Child of the Phoenix

I

The house in Gracechurch Street was very dark. Outside, the sky was black; thunder echoed across the narrow court and the rain poured down, splashing into the puddles and racing down the central gutter carrying a tide of rubbish with it. Though it was noon, the house was lit by candles.

Robert de Quincy was standing by the table. In his hand was a document which bore the seal of the King of England.

Eleyne, standing by the fireplace, was staring at it, but she had made no move to take it.

Robert laid it on the table. ‘There you are. As I promised. The king’s permission to visit your brother Gruffydd in the Tower.’

‘Thank you.’

Her hair had grown back with silver streaks amongst the red-gold, even though she was only twenty-six years old, but her curls were as rampant as ever. Her face was still beautiful; there were scars on her forehead partially concealed by her head-dress, another at the corner of her mouth; one hand was badly marked with tight shiny red scars across the back of her knuckles.

This was only the second time he had seen her in three years. King Henry had made it clear Robert was not to go to Fotheringhay; he had not asked what Henry knew or where the pressure came from to leave Eleyne alone. For a long time he had gone in terror of his life, then, slowly, the fear had receded and he had stopped gazing over his shoulder, expecting a dirk in his back. He had come now to the dowager Countess of Chester’s town house by invitation, to deliver the king’s letter, and at least until he had actually confronted Eleyne at last he had regained something of his old swagger. Now, looking at her cold face, he was not quite so confident.

‘Are you well?’ He smiled tentatively.

‘Yes.’

‘I’d better leave.’ He had come as a messenger, to test the water, thinking to win her favour by arranging for her to see Gruffydd. Her face was not encouraging, as she walked over to the table and picked up the document.

‘Eleyne – ’

‘Please go now.’ Her voice was colourless. She folded her arms, holding the letter across her chest tightly, like a shield.

He shrugged and walking towards the door he opened it, then he hesitated. He turned. ‘Greet your brother from me.’

She made no response. For a long time after he had gone she did not move.

II

Either by accident or design the date of the visit to the Tower had been arranged for St David’s Day. Eleyne and Rhonwen found Gruffydd housed in some comfort in one of the private apartments in the White Tower. He waited until the guard had withdrawn before he spoke.

‘Eleyne. At last. How are you, little sister?’

Eleyne stared. Her handsome, red-haired brother was a travesty of his former self: he had grown very fat and he was balding.

‘For pity’s sake, Gruffydd, what have they done to you?’ She threw herself into his arms.

‘The old stomach, you mean? That’ll soon go, girl, when I’m free. You’ll see. Senena called me fifty different names last time she came to see me.’ His face saddened. ‘God, how I miss them! But I’m glad they’ve gone. It was no life for them here. Have you seen her and the boys?’

Owain was still with him in captivity; the others were with Senena at Criccieth.

‘It’s no place for anyone here!’ Eleyne retorted. ‘No, I haven’t seen them. I haven’t been back to Gwynedd since papa died.’

‘So you haven’t seen our beloved brother then?’ Gruffydd’s voice was harsh.

‘No, I’ve not seen anyone.’

Rhonwen had retreated to sit on the window seat which was furnished with cushions; there were hangings on the walls, a table, benches and stools and a chair near the fire. On the table amongst the candlesticks she could see all the paraphernalia for passing the time: a game of chess, abandoned halfway through; parchment and pens, books, a little leather box of dice and several empty wine goblets.

‘Gruffydd, how could you stay here? What has happened to you? How can you live without riding and laughing and fighting?’

‘I have no choice.’ He put his arm around her. ‘I live here because I’m a prisoner, little sister. You know that as well as I do, and you know why. Because of the treachery of our brother!’ His voice was full of bitterness. ‘But we don’t want to talk about me. Tell me about yourself. Why aren’t you in Scotland?’

‘Alexander doesn’t want me any more. I bore him two sons, Gruffydd, and they both died. What use am I to him?’ Her voice was husky and she turned away.

He frowned. ‘I thought he loved you, cariad.’ He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her back to face him. ‘He has a wife to breed for him. He wanted you for love, did he not?’ He was looking into her face with enormous compassion. ‘Have you not seen him at all?’

She shook her head wordlessly.

He had sent messages and gifts, but she had been too sunk in misery to acknowledge them when he did not come himself. She wanted him, not gifts. Two weeks after little John’s burial she had left Loch Leven Castle and begun the long ride south. He had sent no one to stop her.

She had ridden back to England in a daze, unaware of the countryside around her, her face swathed in a black veil. When she reached Fotheringhay she had gone to her bedchamber and begun her mourning for her children and for her love.

It had never occurred to her that Robert might appear at Fotheringhay, and he had not done so, for which she thanked the gods nightly. She did not wonder where he was or who kept him away, it was enough that he did not come. Comforted by her dog and her horses and by the quiet beauty of the countryside, she had recovered. She rode and walked and once more took up the reins of running what estates were left to her as dower lands.

Alexander sent her more gifts and letters there, but she had never replied. He had not come himself, he had left her to mourn alone. Her pride would not allow her to beg him to come, and now it was too late. However much she longed to throw herself into his arms, she couldn’t rid herself of the lump of ice which seemed to fill her heart; the thought of her tiny John, lying so still and white in his royal cradle, devastated her every time she let herself think about Scotland and Scotland’s king.

There had been no word of Robert until that night when she had been on a visit to London to see Luned and her brood of noisy, happy children when she had received the letter from him saying that he had interceded for her with King Henry so that she could visit Gruffydd, something Henry had steadfastly refused to allow before.

‘Have you written to Alexander? Or sent him a message?’ Gruffydd persisted gently.

‘If he wants me he knows where to find me.’

‘Perhaps he is waiting to see if you want him?’

She considered the idea, then she smiled. ‘I don’t think so. He has a wife now to keep him amused.’ She broke away from Gruffydd and walked across to the table. She studied the chessboard, then she picked up one of the carved ivory pieces and moved it thoughtfully. ‘We are a pair of miserable fools, aren’t we?’ she said slowly.

‘Looks like it.’ He grinned.

‘I, at least, have an excuse,’ she went on. ‘You do not. Look at the state you are in, Gruffydd. How could you allow yourself to become such a passive victim? How can you stand by and watch Henry inherit Gwynedd if Isabella never gives Dafydd a son? Don’t you care about your inheritance any more? Doesn’t Owain? Don’t you owe it to him? And to Llywelyn and Rhodri and Dafydd to get out of here?’ Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘Don’t do that to them, Gruffydd. You seem to have few guards. If I had been you, I would have long since escaped. Or do you really like this fat living?’ She tapped his stomach so sharply he winced. ‘I’m surprised at you, brother, I thought you were made of sterner stuff. Wales needs you there, not mouldering away in London!’

He flushed angrily. ‘What am I supposed to do? They keep the doors locked and bolted and didn’t you notice that there are guards? This is the king’s fortress, Eleyne! I’m not here for my health. I’m a prisoner of state!’

‘There are no bars on the window. Go that way!’ she retorted. ‘Think of something! Other people have escaped from the Tower. The boys won’t even remember their father at this rate.’ She sat down crossly on one of the carved stools.

He smiled. ‘Same old Eleyne. Still a firebrand.’

‘No, not any more. I just live in the country with my horses and my dogs like a sturdy yeoman.’

Gruffydd laughed out loud. ‘My yeoman sister! And she dares to criticise me for growing fat!’

‘I am criticising you for giving up.’

‘And what have you done, Eleyne?’ He was goaded into retaliation. ‘You have resigned yourself to living alone, leaving your lover to his shrewish wife! You take no part in politics. You have not even been sufficiently interested in what Dafydd is doing to visit him since he inherited my lands.’ He had grown red with anger.

Through the window they could hear the ravens croaking far below in the courtyard, as they fluttered over the carcass of a dead dog. In their cages nearby two leopards prowled restlessly as they smelled the blood. Rhonwen was studying her fingernails as brother and sister faced each other with sudden hostility.

‘I have no lover,’ she whispered at last.

‘Did he say that?’

‘No, but – ’

‘Eleyne, go to him.’ He sat down and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. ‘I’ll make a pact with you – I’ll try if you’ll try. I’ll wager a hundred pounds that I can be eating my dinner at Criccieth with Senena before you sit on your lover’s knee at Roxburgh.’

She smiled. ‘I don’t have a hundred pounds, Gruffydd.’

‘Nor do I. Sixpence, then, sixpence and a kiss.’

He waited, watching her face, trying to read her thoughts as she stared into the fire.

It had been so long since she had allowed herself any hope; so long since she had allowed herself to think about Alexander at all without the tiny pale figures of her babies coming between them, but now, as she sat in Gruffydd’s chamber in the Tower, she felt a glimmer of optimism.

Gruffydd saw it and smiled. ‘We’re fighters, you and I, and we’ve both forgotten it,’ he said softly.

In the window embrasure Rhonwen listened intently. Gruffydd was succeeding where she had failed. She held her breath, not daring to move lest she break their mood.

‘I suppose it would do no harm to ride north and see.’ Eleyne’s heart had begun to beat rapidly.

‘No harm at all.’ He nodded vigorously. ‘And we must both set off on our journeys within the week. That is part of the wager. By God, Eleyne, you’re good for me. You’re right, I have accepted captivity like a capon waiting for the cook. I’ll go! I’ll go back to Wales and fight for what is mine.’ He took her hand and pulled her to her feet, then he hugged her so tightly she gasped for breath. ‘We won’t meet again here in London.’ He held her at arm’s length, suddenly serious. ‘God bless you, little sister, and keep you safe and happy.’

‘And you, brother.’ Eleyne kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’ll come again to Wales and bring you the King of Scotland’s greetings.’

‘Done!’ Gruffydd spat on his palm and smacked it against hers.

III

Now that she had allowed herself to think about Alexander, Eleyne could think of nothing else. Her whole being ached with longing. Some part of her which had been walled off in misery had come alive again.

‘So, at last you have come to your senses,’ Rhonwen remarked. ‘How I bless the Lord Gruffydd for talking some sense into you.’

‘Do you think Alexander will still want me?’ Eleyne wavered and her hand went unconsciously to her temple, where the worst of her scars still showed beneath the soft loops of her hair. Was that her real reason for not facing him again? Her terror of what he would say when he saw her scars?

‘Of course he will want you,’ Rhonwen said. ‘I guarantee it. The love he has for you is something very special. I have never seen a man so in love.’

‘Then why didn’t he come after me?’ Eleyne moved to the mirror, studying her face, something she very rarely did. She touched her forehead with her fingertips. The scars had faded: in the evening, in the candlelight they hardly showed at all. Did they make her look ugly? She tried to view them dispassionately, as a man would, assessing them in a way she had not brought herself to do before… but she could not judge. The scars which hurt were inside her.

Would he still want her? She stared into her own eyes seeking an answer, and found none. Instinctively she glanced across at the fire. But there was no answer there either.

‘He didn’t follow you because he respects you too much. He wanted what you wanted, even if it destroyed him to wait,’ Rhonwen said softly. ‘But he has waited, and he has never given up hope.’

‘How do you know?’ Eleyne turned from the mirror and looked at her.

‘I just know.’ Rhonwen smiled enigmatically, her eyes still with that strange feral blankness which had lurked in them since her experience in the loch. ‘Alexander of Scotland is one of the few men I have ever admired unreservedly; the only man I have ever met who deserves my Eleyne. Unlike that filth who is your husband.’

Eleyne smiled. ‘I wonder if you like Alexander because he is a king.’

Rhonwen grinned. For a moment she focused totally on Eleyne’s face and Eleyne felt something of her old warmth. ‘It helps,’ she said candidly. ‘But above all he is a man of honour. He will be waiting for you if you have the courage to go to him – and you have the courage.’

‘Yes, I think I do at last.’

‘And to win your brother’s bet we must go soon.’

‘I think I can afford to lose sixpence…’

But Rhonwen was shaking her head. ‘No, no, we must go at once. Don’t you see, he might try to stop you!’

‘Gruffydd?’

‘No, not Gruffydd, de Quincy!’ Rhonwen’s voice hardened. ‘He has seen you again. You have spoken to him. He has remembered you and he has the king’s ear. Don’t trust him, cariad, he will try to get you back. I’m sure of it!’ Her eyes burned with fury. She had not seen Robert when he came to see Eleyne but she had sensed him there, his presence like a loathsome wart in the house she still thought of as hers. ‘Let me start packing. Let’s go soon. What is there to wait for?’

For a moment Eleyne was silent, then she nodded. What was there to wait for? She wanted Alexander, she wanted him so badly she could not imagine how she had lived without him all this time.

IV

Gruffydd peered at the courtyard three storeys below. In the soft moonlight the cobbles looked like beaten earth, the shadows black holes in the wall. It was at night that the animals in the king’s menagerie grew restless; in the silence he could hear the snarling of a leopard. It was at night too that the fetid air from the moat and the cold mud smell of the river merged with the cooler winds and sometimes, through the high window, he imagined he could smell the cold clean winds of Yr Wyddfa.

He turned to look at his companions as they sat before the fire, the chessboard between them: two Welsh men, Ion and Emrys, who had loyally volunteered with so many others to share his exile and his imprisonment and with them his eldest son, Owain.

Eleyne’s visit had made him restless. When she had gone he had stood a long time looking down out of this same window, to see if he could catch a glimpse of her as she left the Tower. Had he ever intended to try to keep his part of the wager, or had he done it to goad her into going after some happiness in a bleak world? He wasn’t sure. He had hated to see her so unhappy, and he had guessed that one of the real reasons for her reluctance to go back to Scotland was her fear of Alexander seeing her scars. But they were nothing. Court beauties he had seen in Henry’s apartments had worse disfigurements by far than the marks he had seen on her face. They added, if anything, to the quirky nature of his spirited sister’s beauty. He did not know if Alexander still loved her, but she had to find out and, if she wanted him, fight for him!

He sighed. He used to be a fighter, but the mood had gone. There was so much against him: his father’s wishes, Dafydd’s success, and now the combination of Dafydd and Henry of England. His fate seemed inescapable.

He sighed and leaned forward, his elbows on the broad sill. He had never really thought about escape. Everyone knew it was impossible to escape from the Tower unless one had friends and money, and even then it wasn’t easy. Yet now, looking down into the inner ward far below, a plan began slowly to form. Once down there it would not be hard to hide in those dense black shadows until daylight came; then, when the heavy gates opened to admit the supply carts from the city, he only had to find an empty one ready to leave, climb in, lost in the milling crowds, and crouch under some empty sacks. He doubted if the security was tight. What had Londoners to fear? Certainly not one fat, middle-aged Welshman who had lodged in the Tower for two and a half years without making the slightest attempt to escape. Eleyne was right. Why hadn’t he done it years ago?

He leaned further into the window. The problem was reaching the ground. The doors were locked and there were guards at every cross landing on the main stairs in the great keep. He had seen them when he had been summoned to King Henry’s apartments on the floor below his. He had not considered the window until Eleyne’s remark about there being no bars; her challenge. He inched forward and peered down. It was a long way down from the great double stone lancets, but as a youth he would have thought nothing of shinning down a rope from a window higher than this!

Perhaps, after all, all bets were on. He smiled to himself. Why delay? St David’s Day was perfect. What better day to set off on his journey home?

‘Ion. Emrys. Owain. A word.’ He turned towards the chess players.

There were plenty of sheets to knot together. The three men leaned out in turn and made the calculation, then they compared notes. They were within two sheets of one another in their guesses. They would wait until the darkest hour of the night, just before the guard changed, when the sentries were cold and tired and huddled around their braziers. Then they would go.

