Virginia Henley (5 page)

To ease the hungry ache and cool his blood, he forced his mind to more practical matters. He would likely find Carey at Bewcastle, the English Border fortress. If he left immediately he might be able to bring him for an audience with the king tomorrow night. He decided the fastest way for him and Robert to get to London was by ship. This fit in well with his plans for the English horses. He would transport them in the hold of his bark, the
Hepburn Rose.
With a fair wind and any luck, the voyage could be made in two days.

Patrick slipped from the bed and dressed quietly so he would not disturb Margretha. It wasn’t gallantry that prompted him; it was expedience. He didn’t know when he would see her again and he couldn’t abide clinging good-byes.

Chapter Three

C
at Spencer tried to open the door quietly so she would not disturb her mother. It was past midnight and she was slightly unsteady on her feet from the wine she had consumed.

“Where on earth have you been until this hour, young madam?”

“Mother, I thought you’d be
ashleep.
”

“Dear heaven, you’re flown with wine! If Her Majesty learns of this we could both be banished from Court.” Such a fate was Isobel Spencer’s worst nightmare. She equated it with being buried alive. “Tell me instantly where you have been.”

“I was only in the next wing. Philadelphia is back from Carlisle, so I was visiting with her and her sister Kate.”

“You should use their titles. Philadelphia, Lady Scrope, is a baroness, and Kate, Lady Howard, is the Countess of Nottingham. I will not have you show such disrespect to the queen’s favorite ladies, who have served her faithfully for more than twenty years.”

Cat rolled her eyes. Philadelphia and Kate, two of the Carey sisters, had the huge house next to theirs in Richmond. She had known them since she was a baby and had spent more time with them, playing and romping about the garden, than she had with her mother. They would fall down laughing if she used their titles.

“Beth was there too. We were having a little party.”

“You must address your father’s sister as
Aunt
Beth. Naturally she was there; she’s married to their brother George.”

“I don’t know why you didn’t join us.”

Isobel sniffed. “I didn’t join you because I wasn’t invited.”

Cat immediately felt guilty. “Never mind; we’ll all be together at Richmond next week. We won’t have to worry about etiquette and the strictures of the Court. We can laugh and gossip and have as much fun as we like.” Because Richmond was convenient to the queen’s residences of Whitehall, Windsor, Hampton Court, and Richmond Palace, the Spencer and Carey ladies spent two days every fortnight at their country homes along the river Thames for a much-needed respite from their Court duties.

“A young lady should aspire to something higher than gossip and fun. You are at Court to serve Her Majesty the queen. I am most disappointed in you, Catherine. Get to bed.”

Glad to escape, Cat immediately obeyed. Before sleep claimed her, she contrasted her mother’s cold nature with that of the other ladies she had grown up around. Kate was the eldest of ten Carey offspring, who were cousins to the queen, and, though she had the exalted title of countess and was married to Lord Admiral Howard, everyone felt comfortable in her presence. Kate had a motherly quality about her that encouraged others to confide in her. She was the sweetest, kindest lady Cat had ever known. Her warm brown eyes, gentle smile and understanding ways endeared her to all, especially the queen.

Her sister Philadelphia was the beauty of the family. She was the only one who had not inherited red hair. Dark gold tresses and lovely pale skin set off the flamboyant fashions she liked to wear. She was witty and outgoing, loved to laugh and was an inveterate matchmaker who never tired of introducing Cat to the eligible young gentlemen of the Court, with a view to marriage. By contrast, Cat’s mother, fearing Elizabeth’s disapproval, shared the queen’s rigid views that the younger ladies of her Court remain unwed. Catherine knew that technically she was a ward of the Crown since her father had died while she was still a child. The Court of Wards had made her mother trustee for the estate in Hertfordshire until she came of age. But as Cat climbed into bed she smiled a secret smile.
I turned twenty last month. In less than a year I will no longer be a minor. When I come of age I shall receive my legal inheritance and be free to marry whomever I wish, without either my mother’s or the queen’s consent!

