"But ye do not really love him," said Francis Hepburn. "Yet yer lot has been better than mine. Yer a healthy woman, Cat, who enjoys her bedsport wi'out being lewd. My dear countess detests the physical aspects of marriage. Had she been able to get her hands on my fortune by means other than bearing me children, she would have done so."

"But yer bairns? Surely ye love them, Francis."

"In a way, but Margaret has raised them to be cold and correct. They dinna have the Hepburn or the Stewart charm. They tolerate me. It doesna make for a warm relationship."

"I am so sorry, my love," she said.

"Why?" He smiled down at her. "For the first time in my life I am in love. I am in love wi ye, my precious Cat! God help me! How I love ye! And ye, my darling. Ye too are in love for the first time in yer life. And I am the fortunate man!"

"Oh, Bothwell," she whispered, "what are we to do?"

"I dinna know, Cat. I hae no easy answers, but I will find a solution to our dilemma, I promise ye that."

Putting an arm about her shoulders, he led the way into her bedroom. Gently he removed her pearls and placed them on the table. Next he opened the lavender gown, took it from her, and placed it over a chair. She pulled the pins from her hair, and it tumbled down her back. He caught his breath in delight at the perfection of her lovely breasts, glowing golden in the candlelight. Having kicked her slippers off, she walked barefooted over to him, and her slender fingers tremblingly unbuttoned his shirt and removed it Then, turning, she walked over to the bed while he finished undressing and got into it.

Trembling, she awaited him. And then he was with her beneath the feather coverlet. He drew her lush body against his slender length and held her close. They stayed that way for what seemed an eternity, allowing the warmth of their bodies to mingle. Cat wondered if Francis felt the same desperate hunger that she did. She could not call it lust. The feelings she had ran too deep. Even the supreme act of possession did not entirely satisfy her.

He entered her, pushing deep within her pulsing warmth, and straining to go further, he cried out, "Ah, God! 'Tis not enough!" Cat wept with joy at the knowledge that his love for her was as deep as hers for him.

Chapter 25

WINTER deepened into early spring, the traditional time for raiding the borders. Bothwell had not gone along on many of these ventures, preferring to stay with Cat. His men missed him greatly, and, finally, Bothwell's bastard half-brother, Hercules Stewart, spoke to the countess about the problem.

"Could I go too, Hercules?" she asked him.

He grinned at her. "To be sure, my lady! If Francis will permit ye."

"Can ye use a sword or a pistol?" Bothwell asked when he was confronted by his half-brother and Cat.

"Well enough," she replied. "My eldest brother taught me."

He tested her and, satisfied, said, "Yell do." But he instructed Hercules not to leave Cat's side.

So she rode out with Bothwell and his borderers, first at night, and then on daylight raids. Unafraid, she fought the English with a gusto that delighted the earl's men. Yet she was kind to those of her own sex, and tender with the children. Soon stories began to filter out of the borders, stories about the beautiful lady who rode with Bothwell and his men.

South from Edinburgh rode Bothwell's sometime friend, Lord Home. He was curious about these stories, and wanted to see for himself. Home rode alone. He wanted no gossiping servants along. It was late afternoon as he neared Hermitage, stopping for a minute to gaze at the great castle in the distance. Hearing hoof-beats behind him, he drew into a strand of trees and waited. He recognized Bothwell's stallion, Valentine, but the sleek golden bay beside him was unfamiliar. The two horses raced straight towards him, then pulled up in the grass just short of his hiding place. He could see Bothwell's face easily, and heard him exclaim, "I win, madamel Pay yer forfeit!"

The laughter that greeted Bothwell's words was soft, and Home leaned eagerly forward, but the woman turned and he could not see her face clearly. "Name your forfeit, my Lord!" she called in a clear voice. Bothwell cocked a wicked eyebrow. Reaching up, he lifted the woman down from her horse.

"Oh, Francis!" The woman laughed again. Hepburn's arms closed about her. Lord Home could see only her profile, which told him little. Home was struck by the look of tenderness and love on his friend's face. After.gazing rapturously at his love for some time, Bothwell said, "Christ, my darling. How much I love ye! Come. Let us go home. Will ye race me again?"

He lifted her back onto her horse. Again Home was frustrated in his attempt to see the woman's face, for her back was to him. "If I win, Francis, I shall claim a larger forfeit than one kiss!" Her meaning was obvious, and Home almost choked. Jesu! What a wench this woman was! Bothwell laughed low and replied, " If ye beat me, madame." Smacking the golden bay on the rump to give Cat a head start, he mounted Valentine and galloped off after her.

