Love Wild and Fair (14 page)

“Cat was four and I thirteen when the match was made. We were betrothed for eleven years.”

“Cat?” said the queen.

Patrick smiled. “Catriona, yer majesty. Tis the Gaelic for Katherine.”

“So,” said Elizabeth impatiently, “but how is it that both your son and your marriage are two years of age?”

“There was a misunderstanding, and she ran away three days before the wedding.”

The queen’s eyes widened again. They began to twinkle. “You have yourself a headstrong wench, eh, my lord?”

“Aye, madame, I do. It took me almost a year to pin her down.”

“You must have pinned her down sometime before that, Glenkirk, if she was carrying your babe.”

Patrick laughed. “She hid first wi some devoted, pensioned servants, then up in the hills at a small house that had been her grandmother’s. I found her there, and all might have been well, but—”

The queen cut in. “You committed some great blunder, I’ll wager.”

“Aye,” he admitted, “and she was off again. She fled to Edinburgh, where my brother and his wife were about to set off to France. She cajoled Fiona into letting her stay in their house, unknown to Adam. Fiona agreed, thinking Cat would think things out and return shortly to me. When, at New Year’s, she discovered Cat was still hiding in Edinburgh and the bairn was less than two months away, she informed me. My uncle and I went immediately to Edinburgh. After some discussion, Cat and I were reconciled and married by my uncle, the Abbot of Glenkirk Abbey.”

“I’ll wager she made it hard for you, Glenkirk,” the queen chuckled.

“She did,” he said.

“And when was your son born?”

“Approximately an hour after the wedding ceremony.”

Elizabeth, sipping her wine, began to laugh. She laughed until the tears ran. Gasping, she choked on the wine and began to cough. Without thinking, Glenkirk stood up, leaned over, and clapped her on the back.

When the queen had finally caught her breath she said, “I hope you have brought your wild wench with you, my lord, for I should like to meet her.”

“I have brought her, yer majesty, and I’ve also brought my mother, Lady Margaret Stewart Leslie. I hope ye’ll receive them both.”

“I will, Glenkirk. Bring them anytime. Tell me, is your wife beautiful?”

“Aye, madame, she is.”

“As beautiful as I am?” said the queen coyly.

“One can hardly compare the beauty of a child with that of a mature woman, yer majesty.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “God’s foot, Glenkirk! I do believe there’s hope for you. That’s the first real compliment I have ever heard you utter at my court.”

Two days later Patrick brought his wife to court. As Cat advanced towards the queen the younger women thought how plain her gown was, and the more experienced ones envied her her cleverness. The Queen of England stood in a stiffly brocaded, beribboned, be-jeweled red velvet gown that glittered and gleamed beneath a huge gold lace ruff. The Countess of Glenkirk wore a full-skirted black velvet gown. The wide sleeves were edged in lace and slashed to reveal white silk scattered with gold-embroidered stars. The neckline was low, and framed in a high, well-starched, sheer lace collar. Around her neck were four long ropes of magnificent pale-pink pearls. She wore only one ring, a large, heart-shaped ruby. Her hair, uncrimped, was parted in the center and drawn over her ears into a knot at the nape of her neck. A delicate little lace cap sat on the back of her head, and two fat pink pearls bobbed from her ears.

The maids of honor thought the countess’ raiment too simple, but Leicester leaned over to Lettice Knollys, his wife, and whispered, “What a beauty!” to which Lettice whispered back, “Aye! I hope she’ll not stay long at court.”

The handsome couple had reached the queen. Gracefully sweeping off his cap, Glenkirk bowed low. His countess dropped into a graceful curtsy. They rose and faced the English queen proudly. For just a moment, Elizabeth Tudor wondered what she had missed by not following her heart.

“You are welcome at court, countess.”

“I am most grateful for yer majesty’s welcome,” replied Cat carefully.

The queen turned to Patrick. “Your child is indeed most beautiful, Glenkirk,” she said dryly. “Next time bring your mother with you. I should also enjoy meeting her.” She turned back to Cat. “I hope your stay here will be a pleasant one.”

Dismissed, Cat curtsied prettily. Thanking the queen, she backed off. Later she asked her husband what the queen had meant when she called her a child. He told her, and Cat laughed. A few days later they took Meg to court, and the queen received her politely, though not without pursing her lips and saying, “I don’t suppose your sisters are ill-favored either, Glenkirk.” Meg’s warmth, however, won Elizabeth over.

