Bond of Passion (18 page)

“What did he do for her mother?” Darnley demanded to know.

“I was nae ever informed, for it was a private matter,” James Hep-burn lied. “I’m sure the queen will tell ye if ye ask, my lord. Dinna fret. She should not be long.”

But of course they were longer than suited the queen’s husband. When they had reached the small private chamber Mary invited both the earl and his wife to seat themselves near the blazing hearth with her. “Does yer wife know of your generosity to me, my lord?” Mary asked him.

“It was a private matter between yer late mother of blessed memory and myself,” the earl said, crossing himself.

The queen turned to Annabella. “Without yer husband I should not have had the wonderful childhood in France that I did,” she began. “I was not yet six when I departed Scotland for France. It was Angus Ferguson who saw that my household was furnished, my household servants and staff paid, my wardrobe and that of my four Marys supplied. Never once was I allowed to wear clothing that was too short or too small. Everything that I was garbed in was lavish and of the finest quality. I had jewelry and pocket money. I had the finest horses to ride and to hunt with, as well as a fine kennel of dogs. There was nothing I wanted that I was denied. My mother’s mind could be at peace where I was concerned, although the burden of Scotland fell upon her shoulders.”

“She carried that charge very well, madam,” the earl said to her. “Ye should be proud, but remember that I gained something in exchange.”

“A piece of parchment creating Duin an earldom,” the queen replied. “Parchment and ink in exchange for the devoted care ye saw I had, relieving my dearest mother of that worry. Ye had the lands, and ye had the gold. Ye paid dearly for that title.”

“It was my privilege, madam,” Angus responded quietly.

“My lord, I am curious,” the queen said. “There are rumors that yer family practices sorcery. Where does yer gold come from, and so much gold that it could support a queen for over ten years?”

“Madam, I will tell ye what even my wife has not known until now, but I would beg ye keep my secret,” Angus Ferguson said to the queen.

The queen reached into a deep pocket in her skirt and drew out her rosary. Holding it up she said, “I swear that I will keep the secret of your wealth, my lord, unto the grave itself.” She kissed the rosary’s small silver crucifix before slipping it back into her pocket. Then she looked to the Earl of Duin.

“My mother,” the earl began, “was a Frenchwoman, even as yer own mother. She had an older sister who was married into Spain to the Duke of Casarosa. Sadly, the children born of their union died either at birth or before they reached the age of five. They took a great interest in my brother James and my sister Mary. James now serves in Rome, as his monastery was confiscated recently. Mary, a sister of the order of St. Andrew’s, is now in a convent in Spain, as the nuns were driven from Scotland by Knox.”

“That damned man who claims to speak for God,” the queen said sarcastically.

Angus Ferguson chuckled, then continued with his tale. “My aunt and uncle died within a very short time of each other. Plague, I believe. It was then that I learned I had inherited the duke’s wealth. He had great interests in the New World, which are now mine. Two ships a year arrive at Duin to unload barrels of gold coins that have been minted in the Spanish colonies. Some of the gold I retain in my own storehouses. The rest I invest in the East Indies in spices and gemstones. I also export fine woolen cloth and whiskey. That is where my wealth springs from, Majesty. There is no sorcery involved in it at all.”

Queen Mary nodded her understanding. “There are always those anxious to defame others,” she said, “but why do the rumors of sorcery persist where Duin is concerned? There is always a soupçon of truth in rumors.”

He chuckled. “Several hundred years ago a laird of Duin was said to dabble in sorcery. He had a wife reputed to be a witch. Together they are said to have held back a terrible storm that raged across the sea in Ireland and was coming in our direction. It is said that the storm, in sight of Duin’s coastline, suddenly dissipated and was gone, sparing Scotland. That laird’s wife was also a great healer. So the legend began, and we have allowed it because we Fergusons of Duin are very private people. Because it is believed we are magical folk, we are given a very wide berth.”

