Bond of Passion (4 page)

The good lady, however, had assured her trusted friend that if she had a child by the laird of Duin, that child would be brought up with her own child, following the example of both the Scots and French royal families. Satisfied, Jeanne had agreed, and William Ferguson was not unhappy to have his wife’s plump red-haired serving wench to fondle and fuck while Adrienne ripened with his son. The laird of Duin’s seed was potent. He impregnated Jeanne, but, less fearful than her mistress, the sturdy serving woman kept the laird’s lustful nature well satisfied until her mistress was ready to allow him into her bed again. And, true to her word, the lady Adrienne added Jeanne’s newborn son to her six-month-old son’s nursery so the children might be brought up together.

The laird of Duin’s wife delivered a second son, and then a daughter, secure in the knowledge that Jeanne would keep her husband entertained. Jeanne gave the laird a second daughter. Little Jean grew up with her brothers, Angus, Matthew, and Jamie, along with her sister, Mary. Jean, unlike her sister, was lively and full of fun. It was obvious she had no calling for the Church. Her mother trained her as a privileged servant who would one day look after her oldest brother’s bride. Jean Ferguson was eager to meet Annabella Baird.

“About time ye married,” Jean had said to Angus Ferguson when he had announced his intentions to her. “At least yer nae as potent as Da.”

“I’ve been more careful than Da,” he answered her, laughing. He had always enjoyed the fact that his half sister was so outspoken.

“I’ll have quite a lot to deal with on my hands if the poor lass has been filled with the tales of yer escapades here in the borders with the lasses, not to mention those silly stories of our family’s magical ways. Matthew says that Bothwell told ye the lass is a plain-faced virgin wi’ no knowledge of the world at all.” Jean Ferguson was a pretty woman of twenty-two, with her mother’s red hair and her father’s hazel eyes. She was wed to the castle’s captain of the men-at-arms.

“An innocent can be molded to suit my own personal tastes,” the earl replied.

“Ye’re too arrogant by far,” his half sister said, shaking her head. “The lass could be wise beyond her years.”

“I seriously doubt it,” Angus Ferguson responded. “The daughter of a tower laird? It is unlikely she can even write her name. She will not be educated beyond the skills a woman needs to run her household, which will suit me quite well, Jeannie. What would I do with an intelligent wife?”

“Ye might try talking to her,” Jean said sharply.

The earl laughed, showing a flash of straight white teeth. “Do not lead my wife into rebellion, little sister.” He chuckled. “An obedient wife is what I seek. If I am kind she will be loyal. Plain women do not get a great deal of attention. Let her be grateful that I am her husband. Then I will not have to concern myself that she will betray me.”

Jean Ferguson reached out and put a gentle hand on her brother’s handsome face. “Angus, Angus,” she said, “it still chafes ye, doesn’t it? Elizabeth Kennedy wasn’t worthy of ye. Pity poor Adam Douglas, for he canna be sure that even the first bairn she bore him is his own. Certainly none of the others are. The woman canna keep her legs closed to any man with an upstanding cock. Ye would have killed her long since. I don’t know why Adam hasn’t, except he is still so besotted by her.”

Angus Ferguson nodded in agreement with his sister’s assessment. The daughter of a neighboring laird, Elizabeth Kennedy possessed a great beauty that was matched by an equally great lustful nature. Although warned by his siblings against her, the young earl had been taken in by her exquisite fair face and delightful playful manner. He had begun to court her, thrilled that she would bestow her kisses upon him. His siblings were wrong. Jealous. They had to be, for when he had declared his affections for her she had responded with delight. At twenty-three he became the happiest man in all of Scotland.

And then one afternoon he had come upon her lying in the autumn heather, her beautiful breasts bared to the sky, and three young lads were taking turns servicing her lusty nature as she laughed, teased, and encouraged them in their endeavors. He had watched, fascinated, unable to fully comprehend what he was seeing. His Elizabeth. The lass he loved and wanted to wed was nothing better than a common whore. He struggled to disbelieve the evidence of his own eyes, but how could he? The labored grunts of the men using her, the cries of pleasure she made, finally slammed into his consciousness, forcing him to accept what he was seeing.

