Bond of Passion (43 page)

“Ye write very well,” Lady Fleming said. “Who taught ye?”

“The Countess of Duin,” Callum answered truthfully.

Lady Fleming nodded. The name was vaguely familiar but of no importance to her. “He will do very nicely,” she told the steward.

Callum was pleased that so far the plan formed by the earl and his wife was working so smoothly. Now a part of the family’s household, he was apt to hear things he might not otherwise hear. He made certain not to be absent from Lady Fleming’s presence. He was always available when she needed someone to fetch something for her. He was young enough that she felt no shyness in speaking before him. Soon Lady Fleming found Callum, her scribe, indispensable. He was allowed a place at the far end of her table, even as Lord Fleming’s secretary was given a place at the opposite end. He ate quietly, and he listened.

And then one day his listening was rewarded. When Lord Fleming spoke at his high board, those seated with him did not speak over or around him, so Callum heard him quite clearly as he spoke with his wife.

“It hae been decided,” he said.

“Must more blood be shed?” Lady Fleming said.

“Do ye truly believe that Moray will ask his sister back to take up her throne again now that he hae all the power in his own hands?” Lord Fleming said. “It will nae happen, madam. They want a Protestant king, and the only way to gain one is to raise one.”

Lady Fleming sighed. “How soon will it be?” she inquired. “And how soon before we may welcome our dear queen home?”

“Moray will be the first,” Lord Fleming said. “As soon after Twelfth Night as we can. Then the others as quickly as we can run them to ground. Once Moray is dead the others will know the hunt is on and make provision to defend themselves. And remember too that they hold the wee king. The queen cannot return until we have destroyed her enemies. And after that we will have to go down into England to rescue her. It will be several months, but hopefully by summer Scotland’s queen will be restored.”

“She is fond of James Stewart, despite everything that has happened between them,” Lady Fleming noted. “She is sentimental when she recalls her childhood before France at Stirling. He was the oldest of the bairns. She looked up to him.”

“Which is why it is better to dispose of him quickly, and first,” Lord Fleming said. “She detests Lennox and will weep no tears over him. As for Erskine, it is a necessary evil we face, for he also is kin, but it must be done.”

Lady Fleming nodded. Then she crossed herself and continued eating.

At the far end of the table Callum listened while he ate, and stored away the small nugget of information. In the days that followed he heard nothing more. When Lady Fleming asked him to go into the town to fetch her a supply of a particular sweet she loved, he knew he must use this opportunity to execute his escape. He visited the sweetshop and was pleased to learn he would not have to come back.

“She always orders these sweets near the holiday,” the sweetshop owner told Callum. “We have them in readiness for her,” he said, handing the lad a large square box. He thanked the man and then continued on his way, walking through the town until he heard a familiar voice at his elbow. Turning, he saw one of his kinsmen and stopped. “Rafe, ’tis time for me to return to Duin, isn’t it?”

“Aye, lad, it is,” Rafe said.

“I’ll tell them, and meet ye on the morrow just after dawn on the road to the borders,” Callum said.

Rafe nodded, and then disappeared into the crowded marketplace near where they had met. Callum rode back up to the castle. He brought his mistress her sweets, saying, “May I speak wi’ ye, my lady?”

Lady Fleming popped a sweet into her mouth, and a look of delight passed over her features. She waved a hand at him. “Aye, Callum.”

“I must beg yer permission to leave ye. When I was in the town I was approached by a kinsman who had come to find me. My mam is very ill, Rafe said. They think my mam may be dying. He was sent by our priest to fetch me home to Duin,” Callum said.

A look of distress passed over the good woman’s face. “Then ye must go if the priest calls ye,” she said. “Will ye return?” She took another sweet from the box.

“If I can, my lady, for it has been a pleasure to serve ye,” Callum said with a bow.

“Inform the steward of yer departure,” Lady Fleming told him. “Tell him I have said he is to hold yer position for ye until Twelfth Night.”

“Thank ye, my lady.” Callum hurried off.

The castle steward was not happy to see him go. “She likes ye, and ye’ve served her well, but still, we only hae one mam, and if the priest sent for ye, then it is serious.”