Ion cast a wary eye up at the brightness of the moon. ‘By then it will be around the side of the keep and this window will be in deep shadow.’ He grinned. They were all excited now, Gruffydd’s mood deeply infectious.

They piled pillows in the prince’s bed and covered them with blankets, then did the same for the other beds. The guards seldom checked on their prisoners, and breakfast was always brought late in the knowledge that a long night’s drinking was not conducive to early rising. But they could afford to take no chances. The longer start they had on their pursuers the better.

‘I’ll go first.’ Ion slapped the prince on the shoulder. ‘It’s time.’ They had enlisted the help of one of their most loyal servants. He would release the sheets after the last man and go back to a sodden boozy sleep. The jug of wine on the table was still full, and he had been promised it all.

The shadow had come round to the window. Ion climbed on to the inner sill and looked down. It took some manoeuvring, but at last he managed to kneel backwards on the sill and shuffled back, his hands firmly gripped on the sheets knotted around the stone mullion. He vanished from view, letting himself down hand over hand, his legs braced against the wall. In two agonising, endless minutes he reached the ground. He grinned up from the darkness and Gruffydd saw the pale blur of the man’s upturned face. Then Ion ran for the deeper shadows.

‘Me next.’ Gruffydd’s heart was pounding very fast.

‘Good luck, my friend. God speed.’ Emrys clapped him on the shoulder.

‘Good luck, father.’ Owain grinned at him and shook his hand, then he gave him a hug. ‘See you down there.’

They watched in breathless silence as Gruffydd hauled himself into the deep embrasure and edged his way towards the window, feet first. The gap was narrow and he felt it catch his hips. He wriggled hard, sweat breaking out all over him. Why had he let himself get so fat? He pushed again. Sweet Christ! He couldn’t do it. He would not fit. ‘Push!’ he gasped. ‘Push me.’

Emrys braced his hands against his prince’s shoulders and pushed hard, but Gruffydd did not budge. Desperately he wriggled back inside, his face covered in sweat, heavy with disappointment. Then Owain grabbed his arm. ‘Upstairs, on to the roof! The door isn’t locked, I’ve been up there! We can put the rope around the battlements.’ Already he was scrabbling with the knots which had pulled tight under Ion’s weight.

Gruffydd’s mouth was dry with fear and anger. He watched as Emrys pulled up the long rope of sheets, wondering what Ion was thinking as he stared up at the window. ‘Come on, man,’ Emrys urged, ‘we’ll have you down there in no time!’

‘Wait! Another sheet,’ Owain cried. ‘The rope won’t be long enough from the battlements.’

Gruffydd took a deep breath. ‘Lucky you remembered that, boy,’ he said with false joviality, slapping his son on the back.

The rooftop was silent, the leads ice-cold. Above London the night was frosted with a myriad stars. All three gazed upwards, then Emrys took the rope and began to knot it around one of the great stone merlons. He worked fast, his fingers tying the sheet again and again until he was sure the rope was secure. Then he leaned out through the embrasure. Christ, but it was high! He studied the shadows of the inner ward, listening intently, then at last he let the coils of the makeshift rope fall into the darkness. He made a thumbs-up sign to Gruffydd.

From somewhere in the dark Gruffydd heard the deep barking roar of a lion from the menagerie. It was a lonely, primeval sound and he shuddered. He climbed on to the embrasure and peered over, then he turned his back to the void and began to edge backwards on his knees, his hands gripping the knotted sheets. He could see nothing behind him, and he had no way of knowing if any of the guards were standing in the courtyard waiting for him. He had to trust to luck. He wriggled a little further, feeling his legs dangling disconcertingly into space, and he tried not to think of the drop as he pushed grimly on. The stones at the sides of the embrasure caught at him, grazing his hips. He wriggled harder.

And then he was through. His centre of gravity moved sharply outwards and for a moment he was hanging by his elbows. He closed his grip more firmly on the sheets and pushed himself over the edge. There was a sharp tearing sound and his heart stopped beating, but the sheets held and slowly hand over hand he began to edge his way down. The tendons in his shoulders cracked and the joints in his hands ached. Sharp sweat dripped into his eyes. There was another slight give in the makeshift rope and again his heart jumped frantically! Sweet Christ, he had nearly let go in fright.

Above him in the darkness the reef knot joining the second and third sheet strained and looped, and the ends began to pull free.

Not far, now, not far. Doggedly he let himself down, hand over hand. He saw the great bulk of the keep above him against the stars, the black spaces which were the windows like gaping mouths in the white-washed stone. He could not see the rope, but he felt it slip again and the sweat on his shoulders sheened over with ice.

Sweet Jesus, hold on. Please let it hold on. He was trying to hurry now, fumbling with his legs, but his muscles were weak and his whole body was screaming with protest at his weight.

When the sheets parted, he was still thirty feet from the ground.

V

Eleyne watched with increasing impatience as the grooms and servants loaded the last boxes into the wagons. It had taken all night to make the preparations, to pack, to load the wagons and saddle the horses. She had stifled the urge to jump on a horse and gallop northwards alone, to feel the wind sweeping her hair back from her face, the pull and thrust of the horse’s powerful leg muscles beneath her, carrying her on, but she waited. She stood as Rhonwen pinned her cloak around her shoulders and watched as Tam Lin was led towards her, his neck proudly arched, his caparison fluttering in the cold March wind. Now that they were setting off, she was afraid.

Hal Longshaft, her steward, stepped forward. ‘We’re ready, my lady.’ He was smiling. The whole household had caught her excitement.

‘Thank you, Hal.’ She took the horse’s rein.

She was already mounted when the troop of royal horsemen swept around the corner and down the narrow street, their hooves loud above the low rumble of early morning traffic.

The riders wheeled into the gates which had been opened wide for the departure of Eleyne’s household. The officer in charge dragged his horse to a rearing halt before her and saluted with a drawn sword.

‘Lady Chester. I have a warrant for your arrest!’

Eleyne stared at him in horror. ‘By whose order?’ she demanded numbly. She had gone cold all over. She was very conscious of Hal Longshaft and Rhonwen standing protectively near her. Tam Lin scraped impatiently at the ground with a foreleg and shook his head. Hal put his hand on the horse’s bridle and gentled him.

‘By order of the king.’

‘And what am I charged with?’

‘With aiding and abetting the attempted escape of a prisoner from his grace’s fortress of the Tower.’ The man stepped forward.

‘Gruffydd?’ She whispered his name under her breath.

If he heard the name he gave no sign. ‘You are to accompany me now to the Tower, my lady. Command your servants to return to the house. You will not be leaving London today.’

Stunned, she turned to her steward. ‘You must see to it, Hal,’ she said quietly.

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘My ladies will accompany me,’ she said to the officer, keeping her voice as firm as she could. She gestured to Rhonwen and Nesta to mount and then she kicked Tam Lin forward. To keep up with her, the man had to leap for his horse.

As they rode through the walls into the inner ward of the Tower there were knots of people everywhere, whispering: soldiers, servants and townspeople. Eleyne felt their eyes watching her, sensed they were whispering about her and suddenly she was filled with dread.

King Henry was waiting in the royal apartments in the White Tower.

‘So!’ He swung to face her as soon as she appeared. ‘Are you satisfied now? You always were a trouble-maker! I should have known you wouldn’t change! I should have remembered your capacity for creating mayhem.’ He swung round the table towards her in a swirl of scarlet and gold, and his attendants cringed back against the walls. ‘Well, madam, you have meddled for the last time!’ He thrust his head forward in a characteristic gesture of fury. ‘I listened to Alexander of Scotland when he begged me to allow you to live alone; I kept your husband by me at his request and kept him out of your way as he asked. But no more!’

Eleyne stared at him, trying to come to terms with what he was saying, but Henry swept on. ‘That is over! I am going to send you back to de Quincy and he can have the governance of you from now on. You will learn in future to live in obedience to him as the church and the law require. I wash my hands of you. I do Alexander no more favours! I should imprison you for what you have done!’

Eleyne could feel her hands shaking. Her mind was spinning in confusion.

‘I don’t understand. Where is Gruffydd? I want to see him. Whatever he did it was not of my doing. How could I have helped him? What have I done?’

‘What have you done?’ he spluttered.

‘Your grace.’ A priest who had been seated on a bench at the back of the room stood up and stepped forward. ‘Lady Chester has obviously not heard what has happened.’

For a moment Henry was taken aback, but his fury was unchecked. ‘Then I shall have to tell her! Your brother, niece, is dead!’

‘Dead! My brother?’ Eleyne stared at him, her face white.

‘Your brother, Gruffydd, my lady. The prince was killed last night.’

‘Killed?’ She was ashen.

‘Killed,’ Henry repeated. ‘You talked him into trying to escape when you visited him yesterday, didn’t you? For three years he has been content to live as our guest here in the Tower. You visit him and that same night he tries to climb from the roof and, Sweet Lady! I lose my hostage and now your other brother will no doubt stir up the whole of Wales again!’ He thumped the table with both hands.

Eleyne was trying to hold back her tears. ‘Where is he?’ The king was right. It was her fault. Gruffydd’s death was all her fault.

‘He lies in St John’s Chapel, my lady.’ The priest looked at her stricken face with some sympathy. ‘I am sure his grace will allow you to see him to say goodbye.’

Henry nodded grimly. ‘Say your farewells to him, then you will return to Fotheringhay with your husband. I have told him to keep you there. It will not be possible for you to go to Scotland again, nor will you ride to Wales.’ He folded his arms, his malice a clear expression of his fury. ‘And I do not wish to see you or your husband at court again.’

VI

‘It’s all your own fault!’ Robert de Quincy was seething with anger. ‘It suited us both, the way things were, and now we are both exiled.’ He was watching the long baggage train ride into the courtyard at Fotheringhay from the steps to the door in the keep. ‘And I am appointed your jailer! By the king this time.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘What irony. You must appreciate the humour of the situation. To have brought all this on yourself was quite some feat, was it not?’ His mood changed. ‘It will be pleasant, sweetheart, will it not, to play house again together at last?’

‘I hardly think so, for either of us,’ she retorted. She would not wait even a day. Tam Lin was still fresh; they had ridden barely ten miles on the last leg of the journey. As soon as Robert was nodding over the last of their midday meal, drugged with wine, she would ride north alone.

Rhonwen had stayed in London at her insistence, as had Hal. There was no one here to whom she could reveal her plan. She would ride alone and fast and pray that Alexander would welcome her. Ducking into the keep out of the wind, she stood in the cold, dark chamber on the first floor. Someone had lit a fire but it still smouldered sullenly, smoke curling from the damp logs and being sucked sideways across the floor. The floor coverings were stale and no furniture had yet been set up. It was not a welcoming place.

She shivered, then glanced around. One friend at least was still here, in the shadows: the lady who had haunted Loch Leven Castle – the lady with whom, by some strange alchemy, she shared her blood.

‘Grim, isn’t it?’ Robert was at her shoulder. ‘We shall be hard put to keep ourselves amused.’ He took her arm and she felt the familiar cruel grip of his fingers with a shudder. ‘You are to be guarded, sweetheart, did the king tell you? In case you should inexplicably feel the urge to run away. Not that Alexander wants you any more. Did Henry tell you that too? The King of Scots has refused leave for you to travel north again. He has lost interest in you. But you knew that, didn’t you? And if your behaviour gives me any cause for worry, I have the king’s permission to lock you up.’ He paused. ‘And chastise you as I think fit. And no Scot, noble or baseborn, king or peasant, is going to stop me.’

VII

Within four months she was pregnant and on Easter Day the following year she went into labour. Robert stood by the bed as pain after pain tore through her straining body. He was smiling.

‘At least this time I know it’s mine. My son.’ He was completely sober. He watched with detached interest as Eleyne’s women scuttled around her preparing the room. The carpenter had brought a crib up to the bedchamber that morning, beautifully carved and polished, furnished with small sheets and blankets, and the new swaddling bands hung by the fire to warm.

Alice Goodwife stood beside Eleyne, her hand firmly pressed to her mistress’s distended stomach. ‘He’ll come soon now, my lady. I can feel your muscles all tightened and ready. Girl, fetch a cloth for my lady’s face!’ Alice did not stop her expert gropings as one of the servants wiped Eleyne’s forehead. Eleyne groaned. Neither of her two previous births had prepared her for this pain. Both had been quick, the babies small. She moaned, throwing herself away from the midwife’s probing fingers, hunching her knees towards her stomach. Then she sat up.

‘I must walk about. I can’t stand this any more. Help me up.’ The sweat was pouring down her face.

‘Best lie still, my lady.’ Alice pushed her back on the pillows with surprising strength.

‘I can’t lie still! For pity’s sake. An animal walks – ’

‘And you are no animal, my lady. Do you think our Blessed Virgin made such a fuss when she bore her sweet babe?’ The woman leaned close, her eyes narrowed; her breath stank of onions. ‘For the sake of the baby now, you be still.’

‘No.’ Eleyne pushed her away. ‘I have to walk. I have to.’ She kicked off the blankets and tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Her shift was soaked in blood.

‘Lie still, Eleyne.’ Robert’s voice was harsh above the sound of her laboured breathing and the agitated tones of the women. ‘Or I shall have you tied to the bed. I won’t have my son harmed.’

Eleyne closed her eyes, aware that Alice’s expression had not changed. ‘Take no notice, my lady,’ Alice said softly, ‘but lie still, please.’

‘So your son can be saved, but not your wife!’ Eleyne cried, through clenched teeth.

‘I’m sure there will be no need for choice.’ Robert folded his arms and turned to Alice. ‘How much longer?’ He affected a yawn. Outside it was growing dark.

‘As long as God wills,’ Alice retorted. ‘Women are born to travail. The babe will come when it’s ready and not before.’

‘I reckon it needs turning.’ The old woman who had been tending the fire joined her by the bed. ‘I’ve seen births like this before. The babe is feet first, you mark. He’ll have to be turned.’

Eleyne bit her lip as another spasm tore through her body and she tasted salt blood on her tongue as she realised that she was too tired to argue. Her body was exhausted. She felt the pain carry and lift her as though it were a wave and leave her in soft darkness. Then the next contraction dragged her back to screaming wakefulness. ‘For God’s sake do something!’ She clutched at Alice’s hands. She threw her head back, fighting the pain. As she did so she caught sight of Robert, lounging against the wall, his arms folded. Several times he had left the room and gone away to eat and drink and rest, but he had always returned. ‘Go away!’ she screamed. ‘Go away! Get out of here. Get out!’

‘Not until I’ve seen my son born.’ His voice was calm, but she did not hear him. She had thrown herself back against the pillows, grabbing at the twisted sheet which had been tied to the bedpost for her to pull. Alice put a cloth soaked in coriander in Eleyne’s hand and encouraged her to put it to her face. ‘Breathe it in, my lady, breathe in the fumes. They’ll make it easier.’

‘If the child’s legs are across the way to freedom, it will never come and they will both die.’ The old woman shook her head gloomily. ‘I’ve turned babies before, my lady, you’d do best to let me see.’ Elbowing Alice aside at last she pulled back the sheets and began to feel with surprising gentleness beneath Eleyne’s bloodstained shift. ‘No,’ tis a normal birth, Blessed Mother be praised. I can feel the head. It won’t be long now.’ She wiped her fingers fastidiously on the corner of the sheet and looked down at Eleyne as she lay in an exhausted doze. ‘This child will live, my dear, and grow tall and healthy.’ She put her hand on Eleyne’s forehead. ‘A few more pushes, my lady, and she will be born.’

