“Matthew,” Annabella said, “I dinna know what hae precipitated this rift between ye and Aggie, but perhaps ye both need a few days to cool yer fiery heads.”
“Dinna tell me how to manage my wife, madam,” Matthew snarled.
“Manage?”Agnes’s voice had become a screech. “Am I a horse or a dog to be managed? How dare ye, Matthew Ferguson!”
“I want ye and my son home,” he replied.
“Then ye know what ye must do, sir, for I’ll nae be home until ye do it,” Agnes said in firm tones.
He realized then that she had not revealed his secret, and for that he was grateful.
“I’ll nae besmirch my honor, Agnes,” he informed her.
“I hope yer honor will keep ye warm this winter,” she snapped.
With a snarl of impatience Matthew left the castle hall.
“What hae happened to put ye and Matthew at odds?” Annabella asked. “I realize that he can be a difficult man, but he loves ye.”
“He is nae difficult!” Agnes defended her husband. “But sometimes he is foolish.”
“How hae he been foolish?” Annabella probed gently. It had to be something very foolish to have sent her sister racing with her bairn from the fine stone house Matthew had built for her to the security of Duin Castle. But Annabella knew her sister would say nothing—indeed, if she said anything at all—until she had resolved the conflict, at least in her own mind.
Angus took his wife aside when he saw his sister-in-law and her bairn had moved into his home. “What hae happened between them? They’re mad in love.”
“I dinna know,” Annabella admitted. “She is nae ready to tell me, but she will. We hae but to be patient. She is verra angry and hurt by something he hae done or said.”
Several weeks passed. The days were growing noticeably shorter as the autumn arrived and began to deepen. Then one day Jean’s husband, who was captain of the castle men-at-arms, came to the earl.
“The men on the heights hae noticed something, my lord, that I believe should be brought to yer attention. There is traffic coming across the border, single riders, but more in the last two weeks than we usually see in a twelvemonth’s time.”
“Do they seem headed in a singular direction?” Angus asked his captain.
“Aye, toward yer steward’s house. They make an effort to bypass the castle, my lord, but those headed both north and south seem intent on that direction and possible destination. I knew ye would want to know.”
“Thank ye. I should like to be notified the next time one of these riders is spotted so I may see for myself,” Angus told his captain.
“Aye, my lord, I’ll see to it at once,” the captain responded.
Several hours later a man-at-arms came to report that a rider had been spotted on the horizon coming north. The Earl of Duin followed the man up the stairs and finally up a ladder to the roof of his castle. There on the heights, in a driving wind coming off the sea, he stood for the next hour watching the horseman come, and he did indeed make an obvious effort to avoid the castle, instead turning toward Matthew Ferguson’s house.
Angus finally came down from the heights and called for his horse. With two men-at-arms accompanying him, he rode to Matthew’s house. “Check his stables for a weary and lathered mount,” he instructed the men-at-arms. Then, without another word, he went into his brother’s home. He stood silently in the entrance to the little hall for several long moments. At a trestle a stranger was seated in earnest conversation with Matthew as he ate.
The Earl of Duin stepped into the hall, making his presence known as he greeted his younger sibling. “Good afternoon, Matthew,” he said.
Matthew Ferguson jumped up from the bench where he had been seated. There was guilt written all over his face. “Angus!” he exclaimed. “What brings ye here?”
“The stream of riders heading to yer house these last few weeks,” the earl replied dryly. “What mischief hae ye gotten yerself into, brother? Is it the mischief that I expressly forbade ye to involve yerself in? Is that why yer wife left ye, taking yer bairn wi’ her? Who is this man who eats at yer board, Matthew? Do ye even know his name?”
“I had to help!” Matthew exclaimed.
The Earl of Duin’s face grew dark with his anger. “Nay!” he thundered. “Ye dinna hae to help. Yer disobedience hae endangered us all. Dinna ye understand, Matthew? Ye are consorting wi’ rebels. Engaging in treasonous conduct.”
“How can helping Scotland’s rightful queen be treasonous?” Matthew demanded.
“Scotland hae no queen, ye thick dolt! Scotland hae a king. His Majesty James, the sixth of that name,” the earl said angrily. Then he turned to the man still eating at the trestle. “Finish yer meal and then be gone back from whence ye came. I’ll take the packet ye carry first, however.”
The messenger stood up. He was almost as tall as Angus Ferguson, and looked him directly in the eye. “’Tis nae for ye, my lord, but bound for Dumbarton Castle.”
