Virginia Henley (6 page)

“Thank you, Your Gracious Majesty.”

Cat found her mother in the Queen’s Wardrobe, where she supervised a staff of thirty seamstresses plus a dozen females who did nothing but clean and refurbish Elizabeth’s lavish garments. The chambers occupied an entire upper floor of Whitehall, with separate rooms for gowns, shoes, wigs and jewelry.

“I hope you didn’t offend Her Majesty in any way, Catherine.” Isobel could never hide the fact that the queen was the center of her universe and her daughter’s well-being came a distant second.

No, Mother, I didn’t fall down laughing at her flaming orange wig nor tell her that her skin is as wrinkled as an elephant’s scrotum.
“Her Majesty seemed delighted with my designs, and she has complete trust in your judgment to choose the right needlewomen for the job.”

Isobel preened. “Did she truly say such a thing?”

“She did indeed, Mother. Her Majesty sang your praises and informed me that she could not manage without you.”

In the afternoon, Cat joined her friend Arbella for a stroll that took them past the cockpit and the archery butts to Whitehall’s tennis courts. The warm spring weather had brought most of the courtiers outdoors. Some of the gentlemen who were athletically inclined enjoyed playing sports and had gathered a female audience, but for the most part it was a fashion parade where secret assignations were made.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” William Seymour, wearing a jaunty short cape and satin breeches, winked at Cat, then doffed his feathered hat and in doing so managed to pass Arbella a note. The two ladies kept on walking until they came to the tiltyard, where they sat down in the empty stands.

“Is it a poem? Hal Somerset wrote one for me after the play.”

“No, Cat, it isn’t poetry. Will is asking me to meet him secretly one night next week ... alone,” she confided breathlessly.

“Oh, Bella, you will refuse him, of course?”

“Refuse him? I don’t want to be an old maid. I’m older than you, Cat. Someday William will be the Earl of Hertford. We are certainly well matched, since we are both in line for the throne.”

Arbella Stuart had royal blood. Her late father was the greatgrandson of King Henry VII.

“If you do meet him alone, you must be very careful to keep it secret, Bella. The queen must never learn of it.” The danger involved stirred Cat’s excitement.

“I shall need a plausible excuse to be away from Court.”

Eager to help, Cat said, “I go to Richmond for two days early next week. You can say that I have invited you to join me. It’s no lie, since I invite you this very minute.”

Arbella sighed with relief. “You are such a good friend, Cat. Your thoughtful invitation solves my dilemma.”

Patrick was grateful that Hunsdon Hall would be fully staffed with servants; it eliminated the necessity of bringing his own. He had, however, brought a steward to buy cargo for the return voyage. Patrick had decided on hops for the brewery and a supply of golden Rhenish wine, favored by King James. He knew he would make a tidy profit when he resold the wine to Holyrood Palace.

The morning after the
Hepburn Rose
docked, the horses were unloaded and taken to a livestock auction house near the London docks. Robert accompanied Patrick to the sale.

“I understand you breed horses at Crichton. Did you keep any of the mounts you took from your prisoners?” Robert asked.

“No, I find English horses don’t tolerate our harsh climate well. I prefer wild horses that have wintered in the Lammermuirs. Each summer I go in search of a wild stallion that has his own string of mares and bring some of the herd back to Crichton.”

“One of my brothers breeds horses on our Hunsdon lands in Hertford. Perhaps we should acquire one of your stallions for stud. Would you like to ride up there one day?”

“I’d love to. Horses are a passion of mine. Hertford’s only twenty miles from London, isn’t it?” Patrick smiled. “How the devil can you cry poor when your family owns so many properties?”

“They are all in Father’s name. My brother George will be the next Lord Hunsdon. I’m the tenth child and will inherit little, apart from his royal blood, of course,” he added mockingly. “You have royal blood, Lord Stewart. What’s it worth these days?”

Patrick grimaced. “About the price of bat shit, I believe!”

Robert doubled over with laughter. “Well, at least horseflesh is bringing a high price today.”

“The English army is in short supply of mounts because of the fighting in Ireland last year. I knew I’d get a good price. Let’s celebrate tonight. Who serves the best food in London?”

“Friar’s Folly: sumptuous fare, fine wine and painted ladies!”

“I assume they have gaming?”