“How clever!” The queen laughed, clapping her hands. “I wish I might do something like that and make most of the earls and their contentious lords disappear.”

“I think, madam, I should first make Master Knox disappear if I could,” Angus Ferguson said with a smile.

The queen laughed again and then turned her gaze on Annabella. “What is it like being married to such an amiable and clever man, madam?” she asked her.

“He is the best man in the world, to my mind, Majesty,” Annabella said. “I consider myself a fortunate woman. But Yer Majesty has greater good fortune in that she carries Scotland’s next king. May he be born safe and strong. I will pray for it.”

“Thank ye, my lady of Duin,” the queen said. “Perhaps ye will join me and my ladies during the next few days. Do ye play games?”

“I do, Majesty,” Annabella said, “and I am honored ye would accept me into yer circle of great ladies.”

The queen nodded graciously, then looked to Angus. “Duin, I have spoken much, but not yet said those simple words that can hardly serve for the great kindness ye did for me. Thank ye, my lord. Thank ye.”

“Madam, I would beg a simple boon of ye,” the earl said to her. “Tell no one of my part in yer childhood, for I would keep my wealth a secret. Wealth draws envy. My wife and I will shortly return home, where we live quietly. It is best that Duin be forgotten, and no one be drawn to it, for all our sakes.”

“I will keep the secret, but I must tell my husband something, else he grow suspicious,” the queen said.

“Tell him, then, that I arranged a loan for yer mother through my own French relations so ye might have the necessities when ye went to France,” the earl suggested.

“Aye, ye’re clever,” the queen replied. “I am glad Bothwell has ye, my lord of Duin. He has few real friends, but ye, I believe, will always be loyal to him.”

“I will, Majesty,” Angus said, “if for no other reason than the evenings we spent together roistering about Paris in our youth.”

“Ohh, I should have liked to have been with ye!” the queen exclaimed as there came a knock upon the door of the chamber. “Come!” she said.

A little page appeared. “The fireworks are scheduled to begin, madam, and the king would like ye by his side.”

“Of course,” Mary said, and she hurried out with the page.

“I thought Darnley was not king,” Annabella said, confused.

“She allows him to be called such, but he has not the crown matrimonial,” Angus explained. “Without that, he is not really king of anything. She does it, I suspect, to soothe his ego, but is clever enough to withhold it until he proves worthy, which he has not.”

“He is a pretty fellow,” Annabella said, “but he drinks too much. I watched him in the church, all proper and dutiful, but once he reached the high board he was swilling from his cup, which was being refilled quite often. He doesn’t look particularly intelligent, Angus. In fact, I think there is a sly look about him.”

“He’s ambitious without the intelligence to back it up,” the earl said. Then he asked her, “Were ye surprised to learn the source of my wealth, Annabella?”

“I will admit to wondering where yer gold came from, but I have seen no one taking coins from the air or spinning straw into gold at Duin. I might hae asked ye eventually, my lord, but I know the only sorcery about ye is that which ye weave about me, Angus,” Annabella told him.

He chuckled. “Ye flatter me, madam. ’Tis ye who have enchanted me.”

“I hae never seen fireworks,” she said blushing. “I dinna believe we are meant to remain in this wee chamber.” She took his hand, and together they went from the room, hurried to the hall, and took their places by the tall windows to watch the sparkling reds, blues, silvers, and golds of the exploding fireworks celebrating the marriage of James Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell, to Lady Jean Gordon, sister of the Earl of Huntley.

T
rue to her word, the queen welcomed Annabella into her small circle of ladies. The winter was bitter and long. The women spent their days sewing and gossiping, for the queen’s pregnancy kept them from other pursuits, such as riding, hunting, and hawking. Three of the queen’s Marys were still with her. The Italian secretary, Riccio, kept them amused, but the truth was that Annabella found the days boring.

