Bond of Passion

by Bertrice Small

  Annabella giggled. “Nay,” she said. “My husband will help me to bed.”

  “Not until after he’s helped ye in the tub,” Jean said pithily. Then she was gone.

  Annabella enjoyed the hot water finally easing the soreness in her muscles from their long journey from the western borders. There was a door between the two bedchambers inhabited by the lord and the lady. It opened, and Angus came through as naked as the day he was born. Without a word, he climbed into the tub with her.

  “Good evening, madam,” he said with a grin.

  “My lord.” She inclined her head at him.

  “A messenger came just before I came upstairs. I am to be one of Bothwell’s groomsmen tomorrow. Matthew will escort ye to the church.”

  “He does ye honor,” Annabella said.

  “I dinna like being known amid these foxes and wolves,” Angus remarked.

  “We will remain until spring, and then go home to Duin,” she said. “The queen is being generous and courteous to invite us, but we are nae so important that it will be necessary for us to remain more than a month or two.”

  Reaching out, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her mouth.

  Annabella enjoyed the kiss, but then pulled away from him. “Ye need to bathe before ye play, sir,” she scolded him. “If ye are to be in the limelight tomorrow, then ye must nae have a dirty neck or ears.”

  He pulled her back into his embrace, cupping a breast in his hand as he did.

  Annabella whacked him gently with a bath brush.

  “Ow! Madam, ye hae injured me sorely,” he complained, rubbing the side of his head with a big hand. But he had released his hold on her breast.

  “Nonsense,” she told him. Then, picking up a cloth, she soaped it, washed his face, ears, and neck, and rinsed them free of the lather. Then, picking up the brush, she pushed him about, scrubbing first his shoulders and back, spinning him around again, then washing his broad, smooth chest. When she laid the brush aside, he pinioned her arms to her sides, pushed her back against the tub, and kissed her hard.

  Releasing one of her arms, he growled in her ear, “Fondle me, wench. I have a need to fuck ye.” Then he kissed her again, groaning into her mouth as her hand played with him, stroking his cock, teasing his balls with skilled fingers. Her small round breasts against his chest aroused his lust. He felt her thighs against his as his hands reached about to cup her bottom and lift her up to impale her on his manhood.

  “Ohhh, Angus.” Annabella sighed as she felt him filling her. It was too delicious. She wrapped her arms about him, enjoying every stroke of his manhood until finally they both achieved pleasure.

  “Damn, wife, ye can render me a helpless bairn wi’ your sweetness,” the earl said to her. He kissed her mouth hard. “Shall we continue this in our bed?”

  Annabella was breathless as she recovered from their passion. She laughed weakly. “Once, but nae more, Angus. We must be on time to the wedding.”

  “Twice,” he growled into her ear. “Am I some old man, then, that I cannot appreciate my wife’s loveliness more?” He climbed from the tub, taking a warmed drying cloth from the rack near the hearth and toweling himself before heading for their bed.

  Annabella followed, exiting the tub, drying herself off, and climbing into bed to snuggle next to him. Mother of all mercies, she surely had to be the most fortunate woman in all the world, she thought as his arms wrapped around her. They made love a second time, for Angus Ferguson was of no mind to be denied. They slept and indulged themselves a third time before falling asleep for the night beneath the down comforter. When she awoke she found Jean laying out her clothing for the day, but Angus nowhere in sight. “Where is he?” she asked sleepily of her tiring woman.

  “Gone to Bothwell’s house,” Jean said.

  “Is it that late?” Annabella sat up.

  “Nay, nay, ye’ve plenty of time. I’ve brought ye a tray, and ye’re to eat every bit of it,” Jean said. “Heaven only knows when ye’ll eat again. I hear the wedding feast is to be at Holyrood.”

  “Nay, Bothwell would not have it so. ’Twill be at a place called Kinloch House. ’Tis the home of a wealthy merchant who owed Jamie Hepburn a great favor. It is said that the bride and groom will honeymoon at Seton.”

  “They say the Earl of Bothwell is crude in his many amours,” Jean said. “Pity the poor bride.”

  Annabella smiled. “Aye, I suspect Bothwell is hurried wi’ a serving wench, but I am sure he will be more delicate wi’ his wife. Still, he is a handsome fellow. Now tell me, what was Angus wearing when he left? I made some suggestions, but ye know him. He will nae always do what he should.”

