Bond of Passion (39 page)

“She is my equal,” the earl told his younger brother. “It is nae yer place to judge me, or Annabella, by yer own narrow standards, Matthew. I love my wife, and I do for Duin what I believe is the right thing to do. Ye will nae criticize either of us again. Ye forget yer place, brother.”

“They call the Fergusons of Duin sorcerers,
my lord
,” Matthew said scathingly, “but ’tis yer wife who is the witch, for she hae be-sorceled ye.”

They both heard the gasp of shock, and turned to see Annabella standing there. She was paler than usual.

“Leave the hall,” the Earl of Duin said in icy tones. “For now ye will keep yer place, but dinna show yer face to me until ye are prepared to apologize to my countess, Matthew. I would remind ye that ye hae nae the right to speak for Duin.”

“Angus, nay! Ye must nae quarrel wi’ yer brother,” Annabella cried.

“Ye see!” Matthew’s tone was accusatory. “She canna keep her place!” He stormed from the hall.

“Oh, my lord, I am so sorry to be the cause of dissension between ye and Matthew,” Annabella said.

“He is jealous,” Angus told her. “Until we wed it was always his counsel that I listened to, sweetheart. Now I listen to yers, for ye are thoughtful and wise. He is a good steward, and he is loyal to Duin. But he hae his own wife, and must learn to accept mine.”

“He loves ye dearly,” she said. “He feels ye could hae made a better match than me, I fear. And especially as he now is wed to my beautiful sister, I seem even plainer by comparison.” She laughed ruefully. “But ye must reconcile yerself with him, Angus.”

“Nay! He must reconcile himself wi’ me, sweetheart,” the earl said. “I wed wi’ the best woman in this world. The virtues ye possess, Annabella, dinna—” He took her in his arms, looking down into her plain face with a warm smile. His eyes met hers as he told her once again, “I love ye.” It was said simply. Then their lips met in a tender kiss.

He was the best of men, Annabella thought, but she was concerned about Matthew. She knew he would not be deliberately disloyal, but she had noticed how earnestly he had engaged William Hamilton in conversation the previous evening. Angus was doing what was right for Duin. He understood the politics of the situation far better than did his younger half brother. If Mary ever by some stroke of good fortune came to power once again, she would indeed forgive the Earl of Duin.

Moray, however, would not. If he believed that the Fergusons were colluding with the Hamiltons, and knew the secret of their wealth, Moray would fall on Duin with a vengeance. She could imagine how difficult it was for him to keep the secret that had been revealed to him. His religion kept him from plundering Duin, but given an excuse to do so, Moray would not hesitate. Annabella could but pray Matthew’s anger would ease, and that he would accept the judgment of his elder half brother, his laird, the Earl of Duin.

H
e wanted to believe himself neutral in this war that swept the borders. But the truth was, he could no longer remain neutral. He soothed himself by saying that as the king represented Scotland, and he stood with Scotland, he must therefore stand by little James VI, a lad but slightly older than his own wee son. In his heart Angus Ferguson knew it to be the right thing to do. Mary Stuart had left them.

Of course, she had had no real choice in the matter. Beaten in her last battle at Langside, Mary did not wait this time to be incarcerated in some moldering heap of stones once again watched over by pious folk hostile to her and everything for which she had stood. She had trusted to the nobility of her lords once before. A miscarriage and her imprisonment for a year at Inchmahome had been the reward for her faith in them.

After Langside she had fled south into England. Angus often thought that if she had just holed up in Dumbarton and negotiated with Moray and his ilk, she would still be queen. But her half brother, anticipating that she would make a run for Dumbarton, had blocked her way. She hadn’t so much fled, Angus thought in retrospect, as she had been driven from Scotland, and by the very men who were her own kin and had colluded in the murders of both David Riccio and Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley.

And these men had gained exactly what they wanted: An infant king who would need their protection. A lad who could be educated and molded to suit them. A king who would not rebel against them but would be like them, think like them, act like them, and defend the new Reformed kirk of Scotland. And his mother would not be there to interfere with them as they produced this creation of theirs. Nay. They would not want Mary Stuart back in Scotland to thwart all their plans.

Matthew Ferguson didn’t understand this, however. All he could see was a beautiful and tragic woman forced from her throne. He did not approve of her marriage to his brother’s friend James Hepburn, but that was an error that could have been remedied. Mary Stuart was a devoted and devout daughter of Holy Mother Church.

She had allowed these men who called themselves the Reformed Church to practice their faith. But Knox and his ilk were yet suspicious of her, and could not refrain from taking the slightest thing they did not understand about the queen and declaring it ungodly or unchaste. They had stolen her bairn from her—driven her from Scotland. It was unjust!

How could his elder brother not understand the truth of all that had happened? William Hamilton had explained it quite clearly to Matthew Ferguson. The queen, their good Catholic queen, had had her throne usurped by her Protestant bastard half brother. They had imprisoned her. Caused her to miscarry. Fought against her and then driven her from their land. It was certainly God’s will that she be restored to her throne.

Her misalliance with Lord Bothwell would be annulled by the pope in Rome. England’s Duke of Norfolk, a good Catholic, would wed the queen. The queen would give to him what she had not given to either Lord Darnley or Lord Bothwell: the crown matrimonial. Scotland would have a good king and queen. Norfolk would be a good father to little James, and with luck there would be more children. The queen was still young enough. But first Mary Stuart must be restored to her rightful place.

“Duin is isolated,” William Hamilton said. “All we ask is a safe resting place for our messengers. Moray’s people will look to the east for our messengers. Perhaps they will even look to the center region of the border, but the west is the least likely place they will look. They will be no danger to the Fergusons, and the queen is certain to show her gratitude, Matthew, my friend. Would ye nae like a title of yer own to pass down to that fine laddie yer fair lady bore ye? Why should an accident of yer birth prevent ye from such a prize?”

