Child of the Phoenix (136 page)

‘She looks strong and competent – that’s all that matters. The nurses here are old.’ The Countess of Fife wrinkled her nose. ‘And they obey my mother-in-law rather than me!’ She paused, a puzzled look on her beautiful face. ‘Why should you want to give the child a nurse from Mar?’

Eleyne touched the baby’s cheek with her fingertip. ‘I think one day she’ll have need of a friend.’

‘And a nursemaid will be her friend?’ Joanna sounded scandalised.

‘My nurse was my friend.’ Eleyne paused. ‘If anything she loved me too much,’ she added almost inaudibly. The thought of Rhonwen still hurt; still haunted her dreams. ‘Mairi will not make that mistake but she will be there when Isobel needs her.’ She frowned. ‘I only hope she will be strong enough when the time comes.’

The girl’s calm acceptance of her fate had worried her slightly. There had been no tears at the thought of leaving her mother; no obvious fear at the thought of the long journey to Fife and the strange household she would be joining, so different from Morna’s small lonely cottage. Mairi had taken the journey well; she was shy, and she spoke only Gaelic, though she understood some French and English, but she had picked up the baby with affection and nodded contentedly when she was shown the nursery quarters and introduced to the other nursemaids. By some strange instinct they seemed to know that they were to be superseded by this quiet northern girl, yet they seemed to regard her without resentment.

Eleyne was watching Mairi bustling competently around the nursery when Isabella came into the room. On the eve of their departure she had had qualms about taking Isabella to Fife. It had been there again, the warning at the back of her mind, the fear that something was wrong. But what could be wrong? What possible danger could a baby be to a girl of seventeen?

Her daughter, tall and pretty, her long hair the colour of ripe corn, held back by a chaplet of woven silk, stood in the doorway. ‘Mama! you’re here, I’ve been looking for you.’ She moved forward, a slight graceful figure, and looked down into the cradle. Without realising it, Eleyne was holding her breath. The baby looked back at Isabella steadily from dark, smoky eyes and the girl smiled uncertainly. ‘What a pretty little thing.’ She put her hand down towards the baby, then withdrew it without touching her. ‘Are you coming, mama?’

‘Of course.’ Eleyne was watching little Isobel. The solemn small face was still watching her daughter as if fascinated by the girl. Eleyne turned to Mairi. ‘My dear, you’ll be happy here. And Isobel is your responsibility, you understand that?’

Mairi nodded gravely. ‘I’ll take care of her for you, my lady, I promise.’

XIII
17 March 1286

From Falkland they rode to Kinghorn where Queen Yolande was staying. She greeted Eleyne warmly, kissed her on both cheeks and smiled at Isabella, before ushering them into her bower. In the doorway Eleyne stopped: this was the room Alexander had used as his own – her Alexander. The hearth was heaped high with crackling driftwood and the small room was hot and stuffy. The windows had been glassed in now and were heavily shuttered.

Seating herself on a cushion Yolande held out her hand to Isabella. ‘So, this is your daughter, Lady Mar. Is she going to come and serve me as one of my maidens?’

‘Would you like that, my dear?’ Eleyne asked Isabella. She had not planned it, but the queen was offering her a great honour; one which could not be refused and one which would help to pass the time until a boy became a man.

She held her breath, seeing the shyness in her daughter’s eyes turning to terror as the implications of the queen’s warm-hearted invitation hit her. Isabella shook her head. ‘I don’t know, mama …’

‘I think she would be honoured, your grace,’ Eleyne replied gently. ‘My daughter will serve the queen with all her heart.’

Yolande smiled. ‘She will soon become accustomed to the idea. Tell me, child, are you betrothed?’ She leaned forward, still holding Isabella’s hand.

Isabella was speechless and again Eleyne answered for her. ‘She is, your grace, to Robert Bruce, the eldest son of the Earl of Carrick.’

‘Ah,’ the queen nodded, ‘I have met the Lady Marjorie, his mother. A formidable lady!’ She laughed good-naturedly. ‘Now, let us call some of my other maidens. They can take Isabella away while I talk with her mother.’

