Virginia Henley (61 page)

When David Hepburn arrived at Crichton, he was vastly relieved to learn that Patrick had gone hunting and had not yet returned. Later, in the Great Hall, he recounted graphic tales of the great plague epidemic that had decimated England, but had miraculously left Scotland unscathed. His rapt audience listened open-mouthed at the heart-scalding stories he told, and all truly believed that the invisible Border between the two countries, which supposedly no longer existed, had magically protected the Scots.

David asked Jock, “Did his lordship not tell ye he nursed his lady through plague? He was a heartbeat away from being widowed.”

“Patrick is wed?”

“King James wed Lord Stewart to Catherine Seton Spencer the first day he arrived at Whitehall. Did he not tell ye?”

Jock shook his head. “Wed five months and never a hint from the close-mouthed devil! The Hepburn ranges alone these days.”

The next morning, as the men of Crichton broke their fast in the ancient hall that overlooked the Tyne Valley, David saw the dogs first, and knew Hepburn was returned from his hunt. Within minutes he saw Patrick astride Valiant, leading a packhorse that carried a great seven-point stag.

David finished his breakfast and straightened his shoulders. It was far better to face up to an unpleasant duty immediately and get it out of the way. He went down to the stables and awaited the laird of Crichton.

The moment Patrick recognized the tall redhead, his brows drew together in a dark frown. “David! What are you doing here, man? Is aught amiss?”

“Nay, all was well when I left Spencer Park, my lord.” He tentatively reached into his doublet and took out the envelope.

The moment Patrick’s eyes saw it they gleamed with triumph. “You brought me a message!” He dismounted with one lithe movement and seized the envelope. He tore it open expectantly, but there was no letter inside. He shook the contents into his hand and stared down in disbelief at the tiny gold circle that lay on his palm. Hepburn looked at David and quickly masked his emotions, but not before his young captain had seen the pain in his eyes.
Christ, she’s sent back her wedding ring!
Patrick was devastated.

C
atherine stood in front of the oval mirror, critically assessing her appearance. Her face had lost its gaunt look and she fancied her fuller cheeks made her prettier. She had fashioned her hair into a French knot, leaving tiny kiss curls at her temples.

Her quilted white doublet was tight across her breasts, and she’d had a devil of a struggle to fasten the waist of her black velvet riding pants. She reckoned this was the last time she’d be able to wear these garments until after her child was born. With deliberation she carefully tucked Patrick’s letter into her bodice and smiled her secret smile. “
En garde,
Lord Bloody Stewart!”

As Catherine made her way down to join Geordie for breakfast, Tattoo appeared and rubbed against her leg. “Hello, puss; where did you disappear to last night?”

“The black bugger sleeps wi’ me now,” Geordie confessed.

Catherine laughed. “I assume your bed partner chose you, rather than the other way about.” She flushed slightly, remembering that she had done the same with Hepburn.

When they walked outside into the glorious autumn morning, their mounts were saddled and ready for them. Cat smiled her thanks at the groom who had remembered the glossy black filly she had ridden during her stay at Winton Castle last summer.

They cantered from the courtyard and headed south. Catherine slowed to a walk as her filly crossed Tyne Water, and Geordie followed suit so he wouldn’t splash her elegant riding costume.

By the time they were halfway to Crichton, Cat was lost in thought as she rehearsed the things she would say to Hepburn. They were riding past a tall stand of firs when suddenly a horse and rider broke from the cover of the trees, frightening their mounts.

Geordie’s horse reared and threw him onto the hard ground. Cat’s filly lifted her heels and fled. It took her a few minutes to calm the animal and circle back to aid her grandfather. What she found was totally unexpected. Her cousin Malcolm had one powerful arm about Geordie’s neck and a dagger in his other hand.

“Flee fer yer life, Catherine!” Geordie cried, and received a jab of the dagger point for his warning.

