Virginia Henley (60 page)

Catherine experienced a pang of disappointment. Then the corners of her mouth lifted in a secret smile. “Now that I am well, there is no reason why we shouldn’t try to make a baby.”

She turned from the window and saw the envelope propped on the bedside table. She shuddered as if a goose had walked over her grave. She tore open the envelope and her wedding ring fell into her hand.
Patrick picked it up!
The echo of her vow came back to her.
Leave it! Hepburn will be the one who must pick it up, or it will lie there forever.
Cat blushed at her own arrogance.

With a premonition of dread, she slowly unfolded the letter and sank down on the edge of the bed.
You are a bastard, Hepburn, if you have left me again.
She looked at the wedding ring.

She was so angry, the words in the letter blurred and it took a couple of moments before she could read it.

Cat flung the letter away from her. “Lord Bloody Stewart,” she cursed. “Remain in Scotland and see if I care!” She rubbed her temples in an effort to rid herself of fury.

She realized that she had used up all her energy by losing her temper. Cat lay down on her bed to rest. She decided that she would not think of the infuriating devil. Instead, she would concentrate on herself. First, she would remain calm at all times. When she was in blooming health, she would decide what to do.

During the next two weeks, Catherine’s appetite increased, and when she looked in the mirror with a critical eye, she had to admit that her face no longer looked wan and peaked. Every day she performed the ritual of taking flowers to Maggie’s grave in the orchard, where the trees were now heavy with pears and russet apples. She talked to Maggie, revealing her thoughts but keeping a tight rein on her emotions. Maggie didn’t answer her, of course, but these visits brought comfort to Catherine.

She did not mention Patrick Hepburn, but avoided the subject as if it were taboo. Then one day she brought some purple Michaelmas daisies that were the same color as Scottish heather and thistles and her emotions broke through. “I warrant you were right, Maggie; I think I’m having a bairn. I have morning sickness, and instead of being skeletal, my face and breasts are quite full. Damn Hepburn to hellfire! How dare he get me with child then leave me to face it all alone?”

Catherine was shocked by her own words. It was the first time she had admitted that she didn’t want to be alone. Before she went back to the house, she went into the meadow to look at the wild horses. They approached her warily and then tore off on a mad gallop across the field, preferring their own company.

That night in her chamber she took out Patrick’s letter and read it again. Some of the phrases jumped out at her:
... accept my apology ... contract was unconscionable ... I deeply regret ... I hereby renounce any claim ... I am honoring that vow ...

“Holy God, what have I done?” Cat ran to the mirror and took a good look at her reflection. “I don’t want his love for me to turn him into someone who apologizes, and deeply regrets, and selflessly renounces his claims. What the hell sort of a man is that? I don’t want him to change; I want Patrick Hepburn exactly as he is, wild and untamed!”

Catherine wanted him dominant, arrogant, ambitious and expedient. She wanted him lusty, irreverent and uncivilized. She wanted him in rough leathers and that bloody sheepskin, smelling of horses and issuing his orders. She wanted Hepburn to be
himself,
so that she could be exactly
herself,
a little hellcat! They were a perfect match. One made in either heaven or hell, and she didn’t care which.

She hurried to the small desk and found a piece of paper. “Send me a letter telling me your wishes,” he had written. Catherine dipped in the pen and then flung it down, blotching the paper with ink spatters. “To lowest hell with letters! I shall go and confront him myself. When Hepburn wed me, he endowed me with Crichton—and I have an irresistible urge to see my castle.”

She went downstairs and asked Mr. Burke to find David Hepburn and send him to her in the library. She sat down at the mahogany desk, spread out a large map of England and Scotland and began to study it from top to bottom. She became so engrossed in her task that she would not have heard David’s knock had it not been loud.

Cat lifted her eyes and gave him a radiant smile. “Come in, David; I need your help.”

“I’m happy to see ye’ve recovered yer health, my lady.”

“Yes, since my health seems to be blooming, I’ve decided to go to Scotland. I need your help deciding on our route.”

David had the wariness of a Hepburn. “Our route, my lady?”

“Yes,” she said impatiently. “Come and look at this map.”

David ran a rough, thick finger from Hertford to Edinburgh. “’Tis too far fer a lady to ride, and it would take days by carriage. Moreover, plague may still be ravishing the country.”

“Your thoughts mirror mine exactly, David.” She purposely ignored the forbidding tone in his voice; she’d had experience handling a Hepburn. Her determined finger pushed his aside as it drew a direct line from Hertford to the coast. “A short ride to Maldon, where I’m sure we could find a ship to take us to Leith, would be the fastest route.”

“Ye cannot go alone, Lady Stewart,” he said firmly.

“I won’t be alone; I’ll be under your protection.”

“His lordship would have my ba—”

“Your balls, David? If you haven’t enough guts to escort me, I shall doubt if you have any balls!”

