Child of the Phoenix

I

The soft morning air was still sparkling with dew as Eleyne drew the colt gently to a walk and smiled across at her companion. ‘He’ll do. You can start training him tomorrow.’

‘It’ll be a pleasure to ride him, my lady.’ Narrowing his eyes in the sunlight, Michael watched the two great wolfhounds gambolling at the colt’s heels. The animal was used to the dogs; he had known them since he was foaled. She was never without her dogs; they followed her everywhere, as did her two little girls.

Sliding from his horse, he ducked under its head to help her dismount, but as always she beat him to it, slipping off as gracefully as a dancer, laughing at the crestfallen face of her marshal of horses.

Since her husband had sailed for France at the beginning of his trip to the Holy Land Eleyne had moved her base from Fotheringhay to this dower house in the Malvern Hills which her father had given to her on her marriage to John. Behind them the old manor house which she now called home sprawled in the early sunshine, its soft peach-coloured stone walls nestling between the orchards, parks and fields of the home farm. She ran the place like a kingdom. The manor farms, the stud, the outlying tenants all spoke of prosperity and peace.

Twice there had been letters from Robert, the last two years ago, then silence. Michael had reason to remember de Quincy well. In one of his drunken rages he had beaten the quiet stable boy who was now in charge of the Countess of Chester’s brood mares.

‘I’ll go in, Michael.’ She was smiling at him now, that beautiful, slow smile which melted a man’s gut and made him wonder, just for a moment if she – but no, of course she wouldn’t. She showed no interest in men. At thirty-five, she was always the virtuous wife; she loved her children and tended her estates and slept, as far as he knew, chastely alone. He knew the rumours, of course, who didn’t? That his lady had a ghostly lover, a tall presence seen sometimes at her side in the twilight, but who would believe that?

He took the colt’s rein and watched as she walked towards the manor house, her dogs at her heels. No other lady he had ever heard of would ride without attendants and stride tall and free about her estates as did Lady Chester, but perhaps her dogs were escort enough. He eyed them wryly. Tall, grizzled Lyulf and Ancret, both three years old now, the pups of old Donnet who, rumour had it, had been given to her by the King of Scots. When she reached the house, the dogs would throw themselves down in the shade by the door, waiting for her orders. Only then would the ladies of the house get a chance to speak to their mistress. The ladies were ruled over by the Lady Rhonwen, who kept them in order as she did the two children who would otherwise, if their mother had her way, run barefoot and wild like the children of the serfs on the manor farm. He could see little Hawisa now, a sturdy small girl with a determined chin and the dark good looks of her father, rushing out of the house and hurling herself into her mother’s arms. With a grin, Michael began to lead the horses towards the stables. He wouldn’t see Lady Chester again today if Hawisa had her way.

‘We’re to have new gowns for the midsummer revels!’ Hawisa gabbled with excitement as she swung from her mother’s hand.

Eleyne looked down at her fondly. ‘Tell me about them.’ Half her mind was still in the stables where her finest stallion rested a badly gashed leg. The only son of Invictus who actually looked like his dead sire, he was an especial favourite. She brought her attention back firmly to the child and stooped to give her a hug.

‘Mine is yellow, with little bows here and here and here,’ the child’s flying hands seemed to indicate every part of her small person, ‘and Joanna’s is red. And we’ve got ribbons to go around the necks of Ancret and Lyulf – one red and one yellow.’

Eleyne laughed in delight. ‘They’ll like that, they’re very vain dogs.’

She lived in semi-retirement now. Only once had she gone back to Aber, for the funeral of her sister Gwladus. The death had saddened her, but she and Gwladus had never been close; the gap in their ages had been too great. She had spent several days with Margaret and Angharad in the ty hir and then sadly she had come home. Once or twice she had been tempted to court and much against her better judgement she had ridden to York two years before, to attend the marriage of her ten-year-old godson, Alexander, to her cousin Margaret, King Henry’s youngest daughter. The visit was not a success. Miserable and lonely, snubbed by the Scottish queen and her ladies, and paid an unwelcome degree of attention by Malcolm of Fife, she had returned home and tried to forget them all.

She never thought about Scotland now. She had forbidden Rhonwen to talk about the past and she had no interest in the future. The present was sufficient. She had never been so content. The lonely place in her heart which had once been full of Alexander was walled off in a corner somewhere deep inside her. The children, the horses, the dogs: they were enough. For now. In daylight. And if sometimes at night in her dreams she allowed that wall to crumble and let herself imagine that Alexander still watched over her, that was a secret she shared with no one.

One thing hadn’t changed: she still treasured her solitude. She would ride alone for miles with only her dogs for protection and she still insisted on sleeping alone, something at which her ladies had long ago stopped looking askance. They delighted in her eccentricities. She was their countess, the king’s niece; a princess once, they sometimes remembered, and she bred the best horses in ten counties!

She closed the door with a sigh and stretched her arms above her head luxuriously. It had been a tiring day, but she had enjoyed it. The stallion’s leg was healing cleanly and the preparations for the revels after today’s fast were well in hand. She smiled. The girls were almost sick with excitement; their gowns were ready and she had ordered a chased bangle for each of them from a silversmith in Worcester as a surprise.

She walked to the window embrasure and leaned out. It was a glorious evening, the June air full of the magical scents of summer: newly scythed hay, roses and honeysuckle from the hedgerows and the elusive wild smell of the Malvern Hills which reminded her, a little, of Eryri.

She frowned. This was a moment to enjoy, a moment of perfect happiness, and yet for a fraction of a second she had felt a whisper of unease. She stared out into the luminous darkness, listening intently, but there was nothing there beyond the usual sounds of the night. With a shiver she turned away from the window. There was one thing she had to do before she called her ladies to unlace her gown and brush her hair. She stood before her writing desk and picked up the letter which lay there. It was from Isabella. This, of all her letters, had been entrusted to a party of pilgrims who had stopped at the convent guesthouse on their way to Canterbury, and they had sent it safely on its way.

‘… If you beg the king for my release he will allow it. He has always loved you. Please, for the love of the Holy Virgin, help me. I am dying in this place…’

She sighed. Presumably the warm June night with its whispers of sweetness and promise filtered into the cold stone cells at Godstow too. It would take only a few moments to write to the king and to Isabella, promising her at least a little hope. She had been staring at that letter for much too long, knowing that she would have to offer Isabella a home, knowing Isabella would cause nothing but trouble here at Suckley. But it was her duty to help and she must put it off no longer.

The candle had almost burned down when the letters were finished and she rang at last for Nesta. ‘Take these and have Sam ride tonight, first to Godstow and then to London.’

‘Tonight?’ Nesta stared. ‘My lady, it must be midnight!’

‘Tonight,’ Eleyne repeated. She went back to the window to wait for Nesta’s return. Leaning on the broad sill, she found she had tensed again, listening, her ears straining beyond the calls of the owls hunting the home park where the mares grazed with their foals. Something was out there. There was a strange indefinable feeling of menace in the air. It had been a long time since she had felt anything like this.

She wanted to leave the window, to bury her face in her pillow and pull the covers over her head and hide. She looked at the dogs; they were both asleep in their accustomed place by the hearth, where a dull glow showed the small summer fire, damped down to embers. They sensed nothing. She moved towards them, the hairs on her arms prickling with fear, and Lyulf raised his head and gazed at her. He felt her disquiet at once and rose to his feet, his hackles stirring, his eyes puzzled as he looked round the room for the source of his beloved mistress’s fright.

When Nesta returned, she was still standing there, her hand on the dogs’ heads. To Nesta, it looked as if she were listening to something very far away.

‘My lady?’

Eleyne shook her head. ‘It’s nothing, I thought I heard something – ’

She gestured the dogs back to the hearth and sat down so that Nesta could unfasten her hair. ‘Where are the children?’

‘Asleep, my lady. Where else would they be?’ Nesta laughed.

‘I didn’t kiss them goodnight.’ Why was it suddenly so important?

‘You kissed them a thousand times between dawn and supper!’ Nesta picked up the comb and began to unplait Eleyne’s hair. ‘And they’ll be up again at dawn for Midsummer’s Day – as you will. There’s John’s Mass fires on the hills. You can see them from the tower.’ The fires were to keep away the evil spirits which roamed so freely abroad on this night of all nights of the year. Was that what she had sensed? Was there evil here tonight? Had Einion returned after so long to perpetuate his lies? Eleyne frowned. ‘Send Rhonwen to me.’ She pushed away Nesta’s hand. ‘Quickly, I must speak to her.’

She stood up and went across to her jewel casket, which stood on the clothes chest near her bed. Her hand hesitated over the lid, then she opened it. The phoenix lay on top of her other jewels, wrapped in a scrap of silk. She stared at it as it glowed in her hand. She was aware of him, when she held it; felt him near her. It was at night, when she took the pendant and put it under her pillow, that it was so easy to imagine that he was there in the darkness. And it was when the sensation grew too strong to bear that she took the pendant and put it in her jewel box. Only that way could she keep her sanity. The door opened and guiltily she put the pendant down on the table.

Rhonwen had been asleep. ‘What is it, cariad?’ She moved more slowly now; her joints were stiff and her bones ached even in the warmth of the summer.

‘Listen!’ Eleyne held up her hand. ‘Can you hear anything?’ Nesta had followed Rhonwen into the room and they both listened. The ashes shifted softly in the hearth and Ancret sighed. ‘There is something wrong. Is it Einion?’

Rhonwen looked surprised. ‘It’s a long time since you spoke of him, I thought you no longer believed.’

‘I don’t believe in his prophecies! How could I?’ Eleyne said bitterly. ‘But he still haunts me.’

‘No, cariad, whatever it is, it is not him, not here.’ Rhonwen sat down on the edge of the bed. She had her suspicions. She had heard the rumours that Eleyne walked with ghosts, and she had smiled secretly to herself. The child had always walked with ghosts, but now there was one special ghost, who watched over her; if it was the man she thought it was, she blessed them both. The love of Eleyne and her king had been sanctified by the gods. With their blessing even death could not separate them.

‘Nothing is wrong. Why don’t you go to sleep? Those children of yours will have me awake at first light if I know them.’ She smiled indulgently.

The dogs heard the footsteps in the hall before the women, but the loud knocking surprised them all. Hal Longshaft pushed into the room before Nesta had a chance to answer his knock; he was visibly distressed.

‘My lady, there are armed men on the road.’

‘Armed men?’ So that was it. There was a human danger out there in the night. Robert! Robert had returned from the Holy Land. Robert, whom she had hoped never to see again. Her stomach began to churn with fear.

‘Hugh Fletcher saw them, my lady. He was going to ride a bit of the way with Sam, but when they saw the men he turned back to warn us. I’ve called the men awake and the gates are under double guard. Hugh didn’t know their leader. He said they wore dark cloaks over the devices on their surcoats, but he was certain it wasn’t Sir Robert, my lady.’

So, he had read her mind. ‘Issue arms to all the men,’ she said quietly, ‘and pray.’ What good could her servants, her household do against armed men? There was no garrison here, no bodyguard. If this was an attack from the armies of thieves and outlaws who lived in the wild border march, they could do nothing. She turned to Rhonwen as Hal hurried away. ‘Why didn’t I see the danger sooner -?’

‘Your senses have grown lazy, cariad.’ Rhonwen shook her head. ‘They’ve had no need to develop here. Don’t reproach yourself, you chose the other path. Those content with the present don’t seek to see into the future. Besides, perhaps there is no danger.’ Her voice was reassuring. ‘They could be harmless travellers passing along the road.’

‘Take the children, Rhonwen. Take them into the woods below the brook.’ Eleyne caught her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Quickly. I want them out of the house and as far away as possible. Take Annie with you. Everyone else must stay and fight if necessary.’

‘But cariad -’

‘Do as I say. Quickly. Please. To be safe. I’ll send Hal to find you as soon as the danger is over. Take the dogs, they’ll guard the children with their lives.’ She ran towards the door, the dogs at her heels. ‘Go. Now. Go with Rhonwen.’ She pointed at Rhonwen and the two dogs obeyed her. Lyulf looked back once, and she saw the reproach in his eyes. With a quick look at Eleyne’s face, Rhonwen hurried away.

Eleyne was standing on the steps outside the front door of the old house when the horsemen drew up outside the gates and shouted for entry.

‘Who asks?’ The gateward’s voice sounded thin in the warm night air.

‘Tell Lady Chester that Malcolm of Fife has come to call.’ The voice sounded clearly across the cool green moat beyond the wall.

A wave of relief swept over Eleyne. She realised that her fists had been clenched so tightly that her nails had cut into the palms of her hands. Malcolm of Fife might not be welcome under most circumstances, but tonight, in the wake of her panic, he counted as a friend. ‘Open the gates,’ she called. ‘Make our guests welcome,’ and she stepped forward as the old oak gates creaked open and the armed men trooped across the bridge and into the courtyard.

Malcolm dismounted and bowed. ‘Lady Chester! It has been too long.’

She smiled at him. ‘You are welcome.’

‘I hope so.’ He followed her into the great hall of the manor house as she gave orders for the fire to be rekindled and lights to be placed in the sconces.

‘You have ridden a long way, Sir Malcolm,’ she commented as she sat in her chair and gestured him towards the other, ‘if you have come all the way from Scotland.’

‘I have come from Fife.’

‘And you are on your way south? To Bristol perhaps to see the king?’

‘No.’ He sat down and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his eyes on her face. ‘I came for you.’

She smiled guardedly, her apprehension returning. ‘For me?’

‘Your husband is dead, Eleyne. You are free to remarry.’ He kept his voice low, aware of the curious glances in their direction from Eleyne’s sleepy household.

‘Dead?’ The shock of his words cut through her fear like a knife. ‘Robert is dead?’

‘Didn’t you guess? You haven’t heard from him for two years.’

‘Who told you? Who told you Robert was dead?’

‘I have my informants.’ He leaned back in his chair with a smile. ‘The fate of Robert de Quincy was, after all, of special importance to me. The reports I received seem conclusive. He is dead and buried. He will not come back to pester you again. You are free.’

