Bond of Passion (45 page)

Annabella found herself exasperated by her younger sister’s sudden conversion. “That is nae the complete truth, Aggie. Ye hae lived wi’ us, and ye know the full truth. I shall nae go into it wi’ ye. I would like ye to stay, but go if ye will wi’ yer husband. At least yer son will be safe here at Duin.”

“I will send for him when I am resettled wi’ Da and Mam at Rath,” Agnes said.

“Of course,” Annabella said. She seriously doubted that Agnes would send for her son, and if she did it was unlikely the Fergusons would turn the boy over to her. They would not allow one of their own to be placed in needless danger. As it was, her parents were not going to be happy to have Agnes bringing treason into their house. “I’ll ask ye to carry a letter to our parents, if ye will,” she said.

“I will be happy to do so,” Agnes answered her. “It is little enough, considering all yer kindness to me.”

Later that evening, as she and Angus lay abed after a delicious bout of lovemaking, she told her husband of her sister’s change of heart regarding Matthew. She was sitting between his long legs, her back against his chest while he played with her full breasts.

“She loves him,” Angus said dryly. “Women do odd things for love.”

“I never did!” Annabella protested, then purred as he dropped a kiss on her rounded shoulder. “Umm, that’s nice.”

“Ye dressed as a lad and followed me to Brittany,” he said with a chuckle. “Since ye hae nae business in Brittany, I must assume that ye love me, madam.” He gave the two round breasts a gentle squeeze, tweaking the nipples as well.

“Ohhh!” The tweak sent a flash of sensation to her nether parts. She could feel his cock growing harder against her lower back. Removing his hands from her breasts, Annabella rolled over, kneeling first in order to push him fully onto his back. Then she grasped the towering flesh, swung over him, and guided it into her wet sheath. Sinking down upon him, she sighed with satisfaction as she began to ride him.

At first he held her hips to steady her, but eventually she found her perfect balance, and his hands reached up to grasp her breasts again. His eyes closed slowly, and he groaned with the outrageous pleasure she was giving him, not just with her luscious, perfect body, but with her long sable hair that swung back and forth, brushing his sensitive flesh until he was almost ready to scream with delight. He groaned again.

Annabella loved feeling as if she were in total control of their passion. Her knees and thighs squeezed his torso. Her hot sheath squeezed his thick length. She watched the lust build and spread over his gorgeous, handsome face. His dark, thick eyelashes quivered against his wind-tanned cheekbones. He groaned once, and she knew she had him. When some minutes later he groaned again, she could feel his cock trembling within her, and then as her sheath tightened about it one final time, his juices burst forth. Unable to help herself, Annabella threw back her head and screamed. Then she collapsed atop him.

After a few moments he rolled her over onto her back. “And now, madam, you will pay the piper for your wickedly skillful torture of your master.”

“Ye’re still hard.” She gasped and shuddered in a final burst of pleasure.

“Aye,” he whispered hotly in her ear, the tip of his tongue teasing at the whorl of her ear. His teeth nibbled delicately on her lobe. “Hard and hot and hungry still, madam.”

He began to move on her once more. The rhythm was very, very slow at first, a teasing hard thrust followed by a leisurely withdrawal that after a few moments had her gasping with a burgeoning need she couldn’t quite believe. Then his movement increased in its tempo, becoming faster and faster and faster. Her legs wrapped about him. Her fingers dug into his muscled shoulders. She moaned with a need that kept growing greater and greater and greater. “Dinna stop!” she cried softly.

“I dinna intend to,” he growled back.

The world was suddenly changing around her. The air was sweet and hot by turns. A myriad of colors flashed behind her closed eyelids. She was flying. Aye! Flying and flying straight up into the bright golden sun. Stars burst all around her, showering their glittering bits over her head. Annabella cried out as she shuddered again not once, not twice, but three long shudders of utter perfect pleasure. It was too much. Too, too wonderful! And then everything went black
.

