Virginia Henley (26 page)

She went back downstairs and found a tight-lipped Maggie working on the doeskin riding skirt. Cat decided to sew the tops of the pleats in her kilt to keep them in place, then stitch on a waistband to eliminate the need for a leather belt. She also made a loop through which she could secure her hunting knife.

“Do ye intend to display yer limbs to everyone in general, or one man in particular? As if I didn’t know the answer!”

Maggie is right. I want to shatter the indifference Hepburn displays toward me. When he looks at me, I want to wipe out the thought of any other female.
Cat remembered deliberately leaning toward him when they were watching the fireworks. If she had done that with any other male of her acquaintance, he would have taken her in his arms and kissed her. Instead, Hepburn had looked down at her in amusement and called her a shocking name.
Cock tease!

Maggie sighed. “I keep forgetting yer almost a grown woman, Catherine. It’s time I let ye spread yer wings. All in all it’s been a good thing for ye to be away from Elizabeth’s Court, and likely it’ll do ye good to be away from me for a few days too. Liz and Robert will act as chaperones while ye visit Crichton.”

“Are you sure you dare to let me off my leash?” Cat teased.

“Not sure at all, my lamb. The very thought of it gives me palpitations, but if I don’t push ye out from under my wing, ye’ll never learn how to fly.”

Cat impulsively kissed Maggie’s cheek. “I won’t be satisfied to simply fly. I intend to soar!”

At Crichton, the hours seemed to pass slowly for Patrick Hepburn. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror. “Patience and wisdom go hand in hand.” Patrick knew patience had been a hard-won lesson in his life, but where Catherine was concerned he didn’t seem to have any at all.

He disrobed, got into bed and lay with his arms folded behind his head. He breathed slowly, deeply, focusing his full attention upon the object of his desire. Within moments he could see the exquisite features of her face as she lay in slumber. He gazed spellbound upon the delicate arch of her dark brows and her closed eyelids with their thick, black lashes. He stared with longing at her tempting lips, lusting to take possession of her mouth and have her yield it to him. He reached beneath his pillow for her white ribbon and rubbed its satiny softness between finger and thumb. On the verge of compelling her presence, he suddenly stopped. If Catherine didn’t come to him of her own volition, there would be no satisfaction, no joy in it.
Does that matter?
He hesitated for long minutes. With a foul oath he thrust the ribbon back beneath his pillow.
It matters!

The next day, as twilight then darkness fell, Hepburn gave up hope that Catherine Seton Spencer would come. Perhaps she had learned that Liz and Robert were not at Crichton, but for whatever reason he accepted that she was not coming. It was time he put youthful fantasies aside and got on with his responsibilities. He hadn’t yet gone north for the wild horses. It was his custom to go each year at the end of April or early May when his Border patrol duty was finished, but this year he’d been in Richmond.

Patrick knew he should have passed the task on to David and one of the other Hepburns, but horses were in his blood. They were his passion, and riding through the Lammermuir Hills and valleys searching for a wild stallion and his mares thrilled him deeply. He had put it off long enough.
I’ll leave tomorrow!
As he packed his saddlebags for the solitary ride north, excitement began to course through his veins.

The next morning he arose early. At breakfast he informed his men where he was going and put Jock Elliot and David Hepburn in charge of the castle. He packed oatcakes, smoked venison and cheese in his saddlebags and took them to the stables. Patrick sharpened his hunting knives and made sure he had two lengthy coils of stout rope. He decided against taking Sabbath and Satan; wild horses spooked too easily. As he reached for Valiant’s saddle, he heard a carriage in the courtyard. He set the saddle back down and went to investigate.

Patrick saw the Earl of Winton’s coach driver jump down and open the door. Lady Catherine stepped out and spoke to the driver as he placed her luggage at her feet. The man nodded and departed. Hepburn let him go.
I’ll escort Cat back to Seton.

His glance traveled from her upswept curls to her elegant morning dress of pale primrose. Her arrival threw him slightly off balance and he began to juggle his plans. Perhaps he could persuade her to stay today. The horses could wait till tomorrow. “You came after all,” he said quizzically.
Of your own volition.