Her immediate sense of relief was short-lived as she considered what Malcolm had said. ‘If I am, I intend to stay that way.’ She was painfully aware of her helplessness. She had opened the gates. She had invited him in and now some three dozen fully armed men were inside her walls, men who, while accepting the wine her servants had offered, had not laid down their swords. Conscious of the sudden stillness in his expression, she forced herself to soften her voice. ‘You do me great honour, my lord, but I will never marry again. And I have the assurance of my uncle, the King of England, on that.’ She hadn’t, but Malcolm would never know.

‘I do not intend to ask the king your uncle, madam.’ Malcolm’s voice dropped slightly. ‘I have waited too long. You are mine now.’

‘Perhaps we could discuss this in the morning?’ She was thinking frantically. Nearby she could see Michael standing, his hand on his sword. She frowned. She had never seen her horse marshal wear a sword before. ‘You and your men must be tired and such important matters must be talked about with due ceremony.’

He laughed softly. ‘There is nothing to talk about. We leave tonight.’

‘No!’ Her eyes were blazing. She stepped towards him, aware of the silence in the hall. ‘Leave my house, now, before I call my guard!’

Cautiously Nesta crept closer to her. Her small embroidery shears were hidden in her hand.

‘I thought this was your guard.’ With a smile Malcolm looked around the shadowy hall.

They were all there: her maids, her ladies, Hal, Michael, most of the stable lads, even Kenrick, her cook, and his kitchen boys and the three pages who were serving her until they moved to a household where the head of house was a knight from whom they could learn the chivalric arts. She was sick with fear for them all. The only people absent were Sam and Rhonwen and Annie and the children. She breathed a little prayer that Rhonwen had taken them into the woods as she had asked, then she looked Malcolm full in the eyes. ‘Please leave my house, sir. I am sorry, but your attentions are not welcome.’ There was a sudden coldness in the air.

‘I am sure you will learn to like me, Eleyne, and I am sorry I have to do this, but as you say, your uncle is the king, and it would be more politic if he didn’t know what had become of you. We’ll leave quietly, and disappear into the darkness forever. If you do as I say, no one will be hurt.’

‘No.’ She raised her voice. ‘I’m not coming with you!’

‘Then I am afraid I must use force. You have condemned these people to death, Eleyne of Chester, out of your own mouth.’ He snapped his fingers and his men in the hall drew their swords, the rasp of steel ugly in the peaceful old house.

Michael did not hesitate. With a shout of anger, he raised his sword and ran towards her, but he had taken only half a dozen steps before he was cut down.

‘Michael!’ She heard herself scream as Malcolm lunged forward and caught her wrist, swinging her into his arms. Nesta, sweet faithful Nesta, raised her hand, the wickedly sharp shears glinting in her fist. A man-at-arms stepped towards her and Nesta doubled up with a soundless gurgle, his sword through her stomach. There was nothing Eleyne could do. Malcolm had pinioned her arms as he carried her through the uproar, striding towards the door, ignoring her frantic struggles. The shadowy hall was splashed with gore. Women lay in pools of blood on the floor amongst the men and in the far corner she saw a sheet of flame race across the hangings which backed the dais, as one of Malcolm’s men snatched up a torch and touched it systematically to the tapestries.

The courtyard was cool and silent after the horror of the hall. Without a word, he carried her to his horse and threw her across the saddle, mounting behind her and kicking the animal into a gallop almost in the same movement. Two of his men were behind them. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was a glimpse of them through her streaming hair as the horse thundered through the gates and up the dust road in the moonlight.

II

Isabella opened the letter with shaking hands. The seal of Chester was sharp and defiant beneath her fingers, the seal of a woman who was her own mistress and free. She grimaced with a glance at the almoner who sat near her, her beads twisted in her arthritic fingers. Did they think she wouldn’t notice that the letter had been opened? That the seal had been lifted with a knife blade and then melted – probably with the same knife but hot this time from the fire – long enough to hold it closed?

Eleyne’s letter was short. It was dated St John’s Eve, two days before. ‘Be patient, dear Isabella. I have written to the king on your behalf and I am sure he will allow you to journey to me on my undertaking to keep you here…’

Her undertaking! Isabella echoed the words furiously. Then she shrugged. What did it matter what undertakings Eleyne gave if it got her out of this damned convent? It was the mention of the king’s name which had forced them at last to give her this letter. They were afraid to burn it, which they would have done if they had dared. Never mind. She had it now. She clenched her fist over the crackling parchment. Let Eleyne promise anything she wanted; once she was out of the convent it would take more than Eleyne of Chester to imprison her again.

III

The children; she had to get to the children.

The thought pounded in her head, round and round, in time to the beating hooves of the horse.

The children; Sweet Virgin, the children.

She tried to move, but her limbs were like lead and her head swam sickeningly when she tried to open her eyes. She realised it was now bright day: was it two days they had been on the road, or three? She had lost all track of time. She could feel the sun beating down on the hood of her cloak; she was so hot she could hardly breathe and the iron band around her ribs grew tighter every minute.

‘Joanna, Hawisa -’ Their names came out as a whisper, but someone heard. Abruptly the horse’s pace slackened and the band around her waist loosened. It was a man’s arm.

‘Are you awake?’ Malcolm peered at her, pulling the heavy cloak away from her face. ‘We’ll stop and rest as soon as we’re across the border.’

‘The border?’ Her lips were so dry she could hardly speak.

He grinned. ‘Aye, it’ll not be long now.’

‘Joanna, Hawisa.’ She tried to push his arm away, but he didn’t seem to notice. Kicking the horse back into a slow canter, he turned and shouted to his men to follow. Her mind was blank; she remembered nothing of the killing; only the terrible overwhelming fear for her two little girls. ‘Joanna, Hawisa.’ Her lips framed the words again, but no sound came.

They stopped in the wild empty hills as the sun was setting and bivouacked in the heather. Eleyne staggered away from the men and sinking down beside a peaty pool of brown water bathed her face, trying to clear her head. She was dizzy and her temples throbbed sickeningly. Malcolm followed her and stood, hands on hips, watching her. Her hands and face were dripping as she knelt on the coarse heather stems. ‘What happened?’ she asked. The past days were a blur of terror and confusion. She could remember nothing but shouting and fire. Her mind refused to work properly. ‘Joanna, Hawisa!’

‘Don’t you bother about them.’ His face was hard. ‘Forget them.’

‘How can you say that?’ Her eyes blazed at him. ‘There was a fire! My children! My two little girls! What have you done to them? Where are they? What’s happened to them?’

‘Nothing happened to them.’ For a moment he dropped his gaze. ‘I saw no children. The people scattered when we burned the place. No one was hurt.’

‘You burned it?’ For a moment she was too shocked to speak. Suckley, her beautiful, peaceful home. ‘And the horses? You burned the stables too?’

He shook his head emphatically. ‘You know me better than that. The stables were untouched.’

‘You spared the horses.’ She seemed able only to repeat everything he said. Her mind had blotted out most of what had happened.

Malcolm nodded. ‘Those which can travel are being brought north. I know how much you cared for them.’

‘So, you act like a reiver. You steal my horses and you burn my house.’

‘I’m no horsethief, Eleyne.’ He looked very grave. ‘The horses are yours.’

‘And I am yours?’ It was barely a question.

‘You are mine.’

‘And if I choose not to be yours?’

‘You will, given time.’ He folded his arms. ‘If you want food, you must come to the fire.’

‘I’ll not eat with you.’ She rose unsteadily to her feet and faced him. ‘I’ll not eat with you and I’ll not sleep with you, if that’s what you’re hoping.’

She moved a few paces away. All around them the heather bent stretched empty beneath the crimson sky. In the silence a curlew called.

‘Eat or not as you choose, my lady,’ he called after her. ‘But sleep with me you will. Tonight and every night, for the rest of your life.’

‘No!’ She flung herself round. ‘Never!’

He smiled ‘If it’s your good name you’re worried about, we shall be wed as soon as we reach Falkland. Though I always got the impression that your reputation didn’t worry you much.’ He put his head on one side. ‘I’ve waited a long time for you, Eleyne – an unconscionable long time. I don’t intend to wait any longer. But for now, I can see you won’t be satisfied until you’ve tried to run. Go on then, see how far you get. I’ll come for you when I’m ready.’

She watched as he strode towards the fire where already venison was roasting on the makeshift spit. She could smell the cooking flesh and her stomach turned with revulsion even as it growled with hunger. She knew it was no use. There was nowhere to hide. The folded ground was a wilderness of heather and grass, dotted with stunted thorn and pine. All round her the wild Cheviot Hills formed a barrier of loneliness and desolation. She walked for several minutes, stumbling on the tussocky ground, watching the bog cotton as it bobbed in the falling dusk. Curlew called in the distance, their liquid trills emphasising the emptiness of the hills.

The men settled around their fire. She could hear their laughter and their shouts as they lounged on the soft ground. She stopped at last by an old pine tree and leaned against it, closing her eyes. She could not escape: wherever she went, whatever she did, Malcolm would find her; she suspected he would follow her now to the ends of the earth. It was as if he had been her destiny all along. She smiled grimly to herself. Was this what Einion had predicted? A life and a death, in Scotland.

It was a long time before Malcolm came for her. ‘Are you ready for some food now?’ he asked softly. ‘It’ll do no good to starve yourself.’

She pushed herself away from the tree. ‘I won’t marry you,’ she said.

‘We’ll talk about that tomorrow.’ He took her arm.

His men moved aside for her and she sat down on his folded cloak while they brought her a portion of roast hart from one of the animals Malcolm’s men had hunted down on their ride that morning, laughing that though they stole the king’s stag it was at least in season, and they gave her wine from a leather bottle. While she ate, one of the young men produced a bird-bone pipe and began to play a slow, wistful tune which echoed in the swiftly falling night. It was midsummer – there would be no darkness.

She made no attempt to struggle when at last Malcolm folded her into his cloak a little apart from his men, near the dying embers of the fire. As he pulled up her gown and entered her with almost gentle eagerness, it was another man’s face she saw in the glowing peat over his shoulder – the face of the man who had been his king.

IV

King Henry looked at the letter for a long time before he looked up at Roger de Quincy. ‘When did this happen?’

‘St John’s Eve. The place was completely destroyed, no one was left, no one. They seem to have been after the horses. The animals in that stud were worth a fortune.’ Roger took a deep breath. He had seen it. He had ridden west at once when he received the report and arrived within a few hours. The burned house was still smouldering, the butchered men and women, even children, still unburied, as were the few horses they had left – killed in the stable yard.

‘And my niece?’ Henry’s voice was muffled.

‘She must have died too, sire. And her children with her. There was no sign of them. And many -’ Roger paused and cleared his throat – ‘many of the bodies were unrecognisable.’

‘Sweet Christ’s bones! Has any attempt been made to catch the murdering thieves?’

‘Everything possible is being done, sire. There are so many outlaws in the forests up there. Who knows, maybe it was that rascal Robin Fitzooth, Robin Hood, some are calling him now, who – outlaw though he’s become for this thieving ways – claims to be the Earl of Huntingdon. He rides somewhere in that area, I’ve heard, and he’d have reason to know of her wealth and be jealous of it.’

Henry picked up the parchment again. ‘You will have to write to your brother and tell him of his wife’s death, and his children.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s time he came home.’

‘Indeed, sire, I shall send for him at once. There was a report that he’d been killed, but I’m glad to say it proved unfounded. He has been at Acre for the last few months, and I’m sure he will be pleased to be allowed back.’ Roger tightened his lips. ‘Poor Eleyne, she didn’t have a happy life.’

‘Indeed not, with your brother.’ Henry threw down the parchment and reached for the book of hours which lay as usual on his desk. ‘I shall order masses to be said for her soul.’ He sighed. ‘And I shall begin to settle her affairs. Her dower lands are rich. They are very valuable.’

V

The priest was very drunk. He gabbled the words over them, blessed them perfunctorily and passed out on the floor. Malcolm laughed. ‘So, my lady, how does it feel to be wife of the Earl of Fife and Thane of Falkland? Is it not good to be back in Scotland?’ The ring he had put on her finger was a heavy cabochon ruby. It clung tightly, like a manacle, above her knuckle.

‘This marriage is not valid,’ she flashed at him. ‘No one will ever recognise it.’

‘Indeed they will.’ He took her hand and threaded it through his arm. ‘And I shall have the king’s blessing on our union before the week is out.’

The castle had been prepared for her. The great hall and their bedchamber were decorated with garlands of flowers. He had ordered servants, and bales of fabric were waiting to make her gowns and mantles and cloaks. An ivory comb and mirror and three brooches of chased gold and enamel waited in a cedarwood coffer by her bed. Malcolm, his ambition fulfilled at last, was as pleased as a dog with two tails.

‘I’ll not stay with you.’ Now that her exhaustion was easing and the first dull shock of what had happened had passed, her anger was growing. Though she still had no memory of what had happened that night; however hard she tried, she could fill in no details in her own mind amidst the fear and confusion and smoke. But how dare this man come and pluck her like a fruit from the bough just because he wanted her? This marriage was not even a political decision by a king; this was one man’s greed and lust. ‘I swear before God, I will not stay here with you.’

Behind them the chapel of Falkland Castle was ablaze with candles. The priest lay snoring in stentorian tones across his own threshold, his feet stuck out on the cobbles of the yard, his head within the sanctuary of his church.

Malcolm laughed. ‘Don’t make me lock you up, sweetheart. You would hate it, and so would I.’ He squeezed her arm. ‘Here you shall have horses, your own and more – as many as you want,’ he promised recklessly, ‘and freedom, anything your heart desires, and a man to satisfy you. Fight me and I shall have to make you my prisoner. You would have no horses, sweetheart, and only bread and water until you learned obedience.’ He looked at her soberly. ‘Henry would have married you to someone else in the end, you know that as well as I. Come on, admit it. I can make you happy. You’ll soon forget your bairns. They’ll be safe in England. We’ll have more children. Sons, plenty of sons.’ His arm encircled her waist. ‘I will make you happy, sweetheart.’

She bit back a retort. Arguing with him was not going to get her anywhere. To escape, she would have to be subtle; subtle and very careful.