With the last bit of his strength Angus rolled off of her and lay gasping on his back like a large salmon pulled from the water and tossed upon the grassy bank. Reaching for her small hand, he squeezed it tenderly; then, bringing it to his mouth, he kissed it several small kisses. The most passionate woman in the borders hid her gorgeous, shapely body behind a plain face that most men wouldn’t give a second look. And she was his till death parted them. He meant that to be a very long time.

This time they both slept soundly until the morning. But as much as they wanted to remain abed, they knew they must arise. Annabella hurried to dress so she might see Agnes off personally. Angus, she knew, would not come to the courtyard. He would stand on the battlements of the castle and watch his brother and Agnes depart. He had said all he had to say to Matthew. If his damned fool of a younger brother could not see the error of his ways, then he must go forth from Duin before he brought trouble down on all of them. If Angus Ferguson felt any regret in his actions, it was for the sorrow this would bring old Jeanne, Matthew and Jean’s mother. But Jeanne would understand.

She was loyal to Duin and always had been.

Annabella hurried into the castle courtyard, where Agnes was embracing her small son and promising to send for him one day. Robbie Ferguson didn’t really understand, for he was still too young. He squirmed away from her and ran off to find his twin cousins. Annabella hugged her youngest sister. Then she handed her the sealed parchment she had written to their parents.

“Write to me, and tell me whether Rob has found a wife yet. And if he has, tell me if you like her,” Annabella said. Then she hugged Agnes. “I’ll miss ye, Aggie.”

“My place is with Matthew,” Agnes said primly. “He awaits me on the other side of the drawbridge. Ten young Duin men are going wi’ us. They are loyal to the queen.”

“I am glad ye will hae protection. ’Tis a long ride to Rath,” Annabella said.

Ten men! She must remember to tell Angus. He would want to know.

“Farewell, sister,” Agnes said in a calm voice. She clambered up onto her mare.

“Farewell, Aggie,” the Countess of Duin said quietly. Then she watched with sadness as her sibling, back straight and stiff, rode from the courtyard and out across the castle drawbridge, where Matthew and his men waited for her. She never looked back.

Annabella began to cry softly.

Jean came to her side and quietly slipped her hand into that of her mistress. “This is Mary Stuart’s doing. Her charm hae torn another man from his family.”

“Better than allowing her to destroy the Fergusons of Duin,” Annabella said in a suddenly hard voice. She was angry at what had happened. Angry at Matthew first and foremost. Then she remembered. “How is old Jeanne taking all of this?” she asked.

“She is furious, thank God! But better than sorrowful. She swore in her Breton tongue,” Jean said with a chuckle. “I haven’t heard her swear like that since our father died. Some of her words I didn’t even understand.” She gave Annabella’s hand a squeeze. “We will survive this. The Fergusons always survive.”

While the two women had seen Agnes off, the earl had dispatched the now freed courier with a promise and a warning. “Come back to Duin,” he told the man, “and these five gold pieces, full weight, are yers. Betray me, and I
will
find ye.”

The messenger had been returned all his possessions, including a small purse with a silver piece and some coppers. His formerly scrawny horse was now fat and ready to travel. The messenger had been given a warm cloak, for when he had arrived at Duin he had not needed one, and didn’t own one anyway. Both he and the earl knew that there would be no five gold pieces from the Hamiltons. His mission was to reach the Hamiltons before the earl’s brother, and be gone as quickly. “I’ll be back,” he said, and he would. The promised gold pieces would buy him a small cottage on the outskirts of Edinburgh, where he might bring a wife and have a peaceful old age. The Earl of Duin had proved himself a trustworthy man. The courier rode off.

It was December now, and although it was not the custom of the new Reformed kirk to celebrate all the feasts and fasts of the old kirk, the country folk were apt to do it, although to a lesser extent. Inside the castle the hall was decorated with boughs of pine and holly. Two enormous logs that would burn at least until the new year were dragged into the hall and lit with much ceremony. There was a modest amount of feasting and much music and some dancing, although the new kirk disapproved but had not yet forbidden it entirely.