She looked into his eyes and saw surprise in the dark depths. “You thought I wouldn’t come.”

“Yes—no. Let me take your bags. There’s a chamber all prepared for you.” He led the way beneath the rose-carved stone arch and up the steps into the castle.

Cat’s glance traced the staircase and the chamber’s lovely balcony. “Crichton is truly full of grace and beauty.”

“It is now, Catherine.” His husky voice rolled the
r.

“A compliment, begod!”

Hepburn’s housekeeper stepped forward and he quickly waved her away.
I want her to myself for a while.
He led her up the staircase and took her to a well-appointed bedchamber.

“Is my room close to Liz and Robert’s?”

“The chamber prepared for them is just down the hall,” he said carefully, trying not to lie. Patrick opened the wardrobe doors, hoping she would start to unpack.

“Maggie didn’t come. She said the Careys would chaperone me.”

He saw the delicate blush on her cheeks and suddenly felt like an uncouth lout to deceive her in this way.

“I wanted to ride, but Geordie insisted I come by carriage. So you will have to mount me ...” She suddenly realized what she had said and her cheeks flushed furiously.

“I’ll be right back. I have something for you.” As Patrick strode to his chamber to get the letter, he cursed himself for a bloody fool.
Why the hell am I being so uncharacteristically gallant?
he asked himself.
Because she looks so vulnerable.

When he returned, he saw that she had begun to hang her clothes in the wardrobe and he immediately regretted bringing the letter.

Her face was eagerly expectant as she tore open the envelope with her name on it. Patrick watched the joy leave her face as she read Liz’s words. She raised her eyes. “She wrote this Sunday.”

“They left for England immediately. I expected to see you the next day. You didn’t come—I thought you’d changed your mind.”

“No, I was looking forward to coming. Poor Robert ... and Philadelphia and Kate. What a wretch I am to feel such disappointment when they are in mourning.”

“Life goes on, Catherine. When you arrived I was on my way to the Lammermuirs for the wild horses.”

“Wild horses?” Her golden eyes lit up with fascination.

“Every spring, I ride north into the Lammermuir Hills where herds of wild horses and ponies roam. I usually bring back a stallion and his mares to increase my own herd.”

“How exciting that must be.” Her eyes began to glitter as she pictured it in her mind’s eye. “Take me with you!”

“Catherine, I cannot.”

“Why? Because I’m a female?” she challenged.

“Because you’re a lady. It would ruin your good character.”

Catherine began to laugh. “I
am
a lady and for that no character is necessary.”

He couldn’t hide his admiration. “You are brimful of wit and
impulsiveness.
It is my duty to save you from yourself.”

“To lowest hell with your duty, Hepburn. Take me with you!”

He hesitated. She saw and pressed him urgently. “Saddle me one of your sure-footed Border ponies and I’ll change my clothes.”

“The earl would run mad, Hellcat.”

“He won’t know. He and Maggie think me at Crichton for a week.” She clenched her fists and pummeled his chest. “If you deny me, I’ll hate you forever, Lord Bloody Stewart!”

It was the first thing she had ever asked of him and, in that moment, he could deny her nothing. “We travel rough; sleep outdoors. You’ll have to obey me.” He could tell his warning made her more eager. “I’ll get you some saddlebags. Pack only serviceable clothes. When you’ve changed, go to the kitchen and wrap up some food. Choose stuff that won’t spoil, like oatcakes.”

Cat took off her ruff and with impatient fingers unfastened her dress. Off it came, along with her petticoats and fancy slippers. She put them in the wardrobe, then opened her trunk. Right on top she had put the two arrows and the bow that Andrew had made for her, thinking to show off her marksmanship to Liz. She threw them into the wardrobe and removed from her luggage only the things she intended to take with her—undergarments, hose, padded doublets and a riding skirt. She put on the new doeskin skirt and finally found a long-sleeved bodice of Tudor green to go with it. On impulse she decided to take the kilt. A tablet of soap, her brush and comb and some ribbon went onto the pile.

Patrick strode in without knocking and handed her a set of leather saddlebags. He looked askance at the small stack she had made. “You won’t have room for all that rubbish,” he warned. “You’ll need to take a cloak.”

“I won’t take much food,” she argued.