‘She?’ Eleyne’s eyes flickered open.

The woman gave a fruity chuckle. ‘I’d lay money on it,’ she said.

Twenty minutes later the baby was born. Robert stepped forward. ‘My son!’ he said exultantly.

‘Your daughter, sir.’ Alice held the naked child aloft, the pulsating cord still dangling from its belly.

Robert’s face darkened. ‘But I wanted a son!’ He stepped back in disgust.

‘We get what God sends us!’ Alice handed the baby to the old woman.

Eleyne lying exhausted on the bed turned her head slowly towards him. ‘It takes a man to father a son,’ she whispered hoarsely.

‘And you think I am not a man?’ Robert’s voice was dangerously low. He stepped forward threateningly. ‘You contrived this. To spite me! You with your spells and your foresight. Well, you will be sorry, my lady, very sorry.’ He looked as though he would hit her.

Alice stepped between him and the bed. ‘My lady must sleep now, sir. You can see how tired she is…’ She folded her arms in a gesture so adamant that Robert stopped, then turned on his heel.

Eleyne did not want the child. She turned her head away and closed her eyes and Alice beckoned forward the wetnurse who had been waiting.

The old woman who had stood watching as they cleaned Eleyne’s torn and aching body and changed the stinking sheets sat down on the bed. ‘I told you. She will live.’

‘The others died.’ Tears slid down Eleyne’s cheeks. ‘My two little boys. I watched them die in my arms.’ She had wanted them; prayed for them; planned for them. And all for nothing.

‘Look, my lady.’ The old woman took the swaddled baby from the nurse. ‘See, it’s you she wants, bless her. See her tiny face. She’ll be a beauty, this child of yours.’

‘If she lives.’ Eleyne’s eyes were closed.

‘She will live.’ The woman’s voice was so forceful that everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and stared.

Eleyne opened her eyes and the woman thrust the baby at her, folding Eleyne’s limp arms around her. ‘She is your child, my lady, yours,’ she whispered. ‘What does the father matter? She is of your blood, your body. It’s your love she wants.’

Almost unwillingly, Eleyne found herself looking down at the swaddled bundle in her arms. The fuzz of hair on the baby’s head was dark, the eyes, which looked directly and unblinkingly into hers, a deep midnight blue. Involuntarily, her arms tightened and, without knowing she had done it, she bent to nuzzle the small soft head.

Three days later as she slept, with the baby beside her in its carved cradle, Robert rode out of the castle and took the road south. He had waited only for the baptism. His daughter had been named Joanna.

VIII

Marie de Couci waited until her husband’s chancellor had left the room, followed by the clerks and servants of the chancellery. Alexander looked up at her and waited. He was weary after an afternoon of intense discussion; he wanted food and wine and relaxation. His wife’s expression was smug, and he felt his heart sink. Why did she take such an unholy pleasure in bad news? No doubt it was bad news.

‘So, my dear, you have something to tell me.’

Marie looked at the floor, her expression veiled. ‘My lord, if I don’t tell you, someone else will. You have to know.’ The triumphant glance she threw him was so swift he all but missed it. ‘Lady Chester has been brought to bed of a daughter.’ She paused. ‘By her husband.’

Alexander had long ago schooled his expression to give nothing away. She would never have the satisfaction of knowing how the news hurt him.

IX

Isabella looked for a long time staring at the letter before her then slowly she stood up and walking to the fire she dropped it on to the flames. So, Eleyne’s child continued to thrive. She had had reports over the last ten months from one of Eleyne’s servants, since that first tentative note after the baby’s birth. Each time she had cried, always secretly, always bitterly, for her own barren womb. And her tears this time had been more anguished than ever as Dafydd had drawn up the details of the succession with Ednyfed Fychan, who had been his father’s most trusted adviser and now was Dafydd’s. It was unthinkable that Henry of England should remain Dafydd’s heir. The line must after all revert, now Gruffydd was dead, to Gruffydd’s eldest son, Owain, released from the Tower the previous August; Owain who had three younger brothers behind him, all robust and healthy. What hurt Isabella so much was the way they all assumed now that there would be no direct heir; no son for Dafydd. She stamped her foot petulantly and sighed.

The death of Gruffydd had removed any need for restraint on Dafydd’s part. At first, although he had expected it, Henry did not take the renewed rebellion seriously, but news had reached them now that he had resolved on a major campaign in Wales. Soon the war would resume in earnest. Isabella frowned at the snow which whirled thickly down. It was the first day of Lent.

Dafydd had eaten something that disagreed with him in the wild Shrove Tide feasting the night before and had retired to his chamber with a belly ache. A few hours later he had begun to vomit violently and this morning he had been worse. She sighed again; she resented anything which kept him from her bed. She needed him with a deep aching hunger which was more than physical – it had become an obsession. The more often they made love, the more chance that she would conceive. Her hand strayed to her throat. Three amulets hung there now, three amulets to ward off the evil eye and counteract Eleyne’s curse. Because it was Eleyne’s fault that she had no child.

She walked back to the fire and kicked out spitefully at the logs where the letter from Fotheringhay had disintegrated into ash. Perhaps it would happen tonight. The stars were propitious and Dafydd would be recovered by then. She would bathe in rose water in front of the fire and have her servants rub scented oils into her skin. She touched her breasts gently and closed her eyes. Two days before she had vowed her most beautiful necklace to the shrine at Holywell if she should conceive. Surely the Virgin would help her tonight.

But that night Dafydd was worse. He was contorted with pain and now he had developed a fever. Isabella was suddenly afraid. ‘What is it?’ She looked at the ring of learned doctors around the bed. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

Ednyfed was standing near her, his face set with worry. ‘There’s a hard swelling in the belly,’ he said softly. ‘The doctors fear there’s some kind of obstruction.’ He glanced at the huddle of physicians who were examining samples of Dafydd’s urine, holding up their flasks to the candlelight.

‘He’s not going to die?’ she cried, her voice sliding out of a whisper in her panic.

Ednyfed frowned at her sharply. ‘Of course he’s not going to die!’

‘But you sent for the priest to give him the last rites?’ She had only just noticed the man kneeling in the corner. She had begun to shake violently. ‘Dafydd! Dafydd bach?’ She threw herself towards the bed. ‘What is it? What’s wrong with you?’

He opened his eyes with an effort. ‘Too much wine and good living, sweetheart, that’s all. I’ll soon be better.’ He reached out for her hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be as right as rain tomorrow, you’ll see. Then we’ll celebrate, eh?’ He managed the ghost of a grin.

She nodded, biting her lip, and she squeezed his fingers.

Soon after that he drifted into an uneasy sleep, but later he awoke, contorted in agony, clutching at her hand. This time he was delirious. He did not know her.

As the grey February daylight began to lighten the chamber he lay still at last and opened his eyes. He gave her the ghost of a smile. ‘The pain has gone,’ he said wonderingly. ‘The Blessed Virgin be thanked, the pain has gone.’

‘Thank God.’ She had not moved from his side all night. She bent and kissed his forehead.

‘Drink this, my lord.’ One of the physicians stepped forward with a phial of medicine. Dafydd sipped it with a grimace then lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes.

Two hours later he was dead.

‘No,’ Isabella cried in disbelief. ‘He was better. No, he’s not dead, he’s asleep.’

‘Princess -’ Ednyfed had tears running down his face.

‘No.’ She went on shaking her head. ‘He’s asleep.’

‘Princess – ’

‘He’s asleep I tell you!’ She threw herself on the bed, and clutched at his hands. ‘He’ll wake up. He was better. He’s not dead. He’s not.’ She pulled at him frantically and his head rolled sideways on the pillow. A little mucus trickled from the side of his mouth and his eyes opened. ‘Dafydd! Dafydd! You see? He’s alive! I told you he was alive.’ Suddenly she was sobbing, her whole body shaking with the strength of her weeping.

It was a long time before they could persuade her to leave the stiffening body and half carry, half drag her to a hastily prepared chamber on the far side of the llys. A messenger had already departed to find Owain Goch ap Gruffydd. And already the news was crossing the mountains from mouth to mouth and ear to ear towards King Henry’s court.

X

Eleyne was playing with her little daughter when word came of her brother’s death. She read the letter twice and sat gazing into space, the letter dangling from nerveless fingers. Joanna crawled towards her, reaching for the red wax seal on its ribbon.

Eleyne was numb; she had loved both her brothers and now she had lost them both. She had not seen Dafydd for a long time and she had often disagreed with him violently, but that did not mean she was any less devastated. Her eyes filled with tears and little Joanna, her small fists knotted into Eleyne’s gown, stared up with solemn eyes at her mother’s face. Eleyne stooped to pick the child up with a sad smile, and Joanna stabbed a chubby finger at Eleyne’s cheek. Eleyne hugged her, knocking the letter to the floor and, burying her face in Joanna’s curls, she began to sob.

Nesta wrote to Rhonwen, and Rhonwen came.

‘So Owain Goch is prince now.’ Rhonwen cuddled Joanna and tucked a sweetmeat into the child’s mouth. ‘Gruffydd is avenged.’

‘Rhonwen.’ Eleyne was reproachful.

‘Well? You should be pleased too! I only hope young Llywelyn will be prepared to support his brother. He has no respect for Owain at all; he’s much the stronger character! And you, cariad? What are you still doing here at Fotheringhay? Your husband has gone. I had no doubt that you would ride to Scotland as soon as you were recovered from the birth.’

Eleyne frowned. ‘Alexander sent no messages – ’

‘Of course not. No doubt Queen Marie has told him you are lying every night in your husband’s arms. So, you never intend to see him again?’ Rhonwen carried Joanna over to the door.

‘Of course I do…’

‘Then what are you waiting for? Your husband’s permission?’ Her tone was acidic. She handed the child to a nurse and walked back to Eleyne. ‘You still have a child to bear for Scotland, cariad. I don’t know how or why, but that is your destiny.’ Her eyes burned with a sudden fanaticism.

‘That’s not true, Einion was wrong.’

‘He was never wrong.’ Rhonwen’s face had become deeply lined over the last months and there was a permanent frown between her eyes. ‘You have a darling child there, but she is not the child the gods have promised you.’ She paused. ‘You must not let her father touch you again.’

‘No.’ Eleyne was watching the nurse carry Joanna from the room.

‘He would be better dead.’ Rhonwen’s voice was very soft.

There was a long pause. ‘Yes.’ Eleyne bit her lip.

Rhonwen gave a quick triumphant smile. ‘I’m glad you agree.’

Eleyne swung round. ‘I will not have him killed.’

‘Why not?’

‘I – am – his – wife.’ The words were scarcely audible.

‘No.’ Rhonwen shook her head. ‘You were forced to make vows that meant nothing, before a god who cares nothing!’ She put her hands over Eleyne’s wrists. ‘And you hate him!’

‘Yes, I hate him.’ Eleyne’s eyes flashed. She snatched her hands away. ‘But I will not be responsible for his death.’ She moved away from Rhonwen. ‘I didn’t go to Scotland because I won’t crawl to Alexander. If he wants me he must send for me.’ She straightened her shoulders.

Rhonwen smiled. ‘I am sure he will, cariad,’ she said meekly, ‘I am sure he will.’

XI

Philip de Bret, Constable of Dyserth Castle, bowed gravely to the cleric who stood before him. He glanced at Isabella. ‘The Princess of Aberffraw has been a most welcome guest here, my lord abbot.’

The Abbot of Basingwerk bowed back. Both men looked as if they were tiptoeing on thin ice as they turned as one to Isabella. She stared back at them resentfully. ‘So? Why did you want to see me, my lord abbot?’

‘As you know, princess, your late husband was a patron of our abbey…’

‘And endowed it handsomely.’ Her voice was waspish. ‘If you come for a donation, my lord abbot, you are out of luck. I have no money until my dower is arranged.’

‘You misunderstand me, princess.’ The abbot bowed again. ‘I have not come to ask for your generosity.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I have come at the command of the king.’

‘Oh?’ She looked at him suspiciously.

‘It appears that his grace has decided that for now -’ he paused and licked his lips nervously – ‘he would like you to go to the sisters at Godstow.’

‘What exactly do you mean?’ Isabella’s hands had gone cold.

Henry had after all allowed Owain to succeed Dafydd, but only after he and his brother, Llywelyn, had acknowledged the King of England as their overlord.

The abbot glanced at de Bret for support. ‘His grace commands that I escort you to Godstow. He feels that as a highborn widow – ’

‘He is not going to turn me into a nun!’ Her voice rose sharply. ‘I hope his grace does not intend to try to make me stay there.’

The abbot shrugged. ‘I have my orders, madam. To deliver you to the Lady Flandrina, Abbess of Godstow. That is the king’s command.’

‘I won’t go! I’ll marry again.’ She looked from one man to the other wildly. ‘It’s because I can’t have children, that’s it, isn’t it? No man will want me if I’m barren. But I can have children! Ask anyone. I was cursed. But the curse can be lifted – ’

‘Princess.’ The old abbot shook his head. ‘Please don’t distress yourself. I am sure the arrangement is only temporary.’

‘Sure? How can you be sure?’ Her hands were shaking. ‘The king doesn’t confide in you, does he? No, of course he doesn’t. Suppose they lock me up and keep me there forever?’

‘Why should they do such a thing?’ Philip de Bret forced himself to speak calmly. He disliked excitable women in general and he was beginning to dislike this one in particular. Since her arrival at Dyserth the smooth running of the royal castle had been relegated to the least of his worries. Instead he had found himself summoned to a series of increasingly stormy interviews with the princess, who had been packed into his care by Henry and her two nephews the moment Dafydd’s death had been announced.

‘When Eleyne was widowed, the king didn’t send her to a nunnery.’ Isabella’s voice had risen to a tight, nervous whine. ‘Why should he send me there? And to Godstow. It’s so far away. No, I won’t go. I shall return to Aber until the matter of my dower is arranged.’

The abbot sighed. ‘Princess, I’m sorry, but that is not possible. The King of England’s command must be obeyed, and it is also the wish of the new Prince of Aberffraw.’ He nodded to himself smugly. Those two boys had not been able to wait, so he had heard, to get rid of her!

‘Not if I refuse.’ She shook her finger under his nose. ‘I’m sorry, my lord abbot. I hate to disappoint you but you must return without me.’

She took his hand and kneeling to give his ring a perfunctory kiss – some inches above the cold amethyst on an equally cold finger – she rose and swept from the room.

De Bret shrugged. ‘I had hoped we could avoid using force.’

‘And I.’ The abbot stared sadly at the door which still reverberated from the force with which Isabella had flung it shut behind her. ‘Poor woman. She is still young for such an incarceration.’

De Bret raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m surprised to hear you of all people call going into a convent incarceration. A strong word, surely.’

The abbot frowned. ‘What else is it, my friend, if the postulant is unwilling and must stay there for the rest of her life?’

XII

The house was on the main street in Roxburgh, not far from the bakehouse where she and Alexander had spent such happy hours. The rich tradesman who owned it was not interested in the identity of the two merchants’ wives who had agreed to rent the ground-floor rooms. They had heavy purses and were well dressed beneath their sober cloaks: that was all that mattered. They had two servants, a nurse for the baby and a great dog. He did not ask their business in Roxburgh.

He was not there when the elder woman took water from the silver Tweed and setting her bowl on the bank beneath the stars drew down the moonlight into the water with her muttered incantations, stirring glittering circles into the black depths of the pot before taking it indoors and making the younger woman drink. The spell was to hide her identity; to make her invisible to all but the king and in his eyes to make her irresistible.

