“How long have ye known?” was his next question.
“It was Jean who told me, for I have never had a bairn.” Annabella attempted to conceal her sin.
“And when did Jean suggest to ye that ye were with bairn?” His voice had grown serious, and he moved to look into her face.
“J-just before we came to Edinburgh,” Annabella responded, and then continued in a rush, “but I didn’t want to tell ye, because then ye wouldn’t have come, and the invitation was from the queen herself, and I knew Bothwell wanted ye here too, Angus.”
“I see.” His voice was cold.
“I am not some fragile flower to be encased in cotton wool just because I am expecting a bairn,” Annabella defended herself. “Coming to court would nae harm the bairn at this stage, but it was important to ye and to Duin that we come.”
“’Twas a decision to be made by me,” he told her. “Ye’re carrying my heir.”
“Ye would have said nay, and then Bothwell would have been offended and, more important, the queen. And now we’re going home, so where is the harm in it?”
“Ye should have told me,” the earl insisted.
Annabella wanted to argue with him. She had never seen him so stubborn, but he had made his point. They would be leaving for Duin in just a few more days. Still, she could not help saying, “I did what I thought was best for ye, and for Duin, Angus.”
Angus Ferguson could not help laughing aloud. “Ye’re hardly a biddable woman, Annabella,” he told her. “Still, no harm is done, and I’ll find a comfortable vehicle for ye to travel home in. We’ll travel more slowly this time, but we’ll get there nonetheless.”
“I can ride,” she said. “And I want to get home quickly. Did I not promise my sister Agnes that she could come and stay wi’ us this summer? She will be good company for me. I am looking forward to seeing her. I want Matthew to go and fetch her from Rath.”
“Ye’ll travel home in a padded cart, madam,” her husband told her. “And ye’ll nae ride again until after the bairn is birthed.”
Annabella was silent now. There was no use arguing with this man. She was doomed to a boring trip. They would not stop at Rath this time, but go straight west from Edinburgh across Scotland and then south. “Aye, my lord,” she muttered dutifully.
Angus chuckled. He knew how much that murmur of obedience cost her, for Annabella was a proud woman, and every bit as stubborn as he was himself. Stroking her sable head, he bent and kissed it. “There’s my good lass,” the earl said.
The next day, their last in Edinburgh, the Countess of Duin was invited to Holyrood in late afternoon to say her farewells to the queen. Annabella was surprised as she dismounted in the courtyard of the palace to see old Patrick Ruthven, Lord Ruthven. When their eyes met briefly he quickly ducked from her view.What a pity, Annabella thought.I had heard he was on his deathbed. His death would have been a great relief to the queen, for he is not an easy man, and has made difficulties for her.Then with a shrug she made her way to the queen’s private apartments.
There she found that Mary was entertaining a small group of her friends. The three remaining Marys were there, as were Riccio and several others. They had eaten an early supper in the apartment’s tiny dining room and now returned to the queen’s dayroom, where a fire burned in the hearth, although the icy north wind blowing through the cracks in the windows made it difficult to heat the chamber. They welcomed Annabella warmly, having come to like the plain-faced but charming Countess of Duin.
“I have come only to say farewell,” Annabella told them. “We leave for Duin on the morrow. Angus is anxious to return home.”
“Back to the dull borders,” Riccio said.
“Living in a beautiful small castle on the sea might prove dull for ye, but it isn’t for me,” Annabella answered.
“Sing a final song for us, madam,” the queen said. “I have come to enjoy yer voice and the simple songs ye have introduced to us. David, accompany the countess.”
They had discovered in the weeks she had been with them that Annabella had a lovely voice, and prevailed upon her often to sing for them. She sang simple songs of the borders and of Scotland. Going over to Master Riccio, Annabella told him the song she would sing, and the Italian tuned the strings on his instrument in preparation.
Lord Darnley entered the queen’s rooms, surprising them all, for he rarely came to see her any longer. Smiling warmly in an effort to ease his obviously nasty mood, the queen beckoned her young husband to her side as Annabella began to sing.
Early one morning just as the sun was rising, I heard a maiden singing in the valley below. Oh, do not leave me. Oh, do not grieve me. . . .
The lute suddenly screeched with discord and crashed to the floor.
Annabella looked up and saw Lord Ruthven pushing into the queen’s chambers, and behind him a group of armed men. They had obviously overcome the queen’s guards to reach this sanctum. Ruthven pointed a bony finger at Riccio, who jumped from her side with all the agility of the amphibian he resembled to get behind the queen. The look of fury on Lord Darnley’s face as the little man struggled to hide himself was terrifying.
“Give us the Italian!” Lord Ruthven said in a dark voice.
“How dare ye enter my chambers uninvited, my lord,” the queen said.
“Give us the Italian!” Lord Ruthven demanded a second time.
“To what purpose?” Mary wanted to know. “It is obvious to me that ye come here with no good outcome in mind. Leave me at once!”
