"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 skin, 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!"

Bothwell chuckled to himself, imagining his stubborn Cat coming up against an equally stubborn Glenkirk.

"Still," continued Cat, "we dealt well together. He is a kind man, and I love our bairns."

"But ye do not really love him," said Francis Hepburn. "Yet yer lot has been better than mine. Yer a healthy woman, Cat, who enjoys her bedsport wi'out being lewd. My dear countess detests the physical aspects of marriage. Had she been able to get her hands on my fortune by means other than bearing me children, she would have done so."

"But yer bairns? Surely ye love them, Francis."

"In a way, but Margaret has raised them to be cold and correct. They dinna have the Hepburn or the Stewart charm. They tolerate me. It doesna make for a warm relationship."

"I am so sorry, my love," she said.

"Why?" He smiled down at her. "For the first time in my life I am in love. I am in love wi ye, my precious Cat! God help me! How I love ye! And ye, my darling. Ye too are in love for the first time in yer life. And I am the fortunate man!"

"Oh, Bothwell," she whispered, "what are we to do?"

"I dinna know, Cat. I hae no easy answers, but I will find a solution to our dilemma, I promise ye that."

Putting an arm about her shoulders, he led the way into her bedroom. Gently he removed her pearls and placed them on the table. Next he opened the lavender gown, took it from her, and placed it over a chair. She pulled the pins from her hair, and it tumbled down her back. He caught his breath in delight at the perfection of her lovely breasts, glowing golden in the candlelight. Having kicked her slippers off, she walked barefooted over to him, and her slender fingers tremblingly unbuttoned his shirt and removed it Then, turning, she walked over to the bed while he finished undressing and got into it.

Trembling, she awaited him. And then he was with her beneath the feather coverlet. He drew her lush body against his slender length and held her close. They stayed that way for what seemed an eternity, allowing the warmth of their bodies to mingle. Cat wondered if Francis felt the same desperate hunger that she did. She could not call it lust. The feelings she had ran too deep. Even the supreme act of possession did not entirely satisfy her.

He entered her, pushing deep within her pulsing warmth, and straining to go further, he cried out, "Ah, God! 'Tis not enough!" Cat wept with joy at the knowledge that his love for her was as deep as hers for him.

Chapter 25

WINTER deepened into early spring, the traditional time for raiding the borders. Bothwell had not gone along on many of these ventures, preferring to stay with Cat. His men missed him greatly, and, finally, Bothwell's bastard half-brother, Hercules Stewart, spoke to the countess about the problem.

"Could I go too, Hercules?" she asked him.

He grinned at her. "To be sure, my lady! If Francis will permit ye."

"Can ye use a sword or a pistol?" Bothwell asked when he was confronted by his half-brother and Cat.

"Well enough," she replied. "My eldest brother taught me."

He tested her and, satisfied, said, "Yell do." But he instructed Hercules not to leave Cat's side.

So she rode out with Bothwell and his borderers, first at night, and then on daylight raids. Unafraid, she fought the English with a gusto that delighted the earl's men. Yet she was kind to those of her own sex, and tender with the children. Soon stories began to filter out of the borders, stories about the beautiful lady who rode with Bothwell and his men.

South from Edinburgh rode Bothwell's sometime friend, Lord Home. He was curious about these stories, and wanted to see for himself. Home rode alone. He wanted no gossiping servants along. It was late afternoon as he neared Hermitage, stopping for a minute to gaze at the great castle in the distance. Hearing hoof-beats behind him, he drew into a strand of trees and waited. He recognized Bothwell's stallion, Valentine, but the sleek golden bay beside him was unfamiliar. The two horses raced straight towards him, then pulled up in the grass just short of his hiding place. He could see Bothwell's face easily, and heard him exclaim, "I win, madamel Pay yer forfeit!"