Bond of Passion Read online

  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.

  “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.”