Virginia Henley (31 page)

James was simply informing him that RC had sent word that he would be back in Edinburgh the day after tomorrow, and the king was asking that Hepburn attend him at Holyrood Palace.

“It’s late; you must stay the night. The king won’t expect my reply before morning. He knows I will come when summoned, but I’ll put it in writing for you.” Patrick hailed David Hepburn and asked him to plenish a chamber for the royal messenger.

As Catherine prepared for bed, her glance traveled about the lovely chamber, and again she had a proprietary feeling about Crichton Castle, as if it had belonged to her once upon a time.
There is a way it can belong to you again.
She chided herself for the outrageous thought.
Marrying Hepburn is out of the question!
An inner voice challenged,
Do you want Crichton, or do you want its lord and master?
She had no immediate answer, yet when she fell asleep she had a smile on her face. She fancied that Patrick was in love with her and that, if she chose, she could have them both.

When there was no sign of Catherine at breakfast, a tender smile tugged at Patrick’s lips. She was so small, he concluded she was exhausted from their exhilarating adventure, and he left instructions that she was not to be disturbed.

He sent the royal messenger on his way, then went to check on the wild horses. He returned to the castle and packed a few things he would take to Court on the morrow. At mid-morning he saw his housekeeper take a tray to Cat’s room and knew that within the hour he must escort her back to Seton, no matter how much he’d like to keep her at Crichton.

He paced about like a caged animal, then, unable to resist the temptation, he went up to her chamber. “Good morning, Catherine. Are you all packed and ready to abandon me?”

She flashed him a smile. “I’m usually up with the sun.”

“There is no sun. Rain clouds are moving in from the sea.”

She sighed.
My heart aches as if Cupid shot an arrow into it.
“Oh, I almost forgot to pack my arrows!” She retrieved the two arrows from the wardrobe and placed them on top of her clothes.

“Where did you get these?” he asked tersely, alarmed that they were the same as the one that had barely missed him at Court.

“My cousin Andrew gave them to me. Is anything wrong?”

“No,” he denied quickly. “They’re unusual, that’s all—made with crow feathers. Most arrows are made with gray goose feathers.” He closed her bags, then held her cloak for her. He cupped her shoulders from behind and dropped a kiss on her dark curls.

Catherine closed her eyes at the thrill of his touch. Then, while she still had the strength to leave, she said, “I’m ready.”

The housekeeper came in to retrieve her breakfast tray, and Cat turned and thanked her for her kindness, then moved to the stairs.

Patrick’s dark brows drew together and he asked his housekeeper, “Where’s Jenny?”

“The lass was up at the crack of dawn and off with her swain.”

“Andrew Lindsay from Seton?”

“Aye, him and no other!”

Patrick picked up Catherine’s luggage and followed her downstairs. In the stables he strapped her larger bag onto Valiant’s saddle and the smaller one to her pony’s.

“How are the wild horses faring?”

“All well and accounted for this morning. I’ll leave them together for a time. Horses, like people, prefer to be with their own clan. Strangers often clash at first.”

“Like us,” Cat acknowledged with a teasing smile.

As they rode north, she noticed that Patrick did not indulge in pleasantries or even small talk, but seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts.
He’s reluctant to let me go. Perhaps he’s thinking of how much he will miss me. I know I will hunger for him.
She saw him glance at the sky and decided he was concerned about the approaching rain. “Do you get many storms in July?”

“Some. Our summer is short—hot and cold air make violent enemies. Don’t fret; I think it will just be rain today.”

“I love wild storms!”

“You shouldn’t, Catherine. Lightning kills. Ask Geordie how many beasts he loses from lightning strikes. Promise me you will curb any impulse to ride out if a storm threatens?”

She wanted to protest that she was not impulsive, but he knew better.
How protective he is.
“I promise ... forewarned is forearmed.” When Winton Castle came into view, she began to worry about what she would say to her grandfather, and to Maggie, about Liz and Robert not being at Crichton to chaperone her.
For three days I wasn’t there either!
She shivered, wondering how she had dared behave in such a way.
Sin now; repent at leisure.
Cat shivered again.

As they rode into the castle courtyard, they encountered two other riders. Jenny Hepburn waved excitedly and spurred her pony forward. “Lady Catherine! I’m so glad to see you.”

“Jenny, what a lovely surprise. Hello, Andrew.”

Hepburn glared dangerously at Andrew. “We are going to have a downpour. I’ll escort you home, Jenny.”

“Thank you, my lord, there is no need ...” Her voice trailed off.

“There is every need,” Hepburn said tersely. He helped Cat dismount, then unstrapped her bags and set them before Andrew. “Forgive my haste, Lady Catherine, and please give my regards to the earl.”

Cat knew that Patrick had vanished and Lord Stewart had taken his place. She also knew he was in a dark mood, though she did not know the reason. There would be no tender good-byes between them now. “Jenny, take my cloak; you may be drenched before you reach Crichton.”

Jenny donned the gray cloak and tucked her long red tresses inside the hood. “Thank you. I’ll take good care of it.”

Cat watched the pair canter from the courtyard, and her Border pony with its empty saddle trailed after them.

“Hepburn obviously doesn’t approve of my attentions to Jenny.”

“I think he’s just worried about the storm,” Cat excused, but she sensed a different storm was brewing.

Patrick set a hard pace and Jenny kept up with him. His face was dark and closed as he thought about Andrew Lindsay, his brain ferreting out reasons he might be a threat. As they rode past a stand of fir trees, he heard the unmistakable whoosh of an arrow, and as he swerved Valiant to avoid the missile, he heard the sickening thunk as it embedded itself in Jenny’s arm.