  Jean laughed aloud. “Aye, he’s a stubborn man, but he was in his finest. His doublet was of plum-colored silk brocade. The puffed sleeves were slashed to show a lavender silk. His short velvet cape was plum velvet. He wore that heavy gold chain with the Ferguson bee on a thistle.”

  “Then I shall wear my lavender velvet gown,” Annabella said. Then she began to eat the food from the tray Jean had brought her. An egg poached in cream and marsala wine. A rasher of bacon. A slice of warmed bread with butter and cheese. The cider was not as sweet as Ferguson cider, but it was probably not stored as well. When she had finished her meal, Annabella quickly washed herself in a basin, and then with Jean’s aid she dressed. The gown’s bodice was cut very low, with just a ruffle of lace from her chemise showing over the top, although it did little to conceal her swelling breasts. She had noted that her breasts seemed to be increasing in size of late.

  Seeing her mistress staring into the looking glass, Jean asked, “When are ye going to tell him?”

  Annabella turned, a puzzled look on her face. “Tell who? And what?” She admired the bodice’s puffed and slashed sleeves showing a cream silk underneath.

  “Ye’re expecting a bairn, lass,” Jean said. “Are ye nae aware of it? That’s why yer breasts are getting larger.”

  “I wasn’t certain,” Annabella said slowly. “If I had said anything Angus would hae used it as an excuse nae to come. I canna allow him to offend the queen or Bothwell. My lord may avoid politics and hide us away in our western borders, but he canna allow Duin to offend any if we are to remain safe.” She slipped her feet into short fur-lined boots with a fur trim. It was winter, and her footwear was fashionable if not formal.

  Jean nodded her agreement. “Ye’re far wiser than my brother, although we shall nae allow him to know it, Annabella.” She put Annabella’s beautiful hair into a chignon.

  Annabella laughed. “I think it best too, Jeannie.” Then she finished dressing. She was particularly pleased with the underskirt of cream-colored silk brocade, with its narrow silver stripes that showed amid the heavy lavender velvet.

  Jean clasped a necklace of purple amethysts and pearls about her neck. She affixed large pearl ear bobs in her mistress’s ears. Finally she set a heavy, dark violet velvet cloak lined in rich marten on Annabella’s shoulders, and handed her a pair of soft silk-lined leather gloves dyed the same color. “Matthew is waiting in the hall.”

  She found Duin’s steward in sober black and white waiting for her. The horses were waiting for them outside of the house. They mounted and rode the distance to the kirk at the Canongate.

  “I canna go inside wi’ ye,” Matthew said. “’Tis a sin, and I hae enough sins on my conscience.”

  “Then ye hae another,” Annabella told him. “If yer brother can serve as one of Bothwell’s groomsmen, then ye can enter this Reformed kirk. Ye canna expect me to go inside unescorted, Matthew. I am the Countess of Duin.”

  He looked as though he wanted to argue.

  “The queen is coming, and is she nae the first Catholic in the land?” Annabella said. “And her husband will be wi’ her too. If the queen can sin, and yer brother can sin, then so can ye sin, Matthew Ferguson.”

  He made a grimace but, handing the reins of their horses to a liveried lad, escorted Annabella into the dark stone church. “I’ll hae good com
pany in hell,” he muttered, looking about the church and seeing more than one Catholic nobleman. The queen and her husband were already in the royal box. An official stepped forward, blocking the way. He glared at the couple.

  “Give way for the Countess of Duin,” Matthew said.

  “I dinna know the earldom of Duin,” the official replied.

  “Well, Lord Bothwell does. The Earl of Duin is among his groomsmen. I am the earl’s brother, and this is his wife. Now step aside, ye officious Edinburgh man, so we may find a place before the bride arrives.”

  Before the official might argue further, a little page hurried up and murmured something to him. The official nodded, saying, “The lad will bring ye to yer places, madam, sir.” Then he turned away from them to question another pair of arrivals.

  They followed the young boy and were given places. The church was abuzz with chatter, for this new kirk frowned on music. There was a small foreign-looking gentleman sharing their space. The bishop of Galloway, who was to marry the couple, appeared before the altar. Then James Hepburn came forth garbed in his wedding finery, his groomsmen surrounding him. The chatter ceased suddenly as Lady Jean Gordon came down the aisle in a gown of white silk and cloth of silver.

