Bond of Passion

by Bertrice Small

  He had brought them word of the queen’s marriage in late July, and his opinion of Mary Stuart’s bridegroom was not a kind one.

  “Damned fool woman fancies herself in love wi’ the pretty creature she wed. Pah! He makes me sick,” James Hepburn growled.

  “Whom has she wed, my lord?” Annabella asked. She wondered why Bothwell was so irate.

  “Her cousin Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley,” came the answer. “She even got a dispensation from the pope because of the degree of kinship between them. Her grandmother, Margaret Tudor, James the Fourth’s widow, remarried. Her daughter from her second marriage, Margaret Douglas, wed Matthew Stuart, Earl of Lennox. This barefaced boy, Lord Darnley, is their offspring.”

  “What’s wrong wi’ him, Jamie?” Angus Ferguson asked.

  “He’s a conniver, a liar, a fop. He fancies himself king now that he has wedded her, but she’s nae said it. The little turd makes me want to puke,” Bothwell snarled. “The kirk is not happy, I can tell ye. Knox is fit to be tied, but he’s a fool if he thought she would take a Protestant for a husband. And Elizabeth Tudor is horrified that her mischief making has resulted in this turn of affairs. She hardly expected Mary Stuart to take her advice in the matter of marriage.”

  “What the hell has the queen of England got to do with this?” the earl wanted to know. “I would think she had enough trouble seeking a husband of her own.”

  “Our queen thought it prudent to ask her queenly cousin for advice in the matter of a prospective husband. I do not believe the English queen is interested in marrying herself. Certainly not with the example her father set. Two queens executed. Two shed by legal means. One dead of a childbed fever. But neither does she wish to see Mary remarried, for Mary stands closest to Elizabeth’s own throne. Indeed, there are those who still question the legitimacy of England’s queen, and believe that Mary Stuart is the rightful heir to Mary Tudor,” Lord Bothwell said.

  “But if the English queen has no heirs and our queen has no heirs, then who stands to inherit either throne?” Annabella asked.

  “I don’t believe Elizabeth Tudor cares, as long as she may rule unfettered,” he answered her. How interesting, James Hepburn thought. Angus’s wife seems to understand the complexities of the political situation.

  “How did Darnley come to the queen’s attention then?” the earl asked his friend.

  “Mary asked her cousin to suggest suitable gentlemen for her hand. Elizabeth, egged on by that clever devil William Cecil, I’ve nae a doubt, suggested two men. The first was Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, her horsemaster, and rumored to be her lover, though I think that is but gossip. The Tudor lass is far too canny to be compromised by anyone. The second man was Darnley, for he is Elizabeth’s cousin too, and stands near her throne as closely as does our queen. Neither man was a suitable suggestion, and Dudley would not even come to Scotland to be inspected. Henry Stuart, however, did.

  “One look at the laddie and she fancied herself in love. Ye’ve nae met her, Angus, but she is a tall woman, standing six feet in height. It but adds to her queenly stature, but few men stand tall enough to meet her eye.” He chuckled. “How Knox hated meeting with her, for she made it a point to always stand when he was in her presence, and he was forced to look up at her. Lord Darnley, however, stands a wee bit taller than the queen.

  “He is very tall and slender. He has golden curls, and eyes the blue of the sky. He is all rose and white, more like a lass in features. He simpers. He minces. But his French is absolutely flawless, and ’tis the language she learned to speak from infancy, although she speaks perfectly good Scots English. He writes poetry for her, and recites it before the court in praise of her. The queen is a romantic lass at heart, and Darnley has enchanted her. She has not seen him drunk and in his cups, as I have. He tends to sulk when he cannot get his own way. Against her councilors’ advice, she has wed him. Now the young fool struts about demanding he be treated like a king. I could not remain at court and watch.

  “The queen is no fool, and when she comes to her senses she will see that she has wed a buffoon and a fool, but it will be too late. Unlike her great-uncle Henry, she will not dispose of this unsuitable husband that she has shackled herself to, but will rather bear him, and his boorish behavior, until something, God only knows what, happens to rid her of this mistake in her queenly judgment.”

