Child of the Phoenix (72 page)

‘My thoughts exactly! Though I must move carefully. Remove his lands little by little, isolate him. With my allies and my sisters’ husbands with their lands … Angharad and Maelgwyn Fychan, Gwladus and Ralph Mortimer, Gwenllian and William de Lacy, Margaret and Walter Clifford. It’s a formidable list.’ He paused. ‘It’s a pity that Chester is now so irrevocably in Henry’s hands. With the earl as our ally we were far more secure.’

Isabella frowned. ‘Where is the Countess of Chester now, do we know?’

Dafydd smiled. The minx was showing her claws again. He could tell by the tone of her voice. She knew very well where Eleyne was. He shook his head at her gravely. ‘She is, I hope, working on strengthening the prospects of a Welsh alliance with Scotland.’

Isabella laughed shrilly. ‘Is that what it’s called? That is not what Robert de Quincy called it when he came to see papa.’

If Robert de Quincy had hoped for sympathy from Eleyne’s father when he came to Aber the month before, he had been sadly disappointed. Llywelyn, on his way back to Aberconwy, where he spent more and more of his time in prayer, had been curt to the point of rudeness to his unwanted and unloved son-in-law, pointing out that a wife was a man’s own business and if he could not control Eleyne he should perhaps look to his own character for the reason.

The news of Eleyne’s attachment to the King of Scots had pleased Dafydd enormously; her marriage to him would be the best and biggest insult to Henry anyone at Aber could conceive. He had said as much to his father.

‘If that young man should meet with an accident on his way out of Wales, we would be doing the whole world a favour!’ he had said succinctly as Robert de Quincy left Aber.

Llywelyn had frowned, groping with shaking hand for the crucifix he wore around his neck. ‘Murder is not the answer, my son, though I’m tempted, sorely tempted. The alliance with the royal house of Scotland would be good for Wales, very good.’ He smiled with a glint in his eye, quite like his old self. Then he sighed. ‘But I don’t wish to die with that wretched young man’s death on my conscience. Or on yours –’ he added hastily.

Both men had thought for a moment with regret about Gruffydd. He would not have hesitated. But Gruffydd wasn’t there.

XII
DUMBARTON CASTLE

William, Earl of Mar, was sitting near King Alexander. He glanced at his companions with a scowl. They had wished this on him after long discreet discussions by the fireside, and now they had turned to talk among themselves, leaving him alone with his king.

Alexander lay back in his chair and sighed. ‘So, William, another two days and we can ride back to Roxburgh.’

‘I hope so, sir.’ What kind of fool was he to try this? How could he even begin?

Someone cleared their throat in the room behind him. William took the hint.

‘I hear Sir Robert de Quincy is bragging at Henry’s court that he is to be a father, sire.’ He kept his eyes on his hands, watching the fire glint on the stone in his ring. ‘He claims his wife was cohabiting with him when the child was conceived and claims to know when it will be born.’

He risked a glance at the king’s face, and wished he hadn’t. The pain was raw.

‘Sir Robert is also claiming that you tried to have him killed, sire,’ he said softly. ‘Even if he released her –’ he paused – ‘or if he died, there would always be doubt. Even with a papal dispensation, as the widower of her aunt,’ he ploughed on manfully, ‘you cannot marry her. Scotland would be torn apart.’

‘I know.’

For a moment William did not believe what he had heard. The king’s strangled whisper had been so soft.

The other three men watching covertly from the shadows saw their king put his face in his hands. ‘How will I tell her, William?’

Lord Mar bit his lip. ‘I am sure she will understand,’ he said hopefully. Privately, he doubted it. The beautiful Lady Chester had a fiery spirit which did not, as far as he could see, tolerate any contradiction of her wishes.

The king’s wry smile seemed to imply that he felt the same.

‘You could just stay away,’ William said, ‘until she is brought to bed.’

Alexander shook his head. ‘That would be cruel, and it would be cowardly.’ He straightened. ‘So, William, tell me: whom do my lords think I should marry? Do you have a list of your daughters ready? Or must I marry a foreign princess?’ He stood up abruptly. ‘I love her, William.’ It was a cry of anguish.

‘She is a very beautiful woman, sire.’ William stood too. ‘I am sure she will continue to –’ Embarrassed, he groped for words.

‘To be my paramour?’ Alexander laughed bitterly. ‘But she deserves better than that, William. Far better.’

XIII

PERTH CASTLE
February 1239

Eleyne was sewing with her ladies in the solar above the hall. The gales had grown worse, uprooting trees, tearing roofs from buildings, screaming banshee-like in the chimneys, hurling the rain against the narrow windows. It was hard to sew by the flickering candlelight and the women were talking idly around the table, only now and then inserting stitches into their work. Eleyne had had a letter from Alexander that morning; he was still delayed in the far west. It would be another week at least before he could come to her.

She knew of the rumour that Robert was alive, but she had no way of finding out the truth. As the weeks passed, she had grown more miserable and uncertain. She did not eat; she did not sleep. On the one hand, his survival meant that Alexander had not after all been guilty of murder. On the other, it meant she was not free. Had Alexander petitioned the pope for an annulment of her marriage? Was he even now awaiting word from Rome?

She sighed, moving uncomfortably in her chair as the baby kicked beneath her ribs. Why was the king taking so long? Couldn’t he see that time was running out? They had to be married before the baby was born; surely that was more important than yet another squabble among his quarrelsome subjects. He had people to do that for him, he did not have to be there in person. The needle slipped in her hands and she gave an exclamation of pain and annoyance as a spot of blood appeared on her finger.

The noise of the wind disguised the sound of feet. When the door burst open, the women looked up in amazement. Robert de Quincy had a drawn sword in his hand. Behind him were several armed men who wore the insignia of the Earl of Fife.

