Angus Ferguson could hardly keep his hands off of his wife. Not a day passed, except for those few when her link with the moon was broken, when he didn’t find his cock foraging between her legs at least two or three times daily. He had her in his library on the floor before the fire. One afternoon he pulled her into a deep and dark linen cupboard to fuck. The stables had become a favorite trysting place. Scarcely had the meal been cleared away in the early evening before the lord and lady were gone from the hall.
“Ye’re like a lad wi’ his first wench,” Matthew said disgustedly one afternoon. He had earlier heard Annabella giggling and his brother growling in a dark corner of the hall.
They hadn’t heard him, but it was damned obvious what they had been about when the earl, almost strutting like a rooster, appeared from the dimness. “Can ye nae confine yer lusts to the bedchamber in the evening?” Matthew demanded to know.
“’Twas ye who encouraged me to greater efforts,” Angus said with a grin. “Are ye telling me that ye confine yer lusts to a bedchamber in the evening?” Then he laughed uproariously at the look on his younger sibling’s face.
“I suppose I’m amazed that such a woman can rouse you to such passions,” Matthew said bluntly.
Angus chortled knowingly. “Annabella’s face may be plain, little brother, but the body that God gave her is magnificent. I have but to think of her, and I am ready to fuck. And my sweet wife is a most enthusiastic and willing partner. It is impossible to resist her, and as I see nae reason to, I shall not. I am beginning to believe ye would not be half as sour if ye had a wife to keep ye company these long, cold winter nights.”
“Bah!” Matthew said. “Get the wench wi’ bairn, Angus, and stop enjoying yerselves so damned much.”
The earl laughed. “In God’s good time, little brother. In God’s good time.”
Chapter 6
Twelfth Night was scarcely gone when James Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell, came to Duin. “I’ve come to take ye both to court,” he told Angus and Annabella. “The queen is wi’ bairn. Darnley is a pig and behaving badly because she will nae gie him the crown matrimonial, and the earls appear restless, which is always a bad sign.”
“And ye would drag us into that situation?” Angus said. “Nay.”
“She needs a distraction and new faces about her. She asks about ye often, Angus, and would meet the man who made her childhood in France such a comfortable one,” Bothwell said.
“How do ye know that?” Angus demanded. “Even yer father didn’t know the cost of Duin’s earldom.”
“Nay, he didn’t. She told me,” Bothwell replied.
“Ye’re that close to the queen, Jamie?” Angus was curious. “Ye play a dangerous game then, and I think ye should not.”
“I am loyal to the queen. No other man in Scotland who knows her can claim that distinction, even her own dear brother, James Stewart, the Earl of Moray, who has a curious habit of disappearing whenever something wicked is about to happen. My father allowed his love for Marie de Guise, and his disappointment at her refusal to wed him, to turn him traitor and brand the Hepburn name. I have spent my whole life attempting to erase that stain upon our family. Whatever Mary’s fate, I will remain at her side, loyal until death.”
“What of the wife ye are to take shortly?” Angus asked candidly.
“Ye’ll come to the wedding, of course,” James Hepburn said, avoiding the query. “The queen will be there, and ’twill be the perfect time to join the court. Remain wi’ her for a few weeks, gain her favor, and then return to Duin. ’Tis simply a courtesy, Angus. Nothing more. Besides, my sister, Janet, will be there. She will enjoy having another ear into which to pour her complaint about this marriage. Until I have a legitimate son, ’tis her wee lad, my nephew, Francis, who is my heir. She’s determined to have my earldom of Bothwell for him,” James Hepburn said, laughing. “She need not worry. This marriage between myself and Jean Gordon is nae a love match. The queen and George Gordon want it. Gordon feels he gains more influence wi’ the queen through me. The queen feels that she gains the loyalty of one of the north’s most powerful earls. The Gordons are now being forgiven for their last uprising.”
“And Jean Gordon?” Annabella asked quietly.
Surprised that she had insinuated herself into the conversation, James Hepburn turned to look at Angus’s wife. Aye. There was something different about her that he could not put his finger upon. “My betrothed is in love with another,” he said. “An Ogilvie, but once the queen decided to unite me with Lady Jean Gordon, the young man was quickly married to another.”