And Matthew Ferguson listened, and was tempted. He had seen the queen when she had stopped briefly at Duin in her flight south. She was beautiful and royal, but she had looked so frail and tired. She was Scotland’s rightful queen. If his brother could take sides, then so could he. He would shelter the messengers needing rest and nourishment at his own new stone house. There was no need for Angus to know anything.

“I’ll help the queen,” he said.

Afterward he told his wife, Agnes, expecting to be praised for his chivalry. To his great surprise Agnes was horrified, and chastised him sharply.

“Are ye mad, Matthew Ferguson? What hae ye done? Ye’ve put me and our bairn in danger, not to mention yer brother!”

“Angus would nae help the poor queen,” he answered her.

“Of course he wouldn’t, ye dolt! The queen is finished. Do ye truly believe those cold, hard men clutching the royal bairn in their paws will gie way and allow her back?”

Matthew Ferguson was astounded. She had berated him, called him a
dolt
. His beautiful and sweet wife had suddenly become a harsh scold. “Madam,” he said, “am I nae the master in my own home? Dinna remonstrate wi’ me, for I hae made my decision. Offering shelter and food to a passing messenger, if indeed one should pass through Duin, can hardly be countenanced as a crime. I am involved in nae plots. I simply offer border hospitality, as any man would to a stranger.”

“Matthew, do ye nae realize that messengers coming over the border will always stop here, knowing that ye hae offered to shelter them? They will all be headed for Dumbarton Castle, for the Queen’s Men still cling to that pile of rocks. The plot comes from there, nae from England, ye great fool!”

“Madam,” he shouted at her, “I will nae be spoken to as ye hae been speaking to me. Hush yer mouth, and say nae another word.”

Agnes looked at her husband, outraged. “I’m taking our wee Robbie and going to the castle,” she told him. “I’ll nae abide another night beneath the roof of this dwelling that is to be used to house traitors to the little king. I’ll nae hae my bairn put in danger of ending up on the end of a soldier’s pike because his puddingheaded da canna see the truth. I’m nae coming back until ye repair this disaster.”

“Jesu! Mary!” Matthew swore. “Ye’re just like yer plain-faced sister!”

“Dinna criticize my sister,” Agnes snapped back. “Annabella is wonderful, and yer own brother hae seen it. The bond between them is so strong nothing could break it. Would that our marriage could be as strong.”

“Yer damned sister hae turned my brother away from his duty to our queen,” Matthew said. “She hae bewitched him, for no man could love such a simple face.”

“Is that why ye wed wi’ me, Matthew? Because I am beautiful? Did ye see nothing else in me but my face?” Agnes was near crying. “If I were as my sister, would ye hae loved me? It seems ye would nae.” Then she ran from the little hall of their stone house.

He watched her go, puzzled. What was the matter wi’ his beautiful Aggie? And then a thought struck him. She was breeding again. Certainly that was it! Breeding women were always given to odd fancies. But then the next day Agnes and his son were gone missing from their house. He found her servant woman packing Agnes’s possessions. “Where hae she gone?” he demanded.

“To the castle,” the woman replied.

Matthew Ferguson mounted his horse and rode the distance between Duin and his stone house. He found his wife in the castle hall with her sister. “Where’s my son?” he demanded to know. “Ye may remain here if ye choose, but Robbie is coming home wi’ me,” he told her in a hard voice.

“Robbie will remain wi’ me,” Agnes said obdurately.

“Matthew,” Annabella said, “I dinna know what hae precipitated this rift between ye and Aggie, but perhaps ye both need a few days to cool yer fiery heads.”

“Dinna tell me how to manage my wife, madam,” Matthew snarled.

“Manage?”
Agnes’s voice had become a screech. “Am I a horse or a dog to be managed? How dare ye, Matthew Ferguson!”

“I want ye and my son home,” he replied.

“Then ye know what ye must do, sir, for I’ll nae be home until ye do it,” Agnes said in firm tones.

He realized then that she had not revealed his secret, and for that he was grateful.

“I’ll nae besmirch my honor, Agnes,” he informed her.

“I hope yer honor will keep ye warm this winter,” she snapped.

With a snarl of impatience Matthew left the castle hall.

“What hae happened to put ye and Matthew at odds?” Annabella asked. “I realize that he can be a difficult man, but he loves ye.”

“He is nae difficult!” Agnes defended her husband. “But sometimes he is foolish.”

“How hae he been foolish?” Annabella probed gently. It had to be something very foolish to have sent her sister racing with her bairn from the fine stone house Matthew had built for her to the security of Duin Castle. But Annabella knew her sister would say nothing—indeed, if she said anything at all—until she had resolved the conflict, at least in her own mind.

Angus took his wife aside when he saw his sister-in-law and her bairn had moved into his home. “What hae happened between them? They’re mad in love.”

“I dinna know,” Annabella admitted. “She is nae ready to tell me, but she will. We hae but to be patient. She is verra angry and hurt by something he hae done or said.”

Several weeks passed. The days were growing noticeably shorter as the autumn arrived and began to deepen. Then one day Jean’s husband, who was captain of the castle men-at-arms, came to the earl.

“The men on the heights hae noticed something, my lord, that I believe should be brought to yer attention. There is traffic coming across the border, single riders, but more in the last two weeks than we usually see in a twelvemonth’s time.”

“Do they seem headed in a singular direction?” Angus asked his captain.

“Aye, toward yer steward’s house. They make an effort to bypass the castle, my lord, but those headed both north and south seem intent on that direction and possible destination. I knew ye would want to know.”

“Thank ye. I should like to be notified the next time one of these riders is spotted so I may see for myself,” Angus told his captain.