Matthew Ferguson didn’t understand this, however. All he could see was a beautiful and tragic woman forced from her throne. He did not approve of her marriage to his brother’s friend James Hepburn, but that was an error that could have been remedied. Mary Stuart was a devoted and devout daughter of Holy Mother Church.
She had allowed these men who called themselves the Reformed Church to practice their faith. But Knox and his ilk were yet suspicious of her, and could not refrain from taking the slightest thing they did not understand about the queen and declaring it ungodly or unchaste. They had stolen her bairn from her—driven her from Scotland. It was unjust!
How could his elder brother not understand the truth of all that had happened? William Hamilton had explained it quite clearly to Matthew Ferguson. The queen, their good Catholic queen, had had her throne usurped by her Protestant bastard half brother. They had imprisoned her. Caused her to miscarry. Fought against her and then driven her from their land. It was certainly God’s will that she be restored to her throne.
Her misalliance with Lord Bothwell would be annulled by the pope in Rome. England’s Duke of Norfolk, a good Catholic, would wed the queen. The queen would give to him what she had not given to either Lord Darnley or Lord Bothwell: the crown matrimonial. Scotland would have a good king and queen. Norfolk would be a good father to little James, and with luck there would be more children. The queen was still young enough. But first Mary Stuart must be restored to her rightful place.
“Duin is isolated,” William Hamilton said. “All we ask is a safe resting place for our messengers. Moray’s people will look to the east for our messengers. Perhaps they will even look to the center region of the border, but the west is the least likely place they will look. They will be no danger to the Fergusons, and the queen is certain to show her gratitude, Matthew, my friend. Would ye nae like a title of yer own to pass down to that fine laddie yer fair lady bore ye? Why should an accident of yer birth prevent ye from such a prize?”
And Matthew Ferguson listened, and was tempted. He had seen the queen when she had stopped briefly at Duin in her flight south. She was beautiful and royal, but she had looked so frail and tired. She was Scotland’s rightful queen. If his brother could take sides, then so could he. He would shelter the messengers needing rest and nourishment at his own new stone house. There was no need for Angus to know anything.
“I’ll help the queen,” he said.
Afterward he told his wife, Agnes, expecting to be praised for his chivalry. To his great surprise Agnes was horrified, and chastised him sharply.
“Are ye mad, Matthew Ferguson? What hae ye done? Ye’ve put me and our bairn in danger, not to mention yer brother!”
“Angus would nae help the poor queen,” he answered her.
“Of course he wouldn’t, ye dolt! The queen is finished. Do ye truly believe those cold, hard men clutching the royal bairn in their paws will gie way and allow her back?”
Matthew Ferguson was astounded. She had berated him, called him a dolt. His beautiful and sweet wife had suddenly become a harsh scold. “Madam,” he said, “am I nae the master in my own home? Dinna remonstrate wi’ me, for I hae made my decision. Offering shelter and food to a passing messenger, if indeed one should pass through Duin, can hardly be countenanced as a crime. I am involved in nae plots. I simply offer border hospitality, as any man would to a stranger.”
“Matthew, do ye nae realize that messengers coming over the border will always stop here, knowing that ye hae offered to shelter them? They will all be headed for Dumbarton Castle, for the Queen’s Men still cling to that pile of rocks. The plot comes from there, nae from England, ye great fool!”
“Madam,” he shouted at her, “I will nae be spoken to as ye hae been speaking to me. Hush yer mouth, and say nae another word.”
Agnes looked at her husband, outraged. “I’m taking our wee Robbie and going to the castle,” she told him. “I’ll nae abide another night beneath the roof of this dwelling that is to be used to house traitors to the little king. I’ll nae hae my bairn put in danger of ending up on the end of a soldier’s pike because his puddingheaded da canna see the truth. I’m nae coming back until ye repair this disaster.”
“Jesu! Mary!” Matthew swore. “Ye’re just like yer plain-faced sister!”
“Dinna criticize my sister,” Agnes snapped back. “Annabella is wonderful, and yer own brother hae seen it. The bond between them is so strong nothing could break it. Would that our marriage could be as strong.”