Little Jamie and his twin sister, Annie, were now past three, and their cousin, Robbie, almost two. The children toddled about the hall accompanied by a large watchful deerhound who had appointed himself their guardian. The patient beast had been seen pulling the little ones away when they got too close to the hearth. This Christmastide old Jeanne came to reside in the castle for what promised to be a difficult winter. With her came Jean’s two bairns. Looking about his hall, Angus Ferguson was content. His family was as paramount as was Duin’s safety.

It was in the interest of his family that he decided to go to Stirling to warn the Earl of Moray of the plotted assassination. It was cold, and there was snow on the ground, but the weather was dry and would remain so for the interim, according to the old man in the village who predicted these things. Annabella was not happy about his going, although she knew he would not send anyone else.

“It is my way of proving to Moray our loyalty,” Angus told Annabella. He rode out even before the sun was rising on the fifteenth day of January. But while the weather remained dry at Duin, its earl found himself having to shelter from a snowstorm several days later. He managed through sheer effort of will to reach Stirling at last, only to learn that the Earl of Moray had decamped for Edinburgh. Angus Ferguson turned his horse again, but when he reached Linlithgow he found the town in a terrible uproar. There were men-at-arms rushing about everywhere. The taverns were overflowing. He stopped a soldier wearing the Earl of Moray’s badge.

“I’m the Earl of Duin,” he identified himself. “I’m seeking yer master, as I have news of great import for him.”

“The Earl of Moray is dead, my lord,” the soldier answered him. “Killed by James Hamilton as he rode through the town.”

Angus Ferguson felt his heart sink. It had all been for naught. He had thought he had plenty of time, and he would have, had the sudden snowstorm not delayed him. “When?” he asked the soldier.

“Not more than an hour ago, my lord. My master was passing a house owned by the archbishop of St. Andrews when he was shot from an upper-floor window. The coward hid behind a line of laundry.”

“God hae mercy on his good soul,” the earl said, and caught himself before he crossed himself, lest his Catholicism make him guilty by association with the Catholic cleric. “Are ye certain he is dead?”

“They carried him to a nearby house, my lord, but there was no hope. He died shortly thereafter. The wicked archbishop hae already fled, probably to Dumbarton.”

“What of the assassin?” Angus asked.

“Fled too, but we’ll catch him and hang him, ye can be certain.”

“Who is in charge now?” Angus inquired.

The soldier looked befuddled; then he said, “I dinna know, my lord.”

The earl thanked the man and moved on. He was tired. His horse was tired. He would need to find a place to rest where he might hear all the gossip. Then in the morning he would turn his horse’s steps toward Duin. The Fergusons were not involved in all of this. If he told anyone now that Moray had been assassinated that he had known of the plot to kill him, to kill Lennox, to kill Erskine and others, it would be assumed that he was somehow involved, but had had a change of heart. Nay! He was not going to say a word now to anyone. He would return to his anonymity.

He found a large and prosperous inn, where he might have a bed for the night and several hot meals. His horse was well stabled. Angus sat in the taproom, eating a good supper, drinking his wine, and listening to all the gossip that was being reported. He quickly learned there was nothing more to know than the soldier in the street had reported to him. Moray was dead, but the little king was safe at Stirling. Moray’s funeral would be a state one. Angus Ferguson had no doubt that a battle had already begun to fill the boots of the good regent.

He arrived home at Duin, a great snowstorm on his heels. He called all of his clansmen and -women into his hall after the snow ended several days later to tell them what had transpired. They were shocked and concerned. They wanted to know whether Moray’s death meant that the queen would return to Scotland, be restored to her throne.

“It would take a miracle, for although Mary Stuart believes herself a guest of her cousin Elizabeth Tudor, she is more a prisoner. Since she left us they have drawn her deeper and deeper into England,” the earl explained. “It is unlikely they will be able to extract her from the castle in Staffordshire where she now resides.”

Duin settled down into a quiet winter. There was no news, for the weather made it impossible. The courier sent to the Hamiltons in November returned in March as soon as the melt began. The road was muddy, but patches of green were beginning to take hold on the hillsides, and the days were longer, brighter now as the messenger rode into the courtyard. He carried several messages with him. One was for Annabella from her mother, and she opened it eagerly.

Dearest daughter
, her mother began.