Bond of Passion (34 page)

“Why not?” the earl inquired.

“The gold was tempting, but there was too much of it for this to be an honest venture. My father had told me how you had a greater offer for this property, yet you still sold it to him. I realized that whatever the de Guises wanted that bill of sale for, it was a dishonest purpose,” Monsieur Raoul finished.

“And yet there was a bill of sale,” the earl said. “And in my saddlebags was found a bag of gold coins, and a letter for Mary Stuart.”

“It is the magistrate,” Monsieur Claude said with certainty. “He has always been a greedy man. He forged a bill of sale for this property, and was well paid for it by the de Guise family, I have not a doubt.”

“Then I shall visit the magistrate,” the earl said ominously.

“I will go with you,” Monsieur Claude replied.

“
Non
, I will not involve you and your family in this,
mon ami
. The de Guises still maintain a certain amount of power, despite France’s queen mother, Catherine de’ Medicis. You do not want to find yourselves involved with them if you can avoid it. You have acted honorably, as has your son,” Angus Ferguson said, “and I am grateful to you both.”

“I will go with you,” Monsieur Claude repeated. “The magistrate acted dishonestly, and must know that I know. I have more power than he has in this village.”

Annabella spoke low to her husband. “The magistrate hae insulted the honor of this family. Let him come wi’ ye, my lord. It will gie him an advantage that he dinna hae before over this dishonest man. That will certainly be a punishment.”

“Ye’re a devious soul.” Angus chuckled. He turned to Monsieur Claude. “You do me honor. I will be glad for your aid.” He held out his hand in friendship, and the Frenchman took it and shook it.

“Let us go immediately, monsieur. The magistrate will just now be sitting down to his meal. We can catch him unawares. He is a man who can concentrate upon only one thing at a time, and his food will be his first priority. He will be frightened and confused by your questions, and easily caught in the lies he will spew to cover his dishonesty in this matter.”

“My papa does love a good intrigue,” Monsieur Raoul murmured.

The earl chuckled, nodding. Turning to Annabella, he said, “Bring the horses, Robert, and follow us.”

“Aye, my lord,” she replied, trailing after the two men as they left the salon.

Behind them a relieved Monsieur Raoul heaved a sigh.

They walked the short distance from the château into the village. Above them the sky was a clear blue, the sun warm upon their shoulders. Annabella in her guise as the earl’s servant led their two horses along the dusty path. The village was quiet in the heat of the afternoon. A large fountain in the square offered cool water to passing travelers. They stopped before a substantial stone house. Annabella tethered the animals as the earl knocked loudly upon the door of the house.

“What is it you want?” the servant answering the door said.

“We’ve come to see your master,” Monsieur Claude said in a loud voice.

“My master has just sat down to table,” the servant said. “You can wait.”

“I have no intention of waiting, you insolent varlet!” the earl snarled, pushing his way into the hallway of the house. “You will take us to your master immediately or your next position will be in the eunuch’s choir in Rome.”

The unfortunate servant blanched. “Yes, monsieur! Come this way!” He ran down the hallway ahead of the trio. Reaching the dining salon of the house, he flung open the doors, ushering in the visitors.

“What is this?” demanded the magistrate, looking up from a fat capon that he had been slicing.

“Villain!” Monsieur Claude said angrily, shaking his fist at the seated man. “You would attempt to involve my family in your dishonest practices. You have brought dishonor and danger to the monsieur in his own land so that he must hurry back to Mont de Devereaux to clear his good name. How much were you paid by that sly agent of the de Guise family to put your signature to that false bill of sale?”

The magistrate’s mouth fell open with his surprise. “How . . .” he began.

Angus Ferguson quickly stepped forward. The dirk in his hand casually speared a small piece of the carved bird. He brought it to his mouth and chewed, swallowed. “You have endangered my wife, my children, my most honorable name,” he said quietly.

The magistrate, his eyes on the dagger, shrank back just slightly. “Monsieur . . .” he began again.

“I am not interested in your lies,” the earl told him. “Your actions have caused me to be accused of treason against my own king. You have taken coin for this deceit.”

