Bond of Passion Read online

  Angus roared in reply as his love juices burst forth in a torrent of excess. For a few moments he remained buried within her, unable to withdraw, for she was so delicious. Finally he withdrew his temporarily appeased manhood from her momentarily gratified body. “Are ye content for the moment, ye lustful vixen?” he asked, smiling down at her.

  “Aye, for the moment,” she teased back. Then she said, “Do ye think we’ve made another bairn, Angus?”

  “There is time for us,” he answered.

  “Nay, I have nae done my duty by ye or by Duin until I have given ye an heir. I wonder if the child I lost was a lad or a lass,” Annabella said. “I have often wondered.”

  “Get under the coverlet,” he said, and he joined her. “Dinna think of it, sweetheart. God will provide us with an heir when the time is right.” His arms went about her, and he stroked her head comfortingly.

  Ohh, she loved him! She had never thought it of herself that she could fall in love with a man who didn’t admit to loving her. But why on earth was she complaining? Annabella considered, as she drifted into sleep. Angus Ferguson was a good husband.

  He kept no mistress and treated her with kindness and respect. But she loved him. She wanted him to love her. Could he love at all? Could he love her? Ever?

  It was October when word finally reached Duin that the queen had been delivered on the nineteenth of June of a fair son who was to be called James, and would be the sixth of his name. But the queen remained estranged from her son’s father. Though he had been cleared of any culpability in the murder of David Riccio, Mary had come to despise the degenerate drunk Henry, Lord Darnley, had become.

  “Poor lady,” Annabella said.

  “She wed him willingly,” Agnes replied.

  “What a hard-hearted little minx ye are,” Matthew Ferguson remarked.

  “Well, she did,” Agnes retorted. “No one wanted her to wed him, but she insisted. Now she has discovered the truth of what he is, which her advisers saw beforehand. Didn’t Lord Bothwell say it the last time he visited?”

  “She was in love,” Annabella told her sister. “A woman in love sometimes makes foolish choices.”

  “Which is as good a reason as I can think of for this nebulous thing they call love having naught to do with marriage,” Agnes said. “Marriage has always been a practical matter between families, and so it should remain. The queen will have Darnley for a husband until death parts them.”

  “He’ll drink himself to death sooner rather than later,” the earl said. “And Bothwell says he is riddled wi’ the pox.”

  “He is one to talk, considering his amours,” Agnes said boldly.

  “Aggie!” Annabella was shocked. “James Hepburn is a fine gentleman, and a close friend of this family. It does not become ye to repeat the tittle-tattle ye have heard from the servants, who no doubt tittle-tattle about ye. Perhaps ye should return home to Rath, for it would seem the freedoms we have allowed ye here at Duin have gone to yer head,” the countess said sternly.

  “Ohh, dinna send me back to Rath!” Agnes Baird pleaded with her sister. “I couldn’t bear it, Annabella. It is so dull there, and our parents will be seeking to find a suitable husband for me. Robbie will nae chose a wife for himself until we are all wed, and Da grows anxious for another heir for Rath.”

  “Well . . .” Annabella pretended to consider.

  “Send the troublesome chatterbox back,” Matthew said mischievously.

  Agnes turned on him furiously. “Oh! Ye!” she sputtered. “Ye’re only saying that to irritate me.”

  “Please tell me that I have succeeded,” he teased her.

  “Why do ye persist in being mean to me when I can see that ye’d rather kiss me?” Agnes taunted him. “Why don’t ye?”

  Matthew Ferguson blushed bright red. Her instincts were correct, although he was not of a mind to admit to it yet. What if he did and she mocked him, as she was teasingly doing now? “Ye’re not old enough to be kissed,” he said loftily.

  “Hah!” Agnes countered. “I’ll be sixteen in December!”

  “Enough,” Annabella said quietly. “Behave yerself, Aggie, and ye may remain at Duin. Matthew, stop baiting her. My sister is nae too young to be kissed, but ye are too old to tease her in such a manner.”

  Watching her gently chastise their siblings, Angus Ferguson grinned. What a woman she was, his Annabella!

