Bond of Passion

by Bertrice Small

  After several days the landscape became more and more familiar, until he knew he was riding his own lands. Soon he was smelling the faint sweet scent of the Irish Sea, and then there was Duin below him. He stopped to enjoy the view of it. Matthew wisely had the drawbridge up. Angus Ferguson had carefully avoided several large armed parties of riders in his travels from Berwick. Scotland had obviously not settled itself yet.

  He rode down the hillside at a leisurely pace, giving the men-at-arms on the walls time to recognize their master. He knew they had when the drawbridge was lowered.

  Pushing his mount into a canter, he crossed the courtyard, brought his animal to a halt, and dismounted.

  “Welcome home, my lord!” the stable lad greeted him as he took hold of the horse so he might lead him to the stables.

  “Thank ye, lad,” the earl said. Where was Annabella? Certainly someone had gone to fetch her when they recognized him. He strode into the house to the hall, where he found his family gathered, and with them a tall stranger.

  “Angus!” Annabella ran to him. “Agree to whatever is asked of ye,” she whispered into his ear, and then kissed him heartily.

  “My lord.” The stranger stepped forward as the earl released his wife. “My name is Donal Stewart. I am in the service of the Earl of Moray, who has sent me to Duin. Ye are suspected of treason against His Most High Majesty, James the Sixth.”

  Angus Ferguson’s jaw dropped in surprise. “I hae committed nae treason,” he said. “The Fergusons of Duin are peaceable folk, and loyal to their ruler.”

  “Ah, and therein lies the problem. Which ruler do ye acknowledge? The royal whore, Mary Stuart, or King James?”

  “He who holds Scotland is my king,” the earl said quietly.

  “Ye hae been in France,” Donal Stewart said.

  “Aye. I went to sell a bit of property I had inherited from my mother’s family,” Angus answered.

  “Where in France exactly were ye?” Donal Stewart asked him.

  “In Brittany, near Saint-Brieuc, a village called Mont de Devereaux.”

  “To whom did ye sell yer property, my lord?” Moray’s man inquired.

  “To a well-to-do local merchant, one Monsieur Claude. He wanted it for his second son and his son’s family,” the earl answered. “Why do ye ask?”

  “Ye did not sell yer property to an agent of the de Guise family, my lord?”

  How the hell had Moray learned of the de Guises’ attempt to subvert his loyalty? Angus wondered. “When I went to France I was told there was but one buyer for my land, Monsieur Claude. But when I met with him and the village magistrate, there was another man, Monsieur Reynaud, in the employ of the de Guise family. He offered me double what the property was worth. In exchange I would carry a message from them to Mary Stuart. I refused. I am nae a traitor, sir.”

  “Yet ye came home through England,” Donal Stewart noted.

  “Aye, I rode the French coast north to Calais, seeking a vessel to either Berwick or Leith. It was quicker than retracing my steps from the cove beneath this castle to France,” the earl explained. “I dinna wish to be away from my family any longer than necessary, but I carried nae message for Mary Stuart. How would I have gotten it to her if I did?”

  “Where are the monies ye obtained in exchange for yer lands, my lord?” Donal Stewart asked him.

  “They were to be placed with my bankers in Paris for the use of my brother James, who is a priest in Rome, and my sister Mary, who is in a convent in Spain.”

  Another man entered the hall and whispered something to Donal Stewart. The Earl of Moray’s messenger seemed disturbed by what he heard, but then he looked up. “A packet sealed with the de Guise crest has been found in yer saddlebags, my lord, along with a small bag of gold coins. What say ye to that?”

  “I have absolutely nae idea how they got there,” Angus Ferguson said. “The château’s servants packed my saddlebags. I used only one of them in my travels. I never looked in the other, but as God is my witness I did not take the de Guise commission.”

  Annabella was pale with shock. She believed her husband, but someone had incriminated him. Why?

  “Who would seek to make ye look guilty?” Donal Stewart asked him.

  “I dinna know,” Angus Ferguson said. “The Fergusons hae no enemies, for we hae carefully avoided entanglements wi’ our neighbors for centuries.”

