Bond of Passion (27 page)

“Ohhh, God!” Annabella half sobbed. “Dinna taunt me so, Angus!”

“Ye taste delicious,” he told her. “I want to recall the taste and scent of ye on my tongue and in my nostrils each time I think of ye while I am in France. It will but encourage me to hurry back home to ye, sweetheart.” Then he ceased his torture and, mounting her, thrust deep into her eager body.

She wrapped herself about him, clinging to him, her nails raking down his long back as he pleasured them both to extreme ecstasy. They slept briefly, and then made love again, Annabella riding her husband until he shouted with his delight, finally rolling her onto her back and fucking her until she too was screaming with pleasure. They fell asleep once again, his hand filled with one of her breasts as her delicious little bottom pressed into him.

When Annabella awoke he was gone. Instinct bade her rise and run to her windows. The vessel that had been anchored in Duin’s cove had hoisted its sails, and was even now sailing past the point into the open waters of the sea. She leaned upon the stone sill, watching it go, and wept, but there was no help for it. Her husband was on his way to France. He had to go, but Annabella could not evade a tiny curl of worry that settled in her heart and mind.

Angus had been gone a week when a troop of horsemen came down the road. Matthew had ordered the drawbridge kept up ever since his brother’s departure. The visitors were forced to stop at the edge of the cliff while the watch demanded their credentials and the man leading the troop demanded entry. Matthew was called for, and hurried to the parapet of the entrance.

“I am Matthew Ferguson, steward of Duin Castle, and half brother to the earl,” he called down. “Please identify yerself, and state yer business at Duin.”

“Why is yer drawbridge up?” demanded the unknown gentleman.

“We have been informed that there is civil war in the land,” Matthew said. “It is prudent to be cautious in such times.”

“I am Donal Stewart, sent by the Earl of Moray to Duin to speak wi’ the earl,” came the reply.

“My brother is away from Duin at this time,” Matthew responded.

“I will nae discuss my business wi’ Duin while standing outside of its gates, sir. We are but six men. I bid ye lay down the drawbridge and gie us entry.”

“Let him in, Matthew,” Annabella said, for she had followed him to the parapet to learn who their visitors were.

“We hae only his word for who he is, and from where he comes,” Matthew replied stubbornly. “I am responsible for the castle.”

“Lower the drawbridge,” Annabella repeated. “Do ye think six men can take the castle? Do ye wish to hae Duin incur the wrath of the Earl of Moray? If ye will nae admit Donal Stewart, I will gie the order to do so. Remember I am the lady here.”

“Lower the drawbridge,” Matthew said. He glared at her. “Remember yer place, Annabella,” he told her. “I am responsible for Duin in Angus’s absence.”

“Nay, Matthew, remember yers,” she snapped back. “I am the Countess of Duin.” Then, turning, she descended from the parapet and hurried down into the hall to greet her guest, arriving just a moment before he strode into the chamber, his men at his back. “Welcome to Duin, sir,” Annabella said. “I am the Countess of Duin. I regret that my husband is nae here at this time.” She signaled a servant to bring Donal Stewart wine.

He came forward, kissing the hand she offered him. Then he took the goblet the servant offered, swallowing half of it down, for his throat was parched. “Thank ye, madam,” he said. “I bring Duin greetings from the Earl of Moray.” She was a plain woman, but her manner was gracious, he thought. His master, who had sired him with a mistress, had sent him here after hearing several troubling reports. But this woman hardly looked like a rebel or a conspirator.

“Please seat yerself, sir, and if ye can, disclose the nature of yer visit to Duin,” Annabella invited him, noting that Matthew had now come into the hall. She waved him over. “This is Duin’s steward, Matthew Ferguson, who will sit wi’ us, sir, while ye tell me why ye are here.”

“There hae been reports that Duin hosted the escaped prisoner Mary Stuart, madam. My master, the Earl of Moray, is troubled by these reports, especially given that yer husband is known to have been a compatriot of the outlaw James Hepburn.” Donal Stewart sipped from his goblet, attempting to analyze her reaction.

