"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
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 Glen-kirk'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
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 else. 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.