“Judas!” hissed Monsieur Claude.

“Now you will correct your error,” the earl said, “that I may prove my innocence.”

“Monsieur, you do not understand,” the magistrate quavered. “It was not just for the gold. My youngest son is promised a place in the de Guise household.”

“That fat slug?” Monsieur Claude snapped. “How unfortunate that he will be unable to take this
promised
place.”

“Why was it so important that I be implicated in this plot?” the earl asked, not really expecting he would gain an answer, but to his surprise he did.

“It was not,” the magistrate said. “You simply had the misfortune to come to France at the wrong time, monsieur,” the local official explained. “Ever since Mary Stuart returned to Scotland, she has been spied upon by both her former mother-in-law, Catherine de’ Medicis, and her own relations, the de Guises. Both of these families are aware of everyone who comes to France from Scotland.”

“And you are privy to information how?” the earl asked.

“The de Guise agent, fed enough of my good wine, had a very loose tongue. Knowledge, as you know, my lord, can be power,” the magistrate said. Then he continued on with his story. “Now that this tragic queen has been driven from her throne, her family is anxious to see her returned to it. They are in the process of setting up a network of spies that will go from Scotland to England to France. But the English queen’s spymaster is working to prevent them from putting Mary Stuart back on her throne, for reasons I do not have to explain to you.”

“But how was it that I became involved?” the earl inquired.

“You were the decoy they chose that they might set the final piece of their plan into place. When it was learned that you were coming to Brittany to settle your
maman’
s estates, the de Guise faction decided the purchase of those lands could be used as a vehicle to convince the regent Moray that you were actually taking traitor’s gold and carrying correspondence for them to Mary Stuart. They slyly planted this rumor with Catherine de’ Medicis, and she informed the English ambassador, who informed his queen, who of course saw that the regent, James Stewart, was notified,” the magistrate explained. “Then, while the regent’s people were concentrating upon you, the de Guises were able to set up the last link in their network connecting Mary Stuart with them in France.”

“God’s blood!” Angus Ferguson swore.

“The fact that you were a close friend of James Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell, did but help in this fiction,” the magistrate told Angus.

“They knew about that?” Angus was surprised. He was not a man for plots, but the complexity of this plan was quite masterful, and had he not been involved, he would’ve admired it.

“You must undo this,” Monsieur Claude said. “You cannot allow an innocent man, his family, his good name to be tarnished by these lies. He could be executed for this supposed treason! Did you think of that, you greedy dog? And you have involved me as well. The family Claude has never been known to act dishonorably. Our name must be cleared in this as well.”

“If the de Guises learn I have betrayed them, my family becomes endangered,” the magistrate protested.

“Sir,” the earl said in a reasonable tone, “the de Guises have achieved their goal. While the finger of guilt was pointed at me, they completed their plan, and none are the wiser. It is unlikely that you will be sought out by them for correcting this lapse in your judgment, for it is unlikely they will ever learn of it;
but
should this be brought to the attention of the de’ Medicis . . .” His dagger speared another bit of the sliced capon. “You have, after all, forged my signature, and the signature of young Monsieur Claude as well. The de’ Medicis would be delighted to have an opportunity to strike out at the de Guise family. When they learn how this was possible, they will then take their revenge upon you.” He looked about the small dining salon. “This is a fine house you have,” he murmured. “How will your wife and children enjoy living in the streets when your head ends up on a pike in this village square? They will be shunned, driven away for the shame you brought on Mont de Devereaux.”

The magistrate whimpered as he pictured it all.

“You can take what you know to be the honorable course to correct this error,” the earl concluded. “Or you can refuse me and I will kill you.”

“If you kill me my wife and children will be safe,” the magistrate said smugly.

“
Non
,” Monsieur Claude told him. “For I shall expose your treachery to both the de Guise family and the de’ Medicis. If you cannot be punished, then your family will be in your stead. Remember it is my merchant house that supplies the royal family with salt. I have the ability to ruin you and yours, and I will do it. Cooperate and you will be safe. As for the gold you took from the de Guises, if they do not know you betrayed them, it remains in your keeping. Is that not a better fate?”

