Bond of Passion

The first day of October dawned chill and gray. Annabella was up before the first light began to dapple the sky. She had not slept as well as she might have, being anxious and nervous about what lay ahead. Her three sisters were snoring softly, burrowed beneath the down quilt. Using the night jar she pulled from beneath the bed, she set it aside. Then, pouring some water into the pewter basin, she quickly washed. The water was icy cold and drove any thoughts of sleep from her.

She had laid her clothing out the night before on a chest at the foot of the bed. Capable of riding astride, she had taken Jean Ferguson’s suggestion from the evening before, and dressed warmly. She tucked her chemise into a pair of woolen breeks, pulling on thick wool socks to wear beneath her worn leather boots. She put on a light wool undervest lined in sheepskin, then a linen shirt over it, followed by her doeskin jerkin with sleeves lined in lamb’s wool. Unless it rained, she wouldn’t need a cloak.

When Annabella had dressed, she stopped to look slowly about her. This was her bedchamber. The only one she had ever had. High in Rath Tower, she had slept here her entire life. It was a simple room, modest in size, just large enough to hold the big bed and four little wooden trunks holding each sister’s personal possessions. Her trunk was now packed into a cart to depart for her new home.

She couldn’t help the little sigh that escaped her, along with the thought that she wished her new home were closer to her old home. At least her sisters would have that advantage, even if she didn’t. She considered waking her siblings but decided against it. It was far earlier than their usual rising hour. Myrna would complain. Sorcha would giggle sleepily, for she was always the hardest to wake. It was unlikely she would even recall saying farewell. And little Aggie would weep, for she was such a tender creature, and as the baby of the family had long ago learned that crying gained her the most attention. Annabella looked down at them, smiling. They were so damned beautiful.

“Farewell, my dearies,” she whispered softly to them. Then she left the bedchamber, descending into the hall through her brother’s chamber, and then their parents’ chamber.

Pale light was beginning to show through the hall’s two windows. The servants were already bringing in bread trenchers of oat stirabout to the high board, where the three Fergusons sat with her brother, Rob, and their parents. The trestles were filled with men-at-arms eating fresh-baked bread, cheese, and the cold meats left over from yesterday’s bridal banquet. She greeted the others at the high board as she took her place. There was virtually no conversation in the hall.

Annabella spooned up her oat stirabout, noting that the cook had added bits of dry apple to the mixture. She must remember that, she thought, as she poured a large dollop of cream onto the hot cereal. Then, knowing her day would be a long one, she took advantage of the unusually large meal, for breakfast at Rath was never quite as lavish as it was today. There were eggs poached in heavy cream and dill, along with rashers of bacon. Annabella helped herself and ate heartily, adding bread, butter, and cheese along with a cup of cider. She ate quickly, watching the Fergusons as she did. She would not be the cause of any delay, but the Fergusons were also eating vigorously.

When the meal was over, Annabella and Jean Ferguson retired to see to their personal needs before the departure. Now, in the little courtyard, the bride looked about her, experiencing a brief moment of panic. Suddenly she didn’t want to leave Rath. She would rather die unmarried, a virgin, than leave her home for a stranger’s house. Nay. Castle. What did she know of living in a castle?

But then, seeing her mother struggling to hold back her own tears, Annabella gained a mastery of her own emotions. She had made a brilliant marriage for the daughter of an unimportant tower laird. Especially considering her lack of beauty. How ungrateful would it be to fling this good fortune away? She stepped into her mother’s embrace, accepting her kisses and kissing her back.

Now her father was taking her by her shoulders. He kissed her on both cheeks and nodded silently. Annabella was surprised, for she had never known Robert Baird to be at a loss for words. Rob hugged her, whispering in her ear that if she ever needed him, she was to send a messenger to him with the little ring he now fitted on the littlest finger of her right hand. Annabella blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes and nodded at him. Her farewells were now finished.

Jean Ferguson quickly led her brother’s bride to the waiting white mare before the family could grow any more maudlin. “This is the earl’s first gift to you,” Jean said.