“Why, sir, ’tis well-known here in the western borders that Angus Ferguson and James Hepburn were old friends from their boyhood. But the last time my husband saw Bothwell was before he wed the queen. He disapproved of such a union, and returned home before it was even celebrated. I am certain my lord of Moray knows that.”

“Did the queen come to Duin after her escape from Lochleven?” Donal Stewart asked her again.

“She did, but we were nae aware that she was an escaped prisoner,” Annabella said. “Ye see, here at Duin we are apt to learn news of import, if indeed we learn it at all, long after the fact. The queen stopped here briefly, nae more than three or four hours, before riding on. It was she who told us all that had happened in that past year, sir. We knew it not before her arrival. And then she was gone. Some in her small party wanted her to go to France, but she seemed determined to go over the border into England. How can she be our queen if she is in England, sir?” Annabella asked him ingenuously.

Matthew Ferguson held his breath, waiting to see if Donal Stewart believed her. It had never occurred to him that Annabella could be so clever. Did his brother know?

Donal Stewart listened. The plain-faced Countess of Duin spoke candidly and without hesitation. She was obviously hiding nothing. The dour steward by her side was silent, but his face showed no emotions, which it would have if the lady were lying. “Bothwell is outlawed, and imprisoned in Denmark,” Donal Stewart said. “Mary Stuart is gone into England, and it is her son, James the Sixth, who now sits on Scotland’s throne.”

“May the Lord have mercy on the wee laddie,” Annabella replied.

“The regent is James Stewart, Earl of Moray,” Donal Stewart informed her. “’Tis he who will act in his nephew’s best interests.”

“Of course he will,” Annabella responded. “How fortunate the little king is to hae him. The wee lad is wi’out mam or da, sister or brother. I hae a son and a daughter, sir.”

Then she gave him a smile. “If my simple explanations have relieved any concerns the regent might hae about Duin, I am glad. Ye will, of course, remain the night wi’ us, sir?”

“Gladly!” Donal Stewart told her. “We sleep rough when we travel in the service of the Earl of Moray. A hot meal and a good bed will be a welcome luxury, my lady.”

Annabella arose from her chair. “I will go and tell the cook,” she said with a curtsy to him.

“The Earl of Duin has obviously been blessed in his mate,” Donal Stewart noted. “She would appear to be a wise and prudent woman.”

“Aye,” Matthew Ferguson said, keeping his voice impartial. He was astounded by Annabella’s behavior. She had lied, to some extent, but Moray’s messenger had never suspected her at all, for her manner appeared to be open and frank. Annabella appeared to be a woman with absolutely nothing to hide. Nothing at all. He would have believed her himself had he not known better. At the high board later, he watched as Annabella drew from Donal Stewart the latest news.

The lords were taking sides, for while shocked by Mary Stuart’s behavior, many had disagreed with the harsh treatment that had been meted out to the queen. They saw her half brother’s actions for exactly what they were: a grab for power. The earls and the lairds were choosing sides. Those who supported Mary were called the Queen’s Men, and those who supported the regent Moray, who now spoke for his infant nephew, James, were known as the King’s Men
.

“I can certainly understand how difficult it has been for your master,” Annabella sympathized. “Born a king’s first bairn, yet nae a king himself. And so loyal to his sister, the queen.” She shook her head. “More wine, Donal Stewart? I would nae hae ye say that the hospitality at Duin was lacking.”

“Certainly nae lacking, my lady,” Donal Stewart said. His belly was full with well-cooked meat, fresh bread, and good cheese. “The English queen is a clever woman,” he told them. “She is calling together a conference to arbitrate between the warring parties. ’Tis to begin in October in York.”

“Can she do that?” Annabella wondered aloud.

“My master says that in times past, the first English Edward arbitrated a disputed succession when the little queen known as the Maid of Norway died,” Donal Stewart answered. “My master says ’tis bold of the English queen, but a fair solution.”