  “If ye canna prove yer innocence, my lord, I hae no choice but to arrest ye for treason against His Majesty, King James,” Donal Stewart said. His tone, however, was very reluctant. There was something about this man that made him believe that he was no traitor, but his instincts weren’t enough. He needed hard evidence. “Ye rode from Brittany along the French coast,” he said. “Where did ye shelter at night, my lord?”

  “Sometimes I slept rough,” the earl replied. “At other times I came upon public inns, or a farmer would allow me to shelter in a barn.”

  “I suspect someone means ye harm, my lord,” Donal Stewart told him. “Did ye quarrel wi’ anyone on yer journey? Did anything unusual happen that ye recall?”

  Angus’s brow furrowed. Then he said, “I do recall a fellow who rode too close to me upon the open road. He bumped my animal more than once, but apologized, claiming that he was having difficulty getting his own horse under control. Eventually he rode on and I thought nothing further of it.”

  “I must send to my master for his instructions as to what should be done in this matter, my lord. In the meantime, rather than take ye off I will house ye in yer own dungeon. Nothing will be denied ye there. Neither food, warmth, nor company.” He turned to where his own men were standing. “Escort the earl to his cell,” Donal Stewart said.

  “Oh, please, Master Stewart, let my husband remain in his own apartment,” Annabella pleaded. “The cellars are so dank. Angus will get an ague.”

  But Donal Stewart shook his head in the negative. “Nay, madam, I can monitor his whereabouts far easier in his dungeon.”

  “It’s all right, sweetheart,” the earl assured her. Damn! He wanted a bath. He hadn’t properly washed since he had departed Duin some weeks ago. He wanted his own bed, for he was tired of the hard earth, hay piles, and flea-infested inns. But most of all he wanted to hold his wife in his arms after several hours of very satisfying lovemaking. But he wasn’t going to have what he wanted. Grimly he followed Donal Stewart’s men.

  “Braziers! At least two, and the fuel to keep them going.” Annabella was already giving orders. “And a feather bed and a comforter. He must have candles.” She turned on Donal Stewart. “I shall hold ye responsible if he gets sick!” she said angrily. “Whatever my lord Moray thinks he knows, my husband is nae a traitor!”

  “They say men are easily bewitched by Mary Stuart,” he replied.

  Annabella snorted impatiently. “Did ye ever meet her?” she asked.

  “Nay,” he said.

  “Then do not repeat the drivel spouted by Master Knox and his ilk,” Annabella told him. “Mary Stuart is beautiful, ’tis true. She hae great charm, and is educated, but she is nae a fair devil leading men astray. Men are fools, Master Stewart, to repeat such rumors and innuendo.”

  “But she murdered her husband,” he protested.

  “Nay, she did not. If any be implicated, it is those who plotted in the murder of Riccio, the queen’s secretary. Those same men now grappling for power. Lord Darnley was not a careful man. He was debauched, and when in his cups spoke too freely. He would hae died a natural death sooner than later. Did ye know he murdered my first child?” Then she turned away, saying to Matthew, “See that someone brings Angus a hot meal as soon as possible. He was barely through the door when this nonsense began.”

  When the day had ended and the hall was quiet, a maidservant came to Annabella. “My lady, I would speak wi’ ye privily,” the girl said.

  “Bring a bowl of apples to my apartments,” Annabella said softly. Then she arose and left the hall to go to her own rooms.

  It wa
s there that the servant girl came, holding a brass bowl of apples as her excuse to enter the lady’s apartments. Setting the apples upon a sideboard, she curtsied to her mistress. Jean Ferguson stood by Annabella’s side and encouraged the lass to speak.

  “I overheard the Stewart men talking as I served them this evening,” the girl began. “Donal Stewart hae orders to kill the earl should treason be found. That is why he was put in the cellars, my lady. They will slay our lord, and then be on their way, and to whom can ye raise a complaint? They laughed, saying all yer preparations to keep yer husband warm and comfortable were for naught, for he will shortly be dead.”

  Annabella sat frozen with shock for several long moments. Then, regaining her voice, she said, “Ye are certain that is what ye heard? That they mean to do murder?”

  The servant nodded. “Aye, my lady. I dinna mistake their wicked intent.”

