Love Wild and Fair (43 page)

“She will nae come, Jemmie. I hear she is breeding again, and the king will use it as an excuse to keep her in Edinburgh. Dinna fret, my son. If I am to escape royal James, he must believe that I am ready to accept his will. His visit here will reassure him completely. The widow of Glenkirk will receive him hesitantly, but sweetly. I shall worry about my position, and he will offer comfort and encourage me to trust him completely. And once he has assuaged my fears, he will leave feeling very self-satisfied and manly.”

Jemmie Leslie looked at his mother in frank amazement “Yer the most devious woman I’ve ever known,” he chuckled. “I would nae like to hae ye for an enemy, madame.”

Cat laughed aloud. “'Tis strange,” she said, “but yer father once said that same thing to me.”

Five days before the wedding was to be celebrated, James Stewart arrived at Glenkirk. He was greeted by his distant cousins, the Leslies, and his closer cousins, the Gordons. His amber eyes lingered a moment on the black-garbed Countess of Glenkirk, and Cat flushed uncomfortably under his gaze. It was her duty, and Meg’s, to escort the king to the suite of rooms set aside for the occasional royal visitor.

James’ glance swept the large rooms, each warm with its own blazing fire. “Most attractive, dear Cousin Margaret Ye Leslies hae the knack of making a man feel welcome. I hope all yer rooms are as pleasant.”

“Oh, yes, James,” replied Meg. “I may call ye James, mayn’t I? After all, I could be yer mother.” Giving his arm a little squeeze, she smiled up into his face, her eyes twinkling in a kindly fashion, and Cat wondered if she were going mad. What on earth possessed Meg to simper so? “I am,” continued the elder dowager, “supposed to make my home in the dower house, but I am here in the castle more often than not I live in the south wing, where the sun can warm my old bones. The earl’s suite is in the east wing, so that the morning sun—according to tradition—may wake him early, and send him about his duties.”

Christ in his heaven, thought Cat, where is she getting such nonsense?

“The royal suite has always been here in the west wing so royal visitors will nae be wakened early, but find their rooms filled with warm afternoon sunlight after a morning’s hunt,” finished Meg triumphantly.

“What a charming and thoughtful custom,” said the king. He turned to Cat, who had maintained her silence all this time. “Ye no longer reside in the earl’s suite?”

“No, sire.” Cat kept her eyes modestly lowered.

Meg chattered on. “Oh, no, James! We hae redone those rooms for little Belle. Cat’s apartments are right here in the west wing—in the tower! She was her great-grandmother’s favorite girlchild, and dearest Mam lived in the west tower. So, when Cat had to pick other rooms, she chose Mam’s. Why, there is even a secret entrance from here to those rooms!”

“Meg! ’Tis a family secret,” chided Cat softly.

“Ahhhh,” breathed the king, “but I am family, sweet Cat. Tell me, Aunt Meg, what of this secret entrance?”

Meg giggled. “I am nae sure,” she said, “but Cat would know. Come, dear one. I always remember Mam chuckling about that secret entrance where she used to let Colin Hay in when he came calling. I know ye know where it is, and it does have an exit into this very apartment, doesn’t it?”

Cat hesitated, then spoke low. “Aye. It does.”

The king tried to keep the impatience from his voice. It was obvious that the old woman liked him, and was slyly attempting to further his cause. “Come, Cat, dinna be coy wi me! What of this secret entrance? Is there one here?”

She walked across the bedchamber to the fireplace and pressed a rose carving on the left side of the mantel. A small door swung open. Taking a lighted candle from a wall sconce, Cat beckoned them to follow her. The flickering light wound up the cool, winding passage for two and a half flights. Then Cat stopped. Reaching up, she touched the molding around a door. The door sprang open. Walking through, they found themselves in what was obviously a woman’s bedchamber.

“Gracious!” gasped Meg.

The king simply smiled.

“If ye followed the passage down,” said Cat, “ye would exit at the bottom of the tower into a little courtyard.”

“Fascinating,” said James. “And now,” he took the candle from Cat, “I shall see if I can find my way back alone.”

“We will leave our door open, James, until yer safely back,” said Meg. “Call out, my dear.”

The king slipped through the door and began his descent. The flickering candle disappeared from view. At last they heard him call, “I am safe, Aunt Meg,” and a door clicked closed.

Cat then closed up her end of the passage and, turning to her mother-in-law, exclaimed, “Jesu, madame! Ye surely missed yer calling. Ye should be selling maidenheads in the Highgate!”