“Then I shall call her Snow,” Annabella said. “She is quite pristine, and shows no color at all.” She turned in her saddle as the others mounted up. Raising her gloved hand, she bade her family a final farewell. It was instinct that made her lift her eyes to the top of Rath Tower, where her three beautiful sisters now stood upon the rooftop, waving to her and clinging to one another. She could clearly make out Aggie’s little woebegone face. Annabella smiled up at them and waved back.

Given the signal to move out, the large mounted party led by the two Ferguson pipers departed Rath. Behind them, the small baggage train carrying the bride’s possessions followed. The sun was now climbing over the eastern hills, a faintly shining ball through the pearlescent skies of the cloudy day, and so it remained for the next few days of their travels. They were fortunate, however, not to be burdened by rain.

They rode from dawn until dusk each day, stopping briefly at midday to rest the horses. Each evening, when they halted their travels, a small pavilion was raised for the two women to shelter within. They ate cold food, because a fire would have attracted any nighttime raiders, and the Fergusons preferred to avoid confrontations. The countryside about them still showed the ravages of the recent border wars with England, although the farther west they went, the less damage had been done. Much of the land was desolate and lonely. The weather was chilly but not unbearable.

Finally, on what Matthew Ferguson promised would be the last day of their journey, the sun shone in a cloudless blue sky. There was a tang to the air that grew stronger as they traveled. It was a fresh and clean smell, such as Annabella had never known. The horses seemed lively. When she asked about this new scent in the air, Matthew told her that it was the smell of the sea.

“Aye,” Jean agreed. “We must stop soon so that Annabella can change into her gown. A different saddle must be placed upon Snow. The countess must greet her new husband as the lady she is, Matthew.”

“There’s a grove of trees on the hill before we reach the castle road. That should allow me time to send a man to Duin so that Angus knows we’re arriving, and give the lady a chance to change her garments,” he said.

They finally reached the designated spot. A rider broke away from the group, galloping away down the road, while the men-at-arms took the time to dismount, relieve themselves, and rest their horses. Matthew took Snow off to replace her saddle with a sidesaddle, which was more appropriate to a woman in skirts. Jean led Annabella deep into the grove so she might have her privacy while she changed from her traveling clothes into her wedding gown. Annabella fretted that her best gown would stink of horse.

“I’ll need a bath after all this time on the road,” Annabella said. “I stink of both horse and my own sweat too. I wish I didn’t have to meet the earl until after I was bathed and my hair washed so ’twould be fresh and clean.” She sighed as Jean pulled off her boots. “What a grand impression I shall make upon yer poor brother. Plain as mud and smelling of horse to boot.” She shook her head in despair as she stood up in her stockinged feet and drew off her breeks.

Jean had to laugh at the picture her companion had painted. “I know,” she said. “It’s a difficult position ye’ve been put into, my lady, but my brother Angus is not a man faint of heart. Nor is he stupid. He will understand, and he will make you feel quite assured of yerself; I promise ye.”

“Jean, I am not some wretched lass impressed by her own importance. For all the circumstances of yer birth, we are kinswomen now. I want ye to call me Annabella. I am not used to being ‘my lady.’ It is too formal between us.”

“Thank ye,” Jean Ferguson said. “In private we shall call each other by name, but in public you will receive the respect due my brother’s wife as Countess of Duin, Annabella, and be ‘my lady.’ ” Jean had quickly come to like this young woman. There was no artifice about her. If her brother was as wise as she had always thought him to be, Annabella’s lack of physical beauty would not disturb him once he came to know her.

Now dressed but for her embroidered bodice, Annabella sat upon a small folding stool that had traveled with them, while Jean brushed out her long dark hair, then fixed it into an elegant chignon that quite suited Annabella’s oval face. Then, helping her mistress into her bodice and lacing it up, Jean set a small light gray velvet cap with a narrow pointed eagle’s feather upon the girl’s head. The feather was held by the Baird clan badge, which had an eagle’s head in the center.