  Lord Bothwell’s gossip and his opinion were fascinating, but Annabella was starting to feel the effects of the last week. She felt herself beginning to wilt as exhaustion set in, and she struggled to keep her eyes open as she nibbled upon a sweet sugar wafer. She had eaten little, for the quantity of food had overwhelmed her. She was simply too tired to cope with making choices. She was also overwhelmed with homesickness, and wished her whole family had been here to share this day with her.

  Suddenly the earl was whispering in her ear. “Ye must gather yer strength but one more time today, madam. We must dance before ye may be excused.”

  She didn’t dare turn to look at him, for his face was so close to her ear. She nodded. Annabella knew that their guests were expecting to see her dance with Angus. They would be disappointed if she did not. “Can it be soon?” she asked him softly.

  “It can be now,” he answered, standing and drawing her up with him.

  A cheer went up, and then the hall grew silent as Angus Ferguson led his bride to the open space between the high board and the trestles. The music—a harp, a drum, a flute—began to play. Annabella looked up at her new husband, giving him a tremulous smile. He smiled his gorgeous smile back at her. Then together they began to dance. They moved slowly at first, weaving a pattern across the stone floor, her left hand and his right one raised palms-out but not touching as they swayed back and forth. Then the tenor of the music grew livelier as a bagpipe joined in. They pranced and capered across the floor while the guests began to clap around them. He lifted her up off the floor, swinging her as her yellow skirts blossomed about her. Then, as suddenly, he set her down, leaning forward to kiss her mouth. The music stopped. The guests cheered.

  Covered in blushes, Annabella looked up into his handsome face. She felt an odd burst of emotion, although she could not have said what it meant, or from where it had come. Green eyes met gray eyes as she suddenly realized that this was a truly good match she had made. She lowered her eyes, her dark lashes brushing her pale cheek.

  At that moment Angus Ferguson suddenly realized that it mattered not at all that his bride was plain of face. To his surprise he became aware of the feeling that by some odd stroke of fate they seemed to match. She was as thoughtful and careful as he himself was.

  She appeared kind. She seemed to understand the concept of duty, and was ready to accept her position as his countess, with all of its responsibilities. He doubted any other bride and groom had ever begun as well as they had.

  As for the concept of love, he wasn’t even certain such a thing existed. A man could not be bothered with such foolishness. Respect. Duty. These were the things that made a good marriage. And then he recalled an odd occurrence as his mother lay dying. As he sat by her side, she had called out the name Giles several times in her delirium. He had asked Jeanne about it, but her eyes had gone blank, and she shrugged. She knew of no such person. But Angus had heard the passion, the longing, in his mother’s voice. Had she come into her arranged marriage with his father loving another? If she had she had nonetheless been faithful and loyal to his father.

  Realizing they were still standing before all in the great hall, the earl said, “Well-done, madam. Ye may be dismissed now if you so choose.”

  Annabella stepped back up to the high board, briefly bidding each of her guests good night, thanking Pastor Blaine for his service and the blessing he had offered earlier.

  Then she joined Jean, and the two women departed the great hall, hurrying upstairs to Annabella’s new apartments. Once there, Annabella could not suppress her yawns as Jean divested her mistress of her beautiful garments. The bride
quickly washed her face and hands, rinsed her mouth with mint-flavored water, and was dressed in a silk-and-lace night garment.

  She almost fell asleep as Jean brushed out her long hair, undoing any tangles it might have encountered during the course of the afternoon and evening. “Shall I braid it?” she asked, and her mistress nodded sleepily. Jean’s quick fingers wove the long, thick hair into a single plait. Then she tucked Annabella into the big bed with its lavender-scented sheets and down pillows. “Don’t be afraid, Annabella,” she told the younger woman. “Angus is reputed to be a skilled and thoughtful lover. He will treat ye gently, for he knows ye’re a virgin. Would ye like the taperstick left burning, or is the firelight enough for ye?”

  “Snuff the stick,” Annabella said. She struggled to remain awake. She had one more duty to perform this day, and she would not shirk that duty.

