Fifteen

The Sinclairs’ surprising reunion had been the focal point of gossip among London’s cynical elite since Sidney had scampered from their table five days earlier. Between him, Buckingham, whose delight in wild speculation was exceeded only by his joy in creating mischief, and the curious spectators who’d caught a glimpse of Catherine riding in Hyde Park, the entire court—including the king—was buzzing with curiosity. The few days Catherine and Jamie had gone to ground to work out the details and finalize their contract had only whetted the appetite of bored and jaded courtiers who were constantly on the lookout for any new diversion. Everyone was talking, everyone wanted to see for themselves, and within days of her arrival, Catherine, along with her husband James Sinclair, Earl of Carrick and Carlyle, were summoned to Whitehall.

Catherine was received in the banqueting hall. The light and airy two-story room, with its crown glass windows and glorious ceiling panels by Rubens, reflected a refined Italianate style. It was a great honor, signaling James’s interest in cementing relations with one of the more powerful Highland clans, and his appreciation of Catherine’s gift of thirty-six barrels of Speyside whiskey, which, with its unique fruity flavor overlaid with a taste of honey, was far superior to anything London had to offer.

Dour and serious, the new king disapproved of drunkenness, dueling, and the relaxed manners and frivolity that had characterized his brother’s court, but he was far from immune to the attractions of the opposite sex. His warm reception gave Catherine hope that a charter to supply whiskey to His Majesty’s court would soon follow.

A curious throng crowded the room—absent Lady Ware, who’d left for the country in a fury, deeply affronted that Jamie was recalled to court. They stood to either side, murmuring excitedly, heads bent in avid curiosity as Catherine advanced through the room. Jamie stood back and the room quieted as the king motioned her forward. Conscious of her status as a creature of gossip and innuendo, and mindful of the king’s taste, she’d dressed in a magnificent outfit of sapphire Chinese silk, cut in the mannish style popular among the queen and her ladies. Performing a deep curtsey to both king and queen, she met James’s smile of interest with a demure one of her own.

He welcomed her graciously to London and his court and motioned Jamie to join them. “Where have you been hiding, Sinclair? You’ve been absent from court for far too long. It’s Carrick now, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, a gift from your brother, if you recall.”

“Yes, quite,” the king snapped, suspecting the remark was meant to chide him for his own refusal to reward the man and his banishment from court. The effrontery! One didn’t reward arrogance and failure. Nevertheless, the Drummond girl might prove useful, and she was a handsome chit indeed. More than his interest stirred as he watched her. “There’s no doubt you served my brother well, despite your recent negligence to me. You’re a rascal and a rogue, sir, but it pleases me that you’ve given up your rakish ways to settle into marriage. Where have you been hiding this pretty jewel? Why didn’t you tell us who she was? Were you afraid someone might steal her?”

“My husband is not the sort to be jealous, Your Majesty,” Catherine said with a winsome smile, wishing she might smack her arrogant husband on the back of his over-proud head.

“Nonetheless he hid you from us, madam. I’m hard-pressed to forgive him.”

“It’s not he, but I, you must forgive, Your Majesty. If he seemed negligent in his duty it was because of my foolishness. He rescued my life and honor, and offered me marriage when he found me trapped on a battlefield, but I thought he played me false and so I ran away.”

“Led him a merry chase then, did you girl? The vixen flees the hound?”

Catherine looked down modestly. “Indeed, sir. I thought he’d follow me all the way home, but it seems he lost heart, so I had to come and fetch him.” She looked up again with a mischievous grin.

James II, known for his serious demeanor, burst into delighted laughter. “God’s blood, Sinclair! The minx appears a handful! Are you sure you can manage her?”

“I shall endeavor to do my best, Your Majesty.”

“Good! Don’t lose her again. Keep a watchful eye on her and be sure to bring her with you whenever you come to court. The Queen has arranged a play tomorrow evening. We shall expect to see you there, and you may join us at banquet tonight.”