Robert grinned. “Any games you fancy, from dice to dancing round the Maypole!”

Struggling with a large portmanteau, Lady Catherine stepped from the early-morning water barge at the Richmond landing. “No, Maggie, I can manage it myself.”

“I’m sure it’s no’ necessary to cart baggage about, lass. Yer wardrobe at the house is already full to bursting.”

“A lady can never have too many clothes, Maggie. I have also brought a dozen designs that I sketched for Philadelphia, but unfortunately she could not get away from Court this morning. Mother said she would wait and accompany her and Kate tonight.”

“Humph, if Isobel can drag herself away from the queen!”

“Oh, just smell the May blossom! I vow, this is the prettiest time of the year, when all the trees come into bloom.”

They took a shortcut through the gardens of Hunsdon Hall, where the lawns were carpeted with daffodils and the thrushes were busy gathering caterpillars to feed to their nestlings. “I adore birds. They have a special place in my heart.”

“Ye adore every creature in nature, even the crawling, biting things that were put on earth to plague us. Ye used to think dragonflies were fairies!”

“Shakespeare often writes about Fairy Land, so it’s not beyond the realm of possibility,” Cat said blithely, holding the door open for Maggie. “Mmm, smells like Mrs. Dobson is baking apple tart.” She removed her cloak. “I’m going straight to the kitchen to steal an apple for Jasmine.”

“Ye should change yer clothes before ye ride yer palfrey. I’d best go upstairs and make sure yer mother’s bed is aired. Ye know how damned fretful she can be.”

Ted Dobson, the gamekeeper, had seen them arrive and came to the door. “Hello, Maggie. Will you tell Lady Spencer I have a good supply of quail for the queen? And by tomorrow I may have a crate of ruffed grouse. The woods are overrun with game at the moment.”

“Thank ye, Ted. My lady asked that I remind ye.” She picked up Catherine’s bag and headed toward the stairs.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” said Cat. “You carry the apple and I’ll take the bag.”

“Ye’re no bigger than a cricket!”

“Ah, but I make up for it with stubbornness.” Cat pried Maggie’s fingers from the handle and hauled the bag upstairs.

Maggie opened the wardrobe in Cat’s chamber and took out her hunter green riding dress. “Now, where are yer boots?”

Cat hung the dress back in the wardrobe. “Maggie, I’m not riding. I’m just taking the apple to Jasmine and saying hello.”

“But ye can’t go to the stables in that pale yellow gown, lass; ye’ll ruin it.”

“When was the last time I ruined a gown, or even dirtied one?”

Maggie looked at the lovely picture Cat made in the delicate gown with its matching pale yellow ruff and shook her head in wonder. Even the black curls piled atop her head were held neatly in place by a yellow hair ribbon. “I give up, lass; off ye go.”

Cat picked up the apple. “Rest, Maggie; it’s your day off.”

When she entered the stables, she walked a direct path to the box stall where her white palfrey was munching some fragrant clover hay. “Jasmine, my lovely girl. I’m so glad to see you ... did you miss me? See what I’ve brought you.” She held out the apple.

The small horse tossed her head and nuzzled Cat’s hand before her lips picked up the apple from her palm.

She stroked her horse’s neck, then threaded her fingers through the blond mane as she murmured soft words of praise. Cat lifted her head as a strange, low noise caught her attention. It sounded like soft clucking mixed with tiny barks. She left the stall to track down the creatures that seemed to be in distress. When she came upon the wooden crate filled with gray feathers, she bent close to examine the contents. “Oh, no!” she cried in alarm as she saw the white tufts on the little game birds’ heads and realized they were quail. They were packed so tightly they could move only their heads, and she realized with horror that the crate held about thirty.

Without hesitation, Catherine put a packsaddle and leading rein on Jasmine, then, struggling, with great determination, she managed to lift the crate and strap it securely onto her palfrey’s back.

She was quite aware that the quail were a gift from her mother to the queen; Isobel sent them every year. Cat smiled grimly, her pretty gown forgotten. “Not this year! I am taking you back to the woods where you belong.”

When Patrick Hepburn and Robert Carey arrived in Richmond, they stabled their horses and carried their luggage into Hunsdon Hall. Servants immediately came forward to take their bags. “Ah, Barlow, my guest, Lord Stewart, needs the services of a valet while he’s here. Would you oblige him?”

