“What proof hae ye brought back for my sire to judge ye?” Donal Stewart said.
The earl told Donal Stewart of his most recent travels to France, and how he and Monsieur Claude had forced a confession of fraud from the magistrate.
“But the gold, the letter to Mary Stuart?” Donal Stewart asked.
“Slipped into my saddlebag as I traveled,” the earl said. “No one was more surprised to see them than I was when yer man brought them into the hall. Ye must admit that the letter itself was a bland bit of writing, making no offer to Mary Stuart of help.”
“Aye,” Donal Stewart agreed. “And it was probably written by the agent. The parchment showed no seal in the wax. I was suspicious, but the rest seemed to involve ye, my lord. I will need proof of some sort if ye are to convince my sire of yer innocence.”
“I have documented all, and have two copies of everything. One will go wi’ ye when ye and yer men leave Duin tomorrow to seek out the regent.”
“Ye will nae go?” Donal Stewart was surprised.
“Yer sire’s first instinct would be to throw me in prison while he considered the matter at his leisure,” the Earl of Duin said. “His time is better spent governing Scotland right now. But he will sit long enough to listen to yer report and yer advice in this matter. Perhaps he will be able to come to a quick decision. He is welcome to come to Duin and speak wi’ me himself. ’Tis bold of me to suggest it, but I hae been away from home long enough these last months. I wish to pick up the threads of my life and live in peace again,” Angus Ferguson declared.
“My opinion counts for little among my sire and his friends,” Donal Stewart said, “but I think it will be several years before Scotland is at peace again. For now my sire fears the return of his half sister, for many wish it. And the care of a child king, as ye know from our history, is a perilous one, my lord.”
His companions all nodded.
“Poor wee bairn,” Annabella said. “I’m sure he hae everything he needs, and is warm and dry, but where is the love in his life? A bairn needs a parent or a keeper who will hug him, rock him to sleep in her arms, cuddle him when he is frightened. The unfortunate mite is surrounded by greedy men, all eager to rule in his name.”
Donal Stewart nodded. “I mean nae disrespect to my own sire, madam, but ye’re correct. They all see the laddie as a pawn for their own use and the enrichment of their families.”
“Yet she left him,” Annabella said. “If I were asked I should nae be able to support a woman who abandoned her own bairn.”
“I think yer plan a sound one, my lord,” Donal Stewart said to the earl. “Ye’re right when ye say my sire would toss ye in the nearest prison in fear of ye. Aye, I’ll take yer proofs to him, and explain myself how ye went off to France to clear yer name. Ye hae witnesses other than the French involved.”
“I was wi’ my husband,” Annabella said. “I know the courts will nae take a woman’s sworn word, but surely the regent would if I spoke wi’ him.”
“Ye were wi’ yer lord?” Donal Stewart didn’t know whether to believe her or not.
Angus laughed. “Aye, the vixen disguised herself as a lad, binding her breasts flat and hiding her hair beneath her cap. Then she followed after me, and saved my life when a pair of villains attempted to murder me.” He went on to explain in detail how Annabella had gone after him and hidden her identity. How he had learned of her deception only when she had to reveal herself to save him.
Donal Stewart was amazed. His sire would be intrigued. The young Countess of Duin was the kind of woman whom every man should be so fortunate as to possess: loyal to a fault, and loving. “Madam,” he said, “I dinna think I approve of yer actions, but I must say that I admire what ye did for yer man.”
It was agreed that Donal Stewart and his men would depart in the morning, and they did. The Earl of Moray’s bastard son promised to send word once he had spoken with his sire on the matter. Then he rode off, and the drawbridge was drawn up once again to keep Duin Castle safe from unwanted guests. The earl was therefore surprised several days later to see a large party of men gathered on the hill above the castle. The men-at-arms stood at the alert. And then one man detached himself from the party and rode down the road to Duin. Watching from the heights, Angus Ferguson recognized Donal Stewart. “Lower the drawbridge,” he said.
The visitor galloped into the courtyard of the castle, where the earl was waiting to greet him. He immediately jumped from his horse, bowed, and then said, “The Earl of Moray sends his compliments. He would like yer permission to enter Duin Castle, my lord.”
