Mary had appealed to Parliament several times in the early days of her imprisonment. She wanted an opportunity to explain her actions. Parliament instead, under instruction from Moray and his cohorts, declared James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, guilty of the murder of Henry, Lord Darnley. That there was no real proof of this mattered not at all. They also declared their lawful queen his accomplice in the murder, using forged documents that they brought forth from a silver box that belonged to the queen as proof of her guilt. Even then, having gained their objective, they did not refrain from mistreating their prisoner. It was a serious miscalculation.
Mary was treated very badly. She was confined to two rooms on the third floor of Lochleven Castle. It was cold and dank. She had no privacy. Her movements were severely limited, and she was constantly watched. She had no spiritual comfort to sustain her. Angry and desperate, she reacted rashly.
Without James Hepburn by her side to temper her recklessness, Mary executed an audacious escape from her island prison. No sooner had she gained the shore of the mainland with her cohorts than her followers began flocking to her banner. She repudiated her abdication, which she said had been forced upon her. She was Scotland’s queen, and she would retake her throne from those who had stolen it from her while hiding behind her infant son to justify their actions.
Moray was furious, but he knew his sister was no tactician. Without Bothwell to plan her battles, she was certain to make an error. It was that error that would cost her not just her freedom, but Scotland for good. He watched and decided what to do as Mary Stuart crossed the Firth of Forth. She had, Moray knew, two choices open to her if she were to regain her throne. She could march to Edinburgh with her ever-increasing army, forcing Parliament into session, and plead her cause in order to regain her position by legal means. Or she could make a run for the impregnable Dunbarton Castle in the west, and wait while her armies were increased before taking Scotland back by force.
Moray knew his sister was no fool, but he also knew she was ruled by her emotions. Parliament’s obdurate refusal to allow her to come before them a year ago would still rankle her. She would have no faith in a Parliament that had scorned her. Mary Stuart would head for Dunbarton, and the Earl of Moray knew it, and planned for it.
He would meet her forces before she could even reach the security of that castle.
Moray had a smaller force than his half sister, but his soldiers were better trained.
Along the road to the village of Langside he positioned his men behind the tall, thick hedges lining the road. As Mary’s forces marched down the road, the musketeers hidden behind the greenery fired volley after volley. Within a short time Mary’s superior forces, bereft of any real commander, broke up in disarray and fled the battlefield. From her vantage point on a nearby hill, the queen could see everything. She was finally convinced to flee the scene, and did so.
Late on a mid-May afternoon, the watch atop Duin Castle saw a small party of riders coming their way. As they came closer it was noted that, while armed, they were few, and apparently not hostile. They galloped across the oaken drawbridge into the courtyard. The first man off his horse called to the servant who stood in an open door at the top of a flight of steps, “Tell yer master the queen begs shelter!”
The shocked servant turned and dashed back into the castle, running for the hall, where he delivered his message. They had been at the high board eating the main meal of the day. The Earl of Duin jumped to his feet, coming down from his place to hurry and greet the queen. She was still seated upon her horse when he reached his courtyard. He noted she looked worn and tired. He bowed.
“Madam, welcome to Duin Castle,” he said.
“Moray’s forces are certain to be behind me, my lord,” the queen said. “Are ye sure ye would welcome me?”
“Ye are my queen,” Angus Ferguson heard himself say.
Jesu!
Was he mad?
But then Annabella was there by his side. “Come into the hall, madam,” she said. “I suspect ye cannot remain long wi’ us, but ’tis an honor to hae ye here. There is hot food, and wine for ye in the hall.” She curtsied to the queen, then looked to one of the openmouthed stablemen. “See to the horses.”
“Come into the hall,” the earl echoed his wife’s invitation.
Once inside, the queen sank into a high-backed upholstered chair by one of the hearths. Wine was immediately brought to her. “It was a disaster,” Mary Stuart said without waiting for anyone to ask her what had happened. “Argyll was a poor leader. His troops fled the field in the face of a much smaller force. We needed my husband’s leadership, but Bothwell is gone. Gone.” Her voice faded away.
Annabella noticed that the queen’s beautiful fingers tightened about the stem of the wine goblet as she spoke. “We received a message from James late this winter. He is imprisoned in Denmark. Had he not been, madam, he would have been by yer side.”
