Cat thought a moment. "Early May," she said.

"Ah, sweeting, yer a good three months along," said Ellen, "but we can wait a week or so before his lordship must know. The wee laddie will be a winter child."

"No hints, Ellie. No arch looks. I would surprise the earl."

And she might have told him, and gone meekly home to Glenkirk, had not Patrick himself spoiled it. Kept at Glenkirk for three days and nights by a foolish problem, he arrived back at A-Cuil as randy as a young stallion in first heat.

Cat had decided to tell him, and she ran joyfully to greet him only to have him sweep her up in his arms and carry her to their bedroom. Swiftly, without preliminaries, he tore his clothing off, shoved her down on the bed, pushed her nightgown up, and thrust into her. Cat was outraged.

Satisfied for the moment, he sat up against the pillows and pulled her back against him. He had always loved her breasts, and now he fondled them hungrily. Beginning to swell with her pregnancy, they were sore, and his touch irritated her. He further annoyed her by chuckling, "I think these sweet little titties of mine are growing bigger, Cat." He squeezed them playfully. "A man's loving care can work wonders, eh, love?"

He should have been warned by the ominous silence, but his mind was on other things, and his body was hungry for her again. He took her once more. Then, pushing her from their bed, he patted her buttock and asked for his dinner.

She descended to the kitchen. Ellen was long since in her bed, so Cat loaded a tray with half a roasted bird, a small cold game pie from the larder, bread, butter, a honeycomb, and a foaming pitcher of brown ale, to which she added a pinch of dried herbs. The earl was going to have an excellent night's sleep.

She served him sweetly, and almost felt guilty when he said, "You are going to be the most beautiful countess Glenkirk's ever had. Lord, sweetheart! How I love you!" The drugged ale was beginning to work on him. Climbing into their bed, he fell asleep.

From childhood Cat Hay had been able to wake herself on command. It was still dark when she rose and dressed herself in riding pants and a linen shirt. She packed a small bundle and, picking up Glenkirk's warm cloak, slipped out of the room and down the stairs. It was fully three hours till dawn. Cat crept softly into the stable. Above, in the loft, Ellen was snoring. Conall, she knew, was sleeping with his mistress of the moment, about half a mile away. Quietly she saddled Dearg. Putting a lead rein on Conall's Fyne, she led both horses from the stable.

She walked them a good quarter-mile from the house. Then, mounting Dearg and leading Fyne, she galloped off in the direction of Greyhaven. She planned to get there before even the servants were awake. Once in the house she would gather a few more clothes, her jewelry, and some gold from her father's cache.

Achieving her objective, she headed for the high road, but not before first releasing Fyne with a swat on his rump. He'd go straight to his stables at Glenkirk. Munching oatcakes, she rode along, chuckling to herself. She had outwitted Patrick! He had been so kind and loving in the last weeks that she had almost believed he accepted her as an equal. Last night, however', had told her the truth of the matter. It was as he had said. She was his possession, something for him to breed sons on. Well, she would soon teach him the folly of taking her for granted. She was nobody's slave.

She kicked Dearg into a gallop. Had Patrick really believed that by taking Bana from her she couldn't escape? If he had taken the time to learn as much about Catriona Hay the woman as he had taken learning about Catriona Hay's body, he would have known that there wasn't a horse bred she couldn't ride. It would have given her great pleasure to know that, at that very moment, Patrick Leslie was learning just that.

He had awakened with a headache and a funny taste in his mouth. Reaching out, he discovered that Cat was gone. A frantic knocking on the door tortured his head. "Come in, damnit!" he shouted. Both Ellen and Conall tumbled into the room, talking at once. "Silence!" he roared. "One of ye at a time. Ellen, you first."

"She's gone, my lord. Mistress Catriona has gone. She's taken both horses, and run away."

"When?"

"Sometime in the night. I am sorry, my lord. I sleep like the dead till six each morning. I never heard a thing."