With a roar of fury he made his presence known. The three men gaped in shock, but then, recognizing him, jumped up and fled. Her mouth bruised with the kisses of others, sloe-eyed Elizabeth Kennedy had beckoned to him, smiling a slow, seductive smile. At that moment he had wanted to fall on her and fuck her until she was dead. He had believed her a virgin. He had been so gentle in his wooing of her. To see other men enjoying what he had denied himself was galling. But instead he had dragged her up, taking her home to throw her at her father’s feet, disclosing her perfidy.

The little bitch had attempted to lie, claiming that the earl had misunderstood what he had seen. She had been set upon and raped, Elizabeth Kennedy told her father. Lord Kennedy’s face had grown pale as he listened to his daughter, but it was quickly obvious that he believed the Earl of Duin. What Angus had wondered at that point was, did Kennedy really know about his daughter’s character? The older man’s face now grew deep red in his uncontrolled fury as, reaching for his cane, he grasped his daughter by her long unbound hair and beat her until her screams shook his hall. He ceased his punishment only when his weeping wife begged him to stop.

Lady Kennedy had escorted her wayward daughter off, while Angus Ferguson tendered his regrets to the Kennedy laird that he had had to bring him such unpleasant news. “I canna possibly consider Elizabeth for my wife now, knowing and seeing what I have this day,” he told him. Kennedy had nodded his understanding. Two months later Elizabeth Kennedy was wed to one Adam Douglas, delivering a bairn seven months afterward. A weak man, Adam Douglas basked in the knowledge that he was wed to the loveliest woman in the borders, and ignored the gossip about his wife’s many lovers.

Angus Ferguson never forgot that at the age of twenty-three he had been betrayed by a beautiful woman and made to look the fool. Everyone, he later learned, had known of the Kennedy lass’s proclivities but him. He had been taken in by a fair face just like any damned green lad, and he should have known better. After that, he had avoided the topic of marriage, amusing himself with a variety of lovely mistresses, for mistresses were supposed to be beautiful, and only briefly faithful. The volatile nature of a mistress was no threat to his pride.

He met with the laird of Rath at Bothwell’s castle of Hermitage. Robert Baird had been totally honest with him. Aye, his oldest daughter was a virgin, an obedient and good lass, but she had not beauty to recommend her. But it was his duty to find her a husband, and not just any husband. Annabella, the laird told the earl, was quite dear to his heart. Her husband must be able to forgive her lack of beauty, and be kind to her. If the Earl of Duin wanted those lands bordering his that Robert Baird possessed, he would have to take Annabella as his wife, and guarantee the laird his assurances that he would be good to the lass.

“I dinna want a beautiful wife,” Angus Ferguson had told his prospective father-in-law. “I want an obedient wife who will do her duty by me.” Nay, he didn’t want a wife who would be the envy of other men’s lust. A woman who would use her beauty to betray him and break his heart. He wanted a woman he could respect, who would be faithful to him and to his wishes. “Yer daughter’s reputation is pleasing to me, my lord. I believe she will suit me quite well.”

“I must ask,” Robert Baird said, “the rumors of sorcery . . . are they true, my lord?”

“Nay, they are not. I am no sorcerer; nor do I practice the dark arts,” Angus Ferguson said.

“Then I am satisfied ye’ll be a good husband to my daughter. If ye’ll have her, the land ye desire is yers. It will serve as her dower portion,” the laird of Rath said.

“Agreed!” the Earl of Duin responded, and the two men shook hands. “I’ll send my half brother, Matthew, to Rath as my proxy. He will travel in the company of our other brother, James, a priest. Jamie will see to the marriage contracts and perform the ceremony. I know ye’re of the Reformed faith, but I remain a son of Holy Mother Church.”

Robert Baird nodded. “I understand and have no objections,” he said. “We were of the old faith until the law was changed, but the queen says we may all worship as we see fit. Annabella will conform to yer wishes, my lord.”

