wrenched up from deep within him. His broad shoulders shook, and Meg Leslie, stunned, touched his head gently and said, "Tell me, Patrick. Tell me what ye hae done to Catriona."

  Mastering his emotions, he slowly and carefully told his mother what had happened. Meg closed her eyes when he reached the part about the rape. "She must still have some feeling for ye, Patrick," said his mother, "for had it been me, I would hae stuck a knife into ye before I fled! And to answer yer unasked question-no, she is not here. What made ye think she would be?"

  "Where else could she go, mother? Greyhaven? A-Cuil?"

  "Nay. Heather was here yesterday, and said nothing. Ye may be sure that if Cat had gone home to Grey-haven her mother would have been all atwitter with worry, and told me. And she is not at A-Cuil. Cat's brothers have been up there hunting wolves, and came yesterday with Heather to bring me some skins."

  "Then where is she?" he asked. "Christ in his heaven! Where has she hidden herself?"

  "Ye want her back?" said Meg. "Why, Patrick? So ye may punish her further for not killing herself at James Stewart's first advance. Would ye hae preferred a dead and pure wife to a live, albeit slightly used one? God's toenail, my idiot son! It's nae as if James took the droit du seigneur of yer virgin bride! And why in heaven's name did ye assume her the guilty party? Undoubtedly because she is but a weak woman! Fool! Has she ever given ye cause for doubt? Never! She has been a loving wife since the day she married ye… though now I think perhaps she must have had a premonition of disaster when she tried to escape yer marriage. She's been a good wife and a good mother to yer six bairns." Meg stood up and paced furiously back and forth. "Ye dinna deserve her, Patrick! Now, get the hell out of my sight, my lord earl! I detest fools, and ye are a great fool! Ye disgust me!" Pulling her skirts back so as not to touch him, the dowager countess swept angrily from the room.

  He stood where she had left him, thinking that he also disgusted himself.

  "So ye found out," came his brother Adam's voice.

  The earl turned. "I didna know ye were here," he said dully.

  "Just arrived. I was on yer trail the whole way. Ellen came to see me before she left Edinburgh. How did ye find out?"

  "I came back to Holyrood to find the king's hands all over my wife's naked tits. Did ye know? And Ellen too? Am I the only one at court who didn't know that the king was fucking my wife?"

  "No one knew, Patrick, except Ellen because she is Cat's tiring woman and me because when James first delivered his ultimatum to Cat she came to me for help. I told no one, not even Fiona."

  "My wife came to ye for help, and ye sent her into the King's bed? Was that yer idea of helping us?" Leaping the distance between them, Patrick Leslie hit his younger brother square on the jaw.

  Adam staggered back. His hand came up to rub his injured chin. The earl advanced on him. "I'll kill ye for this, brother!" The younger Leslie's hand went to his dirk and, whipping it out, he held it before him. "For God's sake, Patrick! Listen to me for a minute!" The earl stopped. "James threatened to confiscate our estates and put us to the horn. He was all ready wi trumped-up charges, for he was determined to have Cat, and knew she would protect her family at whatever cost to herself. She was terrified. She didna want to lie wi the king, but neither did she want everything lost that was yers… or ours. It is not permitted for a woman to refuse the king, ye know that! And even if she had refused, Jamie would have taken everything. Then what would have happened to all of us? To Mother, and the bairns. Yes! I told Cat to yield! There was no other way. If ye had been in my position what would ye have done?"

  Patrick's hands fell to his side. "Do ye know what I did to her, Adam, when I found her wi Jamie? I got drunk wi the king, and then we took turns wi her. All night, brother. Drink and fuck! Drink and fuck! She's run away from me, brother. I would gie my life to find her and beg her forgiveness!"

  "Christ, man!" said Adam Leslie in shocked disbelief. "What a fool ye are! I dinna think she'll ever forgie ye for that, but I'll help ye to find her. God knows ye dinna deserve her. Where hae ye looked?"

  "Our house in Edinburgh. Here. Mother tells me she's nae at Greyhaven, or at A-Cuil. She's obviously not in yer house, or ye'd hae told me. Could she hae gone to Sithean?"

  "I'll ride over," said Adam, "ostensibly to bring Fiona's greetings to her parents. If there's been any word, our sister Janet will know and tell us."