The audience was over. Jamie bowed low, collected his wife, and together they walked from the hall. “Be careful, mouse,” he said, close in her ear, guiding her through the throng of courtiers and well-wishers pressing forward to greet them. “He thinks himself a lion and he’d love to have a taste of you.”

“I’m hardly a sufficient morsel for one so grand, but let him try my whiskey and he’ll be my slave,” she said with a happy grin, leaning into him so he could hear her.

Putting his arm around her waist, Jamie tugged her sideways into a short passage, then another and another, passing through a warren of small corridors and hidden stairways, until they were in a long gallery that led to treed garden set with rose bushes and rows of statues.

“You certainly know your way around, Sinclair.”

“Please, my love. Try Jamie, or husband, if that doesn’t suit.”

“Very well, Jamie. And you might try calling me Cat. That went rather well, don’t you think? Although you certainly didn’t help matters by baiting him. How is it we escaped that mob so handily?”

“I know every secret passage in this place, love.”

“Oh? And how did you learn that?”

“Hiding from suspicious husbands, how else?”

“Ah! I thought perhaps you’d been a spy.”

He gave her a sharp look. “Think you so?”

“Well, one wonders how and why an aristocratic Englishman acquired the skill to pass himself off as a tinker and a Highlander,” she said with a shrug, following him to a bench and sitting down.

“Amateur theatrics, my dear.”

“If you say so. Damnation but I hate these dresses! My corset’s so tight I can scarcely breathe. No wonder all the ladies totter about on the arm of some man or another. A stiff breeze would knock them flat.”

“You’ll be missing your boots and breeches, I suppose.”

“Perhaps I’ll take to wearing them and shock your wicked friends.”

“I have no friends.”

“You have Sullivan and me.”

“You’re both family. I hate to disappoint, my love, but it’s been done before. Hortense Mancini was wearing just such garb when she arrived to take London and Charles by storm, and James’s wife Mary has had her portrait done dressed much the same. It’s been the fashion on and off among some ladies of the court, a thing both Charles and James were partial to, though those women were mere poseurs, while you my dear, are an original. Wear them and you’ll melt James’s heart if you haven’t done so already. I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you in trousers and boots, my dear, and can assure you that while your dress accentuates the perfection of one set of curves, your breeches do the same for another.”

His finger traced a path along her décolletage as he spoke. Her breath caught in her throat. She closed her eyes and shivered, knowing she should slap his hand away, but his husky voice and light caress entranced her, and as her breasts swelled and hardened, she leaned into his touch. He spread the fingers of one hand through her hair, drawing her to him, while the other roamed the smooth silk of her dress, caressing her waist and gently squeezing. His lips touched hers in a feather-light kiss, then nibbled at her jaw and earlobe. Alive with sensation, she pressed close against him, threading her fingers through his hair, unable to stop a moan of excitement as he deepened his kiss. She gasped when his fingers brushed the pebbled peaks that thrust against the thin silk of her bodice, wanting to feel the heat of his skin on hers, eager for his touch.

“Easy, love,” he murmured. “Not here, not now. Good Christ, but you’re a bounteous handful for any man!”

Mortified, she slapped at him, pushing his hands away, her struggle growing more heated when he clamped his hand over her mouth.

“Well, that’s deuced strange! Where have they got to, do you think, Carlyle and his Scottish hoyden?”

Catherine stopped struggling and he let her loose, holding a finger to his lips in a gesture for silence.

“Damned if I know. Has the devil’s own luck though, doesn’t he? Seems the camp follower’s turned into a countess, and just when Caroline Ware thought she’d got her revenge.”

“Ha! A rich countess with gold and whiskey and the ear of the king. How’d a faithless rogue like that ascend to such heights?”

“By being a faithless rogue.”

“I was speaking of the girl. How did he find her? She’s freakish tall.”

“Aye, fitting prey for Dismal Jimmy. Do you reckon he brought her on purpose, to dangle in front of the king?”

“He wouldn’t be the first to pimp a wife or daughter to a Stuart. Many a fortune’s been made that way. The father an earl and the offspring duke and duchess!”

As the sounds of their laughter drifted away, Jamie returned his attention to Catherine. “Sorry, love, old habits die hard.”