“Poor lass,” Annabella murmured.
“Where’s the wedding to be held?” Angus asked, hoping to cover his wife’s bold words.
“Edinburgh. In the kirk at the Canongate. The queen wanted a Catholic ceremony in the Chapel Royal, for the Gordons, like ye, still cling to the old faith. But I am a Protestant now. The Gordons dinna object, and Knox is quiet for a change.”
“We’ll be there,” Angus said, with a quick look in his wife’s direction, stifling any protest she might make. James Hepburn was his friend. He was obviously in favor with the queen, and he was marrying the sister of the Earl of Huntley, a most powerful northern lord.
“Ye’re nae pleased,” Bothwell said to Annabella.
“I dinna like travel,” she admitted. “But I canna deny it will nae harm Duin for us to go and pay our respects to the queen. We shall have to leave shortly, for yer marriage is less than a month away, and Edinburgh far. I shall barely have time to pack my finery.”
James Hepburn chuckled. “Ye’re a good lass,” he said. “Dutiful and loyal.”
“So ye approve of my lass, do ye, Jamie?” Angus said.
“Aye, I do. I think, madam, that ye will do well with Lady Gordon, for like ye she is educated, although apt to be a wee bit pedantic for my taste,” Bothwell said.
He remained with them for another day, and then left. Jean and Annabella began to pack for their journey, for Jean would go with her mistress. Angus sent Matthew to Edinburgh to find them a house, for he was not of a mind to live in a public accommodation, and they were unlikely to be given a place at Holyrood Palace, where the pregnant queen was living.
Annabella had not felt well in recent days, but there was no help for it; they must go to James Hepburn’s wedding, and then join the court to please the queen. Matthew returned, having managed to lease a house for three months on a street off of the Royal Mile. It had a view of Edinburgh Castle, and a large garden. The owner was in France, but the servants remained. Matthew had also arranged for the places they would stay during the nights of their journey. And to Annabella’s delight they would spend two nights at Rath.
They left Duin on a cold but sunny morning. The gulls flew overhead, skreeing noisily as they departed over the drawbridge. They had prayed for good weather, for it would take them a good week or more to reach Edinburgh. They traveled with two dozen men-at-arms. The baggage carts had gone on several days earlier, escorted by another dozen armed men. Hopefully they would all arrive in the town at the same time, for the carts could not travel as quickly as the mounted riders could.
After several days they reached Rath just as a snow began to fall. Annabella had warned her husband that her family’s tower house was small in comparison to Duin Castle. “We will probably sleep in the hall in the bed spaces by the fireplace,” she told him. But to her surprise they did not. While the earl and his brother would have the bed spaces, Annabella would share her girlhood chamber with her sister Agnes and Jean Ferguson.
Her parents greeted her warmly, but Annabella immediately noticed that everyone at Rath seemed subdued. “Where are my other sisters?” she asked.
Agnes began to cry.
“We hoped to spare ye the shame,” the lady Anne said. “Myrna allowed herself to be despoiled by Ian Melville. Then he would nae wed her, marrying one of my Hamilton cousins instead. Both lasses were wi’ bairn by the dirty lecher, but the Hamiltons were ab
le to offer a higher dower to old Melville. Myrna miscarried a son. She was held up to ridicule in the kirk. Only yer da’s standing as laird kept her from the stocks.”
“Oh, Mam, I am so sorry,” Annabella said. She remembered her sister’s bold and knowing words the night before Annabella departed Rath for Duin. She had wondered about Myrna then, but there was naught she might have done to save her sister. “What of Sorcha? Is she all right?”
“She was wed to Gilbert Elliot in December. Thank God the Elliots looked the other way, but they knew Sorcha is a good lass,” Robert Baird said.
Agnes sniffled.
“What has happened to Myrna?” Annabella persisted.
“Gone. Married to a Highlander my sister sent down from the north,” the laird told his eldest daughter. “I had written to my sister about Myrna, and one day in early January, a man named Duncan MacKay appeared. He’s kin to my sister’s husband and came with a letter written in my sister’s hand.”