Eleyne ignored Isabella’s pleading look as two young women came in answer to the queen’s call and bore her off. As the door closed behind the chattering girls, a strange silence fell on the room. Eleyne turned from the queen towards the fire, feeling a cold draught playing on her spine. The fire had died; the embers glowed weakly where only moments before a cheerful blaze had crackled up the chimney.

The queen exclaimed crossly, ‘Call the boy to bring more wood!’ She shivered ostentatiously. ‘The fires at Kinghorn gobble fuel like greedy monsters. This is a godforsaken country when it comes to the weather!’

The spell was broken. Whatever had hung above the room had gone. Eleyne found she could breathe more easily suddenly and she laughed. ‘Our winters can be bad, your grace, but spring always comes – in the end.’

‘Good.’ Yolande folded her arms and leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘May I tell you a secret?’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘No one knows it yet, not even the king, but I have to tell someone.’ She patted the bench beside her and when Eleyne sat down took her hand in excitement. ‘I think I am with child.’

‘That’s wonderful, your grace!’ Eleyne smiled, but there was something wrong; her skin prickled a warning. The room had grown colder again. Standing up, she went to the door and called the page in attendance outside. ‘We need wood for the fire quickly. The queen’s bower is freezing.’

Turning, she looked at the queen. The room was shimmering with cold; the patterns on the wall hangings stood out in extraordinary detail; she could see every board in the painted shutters, dark though they were in the candlelight. She could hear the wind moaning over the Forth as it funnelled in from the North Sea. A haze of spume hit the small panes of leaded glass, running down on to the sills and streaming down the walls. She could not see it, but her ears, suddenly preternaturally sensitive, picked up the sound and interpreted it correctly.

Yolande was watching her. ‘What is it?’ she breathed. ‘What is wrong?’

Eleyne did not hear her. The air was full of danger. It crackled with the coldness of ice in the atmosphere of the stuffy little room. She heard the storm building until it was in the room with them. The howl of the wind; the crash of the waves and suddenly a knife blade of lightning, zigzagging through the air around the queen. Eleyne gasped and stepped forward, expecting to see Yolande drop, but the queen was still sitting exactly where she had been, her face a mask of astonishment.

‘Lady Mar? Eleyne, my dear? What is it?’

Eleyne was shaking from head to foot. ‘Didn’t you see it?’

‘See what?’ At last the queen stood up. ‘What’s the matter? Shall I call a physician? Or one of your ladies?’ She put her hand on Eleyne’s arm, seeing her as an old woman, her face lined, her shoulders stooped.

‘The storm. The lightning touched you –’ Eleyne was confused.

Yolande smiled. She shook her head. ‘There is no storm. Listen.’ She gestured towards the shuttered windows.

Eleyne could hear the gentle moan of the wind, no more. Walking wearily over to the fireplace, she stared down at the hot embers. ‘Forgive me, I must be more tired than I thought.’

‘I’ll call for some wine,’ the queen said reassuringly, ‘then you must rest. Your daughter can attend you. Tomorrow if you’re well enough we shall travel together to Edinburgh, to Alexander.’

‘To Alexander?’ Eleyne was disorientated. ‘Alexander is dead.’

The queen went white. ‘What do you mean? Alexander is in Edinburgh with his council!’

‘No, no, I’m sorry.’ Eleyne shook her head. ‘I was muddled. I was thinking of his father …’

Yolande’s face had closed, and she turned away frowning. The woman was indeed growing old. ‘I think you should rest, my lady. Tomorrow we shall ride.’

‘No!’ Eleyne’s voice was suddenly sharp. ‘No, you mustn’t ride to Edinburgh.’ The air was spinning around the queen’s head, crackling with warning. ‘Please, you mustn’t. If you ride, something terrible will happen. Wait, you must wait here. Let Alexander come to you. You can tell him about the child you carry then. Tell him to come here.’

Yolande had swung to face her again. ‘Go and rest, my lady,’ she repeated. Her eyes were full of pity, mixed with not a little apprehension. ‘We can talk about it all in the morning. Here is the boy with the logs. Leave me now. Call your daughter and rest.’

Eleyne smiled sadly. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve frightened you. I didn’t mean to. It is just that I see things sometimes …’

‘You mean you are
clairvoyante
!’

