“It would take a miracle, for although Mary Stuart believes herself a guest of her cousin Elizabeth Tudor, she is more a prisoner. Since she left us they have drawn her deeper and deeper into England,” the earl explained. “It is unlikely they will be able to extract her from the castle in Staffordshire where she now resides.”
Duin settled down into a quiet winter. There was no news, for the weather made it impossible. The courier sent to the Hamiltons in November returned in March as soon as the melt began. The road was muddy, but patches of green were beginning to take hold on the hillsides, and the days were longer, brighter now as the messenger rode into the courtyard. He carried several messages with him. One was for Annabella from her mother, and she opened it eagerly.
Dearest daughter, her mother began.
While happy to see Agnes, we are distressed by her reasons for coming to Rath. We have told Matthew Ferguson of our disapproval of his behavior in endangering Agnes. Sadly, he seems to think of nothing but restoring Mary Stuart to her throne. Thank God wee Robbie is with ye. I am shamed by the disloyalty my kinfolk are showing. My own brother is involved, to my great sorrow. Thank ye for advising us of the situation surrounding Matthew Ferguson. No matter how much Agnes begs it of ye, do not send our grandson to Rath. The countryside is not safe. I am happy to tell ye that your brother, Robert, will wed Alys Bruce in the coming summer here at Rath. She is a pretty lass, amiable and most sensible, which suits your brother well. It is my hope that James, Anne, and Robert thrive, and that you and Angus are in good health. Your father and I send our love to ye all,
Your mother, Anne
“She says not to send Robbie even if Agnes begs,” Annabella told her husband.
“I don’t intend to. My nephew is a Ferguson, and he will learn to behave like one,” the earl said. “We dinna involve ourselves, but neither do we commit treason.” He was holding a second open parchment in his hand, and looking extremely irritated.
“What is the matter?” Annabella asked him.
The earl held out the letter and shook it as a dog might shake a piece of prey. “This is the matter,” he said. “It is from Matthew. He informs me that a vessel will shortly be anchoring in the harbor beneath the castle. We are to grant its captain and crew our good border hospitality.” He flung the parchment from him. “Who the hell does my brother think he is? This ship bodes no good, and once again Matthew endangers Duin wi’ his arrogance. I hae no intention of granting it permission to anchor in my harbor.” He called the courier to him. “Ian Elliot, tell me what ye heard in the Hamiltons’ hall. What do ye know of this ship?”
“I heard them speaking about a plan to rescue the old queen from England. They mean to bring her to Duin, where she will board the waiting vessel and be taken to France,” the messenger said. “From there the Hamiltons will restore her to Scotland.”
“Jesu!” the earl swore. “What wily fools these petty conspirators are. If they mean to restore her, why send her to France? Nay, they mean to take control in her name while keeping her in France waiting for the proper time to return. It will nae come, of course.”
“And Duin will be implicated in this new treason, because the ship will anchor in our harbor,” Annabella said, as angry as her husband. “We canna allow this to happen, Angus! But how can we stop them?”
The earl smiled a wolfish smile. “I possess two cannons that sit on the battlements,” he said. “That is why the Irish stopped raiding here. We shall make certain the cannons are primed and ready for our guests.”
“Your boat from the New World never came,” Annabella said.
“It hae been delayed, then,” the earl said. “It will come.”
And it did, sailing into the harbor several days later, looking rather battered and damaged. When the tide was out enough to allow for a landing, a small boat was lowered into the waves and rowed to the narrow strip of beach. A man got out and climbed the interior steep cliff staircase up to the castle. When he arrived in the hall he went directly to Angus Ferguson and bowed.
“My lord,” he said. His accent was light but there.
“Captain Diego, ’tis good to see ye once again, but the ship is obviously the worse for wear. Ye encountered difficulties.”
“Aye, my lord, we did. We are fortunate to be here at all, but thanks be to God, the lord Jesu, and his blessed Madre Maria, we have survived. I bring bad news, however.” The captain took a silver goblet of wine from the servant with the tray and drank deeply before continuing.
