Francis nodded. "I would," he said. Turning to his wife, he said simply, "Thank ye, love.'8

She smiled back at him. "I will retire now, my lord," she answered him softly.

She hurried up the stairs to the master bedchamber, followed by her women. Silently, the three women removed Cat's gown and petticoats. While Susan hung the gown within the armoire and May brought Cat’s basin of warm, scented water, Cat rolled her stockings off. Naked, she took the cloth handed her and washed herself. Pulling the pins from her hair, she fiercely brushed her tawny mass until it gleamed in the candlelight Susan slipped a simple long, loose gown of palest lilac over her, and then the two servants withdrew.

"Lord," whispered young May in a shocked voice, "my lady Cat is overeager for her husband."

"Nay, silly puss," chided her older and wiser sister. "She but wanted time alone before he comes."

"What on earth for?" asked May.

"Ye'd need to be more of a woman to understand that, pet."

Puzzled, May shook her head.

Cat stood on one of the bedchamber balconies overlooking the moonlit garden. She welcomed the soft night air on her skin, and smelled the sweetness of the night blooms. Her mind was whirling. This morning she had wakened a widow, but now she was a bride awaiting her husband in their nuptial chamber. Everything had happened so quickly. For a moment she was frightened. Then she heard his voice.

"Cat."

She turned and saw him standing across the room, gazing longingly at her. He held out his arms, and suddenly she was shy. She hesitated. Instantly comprehending her mood, he moved quietly across the room and gently enfolded her in his arms. His hand slowly caressed her silken hair, and a tremor ran through her. “’Tis been a long, long time, my darling," he said.

"I feel so foolish," she whispered into his shoulder. "I am behaving like a virgin faced with a stranger instead of a grown woman faced with her beloved and wonderfully familiar husband."

"Nay, my darling. I love yer shyness. Ye hae always had a charming innocence about ye that I love. If ye dinna want to make love we will not. I know ye are tired after yer long journey."

"Francis! Kiss me!" And she raised her head up.

For a moment he gazed lovingly at the face turned expectantly to him. His slender fingers explored it, gently touching her cheeks, her closed eyelids, her nose, her mouth, her stubborn little chin. Then he bent, his arms circling her waist, pressing her against him. His mouth tenderly touched hers. He had always made love to her with incredible gentleness, and that had not changed. Yet she felt that tonight there lurked beneath the surface of that calm a fierceness that he was fighting to hold in check.

Deep within her a flame of passion flickered, and she shuddered. The mouth on hers suddenly became more demanding, and her arms slid up and around his neck. His hands caressed her long back, and she moaned softly, her body beginning to tremble weakly against his. Slowly he moved across the room until he felt the bed against the back of his legs. They fell to the bed. Turning quickly, he reversed their positions so that she was beneath him. Smiling down at her, he undid the row of tiny ribbons holding her gown together. She caught his hands, and their eyes met.

"Francis, I love ye! Dear heaven, how I love ye!"


"And I love ye, my beautiful, precious wife!" His head dipped low, and his mouth found her breast. She gave a soft cry, and he reassured her. "Only if ye want it, sweetheart."

"But I do, Francis! How can I make ye understand how much I want ye? For three years-since that last night we made love in the guest house of Deer Abbey -I have dreamed of being in yer arms again „.. though I dinna believe it could happen. I have hungered for the feel of ye, the taste of ye! Other men have possessed me. My poor Patrick, who sought so desperately to regain that which he had lost Our cousin, James, who thought he could command my love and who used me like a common whore. I sheathed my body in a protective coating so they should nae destroy me. Tonight for the first time in three years I feel completely alive, Francis, and if ye dinna make love to me now, I shall die!"

"I hae always said," he answered, smiling that slow smile she loved so, "that ye were the only woman who could keep up wi me. For three years I hae tried to forget ye between the legs of any woman who smiled my way. I dinna have to forget any longer, my sweet Cat. But I warn ye, my darling, my hunger is fierce this night!"

The leaf-green eyes regarded him levelly. "Do your worst, my lord!" she challenged, and pulling his head down, she kissed him slowly, tauntingly, daring him oh.

He felt a stab of desire pierce him, and forcing her lips apart he ravaged her mouth tenderly. His tongue flickered across her taut breasts, teasing the nipples into hard little points. It moved on, sliding between the warm valley of her breasts arid down to her navel. She cried out as a burning began and spread through her loins. Sated momentarily with her sweetness, he easily straddled her, lowering his head so his mouth might close over a pink and tempting nipple. She moaned beneath him, struggling to shift him into a closer proximity, her rounded hips thrusting upwards hungrily.

"Please, Francis," she begged him. "Please, now!"

He wanted to prolong the delight, but as hungry as she was for him, his own desire was even greater. His hand caressed the heart-shaped face. "All right, love," he murmured into her ear, and thrust deep within her, gaining an almost equal pleasure from both his possession of her and the long shuddering sigh that tore through her.

She was whole again for the first time in three years! Lost in that lovely silvery-gold world between consciousness and unconsciousness, she murmured contentedly as his hardness sent wave after wave of pleasure pouring over her. And it didn't stop even when the hardness broke, flooding her with his seed. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her tenderly.

She said nothing, her beautiful eyes saying it for her, and he smiled happily. "Sweet Cat," he whispered. "My beloved adversary, my dearest love. 'Tis all right now, my darling. 'Tis all right. We hae come home at last."