‘Yes.’

‘And you saw danger for my baby?’ The queen put her hand to her stomach protectively.

‘I saw no baby, madame. But I did see danger. I saw danger all around you.’

‘Then I shall not ride. You were quite right to tell me.’ Yolande went back to her seat and sat down firmly. ‘I shall send a messenger to Alexander to come to me. Tomorrow. As soon as he can.’ She was suddenly coquettish. ‘I don’t think he will find this a hardship.’

Isabella was sharing her mother’s bed. In the darkness she snuggled against Eleyne’s back, exhausted and pleased now with her new role as one of the queen’s maidens and it was not long before Eleyne heard the girl’s breathing grow steady as she fell asleep.

Eleyne lay looking into the glowing fire, listening as the wind grew stronger. Like the queen’s bower, their bedchamber looked out across the Forth. Behind the ill-fitting shutters and the glass, so loosely set in its leads that it rattled, she heard the waves beating on to the shore. Her mind was churning with images: Mairi, so far from home and, at the whim of Joanna de Clare, in charge of the nursery at Falkland at the age of seventeen. Shadows hung over that girl’s head, and over little Isobel’s. And Isabella. Shadows hung over the whole land.

She eased herself away from Isabella so as not to wake her, and crept out of bed. She pulled her cloak around her shoulders and went over to the fire. Reaching for the poker, she pushed aside the turves which covered it and threw on a couple of pieces of wood. Then she sat on a stool facing it, huddling for warmth in the folds of her thick cloak. Behind her Isabella flung out an arm in her sleep and gave a little murmur.

Staring into the flames, trying to see pictures which would not come, Eleyne was aware that there was someone with her. The room was dark save where the light of the fire sent flickering shadows leaping up the walls and across the floor. She smiled sadly and reached out her hand, but there was no one to take it. Only a whisper too soft to hear above the sigh of the ash beneath the logs.

Alexander!
The name floated soundlessly in the air around her.

‘Alexander. My love!’

Her eyes widened. How could he be here? The phoenix was hidden.

The shadows were uneasy. The air tense and unhappy. Outside the window the sound of a gull’s laughing cry, shredded on the night wind, tumbled into the room and was gone, borne away on the storm.

Alexander!
The name again, in her head, a cry of despair.

She was afraid. ‘What is it?’ She spoke out loud and heard Isabella groan. The shadows were growing blacker. She shivered and looked down at the fire. The flames had died, the logs lay sullenly black and suddenly the room was full of the noise of the storm. Staggering to her feet, Eleyne groped her way to the narrow window. The shutter had blown open and the fragile glass was rattling in its frame. As she reached it, two opaque panes blew in and broke at her feet on the floor of the window embrasure.

‘Mama! What is it?’ Isabella sat up in fright. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Nothing, my darling. Stay in bed.’ Eleyne groped for the flailing shutter. ‘The storm has blown in the window, that’s all. I can fix the shutter.’ She felt a sharp pain as she stood on a piece of broken glass. Rain was spattering on the floor and ice-cold on to her face and arms as she struggled with the heavy shutter. At last she pushed it back across the window and wedged the bar home in its slot. The room grew still and dark once more.

A light flared as Isabella pushed a taper into the fire and lit a candle. ‘Are you all right?’ Her voice was high and frightened.

‘I’ve cut my foot.’ Eleyne could feel the blood running down her instep.

‘The storm has got so bad!’ Isabella ran to her and knelt at her mother’s feet. ‘I’ll fetch some ointment from your coffer and bind it up for you. Poor mama, you should have called a servant to fix the shutter.’ She bustled away, the candle in her hand throwing a crazy whirl of shadows on the walls.

Eleyne hobbled to the bed and hoisted herself on to the high mattress with a groan. The frightened hammering in her chest slowed. Whatever, whoever, had been in the room, had gone.

The next day the storm had blown itself out. The sun sparkled on the blue waters of the Forth and they could see clearly across the firth.

After breakfast the queen sent for Eleyne. ‘Are you rested, my lady?’ she asked warily and Eleyne noted with weary amusement that she had made the sign against the evil eye.