“To which do you refer? Your penchant for lewd behavior or your penchant for spying?”

“Why, to both, dear child. You mustn’t let them bother you. This court depends on gossip and malice as its life’s blood. You’re not a success until they loathe and envy you.”

“Why hasn’t it worked for you?”

He gave a startled laugh. “You’ve a clever wit, Catherine. If Charles had met you, you’d have five or six royal bastards and be a duchess by now.”

“You judge me by your own lax standards, Sinclair. I’m no one’s mistress but my own.”

“There’s no need to hiss and spit, hellcat. I meant it well. You take things too seriously at times. I’m baffled how a woman can have so much wit and so little sense of humor.”

“You’re trying to provoke me again, Sinclair. I’m baffled that a man surrounded by enemies, who claims he has no friends, insists on taking everything as a joke.”

Catherine was still annoyed with Jamie a few hours later when they joined the king and his guests at banquet. How dare he assume she’d been so eager for him that she had to be restrained? “Easy, love. Not here, not now.” Arrogant, conceited oaf! And to think he mocked her sense of humor! Her sense of humor was as good as anyone’s! She simply had a Scottish sensibility, one more attuned to subtlety and irony, not the Sassenach penchant for ribaldry and broad farce. Perhaps he’d like to see her get drunk and juggle, then fall on her behind.

“Still angry, my love?”

“To be angry I’d have to value your opinion. Why do they call him Dismal Jimmy?”

“It’s a sobriquet given him by Nellie Gwyn, because he’s so dour and humorless.”

“Ah! Just like me.”

“No, mouse, never,” he said with a laugh. “You’ve a sparkling wit. One that delights and entertains. No one’s ever said that of our Jimmy.”

Mollified, she allowed him to guide her to her seat, pointedly ignoring the curious looks and spiteful comments sent her way. If they’d hoped to find entertainment at her expense they were quickly disappointed. She was richly dressed, her clothes reflected the latest Paris fashions, she was better educated than most of her peers in the English court, and her manners had been polished at Versailles. It didn’t stop them whispering, though. It was a commonly held prejudice amongst the English and lowland Scots that Highlanders were barbarians. They called them the wild Irish and imagined them unsophisticated, savage, ungovernable brutes that delighted in warfare, pillage, rapine, and murder. “I may enjoy pillage and murder, but I defy anyone to say I’m nae a sophisticated man,” her father had once protested in mock indignation, but even he had been wary of the isolated clans that lived deep in the mountains farther to the north.

Her father had taught her well, and she was far more interested in observing than being observed. If she were to live among these people, she’d do well to understand them, and as they milled about or took to the dance floor, she watched them as avidly as they watched her. The men strutted about in their red, high-heeled shoes, many sporting matching ribbons and red bows under their long cravats. With their full wigs, and feathered, wide-brim hats, they towered over their ladies, though none besides her husband rivaled the king in height, who at six-foot tall was still three inches shorter than his brother Charles.

She looked at her husband and smiled. His own dark hair hung loose about his shoulders and he wore his cavalry boots, complaining “men’s heels have grown so ridiculous a fellow can neither fight, nor run, nor sneak about in the damn things.” He was wearing an elegant suit of dark silk with matching coat and breeches, a silver-trimmed waistcoat, and a ribbonless cravat. He has no need to accentuate or conceal. He’s strikingly handsome, quite beautiful, in fact. He caught her look, returning it with a dazzling smile, and her heart beat faster. Careful girl. He’s likely had half the women in this room. It’s all a game and you’re but one among many. No wonder several of them regarded her with daggers in their eyes.

* * *

As Catherine learned the ways of the English court, Jamie returned to the obligatory rounds of social functions, dancing, cards, and light flirtation, with his Highland wife in tow. He found himself enjoying her company more and more, though her frankness and honesty were somewhat disconcerting. It wasn’t the way of a courtier, it wasn’t the way of the women he knew, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. It seemed to demand the same in return, and that was something he wasn’t comfortable with. Still, it was novel at least, even refreshing, and he supposed if employed judiciously it would do no harm. Bit by bit, he lowered his guard.