XIII

The great hall of the castle was as always crowded and Alexander was in jovial mood after the midday meal. He had called for his horse and his hawk and was looking forward to an afternoon’s sport after a morning closeted with his nobles. Marie had left the table early to go and fuss over the boy. Even that small respite improved his mood.

He rose from the table with a contented sigh and began to make his way slowly down the hall towards the door. He could already hear the scraping of the horses’ hooves on the cobbles as they waited in the courtyard and the high piping call of the bird waiting on the fist of his falconer.

He wasn’t sure why the woman caught his eye; her stillness in the midst of so much confusion? The angle of her head as she waited unobtrusively in the shadows near the door? Shadows made blacker by the wedge of brilliant sunshine which streamed into the high-roofed great hall attended by a myriad of dancing dust motes. He squinted across the sun and stopped dead. Immediately the crowd around him stopped too, but their chatter did not cease; the stamping of the hooves did not cease. And yet it was the woman’s silence he heard: her silence and her power.

Sweet Christ! She had come back to him at last. At last she had tired of her husband and come back!

He looked about him swiftly. Whom could he trust? No one else had recognised her; no one else had even noticed her in the general mêlée which accompanied him everywhere.

He moved on without giving any sign that he had seen her, out on to the steps and down to his horse. Only then did he beckon one of the grooms and whisper into his ear. The groom found her, still standing in the shadows, though she was now alone. He peered at her inquisitively and shrugged; if the king wanted to play riddles with a heavily veiled townswoman who hadn’t even the wit to put on her best gown when she came to court it was none of his business. What was his business was the reward he had been promised if he got the message right.

Her smile was like the sunrise after a night of rain. He glimpsed it only for a moment beneath her veil as he whispered the message and then he felt a coin pressed into his palm – a coin hot from her own hand. With a flurry of skirts she was gone and by dusk when the king returned the groom would be richer by far than he had ever dreamed.

XIV

The mist was lying across the grass, drifting amongst the trees, hiding the river. She rode slowly, the reins loose, her eyes on the hill in front of her. It stood silhouetted against the sky, conical in shape, not very high, the tumbled ruins of the old fort clear in the moonlight. She knew at once why he had chosen it. It belonged now to the old people; to the fairies. The locals would go nowhere near it. She shivered, feeling the skin on the back of her neck stir and tighten and as if sensing her thoughts, Tam Lin laid back his ears and side-stepped at the shadows.

His horse was already there, tethered beneath the trees. She tied Tam Lin beside it and stood for a moment looking towards the hill top, Donnet at her heels. The moon had drifted higher, farther away from the earth, its light no longer soft and diffused. Now it shed a cold uncaring beam on the soft, sheep-cropped grass. Gathering her skirts, she commanded Donnet to stay and began to climb.

By the time she reached the top, her heart was pounding and the back of her throat was dry and tight. She stopped and looked around, trying to catch her breath. It must have been a castle of the ancient Picts. The huge, rough-cut blocks of stone lay tossed into the grass at crazy angles, throwing black wedges of shadow on the moon-silvered ground. Far below she could see Tweeddale laid out before her, the low-lying river valley brimming with mist. She closed her eyes and made the sign of protection. They were still here, the old ones, watching.

Alexander was sitting on a block of masonry, wrapped in his thick cloak, his arms around his knees. A naked sword lay beside him, its blade glinting in the moonlight.

She went to him without a word and stood in front of him, looking at his face as she raised her veil. If he no longer wanted her, she would know.

He smiled. Opening his cloak he drew her into its folds and held her close. For a long time neither of them spoke.

‘So. Finally you grew tired of your husband?’ he said at last.

Her eyes widened. ‘I don’t live with my husband; I haven’t seen him since Joanna was born.’

‘Joanna.’ His voice was thoughtful, then he went on. ‘So, why did you wait until now to come?’

‘I didn’t know if you wanted me.’

‘Wanted you!’ he echoed. ‘I wanted you so much I nearly went mad when they told me you had gone back to de Quincy.’

‘Who told you?’

‘King Henry.’

‘And you believed him?’

He was silent for a moment. ‘There must be honour among kings, Eleyne. You had ignored my gifts, my letters. I thought you wanted no more of me. After I heard about the bairn. I suppose I thought that after the two that died…’ His voice trailed away.

She smiled sadly. ‘I wanted you, my lord. Not letters, or gifts. I wanted you.’

Slowly he raised his hand and touched her face. ‘Why did you come this time?’ he asked softly.

‘You wrote and said you couldn’t live without me any more. I suspect that Rhonwen told you what to say, but it was what I needed to hear.’

He shook his head. ‘I knew what to say, woman. The Lady Rhonwen merely told me to say it again. Sweet Christ! How could we have wasted so much time? Every day that has passed, I’ve missed you in my arms!’ He pulled her closer. ‘You are defying your king by coming here, Eleyne.’

She nestled closer to him. ‘I would defy the world, if you wanted me to,’ she said. ‘And I still have a son to carry for Scotland. A son who will live and one day be the ancestor of a line of kings.’ She put her finger against his lips. ‘Don’t frown. I know you and I can never marry. I am content to be your mistress. We’ll leave destiny to see to the legitimacy of our children.’

As they kissed she pulled open the bodice of her gown. His fingers were calloused and cold from the moonlit rock, and she heard herself gasp as his arms slid around her naked body.

‘I’m never going to let you go away again, Eleyne,’ he murmured. ‘I want you to be mine forever.’

I

Isabella was staring out of the window of her cell towards the dark sky. It was ice-cold in the small room and in spite of the fur-lined cloak over her black habit, her hands and feet were blue. Soon she would go to the warming room and sit with the other sisters, huddled around the fire. They were only supposed to sit near it for short periods between work and prayer, but somehow the majority of them managed to congregate there as often as possible. She sniffed. She had not gone down the night stairs for matins, or lauds or prime. Only when her maid had brought her a hot drink and helped her change her linen would she appear grudgingly at terce. This was a rich convent; many of the ladies were aristocratic relicts like herself, dumped by the king out of sight, out of mind. Some of them would leave the convent; she meant to be one of them.

The moon was high, its face a strange blood-red, shedding a weird half-light over the snow-covered roofs of the convent buildings. She did not remember ever having seen it like that before and for some reason it frightened her. It had upset the animals too. She could hear the horses stirring in the stables behind the dorter and somewhere beyond the convent walls a dog was howling.

With a shiver, she picked up her candle and carried it to the coffer which served as bookrest, cupboard and table. On it lay a small book of hours and the precious piece of parchment she had bribed from Sister Maude in the scriptorium together with quills and ink. This would be her fifth letter – carried out of the convent by one of the lay sisters to be consigned to the doubtful mercies of anyone passing who looked trustworthy enough to take it at least part of its way towards its destination.

This one was to go to Eleyne. She knelt before the coffer and nibbled thoughtfully at the feathered end of the quill. Dear Sweet Sister. That was a good start. For the sake of our long love for one another I must ask you one last favour.

Get me out of here, that was the gist of it. She was desperate, a prisoner in all but name, destined never to see another man unless she counted the old priest who took their services and the bishop who came to scold mother abbess about the slackness of the house and its signs of wealth and comfort. Comfort! Isabella snorted to herself. This place was the nearest thing to hell she could imagine. Eleyne had to get her out; she had the entrée to King Henry’s court. Surely she could help.

She bent again to the small circle of candlelight, scribbling laboriously, unused to handling a pen, watching in despair as the nib split and spat a fine shower of ink across the page.

The low rumble in the distance sounded at first like thunder. She looked up, puzzled, then she frowned. The floor she knelt on had seemed to move under her. She dropped the pen and clutched at the coffer. The pewter candlestick rocked violently and fell over. It rolled to the edge of the coffer and fell to the ground. The candle had gone out and she saw that a faint daylight showed at the window.

The sound of screams in the distance brought her to her feet. Scrabbling for the doorknob, she let herself out into the cold corridor as the whole world around her seemed to shake itself like a dog. Tiles cascaded from the roof of the cloister and in the distance there was a louder sound of falling masonry.

Then it was over. As suddenly as it had begun, the tremor died away and left total silence.

Isabella stood still, her heart thumping with fear, watching from the cloister as the other nuns streamed out of the chapel. Some were crying, some had been injured. She could see at least two with blood pouring from their heads; all were shocked. Without warning, as their voices were raised in the ethereal beauty of the plainsong of the morning office, the great rood screen had collapsed and huge chunks of masonry had fallen from the roof into the choir. The lovely rose window which had decorated the western wall had exploded into a million pieces. The abbess, her hands clasped, her face as white as her wimple, made her way from one trembling nun to the next, seeing how many were hurt. It was a miracle that no one had been killed.

As Isabella joined the others, stooping over the injured to see if she could help, the abbess stopped and stared at her. ‘Where were you? Were you not in the chapel?’ Isabella’s fingers were covered in ink and she still clutched the broken quill in her right hand. There were spots of ink on her wimple and even on her face beneath the dust.

‘I was in my cell, writing, mother abbess.’ In her shock Isabella blurted out the truth. ‘What is it? What happened?’

‘I believe it was an earthquake.’ The abbess pursed her lips. ‘I have read of such things. They are a sign of God’s extreme displeasure; of his wish to punish the wicked and the backsliders.’ She wrung her hands. ‘Only yesterday I received another letter from the bishop warning me. He said we had fallen into sinful ways. He said we had strayed too far from the rule. He said we would be punished! He said God would not condone our ways. He said I must be stern and now we have been sent a sign.’ She dropped to her knees amongst the broken tiles and the glass and, sobbing, began to pray. Crossing themselves, the other nuns followed suit as the blood moon sank in the west and a pale watery sun began to climb out of the mist behind the chapel.

That same day the nuns divested themselves of their comforts; they donned hair shirts, the servants were dismissed and the abbess announced that they would double the rigours of their Lenten fast. There would be no more fires, no extra blankets, no wine and no speaking. There would be no further contact with the lay community.

Isabella, as frightened as the rest, put her unfinished letter to Eleyne on the great bonfire in the garth which consumed so many of their comforts. The food and blankets were given to the poor and the nuns turned back in earnest to their prayers. They had no way of knowing that their fear and their terror at God’s warning was being echoed up and down southern England and Wales; that the newly rebuilt tower of St David’s Cathedral had fallen, that King Henry III was ordering prayers throughout the land and that the end of the world was being predicted.

II

Alexander laughed. ‘So God has blasted London and rocked the English to their foundations! I trust Henry takes heed of the warning and spends the next year on his knees!’ He drew little Joanna on to his lap. ‘Have you had any news of your dower lands and property in the south? Has there been much damage?’

Eleyne shrugged. She was watching the king play with her daughter.

He glanced up. ‘I think you must find out, Eleyne.’ His expression was suddenly very sober.

She met his gaze steadily and saw the sadness there with a sinking heart. ‘You are telling me that I must go?’

He nodded. ‘Marie knows. I don’t know how we have kept your presence here a secret so long, but she has found out. I don’t want you exposed and humiliated before three nations.’

They had not seen each other more than once a week, sometimes, when he was away, less than that. When they had met, they had not mentioned Marie, but her presence had always been there between them.

‘I don’t care about that!’ she cried.

‘I know you don’t, my love. But I do,’ he said gently. ‘Let me deal with Marie in my own way. I have to go to the west. I still plan to buy the Western Isles from Norway and settle once and for all the problems caused by the lords and their battle fleets. I must attend to the problems of the far corners of my kingdom and while I’m away you must go. I will call you back very soon.’

Without his protection, her life would be worth nothing once he had left for the Western Isles. Marie had made that clear. It was not a risk he was prepared to take.

She would not plead. She rose from her place on the cushions by the fire and took her daughter from him. ‘I can come back? You promise?’ She closed her eyes, waiting for his answer, determined that he would not see her devastating unhappiness.

He smiled and the smile showed his pain more clearly than any tears could have done. ‘I promise,’ he said gently. He stood up and taking the little girl’s hand used her to draw her mother closer to him. Burying his face in the child’s stomach, he made the little girl giggle. He dropped a kiss into her fist, closed the chubby fingers over it and blew gently to seal the pledge, making her squeal with pleasure. Then he stepped away from her. ‘I have a gift for you – ’

‘I don’t want a gift!’ The sharpness of Eleyne’s tone revealed her hurt and her misery and she knew she sounded like a spoiled child.

‘You do.’ He grinned, suddenly cheerful. ‘I had it made specially. Look.’ He reached into the velvet scrip which hung from his belt and produced a packet. ‘Open it.’

She put Joanna on the floor and took it from him. ‘I don’t want anything but your love,’ she repeated.

‘You have that. Always.’ He put his hand over hers. ‘But it is not always possible to have me, and this way you can have something of me with you. Our secret pledge. A link between us, however far apart we find ourselves.’

She raised her eyes to his and smiled. ‘But I will see you again?’ She needed his reassurance. Somewhere near them, out of sight, a shadow hovered over them. She felt it with a sudden shiver.

‘You will see me again. You have my most solemn promise.’

She held his gaze then, reassured, she turned the small packet over in her hand and began to unwrap the covering. She could tell by its feel and weight that it was some kind of jewellery.

A fine gold chain tumbled out over her fingers. Attached to it was a jewelled and enamelled pendant. She gasped. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘Can you guess what it is?’ He waited while she examined it.

‘It’s like an eagle, an eagle rising from the fire.’

‘Not an eagle.’ He smiled. ‘A phoenix.’ He raised a finger to her face and gently touched the scars on her temple. ‘For my phoenix, who rose from the fire more beautiful than ever.’

She gazed down at the jewel. The golden bird had tiny rubies for its eyes and the flames from which it sprang were brilliantly enamelled gold with lapis and ruby flames. ‘Did you know I was born in a fire?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Nothing surprises me about my Eleyne. It’s doubly right then. You are a child of the phoenix in every way. Wear it for me. It will bring us together, always. When you need me, hold it in your hand and think of me. I’ll know and, if I can, I’ll come.’ He smiled, then his face became serious. She could see the anguish in his eyes. ‘If we can’t have each other in this life, Eleyne, then beyond death you will be mine, I swear it. This is a symbol of my undying love through all eternity.’

Again she felt the shadow hovering near, and with a prickle of something like fear at the overwhelming intensity of his love, she unfastened the chain and slipped it around her neck. ‘I will come back to Scotland. One day,’ she whispered. ‘We will be together one day, my love. I know it.’

She still owed him a child; a son who would live and thrive.

He kissed her and the moment of tension had passed. ‘I know you will,’ he said.

III

In the manor house Joanna ran wild, the sound of her high-pitched laughter everywhere. Donnet followed her, as anxious as a mother, constantly on watch, sitting in the corner of the room, his large brown eyes on the child, submitting to the hugs and squeezes, the chubby legs astride his grey silky flanks and looking up from time to time, pleading with Eleyne to rescue him from the onslaught. It was a welcome distraction for all of them when the two young rulers of Aberffraw, her nephews Owain Goch and Llywelyn, asked her to go with them to Woodstock.

At first she said she couldn’t go. She could not run the risk of meeting Robert.

‘Uncle Henry has particularly requested that you come with us,’ Owain wheedled in the dusty bachelor fortress that was Aber now. ‘Now that we have a treaty with John de Gray, we are going to sort things out with him properly and pay homage for Gwynedd.’

‘So Henry has won.’ Eleyne looked from one young man to the other.

Owain shrugged, but she saw a flash of rebellion in Llywelyn’s eyes. ‘It will give us time to consolidate, Aunt Eleyne,’ he said grimly. ‘Time is what we need now. Let Henry think everything is going his way. Later we will re-establish Gwynedd’s greatness, have no fear.’

