Chapter 27
WHEN Francis Stewart Hepburn surrendered himself to his cousin, James panicked. Quickly he imprisoned the earl in Edinburgh Castle. The king, an overly superstitious man, was terribly frightened of witchcraft. Chancellor Maitland knew this and, in an attempt to break the back of Scotland's nobility, had fabricated the charges against Bothwell. Breaking the border lord, he thought, would crush all resistance to James. Unfortunately, the earl's fellow nobles were most irritated by Maitland's attempt to destroy their power. They refused to meet to try Hepburn. Until they did, justice was at a standstill because no one else could try him.
Cat was terrified by the news that Bothwell was locked in Edinburgh Castle. There was nothing she could do. She could not even communicate with her lover for fear of the king, and she had no idea how to reach Hercules. So she remained quietly with Fiona, awaiting word. She would not leave Edinburgh without Francis.
It was not long before she received a message from the loyal Hercules. She was to come, masked, to the Oak and Thistle Tavern the following afternoon, and ask for Mr. Prior. Cat was in a fever of impatience.
At two the next afternoon she slipped from the house and walked quickly through the June afternoon. It was raining slightly, which was to the good as few people were on the streets to see her. Entering the tavern, she inquired for Mr. Prior, and was shown a private parlor in the back of the building on the ground floor. There was Hercules.
She barely allowed time for the maidservant's exit before asking, "Francis?"
"Enormously comfortable in a large, well-furnished two-room apartment," said Bothwell's half-brother. "Eating and drinking the best that money can buy. A favorite with his captors, but beginning to be bored by Jamie's shilly-shallying."
"What do ye want me to do?" she cried.
"Francis has decided that too much more of the king's hospitality could kill him," chuckled Hercules. "So he'll be leaving Edinburgh shortly. Can ye hide him for a few hours? A day at most?"
"Aye! At my cousin Fiona's. Ye know the house. My brother-in-law, Adam, leaves tomorrow for Glenkirk. He'll be gone about two weeks, but no more. Can Francis escape within that time?"
Hercules Stewart nodded. "Within the week, my lady."
"I'll be ready. Is there some signal ye can gie me so I'll know when?"
"A boy will deliver a bunch of wild red roses and white heather to ye. 'Twill be that night." He poured out some red wine and handed her a goblet. "Drink it, madame. Ye look worn."
She smiled at him and accepted the wine. "I hae been so worried," she admitted. "I knew nothing but what the gossips in the marketplace said, and I didna dare inquire too closely."
Hercules looked at her. "How did that rogue of a brother of mine do it? How did he get the loveliest and bravest woman in this wild land to fall in love wi him?" He gave her a grin so like Bothwell's that her heart turned over. "He's always been lucky, the devil!"
She couldn't help but laugh. "I am the one who's lucky, Hercules. He is a great man, my Francis." She picked up her cloak from the settle. "I had best go now. I'll be waiting for yer signal."
The following day, Adam Leslie left Edinburgh, leaving his wife and Cat alone in the house. Almost immediately Fiona was at her younger cousin, demanding to know the name of Cat's lover. Cat laughed. "Not yet, Ona, but in a few days ye will not only know his name, but ye'll meet him." Fiona gnashed her teeth in frustration.
Two afternoons later an urchin knocked at the door of Fiona's house. Handing the maid a bouquet of white heather and wild red roses, he said, "Fer the lady o' Glenkirk." Exclaiming her delight, the little maid put the bouquet in a silver bowl and brought it to the Countess. Fiona raised an elegant eyebrow. "Charming," she said. "Does this mean I am to meet the gentleman soon?"
"Tonight," replied Cat "Can ye get rid of the servants?"
"It's been done. Darling Cat, 'tis Midsummer Eve, and everyone will be celebrating."
"Damn!" swore Cat. "I should hae guessed! Fiona, tell yer servants that they may hae tomorrow off as well. Please do this for me. My lord will nae wish to be seen by other than you and me."
Fiona agreed. 'They'll all be suffering the effects of too much ale, wine, and lovemaking, and be no use to me anyway. Oh, cousin! I am fascinated! Who is this man?"
"Bothwell," said Cat softly.
"But he's in prison!" said Fiona, and then her smoky-gray eyes widened and she clapped her hands over her mouth.
Cat had to laugh, but Fiona recovered quickly. "Ye really are the deep one! Are ye telling me that Francis Hepburn is the man? Ye hae been wi him since ye ran away from Glenkirk? He is yer lover?" Cat nodded. "Damn me!" said Fiona. "Ye really hae all the luck! First Glenkirk, and then the border lord himself!" Her eyes glittered. "What is he like?" she begged. "Is he really a warlock? Does he make love like mortal men?"
Cat choked back a fit of giggles, for she could see that Fiona was quite serious. "Nay, cousin. Francis is no warlock or wizard, and he makes love very nicely, thank ye."
"How did ye meet him, Cat?"
"At court. He was my friend then, not my lover."
"He has a wife, Cat."
"He is divorcing her as I am divorcing Glenkirk. We'll be wed by year's end, Fiona."
"Does Glenkirk know about Bothwell? Does the King?"
"Nay. Neither of them does. Say nothing, Fiona. I would rather no one know until Francis and I are safely wed."
"What should we do to prepare?" asked Fiona.
"Food, cousin! Francis eats ravenously when he's elated, and outfoxing both Jamie and Maitland will make him jubilant."
That evening, the servants gone, Catriona Leslie and her cousin Fiona waited. Cat assumed that Bothwell would not escape until late, when festivities were well underway. She was right. It was close to midnight when there came a knock at the kitchen door. Cat flew to open it, and two muffled figures slipped quickly into the room.
Flinging his cloak off, Francis Hepburn grinned impudently at Cat. "Good evening, my darling," he said.
Tears glistened in her eyes as Cat stepped forward. "Oh, Bothwell!" Suddenly she stopped. "Christ in heaven! What is that stink?"
He grinned sheepishly. "I'm afraid my mode of conveyance from the castle was not at all elegant."
"What was it?" she demanded.
He hesitated. "A dung cart."
She stared at him. "A dung cart?"
"It had a false bottom," he explained. "I hid there, while above me rested the contents of the entire castle stables."
Cat looked directly at Hercules Stewart. "There's a tub in the closet there," she said. "Please get it out and fill it with hot water for his lordship." She instructed the wide-eyed Fiona, "Get some of Adam's clothes and put them in my room. Bring a dressing gown here."
Hercules pulled out the hip bath while Cat began to heat water. When the tub was filled she took Bothwell's clothes from him and flung them into the fire. Before she would allow him to climb into his bath she led him naked into the scullery and sluiced him down. Once he was in the tub she scrubbed him down with a stiff brush and washed his hair. "Thank God, no lice," was her only comment. Bothwell chuckled as he climbed from the tub at last and wrapped himself in a large towel.
She sat him by the fire to dry his hair. Fiona re= turned with a long, soft robe of lightweight wooL which Bothwell quickly slipped on. Then he caught Fiona's hand and brought it to his lips. "Lady Leslie." He spoke in a low, intimate voice that brought a blush to her cheek and caused her heart to beat fast "I thank ye for yer hospitality. I hope I'll not inconvenience ye in any way."
" 'T-'tis an honor to hae ye in my house," stammered Fiona. "When yer ready we've a supper in the small dining room."