"Vixen!" he snarled, his face dark with anger. "You wanton vixen! Ye had the whole pack of them after ye like dogs after a bitch! Ye belong to me, Cat! I'll hae no other man imagining what 'twould be like to be between yer legs!"

He was in a high rage.

Lunging, he ripped away her silk shirt and shoved her back onto her bed. He was on her instantly, his knee forcing her thighs apart. Astounded, and equally angry, Cat fought back. She tried to claw him with her nails, but he caught her wrists with one hand and held them fast above her head. She twisted furiously beneath him, but James thrust his hardness into her unwilling and unready body. She cried out with pain and renewed her struggle. He lowered his head and cruelly bit her nipples. Cat screamed and struggled harder, but her resistance seemed to inflame him. He was gaining great pleasure from hurting her.

Frightened by the fury in his face, she changed her tactics. Her struggles ceased, and her hips began the sweet rhythm that maddened him so very much. His grip lessened. Freed, she caught his head in her hands and raised it to her lips. "Nay, hinny," she whispered huskily, arching to press her soft breasts against his damp chest. "Dinna hurt me, Jamie luv! Love me, my lord! Love me now!" And her ripe mouth found his, pressing demandingly against his lips until they opened and allowed her little tongue to dart like a flame in his mouth.

His cruelty turned to yearning and he hungrily sought to satisfy them both. "Witch," he murmured against the silken tangle of her golden hair. "I always said ye were a little witch! Ahhhhhh, my sweet love!" And then he lay quietly against her pounding heart.

Cat lay weak with relief. Her lack of ardor had once again escaped James' notice. Instead, he praised her sexual performance. "Christ, love! Ye leave me drained!" He placed a burning kiss on her breast where his teeth had marked her slightly. "I am sorry, Cat. I dinna mean to hurt ye, but ye made me so jealous, love. I couldna bear for them to look at ye so! Yer a mistress to be proud of, Cat. Ye drive men mad wi just looking at ye! Come back to court wi me after the wedding! I canna wait any longer for ye, sweetheart."

Cat caught her breath. Here it was, the thing she had feared all along. Reaching up, she gently touched his face. "Nay, Jamie hinny.’Tis but a bit over three months since ye declared Patrick dead. If ye do not care for my reputation, I do. After Jemmie's wedding there is Bess' to attend to, and then 'twill be but a little while till spring.’Tis not so long, my lord. Will it nae be sweeter for the waiting, Jamie? Do not let the gossips say ye hold me in so little regard that ye will nae gie me time to mourn my lawful husband. Come spring no one can say I dishonored Glenkirk in my rush to gain yer favor and yer protection."

"Always prudent, always careful." His voice purred approval. "What a perfect mistress yell be, Cat! By this time next year I'll hae ye full to bursting wi my son, and what a son he'll be, our bairn! I'll wait, sweetheart! I'll wait!"

She smiled sweetly at him, thinking, I'd rot in hell before I'd bear yer bastard, James Stewart!

But she was truly safe now. When he left Glenkirk this time she would never see him again. Cat could feel almost kindly towards him now.

Again that night she escaped his attentions, and she managed to forestall him the following night as well, by pleading the wedding on the following day, for which she must be rested.

James Leslie's wedding to Isabelle Gordon was a triumph of good planning, good food, and good weather. The bride was radiantly lovely, the groom elegantly handsome. The wedding feast lasted a long time, with many courses and entertainments. At last, Cat, Bess, and Henriette took Isabelle from her new husband and, pursued by a group of rowdy young bucks, gained the safety of the earl's suite. The lovely wedding gown was removed and taken away by Belle's maid.

Quickly she was dressed in a pale shell-pink nightgown. Her face, hands, and neck were bathed in warm perfumed water, and her mother brushed her long, dark hair.

"Remember what I have told ye," said Henriette Gordon in a low voice.

Her daughter nodded.

"What did ye tell her?" asked Cat, amused.

"That she must defer to Jemmie in all things," replied Henriette simply.

"Nothing else?" Cat was incredulous. "Riette! How could ye?"

The little Countess of Huntley was close to tears. "Cat, I tried! Only yesterday she was my babe, and now suddenly she is fifteen and grown! I tried to tell her of what happens between a man and his wife in the marriage bed, but she looked so damned superior… it embarrassed me!"

"Get the Countess of Huntley some wine," Cat commanded a servant girl. "Bess, watch the door." She turned to Isabelle. "Well, my girl, do ye know of that which occurs between a man and a woman?"

"Nay, belle-mère," whispered the girl, her eyes lowered.

"Christ's bones," swore Cat. But before she could say another word, the door gave way and a group of men burst into the room pushing Jemmie ahead of them. While the caudle cup was passed about, Cat managed to get next to her son. Smelling of much wine, he bent to give her a kiss.

"Jemmie," she whispered urgently, "Belle is completely innocent. That ninny Henriette was too shy to talk wi her own daughter. Be extra-gentle wi the lass tonight. What happens the first time will color her whole attitude towards lovemaking."

He nodded quietly, his eyes becoming serious. "I understand, mother. I promise to be kind."


The toast drunk, the jests and good wishes shouted, the bridal chamber was emptied of all but the inhabitants for whom it was intended. In the crush of exiting the king found his way to Cat's side. "I must leave in the morning if I am to be home for Christmas. I shall be in yer bedchamber in an hour."

One last time, she thought. After this night I shall be forever free of ye, James Stewart.

But what was she to do tonight? Fiona's voice came back to her. "Love him, Cat. Ye know how." Returning to the great hall, she stayed long enough to drink another toast to the new Earl and Countess of Glenkirk and then, bidding the guests enjoy themselves, she departed.