"Where were ye?" said the earl, turning to Conall. "Nay. Dinna tell me. Ye were off sticking it in yer little shepherdess. Jesu!" he swore. "When I catch her this time she'll not sit down for a month!"

Ellen rounded on him. "Ye'll nae lay a hand on her. My little lambie! She's more than three months gone wi yer bairn. She planned to tell ye when ye returned from Glenkirk. What did ye do to her to make her flee ye, my poor Cat? Ye must hae done something."

Patrick flushed.

"So!" pounced Ellen. "Ye did do something!"

"I only made love to her," Patrick protested. "I'd been wi'out her for three days!"

"If only you Leslie men thought more wi yer heads and less wi yer cocks! So ye 'made love' to her? I can see it now." Her scornful glance swept the room. "Having come home, and wi'out so much as a by-yer-leave, ye fucked her. Was it once or was it twice? Then I'll wager ye demanded yer dinner." The earl looked shamefaced, and Ellen snorted. "God, mon! Where's yer sense? If ye'd been an Englishman or a Frenchie I'd expect stupidity, but a Scotsman knows that a Scotswoman is the most independent of creatures! Well, she's got a good start on ye now, and ye'll nae find her easily this time."

"She canna have gone far," said Patrick. "She's run home to her mother, mark my words on it."

Ellen shook her head sadly at him. "Nay, my lord. If she's run home to Greyhaven, 'twill only be to get her jewels, and perhaps steal some gold from her father. But where she'll go to hide, my lord, I dinna know. She's never traveled out of the district before."

"I thought her jewels were at Glenkirk."

"Nay, my lord. When Mistress Cat fled ye in February I brought them back to Greyhaven, and she knew it."

For a second Patrick Leslie looked stricken. Then, swinging his legs over the bed, he stood up. Without another word, Ellen handed him his breeches and left the room.

He spoke to Conall. "The nearest horses?"

"In the valley. Gavin Shaw has the nearest farm."

"Get going," said the earl. "I'll meet ye there."

Conall nodded and left. Patrick finished dressing and went down to the kitchen. Ellen handed him a large sandwich of bread and ham. "Ye can eat as ye walk," she said.

He nodded his thanks. "Pack everything up here for for me, Ellie. I'll send someone up for ye by afternoon at the latest. Will ye stay at Glenkirk until I find her? She's going to need ye more than ever now."

"I'll stay. Her apartments have never been properly refurbished, and there's the nursery to prepare."

Flashing her a smile, he left A-Cuil and began his walk down to the Shaw farm.

Several hours later Patrick Leslie knew that Ellen had been right. Cat was not at Greyhaven, and a check revealed that her jewelry and a generous portion of her father's household gold was missing.

He rode to Sithean, and stopped at Ruth's house in Crannog. Cat was not in either place. At Glenkirk his lovely mother berated him for a fool and demanded, in a voice he had never heard her use before, that he find Cat, and her expected grandson.

"James," she said, "can run the estate for ye while yer gone. Adam and Fiona are, unfortunately, in Edinburgh. They are going to France to visit our cousins."

"Mother, I dinna even know where to look for Cat."

She looked at him pityingly. "Ye hae a bit less than six months to find her, my son. Else the next rightful Glenkirk will be born a bastard."

Groaning with despair, he left the room. Cat Hay would have been terribly happy to see the desperate * look on the earl's face.

Chapter 8

FIONA Leslie pulled her hood over her beautiful face. Looking around to be sure she wasn't followed, she slipped into the Rose and Thistle Inn. "I seek Mistress Abernethy," she told the landlord.

"Up the stairs, to the right," came the answer.

Fiona mounted the stairs. She had no idea who this Abernethy woman was, but when the urchin had shoved the note into her hand, curiosity had overcome good sense. She knocked on the door. Hearing a voice bid her enter, she did. The woman by the window turned. "Cat!" she gasped.

"Shut the door, Fiona, and come sit down."

Fiona settled her black velvet skirts and looked at her beautiful cousin. "I thought Glenkirk held ye captive at A-Cuil? What do ye here?"

