Virginia Henley (23 page)

“Everyone’s starin’ at ye,” Geordie murmured with delight.

Catherine’s lip quivered as she swallowed a sob. Finally, after what seemed like an interminable length of time, they reached the royal couple. Though the queen was sitting on a throne-like chair, Cat could see that Anne was statuesque. She looked about thirty and had an abundance of blond hair. Cat swept down in a graceful curtsy and Queen Anne bade her rise.

“Lady Catherine, what a lovely child you are.”

Cat looked into blue eyes and saw that the queen was completely sincere. “I am honored to meet you, Your Majesty.”

Beside her, she heard her granddad talking with King James. “I couldn’t wait to present my granddaughter, Lady Catherine.”

“A right bonnie bairn, Geordie. Dinna forget the hunt tomorrow, an’ in ten days it’s ma birthday ... then we’ll really celebrate!”

Catherine tried not to stare at the man on the throne.
This cannot be the King of Scotland ... he drools when he speaks, and I cannot understand a word he says! My God, is this real, or is it a nightmare? Any moment, Sabbath will appear and lead me away.

Catherine took a deep breath to help her get a grip on reality. Again her glance flickered over the royal pair and she found herself suppressing a shudder. How could Anne allow this caricature of a king to touch her, let alone make love to her?

Geordie led her to other nobles he knew and Cat, smiling bravely, exchanged pleasantries though she was cringing with self-consciousness over her childlike appearance. He introduced John Erskine, Earl of Mar, and his countess. Cat knew that beside the mature Lady Erskine she looked woefully unsophisticated.

When Queen Anne arose and came down from the dais, she was immediately surrounded by her ladies. Catherine saw that though their gowns were not the latest fashion and not nearly as elaborate as those worn at the English Court, the colors and styles gave the females a certain enticing allure. The ladies who had come with Anne from Denmark were tall, fair and rather voluptuous, three qualities Cat did not possess. The expressions on their faces, coupled with the familiar gestures they used when conversing with men, made them appear worldly and experienced.

Cat suddenly caught sight of Robert Carey and his bride, Liz. Relief swept over her as she walked a direct path to them.

“Catherine, darling, you look like a beautiful doll!”

“Oh, Liz, I don’t want to look like a doll; I want to look like a woman. I’m mortified at this childish white dress I’m wearing.” She fanned burning cheeks. “We’re invited again for the king’s birthday ... could I borrow a more sophisticated gown from you?”

“Of course you may. Don’t let it spoil your evening, darling. I warrant you are the envy of many a female here tonight.”

 

Lord Stewart paid homage to King James, who wanted to make sure Hepburn would be at tomorrow’s hunt. Patrick saw the king’s eyes roam over his formal black attire. “Get away from me, mon; ye make me look like such a scrub!”

“Never, Sire,” Hepburn dutifully denied, and went to make his bow to Queen Anne.

“I had the pleasure of meeting Lady Carey earlier today. I have been led to believe that English ladies are arrogant, but I like Liz very much, Patrick. She met my children and they liked her too, especially Baby Charles!”

“Queen Elizabeth can be arrogant and her courtiers haughty, but Lady Carey has never spent time at the English Court.”

“My ladies are clamoring for your attention, but remember that your queen likes to dance too, Patrick.”

He kissed her hand. “You honor me, madam.” He turned to find Margretha at his elbow. “You look well, Gretha.”

“In spite of your neglect,” she said lightly. She did not expect Hepburn to explain himself. He never had and never would.

He smiled. “I am flattered if you missed me,
cherie.
”

Christina, a slender Danish redhead, touched Patrick’s arm.

“I shall be happy to save the first Scots reel for you, my lord.”

Hepburn did not hear a word she said. His searching eyes had finally found Catherine. He stared across the room, entranced. Petite though she was, Cat stood out from every other female in the room. She had an ethereal quality that radiated innocence. She made the queen’s ladies, whom he knew so intimately, look jaded, almost shopworn. He caught his breath as she was suddenly swallowed by the crowd, and his feet moved swiftly of their own volition in a mission of search and rescue. As Patrick got closer he caught a glimpse of white silk, then she disappeared again as she quickly stepped behind Robert Carey. Instinctively he realized that Cat was trying to avoid him. Hepburn greeted Robert, shook his hand, then peered over his friend’s shoulder.