The earl waited politely for Captain Diego to continue. He saw his wife signal for food to be brought. Good lass, he thought. Hot food and wine were exactly what the seaman needed to become more comfortable, to loosen his tongue.
Finally, his thirst assuaged, the captain spoke. “My lord, yer mines are finished. The gold and the silver I bring is the last of it. I was fortunate to get it out, for all properties owned by foreigners are now being confiscated by His Most Royal Majesty King Philip. I had to run a gauntlet of Spanish warships several times before I was finally able to escape, and then it was as if the devil himself had put every storm upon the face of this earth in my path. Then we were accosted by pirates off the west coast of Ireland, and escaped only when a thick fog blew in, allowing me to navigate around Mizzen Head and Cape Clear before they might find us again. There were English ships in St. George’s Channel to avoid as well. I’ve never been so glad to see Duin in all my life.”
“Come to the high board,” Annabella invited him, and then saw him made comfortable with a round bread trencher filled with lamb stew.
Captain Diego ate the food eagerly. His cup was refilled once.
“Ye went to the mines yerself?” the earl asked.
“Aye, my lord, I did. There were more Indians in their village center than inside the mines. I have noticed over the last three years the workers being fewer and fewer. I had spoken to yer steward about it the last time I was at Duin. Did he not tell ye?”
“Nay, he did not,” the earl said grimly. “My half brother has unfortunately chosen to disagree wi’ me at every turn in recent months. He hae now departed Duin.”
The seaman nodded as he scraped the last of the stew and bread from his trencher. “It is sometimes difficult for the younger ones to obey the elder,” he said.
Then he became all business once again. “We will off-load your cargo in the morning, my lord, if that will suit ye.”
Angus Ferguson nodded. “And ye will remain in the safety of my harbor until yer vessel can be restored and is seaworthy once again,” he said. “I’ll send a servant to tell yer man ye stay the night here in the castle. Tomorrow we’ll ride into my village for workers and materials for the repairs.”
“I’m grateful, my lord,” Captain Diego said.
“I’ll want ye to hae the ship,” the earl said. “’Tis nae use to me any longer.”
“My lord!”
“Ye’ve served me well these past years, Captain Diego. I’m a reclusive Scotsman. What use would I hae for a sailing ship?”
“’Tis too generous, too generous,” the seaman said. There was just the hint of tears in his eyes, and his voice almost shook.
“Nay, ye’ve risked yer life many times to bring yer ship to safety in my harbor,” Angus Ferguson said. “Now, I’ll hear nae more about it. Ye’ll hae the vessel’s papers transferred into yer name when ye’re ready to depart. And my wee harbor is always open to ye, sir. Come! We’ll drink on it!” And he raised his own goblet.
No wonder men loved her husband, Annabella thought. His sense of fair play, his generosity, was that of a great ancient lord. Few men if any behaved like that now. She asked for the courier, who was now planning to depart Duin to carry a message to Rath, and then she wrote to her mother, saying that if it were possible she would come to her brother’s wedding in the summer. She begged her mother to plead with Agnes to return to Duin, where she would be safe, and not endanger her family at Rath. The Countess of Duin was very surprised to receive a
letter back from her mother that was carried by one of Rath’s servants.
Dearest daughter, the lady Anne wrote,
Ye need have no further concern about your sister Agnes. She has departed for France with her husband. The Hamiltons have been hounded vigorously since Moray’s murder. They could not successfully hide this time while waiting to strike again. Their forces have been scattered, at least temporarily, for now. I am certain Agnes will write to you when she has been safely settled. We have heard that a rescue attempt was made to free Mary Stuart from her imprisonment early this spring. It failed, and the young men involved were all killed. Your brother and his bride have chosen the week after Lammastide in which to wed. It is dearly hoped that ye and Angus will be able to come. I remain as always your loving mother, Anne.
Annabella placed the parchment in her lap and looked to her husband, to whom she had just read the letter aloud. “If,” she said, “Mary Stuart is nae free, then I suspect we may nae have to contend wi’ any other vessel anchoring in our harbor.”
“They may come yet,” he said, “for it is possible they hae nae heard that the escape attempt failed.”