Callum ate a larger than usual supper. In the very early morning he arose from the pallet that had been his in a corner of Lady Fleming’s apartments. He had dressed the night before in his own clothing, carefully folding the garb he had been given and laying it on the pallet. The false dawn was lighting the skies as he came out into the courtyard and made his way across it to the stables. There he sought out his horse, saddled and bridled the beast, and led it outside.

To his surprise Lord Fleming’s secretary, Allan, approached him in the half-light. He thrust a small packet at Callum. “His Lordship wants this delivered to the Hamiltons. If their messenger hasn’t died and is still at yer master’s house, have him take it. Otherwise tell the steward of Duin he is to arrange for its delivery himself.”

“Aye, sir, gladly,” Callum replied, taking the leather packet and tucking it in his shirt. The Earl of Duin was going to be very interested to see what this message contained.

He mounted his horse, Allan walking him to the barred gate.

“Let the lad through,” Lord Fleming’s secretary said.

The portcullis was raised, and Callum Ferguson departed Dumbarton. He met his kinsman eventually on the road to the borders. Together they rode home to Duin, riding in as the late-November sun was setting over the sea. Callum went immediately to find the earl and tell him what small information he had discovered, and to deliver the packet meant for the Hamiltons. He found both his master and his mistress in the hall.

Annabella jumped up from the high board when she saw him. “Oh, lad, thank God ye’re back safely!” she said. “I hae been so worried.” She collapsed back into her seat.

Callum bowed to the earl. “I bring some small news, but more important, I bring a message meant for the Hamiltons,” he said, laying the leather packet on the table before Angus Ferguson. “They plan to assassinate Moray as soon after Twelfth Night as they can, Lennox next, and then Erskine. They dinna believe they can bring the queen back until this is done. And they said they will hae to rescue the queen from the English.”

“Did ye learn where they will accost Moray?” Angus asked the boy.

Callum shook his head. “I heard Lord Fleming complain to his wife that Moray never remains in one place long enough to catch.”

“Moray knows the dangers he faces,” the earl said grimly. “Ye’ve done well, lad, and I thank ye. Go and get something to eat. After the old year turns ye’ll come into my personal service.”

“What did ye do at Dumbarton?” Annabella asked him, curious.

“I was assigned the task of scribe to Lady Fleming,” Callum said. “She writes letters each day to her family and her friends. I learned nothing, however, from her dictation. Mostly gossip and her thoughts on being cooped up in Dumbarton. She dinna like it, and fears the castle will eventually be taken.”

“Dumbarton’s impregnable,” the earl said.

“Everything hae its weak spot,” Annabella said.

Callum went off, and Angus Ferguson reached to open the packet. Taking his knife, he carefully slipped it beneath the seal, easing it from the parchment enough to open. If he decided to send the message on, he could reseal it in such a manner that no one would realize that the letter had been opened.

The inside revealed little new but for one important thing: Lord Fleming had learned that Moray would be spending the twelve days of Christmas at Stirling, where the little king was now housed, as his mother before him had been. Sometime in mid to late January he would go to Edinburgh. An assassination at Stirling with the king in residence was unthinkable. But a watch would be kept to learn of the departure of Moray for the capital. And when that date was learned, a messenger would be dispatched to the Hamiltons. It was up to them when and how the deed was to be done.

Angus read the message aloud to his wife. “They are being cautious,” he noted.

“Will ye send the message on?” Annabella wanted to know. “And where will ye send it, as we never asked our guest from where he came?”

“Remember he said the Hamiltons move around quite a bit to avoid the King’s Men. But he must know some way of getting in touch with them,” Angus answered her.

“Shall I ask him?” Annabella teased. “He seems to be willing to speak wi’ me.”

The earl laughed. “Let me try first.”

The dungeons were colder now with the onset of cooler weather. Angus Ferguson was not a cruel man, however. His prisoner had both a brazier heating his small cell, and blankets. He was seated on his bed, finishing a bowl of what appeared to be lamb stew.

“Good evening,” the earl said.

The courier jumped to his feet as his spoon clattered to the floor. “My lord!”

“Sit down,” the earl said. “Finish yer food. Lamb stew is nae good cold. I hae a few questions for ye.”

The prisoner picked up his spoon and sat back down. “I will answer whatever I can, my lord,” he said.