He slept with his arm across her breasts, the weight of his thigh across her legs, the heat of his body intolerable against her skin, but at least his lovemaking was straightforward, gentle in comparison to Robert. In a strange, half-shy way he wanted to give her pleasure, and his anxiety to please her warred strangely with his exultant triumph of ownership. She lay awake for a long time looking up into the shadows of the bedchamber after he had fallen asleep at last, her hair entwined in his fists, his prisoner as absolutely as if he had tied her, as Robert had so often done, to the bed.

Alexander!

In the silence she thought she had cried the name out loud. But no one came. The only sound was from the wind in the chimney of the room.

They had a visitor the following day. Marie de Couci was radiant in silks sewn with pearls as she was shown into the great hall, followed by a train of attendants.

‘So, I was right, the beautiful Lady Chester is here. Is it true? Have you made her your wife?’

‘Indeed I have. News travels fast, madam.’

The queen’s smile broadened. Walking past Malcolm she sat down on the best chair in the hall and arranged her skirts carefully around her. ‘Your wooing was a little rough, I hear,’ she said lightly. She had addressed no word directly to Eleyne.

Malcolm moved towards her uneasily. ‘Madam, I – ’

‘And did you really kill everyone in the house?’ she went on relentlessly. ‘Every single person? How you must have lusted after her, Malcolm, my friend!’ She eyed Eleyne with cold appraisal. ‘She obviously knows how to attract men.’ She stretched out a foot and eyed the toe of her shoe. It was stitched with silver thread. ‘They think she’s dead, you know. Or did you plan that too?’

Malcolm said nothing, but Eleyne moved forward. At the queen’s words, her heart had stopped beating. ‘What do you mean, he killed everyone in the house?’ Her voice was icy as she stepped on to the dais. Her eyes were so large they seemed like great hollow shadows in her skull. ‘What do you mean?’

The queen shrank back in her chair. ‘My dear, I am only repeating what I heard. You were there. You must know what happened.’

The two women looked at each other, then Eleyne turned to Malcolm. ‘How many people did you kill?’ she asked. Her voice sounded thin and high in her ears.

‘I killed no one.’

‘But your men did. My children. They killed my children -’ Her voice rose sharply, the fear which had been lurking at the back of her mind suddenly unspeakably close and real.

‘No.’ He cut in sharply. ‘I never saw your children.’

‘Do you think I believe that?’ Her voice was shaking now. ‘Joanna, Hawisa. Rhonwen. What did you do to them?’

‘I told you, I saw none of them.’ He was growing irritated. ‘I have no idea what happened to them and I couldn’t care less. They belong to the past. Forget them. You are here now. With me.’

‘You think I could stay with the man who murdered my babies?’ The pictures were returning. Flashes of violent, blood-soaked terror. Nesta, gentle, faithful Nesta, a sword through her belly, her eyes huge with agonised pleading. Michael, his dark blue gown scarlet from the gaping hole in his chest as he collapsed at her feet.

‘You will do as you are told!’ Malcolm’s patience snapped. ‘And you will remember that her grace is our guest at Falkland.’ He moved towards Eleyne threateningly.

‘Murderer!’ Eleyne screamed. ‘Her grace’s son will release me from this pretence of a marriage!’ She had begun to tremble violently as she backed away from him, her memories spinning in her mind, a blackened, bloody nightmare.

The queen settled back to enjoy herself. ‘I don’t think so, my dear. Alexander was very pleased to hear of Malcolm’s marriage, very pleased. He has already given it his blessing.’

Eleyne shook her head. ‘He would never do that. And nor will the King of England, my uncle, when he hears what has happened.’

She was wrong.

VI

‘What do you mean, she’s alive?’ Henry thundered at the Earl of Winchester. ‘How can she still be alive?’

Roger de Quincy took another few paces around the table. ‘She is alive and well. My steward has seen her with his own eyes. Word is in Scotland that she has run off with her lover! The whole thing was arranged. He came and burned the place to make it look as though she were dead and carried her off.’ He struck his fists together in fury. ‘She fooled me, the scheming Jezebel! She fooled us all. I believed her when she told us Robert mistreated her. We all believed her.’ The expansive sweep of his hand included the king, who flinched slightly. ‘She was just making sure that we got rid of Robert for her; God’s bones, but I was an idiot!’

‘And who is her latest lover, pray?’ After an initial moment of disbelief, Henry was recovering from the shock of Lord Winchester’s statement.

‘Lord Fife. He has taken her back to Scotland. He is even pretending she is his wife.’

Henry raised an eyebrow. ‘So, she still sees herself as a Scots whore, no matter who the man.’ His anger had been slow in surfacing. ‘So be it, I’ll not raise another finger to help that woman, or save her reputation. I did enough when I sent Sir Robert to the Holy Land and played right into her hands. All right. She wants to be dead to her English friends and family, let her stay that way. As far as England is concerned, my niece died in that fire. Her lands and property are confiscated. They will be redistributed amongst the Chester heirs. See that the enquiries post mortem are set in train. Are her children alive then? For that at least we might be grateful.’

Roger shook his head grimly. ‘My informers say they are not in Scotland. It looks as though they died. I cannot believe she meant that to happen, that she could be such an unnatural mother, but they were Robert’s children…’ His voice trailed away and he sighed. ‘And Robert?’ Roger asked at last. ‘What do I tell my brother?’

The king sat down and beckoned his clerks. On the desk was Eleyne’s letter about Isabella. In his sorrow over Eleyne’s death he had been about to carry out her last wish and order that Isabella be released from her captivity at Godstow. He stared at the letter as if he had never seen it before, then tossed it to the nearest secretary. ‘Destroy this,’ he said curtly. ‘I never wish to hear Isabella de Braose’s name again.’ He turned back to Roger. ‘Tell your brother that his wife is dead,’ he said succinctly. ‘Otherwise he will probably kill her himself and imperil his immortal soul.’

VII

Eleyne looked at the twelve-year-old king, so agonisingly like his father, and her throat tightened. ‘You have to help me. You have to tell Lord Fife to let me go home.’ Her voice was shaking and she was painfully aware of the queen and Lord Fife standing immediately behind her. They had all ridden to Dunfermline that same afternoon.

Alexander glanced at his mother and then at Alan Durward, who was at his side. ‘Lord Fife is our trusted friend,’ he said solemnly, his high voice clear against the murmur of voices in the vaulted audience chamber. ‘Mama says I must not offend him.’

‘And me? Am I not your friend?’ She held out her hands to him and, startled, the boy stepped towards her and took them in his own.

‘Yes, of course you are.’

‘Then, please.’ Clutching his hot fingers, she sank to her knees. ‘Please help me.’

He was distressed. ‘I don’t want you to be unhappy – ’

‘Then don’t interfere. Sir.’ Malcolm added the last word as an afterthought. ‘Leave my wife to me.’

Marie de Couci smiled reassuringly at her son. ‘Lady Fife is still feeling strange in our country, but I am sure she will settle soon. And until she does, Malcolm must keep her at Falkland. We do not want her upsetting the king.’

On the ride back to Falkland Castle Eleyne was silent. Malcolm’s men surrounded her and he rode close at her side, looking from time to time at her closed face.

‘Do you like the horse you are riding?’ he asked at last as they splashed through the shallow water of the River Leven. They had left the misty waters of the loch to their left, the castle barely visible on its island. Eleyne had not even glanced at it. Now before them the Lomond Hills rose, folded and dark against the sky. Eleyne nodded mutely. Even through her anger and misery she had taken unconscious note of the delicate white palfrey she rode. ‘He is half-brother to your Tam Lin,’ Malcolm went on, ‘and he’s yours.’

She stared down at the horse’s neck. Her slim brown hands were steady on the soft leather reins; on her hand Malcolm’s ring still clung to her finger. Why had she not thrown it away as she had thrown away Robert’s ring sixteen years before?

‘You cannot buy me, Malcolm,’ she said quietly. ‘No amount of horses will make me want to stay with you.’

He grinned at her amicably. ‘Just so long as you do stay.’

That night she slipped from his bed as he lay flat on his back, snoring, exhausted by his passionate lovemaking. Gritting her teeth in impatience, she dressed in the darkness of the bedchamber and crept towards the door. The latch creaked as she opened it, but he did not stir. Outside the passage was empty and the narrow newel stair in darkness. Her shoes in her hand, she groped her way to the stair and crept down it, the only sound the slight rustle of her skirts on the stone steps. A smell of old woodsmoke drifted up, and the air grew cold as she crept down towards the lower chamber.

Half a dozen men were asleep there, wrapped in their cloaks in the dim light of a guttering tallow candle. She surveyed the round room. The door on the far side was closed and a guard dozed beside it, slumped on his heels, his chin on his chest, his hand fallen from the sword which lay at his side. The only way out of the tower was past him.

‘Do you plan a midnight ride, perhaps?’ Malcolm’s voice was light and friendly as he stood in the doorway behind her. There was a candle in his hand. Her eyes went to it automatically and she felt her throat tighten.

‘I felt restless, I thought I would walk in the courtyard.’ She held his eye in the dim, flickering light.

‘Good, then we’ll walk together.’ He sighed. ‘You shan’t escape me, Eleyne. No one can leave the castle without my knowledge, and this tower is guarded at all times.’ Beside the door on the far side of the chamber the guard was now standing to attention, the sword held menacingly across his chest. ‘Don’t make me lock you up, lass.’

The sleepers on the floor had stirred at the sound of his voice. One sat up, hugging his knees, and viewed with every sign of enjoyment his lord and his new lady engaged in combat.

The castle had seethed with gossip since Malcolm had brought Eleyne home, and now the answer to the question so many had asked for so long – why had the Earl of Fife remained so long unmarried – was answered at last. He had loved Eleyne, daughter of Llywelyn of Wales, since the day he had first set eyes on her eighteen years before and from that day he had meant to have her for his own. There wasn’t a man, woman or child in Falkland Castle, if not the whole of Fife, who did not wish their earl well of her.

The onlookers waited to see what would happen. She hesitated as though wondering whether to go on and walk in the dark of the courtyard with her husband, but she moved past him, back to the stairs.

VIII

Four days later she escaped. She slipped past the guards at dawn, swathed in the dark cloak of one of her maids. The man on duty at the gate, which was open for the first wagons of flour being brought in from the mill, did not look at her face or question her. Two hours later he paid for his carelessness with his life.

She did not get far: Malcolm’s dogs tracked her down when she was only two miles from the castle. Instinctively she had turned towards the dark shoulder of the Lomond, seeking safety in the mountain, but it was no use. She turned at bay, like a trapped animal, mad with grief and anger.

‘I will not come back with you. You have to let me go! How can I live with the man who killed my children, who killed my friends!’ It haunted her every moment, waking and sleeping, the picture of the two little girls – so happy on St John’s Eve, longing to wear their new gowns, plaiting ribbon collars for the two dogs – and superimposed was the memory of Nesta and of Michael, dear gentle Michael who had never hurt anyone in his life, spitted on a sword like an animal as he tried to come to her aid. She could feel the cold agony of the sword in her children’s flesh, hear their screams echoing in her ears, see their little hands outstretched towards her, begging her to save them.

‘I did not kill your children.’ He faced her, leaning on his sword. She had lost her veil and her hair was down; her gown was grass-stained and torn and her face and hands were burned by the sun as she faced him, proud and furious as a wild cat. His facc softened. He could not restrain a smile. She was all he had dreamed of, this beautiful Welsh princess. And at last she was his.

She did not see his smile. ‘Someone killed them! The queen said so – ’

‘The queen wanted to hurt you, Eleyne. She has never forgiven you for stealing her husband. My men did not kill your children. I gave specific orders to that effect. Little girls are no danger to me. Sons might have been different, but you had no sons. I left them to the de Quincys, where they belong. And you must forget them. Think instead of the sons you will bear me.

‘No, never.’

He smiled tolerantly. ‘You will. You will do exactly as I wish, my dear.’

IX

The castle slept in the early sunshine. The gates were still closed, but smoke rose from the bakehouse chimneys. Rhonwen stood at the bend in the track and peered at the walls. She was exhausted, but her anger and despair drove her on. Beside her Annie stood in the middle of the road with the two small children, all three bemused with sleep, their bare feet dusty, their clothes in rags. Beside them sat the two great dogs.

‘Will mama be here?’ Joanna’s small hand slid into Rhonwen’s.

Rhonwen tried to hide her grief. ‘No, cariad, she won’t be here.’

She had crept back and seen the smoking ruins, the butchered servants, the corpses burned beyond recognition. Clinging to the remnants of her sanity, she had searched for Eleyne’s body. She had not found her, but she knew in her heart that her beloved child was dead. Their attackers, whoever they had been, had been too thorough, too sudden. No one could have escaped that conflagration. Heartbroken, she clawed through the still-hot ashes and in the burned-out ruins of the solar she had found the phoenix pendant on the charred table where Eleyne had dropped it on Midsummer’s Eve. Somehow it had escaped the looters who had followed the fire. Rhonwen had rubbed it clean of the cloying soot and, tears pouring down her cheeks, she kissed it and tucked it into her purse. Then she had clambered out of the building, gone to the courtyard and picked her way amongst slaughtered horses. Some had gone, but Tam Lin was there, his leg broken, his head smashed in with a spike. Rhonwen stared at the flyblown remains of the beautiful horse, her stomach heaving with disgust. At last she had turned away.

X

Dervorguilla Balliol had arrived at Fotheringhay the day before, unaware that since it was no longer part of Eleyne’s dower lands, the great castle and its property would soon revert to her as part of her inheritance from her uncle, John the Scot.

On her way from London to Scotland, this daughter of John’s sister Margaret and the Lord of Galloway was taking the news of Eleyne’s death to her husband, John Balliol. It had seemed fitting to stop overnight at Fotheringhay, where Eleyne had spent so much of her life.

When the arrivals were announced, she looked up in disbelief. ‘Lady Rhonwen? And the children?’ She almost ran down the hall. ‘Eleyne? Where is Aunt Eleyne? Oh thank Sweet Blessed Christ you are all all right.’ On her knees she hugged the two little girls to her.

Rhonwen’s silence made her look up at last. ‘Aunt Eleyne?’ she repeated in a whisper.

Wordlessly, Rhonwen shook her head.

Dervorguilla crossed herself. She stood up slowly and sighed. ‘Will you take them to London?’

‘No, I’ll leave them with you. Annie can look after them. I mean to find out who did it.’ Rhonwen’s face was bleak, her eyes devoid of expression. She put her hand on Lyulf ’s head. ‘I’ll find out his name and then I shall kill him.’

