Bond of Passion (20 page)

Jean nodded in agreement. Then she said, “Will ye be all right if I leave ye alone in order to find us some transport?”

“Aye,” Annabella replied.

Suddenly, however, the door to Mistress Beaton’s chamber was flung open. A soldier stepped into the room. “What are ye two doing here?” he demanded to know. “My lord Ruthven gave orders for the palace to be evacuated yesterday, save those needed to sustain the queen.”

“This is the Countess of Duin,” Jean said. “She was sorely injured in the
incident
that took place last night. Mistress Beaton offered her chamber until my lady was strong enough to travel.”

“Ye must get up from that bed, dress, and go now,” the soldier said.

“My lady has miscarried her bairn,” Jean replied, “but we are willing to leave. However, we must have transport, for my lady can scarcely walk. Can ye help us?”

The soldier hesitated briefly; then he said, “I will fetch a litter for ye. It will await ye at the postern gate. Ye’ll have to get her that far, lassie.”

“Thank ye,” Jean said to him. “We’ll hurry as quickly as we can.”

The soldier grunted his acknowledgment and then, leaving them, closed the door.

“I hae no clothing,” Annabella said. “Ye cut it off me last night.”

“Mistress Beaton will have something ye can wear, for she did not return to collect any of her belongings,” Jean replied. She opened the trunk at the foot of the bed and rummaged through it impatiently.

“She’s taller than I am,” Annabella said. “See if she has a long cloak I can put over this chemise, and something for my feet. The house is not that far from the palace.”

“Here’s a nice fur-lined cape,” Jean said, pulling it out of the trunk. “It must come to her knees, but ’twill fall longer on ye, which is to the good. And a pair of house slippers. Her feet are just about yer size, which is small for a lass who is tall.”

“Is there another chemise?” Annabella asked.

“Aye, ’tis a good idea, my lady.” She pulled one out, and then set about helping her mistress to dress. The second chemise would add warmth to the first, which was now lightly stained with dried blood. Jean had no cotton wool to make a pad to contain the ooze from Annabella’s miscarriage. She would be able to better take care of her lady when they regained their town house. She put the slippers on the younger woman’s feet and helped her stand.

Annabella swayed slightly, but then steadied herself with the help of Jean’s strong arm. The cape was set onto her shoulders. It was of heavy wool, dark in color, and lined in fur. She was relieved to find that it had a fur-trimmed hood, which she pulled up.

“I’m ready,” she told Jean, who was now garbed in her own hooded cloak.

Together the two women left the shelter and safety of Mary Beaton’s chamber. Slowly they made their way through the dim, silent, and empty corridors that were usually bustling with life. After a few minutes, Annabella felt a weakness beginning to fill her, but she gritted her teeth and moved ahead into a narrow passage that led to an inside courtyard and the postern gate. Opening the door into the courtyard, they found the same soldier who had spoken to them earlier.

“Ah, here ye are at last,” the man said. He scooped up Annabella, running across the cobbled space with Jean right behind him. The postern gate was already open, and outside was a litter large enough for both women, manned by two bearers. The soldier set Annabella carefully inside the vehicle, and Jean climbed in after her.

“Thank ye!” Jean said.

“Aye,” Annabella echoed. “Thank ye, sir.”

“Take these ladies to . . .” The soldier looked to Jean.

“Burnside House,” she said.

“Burnside House,” the soldier repeated.

The litter was lifted, and the bearers set off at a trot. They never broke stride, and Holyrood faded behind them as they got deeper into town. Finally, after a few twists and turns from the Royal Mile to a side street and the private lane upon which Burnside House stood, they arrived. The servants were immediately out the door to help them. One very tall footman lifted Annabella up and carried her into the building and upstairs to her chamber. Jean came behind after paying the litter bearers.

“Where is the earl?” she asked him.

“Hasn’t come home,” the man answered. “What is happening? We’ve heard all sorts of rumors, good and bad. Ye were there.”

“Let me get my lady settled, and then if ye’ll all gather in the hall, I’ll tell ye what I know,” Jean promised.

“Angus?” Annabella asked weakly from her bed.