Meg laughed. “Ye dinna think he suspects?”

“Nay. The only thing he suspects is that yer on his side. Bless ye, Meg! Now our Jemmie will surely be safe after I go. James will think all Leslies adore him!”

“And ye must indeed go, my dear. The way the king looks at ye, Cat. Dear heaven! It turns my blood cold! He would devour ye! Will ye be safe wi him here?”

“Aye, Meg. I am well used to handling Jamie. This time, however, I must play the shyly reluctant and very repentant mistress. ’Twill nae be easy, but the king must never guess that I merely bide my time.” She went to the garderobe and drew out a deep-violet velvet gown. “I dinna think Patrick would mind if I came out of mourning for Jemmie’s wedding.” She turned. “Damn me, Meg! Where is he? I canna believe he is dead, and yet if his ship did not reach the New World, where is he? Am I a fool? Is it only that I feel guilty over his going?”

Meg nodded. “I hae had the same feeling. Surely I should feel something if my eldest child were dead. He is gone, and yet he is not Still, ye go, Cat. Do ye feel he will ever return?”

“Not to me, Meg. I feel that Patrick has somehow passed from my life. If I did not feel that I could nae go, even wi the threat of the king hanging over me.”

“Get some rest, my dear,” said Meg kindly. “ ‘Twill be a long evening, I fear.” And she hugged Cat before she left.

Cat did not even bother to call her tiring woman. Instead she removed her dark gown, lay down upon her bed, and slept fitfully. When she awoke, Susan was busily filling the new porcelain hip bath. “Which scent madame?”

“Lilac,” said Cat, stretching lazily. “I am wearing the violet velvet gown, Susan. When ye’ve finished there, bring me my jewel case.”

A few minutes later she sat sifting through her many necklaces, deciding what she would wear. A chain of gold filigree worked with chunky baroque pearls and large amethysts caught her eye. She held it against the violet of the dress and smiled. An hour later she was ready, bathed in lilac-scented water, gowned in the low-necked violet velvet, her generous breasts swelling provocatively above a single ruffle of creamy lace. Her honey-colored hair was parted in the center, drawn back over her ears, and twisted into a knot of curls at the back of her head. From the front it looked very severe. From the rear the tawny curls, caught with mauve and white silk flowers, were bewitchingly feminine.

In the great hall of Glenkirk that night there were over two hundred diners, including the Leslies of Glenkirk, headed by young James, the Leslies of Sithean with their earl, who was Cat’s first cousin, Charles, and the Hays, with Cat’s father as their chief. The immediate family totaled some ninety-five persons, not counting the More-Leslies, who were the family’s bastard line. There were numerous Gordons, as George Gordon, Earl of Huntley, was the chief of his clan. And there were the king and his many retainers. In her entire life Cat had never seen the castle so full.

At the high table the king found himself between the bride-to-be and her mother. To his chagrin, Cat was seated on the other side of her son. The beautiful widow of Glenkirk did not lack for admirers. When at last the long meal ended, the dancing began. But Cat refused the eager gallants, pleading that she would dance at her son’s wedding, but not before. She was, she gently reminded them, still in mourning.

She remained demurely seated on the dais, watching while the king danced first with Bella, then with Meg, and finally with Henriette. His duty done, James Stewart returned to the dais and sat next to Cat. A page put a goblet of chilled wine in his hand, and he sipped appreciatively. Finally he spoke. “How is it possible, madame, that yer more beautiful now than ye were four years ago? I am mad for ye, Cat! I long to be alone wi ye!”

“Yer majesty is most kind.”

He made an impatient noise. “Why are ye so formal wi me, love? Ye hae nae said a warm word to me since I arrived.”

“Yer majesty has me at a disadvantage,” she said in a low voice. “We did nae part on the best of terms.”

He laughed, softly triumphant “We will resolve all that later, my love. Now, gie me a little smile.” And reaching over, he tipped her face up to his.

She raised her leaf-green eyes to his amber ones and smiled shyly at him. The king could feel desire sweeping him. He wanted her, as he had always wanted her, but this time he intended
gaining
the upper hand immediately. She was a passionate little vixen, but once she accepted him as her master, he believed that she would be loyal.

Towards midnight Cat laughingly announced to their guests that those who wished to retire might, and those who did not might dance, drink, and play until dawn. Predictably, the older members of the gathering departed. The king, however, remained behind. It took time for Cat to bid her guests good night, but she was finally free to retire.