"I escaped him again, and I want yer help, Fiona."

"God's toenail, yer a fool, Cat!" she sighed. "I promised Adam that when we met again I would tell ye the truth. I never slept wi Glenkirk, though until his brother took me I was hot to." She grinned ruefully. "As a matter of fact, he wouldna have me! There I lay-mother-naked on his bed-and he wouldna have me! All he wanted was ye. And that's the truth!"

Cat smiled. "Thank you, Fiona. Thank ye for telling me. Patrick already told me he had not slept wi ye, and though I was inclined to believe him, I really do now."


"Then what are ye doing here in Edinburgh? I'll wager poor Glenkirk doesna know where ye are."

"Nay, he doesn't. He's probably looking for me now, but I'll nae go back to him! Nae until he acknowledges me as a human being and nae a brood mare! Help me, Fiona! I know we've nae been close, cousin, but I hoped ye'd understand. Ellen said that ye and Adam leave for France soon. Let me stay in yer house. No one has to know, not even Adam. I'm safer there than anywhere else. Patrick will nae think to look for me in Edinburgh, let alone in yer house."

Fiona chewed on her lip for a moment. Cat would soon be the Countess of Glenkirk, and a good friend to have. Still, if Adam learned she was helping Cat in her feud with his brother he would punish her again in that terrible way he'd twice used on her. Forcing her to watch him love another woman was the worst hell she had ever known, and she didn't owe her cousin a damned thing now that she had told her the truth.

Cat stood up, and held her hands out, pleading. "Please, Fiona."

Fiona's glance caught a little swell of belly that Cat had certainly never had before. Comprehension dawned. "My God, coz! Yer carrying his bairn!"

"Aye," said Cat bitterly. "Do ye know what he said to me, Fiona? That I was a 'thing' to get his sons on. I hate him!"

Fiona didn't think Cat really hated Patrick, but she understood how she felt. These Leslie men were so damned proud. All Cat wanted from Glenkirk was acknowledgment of her status as a person. In a few months' time he'd be frantic, and willing to agree to anything just so his son would be born legitimate.

Fiona felt the wait would do them both good. Besides, she thought, I really do owe my dear brother-in-law for slighting me. She turned to Cat and said, "The house is yers, sweeting, but I've already let the servants go.”

"I need no one."

"Dinna be foolish, chuck. Ye need someone. I’ll send a note to Mrs. Kerr. She usually keeps an eye on the house for me when I am not here. I'll tell her my poor widowed cousin, Mistress Kate Abernethy, is coming to stay, and would she please look after her. Have ye enough money?"

"I think so, and I've my jewels too."

"If ye run short, or need to pawn something, go to the House of Kira in Goldsmith's Lane. And Cat, go at once to see Dr. Robert Ramsey. He's but a few doors from my house, around the corner on High Street. Remember 'tis the heir to Glenkirk ye carry in yer belly."

"Thank you, Fiona," said Cat softly. Suddenly she leaned over and kissed her cousin's cheek.

"We leave tomorrow morning," said Fiona gruffly. "Come in the afternoon. Mrs. Kerr will let ye in and gie you the key." She stood up. Pulling the hood over her face, she said, "Make peace wi Patrick soon, Cat. The Leslies may be arrogant, but by God, they're men!"

Late the following day, Cat moved from the Rose and Thistle Inn to Fiona's house. The house had originally belonged to Cat's and Fiona's grandmother, Fiona Abernethy, wife to the first Earl of Sithean. The cousins' mutual great-grandmother, the legendary Janet Leslie, had felt it fitting that the house go to Fiona Abernethy's namesake, and so Fiona Leslie had inherited it.

It was not a large house. Built about seventy years before, it was a mellowed red brick, well covered with ivy on three sides. The basement held a good kitchen, a pantry, a still room, and a wash room with several large tubs for doing laundry. The main floor held a charming dining room, a formal parlor, a small family parlor that opened into the garden, and a full library. On the second floor were four bedrooms, each with its own dressing room. And in the attic were rooms for the maids.