“Christ’s death!” He was out of the saddle in a flash, catching her before she fell to the ground. He raised his head and scented the wind, but he heard and saw nothing. Pursuit would be impossible and, in any case, Jenny was his first priority.

She had tears of pain in her eyes, but she was not unconscious. “Good girl, Jenny. We are closer to Seton, but I’m taking you home to Crichton.” With gentle hands he snapped off the arrow and put it in his saddlebag. Then he took her before him on Valiant, spurring the stallion to a full gallop while cradling his young burden in the crook of a powerful arm. “I know the pain is fierce, but you are in no danger, lassie,” he assured her.

Valiant thundered into Crichton’s courtyard just as the heavens opened. Hepburn, with Jenny in his arms, slid down from the stallion’s back and ran beneath the stone arch of the castle and up the steps.

His housekeeper, the girl’s mother, screamed, “My God! Jenny!”

“She’s a brave lass.” He gave his housekeeper a stern glance, warning her not to go to pieces before the girl. He carried Jenny to the library, and her mother rallied and went to the kitchen for hot water and some powdered yarrow to staunch the bleeding.

Servants and moss-troopers gathered about the door, and Jenny’s father arrived. Hepburn handed him one of his knives. “Hold the tip in the candle flame.” He told her mother to fetch whisky.

Once Jenny had obediently swallowed the fiery liquor, Patrick gently removed the cloak and cut the blood-soaked sleeve from her shirt. “This will hurt,” he warned. Then deftly he probed her flesh with his dirk and pried out the arrowhead. Blood gushed from the wound, and her mother knelt to wash it then sprinkle it with yarrow. Patrick bandaged it tightly and turned to see his surgeon, who had rushed from the Great Hall, nod his approval.

White-lipped, Jenny said, “Lady Catherine’s cloak is ruined!”

All laughed with relief. Jenny’s father carried her to her bed, knowing if this were other than accidental, it would be avenged.

Hepburn’s temper was savage. He would beat Lindsay to a bloody pulp. He snatched up the gray cloak, angrily questioning why his instincts had failed him. His neck began to prickle. Perhaps he had not been forewarned of the danger because the threat had not been to him. His gut knotted as he realized that Jenny had been mistaken for Cat.
The menace was meant for Catherine!

As he paced the tiles of the library floor, suspicious thoughts darted with the speed of mercury. Someone wanted Catherine dead.
She
, not he, had been the target of the arrow at Holyrood. If Cat was removed from the line of succession, who would benefit? The answer came swiftly. Geordie Seton’s elder sister’s son, Malcolm Lindsay, would become the Earl of Winton’s heir if Catherine died.

The library caged him. He left, went down the steps and strode beneath the canopy of the colonnade, listening to the pelting rain. It was too confining for his soaring senses and thoughts, so deliberately he stepped out into the downpour, his long strides making short work of the distance from the castle to the river. He wondered if the Lindsay cousins were conspiring. He knew that Andrew had not shot Jenny by mistake, because he had seen Catherine give her the cloak. Hepburn’s thoughts focused on Malcolm; he knew little about him except that he’d had a wife who died.

He cursed out loud because he had sent word that he would attend the king tomorrow. He thought briefly of Robert Carey and made his plans accordingly. He would ride to Seton at first light. Soaked to the skin, he shivered.
Cat is in grave danger!

The sun streaming into Catherine’s chamber at Winton Castle woke her early. She stretched sensuously and smiled at Maggie. “I was having such a wonderful dream!”

“Oh, aye? Can I have three guesses who was in it?”

“Yes, and the first two don’t count!” Cat teased.

Tattoo uncurled from the bottom of the bed where she’d been lying in the sunlight and jumped to the carpet. The feline rubbed against Maggie’s legs because she had brought a tray of food.

“And how are the newlyweds, Liz and Robert, faring?”

Guilt immediately washed over Cat. She broke off a piece of crisp bacon for Tattoo to give her time to compose an answer. “Robert’s father, Lord Hunsdon, has passed away, so they had to return to London.”
Please don’t ask me when they left.

“God rest his soul. Kate and Philadelphia will be upset, even though his death was expected. Yer aunt Beth will be the new Lady Hunsdon. I wonder how that’ll sit with Isobel.”

“So long as Mother’s position at Elizabeth’s Court isn’t affected, I don’t think she cares who dies. Actually, it will elevate her status, having a countess for sister-in-law.”

“All that jostling for positions at Court seems ridiculous here in Seton. I’m glad ye are away from the intrigue.”

Cat veiled her eyes with her lashes and smiled a secret smile.
I am up to my neck in intrigue, Maggie, if you but knew it.

“What will ye wear? That dreadful rain has stopped, the heavy clouds have vanished and the sun is out, heaven be praised.”

Cat again stretched sensuously and opened her wardrobe. She felt beautiful and wanted a dress to match her mood. She lifted out a gown that was the color of apricots ripened by the sun. When she put it on, she saw that her eyes glowed amber today.
Falling in love does the most wondrous things for your face as well as your spirit,
she told her reflection. She brushed her hair, threaded a matching ribbon through the loose curls, then threw open the window to inhale the intoxicating scents of nature.

Suddenly, her heart lurched at what she saw.
He’s coming! I don’t believe it! Patrick cannot bear to be away from me!
Cat ran past Maggie and down the stairs. She had never run toward a man before. Even if she’d been attracted, she had maintained a cool indifference. But with Patrick she knew that was impossible. She hurried through the great hall, breathless with excitement, and stopped dead as he flung open the front door and strode inside.

“You’re going home! Get packed!”

Catherine recoiled. Hepburn’s face was dark and closed, his jaw clenched like a lump of granite, his hands doubled into fists of iron. The thin veneer of civilization had been stripped to reveal the untamed savage beneath. A finger of fear touched her, yet still she found the courage to question him. “What is amiss?”