“Yer mam gave it to me just before we left Rath. She said ye were to wear it when you rode into Duin, and to never forget from whence ye sprang. It’s quite charming.” She stepped back. “Are ye ready, Annabella?”

“Aye, I suppose I am,” her companion agreed, pulling her riding gloves back on her hands. Together, the two young women emerged from the grove, where Snow was now waiting with an elegant saddle and bridle upon her. Matthew helped Annabella to mount, steadying the mare as the young woman settled her leg over the pommel and her skirts about her. She took the reins from him.

“She’s nervous,” Jean whispered back. “She’ll shortly meet her husband for the first time, and he’s a total stranger to her.” Men! They could be so unfeeling, she thought. But not Angus. Angus’s charm and ability to understand women were his strong points, as Annabella would soon learn. She would not be nervous for much longer.

Led by the Ferguson pipers, the bridal party topped the last hill, stopping briefly so that Annabella might glimpse Duin in all its glory for the very first time. The castle, for it was indeed a castle, stood below them on a rocky promontory overlooking the sea. Annabella’s mouth fell open with surprise, but she quickly closed it not to look the fool. It was a dark gray stone structure, rectangular, with four tall round towers, each with a slate witch’s-cap roof. The walls connecting each section of the castle were made for defense, although Annabella could not imagine anyone attacking Duin. It was set in such a way that it could be accessed only on one side across a drawbridge. Beyond and around it, the bright sun danced on the dark blue waters, catching the foamy curl of the waves. It was beautiful and seemed to have a magical air about it.

“It looks impressive at first glance, I know,” Jean said, seeing the look on Annabella’s face, “but I promise it is very comfortable within. You will be happy here.”

They descended the hill on the castle road, the pipers playing a cheerful march ahead of them. Then from out of the castle and across the drawbridge came a party of riders. Two outriders rode with gaily colored flags flying. Matthew grinned and Jean laughed, delighted. A cheer went up from the men-at-arms escorting the bride.

Leading the welcoming party was a tall man on an enormous dappled gray stallion. Annabella knew in an instant that this had to be Angus Ferguson. Her party had stopped, and as the other group of riders drew near, she saw his face for the first time. They had not lied. She almost wept then and there. He was without a doubt the handsomest man she had ever set eyes upon. She felt her plainness now more than she had ever before felt it. This beautiful man shouldn’t be wed to her. His wife should be some glorious female whose beauty matched his.

He had a sculpted face with high cheekbones and a long straight nose. His chin was squared, not with hard lines, but soft ones. There was the faint impression of a dimple in the exact center of that chin. His mouth was long and just full enough without being big. She could not see the color of his eyes yet, but his hair and brows were every bit as dark as hers were. God’s mercy, how envious Myrna would be, Annabella thought.

Angus Ferguson’s stallion came to a halt. He dismounted, going quickly to where Annabella sat upon Snow. She couldn’t look at him for fear of weeping. Seeing him, she wanted him, but he would certainly send her back having seen her. A little gasp escaped her when, reaching up, he lifted her from the back of the mare. A single finger slipped beneath her chin, raising her head up. Deep green eyes met her startled gray gaze.

He smiled a quick smile at her, then, turning to both mounted parties, said, “Go home. The countess and I shall walk the mile together.” Then his big hand gripped her small one. “Come, madam,” he commanded her. “We will walk and talk so we may come to know each other better.”

“Yer father had something I wanted,” the earl said candidly. “And he needed a husband for his eldest daughter. Gaining an earl for a tower laird’s wench was quite an achievement for yer family, madam.”

“Had my heart been engaged elsewhere, my lord, I can assure you, even if ye were a king, my father would not have acceded to this match. Neither of my parents would have forced me to the altar had I not wanted to go.”

“Nay,” Annabella told him. “There has never been any to take my fancy. Nor, were I a member of the old Church, would a convent have been for me. I thought I might be one of those women who never weds but remains home to care for her aging parents. With the border wars these many years, it was difficult to socialize among the border families in the east, thanks to the English. And fewer young men to meet, as so many were killed,” she explained.

