Twelve

Coming to London was not a decision Catherine had taken lightly. She’d enjoyed her status as a married woman without the encumbrance of a husband underfoot. For the first time in her life, she’d been truly free, with no one to answer to but herself. Unfortunately, it seemed she’d ridden her phantom husband as far as she could, for when spring and then summer passed without any word of him, the talk had begun. Why steal a wealthy bride and not lay claim to her? It’s a strange kind of marriage, with no witness, no bairn on the way, and no sign of a groom. No husband at all is what she wanted, and no husband at all is what she got. The talk kept growing, and it wasn’t only Donald and the old women. Even Jerrod and Rory, her most dependable allies, began to look at her askance, and when Jerrod came to confront her, she knew her time had run out.

“It’s unnatural, Cat, for a marriage to be thus, where the bride disnae know the groom’s name, his whereabouts, or if he be dead or alive,” he told her. “You’re nae with child, girl. We should apply to Rome for an annulment. You’ve more than sufficient cause to end this marriage. Under the circumstances, and with sufficient gold, we should be able to get you free of it.”

“And why should I want to do that, Uncle Jerrod?” she’d replied. “So you lot can arrange another one? I don’t want to be free of it. I like the one I’ve got. Things suit me fine as they are and he’s all the husband I need.”

“You’re not some village lass, Cat. You can bring advantage to your clan. Land, allies, men, gold—things that will make us stronger and our position more secure.”

“You’re beginning to sound like Donald.”

“Well, he has a point, doesn’t he? If you were a lad you’d be expected to make a useful marriage as well. Tell me true, lass. They’re beginning to talk. They’re saying there never was an Englishman, and there never was a marriage.”

“Do you think I was lying about it, Uncle?”

“I don’t know, girl. I do think you’re putting your own interests over your duty to your clan.”

“And what about their duty to me?” she’d demanded, her voice quivering with resentment. “My father’s will named me laird here, not Donald or Alistair. He expected my husband to be chief, but they tried to steal my inheritance and send me from my lands and home to marry a brutish boor, and for what? Gold? A few more men? A better trade route and a little less trouble on the Irish Sea? Or perhaps to fuel war with our neighbors? Back to feuding with the Murrays, is it? Am I to allow myself to be sacrificed to fund adventures my father would not have approved?”

“Your father wanted—”

“My father wanted me to stay here, keep the peace he fought so hard to maintain, and raise his grandsons.”

He’d had the grace to blush and look away. “Things change lass. Your day has come and gone. Donald rules now, and he’ll have his way. I know he promised you could stay, but it’s a promise he can ill afford to keep. It’s not good having one of you laird of the castle and the other chief of the clan. I’m warning you, Cat. You haven’t got much time. You’ll name your husband if you have one, and you’ll free yourself to make a useful marriage, or Donald will have you placed in a convent and none will object. Folk have grown accustomed to his rule.”

“He wouldn’t dare!”

“He would. Then he’ll be laird, no questions asked, and his sons will rule here after him. Find your husband. Produce him. Annulled or dead, you need to lose him or admit you made him up. You’ll be forgiven. And then make haste to marry or you’ll lose it all.”

It had been a devastating blow and had left her questioning notions of family, clan, and loyalty that had been her life’s blood since birth. Despite the constant maneuvering, bickering, jealousies, and quarrels that were a part of her clan and, she assumed, most others, she’d always trusted she could depend on their loyalty just as they could depend on hers. She realized now that nothing was as she’d thought it, and she was truly on her own.

Jerrod had accused her of putting her own needs before the good of the clan. Well, the more fool him if he thought Donald would make better use of her lands and fortune than she would. These were dangerous times, Protestant against Catholic, Whig against Tory, and Scot against Scot. The last thing they needed was war on their borders. She’d done her best to prevent Donald from breaking the fragile peace her father had cobbled over the years, but given the chance, his pride and avarice would destroy it and the clan would blindly follow: quarrelsome, lusty men, eager for glory, gold, and blood. Eager for war, the fools!

Well, she’d not be a part of it, and neither would her gold. She was no sheep to follow meekly where she was led. She was her father’s daughter, part wolf and part fox, and she would take care of herself. It was time to find her husband.

She was cool and calm when she spoke before the council. This new king, James, was a Catholic, was he not? His reign had just begun and his throne was far from secure. He needed friends. Though he quarreled with the Covenanters to the south, he had no quarrel with them. Wouldn’t he be grateful to be reminded of Catholic allies in the North? Perhaps he’d support a lucrative trade agreement for their whiskey in return. Why not best their rivals on the field of commerce instead of the field of war? It was said he had a weakness for women, much as his brother before him. Who better to go than she? While she was at it, perhaps she could track down her English husband.

They’d agreed to it immediately, and a message was sent on behalf of clan Drummond, begging an audience between his Catholic Majesty, James II, King of Scotland, Ireland, and England, and Lady Catherine Drummond, Countess of Moray. She had set out with footmen, armed guards, and a lady’s maid in tow, but no cousins, brothers, uncles, or aunties, because she’d no intention of going back. She was going to settle things with her husband, and then she’d be free. Her investigations had revealed he was in need of funds, and though she felt some trepidation given how they’d parted, she was certain he needed her help.

She’d had to admit the idea of seeing him again had provoked other feelings as well. There’d been something almost playful about him she’d found instantly appealing, and there’d been moments when she’d felt a sense of camaraderie and acceptance she’d never felt with anyone else. It was nonsense, of course. A result of shared secrets and dangers and her own sense of isolation. They had, in fact, been intimate, in the truest sense of the word, and he hadn’t even noticed or remembered. She did, though—hot kisses that curled her toes and rough caresses that left her body thirsty and aching for more. She was grateful he’d never know what an awkward mess she’d made of it all.

