“Aye, he does,” Jean replied, “but it is also past time he took a wife. He has no legitimate heirs. He did not obtain the earldom to have it expire on his death. My brother wants to found a dynasty, and he needs a wife to do it.”
“He’s being forced to the altar,” Annabella said softly. “I hope he will not hate me for it.”
Jean laughed. “All men are forced to the altar, my lady. Few go willingly. Marriage is about gold, land, and power. These are the things that make a family strong.”
“He will certainly be disappointed in me, for I have no beauty,” Annabella said bleakly. “I have never before wished for my sisters’ beauty, but I do now.”
“Aye,” Jean said candidly. “Ye’re plain. There’s nae denying it. But ye’re nae ugly. Yer features are neat. Yer skin is clear, and”—she reached out to catch a length of Annabella’s sable hair between her fingers—“yer hair is glorious. My brother has been told of yer deficiencies, and did nae object.”
Annabella didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at this bit of information, but then her father called her to come to the high board. She rose and hurried to his side.
“Look here in the marriage contract,” the laird of Rath said, pointing. “Here is where it is acknowledged that ye possess ten unclipped gold coins, and that they are yers in perpetuity to do with as ye will.”
Annabella’s gray eyes scanned the parchment. “Aye, Da, I see the clause. Thank ye for that.”
“Ye read, my lady?” James Ferguson asked her.
“Aye, sir. I read, I write, and I have been taught to work simple numbers,” Annabella admitted to the priest, hoping the earl would not disapprove of her knowledge. I need no more deficiencies, she thought.
Well, well, well, Matthew Ferguson considered. Perhaps there is hope for the lass after all. She does not appear unintelligent, and with these small skills may be of use to us in more than just her ability to breed. ’Tis all to the good. Angus should be pleased.
“Are the contracts to yer satisfaction, my lord?” James Ferguson asked politely.
“They are,” Robert Baird said. “Everything is as it should be.”
“Since all has met wi’ yer approval,” James responded, “let us sign the contracts now, and when that is done I will perform the ceremony.” He looked to Annabella. “Ye will want to sign for yerself, my lady. There are three copies: one for yer father, one for the earl, and the third will be kept by the church.”
“They must be wed in the Reformed kirk as well,” the laird of Rath said. “I want no one doubting my daughter’s status, nor that of her bairns. While the old Church may recognize only its own rites, it is no longer legal in Scotland.”
James Ferguson sighed. While the queen might proclaim religious tolerance, John Knox and his ilk had made the new kirk the law of the land. “My brother understands this, my lord. Lady Annabella will be wed at Duin in the Reformed kirk. My brother wishes no disputes over his marriage either, which is why he sent a proxy to Rath rather than come himself. This way his own people can proclaim the marriage legitimate under the laws of Scotland, having seen it performed at Duin kirk with their own eyes.”
Robert Baird nodded, satisfied. While he found John Knox’s lack of tolerance for the Catholic Church objectionable, the Reformed Church appealed more to him and his kin.
The lady Anne now reentered the hall in the company of her three younger daughters. The lasses curtsied prettily as they were introduced to the three Fergusons.
Myrna flirted with the two men, unaware at first that James was a priest. Sorcha giggled nervously, as was her habit when faced with young men.
But it was fourteen-year-old Agnes who caught Matthew Ferguson’s eye. He thought her utterly adorable and lively. She was almost ready for marriage, but not quite. Yet in another year or two, he might very well come courting the lass. She had to notice his interest, but if she did she gave no indication of it at all. Matthew didn’t know whether he should be amused or offended. The lass obviously had spirit.
The women waited patiently as the contracts were signed. A fresh quill with its sharpened point was inked and handed to Annabella. She signed each copy in a neat, legible hand. Her father also signed, as did Matthew Ferguson, both as witnesses. Then James Ferguson carefully sanded each signature so that it would not smudge, but dry easily. Annabella noted that the Earl of Duin had already signed the contracts before sending them off to her father. His signature was a strong if impatient one. He was obviously doing what he had to do, she thought. Taking a wife was a duty for him.