Eli Kira had rented the Leslies a magnificent house on the Strand. It had a large garden ending in a terrace overlooking the river, and its own waterman to row them. They also had a house some fifteen miles from London in case they wanted to get away from the city.

Cat was in her glory. She cajoled Patrick into escorting her and Meg to one of Master Shakespeare’s plays at the Globe Theatre. Afterwards she said she thought the young boys who played the female roles were quite sweet, but she really didn’t see why they wouldn’t allow women to act women’s roles. They went to a bearbaiting, for she had wanted to see one. But the sight of a half-starved, moth-eaten bear being attacked by a dozen or more half-starved and brutalized dogs revolted her.

They entertained heavily both in London and at their country house, near Waltham Abbey. They were quite popular. The queen had put her stamp of approval upon them at their third visit to court. Elizabeth, scornful of decorative, frivolous women, had remarked to the young countess, “I understand you have been educated.”

“Yes, yer majesty. My great-grandmother believed women should be. All her female descendants are offered a chance at learning. It takes wi some, wi others it doesn’t I have not, however, had yer majesty’s great advantages.”

“Do you know mathematics?”

“Some, majesty.”

“Music?”

Cat nodded.

“Languages?”

“Aye, madame.”

“What languages?”

“French, Gaelic, and Latin well. Some Flemish, Italian, German, Spanish, and Greek.”

The queen nodded, and suddenly phrased a question in Flemish, switching to Latin in mid-sentence. Cat replied in French, switched to Greek, and then to Spanish. The queen laughed delightedly and pinched Cat’s cheek. The Glenkirks popularity was assured. “You are a pert minx, my dear,” said Elizabeth. “I don’t know why, but I like you!”

Cat made one good friend in England, the first she had ever had outside her own family. Lettice Knollys, the beautiful Countess of Leicester, older than Cat, had secretly married the queen’s precious “Robin” two years prior. Six months later their secret was discovered and Lettice, Elizabeth’s cousin, was just now being permitted back at court She had been in deep disgrace for all that time.

Even now she trod very carefully. The Leslies’ town-house was one of the few places Lettice and her husband could meet without offending the queen. Cat generously gave them a suite of rooms for privacy. The queen, in jealous spite, had offered them none.

There was a delay in Patrick’s business, as there were no warehouses for sale along the waterfront. There was, however, a fine piece of property along the river that Eli Kira bought for them. Bidding was opened to the builders of London for the construction of two warehouses and adjoining docks to serve them. It became necessary for Patrick to remain in London and see the plans completed.

Meg chose to return home to Glenkirk. She had seen enough of London.

Patrick delegated half of his men-at-arms, under the faithful Conall, to take his mother home. Cat wanted them to bring Jamie back with them. It would be summer before she and Patrick could go home. Patrick overruled her and said she might return home with his mother if she chose.

“And leave ye to play the honeybee among all these English roses? I think not, my lord!”

“Jealous, sweetheart?” he inquired infuriatingly.

“Of yer admirers?” she replied sweetly. “I am no more jealous of yer admirers, my lord, than ye are of mine.” Her lovely eyes and mouth mocked him, and Patrick thought how lucky he was to have her. He caught her in his arms and kissed her deeply. Molding herself to him, she returned the kiss with equal passion, thinking that if she ever caught him loving another woman she would kill him. If he had known her thoughts he would have been flattered. He hated the court gallants who looked at her with lust. Well, just a few more months, and they would be on their way home.

But it was not to be that way. After Christmas, Cat miscarried the baby she had so recently conceived. Devastated by this tragedy, she fell into a decline. She wept continuously, ate almost nothing, and slept fitfully. She saw no one. Even Lettice was not received. Finally, Ellen approached Patrick.

“There is only one thing for it. Ye must bring Jamie to her.”

“Christ, woman!” exploded the earl. “It’s mid-January, and the snow will be heavy in the north. Conall’s just back!”

“Send Conall alone. He’ll get there faster without the others, and he’ll bring Sally and the child back safely. Lord, mon! Sally was raised on the borders. She can ride like a trooper, even wi the bairn. Send a messenger today ahead of Conall. Hugh can bring Sally and the child as far south as Edinburgh.”

