"My lord! My lord! We must hurry.’Tis dawn, and the tide will soon be against us."
Reluctantly he pulled away, but his deep-blue eyes never left her leaf-green ones. "Farewell, my beloved," he said softly.
"Go safely, my dearest lord," she answered.
He turned and, hurrying across the sand. stepped into the little boat
"Francis!”
He turned to find her running to the boat, and caught her outstretched hands. "I love ye, Bothwell! There was never anyone else but ye. There never will be!"
He smiled gently at her. "I know, Catriona. I always knew. Now, my darling, gie me a smile. Let me see but once more the smile that enslaves me."
It was terribly difficult, but as the boat moved away and their hands were pulled apart, she smiled radiantly at him, and caught his last words coming over the hiss of the waves. "I will love ye forever, Catriona Mairi!"
She stood on the damp sand in the chill of the April morning watching the cockleshell skim across the waves to the ship. She saw him climb safely aboard, and watched as the anchor was hoisted. The sails filled quickly and the ship began to move slowly away. She stood looking after it until her eyes burned, and the ship was no longer even a speck in the distance. She was unaware of the waves lapping over her boots.
Suddenly she heard a familiar voice say quietly, "Come, madame! It is time for ye to go home."
She turned to face her husband, and his eyes were slivers of ice. Reaching out, he roughly pulled her cloak aside, and his gaze disdainfully raked her rounding belly. The force of his blow sent her to her knees. Arms clutched protectively about her body, she looked defiantly up at him.
"Hurt his bairn, and as God is my witness, I will go after him! Then ye may contend wi James Stewart by yerself!"
Pulling her roughly to her feet, he snarled at her, "I let ye whore wi yer lover, but I will nae claim his bastard! When ye've birthed it, it goes!"
"Then I go too, Patrick," she shouted back at him. "Had ye protected me from the king's attentions I should have remained yer good and faithful wife. But ye did not protect me, and I fell in love wi Francis. Now I must live the rest of my life alone, apart from my love. But I hae his bairn, and I will nae allow ye to take it from me! Ye must kill me first! If ye try to steal my child, I will take it and go after him!" Her voice was rising steadily. "I have been forced to sacrifice my happiness, and his own, for the damned Leslies! Now ye would try to take the one living memory I have of Francis? Christ! I hate ye! I hate ye!"
Angrily he caught her by the arm, and his fingers hurt her cruelly. "Control yerself, madame," he said softly through gritted teeth. "There is no need to inform the entire district of our differences. We will continue this discussion at Glenkirk."
She pulled away from him. "There is nothing to discuss, Patrick." She began climbing the path to the top of Rattray Head, where her horse waited patiently. It was then she realized that the Gordons had gone, and Leslies stood in their place. A sudden weariness overcame her, and she would have stumbled but for Patrick Leslie's strong hand beneath her arm.
"Keep moving, madame. Twould not do for Lord Bothwell's brave and bonnie whore to fall on her beautiful face now. We are riding straight through to Glenkirk."
"That's almost three days from here," she protested.
"Aye," he answered grimly.
"Ye'll nae kill me, or the bairn, Glenkirk! I've ridden the borders wi him."
He said nothing, but helped her to mount. She was exhausted physically and emotionally, and needed rest. But he would stop only briefly, to rest the horses and allow his men to relieve themselves. With each mile she grew whiter. At one point Conall spoke up. "God's mercy, sir! Yer going to kill her for sure. Let her rest!"
But before Patrick could answer she spoke up. "No! We go straight through to Glenkirk!"
He shot her an angry look. "I make those decisions," he said.
"Go to hell, Glenkirk," she replied evenly, and spurred her horse ahead.
When they finally reached Glenkirk Castle she accepted his help dismounting, then walked alone to her apartments, where she collapsed on the floor.
She never knew that it was Patrick alone who cared for her in her delirium but he learned again from her fevered ravings how terribly he, James, and even Bothwell had hurt her. She relived it all, and sitting by her side he was forced to share it all. For a time she was back in the early days before their marriage, when she had shyly given him her innocence and then angrily fought him for her rights.
Far more shocking than he was prepared for was the sudden and intimate knowledge of what the king had done to her. Hearing her plead against performing the perversions that James had forced her into sickened him. And then he found himself reliving the rape through her eyes. Weeping bitterly, she sat straight up in their bed and, staring at him with sightless eyes, held out her hands to him-begging him not to shame her. He was devastated.
But the most painful experience of all for Patrick Leslie that night was to hear once more of her love for Bothwell. When she spoke of him, her face became a totally different face from the one he had always loved. It was a far more beautiful face-serene and mature. That she and Bothwell adored each other was obvious, and he who had loved her since she was a child ached to learn that only Francis Stewart-Hepburn's love could satisfy Cat.
He was touched to learn that she had tried to give Bothwell her wealth, and equally touched to learn that the great border lord had refused her. It was funny, thought Glenkirk, but had they not loved the same woman, he and Bothwell might have been friends. One thing he did not learn, however, was the truth about the paternity of the twins. Even in her great illness she protected her children.
Several days later she came to her senses again, and with a frightened gesture, clutched her belly.
"Dinna fear," Glenkirk said harshly, "ye still hae yer bastard!" And he departed, leaving her in the care of her servants.
Cat was a tough creature, and she quickly regained her strength. Her color returned, and she grew sleek and plump with the passing weeks. She spent her time resting, and with her children. Only Bess was old enough to know that the child her mother carried was not her father's, and Bess wanted no more wars with her mother. She made her peace with Cat by asking to be the child's godmother, and Cat agreed, pleased. Bess had grown up.
Meg could say nothing to Cat, unwilling to choose sides between her stubborn son and her equally implacable daughter-in-law. They were both so proud. The dowager finally resolved her dilemma by going off to visit her youngest son and his wife for an indefinite stay.
The Earl of Glenkirk treated his wife with a cold courtesy. They were bound together by the church and by royal command. Cat responded in kind. It appeared an impossible situation.
In mid-August of 1595, the Countess of Glenkirk was delivered of her ninth child, a daughter. The following day she sat up in bed receiving her family. At her back were lace-edged pillows, and her tawny hair hung loose and shining about her shoulders. It was not until late afternoon that the Earl of Glenkirk visited his wife.
She had given up hope of his coming, and was alone nursing her daughter. He stood in the doorway of her bedroom watching her, and for a moment his eyes softened. Then she looked up, and their eyes met. "May I come in. Cat?"
She nodded. Drawing up a chair by her bedside, he sat down and watched the child suck hungrily on the plump breast. Shortly the baby fell asleep, and before she could stop him, Glenkirk took the child from her. He cradled the infant in the crook of his arm, and looked down at it. It was pink-and-white, with a tiny heart-shaped face and damp auburn curls. Thick, dark eyelashes tipped in gold lay like half-moons on her cheeks. He had seen enough infants in his time to know that this one would be a great beauty.