  The Countess of Duin didn’t hesitate. Turning to Jean, she said, “Find yer husband, and tell him to take Donal Stewart and his men into custody. House them in the dungeons. Then he is to release the earl. Angus will know what is to be done.”

  Without a word Jean ran from the room.

  “Stay wi’ me,” Annabella said to the servant girl.

  After an hour had passed they heard footsteps in the hallway outside. The servant grew pale, but Annabella jumped to her feet, running to the door to open it. The Earl of Duin strode into her chambers.

  “Jeannie hae told me,” he said. He kissed her a hard kiss. “Ye’re a clever lass, wife. We’ve put Stewart and his men in the dungeons until I can decide what to do wi’ them. He doesn’t seem the type of fellow who would kill a man in his own house.”

  “He’s one of Moray’s bastards,” Annabella said. “He’ll do whatever his da bids him do to keep his favor. Where did they obtain the information that makes ye seem guilty? Moray doesna need to slay an unimportant border lord to maintain his power.”

  “Moray will slay anyone he believes is working toward bringing Mary Stuart back to power. If she had been a less intelligent woman, if she had been a woman easily directed, if she had nae wed first Darnley and then Bothwell, perhaps things might have been different. But the plain truth is that while James Stewart, because of his birth, cannot be king, he would be king. If Mary Stuart had let him rule through her, Scotland might be a more peaceable place today. Like most of the Stewarts he is an ambitious man.”

  “But there is nae proof of yer disloyalty!” Annabella said.

  “Dinna forget that a packet sealed with a ring bearing the de Guise seal, and a bag of gold coins were found in my saddlebags. But why they were put there to implicate me in some plot, I dinna know,” Angus responded slowly. “I’ll hae to go back to France to unravel this puzzle so I may clear my name.”

  “I’m coming wi’ ye,” Annabella said.

  “Sweetheart,” he replied, “this is nae a trip for a woman to make.”

  “I can travel as a young man,” she told him.

  “Nay,” he said in a determined voice.

  Annabella looked at her husband. “I will nae allow ye to go wi’out me, Angus.”

  “Nay, ’twill be dangerous, for the moment Moray learns I’ve gone they will be after me, Annabella. I want ye here, safe wi’ our bairns.”

  “Moray doesna have to know until we are safe in France. Matthew can keep Donal Stewart and his men confined for a few weeks. Ye know the castle is in good hands wi’ him. And the bairns have their nurses and Aggie.”

  “Aggie is about to deliver her own bairn. She will need ye wi’ her,” he said.

  “If we are quick we may be back before she has it,” Annabella replied, knowing very well, even as he did, that such a swift trip would be difficult at best.

  “Ye’re remaining at Duin,” he said firmly. He looked to the servant girl, who had been listening wide-eyed to her master and mistress. “Tell Mistress Jean and Master Matthew to meet me in the hall.” The girl ran off. “I must have a bath before I go. And a meal, and a night’s sleep.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Annabella said. “Ah, Angus, I had so looked forward to having ye home wi’ us again.”

  He put his arms about her, drawing her into his embrace. She felt warm and inviting, her sable head against his shoulder. He considered for a brief moment eliminating Donal Stewart and his few men. Then he might settle back into anonymity and live his quiet life. Would Moray really miss one of his bastards? He sighed. He was not a man to commit cold-blooded murder. He needed to clear his name. Angus Ferguson was not one of the Queen’s Men; nor would he ever be. Releasing Annabella, he took her hand, and together they descended into the hall.

  Matthew Ferguson was deeply concerned that Donal Stewart and his men were imprisoned in the old dungeons of Duin Castle. “Will ye nae bring the wrath of the regent upon us?” he asked his elder brother.

  “This is nae an enormous matter. Donal Stewart was dispatched to learn whether I was a traitor, and to slay me if the facts proved it so. Whoever brought this rumor to Moray did so to deliberately add to his difficulties,” Angus responded. “The regent hae many matters concerning him right now. The possible traitorous conduct of an unimportant border lord is of little import to him. He sent his son to handle the matter, and will assume it hae been done. Wi’ luck it will be some weeks before Moray considers the whereabouts and well-being of Donal Stewart. Then he must make inquiries. Only after that will he send someone to Duin. If I am nae back by that time, ye will pretend confusion, and say that Donal Stewart never arrived a second time at Duin. Who is to gainsay ye?”

