Bond of Passion (7 page)

Myrna said nothing in reply to her youngest sister.

“Ye’ll all have more room in the bed once I’ve gone, and then Myrna,” Annabella said in an effort to turn the conversation from the present subject. Aggie was curious, for the lads were beginning to flock about her. She was enjoying their attention, but Annabella didn’t want her bartering her chastity, as she suspected Myrna had already done. She would speak to her before she departed on the morrow. “I think it’s time for us to sleep now, sister,” she said. “The Fergusons have informed me that we will depart as soon as it is light. We have several long days’ journeying ahead of us.”

“Aye,” Myrna agreed, realizing that she had perhaps revealed a little too much knowledge of her relationship with Ian Melville. Aggie was not above telling tales. “I’ll miss ye, Annabella,” she said.

“I also,” Sorcha added.

Agnes began to cry.

Laughing softly, Annabella drew her little sister into her warm embrace, smoothing her cheek with a loving hand. “Remember that ye’re coming to visit me next summer, Aggie,” she reminded her. “Now go to sleep, my bairn.” Then she began to hum an old lullaby that she had hummed to Agnes when the lass became too large for her cradle and had been put into the big bed with her three older sisters. Agnes relaxed in her sister’s arms, and shortly after, all four Baird sisters were sleeping soundly.

T
he first day of October dawned chill and gray. Annabella was up before the first light began to dapple the sky. She had not slept as well as she might have, being anxious and nervous about what lay ahead. Her three sisters were snoring softly, burrowed beneath the down quilt. Using the night jar she pulled from beneath the bed, she set it aside. Then, pouring some water into the pewter basin, she quickly washed. The water was icy cold and drove any thoughts of sleep from her.

She had laid her clothing out the night before on a chest at the foot of the bed. Capable of riding astride, she had taken Jean Ferguson’s suggestion from the evening before, and dressed warmly. She tucked her chemise into a pair of woolen breeks, pulling on thick wool socks to wear beneath her worn leather boots. She put on a light wool undervest lined in sheepskin, then a linen shirt over it, followed by her doeskin jerkin with sleeves lined in lamb’s wool. Unless it rained, she wouldn’t need a cloak.

When Annabella had dressed, she stopped to look slowly about her. This was her bedchamber. The only one she had ever had. High in Rath Tower, she had slept here her entire life. It was a simple room, modest in size, just large enough to hold the big bed and four little wooden trunks holding each sister’s personal possessions. Her trunk was now packed into a cart to depart for her new home.

She couldn’t help the little sigh that escaped her, along with the thought that she wished her new home were closer to her old home. At least her sisters would have that advantage, even if she didn’t. She considered waking her siblings but decided against it. It was far earlier than their usual rising hour. Myrna would complain. Sorcha would giggle sleepily, for she was always the hardest to wake. It was unlikely she would even recall saying farewell. And little Aggie would weep, for she was such a tender creature, and as the baby of the family had long ago learned that crying gained her the most attention. Annabella looked down at them, smiling. They were so damned beautiful.

“Farewell, my dearies,” she whispered softly to them. Then she left the bedchamber, descending into the hall through her brother’s chamber, and then their parents’ chamber.

Pale light was beginning to show through the hall’s two windows. The servants were already bringing in bread trenchers of oat stirabout to the high board, where the three Fergusons sat with her brother, Rob, and their parents. The trestles were filled with men-at-arms eating fresh-baked bread, cheese, and the cold meats left over from yesterday’s bridal banquet. She greeted the others at the high board as she took her place. There was virtually no conversation in the hall.

Annabella spooned up her oat stirabout, noting that the cook had added bits of dry apple to the mixture. She must remember that, she thought, as she poured a large dollop of cream onto the hot cereal. Then, knowing her day would be a long one, she took advantage of the unusually large meal, for breakfast at Rath was never quite as lavish as it was today. There were eggs poached in heavy cream and dill, along with rashers of bacon. Annabella helped herself and ate heartily, adding bread, butter, and cheese along with a cup of cider. She ate quickly, watching the Fergusons as she did. She would not be the cause of any delay, but the Fergusons were also eating vigorously.