  October was gone with its grouse hunting. November came, and the pigs were slaughtered for the winter, save a few. Then it was December, and they celebrated Agnes Baird’s sixteenth birthday on the feast of Saint Nicholas, which fell on the sixth day of the month. Matthew Ferguson pulled her into a dark corner later, and gave Agnes her first kiss. She surprised him by kissing him back. January came, and then the short month of February.

  It was at the end of that month that Bothwell appeared briefly at Duin. Closeted with Angus Ferguson in the earl’s privy chamber, he said without preamble, “Ye must nae be the last to know. Darnley is dead. Murdered. And there are those who would lay the blame at my door, but I swear to ye that I dinna do it.”

  “Do ye know who did?” Angus asked his friend, pouring them two dram cups of his own smoky whiskey. He handed one to Bothwell. “And how?”

  “I suspect Moray and Maitland had a hand in it. The queen’s half brother did his usual disappearing act before it happened, a sure sign that he was involved,” James Hepburn said dryly. “The queen had gone to the wedding of one of her servants. I was there too. We had visited Darnley earlier, for she will nae have him in the same house wi’ her any longer, and he has nae been well. He was lodged at Kirk o’ Field house. Someone filled the cellar wi’ gunpowder and blew it to smithereens. They found Darnley and his servant in the orchard garden. The servant had his throat cut, but it appeared as if someone had strangled Darnley as he fled.”

  “Jesu!” Angus Ferguson swore softly. “And the queen?”

  “Shocked and saddened, and totally unaware of how Darnley’s murder can be used against her,” James Hepburn replied. “Now that there is a male heir, they have decided to make her unessential. But they can’t dispense wi’ her as long as I am there to protect her, and I will be until my death.”

  “The prince?”

  “She put him wi’ John Erskine, the Earl of Mar. They are housed at Stirling. They won’t harm the bairn. ’Tis Mary they would be rid of, Angus,” Bothwell said.

  “Ye must first defend yerself, James,” the Earl of Duin advised. “Ye canna help her if they tangle ye up in legalities. Maitland, for all his qualities as a good servant, would be the queen’s only trusted adviser, as Cecil is to Elizabeth. He is clever enough to manage Moray, but ye are a different animal. Ye’re in love wi’ her, and our queen hae not Elizabeth Tudor’s knack for survival. She is ruled by her heart, and she trusts too freely.”

  James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, flushed at Angus Ferguson’s suggestion that he loved the queen. He did love her. He had ever since he had met her at the French court years earlier. But a Hepburn would never be considered worthy of Mary Stuart. He might be a man in love, but he was not a fool. “I have to protect her,” he said. “My honor will nae allow me to do otherwise, Angus.”

  “Then first make certain they affix the blame for this murder on someone else, James. Whatever happens, I am yer friend and yer ally,” the Earl of Duin said quietly. “As ye will nae desert the queen, I will nae desert either of ye. I will keep the faith.”

  Bothwell swallowed down the remainder of the whiskey in his dram cup in order to have time to regain control of his emotions. Finally he said, “I am grateful, Angus, for I know how much ye Fergusons of Duin prize your anonymity.”

  “Send a messenger to me with updates of what is happening, so I may be prepared for whatever comes,” Angus told his friend.

  Bothwell nodded, and then with the Earl of Duin by his side, took the offer of a fresh horse, departing to return to Edinburgh.

  “What did he want?” Matthew Ferguson asked his brot
her afterward.

  Angus shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “He just came to bring me word that Darnley has been murdered.”

  “Did he do it?” Matthew asked.

  “Nay.”

  “Ye believe him?”

  “I have known James Hepburn since we were wee lads. Is he capable of killing? Aye, he is. They want to blame him, for he is the queen’s best defense.”

  “We should nae be involved in these matters,” Matthew said.

  “I agree,” Angus replied. “But James Hepburn is my friend. Remember that, little brother. I dinna gie my friendship lightly, but I will also protect Duin.”

  Annabella agreed with both her husband and with Matthew. A close friendship must not be betrayed, but neither must Duin be put in any danger. She was glad to be an unimportant woman married to an unimportant border lord. She had seen what power and the desire for ultimate power could do the night she had witnessed the murder of David Riccio. She felt great sympathy for her queen. Few women had her strength of character, or were capable of ruling over a land constantly fought over by a group of contentious lords and their families.