With the opening of the roads again now that winter was over, news began to trickle into Duin. There was no regent agreed upon yet for the king. His paternal grandfather, the Earl of Lennox; Lord Erskine; and the Earl of Morton were all locked in a fight to gain control of the little lad’s power.
“What a trio,” the earl said, shaking his head. “Mary Stuart hated Darnley’s father, and Morton is said to have been involved in the murders of both Darnley and Riccio. Erkskine’s a good man, but surely not powerful or strong enough to handle the regency.”
“He holds the king at Stirling,” Annabella said quietly.
“Aye, ye’re right, sweetheart,” Angus answered her. Her astuteness continued to surprise him even after several years of marriage.
“Let us concern ourselves wi’ matters closer to home,” Annabella said. “What will ye do if Agnes and Matthew want the return of their child? We must consider this.”
“Robbie remains at Duin,” Angus told her firmly. “He is a Ferguson. If my brother chooses to continue in his foolish ways, I’ll nae hae this bairn dragged into a nomadic life. Robbie belongs here wi’ us, his family. But the household is yers, madam, so the final say will be yers as well.”
“I agree wi’ ye, my lord,” Annabella said.
At that moment a man-at-arms hurried up to the earl. “My lord,” he said, “a ship hae just entered yer harbor, and ’tis nae Captain Diego returned.”
“I’ll come,” Angus Ferguson said. He turned back to Annabella. “May this be the last battle for Duin, sweetheart.”
“I’m coming wi’ ye,” she told him.
The Earl of Duin did not argue with his countess. He knew better than that now.
They climbed the stairs to the top of the castle, and then scrambled up the ladder through a trapdoor to the heights. Angus immediately began the business of seeing that the two small cannons were loaded properly in preparation for firing. It had been some time since these guns had been fired, and even though they were well maintained, there was always the danger of one or both of them exploding.
Annabella, however, was once again astounded by the beauty surrounding them as she gazed from the battlements of the castle. The low green hills, the winding streams crisscrossing the landscape, the vast blue sea beyond. She could see both the village and Matthew Ferguson’s house in the distance. Tears touched her thick, dark lashes. Agnes should be here in her own home, not wandering a foreign countryside, friendless and separated from her family. Silently Annabella cursed the enchantment that surrounded Mary Stuart, causing men to follow her blindly.
When the guns were loaded and prepared, Angus ordered that both of them be fired at once: one cannon shot to fall just beyond the ship’s bow, the other its stern. That would be the vessel’s only warning. The cannons were to be reloaded immediately, for if they were forced to fire a second time, their aim would be deadlier.
The earl gave the order, and both of the small guns fired simultaneously. They heard the booms echo across the water, watching as the shots dropped exactly as they should. Now they waited to see what this ship flying Mary Stuart’s flag would do. Suddenly a small white flag was raised, and at the same time a small boat was lowered into the waves and rowed toward the narrow strip of beach at the foot of Duin’s dark cliffs. The Earl of Duin and his wife hurried from the battlements back down into the castle. In the hall the earl ordered his wife to remain while he traversed the steep, narrow interior passage leading to the beach.
He stepped from the hidden door in the cliffs as the small boat reached the shore.
A gentleman stepped out of the craft and came forward. “Monsieur, I was told we would be welcomed at Duin,” the man said. “Is this your vaunted border hospitality?” The man spoke French.
“You are not welcome here, sir. We are loyal Scots at Duin,” the earl replied in that same language. “I am sorry to tell you that you are mistaken. I am informed that Mary Stuart’s escape has failed. I advise you to return from wherever you have come, for the English will surely be even more vigilant than ever now.”
“I thank you for not damaging my ship,” the man replied.
“I wished only to warn you,” the earl responded with a small smile. “Now, pray allow me to escort you to your cockle.” He walked the man to the little boat, where an oarsman waited patiently. The man stepped into his transport and sat down. “Farewell,” the Earl of Duin said formally. He then stood watching as the little vessel made its way back to the larger ship. He remained watching as his visitor reached his destination and climbed up to the deck. The sea anchor was raised, along with a large sail. The ship began to turn itself about and exit the little harbor. It was only then that the Earl of Duin reentered the passage in the cliffs that led back up to the castle.
