Virginia Henley (34 page)

In the pitch-dark night, on the battlements of Carlisle Castle, Patrick Hepburn stared into the void, seeing only Catherine. When he closed his eyes he could feel her soft body yield to him. He could taste her mouth as it clung to his. Most of all, his blood sang as he relived her wild, passionate response to him.

Chapter Twenty

C
atherine, I’m so glad that you are back,” Isobel declared.

Cat’s heart lifted as her mother welcomed her arrival at their apartment at Whitehall Palace.

“The queen was not best pleased that you had gone to visit your grandfather. Her Majesty needs you to design some new gowns.”

Cat’s joy was muted.
I might have known!
Her mother was happy about her return only because it would please Elizabeth.

“Maggie and I traveled back with Robert and Philadelphia.”

“I’m happy to have you back too, Maggie. I dismissed my last ladies’ maid because she preferred gossip to duty. My wardrobe needs attention. I’m surprised Her Majesty hasn’t commented on the condition of my garments.”

“I’ll soon put it to rights, my lady, once I’ve unpacked.”

“I’ll help you, Maggie.” Cat, astounded that Isobel had not asked about her father, Geordie, was glad to escape.

The next morning she presented herself to Queen Elizabeth.

“Lady Catherine, you are returned from your sojourn in Scotland. What did you think of the barbaric land?”

Cat rose from her deep curtsy. “It was beautiful, in a wild and untamed way, Your Majesty.”

“So I’ve been told. A tad too rugged for those with delicate constitutions like you and me, I warrant.”

“I want you to design me two new gowns for my summer progress. This year we do not intend to go traipsing across the country. Lord Keeper Egerton has invited us to Harefield Place, Middlesex, for the month of August. It will give us an opportunity to see if his new wife, Lady Alice, proves an entertaining hostess.”

“I will create a few designs immediately, Your Majesty.”
Your poor sewing women will have to work day and night to get new gowns finished by the first of August. I had better get started.

Catherine went immediately to the seamstresses, who worked under the direction of her mother. They all put their heads together and came up with ideas that would cut hours from their intricate labor. Then Cat sketched her designs accordingly.

That evening she joined Philadelphia and Kate in the Privy Chamber, where they were making mock curtsies to Cat’s aunt Beth, their sister-in-law, who had just become the new Lady Hunsdon.

“The queen informed me we are going to Harefield Place on progress. Poor Lady Alice will be in a pother, I warrant.”

“She’ll be in her glory, Catherine. She went through the Earl of Derby’s fortune like a dose of salts; now she’ll make inroads on Egerton’s money. It’ll be poor Thomas who’s in a pother.”

Philadelphia lowered her voice. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Cat. Here comes your lonely swain, Henry Somerset.”

“Lady Catherine, you are even more beauteous than I remember. Would you do me the honor of partnering me in this dance?”

She accepted and, as she danced, wondered why she no longer found Hal attractive.
He looks so young and so pretty. Why did I never notice before?
Her inner voice answered:
You know why,
but she ignored it.

“There’s a new Shakespeare play at the Globe. Will you come with me, Cat?” Hal begged.

She gave him a cool look at the liberty he took with her name.

“I’m afraid not, since Lady Arbella isn’t here to join us.” As the dance finished she started to walk away, but then William Seymour arrived and bowed gallantly.

“May I have the honor of the next dance, Lady Catherine?”

Henry Somerset snapped, “Bog off, Seymour; you’re nothing but a damned fortune hunter!”

“There’s the pot calling the kettle black!” Will sneered.

Cat had a sudden revelation. They were both after her money! “Hal, why don’t you partner Will? You make such a lovely couple and have so much in common that you deserve each other.”

Hours later, as she lay in bed, Catherine began a ritual that she would follow for many months. First, she vowed to open a new chapter in her life. She needed to find an attractive, noble suitor who had wealth of his own and no interest in hers. Second, she firmly banished all thoughts of Patrick Hepburn. Then she fell asleep and promptly dreamed about the dangerous devil.