Lord Home remained hidden for some minutes. What he had just witnessed had shaken him somewhat He had known Francis Hepburn for many years. At one time they had even been enemies. But, youthful vanities soothed, they later became friends. Home had never seen Bothwell look so relaxed, or so peaceful. He had wenched enough with the man to know that Hepburn never took any woman seriously, not even his cold, correct Countess. Yet Home was sure the lord of Hermitage took this woman absolutely seriously. Mounting his own horse, Home headed down the hills to the great castle. His curiosity was truly aroused now.

In the courtyard he was met by Hercules Stewart, who offered greetings and took his horse. "I'll go get Francis. He's just ridden in, and will be glad to see ye."

Lord Home waited in an antechamber, grinning to himself, wondering who had won the horse race. Suddenly the door burst open, and Bothwell strode in. He grasped Home's hand warmly.

"By God, Sandy! 'Tis good to see ye! What brings ye to Hermitage?" The big earl busied himself with a decanter and two heavy glasses.

"Curiosity, Francis. Curiosity is what brings me. There are stories in Edinburgh that ye ride the borders wi a beautiful woman by yer side. The court is fascinated. Shall I go back and tell them that Lord Bothwell has mocked them again? 'Tis but a lad in a wig, is it not?"

Bothwell handed Alexander Home a glass of his smoky whisky and smiled lazily. "Do ye want to meet her, Sandy? Do ye want to meet my lady? I have, by the way, asked Margaret for a divorce."

Home's eyebrows shot up.

"I have told Margaret that I will sign over to the children everything except Hermitage," Bothwell continued. "What is yer news, Sandy?"

Alexander Home thoughtfully sniffed his whisky and then sipped at it. "Am I to understand that Francis Stewart-Hepburn, the man who is called the uncrowned King of Scotland, has finally fallen in love?"

Bothwell did not answer him directly. He pulled the bellcord, and said to the servant answering it, "Ask my lady if she will join us." The two men sat in companionable silence for the next few minutes, until the door opened.

Bothwell leaped forward, putting a protective arm about the beautiful young woman. "Sandy, may I present Catriona, Lady Leslie. Cat, this is my old friend Sandy Home."

Lord Home bowed over the slender hand offered him, and then looked up into the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. His mind reeled over the announcement of her identity.

She smiled and gently disengaged her hand from his grasp. "Yes, Lord Home. I am the same Catriona Leslie who is the Countess of Glenkirk. And yes, Lord Home, I am she who is called the Virtuous Countess."

He flushed. "Madame, I…" He fought for the words.

She helped him out. "Yer surprised to see me here, my lord. Francis is free to tell ye the truth of the matter if he so chooses. Now, I must go speak to the housekeeper about seeing to yer comfort." She turned to Bothwell. "I'll have dinner served in the small dining room."

"Will ye join us, Cat?"

"Aye." She smiled again at Lord Home, then turned and left.

"Good Lord, Bothwell!" swore Alexander Home. "Catriona Leslie! Does Glenkirk know where she is? He explained that she went home to nurse a sickly bairn, and he sold her position at court."

"Good," said Bothwell. "I'll nae allow her back at court. And to answer yer question, Sandy-no, Glenkirk doesna know where she is. She has written to her uncle, the Abbot of Glenkirk Abbey, asking him to arrange for a divorce."

"How did this start?" asked Home. "Glenkirk and his wife were considered happy. Damn me, Francis! Ye've fooled them again! All that time ye claimed not to be sleeping wi her! How they laughed at court at.yer claims of friendship! Hepburn's 'met his match, they said, for she will nae spread her legs for him or for any man other than her husband. And all that time ye were sleeping wi her!" Home slapped his thigh and roared.

Then he heard Bothwell say quietly, "No, Sandy. That is nae the way it began. Fill yer glass again, man, and I'll tell ye the truth of the matter."

Lord Home needed no encouragement, for Francis Hepburn made the best whisky on the border, possibly even in all of Scotland. Settling himself back in his chair he listened, first with amazement, then with growing horror, and finally with outrage.

"God help me," finished the earl. "Fve loved her from the first, but I nae expected to win her away from Glenkirk. The damned fool, to throw away anything so precious!"