Judas! Patrick was right. Malcolm does want to be Earl of Winton.
Impulsive as always, Cat tried to trample her cousin, but before she knew what had happened, the swine had taken a firm grip on her leg and yanked her from the saddle. “You bastard, leave him alone!” she screamed, as she reached for her own dagger. Her heart jumped into her throat as she realized she was not wearing it today. She knew with terrified certainty that both she and Geordie would die unless she could find a way to save them.

“You are a fool, Malcolm Lindsay! Even if you kill both of us, you won’t inherit Seton.”

Lindsay’s eyes narrowed, the dagger poised in its descent. “Nothing will keep me from inheriting, you spoiled English slut!”

“If Geordie dies, I inherit. If I die, my husband, Patrick Hepburn, inherits Seton.”

“Lying slut!” His arm tightened painfully about Geordie’s throat. “Yer not wed to Hepburn.”

“King James Stuart himself married us five months ago!”

At Crichton, as Hepburn stared down at the wedding ring on his palm, the sun reflected on the gold with a shimmering light. He closed his fingers over it and looked at David.

“Catherine is here! You brought her to Scotland!”

David hesitated and flushed. “She asked me not to tell ye.”

“Christ Almighty, she’s close by and in mortal danger!” As he swung back up into the saddle, he flung out his arm, pointing north, and ordered the pair of deerhounds, “Seek!”

David watched Hepburn gallop after his hunting hounds, then he ran into the stables to saddle his horse. He shouted to a couple of his fellow moss-troopers, “His lordship says there’s trouble. He may need help.”

Catherine screamed with terror as she watched Malcolm Lindsay raise the arm that held his dagger. Her warning had not deterred the evil, greedy swine; it had inflamed him to commit murder.

Malcolm thrust into Geordie’s chest. He withdrew the dagger and was about to repeat his onslaught when a massive hound bounded across Catherine’s path, leaped at the attacker and plunged its fangs into Malcolm’s throat. His scream was cut off as his throat and mouth flooded with blood.

“Satan, Sabbath! Thank God!” Averting her eyes from the bloody attack, Catherine ran to her grandfather, who lay on the ground. “Geordie, can you stand up?”

“Leave him lie, Catherine!” Hepburn was out of the saddle in a flash. “Are you all right, Hellcat?”

Hand on her throat, she nodded quickly, weak with relief that Hepburn had materialized.

Patrick knelt beside Geordie to investigate his wound. “Your leather jac saved you. The blade went in only about an inch.” He turned to see David arrive. “Get Lord Winton to Crichton. Better get his bleeding stopped.”

Hepburn got up from his knees and Catherine ran into his arms. “Patrick, Malcolm intended to murder both of us! Satan saved us.”

He brushed the tumbled curls back from her brow. “It was Sabbath who attacked. She’s in pup and savagely protective at the moment.” He felt her trembling. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

She nodded and asked hesitantly, “Is he dead?”

“Yes, deerhounds always kill their prey.” He raised his eyes to the moss-troopers who had just arrived. “Take that offal back to Seton, and explain to Andrew what happened here. Assure him that the earl is in no danger.”

Standing in the circle of Hepburn’s arms, Catherine felt completely safe and secure. Then she looked up into his eyes and found them suddenly black with anger.

He took her by the shoulders and shook her. “You reckless little bitch! No sooner do you cheat death by recovering from plague, than you journey to Scotland with only David for escort, impulsively risking your life again! Cat, I told you to send for me and I would come. What the hell is the matter with you?”

Hepburn was wearing the bloody sheepskin, and he had a two-day growth of beard. Cat went weak at the knees. “Don’t be fierce with me, Patrick.”

“Why? Because you’re with child? Tell me the truth!”

“Yes.” Her eyes widened. “You really do have the sight.”

“I should beat you to a jelly for being so reckless, Hellcat. Don’t move,” he ordered. Patrick swung up onto Valiant and lifted her before him in the saddle.

She saw Tor fly into a fir tree. She shuddered, knowing what the scavenger raven would relish.
An eye for an eye!