Barlow bowed with deference. “It would be my pleasure, sir. I shall take the liberty of unpacking your garments and refurbishing your formal clothes for Court, Lord Stewart. You probably desire hot water to shave twice a day, and you must tell me if you prefer wine or whisky. If you have any special needs, do let me know.”

“I would like my deerhounds to share my chamber, Barlow.”

“Your dogs will be no problem, my lord.”

As Hepburn and Carey made their way upstairs to the north wing, Patrick said, “I made the right decision leaving Jock Elliot in charge at Crichton. The rough devil would never fit in here.”

“London servants do have a certain polish that Borderers lack.”

“I think I could use some of that polish myself, Robert.”

When the two men went back downstairs, a tall, slim, attractive lady, whose hair was the color of burgundy, greeted them.

“Why, Robert Carey, as I live and breathe! I had no notion you would be here in Richmond.” The lady’s face lit with genuine pleasure as she held out both hands to him.

“Lady Widdrington ... Liz ... the pleasure is all mine.” He raised her hands to his lips. “Allow me to introduce my friend Patrick Hepburn, Lord Stewart.”

Her lavender eyes swept him with an appraising glance. “Hepburn is an infamous name, my lord.”

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, madam.” His intuition immediately told him this couple had been on intimate terms. “I assume you are the lovely lady whom Robert met in Carlisle last year?”

“And how do you know that? Are you a warlock, as rumored?”

Patrick did not deny the rumor. “I know it simply because he never stops talking about you,” he said gallantly.

Liz looked inordinately pleased. “Your sister Philadelphia invited me to London. I’ve never been before. She’s been on duty at Court all week, and she and your sister Kate can’t be here until tonight. Richmond is such a delightful place ... especially now.”

Patrick waggled suggestive eyebrows at Robert. “This must be Providence ... a heaven-sent opportunity to renew your acquaintance. Unfortunately, I have other plans. I intended to go hunting the moment I arrived. The dense woods of Richmond are reputed to teem with wild game. I’ll be gone most of the day.” When he saw the roses bloom in Lady Widdrington’s cheeks, Patrick knew she had taken his point.

He went upstairs to change into clothes he used for hunting in Scotland. He donned leather breeks and boots and replaced his shirt with a sheepskin vest that left his arms bare. He ran his hand over his bristly chin and knew he needed a shave, but decided he would do it tonight when he returned to the hall. He strapped on a wide leather belt that held both his hunting knife and dirk.

The dogs, already excited at the prospect of a hunt in new territory, followed Patrick to the stables and waited impatiently as he resaddled Valiant. He kept them in check until they entered the forest, then almost immediately they tore off after a hare they spotted. The Scottish deerhounds were trained to take down large stags, and Patrick had high hopes of returning with venison.

Suddenly a scream rent the air. It was the unmistakable cry of a woman, and the hair on the nape of Hepburn’s neck stood on end.

He tightened his reins and with his knees quickly guided his big black hunter between the trees to the clearing where the dogs had found their quarry.

“Satan! Sabbath! Heel!” One of his deerhounds had been standing with its enormous paws on the female’s shoulders, and when it removed them the impact knocked her down.

Patrick was out of the saddle in a flash. He ran over to the small girl and lifted her to her feet. “Are you all right, lass?” He was about to examine her for broken bones, when she raised black-fringed lashes and stared at him in utter outrage through amber eyes flecked with shimmering gold.

Patrick’s heart jumped into his throat. “Cat!”

Chapter Four

C
atherine, who had been feeling triumphantly self-righteous as she watched the last tiny quail flutter off into the dense undergrowth, suddenly became aware of a pair of enormous, shaggy beasts rushing toward her. When one of the monsters stood on its hind legs and planted its great forepaws on her shoulders so that its huge head towered above her, she feared wolves were attacking her and a scream of terror was torn from her throat.

When a male voice, deep and authoritative, ordered the animal to heel, its heavy forepaws pushed her to the ground in its rush to obey its master’s command. She instantly realized they were not wolves but massive hunting hounds, and her fear was replaced by hot fury. Then a powerful arm reached down, lifted her into the air and planted her feet on the ground with such force that it jarred her teeth together.