  The queen’s cousin, Elizabeth Tudor, had learned the lessons of survival well in her difficult childhood. Mary, however, had been cosseted and pampered at every turn. She had been wise enough upon her return to Scotland to seek good counsel from her half brother, James Stewart, whom she had created Earl of Moray; and from William Maitland, whom she had made her secretary of state; but when her desires conflicted with that counsel, trouble was certain to ensue. Annabella wondered whether that trouble would now overwhelm Mary Stuart, and lead to her eventual downfall. Only time would reveal the answer to her question.

  Chapter 9

  True to his word, James Hepburn kept his friend Angus Ferguson fully informed of what was happening in Edinburgh with regard to the matter of Lord Darnley’s murder. Although Mary had never formally given him the crown matrimonial, she had allowed him to style himself king. He was buried with royal pomp and Roman Catholic rites and interred at Holyrood in a grave next to King James V. Mary had gone into official mourning, but after a few days had departed Edinburgh to mourn more privately by the sea.

  No sooner had the queen departed than men holding up scandalously painted posters had begun to travel the streets of the city, crying that Bothwell had killed the queen’s husband—that the queen was in league with him in the murder. Darnley’s father, the Earl of Lennox, demanded that a trial be held to determine the murderer of his son. The queen was informed of all of this at her seaside residence. Finally there was no other solution than to try Bothwell to determine his guilt or his innocence in the matter, and silence the rumors.

  On April twelfth the trial was held at the Tolbooth in Edinburgh before a panel of Bothwell’s peers. It was noted that James Stewart, the Earl of Moray, was absent from the proceedings. The trial began at ten in the morning, and lasted until seven o’clock of the evening. As no formal charges had ever been filed in the matter, and there was no evidence produced connecting Bothwell with the murder, the Earl of Argyll, who was the presiding judge, acquitted James Hepburn of any complicity in the murder of Henry, Lord Darnley. The court then adjourned to a nearby tavern, where the innocent man treated everyone to a good supper.

  “God’s blood!” Matthew Ferguson swore. “Is there a bolder man in the borders?”

  Angus laughed. “Nay, I do not believe there is,” he agreed. “Nor on this earth.”

  “The matter is settled then, and perhaps Duin can now concentrate on its own business, and not Bothwell’s,” Matthew said.

  “Why is yer brother so hostile to James Hepburn?” Annabella asked her husband afterward, when they walked in the castle’s gardens. The gardens overlooked the sea.

  “He doesn’t know James as well as I do,” Angus said. “James’s father, Patrick Hepburn, defected to England, casting shame upon the family name. Some say Patrick did it because Marie de Guise, whom he loved, refused his suit. Of course, Marie forgave him and pardoned him so he could return, but James never forgot the betrayal. He has spent much of his life proving the loyalty of the Hepburns to the royal Stewarts.”

  “I think his care of the queen is because he loves her,” Annabella said quietly.

  “Aye, he has told me so,” her husband admitted.

  “Matthew fears your friendship and loyalty to Bothwell could endanger Duin, doesn’t he?” Annabella said. “He may be correct, Angus.”

  “It’s over now,” the Earl of Duin told his wife. “James is acquitted of Darnley’s murder, and my need to go to Bothwell’s aid no longer exists.” He put an arm about Annabella as they looked out over the blazing sun sinking slowly into the sea.

  But it was not over. Another messenger came from James Hepburn to Angus Ferguson, asking the earl to join him with a small force of his clansmen at Dunbar Castle.

  The Earl of Duin did not hesitate, for his loyalty to his old friend was yet great. He rode out the next morning with fifty men. Matthew Ferguson was beside himself with worry.

  “What mischief is Bothwell up to now that he needs to drag Angus into it?” he said.

  Annabella was as worried as Matthew was, but she soothed him, saying, “Dinna fret, brother. Bothwell will nae put Angus in danger.” Please God he wouldn’t, for she was certain she was with child again.