“Still wi’ Bothwell, I suspect,” Jean answered. “One of the bearers told me that he and Huntley withdrew their forces from the town because it was not possible to reach the queen wi’out endangering her and the unborn child. He’ll nae linger wi’ Bothwell. He’ll want to know that ye’re safe, and he’ll want to go home. Fergusons dinna involve themselves in such disturbances as are now occurring. Dinna fret.” She struggled to divest Annabella of the two chemises, sliding a clean one onto the younger woman’s frame.

“I know,” Annabella said. “He can take care of himself.”

“Aye, he can. Now, let’s get you tended to properly,” Jean told her. Then, with the help of two of the housemaids, she inspected her mistress’s genital area, and, satisfied that there was no sign of infection, she dressed the area again with a mixture of healing herbs and rendered goose fat, placing a pad of cotton wool between Annabella’s thighs to contain any leakage. Drawing the down coverlet up over her mistress, she said, “I’ll send a messenger to Bothwell to seek Angus. Ye are to rest.”

Annabella nodded. “I think I can now. I feel safer here than at Holyrood Palace.”

Jean drew the bed curtains, and in the company of the two little maids left her mistress to sleep. As she had promised she dispatched a messenger to the earl immediately. It was another two days before Angus Ferguson returned to Burnside House. He had already departed Bothwell’s encampment before the messenger arrived, and gone to Holyrood in search of his wife. It was there the messenger caught up with him to tell him his wife was at Burnside House. He hurried to reach her.

“Where is she?” he demanded of Jean when he entered the dwelling.

“Upstairs, resting, my lord,” Jean told him, reaching out to catch at his sleeve before he might dash upstairs. “Angus!” Her voice was low. Sisterly.

Angus Ferguson turned to look at her questioningly.

She led him into the little hall, signaling to a servant to bring him a dram of his whiskey. “Sit down, brother,” she instructed him. “Before ye see yer wife, there is something ye must know.” She waved the serving man away when he had brought the earl’s dram. “Annabella was with the queen when Lord Ruthven broke in with his minions and murdered Riccio. When Ruthven threatened the queen, it was yer wife who flung herself before the monarch to shield her with her own body. They dragged her away and to the floor. It was that cur Darnley who kicked her several times. Annabella has lost her bairn, brother. She is in a fragile state right now.”

“She will live?” he asked softly. His eyes were suddenly hard, however. Darnley! That drunken, lecherous fop who fancied himself king, and expected everyone else to do so as well. He had brutalized Annabella without a single regret. Well, he would pay for that error.
I don’t know how, or when
, the Earl of Duin considered,
but one day he will pay for our loss.

“Aye, she will live, and ye will get another bairn on her, brother.”

“If we had not come to court, this would nae have happened,” the earl said grimly.

“Dinna say that, for in doing so ye blame yer wife for yer bairn’s loss,” Jean said. “She has already done that, and plots revenge against Lord Darnley. Ye could nae refuse the queen’s invitation to come to court, Angus.”

His shoulders slumped as if in defeat. “Nay,” he agreed, “I could not refuse.”

“Drink yer whiskey,” Jean said, “and then go to Annabella. Her wee heart is broken, and she needs ye.”

“How is it that ye’re the youngest of us, and yet the wisest?” Angus asked his sister.

Jean laughed. Then she stood up. “I’ll go tell her ye’re home, and coming to her.” She bent to kiss the top of his dark head and then hurried off.

Angus swallowed down his dram, letting the whiskey hit his stomach like a ball of fire. He wanted to go home and never leave Duin again. That, however, was going to be impossible. When he had arrived at Holyrood Palace today, he had learned the queen had escaped the night before with Darnley, aided by Bothwell. The rumor was that they were already ensconced at Dunbar Castle, a full twenty-five miles from the city. The traitor lords had immediately fled Edinburgh and were headed south into England or back to their homes. Many others would flock to declare their loyalty to the queen as she rode to take back the town. He would have to be among those lords. With the rebels fled there would be no resistance, for Edinburgh was loyal to Mary Stuart.

He was not going back to Duin until late spring. Annabella, however, was a different matter. As soon as she was able to travel, he was going to see that she was sent home. Matthew would accompany her, and then his younger brother would fetch little Mistress Agnes Baird to keep her sister company. He would escape the political machinations of the more powerful lords as quickly as he could. Setting the empty dram cup aside, he hurried to his wife.