  “From the queen’s own stores,” the man next to them said softly.

  The bride was pretty, with brown-blond hair and light eyes, but she was no beauty. Annabella didn’t think she looked wildly happy, but then she remembered that this marriage had been arranged by the queen herself, with the purpose of uniting an important border family and an important Highland family. Mary Stuart knew that she could trust James Hepburn. She hoped this marriage and the honors she had lavished upon both him and his bride’s family would bring the Gordons back into the royal fold.

  The church was filled to overflowing. The bridal couple’s vows could scarcely be heard by most. But then the bishop in a loud voice pronounced that they were man and wife. The church quickly emptied as the guests poured outside to find their horses and make the short ride to Kinloch House, where the wedding feast would be held. It was there that Matthew left her as Angus came to claim his wife’s company. Together they went to congratulate the newlywed couple.

  “Ye have caused quite a stir among the court,” the new Lady Bothwell said to Angus.

  “I would hardly think the court would concern themselves with an unimportant man from the west,” Angus answered.

  “The handsomest man in the borders and his plain wife, my lord, aye. Everyone is fascinated as to how such a union came about, for as beautiful as the lady of Duin’s clothing and jewels are, she is still very plain, while ye are very handsome.”

  “Love, I am told, madam, is often blind,” Angus Ferguson said, squeezing his wife’s hand, for Annabella had gone pale at Lady Bothwell’s thoughtless words.

  But while she was shocked, Annabella was perfectly able to defend herself. She smiled sweetly at the bride and said, “Yer husband said he thought I should like ye, madam. Alas, he was wrong.” Then with a curtsy she moved on, with both Angus and Bothwell containing their laughter, for the look on Jean Gordon’s face was quite amazing.

  “I shall be careful not to quarrel wi’ ye, wife,” the Earl of Duin said.

  “She is arrogant!” Annabella fumed.

  “She is a Gordon of Huntley,” he replied. “They are all apt to be arrogant.”

  “She has no manners. I pity Jamie Hepburn having to wed her.”

  “The queen wished it, and James is loyal wi’out question. Besides, the bride has brought him a very large dower portion, and the queen has gifted him for his unquestioning obedience with more lands,” Angus said.

  “He can’t possibly love her,” Annabella replied, still fuming.

  Just then, the gentleman who had sat next to them in the kirk came up to them. He bowed politely. “I am David Riccio, the queen’s secretary,” he introduced himself. “I have come to take ye to the queen. She tells me that long ago ye rendered her mother a great service.” His voice was tinged with a slight accent when he spoke. He was a small, elegant man with just a touch of hauteur about him, but his quick smile was friendly.

  “My service to the late Marie de Guise has never been made public,” Angus said, “nor would I want it to be known, Master Riccio. Some of us prefer to perform our good deeds in private rather than seek acclaim.”

  Riccio chuckled. “Ye are a wise man, my lord, to avoid the scrutiny of those who believe themselves more powerful, and use violence to maintain their positions.”

  They had now reached the high board where Queen Mary, her husband, and the bridal couple were seated. The queen was dressed in scarlet velvet and cloth of gold far overshadowing the bride in her silver and white. Annabella had the oddest feeling that Mary had planned it that way.

  “Madam, I bring you the Earl and Countess of Duin,” Riccio said. Then he quickly withdrew back into the crowd of guests.

  Angus bowed his best court bow, while Annabella sank into a deep, graceful curtsy, her lavender skirts blossoming out about her.

  “Rise, my lord, my lady,” the queen said. Then she stood up. Both Lord Darnley and Bothwell also jumped to their feet, but she waved them away, holding out a hand to Angus Ferguson to help her from the dais. “Remain, my lords,” she said to her husband and James Hepburn. “I prefer to speak with Duin and his wife alone.” She stepped down and, walking slowly, led Angus and Annabella from the hall at Kinloch House and into a private chamber.

  “Who are they?” Darnley demanded of James Hepburn. “Why is she seeing them alone? What is it that I have not been told?”