Eleyne eyed her nephew with amusement. She had a feeling that if the future were left to Llywelyn, Gwynedd would indeed one day be great again.

IV

She was finally persuaded to go with them when a letter came from Henry himself commanding her to wait on him with her nephews. ‘There are matters to discuss concerning the Honour of Huntingdon and the earldom of Chester and the confirmation of your dower.’ Five years before, Henry had bought out the heiresses of the Chester lands. The right to the title was now his alone.

Almost the first person she saw in the great hall of the king’s palace at Woodstock was Robert de Quincy. She froze, but he had seen her as the princes’ party made their way indoors after the long days in the saddle.

Eleyne stopped. Frantically she looked round for an escape but the king was coming towards her.

‘Lady Chester!’ His voice was imperious. She dropped a deep curtsey. ‘You and your husband will present yourselves in an audience with me tomorrow. Alone.’

Sweet Bride, was she never to be free of him? She wanted to run away. She wanted to scream.

‘Face him, Aunt Eleyne.’ Llywelyn was standing near her. ‘Tell him you want to live separately from Robert. Tell him how much you hate him. He’ll understand.’ The young man’s eyes were intense. ‘He doesn’t want you to be unhappy.’ He reached out and took her hands. ‘He wants to keep Alexander’s friendship. He’ll help you.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’ A handsome young man in his early twenties, he was confident of his own infallibility.

It was raining. She could hear it pouring down the gutter outside her window and splashing on the paving of the small courtyard beyond her room. On the far side of the walls it thundered on to the new red-green leaves of the unfurling oaks. Nesta and Joanna and her nurse, Meggie, were all asleep in the darkness of the room. Eleyne raised herself on to her elbow and peered around, holding her breath. Then she heard it again; the latch was moving. Slowly the door creaked open. She knew it was Robert even before she saw him outlined against the light of the torch in the passage outside.

She grabbed her bedcovers and held them tightly to her breasts. Next to her Nesta groaned.

‘What do you want?’ Her voice sounded shockingly loud in the silence. Robert jumped and the two women sat up in fright. Joanna began to cry.

Robert lurched against the wall, looking blankly into the darkness. ‘I want my wife.’ His speech was slurred. Waving his arms, he stumbled into the room and grabbed at Nesta’s arm. ‘Get out. Take the brat with you.’

‘Stay where you are!’ Eleyne said urgently to Nesta. ‘Go away, Robert. Now. You’re drunk! Leave us alone or I’ll call the guard.’

‘Call away.’ Robert hiccuped loudly. His eyes were growing used to the darkness. ‘They can throw out these women.’ He glared at the screaming child and lunged forward, catching Eleyne’s shoulder in his hand and pulling away the sheets. He narrowed his eyes as the jewelled pendant on its chain between her breasts caught the light and reflected a thousand prisms across her white skin. ‘Pretty bauble! Worth a fortune no doubt.’ He grabbed it and wrenched it from her, snapping the chain.

Eleyne gave a scream. She tried to snatch it back but he had staggered out of reach. ‘It’ll buy me some wine,’ he crowed. ‘Oh dear! So upset! Who gave it to you? Or can I guess?’

‘Give it to me.’ Eleyne snatched her bed gown from the end of the bed and, flinging it on, she pushed her feet out on to the cold floor. Joanna’s screams had risen hysterically in spite of Meggie’s frantic rocking. Holding the phoenix high, dangling on the end of its chain so that it flashed in the flickering torchlight, Robert backed away from her. She caught him as he reached the door and with a vicious lunge he pushed her to the floor, laughing as he tucked the pendant into his scrip.

By the time she had scrambled to her feet, he had gone.

‘Did he hurt you, my lady?’ Nesta ran to help her.

Mutely, Eleyne shook her head. His blow had glanced off her shoulder. She flung herself at the door and looked out, but there was no sign of Robert. He had disappeared into the warren of buildings and passages which made up the huge sprawling palace.

Eleyne could not sleep even when Joanna had at last been soothed and tucked back into bed, and the breathing of the two women had grown even once more. She was seething with fury, and it was still dark when she made her way to the stables. She had left Donnet with Tam. Quietly she called the dog and, putting the temptation to ride behind her, she went to walk in the orchards beyond the park wall. By the time she was to see her uncle, she was calm.

It did not surprise her to see that Robert was at the king’s side first. He eyed her smugly, sober, his hair and beard freshly barbered. His gown looked new.

Eleyne curtseyed to the king, her hand on Donnet’s head.

Henry smiled. ‘So, niece. I have some documents here for you to sign – ’

‘Do you value your alliance with Scotland, your grace?’ Eleyne held her uncle’s eye challengingly. Her voice was clear and steady as she interrupted him.

He frowned, astonished. ‘We are not here to discuss Scotland – ’

‘I think we are. The King of Scots gave me a valuable jewel; it was to be my security and part of my dower. Last night, my husband…’ she flicked Robert the barest glance – ‘stole it.’

Henry frowned. ‘I hardly think – ’

‘If I tell Alexander that you condoned that theft,’ Eleyne went on, ‘he will be angry and disappointed. He has always told me that you are a man of honour and I agreed with him. Yet this has happened under your roof.’

Henry sighed. ‘Give it back to her, de Quincy.’

Robert shook his head. ‘A whore’s bauble? I sold it.’

Eleyne gasped. ‘You can’t have. You haven’t had time…’

‘Find it!’ Henry’s voice cut in angrily. ‘I give you twelve hours to restore this jewel to your wife, Sir Robert, or you will be charged with the theft. Now leave me. Both of you. I have grown bored with your quarrels.’ He had forgotten why he wanted to speak to them in the first place.

Eleyne left the king’s room. She went straight to the stables and gave orders for Tam Lin to be saddled. Her anger and exhaustion after the sleepless night and the long ride the day before had made her restless. And she missed her pendant. She had grown used to the feel of it nestling between her breasts. It brought her close to Alexander.

Llywelyn’s voice brought her back to herself as she watched the groom fitting Tam’s bridle.

‘Would you ride with me, Aunt Eleyne? Our talks with the king don’t begin until tomorrow, so I thought I would go to Godstow to see Aunt Isabella. I owe her that much.’ He looked sheepish.

‘So your conscience troubles you. It was unkind to force her to leave Aber.’

‘I didn’t force her!’ Stung, he met her eye. ‘The king ordered her to the nunnery.’

‘But you didn’t argue, did you?’ Eleyne asked gently. ‘I’ll come with you. Poor Isabella.’ Even a visit to her would be better than staying under the same roof as her husband.

They found her thin and pale. The black habit of the Benedictines did not suit her. She looked from Llywelyn to Eleyne and back and then she laughed. ‘So. To what good fortune do I owe this visit? Or are you here to take me home?’

Llywelyn looked down. ‘It is for the king to say when you leave, Aunt Isabella. We came to see if you were well.’

‘And to gloat?’ Isabella walked restlessly across the parlour and back. ‘Well, now you have seen, I am well. You may go back to King Henry and tell him so. Tell him I am deliriously happy! Tell him I thrive. Tell him I pray for him daily!’ She kicked at the rush-strewn floor with a sandalled foot. ‘And you, sister’ – She faced Eleyne, her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you pleased with your success? Oh it was so clever wasn’t it? To ensure Gruffydd’s sons succeeded Dafydd…’ Suddenly she was crying.

‘Isabella!’ Anguished, Eleyne moved towards her. ‘Oh my dear, please…’

‘Don’t touch me!’ Isabella flinched and turned her back on them. ‘Go away! Both of you. Leave me to God!’

V

King Henry summoned Eleyne to his private office that evening. He was not alone. With him was his son. At eight years old, Edward was tall for his age, very thin, and as handsome as his father in his own way. Precocious, with a cruel, malicious tongue which did not endear him to his father’s courtiers, Edward had his own household and apartments at Woodstock. Having escaped his new tutor, Peter of Wakering, he was sitting on a small stool, waiting impatiently to go riding. He glared at Eleyne with resentment as she came in and, feeling the child’s eyes on her, she glanced at him as she curtseyed to the king. Edward returned the look with a scowl. He did not like people intruding on the precious time when he should have his father to himself.

Henry ignored him. As Eleyne waited silently for him to speak, he paced the floor from the small ornately leaded window to the door and back, then he moved across to the high desk.

‘I have your jewel here.’ He picked it up and weighed it in his hand.

Eleyne felt her heart leap, but she kept a cautious eye on Henry’s face, trying to read his expression. Edward eyed the pendant speculatively.

‘It’s a beautiful trinket,’ Henry said at last, making no effort to give it to her.

‘Indeed, sire, I’m very fond of it.’

‘You say the King of Scots gave it to you.’ Henry looked up.

She swallowed, then nodded, uncertain which way the conversation was going. Edward listened to every word; he had become adept at picking up interesting snippets of information about the members of his father’s court.

‘I don’t want to offend Alexander,’ Henry went on thoughtfully. ‘As you know I respect and honour him, and I am very fond of the Countess of Pembroke, his sister… but neither do I want to offend the King of France, who naturally supports the Queen of Scots.’ He turned from her, the pendant still in his hand. ‘I cannot openly condone your visits to Scotland,’ he said slowly, ‘and I cannot vouch for your husband’s discretion. The man is a hothead and a drunkard.’ Holding out his hand he dropped the phoenix into her palm. ‘I wish you well, niece, but I think it best if I hear no more of these visits of yours, do you understand?’ His piercing blue eyes met hers and held them. ‘And in exchange for my lack of perspicacity I would appreciate your good offices in ensuring that your nephews toe the line in regard to the Welsh settlement. And before you ask, I want to hear no more about Isabelle de Braose either. I am pestered morning, noon and night about that woman. I wish to hear no more about her, and I wish to see no more of Sir Robert de Quincy.’

‘Sir Robert has left the palace, papa,’ Edward put in, ‘I heard him tell Prince Llywelyn he was going.’ He was looking with a strangely calculating expression at Eleyne.

The king swung round. He had forgotten his eldest son was there. ‘Wait for me in the courtyard, boy,’ he said curtly.

‘Yes, papa.’ Edward leaped to his feet and bowed meekly. He turned towards the door, then he stopped. ‘Sir Robert was very angry,’ he smiled maliciously. ‘He said all sorts of bad things about Lady Eleyne.’

Eleyne closed her eyes. Whatever Robert had said, she didn’t want to hear it. She clutched the precious phoenix tightly, as a talisman. When she opened her eyes she found Edward watching her closely.

‘He said nobody could trust her,’ Edward rushed on before his father could stop him. ‘And he said she was a witch and a murderer.’

‘That is enough, Edward,’ Henry thundered. ‘I told you to wait outside.’

‘Yes, papa.’ Edward lowered his eyes. He had surprisingly long lashes for a boy. They made him look almost demure. ‘I just thought you’d like to know what he said.’

VI

For three weeks Eleyne waited for Robert to appear. He did not come. Joanna settled back into her routine and, at Eleyne’s summons, Rhonwen joined them from London.

‘So, cariad.’ Rhonwen had inspected the nursery and toured the castle, then she had nodded, content that all was running like clockwork. ‘When are you going back to Scotland? Surely you are not going to wait for him to summon you now he is back from the west?’ Together they began to plan.

It was the beginning of July when Eleyne and Hal Longshaft, who had returned to Fotheringhay as her steward, set off alone for the north, disguised in plain roughspun cloaks.

She enjoyed the ride, unencumbered by baggage or attendants. She enjoyed the empty roads, the disguise, the speed of their travel, and she enjoyed the challenge and excitement of getting a message undetected to Alexander. And above all, she enjoyed the thought of being with him again.

In the event he was at Berwick without the queen and they were able to meet easily in the house where she was lodging below the castle.

‘No one will ever know I have been in Scotland.’ She nuzzled against him, her hands busy inside his gown. ‘I’m a shadow. No more than a wisp of dust motes in a sunbeam. When you blink you’ll find I’ve gone.’

He laughed, pulling her on to his knee, his hands on her breasts. ‘Then I must be careful not to blink too soon.’ He lowered his head to her nipples, circling first one and then the other with his tongue until she cried out with pleasure.

They had only a short time together; he had to ride north almost at once and she could not go with him, but her visit had given them hope. ‘I’ll tell you if I can when I’m away from the queen, and you can come to me.’ He kissed her greedily, trying to take as much of her as he could before they parted. ‘That way we’ll be together sometimes and I shall carry the dream of you with me.’ He took the phoenix in his hand and pulled it gently, so that she had to move towards him, slipping obediently on to his knee, her breasts pressing urgently against his chest. ‘You must never take this off. It links us. It joins my soul to yours.’ His mouth sought hers and she felt his tongue urgent, probing, take her captive, demanding her surrender.

She rode to Scotland twice more that year, three times the next and once in the following spring. Each time Hal went with her. Each time, as far as she knew, her visits went undetected. Each time she wept when she discovered there was still no child. The months between were gentle times, occupied with Joanna and with her horses, when her body slept. Her beauty was at its ripest, but she covered herself with mantles and veils and played the chaste housewife with demure skill. Of her husband there was no sign at all.

VII

It was dark inside the small bedchamber, though the night was luminous. Eleyne stood at the window gazing at the huge pale moon. He would be here for only a few more days, then he was going once more to the Western Isles to try yet again to establish his authority amongst the warring barons.

This visit had not been a success. The king had been distracted in the short times he had been with her, and she wasn’t sure if he were coming now. For only the second time he had secreted her in the castle itself to be near him, but her presence there meant they had to be more careful. She fingered the phoenix longingly. Her hair was loose, as the king liked it, heavy on her shoulders, and beneath the silky green velvet of her mantle she was naked. She had stroked perfumes and soft oils on to her skin and she could smell the fragrance of rose and jasmine as she moved.

She leaned from the window of the tower and looked out across the moonlit countryside. The burgh was out of sight here, the country a kaleidoscope of silver shadow, the heavy cold of the dew lying like a silk scarf across trees and grass. This corner tower in the outer wall was a deserted place, used as a storeroom. She could not hear the noise of the courtyards and the stables. The silence was broken only by the calls of a pair of owls hunting across the river, and in the distance she heard the howl of a wolf.

She was asleep, huddled in the darkness, when he came at last. He did not have a candle or a lantern as he let himself in silently and bolted the door. There was no fire. The room was icy. He stood in the moonlight staring down at her, then as she stirred and turned towards him sleepily he took her in his arms.

He was still with her when she awoke at dawn, his head on her shoulder, his hand on her breast, sleeping deeply as the first rays of sunlight showed across the eastern hills. She watched him, taking in greedily every detail of his sleeping face, trying to memorise every inch of him, every hair, every pore, every golden eyelash as he turned sleepily and reached for her again.

It was a long time later that she was able to speak. ‘You’ll miss mass, I can hear the bell in the distance.’

‘I’ll hear mass before we ride, later.’

‘Must you go today?’ She clung to him.

‘You know I must, Eleyne.’ He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Then he put his hand to her lips. ‘You know I hate goodbyes.’ He reached to stroke a heavy breast, and at the last moment touched the pendant instead, gently, with his forefinger.

He dressed, but she made no move to put on her own clothes. When he was ready, he bent and dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head.

‘God go with you, my love,’ she whispered. Then he was gone.

VIII

In her dream she looked down at Einion’s grave. Wild daffodils danced in the wind beneath the lichen-covered stone. When she put her hand on it it was very cold.