“Are ye a kinsman in any degree to the Hamiltons?” Angus asked him.

“Nay, I am just a messenger,” came the answer.

“Hae ye any loyalty to the Hamiltons?”

“My loyalty, my lord, is to he who pays my fee,” came the candid reply.

“Yer message was delivered safely to Dumbarton,” the earl told the man. “It was said you fell ill and could nae continue on, so my brother sent one of his own people in yer place. He hae now returned wi’ a message for the Hamiltons, but we dinna know how to reach those who dispatched ye.” Angus Ferguson paused to see how this news was affecting the face of his prisoner. He saw curiosity, nothing more.

“I was told that if I received a return message for them that yer brother would know how to direct me,” the courier replied.

The earl was both astounded and furious. Matthew had shown a proclivity for taking Mary Stuart’s side in this, but Angus had assumed from his brother that he had only offered Duin as a way stop. Now it would appear his brother was involved more deeply than he had admitted, and by being so Matthew had endangered them all. He focused his gaze upon his prisoner. “I may require yer services. I will pay ye far more than the Hamiltons will, for I need your complete loyalty. I think ye have learned in these last few months that I am a man of my word.”

“Aye, my lord, I have,” the messenger said quietly.

“I will pay ye in gold for yer services, and should ye choose ye may make yer home here at Duin. A man should hae a safe place, and yer accent tells me ye’re an Edinburgh man,” the earl said with a small smile.

“I am,” the courier replied, “and yer offer is generous. I will serve ye loyally, my lord, but Edinburgh is a better place for a man of my profession. However, I will gladly accept yer gold in payment for my services,” he finished with a grin.

“’Tis fair,” the earl agreed, smiling. He instinctively knew he might trust this man he had held prisoner for these last months. “I will bid ye good night then,” he said. Then he stopped. “Ye hae never told me yer name.”

“My name is Ian Elliot,” came the answer.

“Good night, Ian Elliot,” Angus Ferguson said a second time. Then he returned to the hall from the dungeon. Arriving there, he called to Jean’s husband. “Fetch Matthew to me immediately,” he said.

“What is it?” Annabella asked anxiously, for she had heard the severe tone in her husband’s deep voice.

“Matthew is deeper into this treason than he has admitted,” Angus said.

“Oh, sweet Lord!” Agnes half whispered. “What hae he done, my lord?”

“He is in contact wi’ the Hamiltons. He can get in touch wi’ them. This goes deeper than just assassinations, and I mean to learn everything he knows. I think it best that ye take the children and leave the hall, Agnes,” the earl told her.

“I hae a right to know!” Agnes cried out.

“Aye, ye do. And ye will, but not until after I hae spoken wi’ my brother. Please obey me. Take the bairns and leave the hall.”

“I’ll go wi’ her,” Annabella said quietly. She could see the panic and fear in Aggie’s beautiful blue eyes.

“Nay,” Angus told her. “I want ye and Jeannie here. Agnes! Go now!”

Very frightened now, Agnes gathered the twins and her own infant, and hurried them all from the hall.

“What do ye mean to do?” Jean asked her brother. “Remember our mam, my lord. Remember Matthew’s devotion to ye, to Duin all these years,” she pleaded for her brother. “He would nae be disloyal to ye, to us, to Duin.”

“He hae been disloyal, Jeannie,” the earl responded. “I dinna know why, but he hae betrayed us. I must know why if I am to even consider forgieing him.”

Jean’s lips pressed together as she fought to control her emotions. She said nothing more as they waited for Matthew to make an appearance in the hall.

He came, and his stance was one full of defiance. “Am I to finally be recalled to my position as Duin’s steward?” he asked bluntly.

“Nay, ye will nae serve me ever again,” the earl told his young brother, and derived satisfaction from the look of complete surprise upon Matthew’s handsome face. “Ye’ve committed treason, and put Duin and all of its inhabitants at risk, including my wife, my bairns, and yer own wife and bairn. Why, Matthew? Why hae ye involved yerself wi’ the Queen’s Men? They fight a losing battle. Can ye nae see it? The King’s Men hold the wee king. They hold Stirling. The power is wi’ them. I care nae a whit for who rules Scotland as long as Duin and its folk are safe. Yer actions hae put us all in danger.”