Child of the Phoenix (145 page)

She sank to her knees as her tears dried, leaving the sharp bitter taste of defeat and the overwhelming taste of disappointment. Her own, but above all Isabella’s. The marriage, so long awaited, so long anticipated and at last so happy, had lasted barely three years.

It was a long time before she moved. Rising stiffly, she went to the bed. Bending, she kissed her daughter once on the forehead, then she turned away.

In the crib in the corner little Marjorie slept on, blissfully unaware that her mother was dead.

Eleyne went to the stables.

Hal Osborne, the blacksmith, was shoeing some dray-horses. Lamed by a kick from one of Eleyne’s brood mares, the farrier, an Englishman who had come to Kildrummy two years before with Gratney’s followers, was unable to fight and was one of the few men who had remained at Kildrummy throughout the war. He acknowledged her with a curt nod as he hauled a heavy hoof into the lap of his leather apron. She watched him for a few moments, her wolfhound Senga at her side, then she sought the sweet-smelling dim light of the stables. Her favourite mare, Starlight, was pulling greedily at a bag of hay. She acknowledged her mistress with a whicker of welcome and a shake of the head, then went back to her food. Eleyne put her arms around the horse’s neck and wept.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I
TOWER OF LONDON
June 1297

D
onald of Mar was standing at a window in the White Tower, staring down into the cages of the king’s menagerie below. He shuddered. He hated the sight of those poor thin caged beasts – the leopards, the mangy lion and the bears. They reminded him too sharply of himself. He turned wearily and went back to his seat at the table. He had grown painfully thin during his year of captivity and his body was racked with pains. The king had sent a physician to tend his cough, but the medicines seemed to have done little good. He sighed. If only he were at home. Eleyne would know how to cure the pain in his damn chest.

He bitterly resented his captivity and every precious second it kept him away from home and from his wife. He resented the fact that when she had needed him most, when his beloved, beautiful Isabella had died, he had not been there. He resented the fact that he had not had the chance to say goodbye to his favourite daughter, that he would never see her again. He resented that his new little grand-daughter was growing up without him there to see her, and he resented above all else that time was passing. Each day he and Eleyne were apart meant that less time was left to them. His frustration was enormous. He reached for the flask of wine on the table, then pushed it aside impatiently. That wasn’t the way. It was too easy to find oblivion there; besides it was at the bottom of the wine goblet that his worst fears lurked: that while he was a prisoner Alexander had returned; that even now he might have claimed Eleyne for his own.

Sandy was a welcome distraction from his dark thoughts. His son too had lost weight. His handsome face was drawn and his skin had a transparency which had he but known was reflected in his own.

‘How are you, papa?’ During the day the Scots captives wandered freely about their floor of the White Tower. The royal apartments had now been removed to the Wakefield Tower, built by Edward’s father, which left more room in the vast old keep. Only at night were they consigned to their cells and locked in.

‘Not good.’ Donald scowled.

‘Then I have news to cheer you up. A letter has been smuggled in – look.’ He brandished a small piece of parchment. ‘The revolt against Edward in Scotland has spread. It’s being led by Andrew Moray and Sir William Wallace. Robert has ceased prevaricating and, claiming he cannot fight for a Balliol, has joined us at long last. Macduff has brought out the men of Fife!’ He slapped his father on the shoulder. ‘The tide of luck is turning.’ He paused, glancing quickly at his father’s pale face. ‘While you were ill, the Scots amongst the prisoners here have been negotiating with Edward,’ he said, dropping his voice. ‘There’s a way out because he’s worried and he’s offering us a deal.’

Donald looked at his son, not daring to allow himself to hope. ‘What sort of deal?’ He turned away, trying to suppress his cough, aware of his son frowning.

When he had recovered, Sandy went on. ‘He’s talking of allowing us home if we agree to help suppress the revolt – ’

‘Never!’ Donald interrupted.

‘Wait.’ Sandy put his finger to his lips. ‘The Scots lords are being asked to attempt – only attempt –’ he grinned – ‘to put down the revolt. So, if we fail, too bad. He also wants us to pledge to serve in the war against France. There’s a new campaign in Flanders, it seems.’ He lowered his voice even further. ‘Edward is under pressure, and he’s unsure of the future. He needs our co-operation. He needs our men.’

Donald said thoughtfully, ‘It would be a way to get out of here.’

Sandy nodded.

‘Soon.’

‘So I hear.’ Sandy reached forward and drew the mug of medication across the table. ‘You’d better drink this and get your strength back, papa. It could be you’ll need it sooner than you ever hoped.’

II

‘No.’ Donald was staring at the king. ‘I will not return to Scotland without my son.’

‘Then you will not return to Scotland.’ Edward sat in his carved chair in the great chamber. ‘I need Sir Alexander here – as insurance.’ Edward’s smile was tight-lipped. ‘Just to make sure you abide by the conditions of your release.’

‘I have given you my word. That is enough!’ Donald glared at his wife’s cousin with open dislike.

‘I’m afraid it isn’t.’ The king’s tone was silky. ‘I shall require assurance from all the lords of Scotland before I release them. Once you have fulfilled your part of the bargain, your son will be returned to you.’