XI

She found them all on the island – mugwort, ash, apple, wormwood and skullcap. They burned slowly at first, smoky, acrid, the flames dull and sluggish. But they would clear.

She looked across the narrow strip of dry white sand where she had built her little fire, towards the grey walls of the castle. They couldn’t see her here and they wouldn’t come looking for her, not until dusk. Behind her the waters of the loch were a clear, bright blue. Small ripples played on the sand and sparkling lights danced around the island, teasing her eyes.

She had tried to escape from him so often that at last Malcolm, with a sigh, had brought her to Loch Leven Castle. ‘It’s only for a short time while I’m with the king,’ he said. ‘I have to go to Stirling, but when I return I shall bring you back to Falkland. By then, perhaps you will have learned to appreciate me more.’

At first she was pleased; it was a relief to be free of him, to call her body her own again, to have time to think; to watch the moon rise above the Bishop’s Hill and be able to plan her escape. She was allowed the run of the island and served with some state, but the men and women with her were all Malcolm’s trusted servants. Andrew and Janet, she discovered, had long ago gone to live with their son in Cupar. There was no way to reach the mainland. Bribery, cajolery, pleading and fury all failed. Her jailers were polite, even obsequious to Lady Fife, but all were adamant.

As time passed she thought she would go mad with frustration. There were no horses, no dogs, no entertainers, no gossips, no music. There were no books and no writing materials; nothing to do but eat and sleep and sit with her embroidery and mourn her children. It had been a moment of inspiration to look again into the fire and summon the visions.

She leaned closer to the flames, piling on another handful of herbs. They were too green. She should have dried them, but that would have taken days or weeks and there wasn’t time. She needed to see now. She needed to see why Alexander no longer came to her.

Her head began to spin, but it was not an unpleasant sensation. She sat back and arranged her skirts. As soon as the flames burned more brightly, the pictures would come.

She saw the horseman first. He reined in slightly, his animal prancing, its flanks steaming in the rain. She could see the wind, the thrashing banner, his hands wet on the reins.

Show me your face, please show me your face.

She bent yet closer. Who was he, this broad-shouldered man, and what was he to her? Why did she keep seeing him? But he had turned away, urging his horse forward, and he was riding on, out of her sight into the mists conjured from the flames.

Eleyne cursed softly.

Show me more, show me my future, mine!

Her head was heavy now and she felt a little sick, but there were other pictures there, shifting, changing. A man – Alexander! Her Alexander. With a whimper she reached out and she saw him smile. He stretched out his hand to her and their fingers almost touched. Then he was gone.

Her eyes were full of tears. The knowledge had been there all the time, had she been able to face the truth. Without the pendant she could not reach him and the phoenix, the precious link which held him to her, had gone, lost in the fire at Suckley.

But there were other pictures now. Children. She could see children. Several of them, playing on the beach beyond the flames. She rubbed her eyes. There were two little girls, playing by the water, intent on gathering stones and tossing them into the ripples. Joanna? Hawisa?

She half rose, a huge lump in her throat, holding out her arms. But they had gone. There was no one there, nothing but the empty sand. Tears ran down her cheeks again and she turned to look for the others. They were running away: five boys and two other girls, running, skipping towards the trees.

Come back!

She tried once more to rise to her feet but her legs were cramped and she stumbled. She could hear them laughing, the sound echoing amongst the trees. In a moment they would be out of sight. She sank back on the ground before the fire and stared at it again. But the flames were empty and dying.

‘Have you seen any children on the island?’ she asked that night.

‘Children, my lady?’ Her maid, Emmot, looked puzzled.

‘Did they come from the mainland?’

‘No boats came today, my lady, none at all.’

Eleyne did not mention them again. She had not seen their faces; she had not really heard their voices. Only as shouts, mingled with the breeze, teasing the leaves on the trees.

Two weeks later she knew that she was pregnant with Malcolm’s child.

I

It became easier each time. After a while she didn’t need the fire. As the muggy August days gave way to clear warm September she found she could see pictures in the water too. She watched the children playing in the depths of her earthenware bowl; she saw Tam Lin lying slaughtered on the ground and, through her tears, knew he had been killed quickly and mercifully because his leg was broken when he panicked in the fire. She saw the dogs gambolling in the sun and knew as she whispered their names that somehow they heard her. Sometimes she saw Joanna and Hawisa playing with them, but she could never know, never be sure, that they were alive.

Then Malcolm came. He rode from Dunfermline with gifts and wine. That night as he entered her chamber and dismissed her ladies he was eager for her, unfastening the neck of her shift and pushing it back from her shoulders with shaking hands. He saw the fullness of her breasts; slowly he raised his hands to them, cupping their heaviness in his palms.

‘You’re even more beautiful than I remembered,’ he breathed.

She woke to find him gazing at her naked body, his hand on the curve of her belly as he sat beside her on the bed. ‘You’re carrying my son.’ He sounded awed. When she nodded, he bent and kissed her stomach. ‘So soon! I shall take you back to Falkland. I want you at my side.’

He treated her as though she were made of precious glass. She wasn’t to lift a finger. He surrounded her with servants, plied her with new gowns and stayed with her every second that he could. When she asked for a Welsh harper he sent for one; when she asked for a garden to the south of the castle wall he had one dug and planted. When she asked him not to touch her any more, he backed off sheepishly and left her alone to her dreams.

II

Rhonwen put her hand again to the dagger she carried hidden in her gown and gave a grim smile. Ancret and Lyulf had come with her and it was almost as if they understood. She put her hand on Lyulf ’s head as Eleyne used to do and the dog looked up and growled a little in his throat.

She was sorry it was the Earl of Fife who had murdered Eleyne. When she had first heard the rumour that he was behind the raid which had destroyed their lives, it had been with shocked disbelief. He was the kind of man she could almost admire. She had waited silently, listening to the gossip which flew through the halls of Lady Lincoln’s castles, and at last she was convinced. Eleyne was dead. The king had ordered masses for her soul and begun to dismantle her estates, but no one was going to pursue Malcolm. No one was going to punish him. Rhonwen made her preparations.

The children were safe. With their mother dead and their father still in the Holy Land, they had been made the king’s wards and were for the time being to be reared by their cousin, the gentle Countess of Lincoln, whom Rhonwen liked and trusted. Besides, they would be safe with Annie.

Unobtrusively one night she had slipped away and set off on her grim journey north.

Before her, Falkland Castle lay in the shadow of the Lomond, the earl’s standard, depicting a mounted knight with a drawn sword, hanging limply from the Great Tower. The gates stood open. She watched a loaded wain creak slowly under the gatehouse, the shadows of the spikes of the raised portcullis falling obliquely across its load as it disappeared inside. It all looked so normal; so peaceful. Yet within the day the earl would be dead and so probably would she. Touching the dagger again, she smiled and walked forward, leading her horse.

The man-at-arms on the gate must have recognised her from her previous visits to Falkland for he did not question her. He merely smiled and waved her in. ‘Where is the earl?’ Her voice was husky with exhaustion.

‘He’s away, but the countess is here, my lady. You’ll find her in her rooms in the Great Tower.’

Rhonwen wanted no truck with Lord Fife’s countess, whoever she might be. She had nerved herself to kill – today.

The man was waving her on and another huge cart was looming in the gateway behind her and suddenly Lyulf was growling in his throat. As she stepped back out of the way of the heavy iron-bound wheels, the hound leaped away from her across the courtyard. Ancret too tore herself from Rhonwen’s restraining hand and followed him.

Rhonwen ran after them, her anger and astonishment at the dogs’ desertion mixed with a small incredulous flicker of hope. She had never seen them run like that before; not for a long time seen them look so eager or so excited.

No one challenged her as she ran up the stairs into the lower chamber of the tower. The dogs had vanished, but she ran on across the room to the stair up to the higher floors. At the doorway to the earl’s chamber she stopped, gasping for breath.

Eleyne was there, her arms around Lyulf ’s great neck, kissing the dog’s head whilst Ancret tried to push between them, licking her hands. It was a long time before she looked up, tears pouring down her face, and saw Rhonwen in the doorway. She straightened and held out her arms. ‘Rhonwen! Joanna? Hawisa? Where are they?’

The shock was so great that Rhonwen could not move, but the terror in Eleyne’s face as she misinterpreted Rhonwen’s silence catapulted her back to reality. ‘They’re safe, cariad, and well.’ For a long time the two women hugged each other in silence, with Eleyne’s ladies looking on in astonishment, then Emmot stepped forward. ‘I don’t know that my lord would want you to have visitors without his knowledge, my lady,’ she ventured timidly.

Eleyne smiled. ‘He would not object to Rhonwen.’ She turned to the eager dogs, kissing their heads in turn. ‘Oh, Rhonwen. I can’t believe you are here! I thought you were dead!’ She was crying through her laughter.

‘As I thought you.’ Rhonwen’s voice was strangely flat. ‘What happened to you? The whole world thinks you are dead. King Henry has had masses said for your soul and your lands have been redistributed. The girls have become the king’s wards.’ Her practised eyes ran over Eleyne’s figure. ‘Had you forgotten us?’

Eleyne gave a sob. ‘Forgotten! How can you say that? I was brought here against my will, forced into marriage. Guarded day and night!’

‘You’re married already. How can they force you to marry again?’ Rhonwen asked.

‘Robert is dead!’ Flinging away Rhonwen’s questioning hand Eleyne paced across the floor.

‘Dead, is it?’ Rhonwen’s voice followed her. ‘Then no one in England knows it. They say he is on his way back from Acre.’

There was a long pause.

‘Are you sure?’ Eleyne’s voice was no more than a whisper. Unconsciously her hand had gone to her belly where Malcolm’s child lay, not yet quickened, beneath her ribs.

‘When I took the children from the Lady Dervorguilla at Fotheringhay to Lady Lincoln, who has been made their guardian, she said they had sent letters to him to come back as soon as he could.’

‘Sweet Jesus!’ Eleyne stared at her appalled.

‘My lady.’ Ann Douglas, one of her new companions, had been listening in increasing distress and now she was wringing her hands. ‘It’s not true. What this woman tells you is a lie. You are married before God and the law!’

‘Am I?’ Eleyne was numb. Her joy at realising the children were safe had drained away as the full horror of the truth began to dawn on her. Malcolm’s plan had worked. The whole world thought her dead. Her children had been given to another woman and the king had reclaimed her lands. A wave of fury hit her. She shook off Ann Douglas’s restraining hand.

‘At least now I know the truth! That’s why no one looked for me; no one came to help me. I didn’t believe him! I didn’t believe people would think I was dead.’ She paused. ‘But you must be wrong about Robert. Malcolm would not have married me if he were still alive. He couldn’t have. That would be the most terrible sin.’

He had told her the truth when he said the children were alive; he had told her the truth when he had said that Henry thought her dead. This too must be the truth; it had to be. If it wasn’t, what did it make her and the child she carried?

‘You find that you like Lord Fife after all, do you, cariad?’ Rhonwen asked at last. She was staring into Eleyne’s eyes. Did her ghostly lover still visit her, or was he too forgotten? She reached surreptitiously into her bundle and touched the phoenix which lay there. But she did not give it to Eleyne.

‘Like him!’ Eleyne turned on her furiously. ‘He brought me here as a captive.’

‘You don’t look like a captive now though.’ There had been no guards save at the castle gatehouse.

‘No, because every person in this castle is my guard! She is my guard!’ She flung her arm in Ann’s direction. ‘And she.’ This time it was Emmot. ‘Every time I escaped – and I did – I was brought back. All my letters were intercepted!’ She paced the floor, solemnly followed by the two dogs who pressed close on either side of her. ‘And now I carry his child! What am I to do? Where am I to go?’ The words were a ringing challenge.

Rhonwen walked stiffly to a chair and sat down with a sigh. Perhaps after all she would still need her dagger. But the tension was pouring out of her and she felt limp and exhausted. ‘There is always Aber,’ she said wearily. ‘Young Llywelyn loves you. He would welcome you, you know that.’

Eleyne paused in her pacing. ‘Must I always run back to Aber?’

‘No, my lady!’ Ann caught her wrist. ‘Please, we love you. Your home is here at Falkland now.’

Eleyne shrugged. Only one thing mattered now. ‘Would Malcolm send for my daughters?’

Ann smiled. ‘I think he would do anything if it would make you happy, my lady.’

III

Her letters to Margaret of Lincoln went unanswered; Malcolm’s more circumspect requests to King Henry received the curt reply that, now that their mother was dead, the children had been given to their cousin’s charge and were safe and well in her care. There was no acknowledgement of Malcolm’s interest and no hint that Henry knew the identity of his new countess. There was no mention of the children’s father.

‘Be patient!’ Malcolm was bored by the whole business. ‘You’ll have another bairn soon to occupy you.’

The phrase was repeated often before he left once more for Stirling.

‘You have to go and fetch them.’ Eleyne’s patience, at best frail, had snapped. She caught Rhonwen’s hand. ‘You must go and bring them to Falkland. Malcolm will give you an escort. Steal them, kidnap them, anything. But please, please bring them. Go now, before winter sets in.’

The night before she left, Rhonwen put a small packet into Eleyne’s hands. Eleyne looked down at it. For a long time she did not move. She could feel him: Alexander. He was there beside her in the room; there between her hands; in the shadows. She closed her eyes and brought the package to her lips. ‘The phoenix?’ she said wonderingly.

Rhonwen nodded grimly. ‘I found it in the ruins of the fire.’

Eleyne unfolded the piece of soft leather and held the pendant in her palm. ‘He always said I had nothing to fear from Malcolm,’ she whispered. Her hand went to her shoulder almost as though another hand rested there – a strange, intimate gesture and Rhonwen, seeing it, suddenly smiled.

IV

Snow came at the beginning of January: drifts which blocked the roads and made riding impossible. The great fires were banked high and minstrels and harpists kept the household amused.

Eleyne slept late each morning, her body heavy and uncomfortable and constantly tired. The salt-meat diet of winter did not suit her, nor did the narrow indoor life. She wanted to ride; she wanted her children and, strangest of all in that crowded environment, with her husband beside her every night, his hand resting proprietorially on her belly, she was lonely; desperately and deeply lonely, for her lover had not returned. She had not dared to put the phoenix around her neck for fear that Malcolm would see it and recognise it. Instead she kept it hidden. But she kept it close – yet still he did not come.