When the meal was over, Annabella and Jean Ferguson retired to see to their personal needs before the departure. Now, in the little courtyard, the bride looked about her, experiencing a brief moment of panic. Suddenly she didn’t want to leave Rath. She would rather die unmarried, a virgin, than leave her home for a stranger’s house. Nay. Castle. What did she know of living in a castle?

But then, seeing her mother struggling to hold back her own tears, Annabella gained a mastery of her own emotions. She had made a brilliant marriage for the daughter of an unimportant tower laird. Especially considering her lack of beauty. How ungrateful would it be to fling this good fortune away? She stepped into her mother’s embrace, accepting her kisses and kissing her back.

“Now, Mama,” she gently scolded her parent. “Dinna be like our poor Aggie, who weeps at any- and everything. I am going to my husband. All is as it should be.”

“I know, I know,” the lady Anne murmured. “Ye’re the Countess of Duin now. I am both proud and happy. I could but wish ye were nearer, my daughter.”

Now her father was taking her by her shoulders. He kissed her on both cheeks and nodded silently. Annabella was surprised, for she had never known Robert Baird to be at a loss for words. Rob hugged her, whispering in her ear that if she ever needed him, she was to send a messenger to him with the little ring he now fitted on the littlest finger of her right hand. Annabella blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes and nodded at him. Her farewells were now finished.

Jean Ferguson quickly led her brother’s bride to the waiting white mare before the family could grow any more maudlin. “This is the earl’s first gift to you,” Jean said.

“What is she called?” Annabella asked as she easily mounted the beast.

“The earl said ye were to name her,” Jean replied.

“Then I shall call her Snow,” Annabella said. “She is quite pristine, and shows no color at all.” She turned in her saddle as the others mounted up. Raising her gloved hand, she bade her family a final farewell. It was instinct that made her lift her eyes to the top of Rath Tower, where her three beautiful sisters now stood upon the rooftop, waving to her and clinging to one another. She could clearly make out Aggie’s little woebegone face. Annabella smiled up at them and waved back.

“Are ye ready, my lady?” Matthew Ferguson asked her.

“Aye, I’m ready,” Annabella responded, looking forward over the mare’s head now as she urged the animal onward.

Given the signal to move out, the large mounted party led by the two Ferguson pipers departed Rath. Behind them, the small baggage train carrying the bride’s possessions followed. The sun was now climbing over the eastern hills, a faintly shining ball through the pearlescent skies of the cloudy day, and so it remained for the next few days of their travels. They were fortunate, however, not to be burdened by rain.

They rode from dawn until dusk each day, stopping briefly at midday to rest the horses. Each evening, when they halted their travels, a small pavilion was raised for the two women to shelter within. They ate cold food, because a fire would have attracted any nighttime raiders, and the Fergusons preferred to avoid confrontations. The countryside about them still showed the ravages of the recent border wars with England, although the farther west they went, the less damage had been done. Much of the land was desolate and lonely. The weather was chilly but not unbearable.

Finally, on what Matthew Ferguson promised would be the last day of their journey, the sun shone in a cloudless blue sky. There was a tang to the air that grew stronger as they traveled. It was a fresh and clean smell, such as Annabella had never known. The horses seemed lively. When she asked about this new scent in the air, Matthew told her that it was the smell of the sea.

“I’ve never seen the sea,” Annabella admitted. “Is it like a loch? Is it big?”

“Endless,” was her answer.

“Beautiful and dangerous,” Jean added.

“How far are we from Duin?” the bride asked her escorts.

Matthew looked about him, then to his sister. “About two hours,” he said.

“Aye,” Jean agreed. “We must stop soon so that Annabella can change into her gown. A different saddle must be placed upon Snow. The countess must greet her new husband as the lady she is, Matthew.”

“There’s a grove of trees on the hill before we reach the castle road. That should allow me time to send a man to Duin so that Angus knows we’re arriving, and give the lady a chance to change her garments,” he said.

