Bond of Passion (33 page)

“I know,” she said in a small voice, “but I couldn’t let ye walk into danger alone.”

“How did ye manage to get so far wi’out me discovering ye?” he asked her.

“I had to be very careful,” she admitted. “If ye had caught me before ye set sail, ye would hae found some way to send me home.”

“Aye, I would hae,” he agreed.

“I sailed on the
Gazelle
wi’ ye,” she told him.

“God’s blood! The young man who shared the cabin. How did I nae know ye then?” he wondered aloud.

“Ye spent all or most of yer time wi’ the captain, and I was very careful not to let ye see much of me,” she said with just a hint of pride in her voice. “And I followed ye to the livery in Brest, and the rest was easy. I noted those two villains following ye along the road yesterday. One was behind ye, the other behind me.”

“I expected something like this,” the earl told his wife, “but until we reach Mont de Devereaux and I speak to the magistrate, I cannot know for certain what is going on.”

“Ye canna send me back,” Annabella said.

“Nay, ye’re safer wi’ me, sweetheart, although ye will continue on wi’ yer disguise. However, tomorrow after we hae left here, ye will ride wi’ me,” Angus Ferguson told his wife. “And when we return to Duin, I will beat ye for yer disobedience.”

“Ye’ll hae to catch me first,” Annabella responded teasingly.

“I’ve caught ye now,” he said, pulling her into his lap.

Their lips met in a passionate kiss, her mouth opening to take in his tongue, which quickly found hers, stroking it, stoking their passions to a fiery crest. His fingers loosened the ties of her shirt, his hands slipping beneath the fabric to caress her perfect breasts. He shifted her body about so that he might lower his head to suckle on one of her tempting nipples already thrusting demandingly toward him. His lips closed over it.

Annabella moaned low as his mouth tugged on her sensitive flesh.
Mother of mercy!
They were in a public place. What if someone came and saw them? Then she realized she didn’t care. “I want more,” she husked in his ear.

He raised his head. “So do I,” he said. He tipped her out of his lap. “Undo yer breeks, lass, and bend over the table.”

She quickly complied, baring her bottom to him.

“Use yer hands to balance yerself,” he told her, and when she did he reached beneath her to find her little love button, which he teased and worried until she was wiggling her buttocks enthusiastically. She was already drenching his fingers with her juices. He carefully nosed his cock beneath her, finding her love passage to thrust deep.

“Ahhhhh!” Annabella sighed, feeling him fill her with his thickness.

Holding her steady with his big hands, he began to piston her, moving slowly at first, then more quickly, increasing the tempo and the friction. “Ye’re a shameless piece o’ goods, wife,” he growled in her ear. “I love fucking ye. I love the sounds ye make that tell me I’m pleasing ye.”

Her head was spinning with excitement and delight. Annabella pushed her bottom back into his groin, teasing him with the motion, tightening her sheath about him, making him groan with his own pleasure. “I love ye fucking me,” she admitted. “While I hae never known another man, I cannot believe any other could or would love me as well, Angus Ferguson.” She felt her crisis approaching, and knew he felt it too. When it burst over them they both sighed with equal amounts of pleasure and regret.

Withdrawing from her, he drew her breeks up and then, sitting down, pulled her back into his lap, his arms about her. They slept briefly, awakening just before the skies began to lighten. Annabella climbed from his lap and adjusted her garments. She picked up her cap from the floor where it had fallen, and, ascertaining that her plait was still tightly fastened to her head, put the cap on her head. And while she had made order from disorder, he did the same.

A servant stumbled into the room carrying an armload of wood, with which he made a new fire, the old one having burned into coals during the night. Another servant came in bringing a plate of eggs, bacon, bread, and butter. She plunked their plates before them, along with mugs of cider. Angus and Annabella ate at their separate tables, not speaking.

He finished his meal first, arose, paid the landlord, and went into the inn yard, where his horse was waiting. He then rode off. Annabella followed his lead, and found her husband awaiting her upon the road, out of sight of the inn.

It was sunny and hot as they rode along the road to Mont de Devereaux. They spoke little until he said, “We should reach the village by noon.”

“What will ye do then?” Annabella queried him.

“Find Monsieur Claude, if I can. We’ll go straight to my mother’s old château,” he said. “I sold my property to him, and not to the de Guise family. Why they would want a property in Brittany is beyond me. They are not Breton; nor should they have any use for such a property.”

“Hopefully we shall soon learn the reason,” Annabella said.

They arrived just after the noon hour at the village where Angus’s mother had been born and spent her childhood, even as he had predicted. The dusty streets were almost deserted in the late-summer heat but for a dog here and there. They stopped to water their horses at the village fountain, then rode on to the château, which lay on the far side of the village of Mont de Devereaux. The gates to the house were closed, but a gatekeeper came forth immediately.

“Is this the home of the son of Monsieur Claude?” the earl asked.

“Aye, my lord!” The gatekeeper pulled at his forelock, and then opened the gates to allow them entry. Two unarmed gentlemen did not present a threat.

They rode through, and up the wide tree-lined road leading to the château. When they reached the circular drive they stopped before the beautiful house. A liveried servant hurried out as two stablemen took their horses. He ushered them into the building.

“I am the Earl of Duin,” Angus said, “former owner of this property. I should like to see the son of Monsieur Claude.”

“Please to await Monsieur Raoul in the salon,” the servant replied, pointing to a double door. “I shall fetch my master at once.”

“Remain standing, and do not speak unless requested,” the earl said. “You are my servant. What did you call yourself when you paid your passage on the
Gazelle
?”

“Robert Hamilton,” Annabella said. Then they waited in silence.