  “Calm yerself,” Bothwell said. “Angus Ferguson long ago and privily rendered the queen’s mother a great service. She invited them to court so she might thank him personally. Duin is in the western borders on the sea. ’Tis nae an important place.”

  “I saw him among yer groomsmen,” Darnley said suspiciously.

  “Aye, ye did. Angus Ferguson and I were friends growing up. We studied in France together years ago,” Bothwell responded.

  “His wife is no beauty,” Darnley noted with a slight sneer.

  “Nay, she isn’t, but she hae a good heart, my lord,” was the reply.

  “And undoubtedly a fat dower, else why would he have her?” Darnley snickered.

  “She hae a sharp tongue,” the bride said. “She spoke rudely to me.”

  “Ye spoke rudely first,” Bothwell murmured. “Ye insulted her.”

  “I meant nae harm,” Jean Gordon said. “I speak my mind.”

  “Ye pride yerself on yer intellect, madam,” Bothwell replied. “Does that quality nae allow ye to form yer words for courtesy’s sake? Annabella well knows her deficiencies, and does nae need reminding of them. She is a good lass.”

  “What did he do for her mother?” Darnley demanded to know.

  “I was nae ever informed, for it was a private matter,” James Hep-burn lied. “I’m sure the queen will tell ye if ye ask, my lord. Dinna fret. She should not be long.”

  But of course they were longer than suited the queen’s husband. When they had reached the small private chamber Mary invited both the earl and his wife to seat themselves near the blazing hearth with her. “Does yer wife know of your generosity to me, my lord?” Mary asked him.

  “It was a private matter between yer late mother of blessed memory and myself,” the earl said, crossing himself.

  The queen turned to Annabella. “Without yer husband I should not have had the wonderful childhood in France that I did,” she began. “I was not yet six when I departed Scotland for France. It was Angus Ferguson who saw that my household was furnished, my household servants and staff paid, my wardrobe and that of my four Marys supplied. Never once was I allowed to wear clothing that was too short or too small. Everything that I was garbed in was lavish and of the finest quality. I had jewelry and pocket money. I had the finest horses to ride and to hunt with, as well as a fine kennel of dogs. There was nothing I wanted that I was denied. My mothe
r’s mind could be at peace where I was concerned, although the burden of Scotland fell upon her shoulders.”

  “She carried that charge very well, madam,” the earl said to her. “Ye should be proud, but remember that I gained something in exchange.”

  “A piece of parchment creating Duin an earldom,” the queen replied. “Parchment and ink in exchange for the devoted care ye saw I had, relieving my dearest mother of that worry. Ye had the lands, and ye had the gold. Ye paid dearly for that title.”

  “It was my privilege, madam,” Angus responded quietly.

  “My lord, I am curious,” the queen said. “There are rumors that yer family practices sorcery. Where does yer gold come from, and so much gold that it could support a queen for over ten years?”

  “Madam, I will tell ye what even my wife has not known until now, but I would beg ye keep my secret,” Angus Ferguson said to the queen.

  The queen reached into a deep pocket in her skirt and drew out her rosary. Holding it up she said, “I swear that I will keep the secret of your wealth, my lord, unto the grave itself.” She kissed the rosary’s small silver crucifix before slipping it back into her pocket. Then she looked to the Earl of Duin.

  “My mother,” the earl began, “was a Frenchwoman, even as yer own mother. She had an older sister who was married into Spain to the Duke of Casarosa. Sadly, the children born of their union died either at birth or before they reached the age of five. They took a great interest in my brother James and my sister Mary. James now serves in Rome, as his monastery was confiscated recently. Mary, a sister of the order of St. Andrew’s, is now in a convent in Spain, as the nuns were driven from Scotland by Knox.”

  “That damned man who claims to speak for God,” the queen said sarcastically.

  Angus Ferguson chuckled, then continued with his tale. “My aunt and uncle died within a very short time of each other. Plague, I believe. It was then that I learned I had inherited the duke’s wealth. He had great interests in the New World, which are now mine. Two ships a year arrive at Duin to unload barrels of gold coins that have been minted in the Spanish colonies. Some of the gold I retain in my own storehouses. The rest I invest in the East Indies in spices and gemstones. I also export fine woolen cloth and whiskey. That is where my wealth springs from, Majesty. There is no sorcery involved in it at all.”