“Yer damned sister hae turned my brother away from his duty to our queen,” Matthew said. “She hae bewitched him, for no man could love such a simple face.”
“Is that why ye wed wi’ me, Matthew? Because I am beautiful? Did ye see nothing else in me but my face?” Agnes was near crying. “If I were as my sister, would ye hae loved me? It seems ye would nae.” Then she ran from the little hall of their stone house.
He watched her go, puzzled. What was the matter wi’ his beautiful Aggie? And then a thought struck him. She was breeding again. Certainly that was it! Breeding women were always given to odd fancies. But then the next day Agnes and his son were gone missing from their house. He found her servant woman packing Agnes’s possessions. “Where hae she gone?” he demanded.
“To the castle,” the woman replied.
Matthew Ferguson mounted his horse and rode the distance between Duin and his stone house. He found his wife in the castle hall with her sister. “Where’s my son?” he demanded to know. “Ye may remain here if ye choose, but Robbie is coming home wi’ me,” he told her in a hard voice.
“Robbie will remain wi’ me,” Agnes said obdurately.
“Matthew,” Annabella said, “I dinna know what hae precipitated this rift between ye and Aggie, but perhaps ye both need a few days to cool yer fiery heads.”
“Dinna tell me how to manage my wife, madam,” Matthew snarled.
“Manage?” Agnes’s voice had become a screech. “Am I a horse or a dog to be managed? How dare ye, Matthew Ferguson!”
“I want ye and my son home,” he replied.
“Then ye know what ye must do, sir, for I’ll nae be home until ye do it,” Agnes said in firm tones.
He realized then that she had not revealed his secret, and for that he was grateful.
“I’ll nae besmirch my honor, Agnes,” he informed her.
“I hope yer honor will keep ye warm this winter,” she snapped.
With a snarl of impatience Matthew left the castle hall.
“What hae happened to put ye and Matthew at odds?” Annabella asked. “I realize that he can be a difficult man, but he loves ye.”
“He is nae difficult!” Agnes defended her husband. “But sometimes he is foolish.”
“How hae he been foolish?” Annabella probed gently. It had to be something very foolish to have sent her sister racing with her bairn from the fine stone house Matthew had built for her to the security of Duin Castle. But Annabella knew her sister would say nothing—indeed, if she said anything at all—until she had resolved the conflict, at least in her own mind.
Angus took his wife aside when he saw his sister-in-law and her bairn had moved into his home. “What hae happened between them? They’re mad in love.”
“I dinna know,” Annabella admitted. “She is nae ready to tell me, but she will. We hae but to be patient. She is verra angry and hurt by something he hae done or said.”
Several weeks passed. The days were growing noticeably shorter as the autumn arrived and began to deepen. Then one day Jean’s husband, who was captain of the castle men-at-arms, came to the earl.
“The men on the heights hae noticed something, my lord, that I believe should be brought to yer attention. There is traffic coming across the border, single riders, but more in the last two weeks than we usually see in a twelvemonth’s time.”
“Do they seem headed in a singular direction?” Angus asked his captain.
“Aye, toward yer steward’s house. The
y make an effort to bypass the castle, my lord, but those headed both north and south seem intent on that direction and possible destination. I knew ye would want to know.”
“Thank ye. I should like to be notified the next time one of these riders is spotted so I may see for myself,” Angus told his captain.
“Aye, my lord, I’ll see to it at once,” the captain responded.
Several hours later a man-at-arms came to report that a rider had been spotted on the horizon coming north. The Earl of Duin followed the man up the stairs and finally up a ladder to the roof of his castle. There on the heights, in a driving wind coming off the sea, he stood for the next hour watching the horseman come, and he did indeed make an obvious effort to avoid the castle, instead turning toward Matthew Ferguson’s house.
Angus finally came down from the heights and called for his horse. With two men-at-arms accompanying him, he rode to Matthew’s house. “Check his stables for a weary and lathered mount,” he instructed the men-at-arms. Then, without another word, he went into his brother’s home. He stood silently in the entrance to the little hall for several long moments. At a trestle a stranger was seated in earnest conversation with Matthew as he ate.