‘So this is where you are, sweetheart.’ He peered around the room as the shadows leapt from the wildly flickering candles. One of the ladies gave a scream; the rest stared at him, too afraid to move.

‘Come, we are leaving, King Henry wants us in London.’

Eleyne rose to her feet. Her face was white and strained, her heart thudded sickly in her throat. ‘I am not going with you. Our marriage is over.’

‘Our marriage isn’t over.’ He laughed humourlessly. ‘My dear, it has hardly begun. Fetch her cloak.’ His eyes had flicked over the cowering women and settled on Nesta. ‘We ride south tonight.’

Nesta licked her lips nervously. ‘My lady is in no condition to ride, Sir Robert,’ she said cautiously, amazed at her own courage.

‘No condition?’ Robert raised an eyebrow. ‘Nothing stops my wife from riding, surely.’ He had to raise his voice against the sound of the wind. ‘Not even the fact that she is carrying my child.’

‘This is not your child.’ Eleyne’s hand went protectively to her stomach. ‘And you know it. I am carrying the king’s son.’

‘You are carrying my son, madam,’ Robert’s voice was harsh, ‘and he will be born under my roof. We ride south tonight.’

‘No.’ She backed away from him. ‘The king – ’

‘The king is a hundred miles away. You and I will be in England before he even hears that you have gone. You are my wife, any child you bear is my child, and I insist it is born in England. Fetch her cloak.’ The last words were shouted at Nesta as Robert strode towards Eleyne and grabbed her wrist. He was wearing armour beneath his mantle and cloak, his sword still in his right hand.

‘Guards!’ Eleyne screamed, ‘where are the guards?’ She tried to pull away from him.

‘The guards are elsewhere, and they have no orders to keep me from my wife.’ He had his arm around her shoulders now. ‘I advise you to come with me without any fuss, sweetheart, if you don’t want to hurt yourself and my son.’

Nesta, white-faced, scuttled away to fetch Eleyne’s thick cloak. ‘I’ll come too.’ She put it gently around Eleyne’s shoulders, but Robert pushed her away. ‘She needs no servants. Out of my way, woman.’ He was sweating as he turned for the door, dragging Eleyne with him.

She kicked out at him and tried desperately to pull free, but she knew he was too strong for her.

‘Call for help,’ she screamed over her shoulder. ‘Tell the king, for sweet pity’s sake, tell the king – ’

With a curt nod, Robert pushed Eleyne towards one of his men and the man swept her off her feet. In seconds she was being carried towards the door.

Robert turned back into the room, where the women cowered. ‘No one is to call for help,’ he said softly, ‘no one at all.’ He raised the sword and very gently put the tip against Nesta’s throat. She moaned with fear, her eyes rolling towards the ceiling. ‘If they do, I shall pull the necks of every woman in this room, for the squawking hens you are.’ He gave a small flick of the sword and a speck of blood appeared on the white fabric of Nesta’s wimple. She moaned again, half fainting with terror, and he gave a humourless bark of laughter as he withdrew the sword. Following the other men outside, he pulled the door closed and locked it, and on the way across the lower floor of the keep he tossed the key into the well.

He took Eleyne on his horse in front of him and kicked it forward through the gates. On either side his men carried flaring torches to light the road as they turned south at a gallop.

The wind was mercifully behind them, but within seconds the riders were soaked through. Eleyne was shaking with cold and fright and anger, but her only thought was for the baby as the horses thundered along the track. Robert’s mailclad arm was viciously tight. She could scarcely breathe. At one point the horses plunged across a broad river and she felt the icy water dragging at her skirts, her cloak drenched afresh by the spray from the horse’s hooves, then they were on the road again.

It was growing light before they reached their destination. The horses walked in single file through a gate in a high curtain wall and halted in a courtyard before a small tower. Robert dismounted and lifted her down. ‘We’ll rest here for a few hours.’ He took her arm and turned towards the door, where an old man was standing, waiting for them.

‘Where is this place?’ Eleyne could hear the sound of distant waves crashing against the rocks, and she could smell the sharp green smell of the sea. She took a step forward and winced with pain. Her feet were numb and she was stiff and aching in every muscle.

‘A friendly castle.’ Robert grinned. ‘One where your lover will not find you.’ Taking her arm he pulled her towards the door.

The man who was waiting there was a complete stranger to her. He bowed before them. ‘My wife and her servant have prepared a room for your lady, sir. She will be comfortable there.’

‘Thank you.’ Still holding her arm, Robert followed the man indoors. A turnpike stair twisted up in the thickness of the wall on the eastern side of the chamber and in single file they followed him up it.

The bedchamber was at the top of the tower. A fire had been lit and a bed prepared. Too tired to think of anything but sleep, Eleyne scarcely allowed the woman to remove her wet clothes before she collapsed into the bed and felt the bedcovers being heaped over her. The chatelaine chuckled quietly to herself as she wrapped hot stones in cloths and packed them around Eleyne’s feet. Within minutes Eleyne was asleep, her arms crossed protectively across her belly.

It was late morning when she awoke but the room was still dark. It was full of the sound of the sea. Robert was standing by the bed. ‘We have to ride on. Mistress Gillespie has dry clothes for you and food.’

Now that she was rested, Eleyne’s resolve had returned. ‘I am riding nowhere. Do you want me to lose this child?’

Robert’s eyes narrowed in the light of the candle he held. ‘My child?’ he said quietly. ‘No, I don’t want you to lose it. I want it to be born at home. At Fotheringhay. We’ll ride slowly once we are out of Scotland, I shall get some kind of conveyance for you if it is easier. We should be at Berwick tomorrow.’