Chapter 47

THE little Church of Santa Maria del Mare was the fashionable house of worship for the noble and wealthy who lived near Amalfi. On the fourth Sunday in April of the year 1598, the Earl and Countess of Bothwell attended midday mass. As they walked together afterwards from the church, Cat saw an exquisitely dressed and very beautiful woman standing just ahead. Instinct and Francis' slight pressure on her arm told her that this was her husband's cast-off mistress.

Before he could speak, the familiar deep voice called, "So, Francisco! This is your new whore!"

The silence in the church piazza was instantaneous as heads turned to view the coming battle.

Cat froze. Bothwell's eyes were blue ice, but his voice was steady and honied as he turned to Alfredo, Conte di LiCosa, and said, "Fredo, may I present my wife, Caterina Maria, the Contessa di Bothwell. Bishop Pasquale married us five nights ago."

"And a more beauteous and radiant bride I have never seen," injected the bishop, confirming the earl's announcement.

The Conte di LiCosa bowed over Cat's extended hand. "Contessa, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you." His dark eyes twinkled.

The corners of Cat's mouth turned up for a moment, and she murmured a polite response. Then her leaf-green eyes slowly and coolly raked Angela di LiCosa, who stood looking furiously back at her with blazing black eyes. Finally Cat turned away. Looking up at her husband, she drawled clearly, "Really, darling, she's hardly up to your usual standard."

Angela di LiCosa stepped angrily forward, her hand raised threateningly. Cat, not flinching, grasped the hand in her own. "Do it, madame, and you will spend the rest of your life minus a hand," she hissed. "And while we have this moment together, my dear, let me warn you to forget Francis. He will not come back to you." She dropped the other woman's hand.

Angela rubbed her wrist. "Then why do you warn me?"

"Because I can see you are that foolish type of woman who will persist because her pride is damaged. Remember that he left your house at the mere mention of my name. We were wed that same night. Do not embarrass us, or your family. There is more binding Francis and me than you can imagine."

Cat turned her back on the other woman. Taking her husband's arm, she moved away to accept the congratulations and good wishes of the neighboring nobility, all of whom were delighted to see the Contessa di LiCosa get her comeuppance.

Alfredo di LiCosa chuckled. "Well, my dear, I had never thought I should live to see the day when you were bested."

"Be quiet, you snake!" she snarled furiously at him. "I will kill her! No! That would be too easy. I will make her suffer! I will do it slowly. Painfully! She will wish she were dead!"

The Conte di LiCosa, smiling at his friends and neighbors, hustled his angry wife into their coach. "You will do nothing, Angela! Do you understand me? Nothing! Your reputation already has the Inquisition looking in your direction."

"Let them look," she spat back at him. "They can prove nothing!"

"The Inquisition does not have to prove anything! Just a hint of suspicion is enough. Face the truth, my darling. Francisco amused himself with you as you amused yourself with him. It is obvious that the man is deeply in love with his wife. Let it be! I do not want Lord Bothwell for an enemy, and if I must choose between him or you, it will be him! He, at least, is trustworthy."

But Angela di LiCosa could not forget the beautiful Cat. The Contessa di Bothwell had to be at least several years older than she was, and yet she did not look it. Nor did she use the heavy cosmetics of the day. Her skin was flawless, with its own lively natural coloring. Her body was young and firm. Angela imagined that beautiful face and body scarred, ruined. Would Francisco love her then? The answer sounded resoundingly in her head. Yes, he would!

Angela had seen how Bothwell had looked at his wife. He had never looked at Angela that way. Angela had never admitted the painful fact to herself before, and the reality outraged her: Francisco had never looked deeply at her at all.

During the next few weeks, Angela di LiCosa's desire for vengeance grew. It seemed that every noble family in the area had to give a party for the newlyweds, and she and Alfredo were always invited. Refusal was unthinkable. The Countess of Bothwell quickly became a popular figure among the men and the women. She was lauded for her beauty, her charm, her wit. Lord Both-well-always the rover-barely left his wife's side, and the looks of adoration that passed between them became legend.

It was this very devotion that gave Angela her idea for the perfect revenge. In these past weeks she had learned that Lord Bothwell and his bride had been in love for years, but had been separated for varied reasons until only recently. Together at last, they were gloriously happy. Angela di LiCosa decided to separate them-permanently. She had thought of having one of them assassinated-preferably Cat. But the finger of suspicion would have pointed directly at her, so she discarded that idea. Too, the pain of separation would be greater if they both lived. If the beautiful Countess of Bothwell were forced to submit to another man's attentions and if her husband knew it and were powerless to rescue her, the anguish would be unbearable.

She believed her plan to be foolproof. No one was likely to consider her responsible. Angela's oldest brother had been captured by the Turks at the age of eighteen. When he had gone off to sea, determined to fight the Ottoman corsairs who were constantly raiding their coast, his Turkish mother had told him, "If you are captured, loudly proclaim your nobility. Tell them that you are the son of Ferhad Bey's daughter, Fatima of Morea, who was captured twenty years ago. Submit to Islam as I have to Christianity and your fortune will be made!"

He had been captured, for to pursue the Turk in the Mediterranean was foolhardy. But he remembered his mother's words and followed her advice. He was saved from the marble quarries and entered in the Princes' School. Over the years he rose swiftly through the ranks until he had become one of the empire's most skilled generals. Called Cicalazade Pasha, and trusted by his captors, he might have escaped back to his homeland.