Alone, for she had given Susan the night off, she filled a basin with water warmed in the fireplace kettle. Adding scented oil to it, she stripped her clothes off and cleansed her skin. Taking up a small bristle brush, she dipped it into a tiny crystal vial of salt and scrubbed her teeth. Lastly, she anointed her body with rare musk, touching the stopper between her breasts, at the base of her throat, and on the soft insides of her thighs. She was careful in her selection of a gown, for she wanted James to remember every detail of this night for the rest of his life. She hoped it would be a long, long life.

Her choice was an exquisite gossamer silk fashioned à la grecque. It was spring-green to match her eyes, and fastened only on the left shoulder, from which it fell straight to the floor in a rippling line of pleats. It shimmered as she walked, and her body gleamed temptingly through the thin silk. The garment was similar to one she had worn for the king several years ago. She was sure he would remember.

Brushing her hair vigorously with a brush dipped in musk, she secured it atop her head with several tortoise-shell pins and brushed the loose ends about her finger into damp curls. The king always enjoyed loosening her hair, and tonight she must capture his attention in every way so that when he finally left her, he would believe he had spent the most ecstatic night of his life.

Ready now, Cat rang for a maidservant to come lay the peat fire, then dismissed her for the night. Alone, she made herself as comfortable as possible on the oak settle by the fire, and waited. Her thoughts flew back to just a few short years before when she had been a cherished wife. Everything had been so simple.

The creak of the fireplace door alerted her, and she sprang up, forcing a smile of welcome. The king stepped into the room and, blowing out his candle, placed it on the mantel. His amber eyes swept her slim body in its translucent gown, resting for a moment on the fullness of her breasts.

Silently he crossed the room and without a word undid Cat's shoulder fastening. The gown slid to the floor with a hiss of silk. Drawing the tortoiseshell pins from her hair one by one, he dropped them on the thickly carpeted floor.

"Stand before the pier glass," he commanded her.

She obeyed him wordlessly, and was not surprised when he joined her a moment later. He had removed his creamy silk nightshirt and was as naked as she. She couldn't help thinking that he was a handsome man, with a firm, well-muscled body, and extremely large genitals. All the damned Stewarts were overendowed and oversexed, she thought sourly.

Putting a surprisingly hard arm about her, he drew her against him, and his head bent to place a burning kiss on her shoulder. Then he reached up and crushed her breasts passionately. Eyes closed, she shivered her revulsion and prayed he thought it was desire. She felt one hand caressing her belly, the long fingers moving lower to explore the warm wetness of her. Squirming from his grasp, she caught his hand and led him to the bed.

Her mouth curved in what she hoped was a seductive smile, and she spoke huskily, "Let me love ye, Jamie hinny." And pushing him back onto the bed, she knelt over him, her magnificent breasts hanging above him. The amber eyes were bright with lust. Half-sitting, James closed his mouth over the rosy nipple of one breast, but she laughingly pulled away from him, stopping his protest with a kiss.

Her lips covered his face with little kisses that were more like delicious little nibbles as they moved lower. Her soft kisses scorched his chest, moving down to his flat belly and lower until her mouth found his manhood. Taking it in her warm mouth, she nursed on it as a babe would its mother's breast.

The king groaned and shivered. "Christ! Christ! Ahhhhh, you witch!" and he moaned his pleasure over and over as his body arched to meet her mouth.

When he was hard and ready for her, she released his organ and mounted him. His half-closed eyes were glazed with passion as he reached up to fondle her breasts, and Cat rode him smoothly until he poured his foaming seed into her body. His arms tightened about her, and he rolled her over onto her back and looked down at her. "Once," he said thickly, "I told ye I would nae be ridden like a maid, but… oh, Cat! I dinna know, my love! I dinna know! When ye come to me in the springtime ye will do again what ye have done tonight. Yea; my huntress, ye'll fuck me sweetly, won't ye?"

She said nothing, but instead she stroked his long back, cupping his round buttocks in her warm hands and gently kneading them. He quickly grew hot for her again, and with an almost pained sob of pleasure thrust deep into her. Finally exhausted, the king fell into a deep, relaxed sleep. He lay on his stomach, his face turned away from her, one arm thrown carelessly across her. For a long time she lay quietly on her back. Then, convinced of the depth of his slumber, she gingerly removed the offending arm and slipped from the bed.

Wrapping a light wool robe about her, she crawled into the windowseat and gazed sightlessly out into the night. Hot tears poured silently down her cheeks, and her body shook with muffled sobs. Again she had felt nothing, and she had performed like a whore in the Highgate. But worst of all was the fact that James hadn't known. He had eagerly accepted all she gave with no knowledge of her feelings, or of the deception she played. Patrick Leslie would have known, and Francis too-but then, they had truly loved her. The king, for all his fine words, merely lusted for her. Though he might not know it, what he really wanted was a highborn whore to service the hot desires which his dull Danish queen could not.

As the shock eased. Cat began to feel a burning anger. James had used her as he would a common trull, and she hated him with a fierce fury. She had been forced to soil herself in a way she would never forget. But in doing so she had gained the revenge she had planned so long ago. The memory of this night would live with him forever. It would burn in his dreams like a flaming brand, and he would wake with aching loins.

Smiling cruelly, she rose from the windowseat. Shrugging off the robe, she climbed back into the bed, snuggling down beneath the goosedown coverlet. The king still slept, snoring gently now. Propped on one elbow, she gazed down on him, and her lips formed words he never heard. "Goodbye, Jamie! May ye rot in Hell before I ever see ye again!"