“I thank ye, madam.” Again his curious eyes quickly scanned his surroundings.
“Please,” Annabella invited him, “come and sit by the fire.” She signaled a servant to bring the Earl of Moray a goblet of wine. “I hope ye will honor us by staying the night. I hae had our best guest chamber prepared for ye.”
“Aye,” Moray said. “I should like that, madam. I thank ye for yer hospitality.”
“Shall I send word to yer men outside my walls to raise an encampment for the night?” Angus Ferguson asked his guest. “I will send them a sheep to roast.”
“Most generous,” Moray said. “Aye, have them make camp.” He turned his attention to his goblet, sniffing it first, then tasting it. A small smile touched his lips. “Ye keep an excellent wine cellar, my lord,” he complimented Angus.
Annabella quietly reviewed all she had known about this particular James Stewart. He was the illegitimate son of James V and Margaret Erskine, who had been married to a Douglas. Margaret Erskine had been the favorite of James V’s several mistresses. He had been given the priory of St. Andrew’s as a lad, which accounted for his personal income. When his father had been killed it had been the king’s widow who had gathered all of her husband’s bastards to be raised in the royal nurseries with her own little Mary. He had been half-grown when Mary had been born.
He was a tall man, like many of the Stewarts, with a prominent nose and chin. He had the reddish hair that distinguished them, and their amber eyes. Marie de Guise had been as proud of him as if he were her own son. The rumor was that she had planned to make him her daughter’s regent if she found herself at death’s door before Mary came of age in France. And James Stewart had liked Marie de Guise. He found her, unlike her daughter, a practical woman. It was a trait he much admired in women.
Like many Scots of his time, he had become a member of the Reformed Church. He had attempted to guide his half sister, but her determination to marry Henry, Lord Darnley, set them at odds. After that he spent his time in rebellion and exile. Mary had forgiven him and pardoned him officially, but their relationship was never the same again, especially after the murders of Riccio and Lord Darnley, and Mary’s hasty marriage to Bothwell. But that was all in the past now. Mary was fled, and he was regent of Scotland for his infant nephew.
After a few moments of silence he invited Angus and his lady to sit with him.
Then he said, “My son, Donal, has told me everything. Now I would hear it from ye, my lord of Duin. Evidence hae been presented that would appear to show ye in a traitorous light. Now ye bring evidence that says ye are an honest man. Which of these stories am I to believe? Both are credible.”
“My lord, if I might ask a question,” Angus said.
Moray nodded. “Aye.”
“Who was it who brought this information to yer attention?”
“I dinna know,” Moray replied. “One of my men overheard talk in a tavern.”
“So ye hae no basis in fact for the accusation but a rumor on the wind,” Angus said. “I deny being a traitor to Scotland, my lord. The Fergusons of Duin hae a reputation for avoiding politics and the entanglements caused by politics. Look around ye. I hae a good home and wife. Two wee bairns. I want for nothing. Why in the name of God would I endanger all I have to pursue a lost cause?”
“So ye believe the queen’s cause a lost one,” Moray said.
“I do. Like many of yer acquaintance I dinna like the way the queen was handled after her defeat at Carberry. She was God’s own anointed. But when she was again defeated at Langside several months ago and fled into England, I could no longer defend her actions, nor could many of her adherents. Her son was declared king in her stead. It is the natural order for a queen’s heir to follow her. I stand neither for the Queen’s Men nor the King’s Men. I stand for Scotland, and wee James the Sixth is Scotland.”
The Earl of Moray was impressed by Angus’s arguments, but he said, “What of the papers and the gold that implicate ye?”
“The paper was a forgery. Both it and the gold were put deep into my saddlebag, where I was unlikely to find them, but someone searching would. As Donal Stewart will hae told ye, I traveled back to France to resolve the matter. The local magistrate had been paid to draw up the forgery. The new owner of the property had been importuned to sign it, but would not, realizing something was wrong. His signature and mine were both forged. When pressed, the magistrate admitted to it. Among the papers Donal Stewart will hae brought ye is a paper where he confesses his misdeeds.
“As for the bag of gold coins found, I do not need gold. I hae more than enough gold, a fact I will be more than willing to prove to ye, and ye alone. The Fergusons of Duin are nae traitors. I am nae a traitor. I can only rely upon yer common sense, my lord Moray, to understand that so we may both put this matter aside,” Angus concluded.
“I understand yer wife went wi’ ye to France disguised as a lad,” Moray said. He turned to Annabella. “Is this so, madam?”
“Aye, it is,” she answered him. “My instinct sensed that Angus would be in danger. I asked to accompany him, but he said nay. So I disguised myself and followed him. Only when the danger presented itself was I forced to reveal my identity to him.”
A small smile touched Moray’s thin lips briefly. “Ye would, it seems, be a determined woman, madam.”
“Aye, my lord, I am,” Annabella replied in meek tones.
He looked at her sharply, but Annabella’s eyes were modestly lowered.
“My countess saved my life, my lord,” Angus told Moray, and then he went on to explain exactly how it had come about.
“Your wife’s lack of a pretty face was fortunate, and surely aided her in passing as a lad,” Moray noted. “Your bosom, however, madam, appears quite round. How did ye disguise it?” he inquired candidly.
“I bound them flat wi’ a cloth,” Annabella answered shortly.
“I am curious to see ye garbed as a lad, madam,” the Earl of Moray said.
“My lord!” Angus Ferguson was outraged by the request, but Annabella would not allow the regent to intimidate her, putting a restraining hand on her husband’s arm.
