Bertrice Small - Love Wild and Fair

She could tell by his touch that he was near to losing that perfect control he prided himself on, and she wanted him as she had never wanted him before. Turning, she slid her slender arms about his neck. "Now, Francis," she said quietly. "Take me, now! I have waited over a year to be wi ye again, and 'tis nae time to be standoffish."

Pulling away from him, she walked slowly across the room and climbed into the big lace-trimmed, lavender-scented featherbed. Undressing, he asked, "Did Glenkirk nae make love to ye enough that yer so eager, my darling?"

"Glenkirk took every opportunity to use me, and though my body responds to him, I hae never since we last made love been able to find the heaven I find wi ye, Francis. Aye, my lord, I am eager for ye!" She held out her arms to him, and he waited no longer.

They cuddled together beneath the warmth of the coverlet. He had her cradled within one arm while the other caressed her soft breast and then wandered boldly to stroke her rounded belly, her firm, trembling thighs and the soft hidden places of her body. Her breath was coming in short gasps, but she suddenly squirmed free of him and pushed him back on the pillows.

Bending over him, her lips began a tantalizing descent down his long body. She was exciting him unbelievably, her petal-soft lips gentle, touching him here and then there, moving lower and lower until she reached his swollen manroot. Tenderly she took it in her hand and kissed the pink, throbbing head. Then, taking it into her warm mouth, she drew on it for just a moment. His whole body jerked, and he cried out as if in agony. Frightened, she released him. She looked into his face. "I only wanted to taste of ye, my love," she whispered.

He pulled her back under him, and looked passionately down at her. "What do I taste of?" he demanded thickly.

"S-salt," she answered him suddenly, feeling very shy.

He laughed softly. Quickly sliding down and between her slender legs, he slipped his hands beneath her round buttocks and lifted her up, so he might taste of her also. She cried out-half in joy, half in shame. She wanted him to take her this way even though she felt it was not quite right. "Sweet! Sweet!" she heard him murmur. "Christ, yer sweet, my love!"

She could feel herself slipping away into that golden world of sweet fulfillment that she had been unable to attain since last being with him. As the delicious ache began to spread through her lower belly, his hardness thrust into her, and she cried aloud her happiness.

Afterwards-almost immediately-they both fell into deep contented sleep, still joined, their bodies intertwined. When she awoke it was to find him awake too, and watching her. She smiled and touched his cheek gently. He caught her hand and tenderly kissed the palm and the inner wrist. Their eyes met, and she trembled, so great was the depth of his emotion. That two people could love as deeply as she and Bothwell loved terrified her.

Propping himself on one elbow, he ruffled her dark-gold curls. "What happened to yer lovely hair?" She told him the story of her meeting with the king, and he shook his head wonderingly. "Ye defied him for me? Christ! How that must hae hurt Jamie!" He put his arms about her. "Yer my wench, and have been from the start, haven't ye? My God, how am I going to survive wi'out ye? I have nae done well so far."

"I dinna want to think about it, Francis. Not today. Not now when we are together again."

"How long can ye stay wi me, my darling."

"As long as yer at Huntley. Glenkirk is in England until the spring."

"How damned convenient," murmured Bothwell. "However when he promised we might see each other again, I dinna think he meant ye should live wi me for any length of time." The border lord's eyes were brimming with amusement.

"I will do as I please, Bothwell! If I thought the Leslies could escape Jamie's wrath I would flee to France yi ye now! Both the king and my husband know that. Unfortunately I am bound to the Leslies. They hae all been at me since my return. My Uncle Patrick, the old Earl of Sithean, died two years ago, but his wife has nae stopped her whining that my shameless behavior endangers her precious Earl Charles, who is married to Glenkirk's sister, Janet. When I told my mother the truth of my estrangement from Patrick, she chided me for not making him understand the great honor done me by James Stewart. She, who was a virgin till her wedding night, and who has never known another man in her entire life but my father, chortled about the 'honor' of being the king's mistress! They make me sick! All of them! And yet-I am bound to them, and I must sacrifice my happiness for their safety. But, my love, my very life-I will nae sacrifice this¹ time wi ye. When ye leave Scotland, I shall never see ye again. I know it! I feel it! We are surely doomed to be separated, but I will hae this time wi ye!"