  “This is a dangerous game ye play, brother,” Matthew replied.

  “What would ye hae me do?” the earl asked him. “I canna prove my innocence in this matter if I dinna return to France to learn the truth of it. Remember the packet wi’ the de Guise seal, and the coins found amid my possessions. While I am gone ye will see that Donal Stewart and his men are well treated and fed. They are nae my enemies.”

  “And dinna let anyone into the dungeons but one or two older male servants who will serve and look after them,” Annabella added. “Make certain they canna be bribed.”

  “I know my duty,” Matthew said stiffly.

  After the meal, when Angus had gone to enjoy his bath, Jean came to sit by her mistress. “Ye spoke to Matthew as if ye would nae be here yerself to devil him. What mischief are ye planning, my lady?”

  “I’m going wi’ Angus,” Annabella said low.

  “He will nae hae it,” Jean responded.

  Annabella smiled mischievously. “So he hae said. But this time he will need someone watching his back. I canna allow him to go alone. He will nae know until it is nae possible to send me back,” she said. “I shall dress like a young man, and ye must find the garments for me, Jeannie. Angus means to leave in the morning.”

  “Ye’re mad!” Jean Ferguson said, but she grinned back. “I’ll help ye.”

  “I must slip from the castle early, before Angus does, and then wait upon the road for him to pass me by before I follow him.”

  “Annabella, ye hae never traveled but from Rath to Duin and from there to court. It can be dangerous. Ye’ll need a purse until ye can reveal yerself to Angus. And ye canna do that until ye’re upon the high seas,” Jean said.

  “I know,” Annabella admitted. She was afraid of what she was going to do, but she had to do it. If Moray learned Angus had fled to France he would take it as an indication of his guilt. And what of whoever had slipped the packet and purse into Angus’s saddlebag? Certainly he was in the employ of the de Guises. If they learned Angus had returned to learn the truth, would they not seek to silence him?

  “I wonder if whoever slipped the incriminating evidence into Angus’s saddlebag meant to harm him,” Jean said thoughtfully. “What if they were put there only to get them across the water? What if someone else was supposed to take them to Mary Stuart?”

  “That would mean that someone had to be here at Duin, for whoever plotted and planned this c
ould not be certain what vessel Angus would take, or the road he would travel home,” Annabella responded. “The only thing they could be certain of is that he would return to Duin. If Donal Stewart had not been here waiting for him, I suspect the purse and the packet would hae been quietly retrieved. We would have known nothing about it. Has anyone opened the packet to see what message is written inside?”

  “Nay,” Jean replied. “I canna believe one of our folk would do such a thing.”

  “Mary Stuart has charm. Despite her short stay there was time for someone in her party to convince an impressionable stable lad to such mischief. We must learn who this person is, Jeannie, but first the packet. Where is it?”

  “I dinna know,” Jean Ferguson responded. “The last person to have it was Donal Stewart. We will hae to ask him, I fear.” She looked nervously at Annabella. This was a different woman from the one she was used to serving. That Annabella was calm and careful in both her thoughts and her words. This Annabella seemed bolder, even reckless, and yet whatever her mood, Annabella, Countess of Duin, would do whatever she had to do to protect her family, to protect Duin.

  “Angus is bathing, and will eat in his apartments before sleeping,” Annabella said. “Matthew spends this time of day with Aggie. We have time before the hall fills for the evening meal. Let us go quickly!” She hurried from the hall, and Jean ran to catch up with her as Annabella made for the door at the end of the corridor that led down into the dungeons. “There will be nae guard on duty,” Annabella said, “for Stewart and his men are securely locked in their cells. Only the menservants who bring them food will come here.” Opening the door, she stepped through onto the landing, and then began to descend.

  Jean followed. She found herself surprised by this new and capable Annabella.

  At the bottom of the staircase they found themselves in a corridor lit by a flickering torch that sat in a wall holder. There were several doors with grates in them.

  Donal Stewart and his half dozen men were housed in four cells at the end of the corridor, which they discovered by looking through each grate into the cells. Finding the Earl of Moray’s man, Annabella called to him to come to the door so they might speak.