He stopped but he did not release her hand, rather turning her to face him as he looked down at her. “Ye are not ugly,” he said quietly. “And I did not want a beautiful wife. I wanted a wife who would respect and be loyal to me, madam. I have been in love. I learned that beautiful women are vain, selfish, treacherous. I did not want a wife like that. Ye will be the perfect wife for me,” he assured her.

“Ye are called the handsomest man in the borders, my lord. Yer reputation, however, is not that of a vain and selfish man. My sisters are beautiful, and while they can be silly, even foolish sometimes, they will be good wives to their husbands, because they have been raised by a good mother. As for respect and loyalty, they are not gifts easily given. They are earned and must come from the heart.”

“Nay, my lord, ye but surprised me. I am no fool. It is obvious ye have been disappointed by beautiful lasses. I am not beautiful, but if I were I should still endeavor to be a good wife to ye,” Annabella told him.

He raised to his lips the small hand he held, and kissed it. “Madam, I apologize, for I have offended ye. It is not a good way for us to begin. Will you forgive me?” He smiled a little smile at her.

Unable to help herself, Annabella smiled back, showing him a row of perfect little white teeth. How many women, she wondered, had given in to that smile? “Ye’re forgiven, my lord. This walking and talking was a wise decision. Now tell me what ye have planned for today. I am anxious to conclude the formalities so I may bathe. I stink of the road and of my horse. I want a hot bath more than anything.”

“I had planned to have the ceremony immediately, but ye cannot be wed to me in that gown. Whoever chose such a color for you did you no kindness,” the earl told her. “Yer pale skin needs clear, bright colors, not this dull gray. Duin has its own church, and my people will be crowded into it to get their first glimpse of their new lady. I would have them see ye at yer best, madam.”

“Ye will find a complete new wardrobe in yer apartments, madam,” he told her. “Yer mam was kind enough to send me the measurements I required. There may be some small adjustments needed, but ye shall have a fine gown to wear at our wedding ceremony. Ye will have yer bath first, and then Jean will garb ye in yer new finery.”

“I was told ye were as pale as the moon, with hair like ebony,” he said. “It was enough. Tell Jean to choose something particularly festive.” He smiled down at her again, and she felt her knees weaken. “Now we are almost home, madam, so let us hurry.”

They continued on down the castle road, finally crossing over the broad oak drawbridge. There was no moat, Annabella saw, but rather beneath the drawbridge was a chasm that fell to the sea itself. Duin Castle, she now realized, stood upon a great cliff separated from the land. “Where is yer village?” she asked him, curious.

“Look to yer left,” he said. “Ye can see the church tower from here. The village was built around St. Andrew’s. Ye can inspect it in a few days. Our people farm and fish.” He led her beneath the great iron portcullis and into a large courtyard. “Welcome home, madam!” he said to her. “Welcome to Duin!”

Looking about her, Annabella could see the lines of the original house that had become a small castle. Her curiosity aroused, she looked forward to exploring it and learning all about it. “Thank ye, my lord,” she said, accepting his welcome.

“The countess will bathe and change into something more suitable,” the earl told his half sister. “Help her choose something festive, Jeannie. When she is ready we will celebrate the formalities at St. Andrew’s.”

Annabella felt suddenly and strangely bereft at the loss of the strong fingers that had wrapped themselves about hers just a moment before. “I will try not to keep ye waiting too long, my lord,” she said as she curtsied to him.

“Aye,” Jean said. “He and Angus have been friends since they were lads. His da, the fair earl, fell in love with Marie de Guise and divorced his wife so he might woo her. Of course, it was useless, for Marie’s sole reason for living was her daughter. Eventually Patrick Hepburn betrayed Scotland. I think that is why his son is so loyal to it. It’s as if James Hepburn is attempting to make up for his father’s treason. His sister, Janet, is married to John Stewart, another bastard son of King James V. He controls and has the income from the priory of Coldingham.”