Well now here she was, standing in his dining room, trying her best to appear sophisticated and cool, heart pounding, breath ragged, filled with anticipation and dread. He was sitting with what appeared to be a group of drunken cronies, all of them holding on to half-naked women and tankards of beer. Cards and bottles cluttered a magnificent table, and a couple of large dogs, one with a torn ear and missing eye, lolled in a corner. The room was otherwise spartan and bare. Awkward seconds ticked by as his guests digested his words.

Buckingham, who was far more accustomed to shocking than being shocked, finally broke the silence. “Good Lord, man! Is this is your rebel whore?”

“Careful, George. Mind your manners,” Jamie said in a pleasant tone as he fastened the orange girl’s bodice and eased her off his lap. “Sullivan, please escort the ladies out and see to it they find their way home. Then you can see to the gentlemen.” He rose and bowed. “Welcome to my humble abode, Catherine. What a great pleasure to see you. And in a dress, no less! How charming! It’s been what, just over a year?”

She’d been expecting anger, surprise—not quiet mockery and an amused grin. “Just under, I believe,” she replied uncomfortably.

“And might I enquire as to what’s brought you to London after so much time? I was under the distinct impression you were less than anxious for my company.”

“It seems you improve with time and distance, Eng—husband,” she replied, recovering her wits.

He choked back a startled laugh. “James,” he said gravely, recovering his own.

“It’s been a long journey, James. Might I sit down?”

“Yes, of course! I do beg your pardon! I’ve quite forgotten my manners.” He gestured to the seat directly across from him. “Get out, Sidney. You’re sitting in her chair.”

Sidney stumbled and nearly fell as he scrambled from his seat, mouth agape, offering awkward apologies as he swiftly calculated how many suppers, country visits, and other handsome invitations this night’s gossip would bring him.

Catherine nodded to Sullivan as he pulled back her chair, and then to her husband’s guests. “Gentlemen.”

“I’d be delighted to make formal introductions, my dear, if only I knew how,” Jamie said, offering her some wine.

“It’s Catherine Drummond, as you already know, my lord, laird of Drummond Castle and Countess of Moray in my own right, as you may not. I suppose I’m also countess of… ?

“Carrick and Carlyle,” he said with a slight bow.

Thomas Sidney, busily composing scurrilous verses to honor the occasion, watched avidly from where he’d been relegated at the end of the table. Jamie’s phantom wife had been the subject of much delighted gossip since he’d first returned from Scotland almost a year ago. It was generally held she was a camp follower he’d married as a drunken jest. No one had credited that his story might be true, but it appeared she really was an heiress, and a rich and titled one at that! Gossip was currency, and gossip this delicious couldn’t wait to be told. Anxious to hear more, but more anxious to be the first to impart this astonishing news, he jumped to his feet, made a hurried apology, and scurried from the room.

“How odd!” Catherine remarked, sipping her wine.

“Yes, he is. How was your journey, my dear?”

“Tolerable.” Which was more than she could say for the conversation. They were talking like polite strangers, trying to outdo one another with displays of amused boredom when there was so much to say, so much to discuss, so much at stake! She wanted to reach out and slap or shake him, anything to provoke an honest reaction. No sooner did she think it than she noticed a slight crookedness to his once-perfect nose. She couldn’t help a shamefaced flush. The poor man! He’d only been trying to help her. Still, Martha was right. It hadn’t spoiled his looks. Somehow it made him look both rakish and endearing.

“Is there something wrong, mouse?”

She blinked and flushed brighter, a deep crimson now. “Yes, English, there is. There are important matters I should like to discuss with you, in private, if you please.”

A bemused Buckingham stirred himself at last. “Here now, Lady Carlyle,” he said, with a languid wave of his handkerchief. “The night is young and you are both this evening’s entertainment. I’ll wager the Sinclairs’ touching reunion is all anyone will be talking about tomorrow and for weeks if not months to come. Won’t you indulge an aging roué and let us watch the play unfold?”

“I regret, sir, that—”

“Leave her be, George,” Jamie said sharply.

A sodden Sir Albert waved his arm and wagged his finger at her, knocking over his wine as he rose to his feet. “I say, Sinclair. The wench is ordering us out!”

“Then get out, sir!” he snapped. He winced in disgust, imagining what she must be thinking. After a year, she’d decided to make a visit and this was how she found him, surrounded by whores, fools, drunkards, and Buckingham. He felt distinctly uncomfortable. Apparently, he wasn’t as shameless as he’d imagined.

Her sudden arrival had unsettled him and he wanted to be rid of them and find out what she wanted. “Sullivan, fetch a footman, would you? Have him put Sir Albert in a carriage and send him on his way, then see to the rest. My lady wife and I will be in the library. Have someone send a meal for her there.”

“Very good, sir,” Sullivan said, bowing smartly in approval.

Grumbling and complaining, his guests were herded from the room by Sullivan and a brawny footman, except for Buckingham, who sauntered out with a wink and a wicked grin.

“I believe you’ve made a conquest, my dear.”

“I believe I made a spectacle of myself.”

“Well, that was your intention, wasn’t it? It was a grand entrance, combining high drama and the element of surprise.”

“Yes, I suppose it was,” she admitted with a sigh. “I was afraid if I sent word you might refuse to see me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I thought you might be annoyed, after I—”

“Abandoned me? Bashed me on the head and had me thrown in a cargo hold? Come, I’ll show you the library. We’ll be more comfortable there and you can tell me why you’re here.”