Fairly caught, she stepped out and lifted her chin.

“Lady Catherine, you look exquisite tonight.”

“Don’t be facetious, Hepburn, I beg you.”

“Begging is not in your nature,” he said quizzically.

“You are right. I
demand
that you not be facetious. It’s difficult enough for me.” Her golden eyes glared at him.

“Elucidate your difficulty, Cat; I am at a loss.”

“I look like a damned wedding cake!”

“Sweet and delectable,” he said gallantly. Then he ruined it by murmuring suggestively, “I enjoy seeing you stripped down to reveal your ... vulnerabilities.”

“Well, to hell with you! And to hell with everyone! I refuse to allow a trivial thing like a dress spoil my enjoyment. Who’ll partner me in this reel?”

Three men bowed before her. “Not a chance,” Hepburn informed them, and swept Catherine onto the dance floor.

They formed a set and the gentlemen bowed while the ladies curtsied. As they stepped together in time to the lively music, Patrick bent his head. “Every eye is upon us.”

“That’s because we are the strangest, mismatched couple in Christendom!” She threw back her head and laughed.

As the tempo of the reel sped up, the men’s kilts swung high, revealing more than their brawny thighs. Catherine laughed until she had to wipe away tears, and suddenly she forgot about her appearance and began to thoroughly enjoy herself. When the dance was done she told him breathlessly, “I’m relieved you’re not wearing a kilt; I’d never survive the shock.”

Patrick grudgingly handed her over to Geordie for the next set and went to claim the queen.

Catherine partnered Robert Carey, and then Sir Robin Carr of Ferniehurst, whose father was a Scots Border warden, claimed her. He was a handsome, well-made youth with ruddy cheeks, and Cat concluded that he assumed she was far younger than she was.

Breathless from the rants and reels, she searched for Patrick. When she found him, encircled by a bevy of attractive, long-limbed females, she could not help comparing them with herself. All looked to have had a good deal of experience with men in general, and with this male in particular. She turned away quickly and plied her fan.
I don’t give a fig!

Nevertheless, a few minutes later, when she felt powerful hands cup her shoulders, her heart gladdened that he had abandoned his harem to seek her out. She turned and smiled up at him.

“May I escort you to the supper room, Catherine?”

“Perhaps I should wait for my grandfather.”

“You’ll be waiting all night. Geordie’s retired to an anteroom with the king and his cronies to cast dice and sip whisky.”

“In that case I have no objection to your company, my lord.”

The buffet tables lined all four walls of the supper room, which was crowded with hungry guests. Hepburn’s size alone induced people to step aside and make room for them. There were huge platters of venison, cold roast mutton, partridge and other game. Pickled herring, oysters, smoked trout and salmon filled another table.

Hepburn filled his plate, while Catherine took only a slice of venison and an almond pastry from the dessert table. Even so, he finished before she did. She set down her empty plate and drank a glass of wine, which seemed to go straight to her head. With him this close she felt breathless. “Can we go outside? It’s stifling hot in here.”

He took her hand and led her through the labyrinth of the palace until they emerged through a heavy door that led outside.

Then he took her through a high stone arch. “These are the ruins of Holyrood Abbey. They are reputed to be haunted.”

She tipped back her head to look up and saw that though there were walls, there was no roof, and the crescent moon touched the ancient stone with its silvery light. The dark shadow of Hepburn towered above her, blotting out the moon, and suddenly she was in his arms and he was kissing her. The feel of his mouth intoxicated her and made her dizzy.
It’s the wine,
she told herself, but she knew that was a desperate lie. His kiss made her want to scream with excitement. She wanted him to pick her up and crush her against his hard body.

He lifted his mouth from hers. “Touched by moonlight you were irresistible, Hellcat.”

She licked her lips. “Take me back.”
That isn’t what I meant to say. Kiss me again, Patrick!

