“Non,” the magistrate said. “I do not know who he is, monsieur, but his offer is twice Monsieur Claude’s offer. I should take it, for it is likely you will not receive another offer so fine. What does it matter who he is? I have seen the color of his gold.”
But the laird of Duin was suspicious, and asked to meet with both of his prospective purchasers.
Monsieur Claude was a wealthy merchant. He wanted the Mont de Devereaux lands for his second son and his family. Monsieur Reynaud, however, admitted to seeking to purchase the land for his master.
“What is your master’s name?” the earl asked.
“Why should his name matter to you, my lord? Is the offer not enough? If it is not I am certain I can arrange for my master to increase it to your satisfaction,” Monsieur Reynaud replied sharply.
“I will not sell the lands belonging to my mother’s family to a stranger, no matter the amount,” Angus Ferguson said in a hard voice. “That you are not willing to divulge his name leads me to consider that he seeks the land for a dishonest purpose.”
“Very well, my lord, if you insist upon knowing, the name of the family seeking these lands is de Guise.”
Hearing it, Angus Ferguson grew angry. “Non!” he said in a hard voice.
“My lord!” Monsieur Reynaud cried. “You have but to name your price.”
“Do you take me for a greedy fool?” the earl said. “Or perhaps just a fool, that I would sell these lands to the maternal family of Mary Stuart? You do not wish to buy the land. You wish to buy me.Non!Never!”
“Monsieur, you have but to carry a single message to your queen.” The agent of the de Guises looked extremely distressed.
“Mary Stuart is in England,” Angus responded. “I am in Scotland. While I am not pleased by the manner in which it was done, Queen Mary has been removed from her position, and her son crowned in her stead. The Fergusons are loyal to the head that wears the crown, monsieur, and the bairn James now wears it. Should the queen be returned one day to her rightful place, then I will be unquestioningly loyal to her. Until then I choose to stay free of the entanglements of politics.Non!I most certainly will not carry any messages for the de Guises.”
“She is not so far away that you could not cross the border to deliver my master’s message,” Monsieur Reynaud said. “Or if that were not possible, we could arrange to send a messenger for our correspondence. It is difficult to reach her now, and her family is concerned by this lack of communication. We suspect the English of blocking it.”
Angus Ferguson snorted. “She should not have gone into England. She should have come to France, monsieur, but she did not. Now she is caught in a trap of her own making. A disturbed Scotland fighting a civil war is more to England’s liking than Mary Stuart firmly upon her throne.” He turned to the astounded merchant, who had been listening to every word uttered between the earl and the de Guise family agent. “You may have the Mont de Devereaux lands, Monsieur Claude. Your offer is accepted. When the village magistrate is notified by my bankers in Paris that your monies have been deposited, then he will turn over the deed of ownership to you.”
“Monsieur, I protest!” Monsieur Reynaud said.
“The lands are mine, monsieur, and I have the right to sell to whomever I chose,” the earl said. “Now get you gone back to your masters. Tell them that the Fergusons of Duin are honorable men and cannot be bought. The matter is closed.”
“Thank you, monsieur, thank you!” Monsieur Claude said, shaking the earl’s hand and bowing profusely over and over again.
“Your offer was fair,” the earl replied. “I wish your son and his family many years of happiness as the owners of Mont de Devereaux. I intend pensioning off the two elderly servants still residing in the house, but they seem capable of serving if they choose. You might value their knowledge of the château.”
“Of course! Of course!” Monsieur Claude responded, his plump face wreathed in smiles. Then he hurried off with a final flurry ofmercis.
The earl noted that Monsieur Reynaud had vanished after being rebuffed that final time. He was relieved to have the man gone, and furious to think that the family of Mary Stuart believed he could be bribed in such an outrageous manner. Speaking with the magistrate that same day, he arranged for the two old servants to receive a pension, and as an afterthought purchased two tiny cottages for them, as the estate cottages would not be available to them now. He signed the papers that, upon deposit of the purchase price, would turn over Mont de Devereaux to Monsieur Claude. Then he paid the magistrate double his fee to make certain all went as he ordered it.
The magistrate smiled toothily at him. “Monsieur is most generous,” he said. “Everything shall be exactly as you have requested.”
“I had not a doubt,” the earl answered, shaking the man’s hand. “You have been most helpful, and I am grateful.”
Early the next morning Angus Ferguson rode back to Saint-Pol, where he purchased the animal he had been riding. He was not of a mind for another long voyage and had decided to follow the French coast north, checking in each port for a vessel bound for Berwick-upon-Tweed. From Berwick he could ride cross-country to Duin. It would be far quicker than retracing his steps by sea or even just sailing from Saint-Pol to Leith, and then riding southwest to his home.
Finally at Calais he found a small merchant vessel that carried raw wool and coal from the north of England. It had just unloaded its cargo a few days earlier and was ready to return home, its belly now filled with wine casks. It would be making stops at several small ports before finally reaching Berwick. Still, it was quicker than he had hoped. At each port the cargo was quickly unloaded, and they were off again on the next tide. It was the end of August when the Earl of Duin finally disembarked in Berwick. Having sold his horse in Calais, he now sought another, and with the purchase made, he set off for Duin, riding over the hills dividing England and Scotland.
After several days the landscape became more and more familiar, until he knew he was riding his own lands. Soon he was smelling the faint sweet scent of the Irish Sea, and then there was Duin below him. He stopped to enjoy the view of it. Matthew wisely had the drawbridge up. Angus Ferguson had carefully avoided several large armed parties of riders in his travels from Berwick. Scotland had obviously not settled itself yet.
He rode down the hillside at a leisurely pace, giving the men-at-arms on the walls time to recognize their master. He knew they had when the drawbridge was lowered.
Pushing his mount into a canter, he crossed the courtyard, brought his animal to a halt, and dismounted.
“Welcome home, my lord!” the stable lad greeted him as he took hold of the horse so he might lead him to the stables.
“Thank ye, lad,” the earl said. Where was Annabella? Certainly someone had gone to fetch her when they recognized him. He strode into the house to the hall, where he found his family gathered, and with them a tall stranger.
“Angus!” Annabella ran to him. “Agree to whatever is asked of ye,” she whispered into his ear, and then kissed him heartily.