Annabella felt another flutter of worry, but she was not allowed any time for her fears to build up. With her family and her servants about her, and Matthew Ferguson standing by her side as proxy for his older brother, Annabella Baird was married to Angus Ferguson by the local pastor of the Reformed kirk without any further delay. James, however, pronounced the blessing himself. Her mother had been correct, the bride realized sadly. Marriage was not about romantic love. Did romantic love even exist?
Marriage was all about alliances and trade. Daughters had no other use than that. Whether a union was between a man and a woman, or a woman and the old Church, daughters were born for this sole purpose. The Fergusons had accepted her as the earl’s bride in exchange for a piece of land. She would be expected to produce bairns for her new family. Sons, preferably. There was nothing more to it. And she could hardly consider herself abused for having just been wed to a wealthy nobleman. She found she was suddenly eager to meet this mysterious man and learn the truth of him herself.
As Annabella, Countess of Duin, she now presided over the high board with a smile, seated in the place of honor at her wedding feast. While her father’s table was usually simple, with one or two dishes and bread and cheese, today was different. There was broiled trout and poached salmon set upon beds of green cress. A large roast of beef had been packed in rock salt, roasted, and set upon the board, along with sliced venison, goose stuffed with apples, and a large pie filled with game birds and topped with a flaky crust. There was a potage of vegetables, a rabbit stew, fresh bread, butter, and a small wheel of hard yellow cheese. Cider, ale, and wine were for drinking. And finally, a large dish of poached pears in marsala wine completed the meal.
The Baird’s piper, along with the two Ferguson pipers, entertained them after the meal had been cleared away and the trestles below the board set to one side of the hall. Jean and Matthew Ferguson sang several songs, delighting the Bairds, for their voices were particularly sweet. In exchange, the four sisters danced together most gracefully for the small gathering.
Outside the tower house, the last sunset of September blazed across the border skies, and night came. The Ferguson men-at-arms had encamped outside of the house. It was not cold yet, but two fires burned to take the chill away. Matthew and James joined them, understanding that such a small dwelling as Rath could not hold much company. Jean Ferguson was settled comfortably into one of the two bed spaces in the hall near the great hearth. The laird and his wife went to their bed. And in their small bedchamber, the four sisters huddled together in their large bed, chattering softly.
“Well,” Myrna said, “I suppose Mama has told ye everything you need know.”
“Enough to get me started,” Annabella admitted. “She said it isn’t wise for a virgin to be too knowledgeable. We spoke of other things.”
“There’s nothing to it,” Myrna informed her, sounding more knowing than she should, Annabella thought. “All you have to do is lie on yer back, open yer legs, and he’ll do all the rest.”
“Not at all like the bull and cow,” Annabella teased.
Sorcha giggled. Agnes was silent but alert with her curiosity.
“Nay,” Myrna replied with a chortle. “All ye have to do is lie upon yer back, and he’ll put his cock into ye,” she repeated. “We have a wee opening in our bodies for it.”
“And how is it that ye’re so well-informed?” Agnes demanded to know.
Myrna flu
shed with guilt, saying, “Ian Melville told me. After all, we will be wed before the snow flies, now that Annabella is married.”
“Be careful, sister,” the new bride said softly to her sister.
“Ye let Ian Melville speak of such things to ye?” Agnes was shocked. “I don’t think Mam would approve, nor our da.” Then she said, “Ye let him touch ye too, didn’t ye?”
Sorcha giggled again, for she knew the truth of her sister’s involvement with her laddie. They had best be wed soon, she thought, for their games out on the moor could prove dangerous sooner rather than later.
Myrna said nothing in reply to her youngest sister.
“Ye’ll all have more room in the bed once I’ve gone, and then Myrna,” Annabella said in an effort to turn the conversation from the present subject. Aggie was curious, for the lads were beginning to flock about her. She was enjoying their attention, but Annabella didn’t want her bartering her chastity, as she suspected Myrna had already done. She would speak to her before she departed on the morrow. “I think it’s time for us to sleep now, sister,” she said. “The Fergusons have informed me that we will depart as soon as it is light. We have several long days’ journeying ahead of us.”