He took her hand and led her through the stone arch, and then they were back inside the palace. Her mouth was so dry she could hardly speak. “I ... I’m so thirsty; I need a cool drink of water.”

“Come with me. I know a place where there is water for you and a drink of cool ale for me.”

“Where is that?” she asked breathlessly.

He stopped before a door. “Here. In my chamber.”

She gazed up into his black eyes and knew she would do this impulsive, reckless thing.

He held her fast with one hand, while the other turned the knob. The door swung open slowly.

“Patrick, I ...” The tall female in the silk robe stopped speaking when she saw that Hepburn had a lady with him.

“Gretha, what the hell are you doing here?”

Cat pulled her hand from his as if she had been scalded. “That’s obvious, Lord Bloody Stewart!” She turned and fled.

When Catherine awoke the next morning, she thought over last night’s events. She acknowledged that Patrick Hepburn was so physically compelling, he attracted females like steel filings to a lodestone and he always would. She suspected that the woman in his chamber was one of the queen’s ladies but, whoever she was, Cat knew she had saved her from her own impulsiveness.

Her thoughts moved on to the impression she had made at the Scottish Court, and she concluded that though it hadn’t been disastrous, she had left them with the notion that she was extremely youthful and therefore inconsequential. Cat had not made the fashionable mark she had intended and she fervently hoped the riding dress she’d designed was not another fashion
faux pas.

“Maggie, you’re so thoughtful to bring my breakfast.”

“Nay, it gave me a chance to explore the palace and see what’s going on this morning. The hounds are already baying at the prospect of the hunt; King Jamie too, by what I’ve heard of him.”

“Don’t get me started on the subject of the king.” Cat rolled her eyes. “I want you to help me put up my hair. It was a mistake to wear it down last night. I looked a positive baby!”

“The day’ll come when ye’ll want to look young, Miss Impatient.”

“Yes, Maggie, but not today!”

When Geordie knocked on her door, Cat had just pinned her hat onto her upswept curls. She pulled on her riding gloves. “I’m ready, Lord Winton. Lead the way.”

There was a crowd milling about in front of the Holyrood stables and some were already mounted. Cat was relieved that when Anne and her ladies saw her wearing the dramatic riding outfit, their attitude toward her changed immediately. She was soon the center of attention, and the queen wanted to know where she had acquired her fashionable yet practical riding skirt.

“I designed it myself, Your Highness. I would be honored to design one for you.”

“I shall hold you to your promise, Lady Catherine.”

Cat saw Patrick Hepburn coming toward her leading Valiant and a small white palfrey. She tried to pretend the kiss had never happened between them, even though she could still feel the imprint of his lips on hers. Cat assumed he had chosen the mount for her. “How thoughtful of you, my lord.” She noticed his frown as he took in her attire. “You don’t approve of my riding attire?”

“As if that would make the slightest difference, Hellcat.”

“I vow I would weigh your opinion carefully, then do precisely as I pleased.” Cat had regained all her confidence this morning.

Hepburn helped her into the saddle, then mounted Valiant.

She saw that Queen Anne and the Scottish noblewomen rode astride, but some of the queen’s Danish attendants were using sidesaddles, as was Liz Carey. “Good morning, Liz. I believe the ladies hunt with the queen and the gentlemen hunt separately with the king.”

Robert stared at Catherine. “Your mother would have a fit if she saw you riding astride.”

Cat smiled. “Yes, indeed. His lordship gave me lessons.”

Liz’s mount seemed restless with all the staghounds straining against their leashes, so Robert escorted her to the queen.

“I have to join the king’s hunt shortly. Come on. Let’s have a canter to make sure your palfrey handles well,” Patrick suggested.

They rode apart from the others and were soon on a wooded path with Cat showing off her riding skills. Hepburn suddenly lifted his head, sensing danger. Mortal danger!

He had scant warning and no idea what, why or how. He only knew that it was imminent. In a flash, Patrick dismounted, pulled Catherine to the ground and covered her with his body. He heard a whoosh over their heads and knew it could only be an arrow.

Chapter Fourteen

C
atherine, flat on her back, glared up at Hepburn in outrage. “What the devil are you doing?”