  But they soon knew that Cat was not at Sithean. Nor was she hiding in Crannog village with old Ruth. They had exhausted all the logical possibilities, and in the days that followed they checked back in Edinburgh with the Kiras. Cat had not withdrawn any of her vast funds, either in person or through an intermediary. The Earl of Glenkirk was becoming genuinely frightened. His wife has disappeared over a month ago, without a trace and without funds to sustain her. There were only two answers. Either someone was hiding Cat-and they could think of no one with whom she was that friendly -or else she was dead.

  Chapter 24

  FRANCIS Hepburn awoke at first light and lay quietly for a few minutes enjoying the silence before the birdsong. Turning carefully, he looked at Cat. She lay curled into a tight ball like a small child. In sleep she looked so innocent

  Suddenly she awoke, opened her green eyes, and stretched. "Good morrow, my lord," she smiled up at him.

  He smiled back, thinking how very much he wanted to make love to her now. "I hae a surprise for ye today, Cat. I'm taking ye riding."

  A frightened look come into her eyes. "Patrick," she said.

  "Patrick will eventually find ye, my darling, but 'twill be a long time before word gets to him, and then I promise to protect ye. Only someone who knows ye could tell him anyhow, and my people are loyal to me. They could see ye ride naked the length of the shire, and would nae admit to it."

  She laughed. "All right, my lover, but I will need fresh clothes. Mine are worn, and I'd nae shame ye."

  "Look in the trunk by the door, Cat I brought some things back from my last raid."

  She admired the silk underclothes, several pairs of green trunk hose in finely spun sheer wool, and a half-dozen cream-colored silk shirts with pearl buttons. There was a soft brown leather jerkin with small buttons of polished staghorn banded in silver, and a wide brown leather belt with a silver-and-topaz buckle. It didn't take Cat more than a minute to realize that he had had the clothes made for her. She rose from the trunk and turned. "Yer so good to me, Bothwell," she said softly. "Thank ye."

  He got up from the bed. "I'll get ye some water to bathe," he answered gruffly.

  She blocked his way. Standing on tiptoe, she wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him. His hands stroked her long back, and her soft, silken buttocks. "Christ, you witch! Dinna tempt me now!" But he was already hard, hungry for her. Sweeping her up, he lay her back on their bed. His lips found hers again, and his body gently possessed her body. She sighed happily, and Francis Hepburn laughed low. "Little witch! Why can I never get enough of ye?"

  "Or I of you, my lover," she murmured.

  Afterwards they fell asleep, and it was not until the sun was well up that they awoke again. He brought water, and they washed, Going to the little trunk, she chose a set of lace-trimmed underwear, a shirt, trunk hose, the jerkin and belt. When she had finished dressing she found he wore a matching costume. Cat bound her hair back with a green velvet ribbon and, with a smile, Bothwell placed a small bonnet of Hepburn plaid on her golden head.

  "Ye'll need new boots, lass." He dug deep into her trunk, and pulled out a pair. They were as soft as butter. "Ye'll find some silk and lace nightgowns in there too."

  "How did ye do it, Francis? How
?" She pulled the boots on.

  "I'm the Wizard Earl, remember?"

  Laughing, they descended the stairs and left the lodge. Cat's bay gelding, Iolaire, and Bothwell's great dark-red stallion, Valentine, awaited them. They spent the day riding the Northumbrian hills that separated Scotland from England. When hunger overtook them they stopped at a small cottage. The welcome was warm for Bothwell and his lady. Dark bread warm from the oven with fresh sweet butter, a broiled rabbit, and brown October ale satisfied them.

  "Ye eat well here on the borders," Cat remarked to the woman of the house. She had a disturbingly familiar look.

  "My father was the last earl, James Hepburn," laughed the woman, whom Bothwell called Maggie. "Cousin Francis sees we're well taken care of, don't ye, lovey?"

  The earl smiled at Maggie. "I do, though keeping up wi Uncle James' obligations is a mighty task."

  "Made greater," she shot back at him, "by yer desire to better his record."

  They laughed. Francis kissed Maggie's cheek. Then he helped Cat into her saddle and, mounting Valentine, led the way back over the hills. He did not, however, take her back to the lodge. "I want to go to Hermitage," he said quietly. "‘Tis my home, and I want ye there. Will ye come wi me?"

