Virginia Henley (50 page)

She stood on tiptoe and lifted her mouth to his. “I’m still wearing the most elegant gown. Where are you going?”

“I asked David Hepburn to organize a guard patrol while the queen is here. I just want to be sure that all is well. I won’t be long. Are you going up now?”

“I was on my way to the servants’ wing to see if there is anything they need. They’ve worked so hard today.”

He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Mr. Burke will see to all that. You need to rest for tomorrow. Promise me you’ll be in bed by the time I return?”

She nodded, blissfully happy to be surrounded by his love.

Patrick checked on all the horses in the stables, then spoke with David. The young Hepburn had captained Crichton’s garrison, and Patrick put complete trust in him. When he saw that David had everything under control he returned to the house.

A female slipped from the shadows in the entrance hall and whispered his name. “Patrick. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Even in the dark, he knew the tall Danish woman was Gretha. Hepburn was experienced in fending off unwanted overtures from the opposite sex. “You should not be here.” His tone was forbidding.

“Is there somewhere we can be alone tonight?” she cajoled.

Patrick hung on to his patience. “That is impossible.” His reply was blunt and to the point. “Good night.” He dismissed her and put her from his thoughts. Then he took the stairs two at a time, eager to join Catherine in the privacy of their bedchamber.

The first day of May dawned gloriously. Patrick and Catherine accompanied Queen Anne, her ladies and her two eldest children as they rode over the lush acres of Spencer Park. In the small hamlet of Spencer, the village children captivated them as they danced around the Maypole in their annual May Day festival.

Seven-year-old Princess Elizabeth was drawn to Catherine, not only by her beauty and pretty clothes, but also because of the attention Patrick’s bride gave her, answering all her questions. Prince Henry attached himself to Hepburn until Margretha rode up and told him that a prince’s rightful place was at the side of his mother, the new Queen of England.

“That was a callous dismissal,” Patrick said curtly.

“Rather like yours last night, my lord.”

He gathered his patience. “Gretha, I have a wife.”

“All the more reason you will need the diversion of a mistress,” she murmured seductively.

Hepburn, who had never considered her his mistress but only a casual lay, knew he must make things clear once and for all time. He looked into her eyes. “It was finished between us more than a year ago. Gretha, you should aspire to be more than a mistress. Take advantage of your position at Court. A lady with your ample charm could easily marry into the wealthy English nobility.”

“As you have done!” Her eyes narrowed to slits, then she dug her spurs into her mount to catch up with the queen.

That night, after a leisurely dinner, Queen Anne and her courtiers withdrew early in preparation for their departure the next morning. Isobel was in her glory as she took over the packing of the queen’s wardrobe and instructed her ladies-in-waiting how to wrap the fine garments in tissue paper and muslin to avoid crushing the delicate material.

At dawn the trunks were carried to the waiting wagons and the beds were dismantled and loaded with the myriad of royal furnishings accompanying the queen’s household to London. Cat had made arrangements for a large buffet breakfast to be set up so that the guests could help themselves before setting off on the last leg of their long journey to the capital.

Queen Anne made certain that her children and their attendants were safely on their way before she herself departed. A courier from the king had brought word that James and his nobles would ride out from Whitehall to meet the queen at Westminster and formally escort her into London. Courtesy prompted her host, Lord Stewart, to accompany Anne and give her safe escort until she was symbolically delivered into the hands of the king.

Catherine urged Isobel and Beth to return to London with the queen’s party, insisting that Mr. Burke and his staff would soon help her restore order to Spencer Park once the influx of guests had departed. When the pair climbed into their carriage, Cat thanked them profusely and bade them good-bye.

Though the courtyard was crowded with horses, grooms, attendants and Queen’s Guards, Catherine easily spotted her husband’s dark head above the throng and made her way to his side.

“If I don’t make a decisive move, this lot will take root.”

Cat smiled up at him. “Try not to let your impatience show.”

“You know me so well.” He grinned. “No matter how much Jamie induces me to carry on to Whitehall, I shall refuse. I am coming home today, and that’s a promise. At last, here comes Anne. If I can get her out of here, the stragglers will soon follow.”

Catherine watched Patrick lift the queen into the saddle of her white palfrey, then he mounted Valiant and signaled her guards.

Queen Anne gathered her reins and smiled down at Catherine. “Thank you for your gracious hospitality, Lady Stewart. I shall look forward to your joining our Court. I welcome your ideas for a coronation gown. Your own clothes are truly exquisite.”

Cat swept into a graceful curtsy. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

She hoped it was an invitation and not a royal command. She stood watching as Hepburn’s powerful hand reached for Anne’s bridle. Cat waved until the queen’s attendants fell in behind her and obscured her view. With a sigh of relief, she picked up her skirts and returned to the house, remembering that she hadn’t taken time for breakfast. In the reception hall she came face to face with Margretha, the queen’s lady-in-waiting.

“Queen Anne left five minutes ago. My husband was impatient to get started ... I’m so sorry that they have left without you.”

“It is more discreet if Patrick and I do not ride together.”

Cat stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“Come, Lady Stewart, let’s not pretend. You must know I am Hepburn’s mistress. Surely you didn’t think that marriage would put an end to our liaison? On the contrary, his having a wife can only strengthen our intimate relationship.”

Catherine fought the impulse to snatch the riding crop from Margretha’s hand and lay it about her skinny hips. The woman was obviously green with jealousy that Hepburn had taken a wife.

“When I learned a few days before I arrived that Hepburn had wed you, I confess I was surprised and at a total loss. However, once I saw how vast and magnificent Spencer Park was, I suddenly understood the compelling attraction.”