“He is welcome wi’ ten men, no more, Donal Stewart,” Angus said. “Ye will understand I canna sanction more.” Then he said, “I dinna expect to see ye for several more weeks.”
“I met my sire on the road, my lord. He is due in York shortly, but diverted his travels to come to Duin, as he will tell ye.”
“Fetch him, then,” the earl said.
Annabella was astounded that the powerful Earl of Moray would pause in his travels. “He hae hardly diverted his travels to see ye,” she said to her husband. “York is on the other side of England. He hae some other business in the west that he would bother to come here. Now I must know whether he is remaining the night, and surely he will. And how are we to feed that great troop he has wi’ him?” She began marshaling her servants and ordering them to prepare the largest guest chamber for Moray. She hurried down to the kitchens to advise the cook of their unexpected guests. Then she dashed back upstairs to her own apartments to put on a gown more suitable to welcoming Scotland’s regent than the old gown she was wearing.
Jean was waiting for her. She helped her mistress into a burgundy velvet gown trimmed in dark marten fur. The gown was one Annabella had worn at court two years ago. It was probably out of fashion by now, but would the regent Moray notice? Probably not. Jean quickly undid Annabella’s plait and styled it into a chignon.
“Do ye think he’ll arrest Angus?” she finally asked.
“I dinna think so,” Annabella said. “He is said to be a practical man. Duin poses no threat to him or the wee king. He’s simply curious, for while Donal Stewart says he met his sire on the road, he has obviously told him everything. Moray would confirm his son’s judgment in the matter.” She stood up and shook out her skirts. “Come into the hall and listen,” she said as she hurried out.
Angus Ferguson had been there to greet his guest as he dismounted his horse in the courtyard. “My lord of Moray,” he said, bowing. “Welcome to Duin Castle.”
Moray’s dark eyes flicked swiftly about, taking in everything. “I had not expected to find a structure of such size in this part of the land,” he said.
“The late queen mother, Marie de Guise, was kind enough to grant us permission for Duin,” Angus replied.
“Was that yer first connection wi’ the house of de Guise, my lord?” Moray asked.
“It is my only connection wi’ them, my lord,” Angus replied. “Please, will ye come into the hall? My wife will be waiting to greet ye.” He led the Earl of Moray and his small party inside the castle.
As they entered the hall Annabella came forward. She curtsied low to the Earl of Moray. “I bid ye welcome to Duin, my lord.” She stood.
“I thank ye, madam.” Again his curious eyes quickly scanned his surroundings.
“Please,” Annabella invited him, “come and sit by the fire.” She signaled a servant to bring the Earl of Moray a goblet of wine. “I hope ye will honor us by staying the night. I hae had our best guest chamber prepared for ye.”
“Aye,” Moray said. “I should like that, madam. I thank ye for yer hospitality.”
“Shall I send word to yer men outside my walls to raise an encampment for the night?” Angus Ferguson asked his guest. “I will send them a sheep to roast.”
“Most generous,” Moray said. “Aye, have them make camp.” He turned his attention to his goblet, sniffing it first, then tasting it. A small smile touched his lips. “Ye
keep an excellent wine cellar, my lord,” he complimented Angus.
Annabella quietly reviewed all she had known about this particular James Stewart. He was the illegitimate son of James V and Margaret Erskine, who had been married to a Douglas. Margaret Erskine had been the favorite of James V’s several mistresses. He had been given the priory of St. Andrew’s as a lad, which accounted for his personal income. When his father had been killed it had been the king’s widow who had gathered all of her husband’s bastards to be raised in the royal nurseries with her own little Mary. He had been half-grown when Mary had been born.
He was a tall man, like many of the Stewarts, with a prominent nose and chin. He had the reddish hair that distinguished them, and their amber eyes. Marie de Guise had been as proud of him as if he were her own son. The rumor was that she had planned to make him her daughter’s regent if she found herself at death’s door before Mary came of age in France. And James Stewart had liked Marie de Guise. He found her, unlike her daughter, a practical woman. It was a trait he much admired in women.