Although he was free to pursue other women, provided he was discrete, he found he’d little interest in it anymore. He’d also lost interest in gambling and carousing and many other pastimes that had filled his days and nights before Catherine came. It was far more entertaining to bait her and tease her and show her the city. As he accompanied her to the theatre and dinner parties, fetes and balls, concerts and fireworks on the Thames, things he’d once found dull and boring now excited him, provided she was there.

Catherine was as bemused as Jamie was. She hadn’t expected him to be so congenial and amusing. She hadn’t expected to find him so accepting and attentive. She hadn’t expected to find him so damned attractive! She wondered why he bothered. The contract had been signed. He’d have his freedom and his money soon and there was nothing to be gained by charming her, but he insisted on playing the besotted husband. In the process, he was always touching her, placing a hand on her elbow or the small of her back, or an arm around her waist or shoulders. When they sat side-by-side, talking in the library, gossiping at the theatre, or taking a private moment in company, he always sprawled beside her, his big body solid and warm against her own.

She knew that at court, romantic love between husband and wife was considered unseemly and ridiculous. She knew they were mocked in satires and scurrilous verse. She knew his former lovers were shocked and hated her, and she knew, despite their snide remarks and comments, that they envied her, too. She also knew it provided her husband two of the pleasures he enjoyed most: theatrics and thumbing his nose at the court. He obviously found it immensely entertaining, and she decided she might as well relax and enjoy it, too.

He filled her with excitement and he made her laugh, but though he petted, squeezed, and fondled, he hadn’t kissed her again since her first day at court. He thought her untouched and had taken pains to keep her so, and she knew it was why he restrained himself even now. How could she tell him she wasn’t the innocent he assumed? At first, in the cave, she hadn’t told him because she felt it was none of his business. She was nothing to him but a problem to be dealt with and a fragment of a dream. When she’d first arrived in London, she’d feared his mockery, and now she feared his anger and mistrust.

She should have told him before they signed a contract, but it had happened so fast, the threshold between it being none of his business, to her being a lying jade, had passed in the blink of an eye. She’d been trying to find a way to tell him ever since, but she could never seem to find the right time. How did one start such a conversation? When the time came to seek an annulment he’d have to know. She resolved to tell him when the opportunity presented and not to worry until then. He’d be angry and hate her or he wouldn’t, but she’d enjoy him now, while he was in a good mood, because Jamie Sinclair in a good mood was something magical, a joy no woman would ever forget, and once this adventure was over, she’d never have as much fun again.

Mid-February they were invited to see a play at the Royal Cockpit theatre in Whitehall, by the well-respected female playwright, Aphra Behn. During the scene changes, Jamie took Catherine to tour the boxes and dressing rooms, pointing out persons of interest as they went. He stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, his long fingers stroking the sensitive hollow between shoulder and neck, and his breath caressed her ear as he spoke. “Over there, with the magnificent breasts, is Lady Wyndham. Her beauty is only exceeded by her lack of wit. She was one of Charles’s minor mistresses and is dresser to the queen dowager now. The one in the corner is Katherine Sedly. She’s James’s favorite mistress and was maid of honor to the queen. Mary wants her gone and James has pledged to lead a life of virtue, but as you can see, she’s still here. She’s said to be as mad as her mother and as vicious as her father, but even Charles recognized her as a wit. She was to be married to Churchill, the tall gentleman over there.”

As if hearing him, Churchill raised his head and nodded, and Jamie nodded back. “Very handsome looking gentleman, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, I suppose,” she said, only half attending, distracted by the shivers running up and down her spine.

“He’s Earl of Marlborough now, but when he was a young ensign, he was Lady Castlemaine’s kept man.”

“I thought she was King Charles’s mistress.”

“Yes. She was the favorite for several years, but Charles was never faithful and he didn’t begrudge her her fun. He told Churchill he forgave him as he only did it for his bread. She paid him five thousand pounds for clothes and he invested it in an annuity from whence comes the great fortune he has today. He’s always been good with money, him. It was a great surprise when he refused Sedly and married Sarah Jennings. She was practically penniless. His family was in shock.”