Indeed she would, the laird thought. He had found her a good husband when he had not ever thought he would. And she would not just be a wife. She would be the Countess of Duin.

T
he laird of Rath had gathered his familyin the hall of their tower house. He signaled to his servants to bring wine. It was poured into the two silver cups that belonged to the lord and his wife, and five small round earthenware cups for their five children. Robert Baird raised his cup. “Let us toast your sister, Annabella, who is soon to be wed,” he said, enjoying the look of surprise on his daughters’ faces.

“To Annabella!” they all said, drinking deep from their cups.

Annabella Baird had never liked surprises. Especially when they involved her. She would have preferred it if her father and her mother had told her of this marriage privily before announcing it in the hall for all the world to hear. She could but imagine how relieved her parents were to have finally found her a husband. Annabella Baird had no illusions about herself. She knew better than most just how plain of face she was. Finally regaining her composure she asked, “Who am I to wed, Da?” Who indeed?

“You are to marry the Earl of Duin, Angus Ferguson. He is your senior by fifteen years, but has never taken a wife,” Robert Baird told his daughter.

Annabella’s next-younger sister, Myrna, snickered, and then whispered something to their next sister, Sorcha, who immediately giggled. Sorcha was by nature a giggler. Annabella found it quite annoying.

“What is so amusing?” she demanded of Myrna.

“The laird of Duin has had no time for a wife, it is said, because he spends all his time chasing pretty lasses,” Myrna replied. “Blessed Mary, Annabella, he is said to be the handsomest man in the borders, as well as a sorcerer!” She brayed her laughter. “The plainest face in the borders to wed a handsome sorcerer. Maybe his magic can make you fair.” Myrna cackled again at her own wit.

“If sorcery could sweeten your nature, sister, I should be forever grateful,” Annabella returned sharply. “Won’t Ian Melville be surprised to learn what a shrew ye are, Myrna.” She turned back to her father. “Where is Duin, Da?”

“In the western borders on the sea,” Robert Baird answered his daughter.

“I am nae a shrew!” Myrna said angrily.

Sorcha and their youngest sister, Agnes, giggled as Annabella shrugged but did not take back her harsh words.

“Now, now, my lasses, ye’re sisters. Make yer peace wi’ one another,” their mother said. “Very soon Annabella will be gone from us, and who knows when we will see her again.” She smiled warmly at her eldest daughter.

“Probably never,” Myrna said almost smugly. “We shall be much too busy with our own lives to go traveling across Scotland to see Annabella and her sorcerer. I am so glad that Sorcha, Agnes, and I will wed closer to home, so we may be near our mother.”

“Though you three will be near,” the lady Anne said, “’tis Annabella who is making a great marriage and bringing honor to the Bairds of Rath. The distance between us is several days, but we will see one another again,” she reassured her eldest daughter. Then she smiled at them. “Now, because time is short we must begin to prepare your sister for the journey to her new home. In just a few weeks the Fergusons will come to claim her and take her back to Duin.”

“Ohhh,” Myrna said. “Will we get to see the sorcerer?”

“Daughter,” Robert Baird said to Myrna, “Angus Ferguson is no sorcerer. Ye must cease referring to him that way. I now find myself grateful he will not be coming to Rath, but sending his proxy.”

The next few weeks were busy ones, with the ladies of the household packing Annabella’s few possessions into an iron-bound oak trunk. Her dower consisted of linens for both bed and table; two fine goose-down pillows; a down coverlet; a silver spoon and cup; and a fine wooden box filled with ointments, balms, salves, potions, and healing herbs, along with her clothing and small bits of jewelry. A special gown was to be made for the bride to wear on her wedding day. Afterward it would serve as her best garment.

She tried to picture this unknown man she was to wed so soon. He would be tall, of course. Short men were not usually highly praised as handsome. Was he fair or dark? What color were his eyes? Myrna, who always seemed to know everything, could say only that the gossip about the Fergusons of Duin said they were magical folk, and kept much to themselves. It was the earl’s handsome face that caused the telltales to chatter.