  It was a beautiful spring. The trees bloomed and leafed. The hillsides were covered with flowers. She, Jean, and Agnes walked out together most afternoons. It was during one of these walks that she told her sister and Jean that she was now certain she was enceinte. “The bairn should come before year’s end,” she said.

  “Then I shall remain at Duin,” Agnes said. “Ye’ll need my company now more than ever.”

  Jean smiled to herself. Agnes Baird had been at Duin for a year now. She would never leave Duin, especially if Matthew had anything to say about it. Matthew was in love with Agnes, but Agnes was proving a difficult girl to court. Unless Matthew soon took the initiative, they would spend the rest of their lives sparring with words instead of kisses, Jean thought. “We should tell Matthew about the bairn,” she said. “He’ll be relieved to know there will soon be an heir of Duin.”

  Annabella laughed. “At least he’s stopped fussing at me about it,” she said. “Aye, let’s tell him. Perhaps it will lighten his spirits, for he worries that we have nae heard from Angus. I worry too.”

  Her news did please her husband’s brother, and it was followed by a messenger from Angus Ferguson. They gathered in the hall that evening so Annabella might read aloud to them the letter she had received from her husband. Seated at the high board, the Countess of Duin unfolded the parchment written in his own hand and began to speak.

  “ ‘My good wife, may God have mercy on us all, and upon Scotland. We reached Dunbar, traveling with all due haste, to learn that Bothwell had kidnapped the queen.’ ”

  Those listening gasped with shock.

  “ ‘They spent several long days and nights locked together in a tower,’ ” Annabella continued, “ ‘and we have now traveled on into Edinburgh, where Bothwell will be granted a divorce from Jean Gordon so he may then wed the queen. They are openly and desperately in love. There is no reasoning with them. I will attempt to make James understand that while my friendship for him remains, I can no longer endanger the Fergusons of Duin by being a public party to this event. The earls are now dividing themselves into two parties that are called the Queen’s Men and the Prince’s Men. Moray is not, as ye may well imagine, among his sister’s adherents. There is certain to be civil war. Look for me to return to Duin as quickly as I can. Your loving husband, Angus Ferguson, Earl of Duin.’ ”

  The hall was silent as Annabella laid the parchment upon the table and, reaching for her cup, quaffed the remaining wine in it. “That is all,” she said to those who had been listening. “I hope ye will all pray for Scotland this night,” she told them.

  “Madness!” Matthew Ferguson muttered. “And he ha
s involved Angus.”

  “He has involved others as well,” Annabella said in an attempt to calm Matthew.

  “The others, I wager, are more important, more powerful names, who cannot be punished. We are nae important,” Matthew responded.

  “Neither Angus nor the Fergusons of Duin were among the kidnappers. Angus was called to Dunbar after the fact. He is leaving before the marriage is celebrated. His friendship can be taken only so far, even by James Hepburn. His loyalty to Duin is greater than anything else,” Annabella told him. “He will come in just a few more days.”

  And he did. The messenger had preceded his master by only two days. Angus Ferguson, however, was grim faced at his arrival. He climbed wearily from his stallion, flinging the reins to a stable lad, and, putting an arm about Annabella, kissed her hard. Reaching up, she caressed his grimy cheek silently. Their eyes met in understanding.

  “My lord must bathe and eat,” the Countess of Duin dictated. “Then he will tell us everything.” Without another word she led him into the castle and upstairs to his apartments, where menservants were already seeing that the bathing room tub was filled with steaming water, and feeding the small raised hearth so that the chamber remained warm. Annabella undressed her husband, and as the servants exited she helped him into the stone tub.

  Angus closed his eyes briefly and emitted a deep sigh as the hot water sank into his tired body. He opened them as Annabella stroked a wet cloth over his face.

  “Ye look exhausted,” she said, meeting his gaze.

  “I am. Once I had spoken with James I did not delay in departing Edinburgh,” he said. “God’s blood, sweetheart, this time he has overreached himself. They won’t be satisfied until they have slain him or driven him from Scotland for good and all.”

  “He understood why ye had to leave him?” Angus was probably correct in his assessment of the situation, but Bothwell had always been clever at wriggling out of tough situations. It was entirely possible he could outride this storm, and if he did she did not want the Fergusons of Duin on his bad side.