They walked down a hallway lined in windows on one side. They had reached their destination. Jean flung open one side of a double door and ushered her mistress into her new apartment. Annabella was enchanted. The dayroom was paneled in warm wood. There was a stone fireplace flanked by stone greyhounds that was blazing with a bright fire. The leaded windows overlooked the sea and were hung with burgundy-colored velvet draperies. The furniture was warm golden oak, the settle and straight-backed chairs cushioned. There was a red-and-blue carpet upon the wood floor. Her mother did not have a dayroom, although they had heard of such chambers, and she had always believed a dayroom was for the rich. Then she recalled that her husband was a wealthy man. And as his wife, she now had a dayroom. She could not help but think that Myrna would be very jealous.

An older woman resembling Jean came forward. She curtsied politely to Annabella. “I am Jeanne, my lady. I served the earl’s mama until her death several years ago. If I may be of service to ye at any time, ye have but to ask. I live in a cottage in the village, tending to my two grandchildren.”

“All here is as it should be, my lady,” Jeanne told Annabella. “I have served my time with my mistress, Madame Adrienne. We were girls together in Brittany. I chose to come to Scotland when she married the laird. Now it is my daughter’s time to serve ye. My grandsons are my joy. Now, having met ye, I will leave ye, for it is past time for ye to prepare for yer wedding to the earl.” She curtsied and departed.

“Ye have a special chamber for bathing,” Jean said to her. “I can pump cold water into it, but we must send for hot water.” She reached for the bellpull near the fireplace and yanked on it. A maidservant immediately appeared, and Jean gave her instructions. The girl hurried off. “Let’s choose yer gown,” Jean suggested. She led Annabella to a small windowless room off the dayroom. There were two large wooden wardrobes against a wall inside the chamber. Jean flung open the doors to the tall chests. “Here are the gowns the earl had made for ye. There is a burgundy velvet I particularly like, but ye must pick yerself.”

Annabella caught her breath as she looked at the beautiful gowns hanging from pieces of carved wood within the cabinets. What luxury! At home, their gowns had been packed in their trunks until needed and set out the day before wearing to air and lose their wrinkles. The colors were wonderful. Bright and clear. Scarlet. Rich deep green without a hint of yellow or blue. Sea blue. A sunny gold, tawny orange, deep bright pink, lavender, violet, apple green. But it was a cheerful yellow velvet skirt that caught her eye. She looked about for a bodice to go with it and found a cream velvet one embroidered with copper silk butterflies and fat bumblebees.

She led the way to another room, where Annabella was surprised to see a large square stone tub half-sunk into the floor of the chamber. There was a fireplace with a hot fire burning in it on the wall opposite the tub. There were two doors: the one they had entered through, and another. Annabella was surprised to see a maidservant taking bucket after steaming bucket from an opening in the wall and dumping it into the tub.

“’Tis Angus’s invention,” Jean explained. “These were once his mother’s rooms. She loved to bathe. When he became the Earl of Duin he designed this little device to bring hot water to her from the kitchens so the servants did not have to run and up and down, spilling half the water by the time they reached their destination. He made her a separate bathing chamber with a fixed tub. The pump at one end of the tub gives only cold water, but the tub has a drain that can be opened to empty the tub directly into the sea.” She walked over to the tub, looked in, and said to the little maidservant, “A dozen more buckets should do it. When it is ready call me, and I will mix the cold water into it for my lady.”

The servant nodded, and, opening the second door, Jean led Annabella into her bedchamber. It was a lovely chamber with a large bed hung with rose-colored velvet. She saw her trunk was already there, but the space was also furnished with tables, chairs, and a chest. The fireplace was flanked by stone fairies with sweet faces and dainty wings. The windows overlooking the sea were also hung with rose-colored velvet and had a window seat with a tufted cushion. She had never seen such a beautiful room.

With Jean’s help, Annabella divested herself of her garments, her boots, and her stockings, which after several days’ travel seemed to be welded to her feet. The tiring woman now hurried back into the bathing chamber, and Annabella heard the sound of water gushing.