“Aye,” Myrna agreed, realizing that she had perhaps revealed a little too much knowledge of her relationship with Ian Melville. Aggie was not above telling tales. “I’ll miss ye, Annabella,” she said.
“I also,” Sorcha added.
Agnes began to cry.
Laughing softly, Annabella drew her little sister into her warm embrace, smoothing her cheek with a loving hand. “Remember that ye’re coming to visit me next summer, Aggie,” she reminded her. “Now go to sleep, my bairn.” Then she began to hum an old lullaby that she had hummed to Agnes when the lass became too large for her cradle and had been put into the big bed with her three older sisters. Agnes relaxed in her sister’s arms, and shortly after, all four Baird sisters were sleeping soundly.
Chapter 3
The first day of October dawned chill and gray. Annabella was up before the first light began to dapple the sky. She had not slept as well as she might have, being anxious and nervous about what lay ahead. Her three sisters were snoring softly, burrowed beneath the down quilt. Using the night jar she pulled from beneath the bed, she set it aside. Then, pouring some water into the pewter basin, she quickly washed. The water was icy cold and drove any thoughts of sleep from her.
She had laid her clothing out the night before on a chest at the foot of the bed. Capable of riding astride, she had taken Jean Ferguson’s suggestion from the evening before, and dressed warmly. She tucked her chemise into a pair of woolen breeks, pulling on thick wool socks to wear beneath her worn leather boots. She put on a light wool undervest lined in sheepskin, then a linen shirt over it, followed by her doeskin jerkin with sleeves lined in lamb’s wool. Unless it rained, she wouldn’t need a cloak.
When Annabella had dressed, she stopped to look slowly about her. This was her bedchamber. The only one she had ever had. High in Rath Tower, she had slept here her entire life. It was a simple room, modest in size, just large enough to hold the big bed and four little wooden trunks holding each sister’s personal possessions. Her trunk was now packed into a cart to depart for her new home.
She couldn’t help the little sigh that escaped her, along with the thought that she wished her new home were closer to her old home. At least her sisters would have that advantage, even if she didn’t. She considered waking her siblings but decided against it. It was far earlier than their usual rising hour. Myrna would complain. Sorcha would giggle sleepily, for she was always the hardest to wake. It was unlikely she would even recall saying farewell. And little Aggie would weep, for she was such a tender creature, and as the baby of the family had long ago learned that crying gained her the most attention. Annabella looked down at them, smiling. They were so damned beautiful.
“Farewell, my dearies,” she whispered softly to them. Then she left the bedchamber, descending into the hall through her brother’s chamber, and then their parents’ chamber.
Pale light was beginning to show through the hall’s two windows. The servants were already bringing in bread trenchers of oat stirabout to the high board, where the three Fergusons sat with her brother, Rob, and their parents. The trestles were filled with men-at-arms eating fresh-baked bread, cheese, and the cold meats left over from yesterday’s bridal banquet. She greeted the others at the high board as she took her place. There was virtually no conversation in the hall.
Annabella spooned up her oat stirabout, noting that the cook had added bits of dry apple to the mixture. She must remember that, she thought, as she poured a large dollop of cream onto the hot cereal. Then, knowing her day would be a long one, she took advantage of the unusually large meal, for breakfast at Rath was never quite as lavish as it was today. There were eggs poached in heavy cream and dill, along with rashers of bacon. Annabella helped herself and ate heartily, adding bread, butter, and cheese along with a cup of cider. She ate quickly, watching the Fergusons as she did. She would not be the cause of any delay, but the Fergusons were also eating vigorously.
When the meal was over, Annabella and Jean Ferguson retired to see to their personal needs before the departure. Now, in the little courtyard, the bride looked about her, experiencing a brief moment of panic. Suddenly she didn’t want to leave Rath. She would rather die unmarried, a virgin, than leave her home for a stranger’s house. Nay. Castle. What did she know of living in a castle?
