Child of the Phoenix (116 page)

‘I shall be a countess again when Donald inherits from his father. That is sufficient glory for me.’ Eleyne smiled pleadingly. ‘Rhonwen. I cannot be the consort of a dead man.’

Rhonwen shook her head slowly. ‘Call him. Explain it to him. See what the king thinks. Go on.’ The old woman’s eyes were blazing again. She swept towards the fire and fumbling in the scrip attached to her girdle she produced a handful of crushed herbs. ‘You see, I carry them with me. I have them always in case he needs me – the magic herbs to summon the spirits.’

‘No!’ Eleyne cried. ‘No, I forbid it!’

‘You forbid your king,
cariad
? That is treason!’ She raised her hand and flung the handful of dusty twigs on to the smouldering logs. They crackled and spat and gave off an acrid sulphurous smell which filled the room.

‘You silly old fool!’ Eleyne cried in despair. ‘It won’t work!’

But it was working. She could feel him approaching. The room was growing cold. She could feel his anger and his despair like a blanket across the air. She looked round frantically: ‘Go away! Please, go away! I love Donald. I’m going to marry him. Please, go away!’

The candles on the table began to stream in trails of smoke as the window shutters rattled. Outside, a pall of sleet swept across the countryside, blotting out the sky.

Rhonwen dropped to her knees, her face lit by a triumphant smile. ‘He’s coming. He’s coming for you. You belong to him,
cariad
. You won’t escape him. Not now you are free!’

‘Sweet Holy Mother!’ Eleyne’s veil was torn from her hair as the wind roared in the window and the shutter crashed to the floor. She spun round protecting her face with her arms as the candles blew out, showering hot wax across the table. In the hearth the fire flared up angrily, sucked up the high chimney as the wind whirled westwards across the hills.

II

She could not bring herself to throw the phoenix into the well. For a long time she stood, the jewel in her hand, contemplating the circle of black water so far below. The cold enamel, the rubies, the ice-blue sapphires would be no danger in the water and her link with Alexander would be gone forever. He was there at her side. She could feel him pleading. Her eyes filled with tears.

‘Please, let me go, my love,’ she whispered into the darkness of the well chamber. ‘Don’t begrudge me happiness with Donald. Let me go to him.’

She stretched out her hand. The chain hung glinting from her fingers over the water for a moment, then abruptly she withdrew it. She couldn’t bring herself to drop it, but she would hide it where it would never be found and once she had left Falkland she would leave Alexander behind.

She wrapped the pendant in its piece of silk and, turning in a whirl of skirts, she ran back to the stair. On the second floor of the Great Tower she ran into the small private chapel next to the earl’s bedroom. It was very dark and the air was heavy with incense. Only one small candle burned before the statue of Our Lady. She moved hesitantly towards the altar.

Wedging the small package behind the reredos she pushed it down as far as she could reach, then she stepped back and murmured a quick prayer. Crossing herself, she ran from the incense-rich gloom.

Rhonwen stepped quickly back out of sight. Later she would break the habit of a lifetime and enter the chapel. Later, when the king commanded it. Until then the phoenix was safe where it was.

III
Shrove Tuesday 1266

They married secretly. The King and Queen of Scots witnessed their wedding at Kinross whilst obligingly ensuring that the Earl and Countess of Mar were at Roxburgh, and Donald and Eleyne rode north towards Mar the same afternoon. Snow was falling and the tracks were treacherous but they were both too happy to notice. Wagonloads of Eleyne’s possessions would follow them north as soon as the snows melted, together with some of her horses. The dogs were at her heels.

She had bidden a tearful farewell to Colban and Macduff and her little grandson, Duncan. ‘I’ll come back and see you all very soon,’ and she hugged each in turn. Her farewell to Anna was a little more restrained. Her daughter-in-law had begun to treat her with a reserve that bordered on antipathy and Eleyne had the feeling the girl was glad to see her go. Eleyne had ordered Rhonwen to stay at Falkland to look after the nurseries. Both Malcolm’s sons had been made royal wards on his death, but the king had promised that Eleyne would remain their guardian.

‘Just give Donald and me a little time together,’ she whispered to her eldest son. ‘Just a little time, then I’ll come back to you.’

IV
KILDRUMMY CASTLE, MAR
Lent 1266

Kildrummy Castle lay huge and squat in the broad valley of the Don. Snow had swept the landscape of mountains and broad river valley, moorland and forest to a uniform whiteness and the towers and walls were frosted with crystals which glittered in the sunlight. Eleyne reined in with an exclamation of delight. ‘It looks as though it’s built from snow! A snow tower in a snowy land. It’s lovely.’

Donald grinned at her. Swathed in white furs, riding a white horse, she looked like a snow princess.

He took Eleyne at once to their circular bedchamber. A huge fire had been lighted in the hearth and a dozen candles burned in the sconces as he unfastened her cloak and threw it down. Laughing, blowing on his frozen fingers to warm them, he undressed her and pulled her on to the bed. ‘At last!’ He kissed her eyes and nose and ears. ‘You are mine at last. And no one, ever, can take you away from me!’ His hands on her breasts were cold and she caught her breath and squealed like a girl as he flung himself on to her with a cry of triumph and pressed his mouth over hers.

For the next two weeks, to the vast amusement of the Kildrummy household, they were very seldom out of bed. The servants, giggling, brought them food and wine on huge trays and kept the fires and candles alight, vainly trying not to look at the drawn bed curtains or hear the stifled laughter from behind them.