  "Yes," she answered him. "I am nae ashamed to be yer woman, Francis."

  "I dinna think of ye as my woman, Cat. I think of ye as my wife… perhaps not in the eyes of your church, or the kirk, or even in the eyes of our fellow men. But as God created us, he meant us to be together. I intend that we shall be, my darling."

  They rode proudly into Hermitage together, and Cat discovered that he had prepared for her, hoping she would come with him. The rooms of the Countess of Bothwell with its bedroom adjoining the earl's awaited her. They were newly refurbished with deep-blue velvet draperies and bed hangings, and a bedspread embroidered with the Hepburn lions in gpld.

  "These rooms hae nae been used since the earl's mother, Lady Janet, died," said the little maid. "And," continued the girl, "before that Queen Mary stayed here! What a to-do the earl created, my lady, to get these rooms ready for ye! He told the housekeeper he was nae sure if ye'd even come, but if ye did he wanted the rooms fresh and inviting. It took a dozen women ten days to sew the bedspread alone!"

  "What of Lady Margaret?" asked Cat. "Does she not stay here when she is at Hermitage?"

  "Nay," replied Nell. "Her ladyship doesna come to Hermitage at all. She doesna like it. It frightens her, being so close to the border. Her first husband was Scott of Buccleuch from near here. She was caught in several raids, and it terrified her. She told the earl when they married that she'd nae come here ever. She loves Crichton best." Then, embarrassed by her talkativeness, she said hurriedly, "Ye'll be wanting a bath after yer long ride. I'll have it brought right up!"

  Bustling out, she left the Countess of Glenkirk to look about her bedroom in amazement. It was a square, paneled room with two great leaded windows to her left, each with a built-in window seat. Each seat held a tufted pale-blue velvet cushion. Directly in front of her was a large stone fireplace with a carved marble mantel. Behind her was the door from the antechamber. To her right was the door to Francis' bedroom.

  The polished oak floors were covered in thick Turkish carpets, mostly blues and golds with a touch of rose. The furniture was sparse, as was usual in a Scots house. On the wall near the antechamber door was a tall wardrobe. On the wall facing the windows was the huge bed and a nightstand. Between the windows, a round, highly polished table held a large, oval-shaped silver bowl filled with coral-pink winter roses. By the fireplace was a settle and a large comfortable chair. Scattered about the room were other simple chairs.

  Burying her face in the roses, she inhaled their heady fragrance. "From my greenhouses," he said proudly. She turned to face him. Her eyes were wet, the dark-gold lashes separated. "I am always saying thank you to ye, Francis. Somehow it doesna ever seem enough."

  "Ye hae brought me the first real happiness I have ever known, my precious love." He gathered her into his arms, and she felt the depth of his love in the heart beating wildly beneath her cheek.

  No longer could Catriona Leslie deny her emotions. They swept over her in a great tide. Looking up into the rugged, handsome face of Francis Hepburn, she said, "I love ye, Bothwell! May God hae mercy on us both, but I love ye, and I would sooner die than be parted from ye, my lord!"

  A great sigh of relief escaped the big earl and, bending, he took possession of the sweet mouth offered him. "Cat! Oh, Cat," he murmured against her lips. His arms tightened about her.

  At that moment, the maid returned with a coterie of servants. They carried a tall oak tub and several caldrons of hot water. Bothwell released Cat. "I thought we might eat by the fire in the antechamber. Until then, madame."

  Her eyes followed him as he returned to his own room. Ordering the other servants away, Nell went about the business of preparing the countess' bath. Climbing the steps to the tub, she poured a thin stream of clear liquid into the steaming water. Almost immediately the room was scented with the smell of lilacs. She left Cat to soak while she chose a simple gown from Cat's wardrobe. It was pale lavender silk with long flowing sleeves and a deep V neckline. Having done this, she returned to Cat, washed her lovely hair, and scrubbed her back. Wrapping Cat in a large towel, she sat her by the fire and dried the long hair, using first a rough towel, then a hairbrush, and finally a piece of silk to give it shine. Last, Nell pared Cat's fingernails and toenails and plucked her free of extraneous body hair.