Sandy’s face paled when Donald told him, but he forced himself to smile. ‘It doesn’t matter, papa. What is important is that you go as soon as possible. For mama’s sake as well as yours.’ He hugged his father and turned away quickly, so that Donald did not see the disappointment and despair in his eyes. ‘It won’t be for long. We’ll all be released in the end, you’ll see.’

Not to smell again the cold fragrant air of the mountains; not to ride across the moors; not to hawk and hunt and laugh with his twin. He could feel himself weeping deep inside himself as he embraced his father and said his final farewells. Then he turned away. The sense of impending doom which swept over him was like a black cloud from which there would be no escape.

III
KILDRUMMY CASTLE

Eleyne waited on tenterhooks; the castle was en
fête
, a banquet planned for the earl’s arrival. But there was no sign of him. She was in her solar looking out across the hills when Duncan came to find her. He and Gratney were both at Kildrummy with her.

‘I think I should ride south to meet him, mama,’ Duncan said. ‘He could have been delayed for any number of reasons.’ He shivered. For all its warmth and the band of sunshine thrown across the floor from the window, the room was cold and brooding. It was as though something lurked there, unseen. His mother must have noticed too. He saw her glance behind her as she came to kiss him. ‘I’ll hurry him up, never fear.’ He hugged her affectionately. ‘We can’t have him philandering in the borders while we plan a feast for him here!’

Dismissing her attendants, Eleyne went later to sit on the grass bench in her garden. Wanting to be alone, she frowned and hesitated as she realised that someone else was already there until she saw that it was Kirsty. She sat down next to her daughter-in-law. For a long time neither of them spoke. Their silence was companionable. Around them the flowers were full of bees and butterflies and the warmth of the sunshine was soporific.

It was Kirsty who spoke first. ‘Have you noticed something strange in the air?’ she asked. Her tone was diffident. ‘Something almost frightening, as though someone or something is watching us all.’ She snapped off a piece of lavender and rubbed it nervously between her fingers. In the clear sunlight of the garden where no shadows lurked, it seemed a foolish question.

Eleyne closed her eyes. For a moment Kirsty thought she wasn’t going to answer. She watched a bee bumble amongst the flowering heads of the marjoram on the bank behind them.

When her mother-in-law spoke at last, she was appalled by the pain in Eleyne’s voice. ‘There is someone here, and he doesn’t want Donald to come back.’

‘Who?’ It was a scandalised whisper.

‘You would never believe me if I told you.’

‘Why?’ Kirsty scanned Eleyne’s face. The woman was incredible; in her late seventies, she was still as active as someone half her age. The hair beneath her veil was, Kirsty knew, still predominantly the rich auburn of her youth, streaked with bands of silver. Her eyes were as sharp as ever, her mind agile and acute. Only her body now betrayed a certain stiffness which Eleyne went to great pains to deny. She looked at Eleyne’s face. The high cheekbones, the fair skin, so finely networked with the thousand lines of old age, were still beautiful and still proud. And suddenly Kirsty didn’t want to know the answer to her question. It was too ridiculous, the sudden conviction that her mother-in-law, a woman of nearly eighty, had a lover.

His presence was everywhere – in the solar, in the bedchamber, in the stables and the stores, in the great hall and even in the chapel with its triple lancet window, where she would go sometimes to sit alone in the cool parti-coloured light. And Kirsty was not the only person to have sensed it; on more than one occasion she had seen people shiver and look over their shoulders as the brooding cloud which seemed to hang over Kildrummy deepened.

Eleyne was torn; half of her wanted to hide from him, to send him away, to exorcise him from her life so she could welcome Donald back with uncomplicated and unreserved love; the other half, the treacherous side of her, wanted to give in, to stop fighting him, to welcome to her bed a lover who saw her still as a young woman and who coaxed from her body the responses of a young woman.

‘Have you heard from Robert?’ It was Eleyne who changed the subject.

Kirsty shook her head sadly. ‘Not lately. He’s still devastated. He won’t even talk about Isabella. He spends all his time with his friends, plotting and scheming. I suppose that is something: that he commits himself more and more to Scotland’s cause.’ She smiled the indulgent smile of an elder sister. ‘He adores Marjorie, though, so he’ll always come back to us, to visit her. He spoils her terribly.’ Robert had left Marjorie at Kildrummy to be brought up by his sister.

There was a long silence. When she looked at Eleyne there was a defensive expression on her face. ‘You never ask why Gratney and I have no children yet.’

Eleyne sighed wearily. ‘I have learned to mistrust my visions of the future, but I am certain all will be well for you. There is no hurry. When God wills it, you will have a baby.’

God.

Did she no longer believe then in the gods of her native hills?

Kirsty was frowning. ‘I hope so, but at the same time I’m afraid. Poor Isabella. It was so terrible for her …’ Her voice trailed away.

Eleyne took her hand. ‘Isabella didn’t die in childbirth, Kirsty. Whatever unkind fate killed her, it could not have been that. There is nothing to be afraid of, child. Look at me. I have borne eleven children and survived to an irascible old age.’ Apart from her two babies – Alexander’s babies, taken from her by the jealous gods – all her children had lived to grow up. Was she greedy to wish for more? Her children had lived to grow up, but she had seen too many deaths, too soon. Her eldest son, Colban, and his son and grandson. And Isabella. Her eyes filled with tears as she thought again about her beautiful daughter and she turned her head away sharply so that Kirsty could not see.