“You mean he married her for love?”

“Apparently so, or some other such foolishness.”

“Well, you married me thinking I was likely a camp follower and a traitor to your king. What does that make you?”

“A lucky man,” he said with a grin. He nuzzled her ear and bit it gently, making her squeak.

“Jamie!”

“What?” he murmured, hot against the back of her neck as his hands caressed her throat.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m just playing my part,” he said innocently, removing his hands from her neck and sliding them down to her waist, brushing the sensitive outer curve of her breasts on the way.

She gasped and her nipples tightened, clearly visible through the sheer silk of her dress. “You’re enjoying this!” she hissed. He pulled her tight against him and she could feel his erection prodding her from behind.

“Of course I am. Are you?” He laughed and tugged her hair. “Now hush, love. Here comes Buckingham.” Buckingham sauntered toward them, mischievous and resplendent, and Jamie hugged Catherine against him, crossing an arm across her chest.

“Ah, dear boy! We’ve missed you at court, some of us more than others. Lady Beaton wonders where you’ve been and if you’re well.”

Catherine twisted her head, but Jamie ignored her sharp look.

“Good evening, George. You remember my wife?”

“I do indeed! The glorious Amazon who rode forth from her snowy fortress to bring you succor and relief. Good evening, madam,” he said with a courtly bow. “Everyone’s talking about how thoroughly you’ve fixed the lad’s attention. We’ve never seen the like before, at least not between husband and wife!”

“Yes, well, like all good courtiers we strive to entertain,” Jamie broke in. “Forgive me for saying, but you don’t look well. Is there ought amiss?”

“Ech! Well… been plagued by colic and gripe, dear boy, brought on by a taste for the finer things in life, no doubt. Such a pity the things we most enjoy are inevitably bad for us.”

“I quite agree,” Jamie said, his gaze shifting to Catherine.

“In any case I’ll be off to my estate for some fishing in a fortnight. Simple food and good clean air will soon set all to rights. Jimmy and I have never been particularly fond of one another, and the air in London at the moment is bad for my health. Speaking of which, might I have a brief word with you in private?” He gave Catherine an apologetic look.

Reaching behind him, Jamie filched a scarf from its perch on the back of a nearby chair and draped it over Catherine’s shoulders, then kissed the back of her neck.

Red-faced, she pulled it tight across her chest.

“Forgive me, love, this won’t take but a moment.”

Buckingham, waiting expectantly, barked with laughter. “Good lord, man! You are pleased to see me.”

Jamie looked back at her, shrugged and grinned, and followed Buckingham into a small alcove. Her face burning, Catherine turned to face the stage.

“A word to the wise, Sinclair. A certain lady’s returned to court and heartily wishes you ill, whilst our beloved monarch grows more obdurate, suspicious, and vindictive by the day. He won’t listen to reason. You know as well as I he’s embarked on a course that can only lead to trouble. It’s always good to keep a foot in both camps, but be careful whom you play with. If the Ware bitch can take you down she will, and Jimmy boy is not a forgiving man.”

Jamie smiled and pulled away, squeezing Buckingham’s shoulder. “I’ve not been away from court that long, George. You know I’m always the soul of discretion. Take care of yourself, my lord, and trust that I shall do the same.”

“Heh, that’s what I’ve always liked about you, Sinclair. One can always trust a man who looks after his own best interest, so long as one knows what that is.”

“And you can never trust one that loves to meddle,” Jamie replied with a smile.

He returned to Catherine, taking her possessively by the waist, and Buckingham took his leave.

“I swear you delight in causing gossip, James Sinclair.”

“I do. Particularly this way,” he murmured, giving her a squeeze.

She leaned back into him. “What was that all about?”

“Intrigue, mischief, and a woman scorned. Is it ever anything else?”