Naked, Annabella walked into the bathing chamber and got into the stone tub. It was long enough for her to actually sit down and stretch her legs out. The water flowed up to her chin, and was fragrant. “God’s mercy,” she breathed with a sigh. “Surely something this marvelous has to be a sin.”

There was an alabaster jar of sweet-smelling soft soap on the narrow rim of the tub. Annabella loosened her hair, dunked her head beneath the hot water, and, taking a handful of the soap, she washed her long black tresses. When she had finished she wrung her hair free of excess moisture and, taking a pin from Jean, affixed her hair atop her head. Then she washed her body thoroughly. The fragrance from the soap was astonishing in its seductive elegance.

“My mother makes it with ingredients she imports from Provence,” Jean said. “The scent she chose for ye was that of moonflowers, because she said if ye were indeed a plain lass, ye would need an extravagant perfume to make ye memorable. Moonflowers bloom only at night in the light of the moon. The earl’s mama preferred the fragrance of violets, for it reminded her of her home in Brittany.” As Annabella stood up, Jean held out a large, warm drying cloth for her mistress to wrap herself in. “Come and sit by the fire so we may dry your lovely hair.” She led her to the bedchamber, handing Annabella another drying cloth so she might get the moisture from her long hair. Then she gave her a silver hairbrush fitted with boar’s bristles.

Annabella sat quietly, drawing the brush slowly through her damp hair. The heat from the fire felt wonderful as it seeped into her bones. The long journey in the crisp autumn air, and sleeping beneath the little pavilion that even the charcoal brazier hadn’t been able to heat, had left her wondering whether she would ever be warm again. She had never, it seemed to her, known a hearth so delightfully toasty. Her long locks dried quickly.

Poor lass, Jean thought, watching the girl. She’s exhausted. She saw the motion of the brush Annabella was wielding grow slower and slower. Catching it before it dropped from the younger woman’s hand, she gently shook her mistress, who was falling asleep. “When ye’re ready, Annabella, I’ll get yer stockings, chemise, and petticoats.”

“I don’t know why Angus couldn’t have waited until tomorrow to go through all this folderol,” Jean said. “He can be so impatient.” Kneeling, she rolled the pretty white silk stockings onto the girl’s legs, securing them with plain silk garters. A chemise and two petticoats, one heavily stiffened with starch, were donned. Next came a cream satin underskirt, the embroidered panel of which would show through the divided yellow velvet overskirt. The embroidery of bumblebees and butterflies done in bright copper threads matched the design on the bodice.

“I can’t wait to give ye a more elegant coiffure,” Jean said, “but ye know that today ye must wear yer hair unbound to give testament to yer virginity.” She brushed the long tresses free of any remaining tangles. Then she placed a bejeweled gold circlet about Annabella’s head. “There! Now let’s get yer overskirt and bodice on.”

The remaining garments were quickly donned. The pale yellow velvet skirts settled over the underskirt and petticoats in a bell shape. The bodice with its copper embroidery and puffed sleeves was just right. When Jean had finished lacing the garment, she turned Annabella about and nodded approvingly.

Annabella looked nervously into the mirror. Her only looking glass at Rath had been a piece of highly polished metal that had a tendency to distort whatever it reflected. Staring into the smooth glass, she was surprised by the difference fine clothing made in her appearance. Oh, she was still plain of face, but somehow it seemed to matter less with her beautiful garments. And while she shyly admired herself, Jean placed pear-shaped pearl earrings in her ears and slipped a rope of creamy pearls around her neck, from which fell a jeweled silver-and-gold crucifix. “God’s mercy,” Annabella gasped softly.

“The earl wanted you to wear these today,” Jean told her. “They are now yers.” Then she said, “Just yer shoes, and ye’ll be ready. We haven’t been too long. Angus canna complain at us,” Jean said with a chuckle.

Annabella slipped her feet into a pretty pair of yellow kid slippers decorated with pearls that Jean had set out for her. She stretched a leg out to admire the slipper. “I can’t believe such lovely bounty is now mine. The earl does indeed possess magic to make me feel almost pretty.”

