She smiled teasingly up at him. "Whose pretty neck did ye take it from?"

He grinned back at her. "If ye must know, I liberated it from an overstocked jeweler who made the mistake of getting caught in our raid." He looked down at her and, suddenly unable to help himself, caught her to him and kissed her hungrily. She trembled but grasped bis head and kissed him strongly in return.

Francis Hepburn's blue eyes looked gravely into Cat's leaf-green ones. She stood barefooted, on tiptoe, her arms about his neck. His hands moved gently to undo her dressing gown, unwinding her arms, and sliding the robe off to reveal her nakedness. Taking her face in his hands, he bent and kissed her deeply. Then his mouth gently touched her eyelids, her face, her throat.

His slim hands tangled in her honey-colored hair and then moved down to her shoulders. His mouth moved to her chest and then to her soft breasts. He slid to his knees and his lips traveled to her navel and then to the tiny mole.

Cat's whole body was quivering, and as her legs gave way she slipped to her knees too, and their lips met. Bothwell was deeply shaken. "Tell me yea, or tell me nay, my darling! But tell me now," he whispered hoarsely, "for I'll tell ye true, my sweet Cat. I want ye as I have never wanted any woman! But 'tis you I want, not a shadow!"

"Bothwell," she whispered softly, and he saw her face was radiant. "Bothwell! I feel! I feel! Oh, my lord! I want ye very much.

He drew her down to the fur rug. The crackling fire cast shadows over them as he stood tall above her to pull off his clothing. She smiled reassuringly up at him. He was the first man she had chosen in her whole life. Her husband had been picked for her by her great-grandmother, and the king had forced her. But she had chosen Francis Hepburn. And desired him very much.

Kneeling, he gently turned her over and kissed the nape of her neck. His lips moved down across her shoulders and traveled the length of her spine. He was gentle beyond belief, and she shivered deliciously.

Placing her on her back, he caressed her lovely breasts. They grew taut beneath his delicate touch, the rosy nipples becoming hard and pointed. He buried his face in the valley between them, his lips burning into her skin. She moaned softly. He smiled with relief. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed. Her breath came in quick little gasps.

In his travels Francis Hepburn had made love a great deal and had learned from many women. He now used his skill on the only woman he had ever truly loved, his desire being to prolong her pleasure.

Kissing the soft flesh of her breasts, he felt her heart pound wildly beneath his lips. He caught a tantalizing nipple in his teeth and bit it gently. She moaned again, and her hips began to move with the rhythm of love. His lips began to wander.

"Francis!" she cried out. "Dear God, Francis! Yell drive me mad!"

"Do ye really want me to stop, my darling?" His eyes were laughing. Silence was his answer. He gauged how far he might drive her.

He opened her legs and, drawing them over his shoulders, gently pulled her nether lips apart and tenderly kissed the soft coral flesh. She shuddered violently once, but forbade him not. His tongue caressed and probed, and she cried out in pleasure, her body arching. Her response fired him. and when he could bear it no longer, he pulled himself up and over her, and drove his throbbing manroot deep into her softness.

She received him joyfully, wrapping her long legs and her arms about him. Once within her he was able again to restrain himself. Their bodies moved in rhythm together, seeking to pleasure each other. Then she whispered urgently to him, "Francis! I can hold back no longer!" But he forced her to ease off, and then increased her desire to a higher peak. She was buffeted by the force of his passion, and frankly amazed that anyone could give such pleasure. She had never been loved like this, and when he at last allowed her release she cried out in delighted wonder to feel him coming too.

Still coupled, they lay breathing deeply, damp with their exertion. Then suddenly she cried out with genuine surprise. "My God, Francis! Yer growing hard again wi'in me! Oh yes, my lover! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

And it began again. He was himself amazed at his body's response, for he could not seem to get enough of her. Cat was insatiable tonight. She matched him passion for passion until they were both so exhausted that they slept where they lay, unaware that the fire had gone out and the room had grown chill.

He awoke to find her dropping a blanket over him. He pulled her down and kissed her. "Good morning, my darling."

The radiance of her smile reassured him. "Good morning, my lover," she answered him. Her mind was clear. She felt no shame. She gently disentangled herself from his grasp. "I'm fair frozen, Francis. Let me go, and I'll light the fire."

He watched her with a mixture of affection and admiration as she rekindled the fire. Within minutes the flames were leaping, and she turned her back to the fire. He sighed. "Ah, my darling! To be the flames that warm yer pretty bottom."

"Oh, Bothwell," she laughed, coloring becomingly. "Yer a wicked man!"

"Aye, my darling. I am." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Come, warm me, my pet. ‘Tis chill and lonely beneath this blanket."

She slid underneath the plaid wool and drew him into her arms and against her body. "Warmer now, my lord?"

His eyes sparkled with amusement. "Ye could bring heat into a stone statue, and ye know it, my sweet love!" Tenderly he kissed her. "Where were ye, Cat? Where were ye all these years?" He fell silent then, thinking of the night just past. "I love ye, Catriona Main," he said, and she was startled that he knew her baptismal name. "I hae never said that to a woman and meant it," he continued, "but as God is my witness, I love ye!"

Her eyes were bright with tears. "Bothwell! Oh, Bothwell! Dinna love me! How can ye love me? A woman who lay wi the king, and then ran away from her husband's honest wrath into the arms of yet another man. How can ye love me?"

"Ye didna lay willingly wi Jamie, Cat. There is no refusing the king. I could kill him for forcing ye!"

"And Patrick?" she asked. "What of my husband?"

"I would kill him too if I didna know it would grieve ye. He had the right to be angry, but not wi ye. And to do to ye what he did…"

"What would ye hae done to me if I had been yer wife, Francis?"

