“Ye canna send me back,” Annabella said.
“Nay, ye’re safer wi’ me, sweetheart, although ye will continue on wi’ yer disguise. However, tomorrow after we hae left here, ye will ride wi’ me,” Angus Ferguson told his wife. “And when we return to Duin, I will beat ye for yer disobedience.”
“Ye’ll hae to catch me first,” Annabella responded teasingly.
“I’ve caught ye now,” he said, pulling her into his lap.
Their lips met in a passionate kiss, her mouth opening to take in his tongue, which quickly found hers, stroking it, stoking their passions to a fiery crest. His fingers loosened the ties of her shirt, his hands slipping beneath the fabric to caress her perfect breasts. He shifted her body about so that he might lower his head to suckle on one of her tempting nipples already thrusting demandingly toward him. His lips closed over it.
Annabella moaned low as his mouth tugged on her sensitive flesh.Mother of mercy!They were in a public place. What if someone came and saw them? Then she realized she didn’t care. “I want more,” she husked in his ear.
He raised his head. “So do I,” he said. He tipped her out of his lap. “Undo yer breeks, lass, and bend over the table.”
She quickly complied, baring her bottom to him.
“Use yer hands to balance yerself,” he told her, and when she did he reached beneath her to find her little love button, which he teased and worried until she was wiggling her buttocks enthusiastically. She was already drenching his fingers with her juices. He carefully nosed his cock beneath her, finding her love passage to thrust deep.
“Ahhhhh!” Annabella sighed, feeling him fill her with his thickness.
Holding her steady with his big hands, he began to piston her, moving slowly at first, then more quickly, increasing the tempo and the friction. “Ye’re a shameless piece o’ goods, wife,” he growled in her ear. “I love fucking ye. I love the sounds ye make that tell me I’m pleasing ye.”
Her head was spinning with excitement and delight. Annabella pushed her bottom back into his groin, teasing him with the motion, tightening her sheath about him, making him groan with his own pleasure. “I love ye fucking me,” she admitted. “While I hae never known another man, I cannot believe any other could or would love me as well, Angus Ferguson.” She felt her crisis approaching, and knew he felt it too. When it burst over them they both sighed with equal amounts of pleasure and regret.
Withdrawing from her, he drew her breeks up and then, sitting down, pulled her back into his lap, his arms about her. They slept briefly, awakening just before the skies began to lighten. Annabella climbed from his lap and adjusted her garments. She picked up her cap from the floor where it had fallen, and, ascertaining that her plait was still tightly fastened to her head, put the cap on her head. And while she had made order from disorder, he did the same.
A servant stumbled into the room carrying an armload of wood, with which he made a new fire, the old one having burned into coals during the night. Another servant came in bringing a plate of eggs, bacon, bread, and butter. She plunked their plates before them, along with mugs of cider. Angus and Annabella ate at their separate tables, not speaking.
He finished his meal first, arose, paid the landlord, and went into the inn yard, where his horse was waiting. He then rode off. Annabella followed his lead, and found her husband awaiting her upon the road, out of sight of the inn.
It was sunny and hot as they rode along the road to Mont de Devereaux. They spoke little until he said, “We should reach the village by noon.”
“What will ye do then?” Annabella queried him.
“Find Monsieur Claude, if I can. We’ll go straight to my mother’s old château,” he said. “I sold my property to him, and not to the de Guise family. Why they would want a property in Brittany is beyond me. They are not Breton; nor should they have any use for such a property.”
“Hopefully we shall soon learn the reason,” Annabella said.
They arrived just after the noon hour at the village where Angus’s mother had been born and spent her childhood, even as he had predicted. The dusty streets were almost deserted in the late-summer heat but for a dog here and there. They stopped to water their horses at the village fountain, then rode on to the château, which lay on the far side of the village of Mont de Devereaux. The gates to the house were closed, but a gatekeeper came forth immediately.
“Is this the home of the son of Monsieur Claude?” the earl asked.
“Aye, my lord!” The gatekeeper pulled at his forelock, and then opened the gates to allow them entry. Two unarmed gentlemen did not present a threat.
They rode through, and up the wide tree-lined road leading to the château. When they reached the circular drive they stopped before the beautiful house. A liveried servant hurried out as two stablemen took their horses. He ushered them into the building.
“I am the Earl of Duin,” Angus said, “former owner of this property. I should like to see the son of Monsieur Claude.”
“Please to await Monsieur Raoul in the salon,” the servant replied, pointing to a double door. “I shall fetch my master at once.”
“Remain standing, and do not speak unless requested,” the earl said. “You are my servant. What did you call yourself when you paid your passage on theGazelle?”
“Robert Hamilton,” Annabella said. Then they waited in silence.
Chapter 13
Monsieur Raoul entered, and Angus knew at once he was Monsieur Claude’s son, for he resembled his father most strongly.
“I am Angus Ferguson, the Earl of Duin,” Angus said before the young man might speak. “This château was my mother’s home, and I sold it several weeks ago to your father,” he began. “When I returned home I found myself accused of treason against my king, because it was said I had sold this house to the de Guise family, the kinsmen of our former queen. I am now believed to be in league with them to restore Mary Stuart to her throne. Do you have an explanation you can give me for this misunderstanding?”