  “Good night then,” Jean said, and she hurried from the bedchamber, closing the door softly behind her as she went.

  It was such a big bed, Annabella thought. Her sisters would fit quite comfortably into it. Her sleepy eyes scanned the chamber. It was a gracious space at least four or five times the size of the little room she had inhabited at Rath. Jean had not drawn the bed curtains. The hearth opposite her bed burned brightly, warming the room. There was a large upholstered chair set at an angle by it. The floor, like the one in the dayroom, was covered in a wool carpet, this one dusky blue and cream in the firelight. She would be interested to see whether the colors held in the daylight. It was a lovely room.

  Hearing the click of a lock, she turned her head toward the sound. The earl stepped into her bedchamber through a small door that had been hidden in the paneled wall. He was wrapped in a brocaded robe, but his feet were bare. Annabella realized that beneath the dark silk he was undoubtedly naked. He must have worn the garment for her sake, believing that the sight of a male body might frighten her. She felt her fingers clutching at the down-filled silk coverlet as he seated himself on the edge of the bed.

  “We have one final duty to perform this day, madam,” he said.

  “I know,” Annabella replied.

  “And ye are prepared to fulfill it, madam, are ye not?”

  “Aye, my lord, I am,” she answered him.

  “Yer mam has told ye what is required of ye?” He waited for her reply.

  “I am to lie upon my back with my legs open to ye,” Annabella responded.

  “God’s blood!” he swore softly, and then he laughed. “I think, madam, we shall leave this duty for another time,” the earl told her. “Ye’re exhausted by yer long journey, and coupling wi’ a man ye have known but a few hours will not be pleasant for ye. I have no desire to have to deal wi’ a tired little virgin tonight. We both understand that the purpose of our union is to create heirs for Duin. There is time enough for that, lass,” he finished as he reached out and stroked her face with a gentle hand.

  But instead of being reassured by his words, Annabella was horrified and found herself near tears. “Is it that ye find me so displeasing, my lord, that ye canna bring yerself to do what needs be done?” she asked him in a tremulous voice.

  “Nay, nay, madam,” he sought to reassure her. “I am a man of great carnal appetites, lass, but never have I forced a woman to my will. That is what I would be doing tonight if I insisted on deflowering ye. I want us to get to know each other better, and when we do what will come next will come naturally to both of us. I dinna find ye displeasing at all. Ye have surprised me and ye quite delight me, for ye have charm, manners, wit, and intellect. What is beauty in comparison to those?”

  “Do ye speak of love?” she queried him. She didn’t quite understand what he was getting at. She had wed him. It was their wedding night. Why was he was turning away from her? And yet . . . She paused in her thoughts, realizing that she was actually finding herself relieved that she should not have to take the next step with him tonight.

  “I know naught of love, madam,” he said honestly. “I know of lust, and ye will discover that delightful emotion quite soon, for though I will give ye time to grow used to my presence, we shall kiss and caress at will, which will give rise to your lust. It is ye who will lead the way for us as ye seek more and more knowledge of a passionate nature. Soon enough, the time will come when we will do what is expected of us, madam. Do ye understand better now, and agree wi’ me? Or will you insist that I mount ye now? I will do whatever ye choose, madam.”

  “Aye, I understand ye,” Annabella said, and she did. He was a strange man, she thought, wondering whether any other bridegroom would have been as thoughtful.

  “Give me yer hand,” he said. Without hesitation, she obeyed him. He took the hand in his own, kissing first the back of it, then placing lingering warm lips upon her palm and her wrist.

  She shivered with delight but said nothing.

  The dark green eyes twinkled at her. “I can see ye’re going to be an obedient wife, madam,” he told her.

  “I will do my best to please ye, my lord, but there may be times when I displease,” Annabella said candidly. His lips on her flesh had been deliciously disturbing. A frisson of emotion had shot through her that she did not recognize when his flesh had met hers.