He didn’t like it, but Patrick did as Ellen suggested. Once Conall was on his way, he told his wife of the mission. Cat brightened immediately. She began to eat. When her son arrived, three-and-a-half weeks later, she was almost her old self. She covered the surprised little boy with kisses until he squirmed away, protesting, “Mama, no more!”

Then the winter suddenly became harsh, and snow followed upon snow. Work was halted on the warehouses and docks until the spring thaw. Then in early summer, the plague visited London and the Leslies and their household fled to the country. By the time it was safe to return to the city, it was autumn again, and they were forced to spend another winter in England.

With the spring of 1582, Cat knew she was pregnant. They remained in England until the child was born, on September 7. Elizabeth Leslie, named for the queen, had managed to be born on her majesty’s forty-ninth birthday. The queen insisted on serving as the baby’s godmother when she was christened, four days later. The frightened Roman Catholic priest dared not say no to the queen. The baby received from her godmother a dozen silver goblets encrusted with aquamarines and engraved with the Leslie coat of arms.

Little Bess had been born in the country house. A month later, without ever seeing London, she set off home to Scotland with her parents and her four-and-a-half-year-old brother, who rode north on his own pony.

They crossed the border in a month. It was early November, but the day was mild and lovely. Cat and Patrick rode on ahead of their train, stopping on the crest of a hill. The birches seemed more golden and the pines greener than anywhere else on earth. Below them the valley shimmered in the faint purple haze of late afternoon. To the west was Hermitage, home to the Earls of Both well. Ahead of them lay Jedburgh, where they would shelter tonight.

“My God!” said Patrick. “Is it my imagination, or does even the air smell sweeter?”

Cat nodded and smiled up at him. She had enjoyed the trip, but her face radiated joy at coming home to Scotland.

“Almost home, sweetheart,” he said. “If the weather holds we’ll be in Glenkirk in another ten days.” He held out a hand. She smiled again, and took it My God, he thought! How she has changed! I took a girl to England, and I brought back a woman—a beautiful woman! “Will ye be sorry to be away from London, and court?” he asked her.

“Nay, Patrick. I’m too glad to be home.”

“Glenkirk will nae be as exciting after London.”

“But Patrick! There’s Edinburgh, and the king will be seventeen next year, and surely be coming into his own soon. Once he weds we’ll hae our own court.”

“Madame!” he roared. “I hae told ye we’ll nae involve ourselves wi the Stewarts! They are nae to be trusted and forever in debt! We dinna need them. Ye’ll not wheedle me in this matter.”

Her lovely mouth was turning up at the corners in a very mischievous smile. “When the king comes into his own, Patrick, I am going to court! Whether ye come wi me or not is yer concern. I will remind ye, my dearest lord, that Glenkirk House belongs to me. I have nae furnished it at great personal expense to visit it for a month once every year or two, as pleases you. Nor did I furnish it for our relations to use while I sit home at Glenkirk. Adam has promised Fiona that she’ll go to Jamie’s court, and ye can do no less for me!”

So saying, she kicked Bana and cantered down into the purple valley.

The Earl of Glenkirk kicked his own horse and galloped off after his beautiful, wayward wife.

J
AMES Stewart, sixth of his name and King of Scotland, lounged on his throne, watching the dancers. He followed one lady in particular, Catriona Leslie, Countess of Glenkirk. She was partnered by the king’s distant cousin, Patrick Leslie, the Earl of Glenkirk. Catriona Leslie was the most beautiful woman at James’ court. She was also reputed to be the most virtuous. This was unfortunate, because the king lusted for her. And what James Stewart wanted, he got. One way or another.

James Stewart had not known his mother, having been left behind when she fled to England. He had been raised by a series of warring Protestant nobles who used him as a pawn to further their own ambitions. They believed they had taught him to hate his mother. But here they had been outwitted by his old nurse.

Nanny had adored Mary Stewart, and when James’ tutor spoke vitriol against the unfortunate captive queen, Nanny had countered with her own version of the truth. For the child’s peace of mind, it was fortunate that her stories had been more plausible than his tutor’s. The little boy asked the old lady about the references to his mother’s affairs, and was told only that women were weak when it came to men. He did not understand that until he was fourteen.