“He tried to rally the isles for me, but Moray and his ilk hounded him. He barely escaped them last summer,” the queen said. “I have been told the tale by several, and each time something new is added to it. In Norway he was arrested by kinsmen of his former mistress, and jailed without charges.”
“The messenger who came to Duin was from a Danish ship,” the earl said.
The queen nodded. “He was taken from Norway to Dragsholm Castle in the north of Zealand. They say the conditions in which he is being kept are deplorable.” She began to weep softly.
“We sent a purse to ease his days,” Annabella said in an effort to comfort her guest, who was now struggling to regain mastery over herself.
“They will take yer gold and line their own pockets,” Lord Claud Hamilton, who stood by the queen’s side, said. “Our information is very accurate.”
“What does it serve Denmark to mistreat the husband of Scotland’s queen?” Angus Ferguson asked quietly.
“Perhaps ye dinna hear it, for ye are quite isolated at Duin,” Lord Claud noted, dropping his voice so his words did not distress the queen further, “but James Hepburn was outlawed last summer. He is considered nothing more than a common felon. His jailers might use yer gold to better his conditions, but the Danish king has forbidden it. Denmark has already given Scotland one queen. I suspect they look to give it another. They would keep the favor of wee James’s guardians for that day, for they are Protestants too. Dinna throw good coin after bad, my lord.”
“We canna remain long,” Geordie Douglas, another of the queen’s companions, said. “We would not bring Moray to yer door. He will be a bad enemy to have.”
“Ye must eat before ye go,” Annabella insisted, helping the queen up and to the high board, where the servants were quickly placing bowls and platters of food.
There was sliced salmon on a plate with cress, a large roasted turkey, venison, a hot rabbit stew, a bowl of new peas, bread, butter, and cheese. Their guests ate heartily and quickly. They drank down the rich red wine. The queen smiled at the small dish of tiny wild strawberries in a thick cream set before her as the pewter plates were removed.
It was a charming and delicate touch. She smiled gratefully at Annabella, who nodded in silent understanding.
They still had several hours of daylight ahead of them. As the Earl and Countess of Duin escorted their guests back into the courtyard to their horses, Angus asked the queen, “Where will ye go, madam?”
“Why, to England to beg sanctuary of my good cousin Elizabeth,” Mary replied.
Angus frowned. “I dinna think that wise, madam,” he told her candidly. “Would ye nae be wiser to go to France? Ye hae family there to help ye. Ye hae lands of yer own. Ye should be far safer in France than ye will be in England.”
“Nay, my good lord,” Mary Stuart said. “I must not put the open sea between myself and Scotland. My sister queen is a fair woman, and wise. She will shelter me and come to my aid. I will return to Scotland. Heads must cool. Only then can we negotiate this difficulty between myself and my lords.”
“I must trust in yer queenly wisdom, madam,” Angus Ferguson said, bowing. Then he helped the queen to mount her horse.
“
Adieu, mon ami
,” Mary Stuart said, giving him her hand to kiss. Then, with her small party of retainers, she departed Duin.
Angus and Annabella watched her go out from the courtyard, over the drawbridge, and onto the road. Free of the castle, the riders picked up speed and headed south. Soon they were nothing more than a cloud of dust, and even the dust faded quickly away. The Earl and Countess of Duin returned to their hall.
“I hope ye haven’t put us all in danger, sheltering her like that,” Matthew said to his brother as Angus came into the hall. He had been absent during the queen’s brief visit, but as steward he would have known she was there.
“I could hardly deny her entry to the castle,” Angus said dryly. “I will plead ignorance to any who would accuse me otherwise, little brother. We know little of what goes on past the borders of our lands, Matthew. Do ye know what happened?”
“I know what I heard, and I hae surmised the rest,” Matthew replied.
“Aye, ’tis obvious she escaped Lochleven,” the earl said.
“Escaped, and fought a battle she lost wi’ Moray,” his sibling responded. “There will be hell to pay now. If anyone learns she came here, Angus . . .”
“She’s fleeing into England, Matthew. ’Tis the end of it now. Bothwell is gone, and the queen is gone. She thinks the English queen will help her, but Elizabeth Tudor is too canny to involve herself in Mary Stuart’s debacle. When that finally becomes clear to Scotland’s queen, she will take the advice of those few around her and go back to France. ’Tis her only alternative.”