His arms tightened about her. "I know I hae never done anything in this life to deserve love such as yers, my sweet Catriona Mairi."

The clock on the mantel struck five, and she said, "Good Lord! We're going to be late for dinner! What will the Gordons think?" Reaching out, she yanked the bellpull. Disengaging herself from his grasp, she stood up.

He caught his breath at the perfection of her body. Without her long hair the beautiful line of her back was visible. He had made love to many women, but none could hold a candle to her. He was not a man to take pride in his ownership of a woman, but he was very proud that she loved him.

Susan arrived and modestly set up a screen for her mistress to dress behind. The Gordon valet assigned to serve Lord Bothwell rushed to cover the earl's private parts as he rose from the tumbled bed, but Susan's flaming cheeks told him that he had been too late. Unable to resist, Bothwell winked at the little maidservant. She almost swooned.

"Damnit, Francis! Stop teasing Susan! Ye've made her all thumbs. No, child. The pendant!"

Bothwell had dressed in a kilt, and Cat's gaze swept him. "Damn me, Francis," she said teasingly. "Ye've the handsomest pair of legs I've ever seen in a kilt."

He grinned wickedly at her. "And ye, madame, hae the handsomest pair of-" He was stopped by her warning look, and he laughed and said, "Well, ye do, my darling!"

She laughed helplessly. "Yer a most impossible man! Take me down to supper."

They descended from their tower to the hall below, where George and Henriette Gordon waited for them alone. The Earl of Huntley had been sure that Both-well and Cat would not welcome company, so there was none.

George Gordon, called the Cock of the North, was related to the king. Cat had met him at court. He had wisely kept his wife from court. Henriette Gordon was petite, with soft hair the color of a daffodil, and enormous golden-brown eyes. She was elegant, and educated, and had charming Gallic manners and a warm heart. It did not take long for her to become friends with Cat Leslie.

Knowing that Bothwell would be with them through the winter, she had asked Cat to stay. Then she ascertained that though Cat's boys were no longer at home, her daughters were, and she invited them to Huntley for Christmas and Twelfth Night. When Cat demurred because she did not want to leave Meg alone, Henriette said she would invite the dowager as well.

The end result was that Bess, Amanda, and Morag were coming for the holidays. But Meg had been asked to Forbes Manor to stay with her youngest son, Michael, and his wife, Isabelle. She did not often get to see them, and she felt that this was the perfect opportunity. There was, she wrote, one complication. The twins would have to go to Huntley. Meg did not want them left alone at Glenkirk with the servants.

Bothwell was wild with excitement. "Our bairns!" he said. "I shall get to see our bairns!"

"Ye canna admit to their paternity," she cautioned him. "The world has never doubted that Patrick Leslie is their father. I will allow no one-even ye-to endanger them."

It was a new side of her that he saw-this fierce and protective mother. He put an arm about her. "Fate has nae dealt kindly wi us, has it, Cat?"

"We're together now, Bothwell," she answered him.

The unspoken questions-"For how long?" "Until when?"-lay between them, but neither Cat nor Francis could ask those questions.

So while the autumn deepened about them, they accepted the Gordons' hospitality. It allowed them a tranquil place to rest in their last months together. For just a brief time they might forget the public controversy that raged about Francis Stewart-Hepburn and the private one that raged about them both. When the future arrived they would face it courageously. But for now, they basked in their good fortune.

GREEN and gold September gave way to a rainbow October. The trees about Huntley were clothed in their traditional brilliant colors. November was a gray-and-brown month, startling in contrast to the beauty of the previous month. The first snow fell late, on St. Thomas' Night, and the Leslie children arrived that day.

They had come, Bess riding a gentle brown mare, the other children and their attendants in carriages, escorted by Conall and fifty men-at-arms. Twelve-year-old Bess Leslie strove to appear grown-up. She wore an elegant riding habit of claret-colored velvet, a matching cloak trimmed in sable, and a small hat atop her dark, neatly braided hair. Cat had never seen her eldest daughter with her hair up.

"She is très chic," murmured Henriette.

"And very young yet," replied Cat with a catch in her throat.