At Crichton, Lord Stewart spoke with his moss-troopers. “I know the summer months, while the crops are harvested, are traditionally the quietest of the year in the Borders, but this year will be different for the Hepburns.” He watched the dark faces for signs of objection as he laid out his plan. “I want half of you to remain at Crichton to protect our people, the castle and our land. The other half will ride with me to hunt down the Armstrongs.” He held up his hand before any could speak. “I must warn you that we are inviting the king’s displeasure, since Foss Armstrong is a Scots Border warden and James has outlawed clan feuds.” He let that sink in. “You decide who stays and who rides.”

A short time later he sought out Jenny and took a look at her wound. She was healing well and seemed no worse for wear. “You may no longer ride out with Andrew Lindsay to Seton or anywhere else. It is unsafe.” He saw the mutinous look on her face. “Jenny, I want your word as a Hepburn that you will obey me.”

She hesitated before she nodded. “You have my word, my lord.”

“Good girl.” Patrick hoped her father would choose to stay behind and safeguard his family.

The next morning Hepburn departed Crichton with two dozen of his most hardened moss-troopers. As he had expected, Jock Elliot rode beside him. Most, but not all, were unwed or widowers. The men who had young children had opted to stay behind on guard duty under the captaincy of David Hepburn, who would have preferred to ride but knew where his first duty lay.

Hepburn rode directly to Winton Castle to assure the earl that though he may be gone for some time, the Hepburns would still guard his cattle from theft. Before Patrick left he wanted to make sure Geordie Seton was all right. Then, alone, without his men, he spoke with another to make sure Geordie stayed that way.

He found Malcolm Lindsay overseeing a dozen men who were harvesting a hay crop and took him aside. “I have been making enquiries about your late wife and have learned that some believe she died under odd circumstances.” He towered over Malcolm in a threatening stance and saw the black hatred in his eyes. Then Hepburn’s mouth set and he said calmly, “I charge you to watch the earl’s back and trust you see no harm befalls Geordie Seton.”

Patrick Hepburn and his moss-troopers then set out on their mission. Unbeknownst to them, it would take months before their
hot trod
produced results.

While Whitehall Palace was cleaned and aired, the queen and Court enjoyed the hospitality of Harefield for the entire month of August. Lady Alice strove to outdo all other hostesses with lavish banquets, masques and concerts, where Elizabeth was honored as the Sun Queen.

Isobel, for once, did not criticize Catherine. “How clever of you to design the queen’s gown to depict the sun, moon and stars.”

“Thank you, Mother.”
You have no idea how clever. The sewing women cut out the designs from other material and appliquéd them rather than embroidering for days. Then I wrote to Lady Alice, hinting at how Her Majesty loved being honored as the Sun Queen.

Before the Court departed, Lord and Lady Egerton held a lottery for their guests and deftly arranged it so that the queen and her ladies won all the prizes. Elizabeth declared her progress a resounding success.

During the first week of September, Cat received a poetic billet-doux from William Herbert, whom she had spent time with at Harefield. She hurried along to Philadelphia’s chambers to learn all she could about the attractive young man.

“William is heir to the great earldom of Pembroke, Cat. His mother was Philip Sidney’s sister. Apparently he’s inherited the family’s literary talent and, since his writings cleverly flatter Elizabeth, he has a good chance of becoming a royal favorite.”

“So that’s why he was invited to Harefield,” Cat mused.

A few days later, when Herbert joined her in the gardens, Cat found his conversation exhilarating. He frequented a literary circle of poets and dramatists, which she found fascinating.

“Will Shakespeare is truly a friend of yours?”

“Men in the arts frequently need wealthy patrons. Since my father has been most generous to Shakespeare, he regards me as a friend. I regard him as a master from whom I’ve learned much.”

“My lord, why don’t you suggest to the queen that the players from the Globe Theatre perform one of Shakespeare’s plays here?”

“Lady Catherine, do you believe Her Majesty would be amenable to such a suggestion?”

“Shall we find out, Will? I’ll plant the suggestion in her ear, and then you water it with flattery and we’ll see if it produces fruit.”

By the end of September, Catherine concluded that she and Will Herbert made a good team. He smoked tobacco, a fashion brought from the New World, which Cat found so fascinating, she tried it herself—in private, of course, with only Maggie as witness.