One visitor came however, in the shadows and in the cold winter sunlight, a visitor who was never seen by others. The lady in black velvet was here too, only now her clothes were white and silver and she smiled, and Eleyne knew that at Falkland she was happy. ‘Who are you?’ She spoke the words out loud as the lady drifted across the snow-covered gardens, a wraith scarcely more visible than the snow itself.

Marie…

Perhaps she had imagined the name of the woman who shared her blood and whose destiny was bound with hers at Fotheringhay, at Falkland and in the bitter loneliness of Loch Leven, but her presence comforted Eleyne in the long desolate days.

Weeks passed and there was still no word from Rhonwen. At first Eleyne waited calmly, filling her days with her horses, cooped up in their stables, and organising the castle, for the first time assuming her full role as Malcolm’s wife. He responded by turning over to her the financial running of his estates. Fife was not a rich earldom, or a large one. One of the seven ancient earldoms of Scotland, it was tiny compared with the lands she had overseen as Countess of Chester, but it had power and influence in Scotland and some pretensions to be pre-eminent because of the tradition which gave the Earls of Fife the ancient right of sanctuary beneath the sacred cross of the Clan Macduff and the right to place the crown on the king’s head at his coronation.

She kept herself busy, but there was no privacy; nowhere she could go to stare into fire or water to see how Rhonwen fared; nowhere she could go to try to summon Alexander. Night after night she lay awake listening to Malcolm’s quiet, regular snores, trying to ease her body on the deep mattress as the wind howled across the central flat lands of Fife and beat against the ice-coated walls of the castle. This night in particular was colder than any before. Her back ached; her legs ached. Her heart ached. She pulled herself up on the pillows wondering if she should get up yet again to visit the garderobe. But the room was bitter. The fire, banked for the night, gave off little heat and she was reluctant to crawl from beneath the warm bedcovers. She slipped her hand beneath the pillow where she had tucked the phoenix, wrapped in a blue silk handkerchief. Easing herself once more on to her side, she closed her eyes, pressing the cold jewel against her lips.

The hand on her breast wakened her. The sheets were thrown back as though she had been dreaming, her breasts aroused. She frowned: Malcolm had up to now respected her wish not to be touched. Then she heard his snore from beside her. He was fast asleep. She lay still, confused, then she felt the touch on her breast again, as though lips caressed her in the velvety darkness. Were her eyes open or closed? She wasn’t sure. Was she awake or asleep? Again the light touch, the whisper of fingers over her breasts and down her belly, the warmth of a mouth on hers. With a secret shiver of recognition, she eased herself down on the pillows and opened her arms. She could feel his warmth, his strength, his longing and at last she felt the brush of his lips on hers as her thighs parted to receive him. Malcolm was still asleep when some time later Eleyne gave a gasp of pleasure in fulfilment of her waking dream.

He came every night after that; she never saw him and she never tried to speak, but he brought her reassurance and pleasure in her lonely bed. Then one night Malcolm awoke. For a while he lay still, aware of his wife awake in the darkness beside him. He could feel her tenseness; feel her excitement. He frowned. She had made it clear that she didn’t want him while her belly was so huge and uncomfortable, and yet he knew she was aroused. Cautiously he put out his hand and cupped it around a heavy breast.

Half-asleep, not knowing if it was a dream or reality, Eleyne turned to him. She wanted the hardness of a man inside her, his lips on her breasts, his skin on hers. Glancing at her face in the shadowy firelight he saw the hunger there and he smiled. She closed her eyes. It wasn’t Alexander. She had realised it too late. It was her husband and yet at that moment she wanted him.

He was less gentle that night than he had ever been and she responded in kind, tearing at his shoulders with her nails, sinking her teeth into the sinews of his neck, gripping his hips with her thighs as though she would suck him dry of his seed. She took no pleasure from him though and somewhere in the darkness of the room she could feel Alexander’s anger and despair. When at last he fell away from her, spent, she turned towards the wall and wrapping her arms around herself she felt the tears pouring down her face.

V

When Rhonwen arrived back the children were not with her.

‘They didn’t want to come, cariad. They love their Cousin Margaret, and they thought you were dead. Yes, yes, I told them you weren’t.’ She raised her hand as Eleyne tried to interrupt. ‘But that made it worse. Joanna got very angry; angry that you had left them. I tried to explain, again and again, but they are only little, and it has been a long time since they saw you. I know it’s unfair, but Joanna blames you. She has been hurt too much. Hawisa is too little to know anything but that she loves her sister and she loves Margaret Lincoln and they both adore Annie, who looks after them and runs a nursery of ten children!’ She smiled. ‘They are happy and secure and well looked after there – ’

‘You are telling me to leave them there – ’

‘Cariad -’

‘You are! You are telling me to leave them. To abandon them! You never cared for them because they were Robert’s children.’

‘That’s not true, and you know it.’ Rhonwen’s temper flared. ‘I love them and I love you. If you loved the devil himself, I would find him for you! But in this you have no choice.’ Rhonwen took her hands. ‘Listen to me. It’s their father’s wish that they stay.’

‘What?’ Eleyne stared at her, white-faced.

‘He has written to them. I saw the letter. He is in the service of King Louis in Acre. He told the girls that you were dead, and that their Cousin Margaret would take care of them.’

‘So. He is alive!’ Eleyne sat down heavily; she put her hand to her side.

‘He was three months ago.’

‘Then my child will be born a bastard!’ She stood up again. ‘Three months, you said? Anything could happen in three months. The war in the Holy Land is cruel, they say.’

Rhonwen watched her closely. ‘You are happy then with Lord Fife?’

‘No.’ Her reply was swift and unequivocal. ‘Resigned, perhaps. It might have been different when Hawisa and Joanna came. He’s good to me and he loves me. But I can never forgive what he did at Suckley. And he lied.’ She shook her head, her voice heavy with despair. ‘He lied about Robert’s death.’

‘No, he wouldn’t have lied about that, not when he had to make vows before the priest.’ If Alexander tolerated Malcolm, so would Rhonwen – for now. ‘He must have believed that Robert was dead. He had been away three years without a word, after all.’ Rhonwen smiled coaxingly. ‘Cariad, surely Malcolm of Fife is a thousand times a better man than Robert de Quincy. If Henry can declare you officially dead, then surely you can do the same for Sir Robert. He is dead for you. And Malcolm of Fife is now your chosen man.’

Eleyne did not deny it.

VI

As if to console her for the loss of the girls, the birth was an easy one and the baby, a boy, was a healthy, happy child. Malcolm was speechless with delight, embarrassed and astonished by the perfection of his son, touching the child’s hands with one cautious finger as if to test if he were real. Eleyne saw the wonder on his face and found herself almost liking him.

‘He’s beautiful,’ he said at last.

She smiled, exhausted but content. He was christened Colban. She had been terrified that he would want to call the baby after the king, but perhaps after all he had more tact.

As before, she recovered quickly from the birth, her muscles snapping back into place swiftly and firmly as she took once more to the saddle and the energetic life which Malcolm allowed her freely now he was confident that she no longer wanted to flee. And once more she wrote to Margaret of Lincoln.

VII

Isabella stared at the abbess. ‘I don’t believe you. I had a letter from Lady Chester less than a year ago. She said I could go to her. She promised. She said she would speak to the king…’

‘I’m sorry.’ Emma Bloet had so hoped that Isabella would settle to her retirement with the grace and dignity which her rank and position demanded. This endless struggle was wearing for them both.

‘Eleyne of Chester is dead, my dear. Nothing can change that.’

‘No, she’s my friend. She’s my sister – ’

The abbess sighed. ‘We must pray for her soul.’

‘And me? What will happen to me now?’ Isabella clasped her hands together to stop them shaking.

‘You will stay here, my daughter.’ The abbess suddenly ran out of patience. ‘In God’s house. Until you die.’

VIII

‘You’re not Michael.’

Eleyne regarded the tall, wild-haired man who stood before her, his gown still damp from the rain which beat down outside.

‘Michael the Wizard is no longer with us, my lady.’ The man bowed gravely. ‘I served him while he was in Scotland and at the court of the emperor and I learned his art. He told me you would call on him one day and that when you did I should come.’

Eleyne frowned. ‘He offered to teach me once.’ Rhonwen sat near the fire, stitching in the light of a branch of candles; otherwise they were alone in the shadowy solar. A rumble of thunder rolled around the Lomond Hills. ‘I want you to look into the future for me,’ she said slowly.

It was two years now since Colban’s birth. She had had no further word from Margaret of Lincoln, in spite of her stream of frantic letters, unaware that King Henry and John de Lacy had forbidden her to reply. Neither had she become pregnant again. Malcolm had hidden his disappointment well, but he came home to her more and more often, sometimes riding from Dunfermline only to dine and to take her to bed before setting off to the court again at dawn. She lay beneath him submissively, wanting a child as much as he did, aware that her lack of passion disappointed him and cooled his ardour, but unable to respond. Never again did she react to him as she had that night when she was pregnant with Colban, when she had released all the passion and frustration her phantom lover had aroused. She was, she supposed, content with him. She would not fight him, but that was all. For passion she looked only into the shadows.

The dark eyes scrutinised her face carefully. Adam Scot had learned well from his master: he could read her soul. ‘You have the power to see, Lady Fife, why do you not use it? Why do you resort to herbs and stars and water when you were born with the power of vision; when you were born with the ability to walk between the worlds?’

Her skin crawled with revulsion. The man’s power was tangible, reaching out to her, probing her mind. She resisted the urge to fend him off. She had after all begged for his help.

‘My powers are untrained, I cannot command them.’

‘I will train you.’ He smiled faintly.

The power frightened her, but it would give her the means to reach Joanna and Hawisa. Through it she could persuade them to ask Margaret to send them to her. And it would bring Alexander to her more often.

Feeling his eyes still on her face, she veiled her thoughts quickly. She had no desire for this dirty, unkempt man to know her most precious secrets. He gave a supercilious smile, seeing the veil and knowing already the reason; but he retreated at once. Don’t frighten her. Don’t pry. Somehow this woman held the future of the kingdom in her hand.

‘You are wondering about your children,’ he said, softening his voice. What should he tell her?

‘The truth,’ she murmured, as if she read his mind in turn.

‘The child you carry now will be a soldier.’ He smiled in triumph as he saw her look of surprise. So she didn’t even know herself about the new life in her belly. ‘He will live to full manhood and he will die gloriously in battle in the service of his king.’

Her hands went to her stomach protectively. ‘You are certain of this?’

‘It is written, my lady.’ He bowed.

‘And what of Colban? And my daughters? Can you see my daughters?’ Her voice sharpened.

He shook his head. The truth would cause her too much pain. ‘The picture there is blurred. Let me teach you, my lady, then you may seek to see them yourself.’

She looked beyond Rhonwen to the fire. ‘Sometimes I see in the flames, but they frighten me. They seem to draw me in.’ That was where Alexander waited, in the heart of the flame. He and the other – the man on horseback. She shivered.

Adam studied her gravely, ‘We must all look where the pictures come. I can help you conjure them more clearly.’

‘And Einion Gweledydd? Can you bring him to me?’ Eleyne fixed him with a cold look, aware that Rhonwen had risen to her feet at the name. The room was silent, and suddenly very cold.

Adam didn’t move; he was staring beyond her, through the castle walls into the whirling darkness and the cold rain. Einion Gweledydd had tried to warn her of what was to come and he had failed. Somewhere out there, beyond the night, his soul flailed in the darkness, seeking forgiveness and peace.

Rhonwen’s face was white. ‘Can you reach him?’ she echoed, her voice husky with fear.

Adam’s eyes focused again. ‘I will try.’ He folded his arms inside the long sleeves of his gown, and addressed Eleyne. ‘If it is truly your wish.’

Eleyne nodded faintly. ‘I must know the truth. I must know why he lied to me.’

Beyond the walls there was a moment of turmoil in the darkness – a whirlwind – which vanished across the parkland and into the forest. Adam frowned. He could feel the protest, the denial, the yearning to put right a great wrong. It spun out of nothing in the rain, spattering on the shuttered windows, then it was gone.

IX

Malcolm stood with his back to the fire, feeling the warmth drying the rain out of his clothes. He tipped the goblet of wine down his throat and held it out for a refill, sighing. The manoeuvres for power at the boy king’s court were becoming wearisome. A couple of days at Falkland and two nights in his wife’s bed would restore him. He eased his shoulders with a grunt, feeling the knotted muscles protest and he grinned at his companions. ‘We’ll hunt well tomorrow if this accursed weather improves a bit.’

‘Where is Lady Fife?’ Alan Durward asked, holding out his goblet for more wine. ‘The great hall is dull without her.’

Malcolm beckoned a servant and despatched him to Eleyne’s solar, but it was Rhonwen who came. Tall and austere, she stood gazing thoughtfully at Malcolm and he shivered. He disliked the woman intensely, though he was always careful to hide his hostility.

‘My lady has retired to bed,’ she said finally. ‘She was feeling unwell.’

‘Unwell?’

Rhonwen gave a slight smile. It was not for her to divulge a pregnancy revealed by a seer.

She was about to speak again when the door at the end of the hall burst open and a rain-soaked figure appeared. Malcolm’s eyes narrowed as he recognised John Keith, one of his most trusted messengers, a man he had despatched a month previously on yet another visit to Margaret of Lincoln, to try to persuade her to allow the children at least to visit their mother.

Keith pushed his way through the crowds huddled around the great fires in the hall, until he had reached Malcolm. Without ceremony, he pulled him to one side. ‘I have to talk to you in private.’

‘What is it, man?’ Malcolm looked around angrily; they were out of earshot of his men. ‘Speak up.’

‘Robert de Quincy is in London.’ John Keith lowered his voice.

Malcolm went white. Over the years the rumours had persisted that de Quincy was alive, but he had not let himself believe them. He dared not let himself believe them. Nothing could be permitted to jeopardise his marriage.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Aye, he’s at Henry’s court. And he has visited your wife’s children.’