Catherine laughed in her face. “You are deceiving yourself. You cannot bear the thought that Patrick is in love with me!”

“Love?” Gretha’s face was wreathed with amused pity. “You are the one who has been deceived. Hepburn had the king draw up a signed and sealed contract, granting him any English heiress of his choice. James told Anne, who divulged the secret to me.”

“You lying bitch! Get your aging carcass out of my house before I knock you on your bony arse!”

Margretha hurried to the door and delivered her parting shot.

“Don’t expect your devoted husband to return tonight.”

Catherine was seized with a furious anger that almost blinded her. She closed her eyes and saw crimson behind her lids. The red turned to purple and then to black. She opened her eyes quickly, fearing that she might faint, and reached for the banister.

“Ye’ve had no breakfast,” Maggie chided as she came from the dining room. “Go up and rest and I’ll bring ye a tray.”

“No! Food would choke me at the moment. I need to be alone.”

H
ow dare that bitch make such foul accusations? She is nothing but a jealous strumpet, determined to destroy my happiness!” Cat spoke aloud as she paced across her bedchamber, where only a few short hours ago her heart had been filled with joy. “I must not let her filthy lies touch me. Patrick Hepburn loves me. He is not capable of such deceit and cold calculation.”

Cat recalled the horror she had felt when she learned that Henry Somerset’s interest in her had been prompted by her fortune and she remembered the vow she had made to marry only for love. “I kept that vow. I married Patrick because I love him!”

“Of course he loves me!” Catherine felt a rising panic that she desperately tried to quell. “He kept his promise that he would come on my birthday and that we would be married.”

“Nay, he had to wait. Neither my mother nor Elizabeth would have given consent for me to marry a Scot. Everything changed for Patrick when a Scot became King of England.”

“Don’t do this to yourself! Do not doubt Patrick ... do not doubt his love for you.”

“Yes! Desperately afraid! If I learned that he did not truly love me, and had married me for my wealth, I would be devastated. It would crush me, destroy me. I could not endure such betrayal.”

“But what if they are not lies? More than likely she is telling the truth when she claims that she and Hepburn were intimate. Is she telling the truth about a signed agreement?”

Catherine lifted her chin. “I shall confront him when he returns and ask—nay, demand—that he answer such accusations.”

She paced to the window and looked out with unseeing eyes. Feeling caged, she hurried into the adjoining room. Needing to be comforted, she threw open his wardrobe and clutched the sleeve of the purple doublet he’d worn the day they were married. His scent lingered on the velvet. “Patrick ... please.”

As she turned away from the wardrobe, her glance fell upon the tall chest of drawers that held his belongings. Of their own volition her eyes lifted to Hepburn’s strongbox. Though she knew it was a breach of trust, Cat was far too impulsive to leave the box untouched. She carried a footstool to the bureau, climbed on it and lifted down the heavy metal strongbox. When she took it to the table and tried to open it, she realized that it was locked tight. Without hesitation she went to her jewel case and took out the small dagger that had belonged to Audra.

Her heart hammered as she deliberately pried open the lock on her husband’s strongbox. She lifted the lid slowly, afraid of what she would find, yet determined to examine every item. Hepburn’s store of gold coins did not interest her. It was the papers and documents she focused upon. Her mouth went dry as she lifted a document with royal seals. When she unfolded it and read the words, she caught her breath.

“This is a pardon from King James to Francis Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, in return for his voluntary exile.” A lump came unbidden into her throat, provoked by the poignancy of the yellowed parchment.
These papers are private.
The thought, however, did not deter her from her search.

She found the deed to Crichton Castle as well as the mortgage papers signed by Patrick’s father more than fifteen years ago. Then she read another document certifying that Patrick had repaid the mortgage in full and that Crichton was free and clear of debt. It was dated only five years ago, and Catherine realized that it had taken him ten long years to pay off what his father had borrowed. What he had endured touched her heart, yet it also clearly showed her that he had a driving need for money.

She had too much integrity to read the two personal letters from his father in Italy, and a wave of guilt washed over her as she set them aside along with his parents’ marriage certificate and his own baptismal paper from St. Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh.

The next document she read was a contract drawn up between Patrick and her grandfather. Geordie was paying Hepburn to guard the Winton longhorn cattle against reivers and rustlers. The contract had been renewed six months ago.
If they do business together, the earl must trust him.

Catherine picked up another document with a royal seal. She scanned the words quickly. Her heart stopped and she turned icy cold as she reread it slowly. Six condemning words leapt out at her:
Any English heiress of your choice.

Cat’s heart constricted. A tear splashed onto the parchment. Impatiently her hand lifted to wipe away the wetness that trailed down her cheek.
Damn you, Hepburn. Damn you to hellfire!

She read the words again and saw that the document also promised Hepburn an earldom. It was immediately obvious to Catherine that the earldom he intended to have was Winton. She raised her eyes from the paper. “Through his marriage to me, Hepburn
will
become Earl of Winton when Geordie dies.”

She sat, stunned. “How could I have been so blind? How could I have been so besotted? Hepburn controlled and manipulated me from the moment he learned who I was. Mayhap even before he met me!” Her mind rapidly wove together the strands that would condemn him.

“He came to England with one purpose in mind—marriage with the wealthy heiress Catherine Seton Spencer!”

Cat desperately clung to her outrage. It was her armor, her protection against the unbearable pain that hovered, searching for a chink in her carapace so that it could sink its fangs into her heart and deliver its deathblow.