They were all seated about the fire as he told the tale. They had hardly expected any visitor at this time of year, the laird began, let alone a giant of a red-haired clansman.
“I’ve come to wed yer daughter,” the deep voice boomed at the startled laird and his wife. He had a bushy red beard that matched his hair.
“I hae four daughters, and two already wed, sir,” the laird of Rath replied.
“Ye’ve one who’s been despoiled, I’m told,” came the surprising answer. “’Tis that lass I’ve come for, my lord. I am Duncan MacKay, the MacKay of the Cairn, kin to yer sister’s husband. I’ve land, a fine stone house, a wee village, thirty-two men whose loyalty is to me first, and a fine herd of cattle. But I cannot seem to keep a wife, and I must have one.”
Fascinated in spite of himself, Robert Baird had asked, “Why can ye not keep a wife? How many have ye had?”
“Three,” Duncan MacKay said mournfully. “And each dead and buried. One in childbed of a stillborn bairn. One who drowned when she fell into the loch, and the third from a winter ague. Now no one will gie me a lass to wed, for they say I bring misfortune to the lasses who wed me.”
“Indeed,” the laird of Rath had said, not quite certain what else to say at this point.
His wife discreetly signaled a servant to bring refreshment. “Please sit, sir,” the lady Anne invited their visitor.
He sat and, leaning forward, asked the laird, “How and why was yer lass despoiled, my lord?”
And then Robert Baird had found himself explaining to Duncan MacKay.
“He nodded, and his eyes were genuinely sympathetic,” the lady Anne said.
“I told the MacKay that Myrna was not wanton. She was simply foolish,” the laird explained. “Melville rejected her for a larger purse, she was held up to public shame, and none would have her. Still, this clansman would have her. He said he would find no fault in her for what had happened, for it was Ian Melville who was to blame. He said he thought the other lass was fortunate that her family could pay a large dower to keep their daughter from facing the shame that Myrna had to face. Then he asked to see her. Before I agreed I reread my sister’s letter to gain a better understanding of just who this man asking to wed Myrna was, but if truth be told, I considered him the answer to our prayers.”
“What happened next?” Annabella asked her father. “Do ye remember what your sister wrote?”
“I committed it to memory, for it was Myrna’s salvation. The missive read:
Brother, ye hae asked for my help. I commend to ye my husband’s kinsman Duncan MacKay, to be a husband for my niece Myrna. He is considered a good man, a worthy opponent, a dangerous warrior on the battlefield. His weakness has been in choosing silly lasses to wed. If Myrna remains strong of character, as ye hae written to me, then she will make Duncan a good wife. If ye gie him my niece, be assured that I will be nearby to guide her. Yer loving sister, Jane.
“I sent for your sister to come to the hall while warning Duncan MacKay that she was beautiful, but had a tongue that could cut wood, it was so sharp. He laughed and told me he liked a lass wi’ a bit of spice in her.”
His listeners now laughed too.
“MacKay’s jaw dropped as he gained his first look at Myrna,” the laird continued. “I had reacted the same way when I first saw yer mam. I told Myrna that this man now with me was to be her husband. Myrna declared she should never wed, but MacKay just laughed and told her that aye, she would marry him. She then scorned him for a Highlander, and said that she would wed no northerner. At that point I lost my temper wi’ her. I told her that if she had nae been so vain and foolish she might have had the Melville lad, for all he was a cowardly cur. I told her that Duncan MacKay was kinsman to her aunt’s husband and was willing to have her despite her faults. I told her I would not have her behavior cause our family’s good name to be besmirched further. I told her that the pastor would see to the contracts immediately, and that she would be wed before nightfall. Then I left the two of them together in the hall, but as I departed I heard Myrna shout that he was to come no closer, he was not to kiss her, and then silence.”
“A formidable fellow,” the Earl of Duin remarked with a chuckle. “And so yer second daughter was wed to this Highlander?”