Malcolm cursed. ‘By Our Lady! I can’t believe it!’ He banged his fists together in fury.

‘Lord Fife.’ Rhonwen’s quiet voice at his elbow made him swing round, cursing again. Her eyes were almost colourless in the firelight and he felt a superstitious shiver run up his spine. She had heard, God damn it! She had heard!

She smiled coldly at him. ‘My lady would not welcome Sir Robert’s return,’ she said. ‘She should not be told.’ Those clear, fathomless eyes met his and held them. ‘Not until he is dead.’

Malcolm resisted the urge to cross himself. Sweet Christ, the woman actually frightened him! ‘It seems our thoughts run on the same road, Lady Rhonwen.’

She nodded. ‘It should be done without delay.’

So, she was on his side after all. He looked at John Keith. ‘The man is presumably shriven by his visit to the Holy Land. He is prepared for death. Let it come to him – swiftly.’

John Keith bowed. His face was grim. ‘I’ll see to it, my lord.’

Malcolm nodded curtly. ‘And see to it also that no one knows how or why it came.’

Keith grinned. ‘Not even Sir Robert himself will know that, my lord,’ he said.

I

‘Ishall come with you.’

John Keith turned in surprise at the soft voice at his elbow as he prepared to mount his horse. It was the countess’s nurse, the Lady Rhonwen.

‘My lord’s orders are that I should ride fast. I go on his business.’

‘I know your business, Master Keith,’ she replied. ‘And I shall come with you.’ Her smile made his blood run cold.

It took five days to reach London, changing horses frequently along the road. Once there, Rhonwen led the way to the house in Gracechurch Street. It belonged now to Dervorguilla Balliol, who had inherited it on Countess Clemence’s death four years before, but Rhonwen was still welcome there. It was dark when they rode into the courtyard and the gates closed behind them.

He had planned an attack in the street – quick, easy and anonymous, as would be his escape, but Rhonwen shook her head. A knife in the ribs was too quick. Too easy. Too anonymous. She wanted him to know where his death came from and she had it all planned. A bolt of finest silk from Luned’s stock was to be the bait.

As he woke up, Robert realised it was St Gilbert’s Day: February the fourth, a dismal day, a day of ill omen. Not a day when he would normally have undertaken any enterprise more energetic than climbing out of bed and pouring himself a goblet of wine. Nevertheless, the bargains he had been promised by the whispering servant the day before were very hard to resist. How could it be unlucky to go abroad when such riches had been vaunted? Silk. The finest, and at a ludicrous price. He found his way to the empty shop at the back of Paul’s and left his servant outside with the horses as instructed. When he recognised Rhonwen, the door behind him was already bolted.

She had spread the silk across the table. ‘Do you like it?’ She stood, arms folded, watching him. John Keith, by the door, had the dirk ready.

Robert glanced at the fabric. Soft and sensuous, a beautiful scarlet, it was the colour of blood. His mouth suddenly dry, he nodded. His own dagger was in the scrip at his belt beneath his cloak. He took a couple of steps back towards the door. ‘I hear my wife has run off with yet another lover,’ he blustered with a sneer. ‘Didn’t you go with her, Lady Rhonwen? Is she finally tired of your murdering, heathen ways?’

Rhonwen smiled. ‘She knows nothing of my murdering ways, Sir Robert. Nothing. But you, on the other hand, are about to find out all about them.’ She still hadn’t moved.

He had seen the silent man by the door. He was slightly built, but wiry; strong, Robert calculated. He wished he hadn’t drunk so much the night before. The bitch was dangerous as a viper, and probably as quick. He eased his hand towards his dagger, but John Keith was too quick for him. Before Robert realised what had happened, the Scotsman had his dirk at his throat. ‘Keep still,’ he growled, ‘and do as she says.’

Rhonwen still hadn’t moved. His neck drawn back, rigid with fear before the gleaming blade, Robert’s eyes slid sideways to her face.

Again she smiled. She stepped towards the table. ‘I’m glad you like the silk. It shall be your shroud.’ From beneath the soft folds she produced a length of rope.

He paled. ‘You daren’t touch me – ’

‘No?’ She coiled it over her arm, stroking the twisted hemp.

It took them only a few moments to tie his hands behind him and drag him to the upright beam in the middle of the dusty floor. He was struggling violently, but they managed it at last, hobbling his legs and pushing a rag into his mouth to stop him shouting for his servants.

Rhonwen stood back calmly and surveyed him. ‘See how you like it, my lord, being tied and helpless. Does it give you pleasure when it is done to you?’ She saw the fear in his eyes.

‘What else did you do to her, my lord?’ she went on quietly. ‘Oh, she never told me. She never told anyone. She was too ashamed. But do you think I don’t know? Did you think you would get away with it? You are going to be very sorry that the infidel hordes did not get their hands on you, my lord, because what I am going to do to you is a thousand times worse than anything they have thought of.’

Without looking at John Keith, she held out her hand; her meaning was clear. He put the dirk into it. He was beginning to feel a little sick himself. This wasn’t what he had in mind. A knife in the ribs. A throat cut in a back alley. That was a man’s work, but this…

Carefully keeping his face impassive he stepped back and folded his arms. He had the feeling she didn’t need him any more.

By the time she had finished he had vomited in the corner, his ears ringing with Robert’s stifled screams, muffled at last to a dying gurgle as she forced his severed genitals into his mouth.

The silence that followed was as appalling as the noise had been. John Keith stared at her, the bile still rising in his gorge. He had seen many men die; he had killed a few himself, but never had he seen anyone kill with such slow and calculated hatred.

She was covered in blood, but her face was impassive as she wiped clean the dirk and held it out to him. ‘I shall change,’ she said calmly, ‘then we can ride north. Go down and fetch my saddlebag, and while you are there send his servants away. Tell them he is riding with us to Fotheringhay. By the time someone finds the body we shall be in Scotland. Well, go on, man. What are you waiting for?’

His hands were shaking. Sweet Christ but there had been true madness in her eyes! He nodded. What matter how it was done? Lord Fife had been obeyed.

‘John.’ Her voice was gentle now. ‘He hurt my lady very badly.’ It was all she offered by way of explanation.

II

Eleyne looked up from the fodder accounts she was studying as Malcolm walked in, her mind still full of the price of oats and hay, beans and pease and horsebread. He stood for a moment with a strange expression on his face. She tried to read it. He was still a good-looking man, but more grizzled now and hardened. ‘What is it, what has happened?’

He did not answer. His gaze slid from her face to her belly; in its fourth month now, the pregnancy had just begun to show.

‘We have to ride to St Andrews.’

‘Why?’ She put down her pen, stretching cramped fingers.

‘I have to see the archdeacon.’

‘And do I need to come?’

‘I think you do.’

She walked to his side. ‘What has happened, Malcolm?’ She had never seen him like this – tense, excited, his muscles taut, like a man about to ride into battle.

He smiled at her. ‘Get ready, my love. We ride at once.’

‘Is it the bishop? Has he returned from exile?’ Bishop Gamelin, the government’s choice for Bishop of St Andrews, had fled abroad two years before.

He shook his head. ‘Our business is with the archdeacon.’

III

It was cold and stormy. The Castle of St Andrews, on its bleak promontory, rose dark in the early twilight. Below it, the sea crashed on the fingers of rock which stretched into it, crawling back in an uneasy lace of foam, then hurling itself again against the low hollow cliffs below the outer castle wall. Inside, the high stone created an oasis of quiet shelter out of the wind.

The archdeacon met them in the gatehouse. He bowed as Malcolm greeted him. ‘All is ready, my lord.’

‘Is it to be in the cathedral?’

‘Aye, my lord, all is arranged.’ He gave Eleyne a tight smile. ‘Would you like to rest first, my lady, after your long ride?’

‘Thank you, archdeacon, I shall rest later. First I want to know what is happening.’ Eleyne turned to her husband. ‘I think it is time you told me why we are here.’ She surveyed his face, her eyes steady.

The archdeacon shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Malcolm frowned. ‘We are to be married.’

‘Married?’ Eleyne was stunned, too astonished even to speak.

‘It appears I was misinformed when I was told originally that your husband had died,’ he went on gruffly. ‘Now I have absolute proof of his death. This marriage is to seal the bond between us without any possibility of doubt.’

Eleyne was silent for a moment. ‘When did he die?’ she asked at last. There was no sadness, only a cold curiosity and relief.

‘I believe he died in London,’ Malcolm replied. Cautiously he glanced at her face.

She met his gaze. ‘How did he die?’

‘Of a fever I understand, but whatever the reason, he is dead now without a doubt. We have come here to be absolved of any sin in our bigamous union, to marry again, to confirm that all is legal beyond question and to confirm that Colban is my legitimate heir. We ride to Edinburgh tomorrow, where I shall have a private audience with the king. He has agreed to sign a document to confirm the church’s blessing on the house of Fife and I shall have it sealed with the great seal as confirmation of Colban’s legitimacy.’

‘I see.’ Eleyne’s voice was bleak. ‘So, for the last four years I have been your whore.’

‘No, my lady, no.’ The archdeacon stepped forward. ‘You married in good faith in the belief you were a widow. This must be the substance of your confession. God and Our Blessed Lady will look kindly on your sin. You will be absolved.’

‘By you?’ She drew herself up and turned to Malcolm. ‘You kidnapped me, you raped me and you forced me into marriage. But it is my sin we come here to absolve.’ Her voice was heavy. ‘And I suppose mine will be the penance as well.’

The two men glanced at each other. ‘Lord Fife was not already married, my lady,’ the archdeacon said uncomfortably.

‘No.’ Eleyne resisted the urge to put her hand protectively over the gentle swelling of her stomach.

‘Your penance will not be arduous, my lady,’ the archdeacon went on, ‘Lord Fife has assured me of your innocence and the chaste nature of your love.’ He looked at the ground.

‘Let’s get on with it!’ Malcolm was growing restless. ‘I want it done as soon as possible.’ He turned to the door.

The storm was increasing. In the great cathedral the candles flickered and streamed, spattering wax across the floor tiles as they let themselves in by the passdoor set into the huge oak doors at the west end. The archdeacon led the way to a side chapel, the sound of his sandals lost in the echoes as the monks in the choir sang vespers.

Eleyne stood, the rain dripping off her cloak, gazing at the altar as more candles were lit. The chapel was dedicated to St Margaret. Seven years before Scotland’s blessed queen had been elevated at last to full sainthood and chapels dedicated to her all over the country.

For Colban’s sake, and for the sake of her unborn child, she would go through with this ceremony; she would confess to a sin which was none of her making; she would marry Malcolm to secure their legitimacy and she would if necessary go down on her knees before her godson and beg his connivance for Colban’s sake.

As she knelt before the archdeacon and received his gabbled absolution and accepted with bowed head the penance he imposed, she felt no awe and no relief. The storm that crashed over their heads and threw the sea against the rocks showed the displeasure of the gods; no meek Virgin, no saintly queen, could absolve fate for depriving her of her king, the man she loved. Had Robert de Quincy died nine years before she could have been Alexander’s queen.

IV

Macduff, Eleyne’s second son by the Earl of Fife, was born on a soft, balmy day full of the sweetness of flowers. She gazed at the child in her arms and smiled at this small scrap, destined, if Adam was to be believed, for a career as a soldier and a glorious death in battle in the fullness of his years. She pulled open the neck of her shift and put the small questing mouth to her breast, feeling at once the eager tug which brought the strange cramps to her womb. The wetnurse had been ready these last two weeks, with her own child at her heavy breast. She frowned; if the countess decided to feed the baby herself, she would not be paid and her other children would starve.

Adam would tell her no more about Macduff ’s future, and about Colban he had spoken little. As he cast the boy’s horoscope, he saw no long life or happiness. He saw a line blighted and doomed; he saw storms and lightning and blood. Closing his books and setting aside his charts and tables, he concentrated instead on Eleyne. It was her future which fascinated him. As Einion had done before him, he saw the promise of a destiny far beyond the small kingdom of Fife.

He taught her all he knew. She was quick to understand the science of astrology; she was adept at divination; she already knew more than he of herbs and their powers. But there were areas where she would not go. One of them was the fire.

‘But it’s your natural element, my lady. It’s where the pictures come,’ he argued. ‘I can show you how to see the future in water, or in the flights of birds, or in your dreams, but in the fire you will see your destiny written.’ She was adamant however. She did not feel able to face the fire. She shielded her dreams from him deliberately. He could read nothing of them. Once or twice he had tried to probe, delicately trying to read her soul, but she had flinched as though he had touched raw flesh and he drew back.

She was still not sure whether they were dreams or whether Alexander came to her in reality. Sometimes he came as she lay in bed beside her sleeping husband, but more often it was when she slept alone, as the beam of moonlight crept across the floor and slid between the curtains of the bed, or the early dawn light, cold and grey as the sea, touched her face. It was then she felt his lips on hers, his hands on her breasts and, lying sleepy and acquiescent, she would feel her thighs part at his command.

V

King Alexander III had had enough of politics for that morning. The touchy, raw-tempered lords of his court were like so much kindling on a fire-swept moor: one spark and they would be at one another’s throats again. But agreement was close between the opposing parties in the government at last, and Lord Menteith and Lord Mar, for one faction, stood on one side of him, with Durward on his other side, as the Earl of Fife led his wife up the hall.

Alex greeted Eleyne with alacrity. ‘Aunt Eleyne, I want you to see my new horse.’ He grinned at her conspiratorially. ‘You know more about horses than any of my advisers.’

Eleyne laughed. ‘I am flattered you should think so, sire.’

‘Lady Fife.’ Queen Margaret had put her hand on her husband’s arm as she leaned forward. A pretty, bubbly, good-natured girl, she was still a child whilst her husband was at last becoming a man, and horses bored her except as a means of transport. ‘We shall all visit the stables presently, no doubt, but first you must meet my latest adoring squire.’ Giggling, she put her hand out to the young man who had been sitting on the dais at her feet. ‘Donald, this is Lady Fife.’

The Earl of Mar’s son was tall, dark-haired like his father, and astonishingly handsome, Eleyne noticed with unconscious approval as with the shy grace of a young mountain stag he scrambled to his feet and bowed over her hand.

‘If you capture his heart, Aunt Eleyne, he will write you a poem.’ The king chuckled good-naturedly. ‘He bombards my wife with them.’