“Catherine de’ Medicis will hardly be glad to see her,” Matthew said. “They enjoy causing difficulty in Scotland. The borders will nae forget our queen’s uncle Henry soon.”
“Elizabeth will nae help the woman who calls herself queen of Scotland, England, and France,” Angus responded. “Remember there are still those who consider the English queen bastard-born, and if that were proven so, Mary Stuart is the true heir to England’s throne through her grandmother, Margaret Tudor. As long as Mary stays in Scotland, Elizabeth remains her most beloved cousin. She will not readily welcome the fugitive queen to her shores.”
“And none of it has anything to do wi’ us,” Annabella said. “Duin is safe, and nothing else matters.”
Both men chuckled. Annabella had become Duin’s greatest defender.
Several weeks later, in early June, a ship anchored in Duin’s cove. A messenger brought Angus Ferguson a letter. He read it and then announced, “I must go to France. The last of my mother’s family has died, and their lands are left to me. I dinna want lands in France, but it is required I appear in person to first claim them, in order to sell them to the neighbor who wishes to have them.”
“Could ye nae hae Jamie do it for ye?” Matthew asked. “Scotland is in such disorder right now I fear should ye leave us.”
“James is in Rome. It is quicker for me to go to France and return than to send to Rome so Jamie might go to France for me. It will nae take me long to complete this business. Besides, Matthew, ye are completely capable of managing in my absence,” the earl said. “The ship in the cove will take me, and when I have finished I will find the first vessel available to return me home via Leith.”
Matthew Ferguson did not look happy, but when he spoke with his own mother, she said, “The earl knows what must be done, and he will do it. His mother’s family had but one son. I do not believe he ever wed. The earl must claim those lands, even if he does not choose to retain them. I suspect it is the du Bottilier family who would have those lands. They are good folk.”
Annabella was not pleased that Angus would leave them. He came to her bed that night, climbing in and pulling her into his arms. “Why can ye nae send Matthew to act in yer stead?” she asked him as his lips brushed first her shoulder and then her neck.
“It would be considered boorish and an insult if I did nae go myself. This is a matter of respect and manners, as well as commerce,” he explained to her.
“Matthew is too hard a master,” Annabella said. “He dinna understand that ye rule here wi’ a firm hand but a kind heart. He believes he must be harsh in order to live up to yer expectations.” She snuggled closer to him.
“Woman, I dinna choose to speak on ordinary household matters now. I want to make love to ye,” he growled into her ear, then nipped at the lobe.
She felt a delicious shiver race down her backbone. Still, she protested softly, “But, Angus . . .”
He stopped her mouth with a long, hot kiss. “I will nae be gone long,” he said, and began to kiss her again.
She didn’t want to argue. His kisses were intoxicating. She kissed him back with equal passion. All would be well, Annabella decided. Matthew wouldn’t have enough time to irritate too many people. Annabella gave herself over to her husband’s hands and mouth with a gusty sigh.
Her perfect breasts had become even more perfect since the birth of the twins. They were rounder and firmer, especially since she had turned the bairns over to two wet nurses. He nuzzled at their nipples, and she murmured with pleasure. He licked at one, encircling the pert point with the tip of his tongue. Finally, unable to resist, his mouth closed over the nipple and he sucked hard.
“Ahhh,” Annabella sighed. “And ye would leave me bereft of such pleasures while ye cavort in France.”
He grinned. “Ye’ll appreciate me all the more then when I return home, lass.” He chuckled, lifting his head from her breast.
Wrapping her arms about him, she drew him down. “I’m filled wi’ fever for ye, my lord husband,” she told him provocatively, shifting so that he now lay between her thighs.
“Ye’re a bad wench,” he told her, sliding his big body so that he might bury his face in her and lick at her hidden treasures. He peeled her already moist nether lips open, his tongue homing in on that tempting little bit of flesh that seemed to beckon to him. He began licking at it, and when it had swollen itself, his lips closed around it so he might suck it hard. She cried out and her body shuddered. He sucked it again, twice, hard, in succession, and her body bucked beneath his mouth. He moved his head so that he might thrust his tongue into her pearl-dewed sheath, pushing it back and forth teasingly.