But then, seeing her mother struggling to hold back her own tears, Annabella gained a mastery of her own emotions. She had made a brilliant marriage for the daughter of an unimportant tower laird. Especially considering her lack of beauty. How ungrateful would it be to fling this good fortune away? She stepped into her mother’s embrace, accepting her kisses and kissing her back.
“Now, Mama,” she gently scolded her parent. “Dinna be like our poor Aggie, who weeps at any- and everything. I am going to my husband. All is as it should be.”
“I know, I know,” the lady Anne murmured. “Ye’re the Countess of Duin now. I am both proud and happy. I could but wish ye were nearer, my daughter.”
Now her father was taking her by her shoulders. He kissed her on both cheeks and nodded silently. Annabella was surprised, for she had never known Robert Baird to be at a loss for words. Rob hugged her, whispering in her ear that if she ever needed him, she was to send a messenger to him with the little ring he now fitted on the littlest finger of her right hand. Annabella blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes and nodded at him. Her farewells were now finished.
Jean Ferguson quickly led her brother’s bride to the waiting white mare before the family could grow any more maudlin. “This is the earl’s first gift to you,” Jean said.
“What is she called?” Annabella asked as she easily mounted the beast.
“The earl said ye were to name her,” Jean replied.
“Then I shall call her Snow,” Annabella said. “She is quite pristine, and shows no color at all.” She turned in her saddle as the others mounted up. Raising her gloved hand, she bade her family a final farewell. It was instinct that made her lift her eyes to the top of Rath Tower, where her three beautiful sisters now stood upon the rooftop, waving to her and clinging to one another. She could clearly make out Aggie’s little woebegone face. Annabella smiled up at them and waved back.
“Are ye ready, my lady?” Matthew Ferguson asked her.
“Aye, I’m ready,” Annabella responded, looking forward over the mare’s head now as she urged the animal onward.
Given the signal to move out, the large mounted party led by the two Ferguson pipers departed Rath. Behind them, the small baggage train carrying the bride’s possessions followed. The sun was now climbing over the eastern hills, a faintly shining ball through the pearlescent skies of the cloudy day, and so it remained for the next few days of their travels. They were fortunate, however, not to be burdened by rain.
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They rode from dawn until dusk each day, stopping briefly at midday to rest the horses. Each evening, when they halted their travels, a small pavilion was raised for the two women to shelter within. They ate cold food, because a fire would have attracted any nighttime raiders, and the Fergusons preferred to avoid confrontations. The countryside about them still showed the ravages of the recent border wars with England, although the farther west they went, the less damage had been done. Much of the land was desolate and lonely. The weather was chilly but not unbearable.
Finally, on what Matthew Ferguson promised would be the last day of their journey, the sun shone in a cloudless blue sky. There was a tang to the air that grew stronger as they traveled. It was a fresh and clean smell, such as Annabella had never known. The horses seemed lively. When she asked about this new scent in the air, Matthew told her that it was the smell of the sea.
“I’ve never seen the sea,” Annabella admitted. “Is it like a loch? Is it big?”
“Endless,” was her answer.
“Beautiful and dangerous,” Jean added.
“How far are we from Duin?” the bride asked her escorts.
Matthew looked about him, then to his sister. “About two hours,” he said.
“Aye,” Jean agreed. “We must stop soon so that Annabella can change into her gown. A different saddle must be placed upon Snow. The countess must greet her new husband as the lady she is, Matthew.”
“There’s a grove of trees on the hill before we reach the castle road. That should allow me time to send a man to Duin so that Angus knows we’re arriving, and give the lady a chance to change her garments,” he said.
“I know the place ye mean,” Jean said. It was about half an hour’s ride from Duin.
They finally reached the designated spot. A rider broke away from the group, galloping away down the road, while the men-at-arms took the time to dismount, relieve themselves, and rest their horses. Matthew took Snow off to replace her saddle with a sidesaddle, which was more appropriate to a woman in skirts. Jean led Annabella deep into the grove so she might have her privacy while she changed from her traveling clothes into her wedding gown. Annabella fretted that her best gown would stink of horse.
Bond of Passion Page 5