The Earl of Duin stepped into the hall, making his presence known as he greeted his younger sibling. “Good afternoon, Matthew,” he said.
Matthew Ferguson jumped up from the bench where he had been seated. There was guilt written all over his face. “Angus!” he exclaimed. “What brings ye here?”
“The stream of riders heading to yer house these last few weeks,” the earl replied dryly. “What mischief hae ye gotten yerself into, brother? Is it the mischief that I expressly forbade ye to involve yerself in? Is that why yer wife left ye, taking yer bairn wi’ her? Who is this man who eats at yer board, Matthew? Do ye even know his name?”
“I had to help!” Matthew exclaimed.
The Earl of Duin’s face grew dark with his anger. “Nay!” he thundered. “Ye dinna hae to help. Yer disobedience hae endangered us all. Dinna ye understand, Matthew? Ye are consorting wi’ rebels. Engaging in treasonous conduct.”
“How can helping Scotland’s rightful queen be treasonous?” Matthew demanded.
“Scotland hae no queen, ye thick dolt! Scotland hae a king. His Majesty James, the sixth of that name,” the earl said angrily. Then he turned to the man still eating at the trestle. “Finish yer meal and then be gone back from whence ye came. I’ll take the packet ye carry first, however.”
The messenger stood up. He was almost as tall as Angus Ferguson, and looked him directly in the eye. “’Tis nae for ye, my lord, but bound for Dumbarton Castle.”
“I know where it goes, but ’twill nae get there through my lands. I’m nae above throwing ye in my dungeons, man. Now hand me yer packet so I may destroy it and rid my foolish brother’s house of treason. Tell yer masters in England that neither Duin Castle nor the house of its steward will be open to them, ever. My brother hae defied my direct orders to nae consort wi’ the Queen’s Men. I told William Hamilton nay, and I meant it. Whether the Hamiltons and my brother wish to accept it, these actions are treasonous. The Fergusons of Duin will nae involve themselves in this treason.”
The messenger looked the Earl of Duin over. He noted the dirk in his belt, and he could see the earl was a man used to handling a weapon. Though he considered himself one of the Queen’s Men, his first loyalty was to himself. It wasn’t worth getting killed or maimed over a single message. He had no idea what was in it, but the Hamiltons would have to get it to its destination another way. Reaching into his shirt, he pulled the packet containing the message out, handing it to Angus Ferguson.
The earl took it, then, turning to his brother, said, “I’ll deal wi’ ye later. Ye’re forbidden the castle until I call for ye to come, Matthew.”
“Angus . . .”
The earl gave his younger brother a hard look, and left the little hall.
Angus and the two men-at-arms rode back to the castle. He ordered the drawbridge up as soon as they crossed it. His anger with his younger sibling was burning white-hot. Never had Matthew questioned his judgment before, or disobeyed him. His brother had grown restless and reckless of late, and he didn’t understand why that was. Even Annabella’s little sister had disapproved of his actions, and wisely removed herself and her bairn from the stone house Matthew had built for her. And that was another thing: Why had Agnes not told them what was going on instead of simply coming to Duin for safety’s sake?
Annabella greeted him as he came into his own hall. “What has happened?”
He told her, asking when he finished, “Where is yer sister? This is why she left him, and she was wise to do so, but she might hae told us the mischief he was up to, yet she did not.” He called to a servant, “Fetch the lady Agnes to me.”
“I believe she was torn between her loyalties,” Annabella said, seeing his anger was high, and attempting to spare her sister the scolding she was about to get.
“She is the wife of a Ferguson of Duin,” the earl replied in a hard voice. “Her first loyalty must be to Duin itself, and then to Matthew, nae to my brother alone. She came to us for protection while allowing the danger to continue.”
Agnes came into the hall. She was pale and looked frightened. “My lord?” she said in a soft voice. “Ye wished to see me?”
“Why hae ye left my brother?” Angus demanded of her. “The truth now, madam! I’ll hae no shilly-shallying about it.”