"If ye had been my wife, Jamie would nae have dared to force ye, but," he continued, seeing her urgency, "if he had dared, I would hae killed him wi'out a second thought. Ye, I would hae beaten for being so lovely.

"Poor Patrick," she said softly. "The look on his face when he saw Jamie fondling me… God, Francis! He was so terribly hurt."

Bothwell's lip curled. "So he eased his hurt by getting drunk wi Jamie and taking turns wi the king in raping his own wife!" The earl exploded. "Be quit of them both, Cat! I have been meaning to divorce Margaret for some time. Now, I'll do it, and ye must divorce Glenkirk and marry me! I love ye! I want ye! And, by God, I'll keep ye safe from the royal Stewart."

Stunned, she could only stare at him. "My children?" she finally managed.

"I'll gie ye all the bairns ye want, and if ye must hae yer wee Leslies, I'll take them gladly."

"I think Patrick might hae something to say about that," she said wryly.

Bothwell's blue eyes looked into her green eyes. "I dinna want to talk about Patrick," he said softly, and his mouth found hers. She yielded easily. Though her conscience troubled her slightly, her feelings for Francis Hepburn were deeper even than she knew.

His mouth gently touched her forehead, her closed eyelids, the tip of her little nose. She murmured contentedly, and he laughed in spite of himself. "A fine thing," he teased. "I seek to rouse yer deepest passions, and instead ye make contented noises like a well-fed bairn."


She giggled. "But ye make me feel content, my lord."

"Good," he said, "because I intend keeping ye here all day. There's never been a woman yet, madame, that I've wanted to keep in bed all day!"

"But we're not in bed," she pointed out. "We're on the floor, under a plaid, and if one of yer great borderers should come clumping in-" she paused and her eyes twinkled mischievously-"well, my lord, yer already grand reputation will become legendary!"

Roaring with laughter, Francis Hepburn stood up and, pulling her after him, carried her upstairs, where he unceremoniously dumped her on the bed. "I'll build the fire this time," he said, bending to light the kindling.

"Will ye indeed, my lord," she asked provocatively. Francis Hepburn, turning to look at the beautiful Countess of Glenkirk, knew that if the night just past had been sweet, the day would be sweeter yet.

Chapter 23

PATRICK Leslie had awakened late the morning after his return to Holyrood Palace with an ache in his head and a mouth that tasted of old flannel. Reaching for Cat brought back with tremendous shock the events of the previous evening. For a moment he lay perfectly still, unable to absorb the memories tumbling in on him. James and Catriona. Then he, and the king, and Cat.

"Oh, my God!" he whispered. Stumbling to his feet, he crossed the room to the fireplace wall, touched a piece of carving on the mantel, and watched miserably as the secret door swung open. Shutting it again, he returned to the bed and felt the place where she had lain. The sheets were icy, and he knew she had been gone for hours. He checked the trunk at the foot of the bed and found her riding clothes gone. The mantel clock chimed ten.

Dressing quickly, Patrick Leslie sought the captain of the guard. "I want to speak wi all the men on duty last night. When was the guard last changed?"

"At six this morning, my lord."

"And before that?"

"Midnight, sir."

"Those are the men I want, captain, the ones who took duty at midnight. How many were on gate duty?"

"Six men. Two at the main gate, two at the back gate, and two at the servant's postern."


Patrick thought a moment. The average person would have gone out through the back, or the servant's gate. "Send me the men who were on the main gate," he said.

Despite the violent emotions tearing through him, he could not help but chuckle wryly at discovering that he was right. A "messenger" for Glenkirk had passed through the main gate a few minutes before five that morning.

He sought his interview with the king through Barra, the chamberboy. He made it very clear that if James would not grant him immediate audience he would go to the queen. Within the hour Barra was guiding him through the secret passage. The king was still abed, having awakened with as big a hangover as Glenkirk's. Patrick wasted no time. "Ye remember what we did last night?"

The king flushed. "I was drunk," he muttered.

"So was I," replied his cousin, "but 'tis still no excuse for rape. She's gone, ye know-on horseback out the main gate, before five this morning. I intend making her excuses to the queen, and then I am going after her. When I find her I shall get down on my knees and beg her forgiveness. I only pray she will gie it me, though I am not at all sure she will do so. Remembering what we did to her, I couldna blame her if she refused. We shall remain at home at Glenkirk from now on, Cousin James, ever loyal to the Stewarts, but absent from this cesspool ye call a court."

James Stewart nodded. "Ye hae my permission," he said.

The Earl of Glenkirk returned him a look that plainly said he didn't care whether the king gave him permission or not. Then he found the question torn from him. "Was she willing, Jamie? Was my wife willing to whore for ye?"

There was a long silence, and then the king lowered his eyes and whispered, "Nay."

"You bastard!" said Patrick Leslie softly. "If ye were anyone else, I'd kill ye!" Turning, he reentered the secert passageway and closed it behind him. Dashing into his own bedroom, he found Ellen, startled by his abrupt entrance from the passage. "Pack everything that belongs to us. We're returning to Glenkirk, and we'll nae be back!"

"My lady-" began Ellen.

"Left early this morning," he said. "Now, hurry! I want to be out of here by afternoon."

He went next to the queen, and told her that he had returned late last night to fetch his wife. Their eldest daughter was seriously ill. Cat had left early this morning, begging him to make her excuses. Since it might be some months until she could return, the Earl of Glenkirk offered to sell his wife's position to whichever lady the queen chose. He would then buy the position for that lady, thus enriching the queen's private coffers. Anna always needed money. It was a very generous offer, and though she regretted losing the lovely Countess of Glenkirk, Anna Stewart had been worried lately that there were so many lovely ladies about her.