‘So where is Scotland’s son?’ she whispered out loud. ‘Where? All your predictions were lies.’ Her hands went sadly to the phoenix on the chain around her neck. Behind her from beyond the damp bitter-sweet woods and meadows, across the white-topped waves of the tide race, the south wind carried the fragrance of the mountain air. The vast silences of the lonely peaks, broken only by the cry of the eagle and the rush of waterfalls high on the rocky scree, reached out to her. He was there, near her. She saw Tam Lin’s ears flatten against his head. She saw Donnet’s hackles rise as a blackbird flew screaming from the thicket and she saw the whirl of dead leaves in the grassy ride.

Go back. The voice was inside her head. Go back to Scotland, go back.

The echoing silence of the woods was full of menace. The air as it touched her skin carried a hint of ice.

If you want to keep him go back – now.

High in the cwms of Eryri the snows still lingered. Wolves prowled the valleys looking for lambs. The echoing cry of a chough from the high cliffs reverberated through the crystal silence.

Go back, go back.

She stepped back, her hand going to the dog’s head for reassurance as the leaves settled. Then, thoughtfully, she turned away.

How could she go back, when Alexander himself had sent her away?

IX

Alexander lay on a pile of rugs, gazing up at the furled sails. His head throbbed and swam. The sky, brilliant blue behind the web of stays which held the mast, seemed to be moving, pulsing like a blood-filled heart.

He heard himself groan and felt at once the cool softness of a wet cloth on his forehead. He must force himself to his feet. He had to show himself to his men. Where were they? He groaned again, trying to lift his head, and then fell back. God’s bones! but he felt ill. What was the matter with him? Was it something he had eaten or something to do with the accursed pain in his head? He had never been ill in his life before. It wasn’t as though there had been any fighting. The visit had been peaceful; successful even. He closed his eyes, but the pain didn’t go away.

‘Sire.’ He could hear the voice near him, urgently trying to attract his attention. ‘Sire? Can you hear me?’

Of course he could hear. Couldn’t the fool see that he could hear? He tried to open his eyes, but he was too tired to make the effort.

‘Sire.’ The voice came again, insistent, annoying, not letting him sleep.

‘Sire, we are going to take you ashore to the island of Kerrera.’

The king turned his head restlessly. Don’t bother. He thought he had said it out loud. But it was he who had given the orders earlier; he had told them to take him ashore. He had insisted, before this wretched illness had taken hold so badly, while he was still strong enough to speak. Kneeling at his side, the two senior captains of his fleet looked at one another grimly. One summoned the litter they had made from a sail.

For two days he lay ill on the island of Kerrera in Oban Bay. On the third his fever lessened and he opened his eyes.

‘Eleyne?’ He could see her clearly, sitting in the window, her hair glinting in the sunlight. He smiled. How cross she had been when he teased her about the silver streaks in the glossy chestnut. He was glad she had come back to Scotland. He always missed her so much when she went away; it was as though a limb were missing from his body.

‘Eleyne?’ He tried again, but she didn’t seem to hear him. She was gazing out of the window towards the west. He could see the sunset behind her, the flaming sky throwing her into silhouette, as if her hair were on fire. Daughter of the phoenix, child of the fire. Why didn’t she come to him? Why did she not press her lips to his? He wanted her. He needed her. He tried to stretch out his hand.

A priest knelt near him, his lips moving silently in prayer. His attendants and companions stood looking down at their king, their faces tense. The leech they had fetched from the mainland shook his head again. The king would die with the sun; he knew the signs. There was nothing he or anyone could do.

Alexander frowned a little as he tried to keep her in focus. The sunset was fading; she was less distinct now. She must look after his son; she must keep watch over the boy, for Scotland’s sake. Why didn’t she come to him? He wanted so much to touch her. Perhaps he should go to her.

He gathered the last of his strength with a supreme effort of will-power, concentrating every ounce of determination on keeping her in sight. He had to stay with her. Wherever she went, he would go with her into the darkness or into the light beyond.

As the sun set and the room sank into darkness the king sat up, astonished to find it was so easy. He rose and turned for a moment to look at the bed on which he had been lying and he frowned. His body still lay there, hunched against the fever. Around it he could see his friends staring down in disbelief.

‘He’s dead, my lords.’ He heard the words of the leech as from a great distance but already he had moved away. Somewhere out there in the dark behind the setting sun he had to find Eleyne.

X

Eleyne woke suddenly, listening. As the sound of the watchman’s horn died into reverberations in the silence, she heard the beating of her heart very loud in her ears. The bedchamber was in darkness and she was alone. Her household here was small; her ladies slept elsewhere in the keep: Rhonwen, in her own chamber, with her own servants, on the north side near the nursery; Nesta, next door.

She slipped from the bed, pulled on her shift and ran to the window. Moonlight glittered on the great loop of the River Nene. Beyond it fields and marshes and woods merged into a flat chessboard of silver and black. Somewhere towards the convent she could hear two owls calling as they hunted across the cut hay meadows and closer at hand the tiny calls of bats, pinpricks of sound in the night.

Still numb with sleep it was a moment before she realised that her throat was tight with fear, her whole body cold with dread. She leaned on the sill, looking out into the moonlight, and felt the chill of the night air touching her face. Her hands were shaking.

‘Alexander.’

She whispered his name, but there was no answer in the dark. She opened the small coffer on the table where she kept her jewellery and took out the enamelled phoenix. The fine chain was broken. She had meant to summon a goldsmith from Northampton, but somehow it had slipped her mind. She held it for a moment in her hands, gazing at it in the darkness. Even without candles it seemed to gleam, the ruby eyes reflecting a starlight which had not penetrated the room. She felt the tears starting in her eyes. She kissed it sadly and put it back in the coffer. She shivered.

Alexander.

His name would not go away. There was something wrong. He needed her.

Snatching up a silk shawl she threw it around her shoulders over her shift. The castle was silent; they kept early hours unless they had guests. Her last visitor, Isabel Bruce, had left for Scotland three weeks before. Still barefoot she ran down the stairs, Donnet at her heels, and crossed the lower chamber. Some dozen people were asleep there, wrapped in their cloaks around the gently ticking embers of the great fire. None of them seemed to have heard the horn.

She made her way to the door and pulled it open – there was no sign of the watchman.

The stone steps down from the keep were ice-cold and wet with dew, but she scarcely felt them as she ran down and over the high slippery cobbles of the courtyard past the great hall towards the gatehouse. The moat lay black and still in the shadow of the stone wall, a veil of white mist over the water. The drawbridge was up and there was no sign of life from the guardroom. As Eleyne ran in, the guards leaped to their feet.

‘I heard the horn sound,’ she cried. ‘There is a messenger.’

The captain of the guard stepped forward sheepishly jerking his tunic into place. ‘There was no alarm, my lady.’ He looked sharply at his men. ‘There has been no one on the road since dusk.’

‘But I heard it!’ She knew how she must look. The long white shift, bare feet, the silk shawl, her hair loose, without her veil.

‘Not from here, lady.’ His garments straightened to his satisfaction, the captain felt more confident.

‘Then I dreamt it.’ She sounded puzzled. Her shoulders slumped and her voice lost its sharpness. ‘I’m sorry.’ As they watched her go, the captain crossed himself fervently.

At dawn the dream, if dream it were, returned. She heard the horn, jumped from the bed in a panic and ran to the window. The weather was breaking. The dawn was hot and thundery and the sweet scent of the earth mingled with the cool green smell of the river.

The touch on her shoulder was featherlight. For a moment she ignored it, then she swung around. There was no one there. A draught had stirred the wall hangings, that was all. Her jewellery box lay open on the table, she was certain she had closed it. She went to it and picked up the phoenix again, staring at it in the dim light of the dawn. She slipped the chain from its loop and dropped it back into the casket, then she threaded the pendant on to a black silk ribbon and hung it around her neck, feeling the hard bright enamel cold as death between her breasts.

It had been a long time since she had looked into the fire. Kneeling before the hearth, she pushed aside the turves and blew on the embers. She was trembling violently and the cold dread which filled her had nothing to do with dreams.

Alexander!

She leaned towards the flames. Her eyes were blurred. She could see nothing and suddenly she realised she was crying.

Alexander!

The door rattled on its hinges as the wall hangings billowed. Ash blew towards her across the hearth and a log cracked from end to end in a shower of sparks.

There were no pictures in the flames, only the sound of weeping.

XI

Robert de Quincy’s horse was soaked with sweat and he was alone. Eleyne was sitting in the great hall with the entire household as he swaggered in. She knew at once that he was very drunk. It was the first time she had seen him in over two years.

She watched, taut with apprehension as he made his way towards the high table on the dais, where she sat with Rhonwen and some of the senior members of the household.

‘You know, of course, what I am here to tell you.’ He stood, hands on hips, one leg thrust forward, his elegant surcoat mud-spattered and torn, his tunic stained with sweat.

‘Indeed not.’ She tried to keep her voice neutral.

‘What? No pyromancy to tell your fortune in the flames?’ He was speaking deliberately loudly, ensuring silence in the hall.

Eleyne heard the priest next to her draw in his breath sharply and she clenched her fists. ‘What is it you have to tell me?’

Robert laughed. ‘So, you don’t know! How strange. You’re happy, yet in a few minutes you’re going to be devastated.’ He looked at her almost clinically, with total detachment. ‘I’m about to break your heart!’

Eleyne could feel the fear building inside her. ‘Do you intend to make a public spectacle of this announcement?’ she asked coldly. ‘If so, you should hurry before the horn sounds for supper.’

Turn away, keep your back to him, keep your back to the hall. Don’t give him the pleasure of seeing it hurt, whatever it is.

But she knew. She had known for a whole week. And her heart was already breaking.

Robert was giggling now, quietly. He stepped towards the dais, missed his footing and decided to sit on the edge of the step instead. So he was facing down the great hall when at last he spoke, tears of laughter running down his face.

‘He’s dead, sweetheart. Your king is dead! I was with King Henry when the messengers brought the news from Scotland. We thought it only seemly to bring you the news at once…’

His voice had faded into a mist. It swirled and eddied around her, muffling her ears, enveloping her head, blinding her eyes. She took a step forward, and felt an arm around her. Rhonwen’s. Her back was straight; she was not crying. With Rhonwen at her side, she stepped slowly off the dais past her giggling husband and walked the length of the hall to the door.

She went into the chapel and knelt on the ornate tiles before the altar, aware that Rhonwen had waited at the door. Beeswax candles glowed before a statue of the Virgin; she did not see them. She saw nothing. Her mind was a spinning emptiness; a whirl of nameless pain.

Robert came for her a long time later. He had eaten and drunk more, but now he was steadier on his feet. He strode into the chapel and found her still on her knees, her eyes closed, her face transparent with exhaustion and unhappiness.

He pulled her to her feet. ‘Enough of prayer! Now perhaps you will pay some attention to your husband.’

Wearily she looked at him. ‘I do not have a husband who merits my attention.’

‘No?’ His lips twisted into a sneer. ‘Then perhaps this will encourage it.’ The blow from his ringed hand tore open her cheek and the blood trickled like warm tears down her face.

‘You hit me in the presence of Our Lady?’ Eleyne backed towards the niche with its candlelit statue. Neither of them noticed that the door had banged shut. The air around them was full of anger.

‘I shall hit you where I please!’

She could not fight him and no one in the household would stand against him as he dragged her across the inner courtyard up the steep steps into the gatehouse, past crowds of openly staring men and women and on up towards the bedchambers. She did not sleep in the lord’s chamber, the room which had been John’s, but that was where he took her now. The great bed stood without hangings in the darkness, the deep feather mattress musty and full of mice, the flagstone floor swept bare of strewing herbs.

She did not even try to fight him. She submitted as he dragged off her clothes and tied her hands; she knelt like a frozen statue as he swaggered towards her and commanded that she open her mouth and later as she lay back painfully on her bound hands on the bare mattress, and let him thrust again and again inside her, her mind shut off entirely from the degradation of her body and allowed her to drift away.

Her wrists were still bound when Rhonwen found her at daybreak. Robert had slept for a few hours, sprawled across her inert body, then he had woken and staggered off in search of more wine. He had not returned.

‘Do you still forbid me to kill him?’ Tight-lipped, Rhonwen slid the blade of her small knife into the thongs around Eleyne’s wrists.

‘What good would his death achieve now?’ Eleyne’s fingers were white and lifeless and she watched, strangely detached still, as Rhonwen began gently to rub them.

‘It would free you of him for good.’

XII

A week later Eleyne received a letter from Malcolm of Fife. Robert was out riding when the messenger arrived for which she was thankful because the letter made her cry. It was courteous and restrained, and gave her the facts.

Alexander had been struck down by a sudden fever while his fleet was at anchor in Oban Bay. He struggled on, insisting on being rowed ashore to the island of Kerrera to complete their business there and there he had died. His body had been taken for interment to Melrose Abbey, as he had long ago specified in his will. His eight-year-old son had been crowned five days after he died, at Scone, elevated on the sacred stone by Malcolm himself, following the ancient tradition that the Earls of Fife alone had that right. But already, it appeared, there was quarrelling amongst the magnates. The king’s closest henchman, Sir Alan Durward, and Lord Menteith were locked in conflict over who should have power during the young king’s minority. At the end of his letter Malcolm gave her the crumb of comfort she so desperately needed. ‘I am assured, my lady, that in his last delirium the king mentioned your name several times and begged that you pray for his soul’s eternal rest.’ As the tears flooded her eyes, she threw down the letter. It was not until a long time later that she read the closing sentence. ‘Please be assured, my lady, of my lasting devotion and my service, which shall be yours as long as I draw breath.’

XIII

By the beginning of November she knew she was once again with child. Robert had stayed only a few days at Fotheringhay then, bored with tormenting her and afraid, though he would not admit it even to himself, of the cold, considered hatred which seemed to emanate from the very stones of the castle and from the air around him, he had finally obtained the king’s permission to return to court. That same day she had made them take out the bed on which, though she did not yet know it, her child had been conceived and burn it in the outer court.

It seemed strange that life went on as usual once he had gone. She oversaw the stud farm and rode regularly about the manor. She ate and slept and sewed and talked and waited indifferently as her belly began to grow. It would be a girl. Robert would father no sons, of that she was certain.

Her dreams were at an end. Her love was dead; her heart a lead weight inside her. She had no place in history. Her sons would never be kings. Einion had been a charlatan, her own visions the demon-inspired ramblings of a fevered brain. She would not return to Scotland where her godson was now king, firmly tied to his mother’s apron strings whilst Alan Durward governed as justiciar. Scotland was a place of dreams and memories; a place of broken destiny.

The ghostly woman who haunted the deserted rooms of the castle gave her little comfort. Their mutual unhappiness was part of the fabric of history. It entwined and encircled them and held them together in a web of eternity from which neither could break free.

XIV

Hawisa was born on St George’s Da`y 1250, and two weeks after her birth Robert returned. He stared for a long time at the mite in the heavy wooden cradle, then he looked up at Eleyne. ‘Another girl?’

‘That was God’s will.’

‘Was it? Or did you use charms and potions to ensure it?’ His expression was flat and hard.

Eleyne shrugged. ‘It did not matter to me what sex the child was. She is healthy and baptised.’

‘So caring a mother!’ He bent over the cradle and lifted out the swaddled bundle. ‘At least it’s obvious that she is mine.’ The baby’s hair was thick and dark, her eyes set close above the small nose. ‘Where is Joanna?’ When he had come to Fotheringhay the sum mer before, he had not once asked to see his daughter.