As she lay abed one night, Cat decided she had found the noble suitor for whom she had been searching. Earlier in the evening they had talked about the estates that they would inherit; hers in Hertford, and his in Wiltshire, near Salisbury, called Wilton House. She had also heard whispers that the queen was about to make Herbert her Master of the Horse. She allowed herself to fantasize about marriage.
I could become the Countess of Pembroke. That should banish the persistent specter of Patrick Hepburn, who lurks about in the dark recesses of my mind!

When she fell asleep, the man she dreamed about was indeed a Master of the Horse, and Master of Cat too, but he was not the noble, fair-haired William Herbert.

During August and September, Hepburn and his moss-troopers rode from town to town throughout the Scottish dales, searching for the Armstrong reivers connected with the kidnapping-for-ransom plot. At Kinmont, Gilnockie and Mangerton they found Armstrongs from No-Nose Willie to Hob Half-Lugs, but Hepburn knew they were little fish, and none of them had been present in Edinburgh that day. He would not be satisfied until he found the cod’s head.

“It should be a simple matter to find Foss Armstrong. A warden of the Marches doesn’t just disappear,” Jock said in frustration.

“He’s fleeing and hiding then fleeing again. We’ll run him to earth like the vermin he is. He could be in the English Borders. There are many Armstrongs who live there. We’ll cross over tonight.”

On the first day of October, William Herbert’s father died and he came into the earldom of Pembroke. A few days later, Catherine encountered him in the tiltyard, practicing hard to become the Queen’s Champion at the Accession Day Tournament in November.

“My lord earl, I had no idea you were back from Salisbury. I offer my deepest condolences for the loss of your dear father.”

“Thank you, Catherine. He had been ailing for some time so it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Tiltyard practice keeps melancholy thoughts at bay.”

“You must try to remember the happy times you spent with him.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I did when my grandfather died. He had rough manners and was happiest when he was egging on his retainers to brawl with the neighboring landowners.”

Catherine smiled. “My grandfather also is a rough diamond.”

“May I have a favor from you, my lady, to wear in the joust?”

“How very romantic, Lord Pembroke. I would be honored if you wore my favor. I’ll bring a scarf to the tiltyard tomorrow.”

“Tonight would be more romantic, Catherine. Will you come?”

“Perhaps.” She smiled her secret smile.

At dinner that evening Cat took a seat beside Philadelphia, and they chatted as they watched the elaborate ritual of serving the queen’s food. A lady-in-waiting and a maid of honor, after graceful genuflections, rubbed the monarch’s plates with bread and salt as the Yeomen of the Guard brought the gilt dishes from the kitchen. Then Mary Fitton, Elizabeth’s youngest maid of honor, took her tasting knife and gave each yeoman a mouthful of the dish he had carried in as a precaution against poison.

“Our sweet maid of honor enjoys letting gentlemen taste her wares. A little bird told me her affair with Treasurer Knollys is a thing of the past and she’s already mistress to another. Everyone is trying to find out who her new lover is.”

Cat was shocked. “Lover? She is three years younger than I!”

“And what does age have to do with sex, pray tell? Surely you are not still a virgin, Catherine?”

“I ... a lady never tells,” she murmured, taken off guard.

Philadelphia laughed. “That means you are not, thank heaven. Take it from me—gentlemen always tell!”

Judas! I saw Philadelphia talking to Hepburn at Carlisle. Surely the uncouth devil didn’t hint? How I loathe the swine!
“Then obviously they are not gentlemen.” She changed the topic, slightly. “The Earl of Pembroke has asked to wear my favor in the tournament next month. I think you’ll agree that William Herbert is a gentleman.”

“Well, he’s certainly a nobleman; I don’t know about gentle. That’s something you’ll have to find out for yourself, darling.”

After dinner Cat returned to her chamber and took out the white silk scarf she had spent two hours of the afternoon embroidering. She traced the winged dragon’s red tongue with her fingertip as she contemplated whether to go and meet Pembroke.
What the devil do I have to lose?
she asked herself impulsively.
Certainly not your virginity,
a mocking voice replied.