The magistrate’s face crumbled. He was an older man with a younger second wife who had given him children. It was not easy to keep Celestine content these days, to keep her from making him a laughingstock in the village. “What do you want me to do?” he asked despondently.

“You will write the letter that is dictated to you to the regent of Scotland, James Stewart, exonerating the Earl of Duin of any treason. You will say the de Guises threatened the life of your family if you did not give them a bill of sale claiming that Angus Ferguson had sold his property to them for an exorbitant price in exchange for his aid in restoring Mary Stuart to Scotland’s throne. You will say that you complied out of fear, but once the deed was done your conscience niggled at you. You realized that an innocent man could be condemned to death for a treason he did not commit. You will tell the regent that the Earl of Duin had refused to sell his late
maman
’s estate to the agent of the de Guise family and instead sold it to a local merchant, one Monsieur Claude, who sought it for his newlywed son.”

“Does the village have a priest? Preferably one who can read?” the earl asked.

“
Oui
, we do, but we also have a Huguenot pastor in residence. I suspect your king’s regent would believe the word of a French Protestant clergyman more than that of a French Catholic priest,” Monsieur Claude said.

“He’s correct,” Annabella murmured low to Angus.

“Instruct your servant to fetch parchment, ink, sealing wax, and the pastor,” the Earl of Duin said. “When this is done my servant and I must return to Brest if we are to get to Leith upon the vessel that brought us here. The captain will wait only until Thursday for us. It’s a safe and sound vessel.”

They followed his instructions, and within the next hour, while the magistrate’s dinner grew cold, the communiqué to James Stewart, regent to King James VI of Scotland, was written, signed, witnessed, and finally sealed with both the magistrate’s seal and that of the pastor.

The Protestant clergyman shook his head when he heard the tale of deceit and duplicity. He was an educated man, and understood precisely what was involved in erasing any suspicion against the innocent earl. “I shall speak to
Père
Michel about your bad behavior,” he told the magistrate sternly. “I am greatly concerned that your lack of judgment may extend to the cases you oversee.”

The magistrate groaned, but then said, “I make my judgments based only upon the law, Pastor. I swear it.”

“Your word can no longer be trusted,” the pastor said. “I shall be watching.”

He then turned back to the earl and shook his hand. “May God go with you, monsieur, and save you from evil men.”

Two copies of the parchment had been given to the earl. He gave one to Annabella, and tucked the other in his shirt. Outside of the magistrate’s house he bade Monsieur Claude adieu. Then he and Annabella mounted their horses and rode from the village of Mont de Devereaux. Once clear of the village Angus spoke.

“We may have to shelter in a field tonight. Actually I should prefer it.”

“Aye, I would too,” she agreed. “We can purchase food at the inn we stayed at last night, but let us ride on beyond it. We should be able to make Brest by nightfall tomorrow. Perhaps even in time for the evening tide. The sooner we reach Scotland, the better I will feel. I heard the sailors aboard the
Gazelle
speaking of how, now that the summer is just about gone, the weather at sea can be difficult. That one storm we suffered the night before we landed was enough for me. Where were you?”

“Playing chess with the captain,” he said. “The game kept getting interrupted because now and again he was needed on deck,” Angus explained.

“Master Hamilton sat up most of the night listening to the retching and howling of prayers from the father and son next door,” she told him.

“Ye’ve been so brave,” he told her admiringly. “Following after me not just across Scotland, but sailing on the
Gazelle
disguised as a lad.”

“As a lass my face is so plain as to cause sympathy, but as a lad no one gave me a second glance,” Annabella said, chuckling. “Dinna be angry at me, Angus, for I fear once we reach the safety of Duin yer relief will turn to anger. Never before did I sense danger for another, but when ye said ye were returning to France, I felt it then. I just couldna let ye go alone. Men do not, I know, like to believe they are vulnerable, but I should not have remained behind had yer brother tied me to a stake, Angus. I would hae chewed the ropes until I was free, and gone after ye,” she declared vehemently.