  Cat remained silent through all of this. She loved Bothwell, and he loved her. What would happen to them she did not know. There were so many other lives involved, but for now it was all right. Nell helped her into the silk gown, fastened the pearl buttons beneath her full breasts, and slid a pair of kid slippers on her feet.

  "Where are my riding clothes?" she asked the servant.

  "I've sent yer shirt and hose to the laundress, ma-dame. Everything else is in the wardrobe, and Will has gone to the lodge for yer trunk."

  "Thank ye. Nell. Ye may go now. I'll nae need ye again this evening."

  "Thank ye, my lady, but let me see to the removal of the tub before I go, and I'll take the spread from the bed also."

  Cat smiled her thanks at the girl, and then went into the antechamber to await her lover. A decanter and two goblets sat on a silver tray on a table, and she poured herself some pale gold wine to still her pounding heart. There were so many problems, but she did not want to think of them tonight. All she wanted now was him, his strong arms about her and his mouth on hers. She wanted his laughter and sharp wit.

  Two hefty servants lugged the tub from her bedroom and then returned for the tub from the earl's bedroom. Nell left, bidding Cat good night. The earl's man, Albert, finished up and left. Cat waited expectantly.

  He came through the door wearing dark trunk hose, a white silk shirt buttoned up to the neck, a wide leather belt with a gold-and-ruby buckle, and soft leather slippers.

  She flew to him. Holding her away from him, he asked, "Is it true? What ye said to me before?"

  A smile lit her face. "I love ye, Bothwell! I love ye! I love ye! Now, my lord! Do ye believe me?"

  "Aye, I believe ye, my darling! I was only afraid that in my passion, I had fooled myself into imagining you said those words." He drew her against him and gently kissed the tip of her nose. "The gown becomes ye, as I knew it would."

  "Another something ye picked up on one of yer raids?" she teased him. "‘Tis a surprisingly good fit."

  He chuckled and lightly brushed his fingers across her chest. "It lacks one thing. Turn around."

  She turned, and he clasped a necklace of pale golden pearls about her neck. Moving her around again, he put a matching pearl teardrop on each of her ears. "There," he said quietly. "Perfection made better, if possible. These belong to ye, come what may. Patrick Hepburn, the first Earl of Bothwell, gave them to his bride." He gazed at her with open admiration. "Christ! Ye hae flawless sk
in, Cat. I've never seen pearls look so beautiful."

  Servants entered, bearing silver trays of food. The earl led Cat to the table and seated her. He had ordered an excellent supper, in superb taste. They began with cold raw oysters, which Cat adored, and finished with a flaky tart of early strawberries from the Hermitage greenhouses.

  Cat ate with gusto. Amused, he encouraged her, handing over to her the last piece of tart. When she had finished and bathed her hands, he spoke in a mock-serious voice. "Now, madame. Ye must pay for yer meal." Leading her over to the settle by the fireplace, he sat her down. "I want to sketch ye, my love. Perhaps I'll do a wax model later, and then sculpt ye."

  "My God," she laughed, "ye sculpt! That's what that wax-image nonsense was about. That's why they say ye practice the black arts! Oh, the fools! The ignorant fools!"

  Bothwell grimaced. "Oh, yes," he said. "My enemies would have poor gullible cousin Jamie believe that I make wax images of him to stick pins into." He picked up a lap easel and, fastening a piece of paper on it, began.

  Cat sat perfectly still, thinking how lucky she was to be with him. She had never known such happiness existed, and if he had asked her to accompany him into the fires of hell she would have gone without question. Her eyes caressed him. She blushed, thinking she would rather be in bed with him than sitting here posing. At last he put down his work. His eyes caught hers.

  "Ye are reading my thoughts," she exclaimed.

  He smiled lazily. "It isna hard to read yer thoughts when ye blush like that. Besides, mine are similar. Come, my sweet love, let us to bed." He stood and offered her his hand.

  She rose. "Why, Francis? For thirteen years I lived a contented, healthy life wi Patrick. But wi ye…" She paused seeking the right words. "Wi ye 'tis different.’Tis complete."

  "Did ye always love Patrick?" he asked.

  "He was the only man I ever knew. Greyhaven is very isolated. My great-grandmother betrothed me to Patrick when I was just four. He is nine years my senior. We were wed when I was sixteen. I wasna sure I even wanted to marry him then. He had a reputation as a terrible rake, and he was so arrogant!"