David flushed. “My lady, I will do as ye bid.”

“Thank you. Pack tonight. I want an early start.”

In the morning, as David loaded Catherine’s baggage into the small coach, he asked, “Where is yer serving woman, my lady?”

“It is far too soon after Maggie’s death to even contemplate replacing her, and I’m quite capable of doing for myself.”

David exchanged a speaking look with Mr. Burke, who did his best to keep his face impassive. “Capable and willful,” he muttered.

“Why, thank you. A compliment from a Hepburn is a rare thing.”

David climbed up beside the driver, and Mr. Burke held the carriage door open. “Here’s that ginger wine you asked for, my lady. I hope and pray it alleviates your seasickness.”

She touched his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Burke. After the plague,
mal de mer
is a trifling ailment.”

During the two-day sea voyage to Leith, Catherine rued her dismissal of the motion sickness. She put it down to one of the necessary discomforts connected with pregnancy as she gratefully sipped the ginger wine and laid the blame for her predicament at Patrick Hepburn’s door, where it squarely belonged.

The small, swift vessel made port during the dark hours before dawn, and when Cat went up on deck in the morning, she recognized the town of Leith. She identified the look on David’s face as apprehension and knew he was worried about taking her to Crichton.

“Hire a carriage, David. I want you to escort me to my grandfather at Seton.”

“Ye’re not going to Crichton, my lady?” He looked relieved.

“Not today, David. Once you have delivered me into the hands of the Earl of Winton, you are free to go to Crichton alone. Under no circumstances are you to tell my husband that I am in Scotland.” She handed him an envelope. “Give him this, please.”

He eyed it warily. “Will he kill the messenger?”

The corners of her mouth went up. “I warrant that Patrick is eagerly awaiting my letter, but to be on the safe side, once you hand it to him, you had better duck.”

On the carriage ride to Seton, Catherine spoke to Maggie.
I would give anything in the world if you could be with me today. You loved Scotland with all your heart.
Cat swallowed the lump in her throat and smiled wistfully.
I shall simply have to enjoy it for both of us.

When the carriage arrived at Seton and Geordie rode into the courtyard, he threw his bonnet into the air the moment he realized who it was. “My wee lass! I’ve missed ye somethin’ fierce!”

Catherine opened the door and jumped straight into his arms.

Geordie swung her about until they were both giddy. “This calls fer a celebration. I’ll round everybody up and we’ll have—”

“No, Geordie, I want to spend the day with just you. I have so much to tell you. David needs to borrow a horse.”

“Thanks fer deliverin’ my wee lass. Ye’ll find a mount in the stables.” Geordie paid the coach driver, picked up her bags and headed toward the castle.

Cat turned to David. “I thank you with all my heart. Please keep my secret from Patrick. I want to surprise him.”

After dinner that evening, Catherine and Geordie talked for hours. With Tattoo purring on her knee, she sipped watered whisky, rolling the smoky liquor over her tongue, as Geordie had taught her. She described King James’s arrival at Whitehall, Queen Anne’s stopover at Spencer Park and their coronation in Westminster Abbey.

Then she went on to tell him about the horrendous plague epidemic that had scourged England and taken Maggie’s life. They took comfort from each other over the terrible loss.

“I caught the infection too and would have surely died if Patrick Hepburn had not arrived to nurse me back to health.”

Geordie looked at her quizzically. “Do ye no’ think it’s time tae wed the laddie, and put him out o’ his misery?”

“Wed him?” Cat asked in surprise.
My grandfather doesn’t know we are married!

“Before he went tae England wi’ the king, he asked me if I objected to an alliance between our clans. I told him that was yer decision. When he arrived home two months later without a bride, everyone assumed ye had turned him down. Rumor had it he was in a foul temper fer weeks.”

“How do you hear these rumors?”

“Well, Andrew wed that bonnie lass, Jenny Hepburn. ’Twas she who told us his lordship returned without a bride. If ye have changed yer mind about havin’ him fer yer husband, I’ll give ye a grand weddin’, Catherine.”

Cat was speechless. Did no one in Scotland know that she was Lady Stewart? Did that devil Hepburn not want any to know he was a married man? A strange frisson went through her.
Perhaps he’s not as saintly as he sounds in the letter of apology he left me.

She squeezed Geordie’s hand. “I’ll go to Crichton tomorrow and settle this question of our marriage once and for all.”

“I don’t want ye ridin’ alone. I’ll get Andrew to escort ye.”

“I would far rather have you for escort, Granddad.”

The grin almost split his weathered face.

“I shall go to bed and get my beauty sleep. I need to look my best tomorrow.” She tucked the black cat beneath her arm and kissed Geordie good night. As she climbed the castle stairs, the anticipation of seeing Patrick soared higher with every step.