M
onsieur Raoul entered, and Angus knew at once he was Monsieur Claude’s son, for he resembled his father most strongly.

“I am Angus Ferguson, the Earl of Duin,” Angus said before the young man might speak. “This château was my mother’s home, and I sold it several weeks ago to your father,” he began. “When I returned home I found myself accused of treason against my king, because it was said I had sold this house to the de Guise family, the kinsmen of our former queen. I am now believed to be in league with them to restore Mary Stuart to her throne. Do you have an explanation you can give me for this misunderstanding?”

“I do not, monsieur,” Monsieur Raoul replied, “but I am certain that my father will be able to enlighten you. I shall send for him at once!” Walking across the salon, he yanked impatiently upon the bell cord. “Send someone for my father,” he told the servant who came at his call. “Tell him it is urgent that he come immediately.” Then, turning back to his guests, he said, “We may as well sit, for my father will be napping at this time of day, and slow to rise. Will you have some wine?”

“Robert! Serve the wine,” the earl instructed Annabella.

“Aye, my lord,” she replied, striding over to the sideboard, whereupon a decanter and some small silver cups were set. She poured two cups, and then brought them to the waiting men.

“You may pour yourself some,” the earl said.

“You speak our language well and have a tone of Breton in your voice,” Monsieur Raoul noted.

“I learned the language at my mother’s knee,” the earl answered.

“Would it be so terrible if your rightful queen were restored?” Monsieur Raoul asked his guest, curious.

“It is the habit of the Fergusons of Duin not to involve themselves in politics. As you may know, the earls in my country are for the most part a contentious lot. We have not had a king reach old age in many years. The first James Stewart was assassinated, as was the third of that name. The second, the fourth, and the fifth James died fighting our mutual enemy, England. Only the first James was a man grown when he took his throne, but that was because on his way to safety in France as a child he was captured by English pirates, who sold him to their king. He did not return home until his late twenties. The power belonging to these child rulers is always usurped by the earls, most of whom are blood kin to the House of Stewart.

“Mary Stuart’s heart is good, but I tell you truly that the woman has absolutely no common sense,” Angus Ferguson said irritably. “Her choice of husbands, your own late king excepted, was abysmal. She is a woman ruled by her heart, which is not a wise trait in a queen. I am shocked and distressed by how she has been treated. But fleeing Scotland was her own choice. Her child is now crowned king, and while my sympathies may lie with Mary Stuart, my loyalty is to King James, child though he may be.”

“There is much sympathy for Mary Stuart here in France,” Monsieur Raoul said.

“She was well loved in her brief time as our queen.”

“She has great charm,” the earl agreed. He sipped slowly at the wine in his cup, thinking that it was a particularly good vintage.

Monsieur Raoul attempted to make more polite conversation. “Before you came to sell the château, had you come before, perhaps as a child?” he asked.

“
Non
,” the earl answered. “After she wed my father
Maman
never returned.” He concentrated on his wine once more. Where the hell was Monsieur Claude? he wondered.

He hadn’t made this desperate and swift journey from Scotland to pay a social call.

Silence fell upon the salon. Finally the door opened and Monsieur Pierre Claude hurried in. His son’s sigh of relief was hardly a quiet one. “Monsieur,” he greeted the earl. “I had scarce expected to see you again. What is this most urgent matter that I must be roused from my afternoon nap?”

“Did you or did you not purchase this château and its lands from me some weeks ago?” the Earl of Duin asked as he stood up.

“Of course I did,” Monsieur Claude responded.

“Then please tell me why the Earl of Moray, regent and guardian of King James, believes that I sold this property to the de Guise family. I have been accused of treason, of attempting to return Mary Stuart to the throne. How can this be if I sold you the property? Is it that you have some familial connection with the de Guises of which I was not aware? I have had to flee my country in an attempt to clear my name.”

Monsieur Claude looked so shocked by the earl’s words that Angus knew at once that whatever had happened, the Frenchman was totally innocent of any chicanery. “Monsieur, I have absolutely no idea of what has happened. Who would do such a thing? And why would they do it?”

“I have no idea as to the who or the why,” the earl answered.

“You find yourself in a very dangerous situation, monsieur,” Monsieur Claude agreed. “And you have a hidden enemy.”

“There were only three people involved with the sale of my mother’s lands. The magistrate, you, and me,” the earl noted.

“Do not forget the agent of the de Guise family,” Monsieur Claude reminded the earl. “I know for a fact that he did not leave the village for several days after our transaction was completed.”

“If you will give me your word that you had nothing to do with this deceit,” Angus Ferguson said, “then I will accept it. The magistrate must have the answer to this mystery. I shall go to him.”

“My lord!” Annabella spoke in their own tongue. “Our young host is nae comfortable wi’ this topic. I believe he knows something, and is afraid to speak. Ye must question him. Look! See how he turns his face away from his father and from ye.”

The earl nodded to her, and turned sharply to face Monsieur Raoul. “What do you really know of this situation?” he demanded. “You told me earlier that you had nothing to do with this matter. I believe now that you have lied to me.”

“
Raoul!
” His father spoke sharply. “What do you know of this?”

“I did nothing wrong,” the younger man said nervously. “A stranger, a man I did not know, came to me with a proposal. For my aid he would pay me in gold. But when I heard what he wanted, I refused. I did nothing wrong!”

“What did this man want?” the earl asked.

“He asked that I go with him to the magistrate and temporarily sign over these lands to the de Guise family. As soon as a bill of sale was drawn up, the lands would be returned to us, and I would get my gold,” Monsieur Raoul said. “But I didn’t do it.”