Bond of Passion by Bertrice Small Page B

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, Mama,” she gently scolded her parent. “Dinna be like our poor Aggie, who weeps at any- and everything. I am going to my husband. All is as it should be.”
    “I know, I know,” the lady Anne murmured. “Ye’re the Countess of Duin now. I am both proud and happy. I could but wish ye were nearer, my daughter.”
    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.
    “What is she called?” Annabella asked as she easily mounted the beast.
    “The earl said ye were to name her,” Jean replied.
    “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.
    “Are ye ready, my lady?” Matthew Ferguson asked her.
    “Aye, I’m ready,” Annabella responded, looking forward over the mare’s head now as she urged the animal onward.
    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