“I know the place ye mean,” Jean said. It was about half an hour’s ride from Duin.

They finally reached the designated spot. A rider broke away from the group, galloping away down the road, while the men-at-arms took the time to dismount, relieve themselves, and rest their horses. Matthew took Snow off to replace her saddle with a sidesaddle, which was more appropriate to a woman in skirts. Jean led Annabella deep into the grove so she might have her privacy while she changed from her traveling clothes into her wedding gown. Annabella fretted that her best gown would stink of horse.

“Ye’ll not be wearing it that long,” Jean assured her. “I’ll air it afterward.”

“I’ll need a bath after all this time on the road,” Annabella said. “I stink of both horse and my own sweat too. I wish I didn’t have to meet the earl until after I was bathed and my hair washed so ’twould be fresh and clean.” She sighed as Jean pulled off her boots. “What a grand impression I shall make upon yer poor brother. Plain as mud and smelling of horse to boot.” She shook her head in despair as she stood up in her stockinged feet and drew off her breeks.

Jean had to laugh at the picture her companion had painted. “I know,” she said. “It’s a difficult position ye’ve been put into, my lady, but my brother Angus is not a man faint of heart. Nor is he stupid. He will understand, and he will make you feel quite assured of yerself; I promise ye.”

“Jean, I am not some wretched lass impressed by her own importance. For all the circumstances of yer birth, we are kinswomen now. I want ye to call me Annabella. I am not used to being ‘my lady.’ It is too formal between us.”

“Thank ye,” Jean Ferguson said. “In private we shall call each other by name, but in public you will receive the respect due my brother’s wife as Countess of Duin, Annabella, and be ‘my lady.’ ” Jean had quickly come to like this young woman. There was no artifice about her. If her brother was as wise as she had always thought him to be, Annabella’s lack of physical beauty would not disturb him once he came to know her.

Now dressed but for her embroidered bodice, Annabella sat upon a small folding stool that had traveled with them, while Jean brushed out her long dark hair, then fixed it into an elegant chignon that quite suited Annabella’s oval face. Then, helping her mistress into her bodice and lacing it up, Jean set a small light gray velvet cap with a narrow pointed eagle’s feather upon the girl’s head. The feather was held by the Baird clan badge, which had an eagle’s head in the center.

“Where did that come from?” Annabella asked.

“Yer mam gave it to me just before we left Rath. She said ye were to wear it when you rode into Duin, and to never forget from whence ye sprang. It’s quite charming.” She stepped back. “Are ye ready, Annabella?”

“Aye, I suppose I am,” her companion agreed, pulling her riding gloves back on her hands. Together, the two young women emerged from the grove, where Snow was now waiting with an elegant saddle and bridle upon her. Matthew helped Annabella to mount, steadying the mare as the young woman settled her leg over the pommel and her skirts about her. She took the reins from him.

“For pity’s sake, get her to smile,” Matthew whispered to his sister. “She is such a solemn little puss.”

“She’s nervous,” Jean whispered back. “She’ll shortly meet her husband for the first time, and he’s a total stranger to her.” Men! They could be so unfeeling, she thought. But not Angus. Angus’s charm and ability to understand women were his strong points, as Annabella would soon learn. She would not be nervous for much longer.

Led by the Ferguson pipers, the bridal party topped the last hill, stopping briefly so that Annabella might glimpse Duin in all its glory for the very first time. The castle, for it was indeed a castle, stood below them on a rocky promontory overlooking the sea. Annabella’s mouth fell open with surprise, but she quickly closed it not to look the fool. It was a dark gray stone structure, rectangular, with four tall round towers, each with a slate witch’s-cap roof. The walls connecting each section of the castle were made for defense, although Annabella could not imagine anyone attacking Duin. It was set in such a way that it could be accessed only on one side across a drawbridge. Beyond and around it, the bright sun danced on the dark blue waters, catching the foamy curl of the waves. It was beautiful and seemed to have a magical air about it.