  Angus Ferguson saw the brief confusion upon her face. He was surprised. A virgin, aye. But one so artless? It become more and more obvious to him that she had not dissembled in any way when she told him she had never been courted. Had there ever been a time when he had known such pure and perfect innocence? Releasing the small hand in his, he reached out with his other hand to cup her face in his big palm. “Will ye trust me, madam?” he asked her softly.

  Again Annabella felt that unfamiliar stirring within her. His dark green eyes were like a pool in the depths of a deep sunlit forest. She wanted to immerse herself within that pool until she became one with it. His touch both warmed and aroused her. “Aye, my lord,” she told him low. “I will trust ye.”

  They called her plain of face, and yet he thought the solemn little face now looking up at him with wary eyes had a sweetness about it that touched him. Leaning forward, he brushed her lips with his own, but then the very sweetness of those lips aroused a ferocity within him that was difficult to control. A hand cupped her head. His mouth pressed down hard on her soft mouth and his kiss became demanding. To his absolute surprise she met the wild kiss with a fierceness of her own until he broke the embrace, saying, “I shall bid ye good night then, madam.” Angus Ferguson arose and returned back through the little door in the paneled wall, ducking his head as he went to avoid hitting the low arch.

  Her lips still burning, Annabella lay back against her plump pillows. She didn’t know whether to rejoice or to weep. She knew so little about bed sport, and yet should she have known more? Her mother had said a virgin should not be knowledgeable. She had been vague in her explanations. Was Myrna’s blunt explanation closer to the truth?

  When she had repeated it to her husband, he had laughed ruefully. Why?

  But she had to admit that she was more comfortable knowing she might sleep in peace this night. Although she had not shown the emotion to anyone, fearing to be thought a weakling, she had been very frightened of leaving Rath to travel across Scotland and into the keeping of a virtual stranger known as a sorcerer, as well as the handsomest man in the borders. It was a relief to find that Angus Ferguson was a kind man.

  It had been such an amazing day, and a day filled with so much activity. Duin Castle was so beautiful. It made the tower house where she had been raised look so poor and sparse. Yet she had never felt a lack of anything, and her girlhood home had been filled with love and happiness. She hoped that in the weeks, the months, the years ahead, she would be able to bring that same sense of warmth to Duin, to her husband and their children. Then, clearing her mind of random thoughts, Annabella softly whispered her prayers and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  On the other side of the little door in the paneled wall, the Earl of Duin was not so fortunate. Angus Ferguson
had returned to his own bedchamber, part of a spacious apartment that matched his wife’s. He had seen the relief on her face when he had suggested they come to know each other better. The truth was, he was equally relieved not to have to deflower Annabella this night. She was a stranger. An intriguing one, but nonetheless unfamiliar to him. He had always taken the time to know a woman before they became lovers. His French mother had always insisted that the hunt, and the seduction that ensued, brought about a greater satisfaction when one worked at it. Quick couplings were to be avoided at all costs, and forcing a woman was unforgivable.

  His new wife was a true innocent. Who the hell had told her that lying on her back and opening her legs to him was all that was required of her? Her mother? A serving woman? Annabella might not be a beauty, but he would treat her with the greatest care nonetheless. Her position as his wife made her particularly worthy of his regard.

  She had not been aware that the coverlet she had clutched so tightly had slipped down while they talked. He had been treated to a shadowed glimpse of her breasts beneath the sheer silk and lace of her bed gown. They were dainty, perfectly round little breasts with small nipples. He had quickly looked away so she had not been aware of his interest, but his hands had actually itched to reach out and cup those breasts. Even now, the memory of them caused him to imagine their weight in his palms.

  His body servant had been dismissed for the night, so no one would know he had not done what was expected of them. Jean would see. Like everyone at Duin, she was anxious for him to produce a legitimate heir. She might question him, but should she find out, he knew she would understand. He realized all at Duin would be pleased if midsummer of the new year brought them the birth of the next generation of Fergusons. However, he would not force the issue. Annabella needed to be slowly seduced so that when the right moment came for her to give up her virginity, she would do it gladly and without tears. He wanted her filled with the passion his lips had drawn from her this evening. He wanted to be filled with that same passion her lips had surprised him with earlier. He slept fitfully.