They were greeted by several others after Buckingham had left. Courtiers who’d been among the first to cut Jamie cold when he’d fallen in disfavor were eager to renew their acquaintance now that his star was on the rise. “Have you ever seen a more grasping group of hypocrites and whores?” he whispered in her ear. “If you’ve seen enough of the royal menagerie, I suggest we return to our seats.”

Catherine had found the play delightful so far, and the idea of a female playwright fascinated her. She was eager to see the rest, but when she returned to her seat, she found a particularly scurrilous pamphlet waiting for her. It mocked her height, lampooning her in a series of drawings depicting her in unnatural sexual positions with Sir Richard Danby, one of the tiniest men at court.

“What’s the matter, mouse? Is it the play that afflicts you or the company?”

“The company. It appears I’m already a great success.” She tossed him the pamphlet. She felt a sudden wave of homesickness. For the most part the Highlanders were blunt and forthright. If they had a thing to say, they said it. If they had a quarrel, they declared it in the open and then they fought. A man knew who his enemies were and could trust in his friends.

“It’s envy and resentment, Cat. Nothing more. You’re a rich and powerful woman. One who doesn’t cringe or back down and gives as good as she gets. You’re also a Catholic, someone they regard as a foreigner, almost French, and you have the favor of the king. They consider you fair game.”

“Fair game? I don’t know how you stand it, Jamie. Is this all there is? Intrigue and conspiracy, an endless scramble to be noticed, night after night of vicious gossip and ceaseless rounds of cards? Does no one do anything useful? No wonder all these people do is drink and fuck!”

“Catherine! I’m shocked!”

“No, you’re not.”

“Well I would be if it weren’t so diverting. You need to take it all with a grain of salt. Intrigue and gossip are parlor games for the rich and disaffected, a way to pass the time for those who have no purpose. They must make themselves important in some way. A motley collection of aging roués, pox-ridden gallants, and overdressed whores see you as a threat and want to hurt you. Laugh in their faces and pay them no mind. They’ll soon move on to easier sport.”

“I know. I know. You’re right. I just… sometimes I just miss my home.” A fierce wave of homesickness gripped her heart and she blinked back tears.

He placed a warm hand on her shoulder and gave a firm squeeze. “Sometimes I miss it too, mouse. I spent but a short time in your wild Highlands but they worked their magic and claimed a piece of my soul. I can only imagine how it must be for you, who grew up there. Still, I recognized you for what you were the moment I saw you.”

She looked at him, startled. Even she didn’t know who she was. She was still trying to figure it out. Wary, she waited for the jest.

“You and I are much alike in some ways, love. We can’t accept the world as others serve it to us. We want to choose our own dinner. Always asking questions, always asking why, always wanting to see for ourselves. You love your home and you love your people, but they’re a hidebound, stubborn race. It’s hard to belong when to do so means losing yourself. You’ve the soul of a traveler, Cat, and the heart of an adventurer, and if you learn to accept it, you’ll always be at home.”

His answer took her aback. Was he right? What about family and duty? It was easy for him to say. What did he know of responsibility? He’d as much as admitted he switched his allegiance as easily as he changed his clothes. Drat the man! She’d been expecting a jest. Why couldn’t he be predictable?

“That’s easy for you to say, Sinclair. You’re a man. All your life you’ve been free to go where you want and do as you please. I’d like to see you try it dressed in skirts, with every dog and cock either sniffing at your heels or painting you a freak.”

“You’ve grown mean and bitter, Catherine.”

“And you’ve grown girlish and sentimental!”

His bark of laughter caused heads to turn and earned them glowering looks and a chorus of shushes.

“No one’s as free as you think, love.”

“But some are freer than others.”

Jamie leaned closer. “Would you like to be freer than others? I can show you how.”

His breath tickled her ear and she shrugged her shoulders to dislodge him. “I thought we’d decided against that.”

“No, love, that’s not what I meant, though I daresay it would do you good.” She stiffened and he chuckled and hugged her tighter. “I can take you adventuring right here in London. I can show you a man’s world, show you things and places no lady’s ever seen… if you’re game for it.”

The last was spoken as a challenge, and since the early days of childhood, Cat Drummond could not resist a dare.