 

Patrick Hepburn and Robert Carey watched the sailors set the square-rigged canvas of the foremast as the ship left the Firth of Forth behind and headed into the open sea. They had become firm friends and allies in the last few days since Robert had agreed to carry secret correspondence between the monarchs of Scotland and England. His brother would patrol the Middle March along with his own, since the late spring and summer was usually a peaceful time in the Borders. “My father has a few ships, but no barkentines.”

“The only thing fancy about her is her name, the
Hepburn Rose.
She’s an old workhorse that gets the job done. My father took a couple of Spanish treasure ships with her. It paid for the new wing on Crichton Castle.”

“The Earl of Bothwell was a pirate?”

Patrick grinned. “A pirate, an outlaw and a thief. I never need worry about him. He leads a life of luxury in Florence.”

“Speaking of luxury, you will find Elizabeth’s Court extravagant beyond reason. Its opulence is the result of obscene indulgence. Most courtiers are in debt up to their eyeballs.”

“During the year I attended Cambridge University I visited the Court upon occasion. James Stuart lives like a pauper by comparison. Most Scots nobles are impoverished, including myself. I appreciate your inviting me to stay at Hunsdon Hall, Robert.”

“It’s an enormous house along the river in Richmond, quite handy to the Royal Court. Two of my sisters and my brother’s wife, Beth, use the house when they can escape their duties to the queen. They’ll be in their glory having two bachelors under their roof.”

“Are you sure they won’t mind the dogs?”

“They are English ladies—they care far more for the company of hounds than the company of their husbands! And the hunting in Richmond is marvelous.”

Patrick laughed. “No wonder you remain a bachelor!”

“Actually, I have been contemplating marriage lately. A year ago, I met a most alluring widow from Northumberland who was visiting in Carlisle. Not the least of her attractions is her wealth. Marriage would certainly solve my money problems.”

“If and when James becomes the King of England and Scotland, there will no longer be a Border, and you will be out of a job. Marriage is likely in the cards for both of us, my friend.”

“God’s fury, I never thought of that. It could be a long time in the future though. Knowing my cousin Elizabeth, I warrant she is not ready to relinquish this world for the next anytime soon.”

Patrick Hepburn kept a wise silence. When he’d had the vision of the two crowns, he had seen a pair of female hands holding the crown of England far too possessively to bestow it on another.

Late that night, as the ship cut smartly through the waves of the North Sea on its way down the east coast of England, Patrick sat down with a chart and a pen to calculate their arrival time at the Port of London. He was pleased to learn they should be ready to dock tomorrow before dark. He stripped, climbed into his bunk and tucked the warm blanket across his naked limbs. Then he reached for paper and pen, jotted down the number of horses he had for sale and multiplied it by the price he hoped to get. He was satisfied with the total, and his restless mind moved on, contemplating his visit to London. Absently, he sketched the horse-head symbol that was on the Hepburn crest, then beneath it he began to draw the outline of a small cat. The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile. “Why not?” he asked himself, deliberately making the cat ink black. As his dark eyes stared through the latticed window of his cabin, he did not see the outline of the quarterdeck or the velvet black sky hung with stars; he saw instead the tantalizing female who was slowly but surely becoming the object of his desires.

She was abed, fast in the arms of Morpheus, and Patrick guessed that while she slept it would be a simple matter to capture and control her spirit. He focused intently upon the exquisite features of her face. His gaze lingered on the dark crescents that shadowed her delicate cheekbones, then moved to her lush lips, soft with sleep. “Come to me.” Though his words were whispered, they were totally compelling.

Her lashes slowly lifted, and he stared deeply into amber eyes flecked with shimmering gold inclusions. She pushed back her covers, slipped from the bed and floated toward him. Patrick could feel his heart thudding in his chest, his blood coursing thick and hot through his veins.

At last she stood before him in the cabin, wearing the most delectable nightgown he had ever seen. It was made of pristine white silk that clung to the curves of her body and was fastened with a dozen tiny bows that marched down the front from neck to knees. His mouth went dry at the thought of undoing them, one by one. She began to sway in time with the rocking motion of the ship, and as she moved, he saw that the silk was so sheer he could discern her rosy nipples through the fabric and the dark shadow of her pubic curls between her legs.

