Bond of Passion

by Bertrice Small

  He was also a leading member of the Lords of the Congregation, a respected member of the Reformed Church of Scotland. Thou shalt not covet was a commandment he could not break. He took his faith seriously, for the most part. Even his bastard son was the result of a youthful dalliance long before his marriage to his wife. Once wed he had never committed adultery. But God had certainly punished him for that peccadillo. His wife had produced only three daughters. If he had a weakness at all, it was his lasses, Elizabeth, Annabel, and Margaret. But he had always been good to his lad too.

  “I will donate two chests of coins to the royal treasury,” the Earl of Duin said.

  “Yer secret is safe wi’ me, Angus Ferguson, even wi’out yer generosity,” Moray said. “Perhaps ye will now and again gift the royal bairn wi’ something. A pony. A sword made just for him. A velvet doublet,” he suggested slyly. “As ye did wi’ his curst mam.”

  “I will do so gladly,” Angus replied. “And I will gift yer brother John’s laddie, Francis, as well, for Bothwell’s sake. He is his uncle’s heir, and his uncle was my friend.”

  Moray nodded. “I understand,” he said, “but dinna ever say his name in my presence again. I canna forgie him for marrying Mary. He brought about her downfall.”

  Angus Ferguson said nothing, just nodded. In a sense, he held himself partly responsible for the queen’s behavior. It had been his wealth that had made it possible for the queen of the Scots to have any- and everything she wanted as she grew up in France as the adored and pampered bride-to-be of the young dauphin. She was beautiful, and she was charming. The French court had adored her. She could not be faulted for believing all men would be dazzled by her youth, beauty, and manner. But Scotsmen were different from other men.

  To give her credit, she had tried to get on with those hard, cold lords who surrounded her. In becoming members of the Reformed kirk, Scotland’s nobles had lost their joie de vivre. John Knox’s thunderous sermons preached on sin and punishment, hellfire and damnation. And the bishops of Holy Mother Church, with their mistresses, their many bastards, and their lavish living, had not helped their own cause at all.

  Knox had grown used to his power, but he could not keep Mary Stuart from returning from France to rule Scotland. Mary, unfortunately, was ruled by her heart and not her head. It was, Angus considered, a great tragedy all around.

  “Come,” he said, leading his guest back upstairs to the hall.

  Once there Moray gratefully accepted a large goblet of the earl’s good wine, and sat down by the fire to drink it.

  Donal Stewart came to stand by his sire’s chair. “Ye’re satisfied that the earl is innocent of any attempts at treason?”

  “Aye,” Moray said.

  “He showed ye his gold?” Donal pressed.

  Moray nodded, but then he said, “Ask me no more, for I am sworn to keep the confidence, and I will.” He drank deeply from the cup in his hand.

  Across the hall Annabella stood by the other hearth. “Is he satisfied?” she asked her husband. “How much did ye reveal to him?”

  “Just the one small chamber at the foot of the tapestry stairs,” Angus said. “To hae shown him all would have probably killed him wi’ too much knowledge. He dinna need to see the other chests with their gold and jewels. ’Twas more coin in one spot than he had ever seen, or is apt to see. It convinced him I am an honest man. He is free of suspicion. He will depart tomorrow, and we will go back to living a normal life.”

  In the morning the Earl of Moray left Duin Castle for York, where the English queen, Elizabeth Tudor, had set up a conference chaired by the Duke of Norfolk to settle the dispute between Mary Stuart, queen of the Scots, and her half brother, James Stewart, Earl of Moray. This event was of such interest and importance to the people of Scotland that news of what was happening even reached Duin on a regular basis. Mary was not allowed to attend, although she was represented. Moray was there to speak for himself, which infuriated her, and many thought it unfair. The conference began in early October, reconvening in late November at Westminster, and holding its final session at Hampton Court in the middle of December.

  Moray’s rebellious behavior was suddenly less and less important, while the matter of Lord Darnley’s murder became paramount, even though it had been settled in Scotland.