Jean sighed. “Some ancestor several hundred years ago either actually had magic or convinced everyone that he did. The Fergusons of Duin have chosen not to let the legend die. People are fearful of us, and it has allowed us to avoid entanglements with our neighbors. There is too much feuding in the borders. It leads only to death and destruction. We have the English for that. The fear of our alleged magic keeps people afraid, and thus we can avoid difficulties.”

Jean laughed. “We have always been generous to the Church. Even the pastor of the Reformed kirk in our village trusts us, and ye surely know how virulent they can be. Besides, no act of magic can be attributed to us. The reputation we have gained is simply assumed to be our way. Indeed, here in the west we are considered the mediators for others. It is thought our judgments are impartial and equitable.”

“We are.” Jean laughed. Then she said, “We must go down now. We are riding into the village, where Jamie will marry ye to Angus in the kirk surrounded by our clan folk. Afterward, there will be a feast in the hall, and gifts for all.”

“Aye,” Jean replied, “but Angus will not feel properly wed to ye unless the rite performed is that of the old Church. Fortunately, Jamie is here, as we no longer have a priest at Duin. But soon Jamie will leave Scotland. He has been invited to Rome. Our sister Mary’s convent has already relocated to France. For all the queen’s generous words, the old faith of our ancestors is no longer welcome in Scotland.”

Of course he wanted to be wed in the faith he practiced, Annabella considered. She had been baptized in the old faith, but when John Knox managed to make the Catholic faith illegal, her parents had quietly turned to the new kirk. Annabella had never been quite comfortable with the hard man preaching such a hard faith. She followed Jean back through the windowed corridor and downstairs to the hall. She could see through the windows as they passed by that the afternoon was advancing quickly.

The earl and Lord Bothwell had already gone on to the church, but Matthew was awaiting her. Leading her outside into the courtyard, he settled her upon her horse, then put Jean upon another beast before mounting his own horse. They departed the courtyard, crossing over the drawbridge and onto a narrow path that led to the village.

No one spoke again as they rode toward the village. They saw no one, and, entering Duin, Annabella found the streets deserted. Arriving at the church, Matthew dismounted, then lifted the bride from her saddle. Jean slid from the back of her horse easily. She hurried into the church, followed by her brother and Annabella. It was filled with the Ferguson clansmen and -women, and she was suddenly grateful for her new finery. She had seen the difference it had made in her appearance when she had looked into the mirror. Plain she might be, but she now looked every inch how she thought a countess of Duin should look. A little lass stepped forward to hand her a small bouquet of white heather.

Annabella bent, whispering to the child as she gently touched her pretty face, “Thank ye, my dearie.” She kissed the rosy cheek of the child. Then, standing again, she allowed Matthew Ferguson to lead her down the aisle of the church to where the earl stood waiting for her. Angus Ferguson, she noted, had also changed his garments. He was now garbed in rich brown velvet with a fine velvet doublet that was embroidered in gold and copper threads, its slashed puffed sleeves showing cream-colored satin.

He took her hand, and together they knelt before the priest, James Ferguson, while the ceremony was performed and lengthy prayers were intoned for their long life together along with a fruitful union. A copy of the marriage contract was displayed, and then read to those in attendance. The clan folk were asked if they approved their lord’s acceptance of both the terms and the virgin Annabella Baird. The clansmen and -women answered in the affirmative, not that they would have said otherwise. The question to them had been a courtesy practiced by the Ferguson lords for centuries. Then Annabella and Angus were pronounced man and wife. The blessing upon their union was pronounced. Rising, they turned to face their audience.

Then, hand in hand, the bridal pair walked from the church to their waiting horses and began the return to the castle, led by the two Ferguson pipers, who were now playing a lively tune as they marched ahead of the newly wedded couple. Behind them, the entire village followed, laughing and chatting. Their earl had finally taken a wife. Oh, she was plain, they all noted, but her kindness to the wee lass who presented her with her bridal bouquet had been noted with communal approval. Plain the bride might be, but instinct told the clan folk that her heart was good and true. And God’s mercy! Was not Angus Ferguson beautiful enough for them all?