His pulse beat wildly in his throat and the soles of his feet, as his cock lengthened and hardened, and throbbed with a need to bury itself deep inside her. As he stared, mesmerized, she slowly lifted her arms and unfastened the ribbon that tied up her hair. The shining black mass came tumbling down to her tiny waist, and with a sensual flip she tossed it back over her shoulders.

Her body began to move in a rhythmic, undulating dance that matched the ship’s motion. Her movements, capturing the wild, free spirit of the sea, became sensual and hypnotic. As she began to spin and turn with total abandon, her black cloud of hair flew about her shoulders until it became a mass of disheveled curls. Then she threw back her head and laughed with uninhibited delight.

Patrick, fully aroused, wanted her beside him in the bunk. He hungered to taste her, longed to feel her beneath him, yet first he wanted to see her naked. He reached out a powerful hand, but the moment his fingertips brushed the delicate silk, her image began to fade. “No!” he cried as she vanished into thin air.

He cursed out loud, knowing he would not be able to conjure her back. He should have known that her spirit was too ephemeral for physical contact, at least this first time. The corners of his mouth lifted as he stooped to retrieve her ribbon from the cabin floor. Had the saucy wench left it behind deliberately? Was it a sign that she wished to return? Patrick decided that whether she wanted it or no, he would compel her presence again soon.

Maggie pulled back the heavy brocade curtains, allowing the May sunshine to flood the room. “Ye overslept, my wee lass.”

Cat sat up and shielded her eyes from the bright light. “Oh, I had the strangest dream. I was aboard a ship and I was afraid of the sea. To keep my fear at bay, I began to dance, and suddenly my fear was swept away and replaced by a wild recklessness. I laughed in the face of danger!”

“Yer bedclothes are in such a tangle, they look like they’ve been tossed about in a storm at sea. Too much wine, I warrant.”

Cat put her hand to her head. “You are right, Maggie. Now, where the devil did my hair ribbon go?” She searched among her pillows, but the ribbon seemed to have vanished. “I must hurry ... no time for breakfast. I have an appointment with Her Majesty to discuss some new designs for chamber robes.”

“Lady Catherine, I swear you are the most elegant young female to grace our Court. Your taste in clothes is exquisite, your posture is perfect and your grooming is impeccable.” Elizabeth delivered her compliments in a voice that sounded displeased.

Cat sank down in a reverent curtsy. “I try my best to emulate my queen in all things.”

Elizabeth was flattered; her petulance dissolved. “Rise, child, you know there is no need to stand on ceremony with me.”

Cat smiled sweetly. She knew just the opposite. Waiting until she was invited, Catherine sat upon a low stool at Elizabeth’s side so she could elaborate on the designs she had sketched. As the queen had aged, her taste in clothing had become progressively more exaggerated and fantastic. “This chamber robe is loose, for comfort, Your Majesty; the motifs are honeysuckle and butterflies embroidered in silken thread. The material could be either cambric or fine lawn. The sleeves are quite elaborate. I’ve designed them with frilled cuffs at the wrist to show off your beautiful hands, madam. These are removable, of course, so they may be washed and starched. Separate trailing sleeves that cascade to the floor are attached to the bottom of the cuffs. If you raise your arms, the sleeves will appear to be fluttering, transparent wings.” She held her breath as she awaited the queen’s approval or rejection.

“Your design captures my essence of fragility, Mistress Spencer. I like the ethereal quality of the garments you fashion and notice you always manage to contrive that look for yourself. It also lets the world know that we are extremely fastidious.”

“Your praise is too generous, Your Majesty.”

“Pish! A lady thrives on praise. Show me the other sketches.”

Cat went over the other chamber robes, and when Elizabeth voiced no criticism it gave her confidence. “I took the liberty of designing a new concept for a ruff, Your Majesty. It is fan-shaped, to be worn with low-cut gowns. It stands upright to frame the back of the head, rather than encircling the neck. I thought it would show off your lovely hair, madam, to say nothing of your magnificent collection of jewels.”

“I like it! I warrant the French have nothing like this. Take it along to your mother. My Mistress of the Wardrobe will know which needlewomen to trust with this intricate design.”