Like many Scots of his time, he had become a member of the Reformed Church. He had attempted to guide his half sister, but her determination to marry Henry, Lord Darnley, set them at odds. After that he spent his time in rebellion and exile. Mary had forgiven him and pardoned him officially, but their relationship was never the same again, especially after the murders of Riccio and Lord Darnley, and Mary’s hasty marriage to Bothwell. But that was all in the past now. Mary was fled, and he was regent of Scotland for his infant nephew.
After a few moments of silence he invited Angus and his lady to sit with him.
Then he said, “My son, Donal, has told me everything. Now I would hear it from ye, my lord of Duin. Evidence hae been presented that would appear to show ye in a traitorous light. Now ye bring evidence that says ye are an honest man. Which of these stories am I to believe? Both are credible.”
“My lord, if I might ask a question,” Angus said.
Moray nodded. “Aye.”
“Who was it who brought this information to yer attention?”
“I dinna know,” Moray replied. “One of my men overheard talk in a tavern.”
“So ye hae no basis in fact for the accusation but a rumor on the wind,” Angus said. “I deny being a traitor to Scotland, my lord. The Fergusons of Duin hae a reputation for avoiding politics and the entanglements caused by politics. Look around ye. I hae a good home and wife. Two wee bairns. I want for nothing. Why in the name of God would I endanger all I have to pursue a lost cause?”
“So ye believe the queen’s cause a lost one,” Moray said.
“I do. Like many of yer acquaintance I dinna like the way the queen was handled after her defeat at Carberry. She was God’s own anointed. But when she was again defeated at Langside several months ago and fled into England, I could no longer defend her actions, nor could many of her adherents. Her son was declared king in her stead. It is the natural order for a queen’s heir to follow her. I stand neither for the Queen’s Men nor the King’s Men. I stand for Scotland, and wee James the Sixth is Scotland.”
The Earl of Moray was impressed by Angus’s arguments, but he said, “What of the papers and the gold that implicate ye?”
“The paper was a forgery. Both it and the gold were put deep into my saddlebag, where I was unlikely to find them, but someone searching would. As Donal Stewart will hae told ye, I traveled back to France to resolve the matter. The local magistrate had been paid to draw up the forgery. The new owner of the property had been importuned to sign it, but would not, realizing something was wrong. His signature and mine were both forged. When pressed, the magistrate admitted to it. Among the papers Donal Stewart will hae brought ye is a paper where he confesses his misdeeds.
“As for the bag of gold coins found, I do not need gold. I hae more than enough gold, a fact I will be more than willing to prove to ye, and ye alone. The Fergusons of Duin are nae traitors. I am nae a traitor. I can only rely upon yer common sense, my lord Moray, to understand that so we may both put this matter aside,” Angus concluded.
“I understand yer wife went wi’ ye to France disguised as a lad,” Moray said. He turned to Annabella. “Is this so, madam?”
“Aye, it is,” she answered him. “My instinct sensed that Angus would be in danger. I asked to accompany him, but he said nay. So I disguised myself and followed him. Only when the danger presented itself was I forced to reveal my identity to him.”
A small smile touched Moray’s thin lips briefly. “Ye would, it seems, be a determined woman, madam.”
“Aye, my lord, I am,” Annabella replied in meek tones.
He looked at her sharply, but Annabella’s eyes were modestly lowered.
“My countess saved my life, my lord,” Angus told Moray, and then he went on to explain exactly how it had come about.
“Your wife’s lack of a pretty face was fortunate, and surely aided her in passing as a lad,” Moray noted. “Your bosom, however, madam, appears quite round. How did ye disguise it?” he inquired candidly.
“I bound them flat wi’ a cloth,” Annabella answered shortly.
“I am curious to see ye garbed as a lad, madam,” the Earl of Moray said.
“My lord!” Angus Ferguson was outraged by the request, but Annabella would not allow the regent to intimidate her, putting a restraining hand on her husband’s arm.
“Of course, my lord. Wi’ yer permission I shall withdraw from yer company now, and put on my male garb.” She curtsied to him, and walked slowly from the hall.
Jean was beside her as they entered the corridor. “Ohh, the boldness of that man,” she said, outraged. “He appears pious and sedate to all, but when was a royal Stewart ever either? Remarking on yer lack, and then asking about yer breasts!”