V
19 March 1266

It was on St Joseph’s Day – a beautiful day which presaged, according to the legend, a fertile year and a lucky life to any born on it – that the Earl and Countess of Mar arrived home.

A frantic knocking on the chamber door alerted the newlyweds. As Donald pushed Eleyne reluctantly from him, Hugh Leslie, the earl’s steward, entered the room. A small earnest conscientious man in his fifties, his face was pale and he was gesturing frantically behind him.

William and Elizabeth stood in the doorway; both still wore their travelling cloaks. The snow crystals clung for a moment then melted in the heat of the fire.

Donald had barely had time to pull on his tunic and run his fingers through his hair before he faced his father defiantly. ‘Could you not wait to greet us downstairs, father? Were you so eager you had to come to our bedroom?’

‘Is it true?’ William was apoplectic with rage. ‘Is it true that you are married?’ His pale eyes strayed to Eleyne, who knelt on the bed only half covered by a sheet, her hair tangled and wild down her back. The distaste in his face was plain to see.

‘Yes, it’s true.’ Donald tried to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. ‘Lady Fife has done me the great honour of becoming my wife, with the blessing of the king and queen.’

‘Sweet Jesus!’ Elizabeth of Mar’s voice was harsh. ‘Do you know what you have done?’

‘Yes, mama.’ Donald was keeping his tone even with great difficulty. ‘I have married the most beautiful woman in the world.’

‘Indeed.’ Elizabeth’s cold sarcasm was cutting. ‘A woman who runs from bed to bed like a bitch in heat. A woman who was already married before I – your own mother! – was born! You have married yourself, you stupid boy, to a woman who is probably past the age of childbearing! Sweet Blessed Virgin, did you not think of that? Are you so besotted by her flesh that you did not think of your duty to the earldom?’

Donald had blushed scarlet. ‘Mama, how dare you! Please leave this room, both of you.’ He walked back to the bed and sitting down put his arm around Eleyne’s shoulders. She was still kneeling on the sheets, white-faced and speechless with shock. He turned back to his parents. ‘You will apologise to my wife, both of you, or we will leave this castle and never return.’

William said, ‘It is for you, Donald, to think of apologies. You have destroyed this family. And by your careless selfishness, you have caused Lady Fife this embarrassment. You would do well to apologise to her and then to us.’

Turning on his heel he walked out, but his wife did not immediately follow. The sister of the Earl of Buchan, Elizabeth Comyn was a formidable woman. Her dark eyes were black pebbles in her aquiline face as she glared at Eleyne for several long seconds, then she too turned away. Her cloak trailed melted snow on to the dried heather floor covering as she walked from the room, followed by an acutely uncomfortable Hugh Leslie, who closed the door softly behind him.

‘Get dressed.’ Donald stood up. His hands were shaking with anger.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘We are leaving.’

She shook her head. ‘If we do that, they will have won.’

He was astonished. ‘You want to confront them again after that?’

‘No, I never want to see them again, but I will. You and I will sit with them at the high table tonight and we will show them we are too happy and too strong to be beaten by their prejudice.’ Dropping the sheet, she climbed off the bed.

Donald’s eyes strayed down her body and she tensed as she saw his slight frown.

‘It’s not true, Donald,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not too old to bear your children.’ She put her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, swaying slightly. ‘I’ll bear you a dozen sons, my love,’ she crooned.

He smiled, and kissed her.

‘Half that number will do,’ he whispered and he laughed. ‘How you shock them, my poor darling. Why is it that they hate you so?’

‘Your father has always hated me,’ Eleyne said sadly. Pushing him away she pulled the sheet around her shoulders and walked over to the fire. ‘And he always will. You must accept that.’

He scowled. ‘I’ll never accept it … and I shall tell him so.’

It was the first time Donald and Eleyne had appeared in William’s newly built great hall since their arrival, but Eleyne did not look at the roof with its ornately carved beams, or at the two huge fireplaces built of stone. Her eyes were fixed on the high table. She had taken the greatest trouble with her hair and gown. Around her neck she wore the carved silver horse Donald had given her and on her fingers she wore his rings.

The Mars greeted them coldly as they took their places.

‘You may as well know, father, that Eleyne and I intend to live at Falkland Castle,’ Donald said as the first courses of food were carried in. ‘I do not want my wife to live in a household where she is insulted.’

Elizabeth put down her knife. ‘I’m afraid you are going to be disappointed, Donald. Sir Alan and Lady Durward have moved into Falkland for the time being, to be with their daughter and grandson. Sir Alan does not seem to approve of your marriage any more than we do.’ She gave a harsh laugh. ‘I believe he has declared that your wife will return only over his dead body.’

Donald gritted his teeth. ‘I am sure that can be arranged …’

‘Don’t be a fool, boy.’ William took a huge helping of pike stewed in fish liquor and then turned to eye the oysters on their bed of ginger and saffron. ‘You can stay here, both of you. Out of harm’s way. We’ll be going back south within a few days if the roads stay open, and I’ll leave you to manage the earldom.’

‘William!’ Elizabeth burst out. ‘You can’t allow this!’

‘There’s nothing to be done, Elizabeth.’ William sighed and picked up his spoon. ‘The marriage is legal and the king has given it his blessing. There is nothing to be done.’

‘There is nothing to be done!’ Donald echoed later in a gruff imitation of his father’s tone. He burst into laughter. ‘Of course there’s nothing to be done and they know it.’ He pulled Eleyne into his arms. ‘Oh, my love, I’m so sorry they came and said such awful things, but we won’t let them spoil it. Once they’re gone, Kildrummy will be our own kingdom again.’