She allowed Susan to remove her gown, shoes, and jewelry and put them away. Thoughtfully she removed her silk underblouse and handed it to her tiring woman, who already had an armful of ruffled petticoats. Standing naked in her stockings and garters, she said, “Go to bed, Susan. ’Tis late, and I can finish myself. I will sleep late, so dinna disturb me till midmorning.”

Susan curtsied and left the room. Cat sat down on the bed. Removing her lace-edged garters, she rolled her stockings off. Brushing her thick hair, she recalled her last scene with James. After a time, exhausted by all the wedding preparations and by memories, she fell asleep. She awoke at the touch of a warm mouth against the nipple of her left breast. Startled, her eyes flew open and looked into a pair of very amused amber ones. Then suddenly the king’s eyes grew serious, and he said, “Get up, Cat We hae things to settle between us first.”

Puzzled, she threw back the covers and stepped naked from the bed. His eyes grew warm at the sight of her, but he spoke coldly. “I am willing to forgie ye yer past misbehavior, madame. In the spring ye will return to court, and live openly wi me as my mistress. Ye will obey my slightest whim. I will brook no disobedience, Cat! Ye belong to me! Do ye understand?”

“Aye,” she whispered. She was stunned by his new forcefulness.

“Then prostrate yerself as a slave would, and beg my pardon.”

A wave of nausea shook her. “Jamie, please! Must ye shame me so? I know I must obey ye, but dinna make me do this.”

“Cat, yer a proud woman. I cannot believe that ye truly mean to obey me unless ye will do what I hae commanded ye no matter how distasteful to ye. If ye mean to be obedient, then ye must begin wi this.”

Though her appearance remained meek, inwardly she burned with rage. If she refused him, he would be distrustful of her. She knew she must yield to his demand in order to allay his fears. Swallowing hard, she knelt, leaning over until her head touched his slippered foot. “Forgie me, my lord king,” she said softly.

For a terrifying moment he rested his foot on her slim neck. The merest pressure on his part would have broken it. Cat bit her lip until it bled in an effort to prevent an outward show of fear or anger. Ye’ll pay for this, James Stewart, she thought! Dear God how I hope ye hurt when I leave ye! May it rankle and eat at ye the rest of yer life, and may ye ne’er find another woman who’ll please ye as I do!

Then suddenly his foot was gone, and he was raising her up. The smile he gave her was sweet. “Forgie me, my love, but I had to be sure ye would yield to me this time wi’out a fight There is no other woman in this world I would trouble so much for, but ye are worth it, Cat! Christ! Ye excite me!” He drew her into his arms and kissed her, quickly forcing her lips apart so his tongue could roam.

It took all of her self-control not to push him away. Instead she took refuge in tears of relief, lowering her head and sobbing into his shoulder. Pleased, convinced that he had mastered her for good now, James became generous. He lowered her onto the bed, took her face between his hands, and kissed her again. His fingers moved to the slender column of her throat, and then to her full breast. Crushing the softness of her in his hands, he bent and let his lips wander.

It was with an awful stunning clarity that Cat realized she felt nothing. Her body, which had always succumbed to the delicious intensity of lovemaking, was not responding. Frightened, she struggled weakly beneath him. James, mistaking the movement for passion, forced his knee between her thighs and thrust into her. So wrapped up in his own desire was he that he did not realize she was feeling nothing.

Sick with fear that he might comprehend her thoughts, Cat thrust her hips up to meet him, murmuring endearments into his ear. Apparently he noticed nothing, and when his passion broke in a wild storm about her, she held him in her arms and, closing her eyes, made soft, crooning noises.

Sated, he lay atop her breathing hard. “Christ!” he swore. “I hae never known a wench like ye, Cat! No woman has ever satisfied me as ye do!” He rolled off her, propped himself up on an elbow, and gazed down at her. “Was it good for ye, too, love? ’Tis been many months, I know, since ye’ve had a man.” Playfully he nibbled at her breast. “Do I please ye, Cat?”

She turned away from him, unable to speak for a moment. Now she knew how the whores of the world probably felt. Silent tears rolled down her face. He turned her onto her back and gently brushed the tears from her cheeks.

“They call me a wise king,” he said, “but wi the lasses I am a fool. ‘Twas Patrick who last held ye in his arms and loved ye. I can see ye have nae accepted that he is dead.” He gathered her into his arms. “I love ye, my lady of Glenkirk. I hae missed ye so very much, Cat. I was overeager to possess ye. Dinna weep, sweetheart. Patrick would be happy to know yer safe wi me.”