With a glance at the glowering face of the Earl of Mar at the king’s shoulder, Eleyne smiled at the young man. He was at least a year or two older than the king, and she could see he was the focus of much covert interest on the part of the queen’s ladies.

‘Then I shall have to set out to capture his heart,’ she said at once. ‘I love poems, and it is many years since anyone wrote one for me.’

Donald glanced at her shyly: ‘My heart is pledged to the queen, my lady,’ he said with quiet dignity, ‘but if she permits it, I shall write you the most beautiful poem in the world.’

Eleyne’s attention was caught. There was a strength in his voice and a calm confidence in his words which spoke of maturity far beyond his years.

Margaret giggled. ‘Do it, Donald, I beg you. You have my permission to dedicate your next hundred poems to Lady Fife. I already have far too many.’ She rose, bustling cheerfully, and did not notice the crestfallen look in the young man’s eyes. ‘Come on, let’s go to the stables. I’m bored with so much talk.’

As they turned to follow King Alexander from the dais, Lord Mar stepped forward. He knew his son was the object of much admiration among the ladies of the court and he had encouraged his friendship with the young king and queen and watched it flourish with a benevolent eye, but as he saw Donald raise Eleyne’s hand to his lips he scowled. He drew his son to one side as the party made its way towards the stables.

‘Keep away from Eleyne of Fife, my boy,’ he murmured. ‘She causes nothing but trouble wherever she goes.’

‘I only offered to write her a poem, father. I serve the queen, you know that.’

William of Mar looked heavenwards, and Lord Buchan, next to him, grinned sympathetically. The boy was obsessed with the notion of courtly love. Let be. A few months in the cold northern mountains with a sword in his hand and the icy highland rain pouring down his neck would soon cure that.

VI

Eleyne was sitting in the window of the chamber at Dunfermline, staring south across the silver Forth. While Malcolm was involved in yet another round of talks with Menteith, Mar and Durward, becoming more angry and frustrated daily, she was expected to sit with the queen and the other ladies, but this time she had pleaded a headache. She was missing her children. Colban at three and a half an adorable puppy of a child, and little Macduff, only three months old and now in the care of his wetnurse and of Rhonwen, had remained at Falkland. Besides, since Queen Marie and her new French husband had joined the court the atmosphere had chilled rapidly. The carefree giggling coterie had changed into a solemn, hostile group whose eyes seemed to watch her whenever she entered the queen’s presence.

The castle was quiet, their chamber deserted. The servants were elsewhere and she had sent her own ladies down to the hall. For the first time in a long while she was completely alone.

She looked behind her into the silent room and felt a sudden catch in her throat. He was here: Alexander, her Alexander. She always felt closer to him at Dunfermline than anywhere else, but he had never come to her here. Not like this. She felt a breath on her cheek, the slightest brush against her breast and a whisper in the shadows. Obediently she rose and walked towards the bed, sleepily, languid with the autumn heat, already opening the front of her gown.

The quiet knock seemed part of her daydream, no more. She glanced lazily across the room and smiled.

The knock came a second time, louder. As suddenly as it had come, the presence in the room had gone. She was once more alone. Hastily adjusting her gown, she called to come in.

The door opened and Donald of Mar peered round it.

‘My Lady Eleyne? They told me you weren’t well. The queen said I should bring you my poem…’ He blushed, still holding the ring of the door handle.

Eleyne’s irritation vanished. With a smile, she beckoned him in. Alexander – her own tiny dead Alexander – would be this young man’s age now if he had lived. ‘As you see, I am quite alone and very bored. I should love to hear your poem, sir.’ Her ghostly visitor was forgotten. She did not feel the anguish in the room, or sense the chill as she gestured Donald towards a stool. It did not occur to her to call for a chaperone.

He came into the chamber and closed the door with care. The roll of parchment was tucked into his girdle, but although he brought it out he did not need to read it. He had his poem by heart.

Eleyne listened. His voice was deep and musical and the words had power and beauty. She listened, amused and touched, unaware that her near encounter with her phantom lover had left her eyes huge and lustrous and brought a colour and softness to her skin which reminded Donald of the innermost part of the delicate petal of sweet eglantine.

After he finished there was a long silence. The words had been in places stylised and clumsy, but running through them was a note of sensuousness which made her catch her breath. ‘You are a true poet, Donald,’ she said at last. ‘Such men are greatly honoured in my country.’

He smiled gravely. ‘As they are in Scotland, Lady Eleyne, though not if they are the eldest son of an earl.’ The bitterness in his voice did not suit his handsome face and clear grey eyes.

‘Your father does not like having a poet for a son?’ she asked, surprised.

‘It’s not that. Squires are supposed to write poetry and play court to their lady. Only – ’

‘Only they should not be so good at it, perhaps,’ she prompted.

He laughed, half embarrassed, half pleased. ‘I don’t enjoy the lists or the quintain. You’ll think me a girl for that.’ He went on shyly: ‘You ride better than most men, my lady.’

‘I’ve never ridden in a tournament though,’ she teased. ‘I don’t think I should acquit myself well there. Please, recite another poem.’

‘Really?’ He tried to hide his eagerness.

‘Really,’ she insisted.

He came often after that. New poems in her honour followed hard upon one another’s heels and then, shyly presented, gifts. A rose; a ribbon; a ring of gold and sea pearls.

Malcolm roared with laughter. ‘The pup is besotted! Have a care, my dear, or the queen will be jealous. He has stopped writing for her, you know! In fact he barely looks at her now.’

Ridiculously, Eleyne felt herself blushing. Donald was no pup. Youthful though he might be, he was a man and she was half shocked, half intrigued by her reaction to him. His attraction was tangible and the more she saw of him, the harder she found it to resist him.

‘The boy is a poet,’ she said defensively. ‘He would recite poems to anyone who listens and the queen is too busy.’

‘And you are not.’

They looked at each other in silence: the usual gulf had opened between them. Malcolm looked away first. ‘I am returning to Falkland when the court moves to Stirling,’ he said abruptly. ‘There is business which requires my attention. The king and queen have asked that you remain with them; no doubt they want you to write to Prince Llywelyn or speak to his ambassador, who I understand is on his way, so I shall leave you to your poet.’ He laughed harshly. ‘Be gentle with him, my dear. Remember, he is only a boy.’

He was still laughing as he vaulted on to his horse and rode away.

VII

In the great hall at Stirling Donald sought her out. As usual, there was a group around the young king, and the Earl of Mar was amongst them. Eleyne saw him look across at his son and then at her; his expression was thoughtful.

‘Your husband has not come to Stirling?’ Donald’s voice was painfully eager; he did not like Malcolm’s teasing.

Eleyne shook her head.

‘And you are not going to follow him?’ Suddenly the reason for the anxiety in the young man’s eyes was apparent.

Impulsively Eleyne laid her hand on Donald’s sleeve. ‘No, I am staying here, I don’t want to be parted from my poet.’ She was aware suddenly that she spoke the truth; she was becoming dangerously fond of this young man. He represented so much that her soul craved: poetry; chivalry; charm. He was young, romantic. What woman could resist such a combination after years with Robert and then with Malcolm? ‘I shall command that you attend me faithfully and wait on my every whim.’ Her voice took on a note of mock sternness. ‘When we go tomorrow with the king and queen for our banquet in the forest, I shall want you to be my squire.’

Donald’s face cleared. He bowed low, with a little flourish of his hand. ‘I am yours to command, lady.’

The picnic had been arranged as a distraction for the king and queen, a relief from the monotony of grey council meetings and the quarrels of the leading members of the court. A clearing had been chosen in the king’s park and spread with cloths, and from dawn baskets of food and wine had been carried out for the feast. Cooking fires had been lit hours before. Musicians, tumblers, troubadours and minstrels were clustered beneath the trees waiting for the guests to appear in all their finery.

It was a hot, airless day. The trees still threw a heavy shade across the grass, though a carpet of crisp golden leaves lay across the parched sward, and the men and women who trooped out of the castle sought it eagerly, seating themselves around the food-laden cloths. The air was loud with talk and laughter and soon the cheerful notes of pipe and drum, harp and fiddle echoed beneath the trees.

Eleyne watched Donald, aware that several other wistful pairs of eyes were fixed on the handsome son of the Earl of Mar. She was amused as the young man piled food on to her manchet, choosing from each great trencher what he considered the most succulent portions. He was wearing a new gown of dark green fabric tied with a simple leather girdle and he had brushed his hair until it shone. His beard was scant, but carefully trimmed, and in the scrip at his belt she guessed there would be another gift. She knew that she should discourage him. She knew that she was playing with fire, but she could not stop herself.

Most of the ladies at the English court played at love. They encouraged their admirers to write them poetry; they accepted gifts. They flirted and sang and laughed with their adoring swains, and wore their favours at the tournaments. It meant nothing; husbands turned a blind eye; it was the accepted way.

Here in Scotland it was the same, surely, though the court was less light-hearted. The factions which had torn the government this way and that for the last ten years were reflected in a certain grimness which permeated the atmosphere. It was that which had upset the little queen and distressed her father King Henry when he heard of it, and which Lords Menteith and Mar and their advisers were trying to alleviate with parties like this one. Eleyne saw the royal pair seated on their chairs beneath an oak tree, from which was suspended the royal canopy of state. Queen Marie was with them, her husband a little apart. The little queen was too thin, her face pinched and white. Eleyne felt a shiver of unease as she looked at her.

Something touched her hand and she glanced down. Donald’s long sensitive fingers lay over her own, then he moved his hand. ‘Your food, my lady,’ he said softly, ‘it grows cold.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You were staring at the queen as though you saw a ghost,’ Donald went on. He had seen the colour drain from her face.

Eleyne shook her head hastily. ‘I was thinking of other things. Come, distract me. You must pay with a poem before I permit you to eat!’

She watched him as he recited, picking only lethargically at her food. The planes of his handsome face had not yet hardened into full manhood. Above the beard his cheeks still had the soft bloom of youth, unmarred by the acne which disfigured some of his contemporaries, and she found herself longing to touch the curve of his cheek.

His poem done, he threw himself down beside her on the rug and reached for his food. There was nothing pale or romantic about his appetite. He ate like a horse, addressing his meal with enthusiasm. Eleyne hid a smile and pushed her own helping towards him. It was a shame to waste the succulent pieces he had chosen with such care.

When the meal was done many settled themselves to sleep in the shade as the harper stroked his instrument into a lazy lullaby. Eleyne felt restless, and scrambling to her feet, she held out her hand to Donald. ‘Shall we walk amongst the trees? It’s cooler in the forest. I have no desire to sit and listen to a hundred people belch and then lie down to snore.’

She didn’t wait to see if he had followed. The cool shade of the forest closed around her almost at once and within a few paces she was out of earshot of the music. The silence of the afternoon was suffocating; tangible. Every creature in the forest slept. Running her hand around the back of her neck, she lifted the weight of her hair in the snood and veil which covered her head, and turned to smile at Donald close behind her. She had left the phoenix tucked into the bottom of her coffer.

‘I imagine you would rather be swimming naked in the burn than walking here with me.’ She leaned against a tree trunk, aware of the damp perspiration below her breasts.

‘No, I would rather be nowhere else on earth.’ He stepped towards her. ‘My lady. Eleyne – ’

‘No, Donald.’ Aware of the expression on his face, she raised her hand. The intensity of passion in the young man’s eyes frightened her.

What would you have done if your lover had beckoned you one night and kissed you in the shadows beneath the moon? What if he beguiled you away from everyone else on a ride and you found yourself alone with him…

From somewhere at the back of her memory came the echo of the conversation she had had with her mother all those years before when Joan had spoken to her about William de Braose. At last she understood her mother’s terrible plight. Oh yes, at last she understood.

‘Eleyne, please.’ Donald’s voice broke through her reverie. ‘I love you so much. Surely you can grant me one small kiss?’

‘No, Donald.’ She ached to reach out to him. ‘No,’ she repeated, more softly this time. This was no longer a chivalric pretence of love. ‘It would not be right; I’m old enough to be your mother.’ Neither of them noticed that she had not mentioned her husband.

She pushed herself away from the tree and ducked past him, running a few steps down the grassy ride.

‘You will never look old to me, my lady,’ Donald called after her. ‘On the day you are a hundred, you will be as beautiful as a new budded rose and I shall kiss your eyelids and your lips as velvet petals in the sunlight.’

Eleyne suppressed a smile. She had to stop this now or he was going to get hurt. ‘Donald -’ she said.

He shook his head sternly. ‘Only one kiss, my lady, that’s all I crave. You wouldn’t deny me that, surely?’

She know that however much she enjoyed his company and his gifts and his poems and his compliments, however much fun it was to be courted and wooed and worshipped with such open admiration, however attractive she found him, she had to put a stop to it now. ‘No, Donald, we should go back to the others.’

‘Soon.’ He was standing between her and the path which led back to the clearing. ‘First I demand a forfeit for cutting short our walk.’ His voice was light but his eyes were serious as he stepped towards her.

‘Donald,’ she said uncertainly.

‘Ssssh!’ He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her to him. ‘Just one forfeit.’

His lips were cool and firm on hers. There was nothing boyish or diffident about him now. The hands which held her were those of a man. Shocked, she was overwhelmed by the wave of longing which swept through her, the temptation to abandon herself to his embrace. When she pushed him away, she was trembling. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, Donald. We must go back to the others.’

The forest had suddenly become very cold. The sun had vanished and a small spiteful whirlwind had whipped the dead leaves into spinning, dusty vortices. Uncomfortably Eleyne looked round. She could feel the anger in the air like a lightning charge, and she was afraid. ‘Donald,’ she said, ‘we flirted, you wrote me beautiful poems and I am flattered. But it can never be more than that.’ She tried to make her voice gentle, to cover the raw ache he had awakened in her. ‘Be sensible. It’s too dangerous. You must find someone to marry.’ A girl your own age, she was about to say, but the words stuck in her throat. She turned from him and began to walk back towards the clearing, conscious that the atmosphere was lightening.

‘Eleyne.’ Donald had not moved. He didn’t even raise his voice. ‘One day you will change your mind.’

She didn’t look back.

The following day, with the king’s permission, she rode back to Falkland.