“Moray is testing us,” Annabella said. “He would see just how obedient the Fergusons of Duin are. Angus offered the proper amount of outrage to his request, but he did not gainsay me when I offered to show the regent my disguise,” she explained.
The two women hurried upstairs to Annabella’s apartments, where Jean sought out the clothing her mistress had worn during her adventure in France. Soon Annabella had been divested of her burgundy velvet gown and its petticoats. She pulled on her woolen breeks and her boots. Then Jean bound her mistress’s breasts flat with a piece of cloth. Annabella donned her shirt and the sleeveless doeskin jerkin. Jean plaited the dark sable hair, tightly pinning it up. Annabella then put on her cap. The lad she had been was now visible in the mirror, while the Countess of Duin had disappeared entirely.
Standing, she left her apartments, walking downstairs and back into the hall again. No one noticed her at all. She moved stealthily until she was standing near enough to both earls to be seen. But no one said anything.
Finally, after some minutes had passed, Moray said to Angus Ferguson, “How long does it take yer wife to make this transformation, my lord? We hae been waiting close to an hour now.”
“And I hae been standing near ye for many minutes, my lord,” Annabella said.
The Earl of Moray gasped with surprise as he turned to look at the young man now standing by his side. He stared hard. The plain but elegant Countess of Duin was not evident at all in the young man standing before him. But then she looked directly at him, and he recognized her calm gray eyes. “Madam, I am astounded by this transformation,” he told her. “It is quite amazing. I dinna know whether to commend ye on yer disguise or condemn ye for yer boldness.”
“I dinna mean to be bold, my lord. I only wanted to make certain my dear lord and husband was safe from harm. Anyone going to the trouble of making Angus appear a traitor would nae hesitate to kill him should their plan be thwarted,” Annabella said.
Moray nodded. “Obviously someone wished to detract us from some mischief enacted on my sister’s behalf. The letter in yer husband’s saddlebag was quite innocuous, and might hae been sent to Mary directly. That ye and yer husband went to the difficulty of learn
ing what small truths could be learned tells me he is innocent of all charges, as my son, Donal, believes.” Then he turned to Angus. “But, my lord, before we dine I would see proof that ye have no need for gold.”
“Of course,” the Earl of Duin said. “If ye will be pleased to follow me. No one else may come,” he told Moray and his companions. “Only ye, James Stewart.” Moray nodded in agreement, for his curiosity was great. He followed Angus Ferguson from the hall, through a small door hidden behind a large tapestry in the wide hallway outside of the hall, and down several narrow, twisting flights of stairs. Angus carried no torch, for the stairwell was well lighted, and the corridor below as well.
They stopped before a door at the end of the short corridor. The earl took a small ring of keys from his doublet, searched among them, and, selecting one key, fitted it into the lock in the door. The key turned easily without the slightest sound. Angus Ferguson took a torch from the holder nearest the door and flung the door wide. He stepped in, Moray behind him. The torch lit the small stone chamber, whose walls were lined with chests.
The Earl of Duin moved from chest to chest, lifting the lid of each. When the fifteen containers had been opened he waved his torch over them.
James Stewart, the Earl of Moray, gasped in amazement. The small trunks were filled with gold and silver coins. “How . . . how is this possible? Are the stories that are told of yer family’s sorcery true, my lord?”
Angus Ferguson laughed. “Nay, my lord, those tales are false. This wealth comes from mines that I inherited in the New World. They originally belonged to my mother’s sister and her husband, a Spanish lord. They were childless, and I was their heir. This is the secret I harbor, and now you are aware of it, my lord. You see how I live. Simply but comfortably. I could not spend all the coins contained in these chests if I live to be a century old. Why would I risk all that I have and be branded a traitor as well for a wee bag of coins that might to some represent a fortune, but to me is but little?”
He had to be dreaming, James Stewart, Earl of Moray, thought. He had never seen so much gold and silver in his entire life. It was surely enough to support Scotland’s government for years to come. He was tempted to confiscate the chests in this chamber, but he would not. He was a canny man. He had always made certain to keep free of any plots, although he had certainly known about enough of them, and even sanctioned them. But he could not be accused of partaking in them. He had been in England when both Riccio and Darnley were murdered. James Stewart, Earl of Moray, was a careful man.
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