“Are you ready to put your wedding ring on?” Patrick asked.

Cat lifted her chin. “Don’t you dare to assume I’m ready to forgive you for deserting me.
Again!
”

“We will take this argument up when we can be private. I intend to carry Lady Stewart over Crichton’s threshold, and there had better be a smile on her lips, Hellcat.”

When they arrived at the castle, Catherine knew better than to disobey the dominant devil. She smiled her secret smile, deciding to postpone their battle of wills until bedtime, when they would be private in the Master Tower. She shivered in anticipation.

All the Hepburn clan gathered in the Great Hall to welcome their laird’s lady. Geordie sat, his chest tightly bandaged, already on his second whisky. He grinned at Catherine. “So, ye were tellin’ the truth when ye said King Jamie wed ye?”

Hepburn cocked a dark brow. “We had better be married. She will make you a great-grandfather in less than five months.”

“Wheesht, yer a lucky man, Hepburn. This calls fer a toast.”

When everyone held either a dram of whisky or a tankard of ale, Geordie toasted the expected child as if it were a male.

Catherine was about to bend her elbow when Patrick removed the whisky from her hand. “I think not, Lady Stewart.”

She held her tongue before the people of Crichton, and even managed a sweet smile, but her golden eyes glittered dangerously at the challenge he presented.

Patrick hid his amusement and bent his head to whisper in her ear. “Go up and take a nap. I want you to be rested so you can hold your own tonight, when we retire.”

That night they dined with Geordie and Jock. Catherine knew that her grandfather was feeling no pain from all the whisky he had consumed, but worried that he might pay for it tomorrow. “You should be in bed. Your system had a nasty shock today.”

Geordie winked at Jock and Patrick. “Ye want me in bed so ye’ll have an excuse to retire early. Brides don’t need excuses, Catherine. Off ye go, lass. Have at ’im!”

Unable to hide his grin, Hepburn took her hand and led her from the room. The moment they were alone, Cat pulled her fingers from his and marched ahead of him up the long flights of steps that led to his tower. Her bottom was so tempting he had to put his hands behind his back. When they arrived, he threw open the door.

Catherine, who had never seen Hepburn’s chamber before, looked about her with avid curiosity. A pink granite fireplace dominated one wall, its mantel carved with Hepburn roses. The opposite wall had two long slits cut into the ancient stone. Their purpose was mainly defense, but they also acted as windows. They held no glass but had shutters that could be closed on cold nights.

She did not dare let her eyes linger on the massive bed, curtained with red velvet, but shifted her gaze to the wall that was lined with books and the tall cushioned chairs with leopards carved into their arms. Before the fire was a lynx-skin rug, and more animal furs were piled on the bed.
It suits the wild devil!

“Well?”

She swung to face him. He stood waiting impassively with his hands behind his back. Cat pulled his letter from her doublet and flung it at him. “What’s this drivel?”

He masked his surprise. “I thought it an honorable letter.”

“ ‘I hereby renounce any claim to Spencer Park,’” she quoted. “Why the hell would you do that? To keep me from claiming any part of Crichton? Surely you don’t expect me to manage two thousand acres and all those cattle? Why the devil do you think I married you, Hepburn?”

“If you wish me to be the master of Spencer Park, I accept.”

“You also vow to never lay claim to my Seton inheritance! Have you no ambition? Do you feel inadequate to manage Seton and its longhorns? Would you prefer to spend your time at Jamie’s Court?”

“If you wish me to manage Seton when you inherit, I accept.”

“ ‘I will never accept the title Earl of Winton,’” she quoted. “Is the earldom not good enough for you, Hepburn?”

“That’s where I draw the line, Catherine. I won’t take your grandfather’s title. Because it would come to me through marriage, it would be like buying a title—I have too much pride. If we have a son, he can inherit the earldom of Winton.” He took a step toward her, not quite threatening but definitely challenging. “Are you ready to put your wedding ring back on?”