“He’s allowed our house to become a stopping point for the Queen’s Men,” Agnes answered. Then she burst into tears. “I told him it was wrong. I told him he endangered us all wi’ his actions, but he would nae listen to me.”
“Aye,” the earl roared, causing the poor lass to tremble where she stood. “Ye told him, but ye dinna tell me! Damn it, Agnes, I am Duin! Everyone on these lands defers to me first. Nae to Matthew. To me!”
“Angus.” Annabella spoke, putting a restraining hand on her husband’s arm.
He looked into her soft gray eyes. For all her plainness she did bewitch him.
She smiled softly at him. “Angus,” she repeated.
“Oh, verra well,” he said low. Then, turning to his weeping sister-in-law, he told her, “Ye will remain in the castle until I can make certain yer disobedient husband hae nae brought the wrath of the King’s Men upon us. Wi’ luck no one hae noticed yet.”
“Th-thank ye,” Agnes quavered, and without permission or another word she picked up her skirts and fled the hall, sobbing.
The earl took his wife’s hand and led her to the chairs they favored by the blazing hearth. They had eaten earlier, and the hall was quiet now. The twins had been put to bed before their father’s encounter with their pretty aunt. The dogs were sprawled near the two fireplaces. The cat who had occupied Annabella’s chair now jumped into her lap and settled itself comfortably amid her dark green velvet skirts. She stroked it absently.
“I brought back the packet the messenger carried. Let us see what treason it contains before I burn it,” Angus said as he opened the square leather container and drew out a folded and sealed parchment. Undoing the letter, he spread it out on his knees to smooth any creases; then, picking it up, he silently read the contents.
“What does it say?” Annabella asked him.
He looked up at her, his face deadly serious. “They are planning several assassinations,” he told her. “Those who hold or are likely to hold the reins of power for the wee king: Lennox, his grandfather; Moray; the king’s guardians, Erskine and his wife. They believe if they can rid themselves of these few they can bring the queen back into power once again.”
“Erskine and his wife are good folk,” Annabella said. “Perhaps they dinna gie the little king the warmth and love a parent might gie him, but they do their duty by him admirably. Moray is ruthless, but all he hae done to date hae been in the king’s best interest. They hae taken to calling him the good regent. As for Lennox, I hae never liked Darnley’s father. H
e betrayed Marie de Guise, and took the English queen’s gold, remaining in England for many years. His own wife, though Scots born, was the daughter of the English princess Margaret Tudor and her second husband. His interests are not, I believe, Scotland’s interests. He simply wants the power that would come with being a royal regent. Still, I dinna think they should be murdered. If they are, who knows who will grab the power?” Annabella said. “Who do they say is to be killed first? And when? Ye canna destroy this evidence, but must warn Moray and his counsel.”
“They dinna say,” Angus replied, looking carefully through the message again.
“Would the messenger know?” Annabella wondered aloud.
“Nay, ’tis unlikely he even knows what he carries. He is just a courier for the Hamiltons,” Angus said.
“We must learn the truth,” Annabella replied.
“We?” He looked directly at her.
She gave him a saucy grin. “Remember that I make a good lad,” she said.
“I will nae hae ye in danger,” he responded.
“I hae a plan,” she countered calmly.
“Annabella!”
“Angus!”
He laughed. Matthew was right: She was bold, but he couldn’t resist asking her, “What plan, madam? And if I refuse ye, will ye run off as ye did when I went to France?”
“Probably,” she admitted, “but hear my plan first, husband. We must incarcerate the Hamiltons’ messenger for our safety’s sake, after learning from where he came. Then we will ride together to the Hamilton lair, but while ye remain hidden outside of their walls, I will ride in to tell them that their messenger was injured by the time he reached Matthew’s house. I will say he was set upon by bandits, and destroyed the contents of the packet rather than allow it to fall into the wrong hands. I will bring the empty packet wi’ me to prove my veracity. I will say that if they want me to, I will take another message to Dumbarton. That Matthew sent me to them. Riding boldly into their stronghold and having the leather case wi’ me will prove the truth of my tale.”
Bond of Passion Page 30