“I think that the English queen is very clever,” Annabella remarked, “for she can surely nae find for either side wi’out incurring the wrath of the other. An infant king of Scotland will keep Scotland minding its own affairs, and nae plaguing England.”

“How wise ye are, my lady,” Donal Stewart said admiringly.

Annabella smiled. “Ye flatter me, sir,” she told him. Then she rose from the high board. “If ye will excuse me,” she said, “I must attend to my bairns now. The steward will show ye yer place for the night. Yer men are welcome to sleep in one of the barns.” She curtsied, and was quickly gone.

He watched her go. “A fine woman, for all her lack of beauty. Yer earl is a fortunate man.”

“Aye, my brother treasures her greatly,” Matthew said.

“Yer brother?”

“Like ye, I was born on the other side of the blanket,” Matthew told him. “But our da valued all his bairns.”

“My father is the same way,” Donal Stewart responded, nodding. “Blood is the strongest tie. He never denied me, gave me the right to his name, and I am proud to serve him in whatever capacity I can.”

“They say ye Stewarts are warmhearted and hot-blooded,” Matthew said.

Donal Stewart chuckled. “’Tis true,” he admitted with a grin.

“Would ye like a bedmate tonight?” Matthew asked. “The bed space is more than big enough for two.”

“Aye, ’tis most hospitable of ye,” Donal Stewart said, well pleased. The little maidservant they sent was round, with sweet breath, and was very willing to accommodate his needs. He slept soundly after their romp. And he had learned where the earl was, which his master would find interesting.

In the morning the Countess of Duin was in the hall early to see that her guest and his men were well fed before sending them back to the Earl of Moray. Donal Stewart noted the two healthy bairns with their nursemaids crawling on clothes spread near one of the hearths. To his surprise he saw they were twins, a lad and a little lass. A trencher of bread was placed in front of him, and quickly filled with hot oat stirabout. A bowl of hard-cooked eggs and a platter with several rashers of bacon along with cheese and a fresh cottage loaf appeared.

“Ale, wine, or cider?” his hostess asked him.

“Ale,” he said, spooning the hot cereal into his mouth. It had bits of dried apple in it, and the heavy cream she poured onto it made it taste wonderful. “Where is yer husband, madam?” he asked her as he ate.

“In France,” she answered him without hesitation.

“Ye dinna tell me that last night,” he said.

“But, sir, ye never asked me,” Annabella replied.

“Why is he in France?” Donal Stewart persisted.

“His mam was French,” Annabella explained. “The last of her family hae died, and he hae inherited their lands. He must appear before a French magistrate in order to claim them and then sell them to a neighbor, for Angus hae no wish to hold lands in France. He says Duin is all he can manage.”

It was a reasonable explanation, and offered without any hesitancy. Still, he would add it to the report he was planning to give the Earl of Moray. One could never be certain where traitors lurked. Donal Stewart knew his father was not the most beloved of men.

Annabella walked with her guest to the courtyard, and ordered the drawbridge lowered so Donal Stewart and his party might depart. “Please tell the regent that Duin is and always hae been loyal to their king. May God go wi’ ye, Donal Stewart.”

“I shall give my master yer message, my lady, and tell him of yer kind hospitality, for which I thank ye,” he said. Then, turning his horse, he signaled his men and they rode forth from Duin. He wondered who had brought this isolated castle and its unimportant lord to Moray’s attention. But there were surely no traitors at Duin. Although the steward had been loath to allow them entry, the countess had not hesitated. He and his men had been well treated, and his questions had been answered to his satisfaction.

When they had cleared it the drawbridge was raised once again. Annabella turned to reenter her home. Angus would not be pleased when he learned of Donal Stewart’s visit. Who else had known that Mary Stuart had briefly stopped at Duin?

And why would they attempt to implicate the Fergusons in some unspoken plot? She wondered if they would ever know.