  James Stewart suddenly formally accused his half sister of partaking in the murder. He brought forth her treasured silver casket that King Francis I of France had given her as a child. Inside was a small stack of rather salacious letters said to have been written by Mary that clearly indicated her involvement in the murder, which was now said to have been committed by James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, who for lack of evidence earlier had been cleared of this deed by the Scottish courts.

  All of this information was brought to Elizabeth Tudor. She personally examined it, and then said, “They might have done a better job of the forgery, Cecil. ’Tis rubbish! I don’t believe a word of it! The verdict has certainly not been proven to anyone with intelligence. Give Moray five thousand pounds, and tell him he is to return to Scotland in his position of regent. It is my wish that he keep his nephew, our most royal cousin King James, safe until he is grown and able to govern for himself.”

  “And Mary Stuart?” Sir William Cecil asked his mistress.

  Elizabeth Tudor considered in silence for several moments, her long, elegant fingers drumming on the arm of her chair. Finally she said, “Another matter altogether, Cecil. Mary cannot be allowed to return to Scotland. That northern land is better ruled by an infant king and his quarrelsome lords. The Scots will not declare any wars on England until they have a king who can lead their armies. That will not be for many years, Cecil. And my cousin, his mother, must not be allowed to flee to France, where Catherine de’ Medicis and her son will use the queen of the Scots as a pawn in whatever game they would play with England.

  “I think that Mary Stuart must be moved to Tutbury Castle. It has not the graciousness of her former abode, but it is better defended. It will be difficult for anyone to help her escape from Tutbury. Let the Earl of Shrewsbury and his wife, Bess, oversee the care for the queen of the Scots. They own that old heap of stones.”

  “Will you see the Earl of Moray before he returns to Scotland?” Cecil inquired.

  “Aye, I shall greet him warmly, and he will go on his way, content that England will leave him to his own devices,” Elizabeth Tudor said with a chuckle.

  In late February the word reached Duin of the no-fault decision in the matter between Mary and her half brother, James Stewart, Earl of Moray.

  “How clever this English queen is,” Annabella said admiringly. “She hae found her cousin guilty of nothing, and Moray free of sin as well. She hae sent him back to resume his place as regent, and found a more secure place to keep Mary Stuart, taking her deeper into England. She will nae escape to France now.”

  “And perhaps we will finally have peace,” the Earl of Duin said. “Moray is sly, but he is honorable. He will keep the little king safe, and rule in a reasonable fashion.”

  “There are those who dinna like him,” Annabella replied. “And are envious of him. The Queen’s Men are nae yet ready to concede defeat. The Hamiltons in particular.”

  “Moray is firmly in control,” Angus replied.

  “None of our kings who came to the throne as bairns lived till their majority wi’ just one regent,” Annabella reminded him. “Only Marie de Guise was able to hold the reins of power firmly in her hands long enough to get Mary Stuart to safety. Too many men, most of them involved in Riccio’s murder, hold positions of power. They are ruthless and would think little of slaying a bairn.”

  “The king is Moray’s own blood.”

  “As if kinship ever stopped a usurper,” Annabella replied dryly.

  “He’ll keep the laddie safe,” Angus insisted.

  But the borders remained restless, with the Hamiltons stirring up discontent in their unceasing efforts to restore Mary Stuart to power. Immediately after
her flight into England, Mary had been housed in Carlisle Castle, then moved to Bolton Castle. Both were located in the north of Yorkshire. After the verdict rendered at Hampton Court, the Scots queen was moved to Tutbury, an inhospitable stone keep located farther south in Staffordshire. Surrounded by marshes, it was a less than gracious abode. But it did not keep Mary’s partisans from planning her escape. First, however, several routes for messengers had to be established.

  A young man, one William Hamilton by name, came to Duin. They knew him as nothing more than a traveler seeking border hospitality, but that night in the hall he took Angus aside and asked for his help. “We hae several routes for our messengers to take between Scotland and England, but this western route is one that would nae be seriously considered by those seeking to thwart us,” he explained.

  A chill ran down Annabella’s back as she listened to William Hamilton.

  “And what purposes do yer messengers serve, Master Hamilton?” the earl asked.