In the weeks that followed they heard nothing of any import, and so they decided to travel to Rath to young Robert Baird’s wedding. Their trip took them a little longer than if they had just gone alone, but they decided to bring the children to see their grandparents, who had not laid eyes on them since shortly after their birth.
The laird of Rath and his wife were overjoyed to see them. To Annabella’s delight, both Sorcha, who lived nearby, and Myrna, who had traveled down from the Highlands, were at Rath. The tower house was overflowing with family. The sisters and their children would sleep in their old chamber high in the tower. Sorcha had two little ones, both boys; and Myrna had brought her daughter, a little freckle-faced lass with auburn curls.
“She looks like her da, worse luck,” Myrna said pithily. “She’s a wild Highlander.”
“Are ye so unhappy then?” Annabella inquired of her sister.
“Unhappy?” Myrna sniffed. “Why would I be unhappy? I’ve a good man, a good home, a daughter, and the hope of another bairn in the coming year. Nay! I am not unhappy, sister.”
The men slept in the hall. The bride would not arrive with her family and clan folk until the wedding day. Rob’s mother and his sisters cleaned and refurbished the chamber that had been his, and that he would now share with his wife.
The wedding day dawned sunny, for it was August, and August seemed to be a bright month in the borders. The Bruces of Cleit arrived in early morning with flags flying and pipers piping. The blushing bride was on a pale dun-colored mare being led by her father. Annabella thought Alys Bruce a pretty girl, although she had not the beauty of the lady Anne or her three younger daughters. The pastor from the nearby village kirk came to unite the young couple in a plain and simple ceremony.
Then they returned to Rath Tower to celebrate this new union between the Bruces of Cleit and the Bairds of Rath. The feast was held in the hall. There were roast meats: beef, venison, lamb, and boar. There were trout and salmon from the nearby streams and rivers. There was an enormous pie filled with rabbit, carrots, and tiny onions surrounded by a rich wine gravy,
and topped with a flaky crust. There were ducks roasted until their skins were crispy, and swimming in a plum sauce. There were capons stuffed with sage, bread, onions, and celery. There were two roast turkeys, and platters of quail eggs. Lettuces had been braised in white wine. There were bowls of tiny peas. The trestles had small wheels of hard yellow cheese. The high board had two cheeses: a hard yellow, and a soft white French cheese. There were ale and cider and wine to drink.
They ate, and they toasted the bridal couple. Annabella thought her brother looked genuinely happy, as did his new wife. And when the feasting had ceased they went outside into the summer sunshine, where an archery contest was in progress. In a nearby field a group of men were kicking about a ball made from a sheep’s bladder. A group of musicians played, and there was dancing. Annabella and her sisters briefly joined in the round, catching hands with the villagers and cavorting in a circle, first this way and then the other.
Angus watched his wife, thinking that although her sisters had great physical beauty, Annabella was truly the most beautiful of them all, even if they didn’t know it. Her goodness radiated from her plain face. Her gray eyes sparkled, and her smile was sweet. The laird of Rath came and stood next to his son-in-law. “It pleases me to see the love ye hae for her,” he murmured softly.
“She’s yer daughter,” Angus answered quietly. “Ye know what she is like.”
“Aye, I do,” the laird replied, “but most men could nae get by her plain face. Ye did, and discovered the treasure that I gie ye. I am glad, for she loves ye too.”
Angus Ferguson smiled. “Aye!” he agreed. “Are we nae the most fortunate couple, my lord?”
The day began to wane, and they returned to the hall to feast once again. It grew near the hour that the bride and groom would be put together. But first Rob and his three brothers-in-law danced amid the swords laid out upon the floor as both the Baird and the Bruce pipers played. As their dance was coming to an end, there was a small disturbance at the far end of the hall. The mournful sound of the pipes died away as a gaunt figure stumbled forward toward the high board, hands outstretched.
Bond of Passion Page 35