“Aye! I went directly to the kirk, where the pastor fell on his knees and praised the Lord for Myrna’s good fortune. He drew up the marriage contracts, then came back to the hall wi’ me, where we found Myrna now resigned to becoming the wife of the big Highlander. The pastor agreed wi’ us that he seemed a reasonable man, and that Myrna was fortunate despite her shortcomings to get such a fine husband.”
“It was hardly the future she envisioned for herself, Da,” Annabella said. “She saw herself at court, because Ian’s kinsman is the queen’s adviser.”
“’Tis unlikely,” the lady Anne spoke up. “For all their pretensions, that branch of the Melville family has no real distinction. And despite his rough Highland manner I found I liked Duncan MacKay in spite of our short acquaintance. There was a kindness and an honesty about him that gave me comfort. I know Myrna will be happy with him.”
“He accepted her dower?” Annabella said.
“Ten gold pieces, a chest of linens for bed and table, a down coverlet, two silver goblets, six silver spoons, a small gilt saltcellar, a little bag of salt, and two small rolls of velvet,” the laird recounted to them. “Duncan MacKay was most impressed, and told us he had never had so well-dowered a wife. I had no need to apologize, as I had had wi’ the Melvilles. I heard the Hamiltons gave a purse of twenty-five gold pieces to stave off their lass’s shame.”
“I hope she births a daughter,” young Agnes said venomously. “They made poor Myrna so unhappy that she miscarried her son. She cried for days after.”
“Agnes!” her mother remonstrated. “Where is the charity in yer heart?”
“I have nae charity for fools,” Agnes said fiercely.
What an interesting little wench, Matthew Ferguson thought.
“They were married that day, Da?” Annabella asked her father.
“Aye, as soon as the contracts were signed. Myrna was surprised that MacKay could write his name. He was equally surprised that she could write hers. But once the agreement was signed the pastor wed them.”
Agnes spoke up again. “She was wed in her skirt and a white blouse.”
“I’m relieved that all ended well,” Annabella said, smiling.
The meal was served. It was a simple one: venison stew in a red wine gravy with leeks and carrots, a roasted capon, and bread, butter, and cheese. Afterward, there were baked apples. When the meal was over, Annabella sat by the hearth with her mother and Jean Ferguson. Agnes, however, was engaged in a game of chess with Matthew Ferguson. She crowed with delight at each move she made, considering herself very clever.
“Ye smile more now,” the lady Anne said to her daughter. “Ye’re happy.”
“I am,” Annabella admitted.
“Everyone at Duin loves her,” Jean spoke up. �
�She is a good lady to her folk.”
“I am pleased to hear it,” the lady Anne replied. “At least the eldest of my daughters behaves as she was brought up to behave. I canna believe that Myrna behaved so improperly. Still, it saddens me to have lost her.”
“Aunt Jane had only lads, Mam,” Annabella reminded her mother. “Myrna will be like the daughter she never had, and I will wager that my sister proves a good wife to her Highlander, Mama.”
In the morning they departed Rath at first light for Edinburgh, arriving two days later. The house Matthew had rented for them was surprisingly comfortable, and Annabella saw immediately that the servants were well trained and friendly. They rendered Jean Ferguson their aid as she unpacked and prepared her mistress’s gowns. Bathing, however, proved a different matter. Duin’s bathing chamber was a unique accommodation. Angus was not at all pleased by the little round wooden bathing tub that was brought forth. He sent immediately for a cooper, carefully elucidated his requirements, and two days later a tall round wooden tub was delivered to the house. It would require buckets of water to fill, but the earl enjoyed his bath, and Annabella had come to enjoy a large tub as well.
“We shall save the servants the toil of filling the tub twice each day,” he told her. “We shall bathe together, sweeting.” He gave her a quick kiss.
“How thoughtful of ye, my lord,” she murmured sweetly.
The tub was filled that evening after the meal had been served. Jean helped Annabella disrobe. The tub was made of hard oak. There were two steps that could be used to mount and descend into the tub. Jean helped Annabella into the water, and then said, “I’ve nae ever seen my brother wi’out his breeks, and I’ll not do so now. Will ye need me again tonight, Annabella?”
Bond of Passion Page 12