It was obvious that the queen and her husband were not on particularly good terms. The more Annabella saw of Darnley, the less she understood why Mary had married him. True, he was handsome, and she heard that in days past he had been considered quite charming. She saw none of that charm, however. What she saw was an ignorant young man with a thirst for power, who, had he been actually made king, would not have been capable of ruling anything, as he was incapable of ruling even his own emotions. And he was jealous of his wife’s friendship with David Riccio.

Annabella didn’t think a great deal of the Italian either. He had charm, she was forced to admit, but no common sense. He delighted in being the queen’s favorite, and used his small position to flaunt himself before the rough and mostly dour powerful Scots lords. His manner of dress was fashionable to the nth degree but did little to alleviate the fact that he resembled a small and very self-important toad. But Mary was deeply fond of him, and foolishly overlooked his faults, for he amused her. And little else did these days.

Annabella’s days among the mighty were numbered now as March came. She and Angus would leave court by the middle of the month to return to Duin. Hopefully the weather would turn toward the spring by then. Two nights before they were to leave, she finally shared her happy secret with her husband. They lay abed after a particularly satisfying bout of passion. Cradled in his arms, she spoke softly.

“We will have an heir by Michaelmas, my lord. Does that please ye?”

At first he was not certain he had understood her, and then he said, “Ye’re with child?”

“Aye.” She snuggled closer to him.

“How long have ye known?” was his next question.

“It was Jean who told me, for I have never had a bairn.” Annabella attempted to conceal her sin.

“And when did Jean suggest to ye that ye were with bairn?” His voice had grown serious, and he moved to look into her face.

“J-just before we came to Edinburgh,” Annabella responded, and then continued in a rush, “but I didn’t want to tell ye, because then ye wouldn’t have come, and the invitation was from the queen herself, and I knew Bothwell wanted ye here too, Angus.”

“I see.” His voice was cold.

“I am not some fragile flower to be encased in cotton wool just because I am expecting a bairn,” Annabella defended herself. “Coming to court would nae harm the bairn at this stage, but it was important to ye and to Duin that we come.”

“’Twas a decision to be made by me,” he told her. “Ye’re carrying my heir.”

“Ye would have said nay, and then Bothwell would have been offended and, more important, the queen. And now we’re going home, so where is the harm in it?”

“Ye should have told me,” the earl insisted.

Annabella wanted to argue with him. She had never seen him so stubborn, but he had made his point. They would be leaving for Duin in just a few more days. Still, she could not help saying, “I did what I thought was best for ye, and for Duin, Angus.”

Angus Ferguson could not help laughing aloud. “Ye’re hardly a biddable woman, Annabella,” he told her. “Still, no harm is done, and I’ll find a comfortable vehicle for ye to travel home in. We’ll travel more slowly this time, but we’ll get there nonetheless.”

“I can ride,” she said. “And I want to get home quickly. Did I not promise my sister Agnes that she could come and stay wi’ us this summer? She will be good company for me. I am looking forward to seeing her. I want Matthew to go and fetch her from Rath.”

“Ye’ll travel home in a padded cart, madam,” her husband told her. “And ye’ll nae ride again until after the bairn is birthed.”

Annabella was silent now. There was no use arguing with this man. She was doomed to a boring trip. They would not stop at Rath this time, but go straight west from Edinburgh across Scotland and then south. “Aye, my lord,” she muttered dutifully.

Angus chuckled. He knew how much that murmur of obedience cost her, for Annabella was a proud woman, and every bit as stubborn as he was himself. Stroking her sable head, he bent and kissed it. “There’s my good lass,” the earl said.

The next day, their last in Edinburgh, the Countess of Duin was invited to Holyrood in late afternoon to say her farewells to the queen. Annabella was surprised as she dismounted in the courtyard of the palace to see old Patrick Ruthven, Lord Ruthven. When their eyes met briefly he quickly ducked from her view.
What a pity
, Annabella thought.
I had heard he was on his deathbed. His death would have been a great relief to the queen, for he is not an easy man, and has made difficulties for her.
Then with a shrug she made her way to the queen’s private apartments.