Eleyne tensed. ‘Somewhere with her nurses,’ she said guardedly.

‘Don’t you know?’ His tone was half accusing, half mocking.

‘Of course I know. She’s safe with them.’ Eleyne was suddenly afraid. She did not want him to see her beautiful daughter; did not want him to have any claim over the child at all.

‘I hope so.’ He put the baby down.

She dreaded his appearance at her bedside that night, but he did not come. She lay awake, afraid to close her eyes, but her night was undisturbed.

When Rhonwen came to her in the morning, her eyes were glittering with hatred. ‘He has taken the little one.’

‘Taken?’ Though still half asleep, the word slammed into Eleyne’s brain. She pushed herself upright in the bed and peered into the cradle.

‘Not the baby, cariad, Joanna. He has taken Joanna.’ Rhonwen’s voice broke.

‘Sweet Mother of God!’ At Eleyne’s desperate cry, Hawisa began to sob, but her mother ignored her. Flinging her cloak around her shoulders, she was halfway to the door before Rhonwen stopped her. ‘It’s no use; they’re long gone. He took her in the night. Little Sarah Curthose tried to stop him and had her face beaten to pulp for her pains.’

‘He’ll have taken Joanna to London.’ Eleyne’s breasts ached as the baby cried. Scooping Hawisa into the crook of her arm, she opened the front of her shift and felt the usual sharp wince of pain as the small mouth clamped on to her nipple. ‘We’ll go after him. Now, as soon as the horses are made ready.’ Her face was bleak. ‘See to it for me, Rhonwen.’

Encumbered by servants and the baby, they did not reach London until noon the following day. Within two hours Eleyne, in her finest gown, was riding towards the Palace of Westminster. She could barely stay on her horse; tired to the point of collapse, her body still weak from giving birth, she nevertheless rode to the door and slid from Tam Lin’s back. As a groom ran to take the horse’s bridle, she staggered slightly.

The great hall was crowded, but she could see the king surrounded as usual by noblemen and servants. He appeared to be studying a huge book as Eleyne pushed her way towards the dais. He looked up as she approached and frowned. ‘Niece, I did not give you leave to come to court.’

Eleyne managed a deep curtsey. ‘My child was safely delivered, your grace, and I am churched, but my husband has returned to London. I need to see him urgently and hoped to find him near you.’

Henry smiled coldly. ‘He has been here, but not, I think, today. If you and he are once more together, that pleases me.’ He leaned forward and looked into her face. ‘You are well, niece?’

‘Well enough, sire, thank you.’ She saw sympathy in his eyes. For what? The heartache and loneliness now that Alexander was dead? Henry had never condoned her love, never admitted he knew about it save in that one interview three years before.

She took a step forward, afraid that he was going to wave her away. ‘Robert has taken our little girl, and I’m afraid for her.’ She could not hold back the words. ‘You must help me to find her. Please.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘She doesn’t know him. He was drunk. He nearly killed her nurse…’ Oblivious of the people around her she caught his hand and sank to her knees. ‘Please help me. Please.’

Henry frowned down at her. ‘You are talking about his daughter.’

‘I am talking about a little girl who would not even recognise him.’

‘A common enough occurrence.’

‘What is not common, sire, is for a man to take away a child without so much as a nursemaid to take care of her.’

‘But why should he do such a thing?’ Henry looked puzzled. He had not tried to release his hand from her grip.

‘Because he knew it would hurt me. He has always enjoyed hurting me.’ She held his gaze until the king looked away uncomfortably.

‘Very well. I will send men to find him for you,’ he mumbled. ‘I will send to you when we have found her.’

The king watched as she made her way back down the hall. She had been so beautiful once, his niece, so spirited. Now it was as if her vital flame had dimmed. He had long ago stopped reproaching himself for marrying her to de Quincy to teach that old fox, her father, a lesson, but now his conscience pricked him again. He snapped to his secretary, ‘See that Robert de Quincy is found without delay and that his daughter is recovered and returned to her mother.’

But Robert de Quincy and Joanna were nowhere to be found.

XV

Isabella was sitting in the sun in the garden sewing when the nun came to fetch her to the abbess’s parlour. She was thin and pale and her eyes were dull with boredom. Her contrition and fear after the earthquake, like that of her companions, had lasted several months, but as the convent returned to normal and the end of the world did not come her piety faded.

She had begun to write letters again: to the king; to her de Braose relatives; to her nephews in Wales, long pathetic letters begging for her release. She hated the convent. Like the other rich ladies who lived there, for one reason or another out of society, she once again had servants to wait on her, her habits were of the richest silk, her food appetising and plentiful, with only the merest nod towards fasting, and she had the best wine with every meal. But she was still a prisoner. She could never leave the convent walls.

Abbess Flandrina had died two years before, to be succeeded by the tall, elegant Emma Bloet, a kind sincere woman who was deeply sympathetic to her unwilling charge, had Isabella but realised it. She entered the abbess’s parlour with a scowl. No doubt the abbess was about to administer further penance for yet another of her small transgressions.

It was only as she raised her eyes after kneeling to kiss her superior’s ring that she saw the tall young man in the livery of the King of England. Her heart turned over with excitement. At last the king had taken pity on her; he had seen the pointlessness of shutting her away. Dafydd was dead. She was not Welsh. At last he was going to free her.

She could feel herself expanding and glowing beneath the young man’s eyes like a wilted flower which has been put into water. ‘At last you have come to take me to court!’ Even her voice had sparkle in it as she turned to the young man, but it was the abbess who answered for him.

‘No, sister, he has not come to take you anywhere.’ Her tone was a mixture of exasperation and sympathy. ‘Sir John is here to make enquiries about the whereabouts of your sister-in-law Lady Chester’s child.’

Isabella didn’t understand. Her hope had been so high, the moment of excitement and relief so intense that the truth was incomprehensible.

‘Lady Chester’s child?’ she echoed blankly.

‘The child’s father has abducted her and it is believed he will have sequestered her somewhere in the country,’ Sir John volunteered awkwardly. He had seen the hunger in the eyes of the Princess of Aberffraw and he pitied her. She must have been pretty once, though now she was faded and her features were hard. ‘The king thought of you immediately, as Lady Chester’s sister-in-law.’

‘I told Sir John that you have no visitors,’ said the abbess, ‘and there is no possibility of the little girl being hidden here.’

‘No.’ Isabella’s voice was hard. ‘There is no possibility of her being hidden here.’

Three times she had written to Eleyne and not once had she received an answer. That all her recent letters had been brought by her chosen messenger – a lay sister from the convent farm – straight to the abbess, read and burned, never occurred to her. Her messenger always took her money and promised to send the letters on their way. She believed her, and she went on writing. Eleyne, like everyone else, was probably rejoicing in her captivity and her unhappiness, or so she believed.

She looked from under her lashes at Sir John, self-preservation overriding her bitterness. ‘I would help if I could. My sister, Eleyne, has always been very dear to me. Perhaps if you could take me to her…’

‘You know that is impossible, my dear,’ the abbess put in quietly. She had seen the melting look Isabella had thrown at the young knight. ‘All you can do is pray for the child, as all the sisters will do with all their hearts. Please tell the king, Sir John, that we cannot help your quest. I’m sorry.’

She stood beside Isabella at the parlour window and watched as Sir John’s squire led his master’s horse to the door. Both young men mounted and rode away without a backward glance. Looking covertly at Isabella, the abbess sighed. On this occasion, she would turn a blind eye to the woman’s tears.

XVI

Eleyne stooped over the tall pitcher and scooped some of the cool water into her palms. She splashed it over her face gratefully, aware that long nights of crying had reddened her eyes and engraved black circles beneath them. There was still no word of Joanna. A thick fetid heat had settled over London and there was plague in the city, but still she stayed. The court had long gone, as had most of the nobility. The great houses were closed.

She stooped again, ready to sink her hands up to the wrists in the cool river water when she stopped and frowned, staring into the shadowy depths of the jug. For a moment she thought she had seen a face in the water. Not her own reflection – her red-gold hair flattened by the head-dress she had discarded on the bed – but a smaller, darker head. A child’s head. Not daring to believe her eyes, she tried to peer through the shadows, seeing the movement of the water as it lapped the rough glaze. She was there: Joanna, her arms outstretched, calling silently and behind her – Eleyne concentrated, terrified the vision would break – a castle. A castle surrounded by water.

She swung round so suddenly that she swept the pitcher off the coffer and it broke on the floor, soaking the dusty woodruff which covered the boards. The sound brought Rhonwen running. ‘What is it, cariad? What have you done?’

‘Joanna! She is in Scotland. He has taken her to Loch Leven!’ Eleyne was feverish with excitement. ‘What fools we were not to think of it! Order the horses quickly.’

‘Thank all the gods that she’s all right.’ Rhonwen did not question how Eleyne knew or remind her of her vow never to set foot in Scotland again.

XVII

It was dusk when the four riders arrived at last on the shores of the loch and stared across the dark, still water towards the castle on its island. Eleyne had left Hawisa and her wetnurse in London with Luned and her three children and she and Rhonwen had ridden north at breakneck speed attended by two of her knights, Sir Thomas Bohun and Sir David Paris. There had been no time to think about the past.

‘How will we get there, lady?’ Sir Thomas leaned forward in his saddle and slapped his horse’s sweating neck. ‘Are there boats?’

‘You should ask Lord Fife to help us,’ Rhonwen put in quietly. ‘He would do anything for you.’ She shivered. This place held nothing but unhappy memories.

Dismounting, Sir Thomas led his exhausted horse to the water’s edge and let it drink, watching the water dribble from its soft lips. ‘Is Lord Fife close?’ He stood, squinting at the island.

‘There must be a boat. If we ride towards Kinross, we’ll find something.’ Now that she was so close Eleyne could not tolerate the thought of another delay. The castle’s walls seemed very remote. There was no sign of life on the island as far as she could see and the water was deserted save for sleeping gulls.

Sir David had ridden a little way away from them, pushing his horse breasthigh into the reeds. ‘There’s a boat of sorts here,’ he called softly. ‘Pulled up out of the water.’

A flat-bottomed punt, the paddles still in it, was hidden carefully in the reeds. Eleyne caught her breath with excitement. ‘We three will go. Rhonwen, you stay with the horses.’ She squeezed the woman’s hand, well aware of the horror she must feel at the thought of setting sail in the dark on the water which had so nearly drowned her. ‘If we have not returned by dawn ride to Falkland Castle and find the Earl of Fife. Tell him everything and bring him to look for us.’

Rhonwen watched as the boat drew slowly away. It was hard to see, but the drip of water from the paddles as the two young men propelled it away from the shore sounded loud in the silence. She stood there for a long time. To David and Thomas it was all a great adventure, but she had seen the expression on Eleyne’s face; the fear, the strain, the terrible weight of sorrow which coming back here had reawakened. One day soon – very soon – Sir Robert de Quincy was going to pay for his cruelty with his life.

The bushes were thick near the gateway to the castle and the track was overgrown. Peering cautiously out of the shadows Thomas cursed as the moon floated serenely free of the clouds and flooded the island with silver light. A slight mist had begun to drift across the water. It lapped the shore and floated hesitantly towards the walls.

‘You have to demand entry,’ Eleyne whispered. ‘Hammer on the gates. You are friends of Lord Fife’s. They will let you two in.’

‘And you?’ David looked at her doubtfully.

‘See who is here. If Robert is here, you must find Joanna and bring her to me. If he is not, you can let me in.’ She touched each gently on the shoulder. There was no doubt in her mind that Joanna was in the castle.

She held her breath as they moved stealthily back towards the landing stage. Once there, they stepped brazenly into the moonlight and walked arm-in-arm up the track to the castle gate. Thomas hammered on it with the hilt of his sword and they both began to shout.

For a long time she thought no one was there, then at last she saw a small figure appear on the battlements. He was carrying a horn lantern.

‘Andrew,’ she breathed.

Minutes later the pass door in the iron-bound gates swung open and the two men disappeared inside. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer of gratitude – so far, so good.

They did not reappear. Leaning against the trunk of the tree, she watched as the moonlight travelled slowly across the grey stone walls. Robert must be there. If he wasn’t, they would have come at once to fetch her. She felt a knife-thrust of fear in her stomach. She had not thought beyond this moment. Her child was here; her child had called to her across hundreds of miles and she had come, and she could do nothing. Her fingers went for comfort to the pendant beneath her gown. Pulling her cloak around her more closely she sank down on the damp grass, her back against the rough tree trunk, and drew up her knees with a shiver.

The eastern sky was a blaze of green when the door opened once again and three figures slipped out into the cold dawn. One of them was carrying a sleeping child wrapped in a blanket. Her eyes closing with fatigue and stiff with cold, Eleyne jerked awake and scrambled to her feet. Her heart was thudding with excitement. She ran towards them, but Thomas was waving her back under the trees, his finger to his lips.

‘Don’t wake her. She’s all right.’ He grinned at his companion, who was carrying the child. Behind them came a hooded figure. Eleyne stared at her and then smiled. ‘Annie.’

‘She had to come,’ Thomas said curtly. ‘Robert would have killed her for losing the little girl.’

‘And I wanted to come,’ Annie put in hastily. ‘I wanted to serve you, my lady, if you will have me.’ There was no pleading in her voice, only a cool certainty that Eleyne would indeed want her.

‘So. Robert was there.’

Thomas nodded grimly. ‘We drank him under the table. It didn’t take much. He was pretty nearly unconscious when we got there. Andrew says he’ll sleep all morning, but we can’t be sure of that. We’ve got to get away fast.’

Handing Eleyne and then Annie into the boat, he and David passed Joanna carefully down into Eleyne’s arms. The child was still three-quarters asleep. Warm and heavy, she snuggled into her mother’s lap with a little smile.

As the boat slid silently through the mist, the sky turned slowly from green to gold. Somewhere nearby a moorhen called as they passed, the sound echoing across the still water. Eleyne tightened her grip on the little girl and kissed the small closed eyes.

They rode all morning, Annie on the crupper of David’s saddle. They found a boat across the Forth almost at once and headed south again, aware that Robert could already be on the road behind them. Fully awake now, Joanna was talkative. Her papa had given her a new pony. He had given her clothes and toys and she was devastated at leaving them behind. While pleased to see her mother, she had obviously enjoyed her stay.

As they rode past Melrose, she knew she had to stop. However fast they needed to travel, however frightened she was, there was one last farewell she had to make.

Abbot Matthew greeted her alone in the new hall of the old abbey beneath the Eildon Hills. If he guessed who she was he gave no sign, listening to her quiet request with a gracious inclination of the head. ‘It is of course our blessing that many pilgrims come to visit the grave of our late king,’ he said. He stared thoughtfully at the heavily veiled, unknown woman who had asked for an audience with him and knelt to kiss his ring with such humility, sensing her tightly controlled grief.

He was a realist. He knew the king had had many lady friends in his time. The numbers of royal bastards married into the prominent families of Scotland bore witness to the fact, but this woman intrigued him. She was younger than the others, more vulnerable, and more dignified. He guessed who she was: the whole of Scotland knew that during his later years Alexander had eyes for only one woman. The old man gave an indulgent smile. He had decided that he personally would lead her into the great abbey church.

The king’s tomb lay before the high altar, the carved alabaster of his effigy lit by four tall candles. Eleyne stopped before it and stared at the cold stiff features of the sculpted face, the hard formal ringlets of the beard, the helm surmounted by the crown. Her heart was beating very fast, and there was a lump in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. The light, which filtered, cool and dim, through the coloured glass of the great east window, bathed the pale stone in shadows. The abbey was completely silent.