Annabella’s eyes lit up as he came through the bedchamber door. “My lord!” She held out her arms to him.

The earl went immediately to the bed to embrace her. As soon as his arms closed about her, Annabella began to weep. “Ahh, sweetheart,” he said soothingly. “We shall have more bairns, and great joy in creating them.”

“If we had not come . . .” she began, sobbing.

“We had no choice, Annabella,” he told her.

“Darnley did this to us, Angus.” She snuggled against his shoulder.

“And we will have our due on him; I vow it,” the earl replied.

“I want to go home, Angus,” Annabella said softly.

“And so ye shall, as soon as Jeannie says ye’re fit to travel,” he promised. “But now ye must get well and strong to do so.” He did not tell her he was leaving again at first light to join the queen’s army now marching toward Edinburgh. Instead he crawled into bed with his wife, and together they slept in each other’s arms for several hours.

When Annabella awoke the following morning, the imprint of his head was still visible in the pillow next to her, and she imagined she could still feel his strong arms enclosing her. She sighed happily, stretching herself like a young cat. She felt better already. Certainly she would be ready to travel home to Duin in a few more days.

“Good morning!” Jean entered with a tray.

“Where is Angus?” Annabella asked.

“He had to return to join the other lords pledging their loyalty to our queen. He rode out at dawn.”

“Will there be fighting?” Annabella asked nervously.

“Nay, the people love Queen Mary, but there will be retribution,” Jean said grimly, “against all who turned traitor against our queen.”

“Darnley must be punished!” Annabella said in a fierce voice.

“I’m certain he will be,” Jean replied.

But Lord Darnley was not censured for his part in David Riccio’s murder, much to Annabella’s fury. Four thousand men had rallied to the queen’s side, including the earls of Crawford, Atholl, Glenkirk, Sutherland, Duin, and, of course, Bothwell. Lords Seton, Livingstone, and Fleming, brothers of three of the queen’s Marys, joined forces with Mary Stuart. Together with their clansmen they descended upon Edinburgh, where the town’s population came forth to cheer their queen’s return.

The very next day the queen’s council met. They outlawed all who had taken part in the murder of the unfortunate Riccio. Chancellor Morton, lords Ruthven and Lindsay, and all of Clan Douglas were outlawed. Those not at the murder itself, but believed or known to have been involved in the plot, including Maitland, were warned to keep from court and the queen’s sight until asked to return. But the queen’s husband, Henry, Lord Darnley, swore before the council that he had no part whatsoever in the murder of David Riccio. He was vindicated of any wrongdoing, and documents to that effect were publicly posted all over Edinburgh clearing his name.

Annabella was outraged. “He most certainly was involved! He was there! He imprisoned the queen so she could not defend Master Riccio. He followed every order that that old devil Ruthven gave him. How can he in good conscience swear he knew nothing of the plot and was not involved? He hated Riccio. Was jealous of him. He even suggested once that the bairn the queen carries might be Riccio’s.”

“And it was partly because of that accusation that he was spared. The bairn to be born is Darnley’s. But until it is born, and Darnley formally accepts it as his own blood, its legitimacy could be questioned. Darnley is a childish coward, and it is unlikely he would make such a claim. But we cannot endanger the rights of Scotland’s future king. Darnley must be placated and declared innocent. Once the queen’s bairn is born it will be a different matter,” Angus answered her.

“The queen hates him now,” Annabella said. “She will not miss him.”

Nay, she would not. Angus Ferguson had seen the way Mary Stuart looked at James Hepburn. He had seen his friend’s hidden desire for the queen warring with his honor. But if Henry, Lord Darnley, the man who styled himself Scotland’s
king
, were no longer alive, he believed that Bothwell’s scruples could be overcome, despite the fact that he was newly married, and he would pursue the queen. The marriage between James Hepburn and Jean Gordon had been a political match. There was no love between the two, and Angus Ferguson knew that Bothwell was already considering a divorce that Jean’s brother, George Gordon, would not object to as long as his sister came out of the marriage a rich woman.

But he kept this knowledge to himself. Annabella was recovered from the loss of their bairn. April was coming to an end, and it was past time for them to return to Duin.