“Don’t expect to eat mine. I’ll share my bed, but not my food,” he teased.

“I am aware of your insatiable appetite.”

“English, you have no idea.”

“Damn you, I refuse to blush at every innuendo!”

“
Mea culpa.
I delight in making you blush.” His face sobered. “Hurry up! I’ll be leaving in five minutes.”

Then you’ll be leaving without me!
Cat thought the words rather than saying them aloud. She knew he would do as he vowed. She quickly crammed her belongings into the saddlebags, then rolled up her cloak and fastened it on the outside. She found them heavy as she struggled to the top of the stairs. Inspiration came to her aid as she put a booted foot to the saddlebags and kicked. As they tumbled down, the housekeeper hurried to see what the racket was all about. “Which way to the kitchen?” Cat pleaded.

The Hepburn housekeeper and the cook helped her choose food and wrapped it in a linen napkin, then directed one of the kitchen boys to carry Lady Catherine’s saddlebags to the stables.

She decided to start out on a civil note. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

“You were quicker than I expected. I issued the five-minute ultimatum because I’m familiar with the ways of women.”

Too familiar, with too many women,
Cat thought wistfully.

The pony that Patrick had saddled for her was a ruddy color and the same size as a small horse. He helped her mount, then placed the saddlebags behind her across the pony’s back.

“What is my pony’s name?”

“Chestnut.”

As they cantered through Crichton’s orchards and across gorsy meadows, her pony kept pace with Valiant. She spotted Tor and pointed him out to Patrick. The crow stopped following them and circled back. “I know why he stopped. No dogs!”

It pleased him that she took an interest in nature and was able to discern how the creatures about her reasoned.

Cat was thankful that they skirted Seton land and headed in a northwest direction through rolling hills. It was almost July and the weather was perfect. She breathed deeply, inhaling the fragrant scent of heather and ferns. She splashed through streams with abandon, reveling in the sense of freedom it gave her. She had forgotten to wear a hat, but realized she didn’t really give a damn what the sun would do to her pale ivory complexion.

They had been in the saddle for two or three hours, and when the sun was directly above them, Patrick drew rein beside a shaded stream and dismounted. Cat followed his lead, grateful to be out of the saddle. He did not tether Valiant but allowed him to wander down to the water for a drink. Cat let go of Chestnut’s reins and watched it follow the huge black horse.

Patrick knelt at the stream’s edge, dipped in his cupped hand, then drank. He splashed the cool water onto his face and neck, then grinned his approval as he watched Catherine mimic his actions. “Monkey see, monkey do,” he teased.

“You’re not a monkey; you’re a bloody ape.” She gave as good as she got. “How far did we travel?”

“A dozen miles, more or less. Are you hungry, my wee lass?”

“Yes, I hunger for adventure!”

He towered above her. “And thirst for new experience—the elixir of life. I know exactly how you feel, Cat.”

“How do you know?” she challenged.

“I felt that way myself when I was about twelve,” he teased.

“You mocking devil, Hepburn. I’m glad I amuse you.”

“So am I.” He winked. “Let’s eat.”

They each took food from their saddlebags and sat down on the grass. Patrick munched on smoked venison and oat cakes, while Catherine ate a russet apple. He marveled at her dainty appetite, and the delicate way she ate was almost feline. When he offered her an oatcake, she wrinkled her nose. “Don’t turn your nose up at oats, English; they are what made me such a strapping lad.”

“Oats are what you feed a stallion.” She went hot, realizing she had just aptly compared him to a stallion.

“You said it; I didn’t. I refuse to blush at every innuendo.”

She laughed. “You have a wicked humor, Hepburn.”

“It’s my saving grace.”

You’re the most attractive male I’ve ever met, damn you to hellfire.
She turned her back to him and removed her riding boots. Then she went behind a tree, removed her stockings and reappeared. She lifted her chin and said defiantly, “I want to wade in the stream.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement. “You don’t need my permission to indulge your impulses.”

Catherine pulled up the legs of her divided riding skirt and stepped into the water, which came almost to her knees. She screamed. “It’s freezing!” She scrambled out quickly. “Cold water is good for drinking, dreadful for wading.”