The abbot moved back and stood, his hood pulled forward over his head, his arms folded deep within his sleeves, his lips moving in prayer. It was as though she were alone. For several moments she stood, trying to control the pain which filled her chest, then she moved to kneel at the prayer stool at the foot of the tomb. Swallowing hard, she raised her eyes to the window. The stained glass was blurred. She could see nothing.

They were ten miles from Roxburgh when the horsemen caught up with them. They wore the royal livery.

Eleyne froze in the saddle. Her joy at having Joanna sitting before her, her chubby legs stuck straight out on either side of the pommel, her small gown rucked up to her thighs, vanished in another wave of misery which almost overwhelmed her. These were not Alexander’s men; Alexander would never send for her again. These riders wore the livery of her godson. Fighting to contain her tears and knowing they could not outride their pursuers, she ordered her companions to rein in and waited, silently praying that Robert was still drunkenly asleep in Fife.

The leading rider saluted. ‘Sir Thomas, Sir David, Lady Chester. Her grace the queen demands that you attend her at Roxburgh Castle.’

‘The queen?’ Eleyne echoed.

‘How did you know we were in Scotland?’ Thomas enquired sharply.

‘You were seen yesterday on your way north, sir.’ One of the riders had made himself spokesman. ‘Her grace was not pleased that you did not have the courtesy to call on her, especially as Lady Chester had not asked permission to come to Scotland and had no safe conduct for the journey.’

Eleyne cursed herself under her breath for walking into Marie’s trap. ‘That was my fault, I was in a hurry.’

‘Indeed, madam.’ The man’s smile was knowing. ‘So her grace imagined.’

Eleyne felt her anger mounting. This oaf was going to delay them and Robert would catch up with them. ‘I shall explain to the queen,’ she said haughtily. ‘I am sure she will understand and allow us on our way.’

‘I’m sure she will.’ He had fallen in beside her, and she had no doubt that he would remain at her side until they reached their destination.

XVIII

Queen Marie was seated in state on the dais when Eleyne was ushered into the great hall, still holding Joanna by the hand, the two young men beside her and Rhonwen and Annie behind them.

‘I am given to understand that you have been visiting your husband in Fife,’ the queen began without preamble.

Eleyne tried to conceal her hatred of this woman, who had taken Alexander from her. ‘You are well informed, ma’am,’ she said drily.

‘Of course. Whilst the king – my son – is so young, I make it my business to know everything that goes on in Scotland.’ She leaned back in her ornate chair. ‘And I hear you have also visited Melrose.’ Her face darkened. ‘Can you not leave him alone even now?’ she hissed. She glared at Eleyne.

Her next question was silky with innocence. ‘Is your husband not returning with you?’

‘Not yet, your grace.’ Eleyne’s voice was icy. ‘He is unwell.’

‘Indeed.’ The queen gave a pert, humourless laugh. ‘Poor Sir Robert. Though it must be a great relief to him to have you all to himself at last.’ Her voice was heavy with innuendo, the smile honeyed. Satisfied that she had scored a hit, she turned her attention to the child who was hiding in Eleyne’s skirts. ‘Is this your daughter?’

‘This is my daughter, Joanna -’ Too late she tried to hold the name back; the woman’s eyes hardened at the name of Alexander’s first wife. ‘Named for my mother, Joan,’ Eleyne said softly. She could feel Joanna’s wary restlessness as the child sensed the tension in the atmosphere.

‘You have no sons, I think.’ The queen retaliated with a knife twist.

‘No sons, your grace,’ Eleyne repeated firmly. ‘No sons who lived.’

‘Quite.’ Marie smiled again. ‘I intend to keep you here, my lady, until your husband is well enough to ride south with you.’ A look of triumph swept across her face as she saw Eleyne recoil. ‘You will be a very welcome guest, I assure you.’ She turned to Thomas. ‘Your father is here, Sir Thomas. I am sure you will be pleased to see him. And Lord Fife has joined us with Sir Alan Durward. We shall be a very merry gathering this evening.’

Eleyne stepped forward. ‘Do you really wish to keep us here, your grace?’ she asked forcefully. ‘The memories I bring back for you cannot be happy ones.’

The queen flinched as if Eleyne had hit her, and for a moment she didn’t speak. ‘Yes, my lady, I really wish you to stay here. I want to see you given back to your husband with my own eyes.’

XIX

Malcolm of Fife found Eleyne outside the great hall. His hair was greying now and there was an ugly scar across his cheek from a fall from his horse the year before, but his charm seemed undiminished.

‘You have to help me get Joanna away.’ Eleyne wasted no time in drawing him into a corner. ‘I feel as though I’m a prisoner here for her amusement!’

Malcolm nodded. ‘I am afraid that’s exactly what you are. She knows Joanna was taken against your will. Robert bragged of it openly, as he bragged that he beat you. Our gracious queen makes no secret of her hatred of you. She will make you suffer as much as she possibly can. You stole too much from her.’

Eleyne looked away. ‘It was she who stole from me.’ Her voice was full of pain.

He frowned again. ‘I can take you and the child to Falkland. It’s a risk, but I’m prepared to do it for you.’ He looked sheepish. ‘I can protect you and I can deal with your husband.’

She hesitated. To go with Malcolm would be moving from one trap to another, yet what alternative was there? And it was she who had begged his help.

He grinned amiably. ‘Surely, by the process of elimination, I am the least of all evils.’

She laughed out loud. ‘Perhaps you are, my lord, but I have no wish to return north. I have made my home in England.’

‘With Robert de Quincy?’

‘As my own mistress. If he comes back, I shall go to my nephews in Wales. Robert will never find me if I hide myself in the mountains of Eryri. No one would find me there.’

‘I would find you.’ He was gazing at her with undisguised hunger in his eyes. ‘You will be mine one day, Eleyne. Why fight it? Why not let me take you away from your boor of a husband? I could make you content and I could give you sons.’

She flinched, ‘I want no sons.’

‘Rubbish, every woman wants sons. The king has gone, Eleyne, forget him.’

‘I’ll never forget him!’ She rounded on him. ‘How could you even ask it?’ Her composure was cracking. Why couldn’t they leave her alone with her memories? Why did they have to plague her like this? ‘I’m sorry, my lord, but I can’t come with you.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Then I can’t help you, you’ll have to stay here.’ He bowed. ‘But one day you’ll come, Eleyne, I promise you that. And one day soon.’

XX

Rhonwen, Joanna and Annie had been escorted to the nursery quarters which had once belonged to the young king when Eleyne found herself once more before the queen that evening. Marie was smiling as Eleyne walked swiftly, her head high, up the great hall towards her, bitterly aware of her shabbiness, of her lack of attendants, and of the wagging spiteful tongues. As she curtseyed before the throne – Alexander’s throne – Eleyne saw the triumph in her rival’s eyes.

‘I have a surprise for you, Lady Chester,’ Marie said sweetly. ‘I sent someone to see how your husband was, and he was already on his way south after you. Wasn’t it nice that we were able to tell him where you were? Sir Robert?’ She turned and beckoned Robert from the shadows at the back of the dais.

Husband and wife stared at each other, oblivious of the silence that had fallen over the entire hall. He was dressed in a soiled tunic, his rich, embroidered mantle torn. His eyes were bloodshot and his face blurred by drink.

‘So.’ He managed to make the one word accusing, triumphant and threatening all at once. He was panting slightly.

‘So.’ Her echo was icy.

‘Where is she?’

‘Safe.’

A group of men pushed past them, coming in from the courtyard. Neither Eleyne nor Robert noticed.

‘We’ll go back to Loch Leven,’ he said. ‘Get her ready.’

‘No.’ Eleyne clenched her fists, well aware of the enjoyment on Marie’s face. ‘I think you will find that at last you have outstayed your welcome in Fife.’

‘Indeed.’ Robert suppressed a belch. ‘Then we’ll go elsewhere.’

A second group of people appeared in the doorway and Eleyne recognised with a sinking heart that one of them was Robert’s brother, the Constable of Scotland. Roger de Quincy regarded Robert sternly. He stood as if deep in thought, then walked purposefully towards the group of people around the throne and dropped on one knee before the queen.

‘I am sorry to see my brother here in such a state, your grace. I hoped it wasn’t true when I was told that he had followed his wife and child to Roxburgh. I have instructions from King Henry that he and Lady Chester are to return south. If either of them disobeys the order, the child, Joanna de Quincy, will be made a royal ward.’

There was a stunned silence in the hall. The queen frowned. ‘King Henry has no jurisdiction here.’

‘Indeed not, madam, but my brother and his wife are King Henry’s subjects.’ Roger’s voice was firm.

‘They are my son’s subjects too,’ she said uncertainly.

‘I think you must allow them to go, your grace.’ Roger gave her the practised smile of a courtier. ‘Scotland does not want to antagonise Henry over so minor a matter. I shall escort them south myself.’

It was obvious that the queen respected him; in his role as constable Roger de Quincy was one of her closest advisers. But she had not realised until today how much she hated this woman; to see her quail before her drunken oaf of a husband would have given her enormous satisfaction. But she did not dare anger Henry of England. ‘Very well.’ She made up her mind at last. ‘Take them.’

XXI

For two days on the long slow ride Robert did not speak to her. He rode apart at the back of the group of horsemen, ignoring his brother, casting baleful looks at Rhonwen, who threw murderous glances back, and from time to time reaching into the bag which hung at his saddle bow for a stoppered jug of wine, which he hung from his forefinger and tipped to his mouth with his arm.

The third night they spent in the guesthouse of a lonely abbey on the Yorkshire moors, wrapped in their cloaks in the single small room beneath the vaulted stone roof. Outside the men of the escort slept with the horses.

Eleyne lay, her head cushioned on her saddlebags, looking up at the shadowy ceiling, listening to the sounds of the men around her. Robert snored loudly, a wineskin lying empty beside him. Beyond him his brother slept enveloped in his cloak. Joanna had cuddled up to Rhonwen who, so far, had kept well out of Robert’s way. Eleyne stirred uncomfortably. The floor was hard and the dying fire left the room cold and damp in spite of the huddled sleepers.

Slowly she sat up. Cautiously, so as not to disturb any of the others, she felt in her saddlebag. There, at the bottom, wrapped in a silk kerchief, was the phoenix pendant. She had hidden it there, afraid that Robert would see it around her neck. She took it out and stared at it, watching the way even the dying fire reflected in the dark glitter of the eyes. She looked at it for a long time, then slipped the chain around her neck and tucked the jewel inside the bodice of her gown so that it nestled between her breasts. It always brought her closer to him.

Hugging her knees, she gazed out of the open door. The soaring roof of the abbey was black against the stars and she could smell the cool sweetness of the night above the staleness of the bodies around her. Quietly she rose and tiptoed to the door. The man on guard stirred and nodded in silent recognition. The grass was ice-cold, wet with dew as she walked through it away from the guesthouse towards the great looming shadow of the abbey grange. Behind her Joanna slept securely in the curve of Rhonwen’s arm. She was safe now, but what would happen when they reached the king? What would he do, confronted with both de Quincys?

Roger had already told his brother sharply to sober up before they reached the king and Robert had smiled and nodded that he would do it. By the time they walked into Henry’s presence his barber would have trimmed his beard and hair, he would be washed and scented with oils and pomades and wearing one of the new gowns he had no doubt ordered already to be waiting for him when he returned to London. He would look the picture of reliable and loyal manhood.

There was only one way to be rid of him now that she could see. She had to leave Fotheringhay, run back to Wales with the children and hide in the mountains. He would never find her there. She would lose everything: her income, her property, her status, but she would be free and never again would she have to suffer the endless nightmares thinking about what Robert was going to do to her, or what, in a drunken frenzy, he might do to his own daughters. She closed her eyes, breathing in the sweet night air.

In the doorway to the guesthouse Robert watched his wife as she moved steadily away from him into the darkness. His arms were folded and he was swaying slightly. Pushing himself away from the doorpost he walked around the side of the building and relieved himself against the wall, then he turned to follow her.

He made no effort to walk quietly but she didn’t hear him as he trod unsteadily through the long grasses, feeling them cold and wet at the hem of his mantle. Deep in thought, she wandered more and more slowly, seeing, not the velvet Yorkshire sky, but the ice-covered peaks of Yr Wyddfa, where she would live with Owain’s and Llywelyn’s help in one of the mountain castles her father had built and where her daughters could grow up free and unafraid.

When she turned and saw him, only feet away from her, his hands on his hips and a disarmingly pleasant smile on his face, it was too late to run.

‘At last.’ He spoke slowly and distinctly. ‘Some privacy. I don’t like taking my wife before an audience.’ He put his hand around her wrist. ‘I find it inhibiting. It spoils the fun.’

She broke his grip. ‘Don’t touch me.’

‘Why not? You are my wife. Before God and the law you belong to me.’

‘No.’ She backed away, keeping just out of reach. ‘I belong to no one, no one at all.’

‘Now that your Scots king has abandoned you.’ He lunged and managed to catch her cloak. She pulled away, but she was off balance and he had sobered during the walk through the icy grass. This time he pulled her into his arms and sought her mouth with his own. ‘We need to tie your hands to make you obedient, don’t we?’ he murmured as he sucked at her face, his lips wet and hot, his breath stinking of stale wine. ‘Remind my beautiful wife who is her master. I have something. I have a rope especially for you, to keep you still. So we can enjoy ourselves.’

He held her with one hand and fumbled at his girdle as she kicked and struggled with grim fury. Her nails connected with his face, then he was pulling a loop of cord around her wrist, drawing it tight, forcing her arm behind her, groping for her other hand.

The swirl of ice-cold wind in the stillness of the night sent them both reeling. Robert staggered off balance, staring into the darkness; there was something there, something between him and Eleyne. A figure. He screamed and lashed out at it, but he missed. His fist passed straight through it; there was nothing there but the shadows from the starlight. He was stunned, then recovering himself he lunged after her, catching the rope which trailed from her wrist and giving it a vicious tug. It was the accursed drink which had fuddled his wits and made him imagine things.

‘Robert!’

Roger de Quincy’s voice was shockingly loud against the sound of his brother’s laboured breathing. So was the smack of bone on flesh as his fist caught Robert full in the face. Robert crumpled and lay still.

Eleyne was too shocked to move, then she looked up and stared round. Roger de Quincy’s arrival had rescued her. But before that, in the icy darkness. Her mind grappled with the implications of what she had seen. Who or what had attacked her husband out of the shadows? Whatever it was, it had saved her.

Her brother-in-law’s gentle hand on her shoulder brought her back to reality.

‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him shakily as he unknotted the cord from her wrist.

Roger’s mouth had set in a hard line. ‘I’m sorry, I gave the king my word that in future Robert would behave as a knight should.’

Gathering her cloak round her Eleyne groped for the phoenix. She stared down at her husband’s crumpled form. ‘If only you could.’ Her voice was husky with shock.

Roger smiled. His sister-in-law’s beauty and dignity touched him every time he saw her, but on this occasion there was something there he had never seen before, something wild and untouchable as she gazed past him into the night. It reminded him of an untrained falcon.

‘He will live as a knight, madam,’ he assured her. ‘Men all over Christendom are taking the cross in response to the King of France’s call. King Henry has decided that your husband will be one of those who goes to the Holy Land.’

Her green eyes were huge in her pale face. ‘The Holy Land?’ she echoed.

He nodded. ‘Your husband will not bother you or your family again for a very long time, my dear. He is to ride to Jerusalem.’

Behind them, on the lonely moors, the wind warmed a little and the air was suddenly clear.