'Look at me, Cat! Open your eyes, my darling. I am Francis, no one else, and I love ye!'
Shyly her dark-gold lashes lifted off her cheeks, and she looked at him. His eyes never left hers as his hands caressed her back, his long, slim fingers gently kneading away the tension. He drew her into the crook of his arm and cupped one breast in his hand. And all the while, he held her eyes with his own.
She shivered. She could feel her heart hammering wildly against her chest as if it wished to escape. A fire was pouring into her loins, and the wave of desire that slammed into her shook her terribly. That she could feel this way after all that had happened! With a fierce exultation she realized that she wanted him! She wanted him!
Gently he pushed her onto her back and, half straddling her, his lips ran riot across her body, closing over a pink nipple, moving lower, teasing her flesh with tiny kisses.
She arched to meet his mouth, catching at his head with trembling hands. He groaned, a sobbing sound, completely lost in the moment as she writhed under his hands and mouth. And then he heard, through his own pounding desire, the voice of his beloved pleading with him to take her, take her now.
Kneeling, he spread her thighs, and his voice was thick. 'Look at me, Cat! I want you to look at me when I enter you! I want you to know 'tis me, not an awful nightmare memory!'
A tremor tore through her, but she raised her eyes to his and whispered again, 'Take me, Bothwell! Take me now!' and without further hesitation he thrust himself into her while looking deep into her shining eyes.
She whirled through space, free and whole again, exulting in their love. And then suddenly she felt herself falling, falling through endless time. Through the dimness she heard him anxiously calling her name. Voicing a little protest, she opened her eyes to find him smiling happily down at her, her eyes warm and loving.
'Why, my darling,' he said gently, 'how far away ye were.'
She flushed rosy, and he laughed softly. ' 'Twould hae been a crime against nature if ye had continued being fearful of love, my darling.' He touched her cheek with his finger. She caught his hand and held it against her face.
Then he heard her voice low and level. 'I love ye, Francis, but if ye love me, I beg of ye, my lord, never leave me again, for each time ye leave me some catastrophe befalls me. If I am not being kidnapped, or chased by the Scots king, I am being bedded by Henri Quatre. Aye, Bothwell, ye may well look astonished. Yer charming royal friend ordered me to Fontainebleau, terrified me into believing that he was returning me to Jamie, and then seduced me.'
Standing up, Cat walked across the room and picked up the gossamer silk nightgown Bothwell had given her. Sliding it over her head, she let it slither down her body. Its neckline plunged to her navel, the gown clinging to her like a second skin. She whirled about, and heard him swear, 'Jesu!' as his blue eyes raked her from head to toe.
'Always,' she went on, 'just when I think I am safe, something happens. I must be safe from now on, Francis. I must.
'I am a very rich woman, Bothwell, and ye are a very proud man. We cannot live wi'out my money, but we
Now it was his turn to rise from the bed. He walked across the room and, picking up a towel, wrapped it about his loins. The light from the fire dappled his broad back, and his face was grave. She could hear her heart thumping wildly, and she wondered what possessed her to issue such an ultimatum. What had she done? How would he respond?
He stood quietly on the window balcony of their bedroom. Coming up behind him, she slipped her arms about him, pressing her silken-clad body against him, her cheek against his hard shoulder. 'Am I not worth it, Francis?' she whispered huskily. 'Is it so hard for ye to accept that what was mine is now also yours? Would ye not be willing to share a fortune wi me? Are ye nae tired? I am, Francis. I am weary of being abused. I love ye, and would be wi ye.'
She could feel his heart beating evenly beneath her hands, and he said softly, 'We will nae be able to go home again, Cat.'
'I know, Francis, and I shall miss Scotland, but for me home is where ye are. I have learned that in the years we have been separated.'
'I suppose we could get used to the quiet life.'
'Aye, Francis, we could.'
He turned then so they faced each other. His hands rested lightly on her waist, hers on his shoulders. 'Would ye really leave me, Cat?'
Tipping her head back, she looked lovingly up at him, her beautiful green eyes diamond-bright with tears. 'Why, damn me, Bothwell! I could nae ever leave ye. I love ye! I hae always loved ye! And may God ha mercy on me, for I will always love ye!'
He sighed deeply with relief, and she laughed happily. 'Why Francis, did ye doubt me?'
'My dear wife, from the moment we first met I could nae be sure what ye'd do, or what would happen next It has always been one of yer greatest charms.'
Suddenly they heard bells all around them. From the village, from the villages in the valley below them, from the many churches in the city of Rome across the hills. The bells were tolling out 1599, the end of the sixteenth century. They joyfully rang in the new year, 1600, and a new century.
As Francis Stewart-Hepburn bent to kiss his wife, a jubilant thought ran through his mind. Together they had beaten them! He and his Cat had survived all the pain and the cruelty the world could inflict on them. Now, what could they not do in this wonderful new century?
'Happy New Year, my darling,' he said, and then he found her mouth once more, sweeping her away into that special world that belonged to them alone, and where no man would ever again intrude.
EPILOGUE
IN the spring of the year 1601, James Leslie, the fifth Earl of Glenkirk, was informed by his sergeant-at-arms that a tall masked gentleman was asking to enter his private presence. The earl agreed to the audience, saying, 'I hae no enemies.' It was true. The current Glenkirk kept from court, supported the king only when support was necessary, and spent most of his time running his vast estates and several thriving businesses, and indulging his two small sons while waiting for his pregnant wife to produce the third.
Offering his mysterious guest a whisky, he said, 'Will ye remove yer mask, sir?'
'Aye,' came a familiar voice, and the fifth Earl of Glenkirk found himself looking at the fourth Earl of Glenkirk. 'Well, Jemmie, ye might say yer glad to see me,' said Patrick Leslie wryly.
'Father!' The young man's face was a 'study in shock. 'My God, father! Ye were dead! They said yer ship never reached its destination.'
'Explanations in a minute, Jemmie, but first tell me of yer mother, and of mine.'
Oh, lord, thought Jemmie. Bad news in both quarters for him. He sighed and began. 'Grandmother Meg died this past winter. 'Twas an easy death, for she was nae ill. She simply went to sleep one night, and did nae wake again.'
'Damn!' said Patrick Leslie softly. 'If I'd only come a little sooner.' Then he demanded, 'And yer mother? What of my wife?'
James Leslie hesitated again. Then, as there was nothing for it but to tell the truth, he answered, 'Mother is gone, father.'