  “Why, they serve to keep us in communication wi’ our brethren who are even now down in England working for the queen’s escape,” the young man replied. “We hae come to Duin for two reasons: yer isolation and the fact that yer own wife hae Hamilton blood in her veins. Surely ye canna refuse yer aid to her kinsmen.”

  “Aye, I can, and I do,” Angus Ferguson said to William Hamilton. “Yer cause is lost, yet ye continue to foment trouble in Scotland. We hae a king on the throne. The queen’s own bairn. This constant warring between the Queen’s Men and the King’s Men plays havoc here in the borders. It has to cease, yet it won’t as long as men like ye continue to pursue this foolishness.”

  William Hamilton looked at the earl. “I was told ye were nae a man to take sides. That ye stood for Scotland.”

  “I do,” Angus responded. “And there is a king on Scotland’s throne now.”

  “And the Earl of Moray behind the king’s throne,” William Hamilton answered.

  “If it were a Hamilton behind that throne, would this be less of a problem?” Angus Ferguson asked him candidly. “The Fergusons of Duin follow the laws of Scotland. Ye’re welcome to shelter wi’ us and eat at our board, but I will nae put my family in jeopardy for what I truly believe is a lost cause.”

  “Then ye hae chosen sides, my lord,” William Hamilton said stiffly, and he moved away from the earl and his wife.

  “What if by some miracle Mary were restored to her throne?” Annabella asked her husband in low tones. “Would Duin be at risk?”

  “Nay, sweetheart, we would not,” he replied. “We are neither a great nor a powerful clan. Mary Stuart, when not ruled by her heart, is an intelligent woman, which unfortunately few men realize. She would understand my position, and then too, the kindness I did her and her mother is nae something she will ever forget.”

  “That kindness was rendered long ago, Angus,” Annabella reminded him.

  “Aye, it was,” he agreed, “but while I will nae allow Duin to become a post stop for treason against Scotland’s king, neither will I act aggressively toward Mary Stuart. I hold to my position, as the Fergusons of Duin always have.”

  “Ye’re a wily fellow, Angus Ferguson,” Annabella told him with a smile.

  He took her hand up and kissed it. Then he said as he looked across the hall, “Do ye think that Matthew seems in deep conversation wi’ young Hamilton?”

  “They are of an age,” Annabella replied. But she had noticed it too.

  In the morning after William Hamilton had gone on his way, disappointed, Angus took Matthew aside, but before he might speak his younger brother did.

  “Are ye mad?” Matthew demanded. “Ye hae refused the queen’s request to allow Duin to be a resting place for her messengers?”

  “It was nae the queen’s request, but the Hamiltons’,” Angus said. “I would remind ye that Duin is nae above the law. Mary Stuart, for good or for ill, hae been deposed. ’Tis her son who is crowned king of Scotland. To aid Mary Stuart would be seen as treason. Would ye hae me put us all in danger?”

  “She is Scotland’s anointed queen,” Matthew responded. “Where is the treason in helping her, Angus?”

  “Her son is now anointed king,” Angus said quietly.

  “In a Protestant ceremony,” Matthew answered scornfully. “Is that even legal?”

  “In Scotland it is,” the earl replied, amused by Matthew’s suddenly deep faith.

  “Yer Protestant wife influences ye, I fear, brother,” the younger man said.

  “Does nae yer Protestant wife influence ye?” Angus replied mockingly.

  “Agnes hae repented of her lapsed faith. Would that that plain-faced wife of yers would do so,” Matthew snapped. “How long hae ye been wed, and but twin bairns to show for it, one a lass. I know the woman is nae fair, but ye need to apply yerself to her more often, that ye may get another son or two on her. Or will she nae do her duty?”

  Angus Ferguson felt his anger rising. Matthew had always had difficulty in accepting Annabella, but his words were intolerable. Still, he held himself in check. “Why is it that ye canna get along with my wife?” he asked his brother.

  “She is too bold, nae at all womanly, like my Aggie. She speaks her mind even when she knows a woman should keep silent unless required to speak. She is nae a good wife to ye, Angus,” Matthew said. “Why, I believe she considers herself yer equal, if such a thing can be tolerated.”

  “She is my equal,” the earl told his younger brother. “It is nae yer place to judge me, or Annabella, by yer own narrow standards, Matthew. I love my wife, and I do for Duin what I believe is the right thing to do. Ye will nae criticize either of us again. Ye forget yer place, brother.”

  “They call the Fergusons of Duin sorcerers, my lord,” Matthew said scathingly, “but ’tis yer wife who is the witch, for she hae be-sorceled ye.”

  They both heard the gasp of shock, and turned to see Annabella standing there. She was paler than usual.

  “Leave the hall,” the Earl of Duin said in icy tones. “For now ye will keep yer place, but dinna show yer face to me until ye are prepared to apologize to my countess, Matthew. I would remind ye that ye hae nae the right to speak for Duin.”

  “Angus, nay! Ye must nae quarrel wi’ yer brother,” Annabella cried.

  “Ye see!” Matthew’s tone was accusatory. “She canna keep her place!” He stormed from the hall.

  “Oh, my lord, I am so sorry to be the cause of dissension between ye and Matthew,” Annabella said.

  “He is jealous,” Angus told her. “Until we wed it was always his counsel that I listened to, sweetheart. Now I listen to yers, for ye are thoughtful and wise. He is a good steward, and he is loyal to Duin. But he hae his own wife, and must learn to accept mine.”

  “He loves ye dearly,” she said. “He feels ye could hae made a better match than me, I fear. And especially as he now is wed to my beautiful sister, I seem even plainer by comparison.” She laughed ruefully. “But ye must reconcile yerself with him, Angus.”

  “Nay! He must reconcile himself wi’ me, sweetheart,” the earl said. “I wed wi’ the best woman in this world. The virtues ye possess, Annabella, dinna—” He took her in his arms, looking down into her plain face with a warm smile. His eyes met hers as he told her once again, “I love ye.” It was said simply. Then their lips met in a tender kiss.

  He was the best of men, Annabella thought, but she was concerned about Matthew. She knew he would not be deliberately disloyal, but she had noticed how earnestly he had engaged William Hamilton in conversation the previous evening. Angus was doing what was right for Duin. He understood the politics of the situation far better than did his younger half brother. If Mary ever by some stroke of good fortune came to power once again, she would indeed forgive the Earl of Duin.

  Moray, however, would not. If he believed that the Fergusons were colluding with the Hamiltons, and knew the secret of their wealth, Moray would fall on Duin with a vengeance. She could imagine how difficult it was for him to keep the s
ecret that had been revealed to him. His religion kept him from plundering Duin, but given an excuse to do so, Moray would not hesitate. Annabella could but pray Matthew’s anger would ease, and that he would accept the judgment of his elder half brother, his laird, the Earl of Duin.

  Chapter 15

  He wanted to believe himself neutral in this war that swept the borders. But the truth was, he could no longer remain neutral. He soothed himself by saying that as the king represented Scotland, and he stood with Scotland, he must therefore stand by little James VI, a lad but slightly older than his own wee son. In his heart Angus Ferguson knew it to be the right thing to do. Mary Stuart had left them.

  Of course, she had had no real choice in the matter. Beaten in her last battle at Langside, Mary did not wait this time to be incarcerated in some moldering heap of stones once again watched over by pious folk hostile to her and everything for which she had stood. She had trusted to the nobility of her lords once before. A miscarriage and her imprisonment for a year at Inchmahome had been the reward for her faith in them.

  After Langside she had fled south into England. Angus often thought that if she had just holed up in Dumbarton and negotiated with Moray and his ilk, she would still be queen. But her half brother, anticipating that she would make a run for Dumbarton, had blocked her way. She hadn’t so much fled, Angus thought in retrospect, as she had been driven from Scotland, and by the very men who were her own kin and had colluded in the murders of both David Riccio and Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley.

  And these men had gained exactly what they wanted: An infant king who would need their protection. A lad who could be educated and molded to suit them. A king who would not rebel against them but would be like them, think like them, act like them, and defend the new Reformed kirk of Scotland. And his mother would not be there to interfere with them as they produced this creation of theirs. Nay. They would not want Mary Stuart back in Scotland to thwart all their plans.