VIII

The moonlight falling through the narrow window poured across the bed. Eleyne stared at it sleepily, listening to the steady breathing of the man who slept beside her. Malcolm groaned as though he felt the moonlight with pain and he shrugged the shadowy covers over him. Eleyne lay still, waiting for him to settle again.

Alexander… she was calling the name in her head.

Alexander, where are you?

She stirred restlessly, her fingers reaching for the phoenix beneath her pillow, feeling the moonlight lapping over her, seductive, secret, touching her body with warmth and longing.

Alexander.

But the shadows were empty.

IX

Robert Bruce, since his father’s death Lord of Annandale, and since his mother’s death two years before vastly richer for her share of the great Chester estates, arrived at Falkland a week later.

‘Aunt Eleyne!’ He kissed her fondly, his irrepressible humour and energy a tangible aura around him. ‘How are you?’ He noticed her pale, tired face. ‘What have you been up to?’

‘Getting married, having babies, getting old, nephew,’ she replied tartly.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘A new husband already? Have you grown tired of poor old Malcolm, then?’

She laughed in spite of herself. ‘It was poor old Malcolm I married – again.’ She sighed. The story had not become general gossip. Robert de Quincy’s death had gone unremarked in Scotland. She had heard none of the rumours which had swept London after his vicious murder until they had been replaced by some other newer scandal. ‘Enough, Rob, it’s a long story. Tell me, how are you? How is your beautiful wife?’

Robert was married to Isabel, a daughter of the Earl of Clare and Gloucester and niece of the earl marshal. Fifteen months after their marriage in 1240, she had produced a son. Mother and child were, between them, Robert’s pride and joy. ‘She’s well, and Robbie thrives, though I could wish he had a bit more energy and spirit. You must come and stay with us at Lochmaben, Aunt Eleyne. I know they would love to see you.’ He paused. ‘You haven’t been there since mama died, have you? You must miss her.’

Eleyne smiled sadly, ‘I was very fond of your mother.’ She put her head on one side. ‘Are you going to call me Aunt Eleyne when we’re both seventy, Rob?’

‘Undoubtedly, and you will call me nephew – and give me a penny on my birthday.’ He sighed. ‘And now to the reason for my visit. I have brought messages from the court for Malcolm. A great deal has happened since you both returned here and buried yourselves in the country.’ He looked at her quizzically. ‘The factions around the king are at one another’s throats again. The Earls of Mar and Menteith have more or less captured him. Durward has fallen from power.’

‘When?’ Sternly Eleyne suppressed the longing which the name of Mar was able to induce. She did not allow herself to think about Donald. ‘Why haven’t we heard about this?’ She was shocked.

‘It happened last month.’

‘That won’t please Malcolm.’

‘No.’ Robert narrowed his eyes. Anything that befell the king was of especial interest to him. Since the birth of his cousins, Hugh and John Balliol, Dervorguilla’s sons, he was no longer heir presumptive to the throne. They were the grandsons of his mother’s elder sister, but he still harboured a secret ambition; he had come too close to the throne to lose sight of it now, and whilst Alexander was still childless anything might happen.

Malcolm was, as predicted, angry at the news, but he had to accept the situation just as Durward himself had done. None of them had been with the king when Mar and Menteith had struck. Had they been there, perhaps things would have been different. He nursed his fury over the winter, but was somewhat mollified when Lord Menteith came to Falkland to see them, though not when he knew why.

‘The King of England has ordered his northern barons to prepare to come north and fight us,’ Menteith said curtly. ‘He wants to interfere in the regency again, making his daughter’s unhappiness his excuse. Not that she is unhappy,’ he interrupted himself. ‘My view is that there is no chance that he will do it – he has distractions enough in the south – but it is King Alexander’s wish that we form an alliance with our neighbours in Wales. We are entering into negotiations with your nephew, Prince Llywelyn, my lady.’ He turned to Eleyne as the true reason for his visit emerged. ‘Although your husband does not support our government, we know that you are both loyal to King Alexander. Would you be prepared to write in our favour to the prince?’ He eyed her cautiously: her face was tired, but he could see her beauty still; the beauty which had captivated a king. He had heard that she had been passionate in the Welsh cause once, and if he could enlist her help he would have a stronger hand.

Eleyne returned his gaze. The man was tall, lean, his face grim. There was no attempt to charm her into supporting him. She suspected he had been one of those who had dissuaded Alexander from marrying her, yet she knew his request made sense for Scotland and for Wales. She nodded. ‘I shall write to him for you, Lord Menteith; such a union would have my complete blessing.’

Menteith bowed slightly. ‘King Alexander will be grateful for your help, my lady. He…’ He hesitated almost imperceptibly. ‘Although he is only sixteen he is rapidly becoming his own man and it is his wish that the different factions in this country unite.’

X

When Malcolm was summoned to the king’s council at Roxburgh Eleyne went with him, leaving the boys with Rhonwen yet again.

Donald of Mar was at the castle with his father; he was attending the council meetings, attentive, serious, and waiting once more upon the queen. The young man had grown taller; his shoulders had broadened and the beard which before had been thin now framed his face, giving it strength. Eleyne studied him covertly, shocked and half amused to find that her heart was beating faster than normal. He did not appear to have seen her, but that evening, as she sat with some of the other ladies, embroidering as they listened to the songs of a French trouvère, a note was pressed into her hand.

The queen’s garden at the hour of vespers. It was unsigned.

Donald had his back to her as he talked animatedly to Lord Buchan. She tucked the note inside her gown; there could be no question of doing as it asked.

XI

‘You came.’

The whisper in the darkness came from behind her. At first she had thought the garden empty. The narrow gravelled paths were raked smooth in the moonlight and the shadow of the castle wall cut a harsh diagonal across the regular beds of herbs.

She turned slowly. ‘I came.’

‘I knew you would. Lord Fife doesn’t know?’

‘Of course not.’ She held her breath: what was she doing here, trysting with him in a moonlit garden?

She had tried to put Donald out of her mind over the past months, but time and again the memory of his kiss had come back to her. She had burned his note – but she had come. Was it the excitement she could not resist? Or the thought of an illicit rendezvous? Or was it her longing for Donald himself, for his charm, his good looks, his consideration, his gentleness, and the memory of that kiss?

Donald had exhaled audibly. He took a step nearer and she saw he was holding a frosted white rosebud in his hand. ‘For you.’ He proffered it and she took it with a smile.

Donald looked down at the flower. He wanted to tell Eleyne that she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen; she was so gracious, so lovely, so flawless in spite of the burn marks on her face and hands. He longed to kiss her, to feel her skin beneath his lips. She was so voluptuous compared with the maidens whom his parents paraded before him; so cool and composed compared to the queen’s ladies who giggled and simpered and ogled him behind their hands. Sweet Blessed Virgin, how he wanted her!

He frowned, torn. He must not, could not, think of her like that, she was a perfect wife, chaste, pure, the mother of two little boys, yet here she was in front of him in the moonlight, here in obedience to his summons. He clenched his fists and raised his eyes.

‘This is madness.’ She could feel him, that other presence, her king, her phantom lover, nearby. He was angry. The air crackled with cold impotent fury.

Donald smiled and nodded, holding out his hands to her. ‘I want you,’ he said helplessly.

She almost went to him. She reached out her hand, then lowered it. ‘Donald – ’

‘I’m sorry.’ He made a supreme effort to control himself. ‘I had no right, forgive me.’

‘There’s nothing to forgive.’ She smiled. ‘What woman could be angry with you?’

Reaching up she kissed him, once, lightly on the cheek, then, turning, she fled.

XII

William of Mar was pacing up and down the room when Donald appeared. He swung to face his son. ‘So there you are. Where have you been?’

Donald took a step back at the anger in his father’s voice. ‘With the horses, father.’ His face coloured slightly.

‘The horses or the whore?’ William’s voice dropped to a hiss. ‘God’s blood! If what I hear is true I shall flay you alive, boy!’

Donald straightened. ‘I am no longer a boy, father.’

‘Really? Did she tell you that?’ William’s voice slid into a sneer.

Donald looked his father in the eye. He respected William and had always gone rather in awe of him, but now his temper flared. ‘I don’t know what you have heard, father, or who you heard it from,’ he said with enormous dignity. ‘But I have formed no liaisons of which I should be ashamed and I have done nothing to dishonour myself or any lady at this court.’ He had wanted to – Sweet Virgin how he had wanted to. But he had respected her wishes. He had not followed her; instead he had stood for what had seemed like hours alone in the icy garden, staring up at the moon.

William took a turn around the table, his hands beating sonorous time, fist on palm, as he tried to regain control of his temper. ‘I understand your feelings, Donald, believe me. She is a beautiful woman. She’s almost led better men than you to their doom. You do know she was the old king’s mistress?’

Donald scowled at him. ‘That’s a lie!’

‘No, boy, it started before you were born. Before you were born,’ he repeated. ‘Sweet Jesu, Donald, the woman is twice your age! She carried Alexander’s bastard. There was a time when he wanted to marry her, to make it his heir. Thank Christ good sense prevailed and he married Marie. Have you never wondered why Queen Marie hates Lady Fife so much? Have you never wondered why Lady Fife is the king’s godmother?’ He regarded his son with sympathy. ‘She’s an attractive woman, Donald, damned attractive. But not for you. Not for anyone. She’s married, and Lord Fife would tolerate no one meddling with his wife. Up to now he has seen your attentions as a joke. He hasn’t taken them seriously. But if he hears the rumours I have heard, he will find it a joke no longer.’

‘But she loves me.’ Donald’s chin stuck out mutinously.

‘I dare say she does, you’re a handsome enough young man and I hear her fleshly appetites are insatiable! No doubt she has used her magical arts to ensnare you just as she did the king.’ He sighed. ‘But you have to leave her alone.’

‘She has not ensnared me. I love her. I have loved her from the first moment I saw her. I have loved her all her life…’

‘I don’t care if you’ve loved her for all eternity!’ William suddenly lost patience. ‘You will not see her again. And you will go back to Kildrummy with me if I have to knock you senseless and tie you across your horse.’ He glared at his son. ‘And to make your decision easier, you may as well know that Lord Fife is taking his wife away from court. A word in his ear was all it took.’

‘You told him?’ Donald was white to the lips.

‘Of course I didn’t tell him. Do you think I want my son and heir gralloched like a slaughtered stag? He has been told that his presence is not required in the government and that it would be as well if he and his wife returned to Fife for the time being.’

XIII

Donald met Eleyne that night in the dark angle of the herb garden wall.

‘What is it?’ She put her hand to his cheek; his note had been so abrupt, so urgent she had been unable to ignore it.

‘My father knows,’ he blurted out. ‘We must have been seen! He has ordered me back to Kildrummy.’

Eleyne’s hand dropped to her side; perhaps it was as well. ‘So,’ she said listlessly. ‘And are you going to obey him?’

He shook his head violently. ‘How could I leave you? But he said… he said you and your husband were leaving.’

She gave a wry smile. ‘We are. Malcolm has been excluded from the king’s council. I thought it was because they did not trust him, but it seems that it is my fault.’

‘If my father knows I love you, your husband will find out,’ Donald said.

Eleyne stood leaning against the wall. The stone was icy. ‘I don’t care that much for what Malcolm thinks.’ She snapped her fingers in the air. ‘But he is a jealous man, Donald. He would kill you if he thought I returned your love.’ The matter-of-factness in her voice made the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. ‘Perhaps it would be better for you to go to Kildrummy and forget me.’ And better for me. The words were unspoken. Before my foolishness leads us both into real danger.

‘No.’

She faced him, scanning his face with serious eyes in the icy starlight: ‘You would risk so much for me?’

‘More, much more, my lady. Dragons, monsters of the deep!’

She laughed. ‘Oh, Donald! And ghosts? Would you brave ghosts?’ The question hovered in the silence.

‘And more still! Manticoras; unicorns; the deadly cockatrice!’ Without thinking he pulled her into his arms, his eyes sparkling. ‘Oh, my darling!’

‘Wait -’ she tensed – ‘someone is coming.’ She pushed him away.

Donald listened, ‘No, it’s the wind.’ He caught her hand and drew her to him again. ‘There’s a storm coming. You can hear the trees in the park outside the walls.’

Was it the wind? Or was it Alexander, watching from the shadows? Eleyne could feel a coldness on her skin, a sense of dread in the air. Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone.

She relaxed. ‘Dragons fighting perhaps.’

‘Or mating in the dark. The roar you hear is their cry of ecstasy.’ He put his arms around her. ‘Don’t go with him tomorrow, please.’

This time she did not push him away. ‘I have to,’ she whispered, ‘I have to, Donald, or we’ll both be lost!’ She touched his face gently. ‘I have to see my children.’

‘But you will come back to court?’

She caught her breath, frightened by the longing, so like a hunger, which overwhelmed her as he pulled her against him again. ‘Of course I shall come back.’

‘Soon.’

‘Soon, I promise.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘I must go.’

Donald frowned. ‘You won’t -’ He paused, unable to summon the words. ‘You won’t let Lord Fife touch you -’ His voice trailed into silence.

Eleyne touched his lips with her forefinger. ‘He is my husband, Donald,’ she said gently, ‘I cannot prevent him.’

As she made her way back alone towards the great keep of the castle, its doors and windows alight with candlelight, there were tears in her eyes. She had let it all go too far; she must not see him again. For a wonderful, glorious moment she had begun to see Donald of Mar as her lover, but for his sake, and for hers, that could never be.

XIV

Rhonwen eyed Malcolm warily; this man had always earned her grudging respect in spite of the violence of his methods and Eleyne seemed content with him. She was prepared to listen to anything he had to say.

Malcolm smiled to himself as he read correctly what was going on in her mind. He had listened in silence to John Keith’s account of the murder of Robert de Quincy and, like him, had felt a shudder of horror at the thought of a woman capable of such cold-blooded killing. Such a man he would have welcomed amongst his followers; about a woman, whose loyalty was to his wife and not to himself, he was far less sanguine. She had meekly resumed her duties in the nursery, without once, as far as he knew, arousing Eleyne’s suspicion. Was there madness in those eyes, he wondered, behind that cold stare? Once again he shivered.

‘You did well in London, Lady Rhonwen,’ he said. ‘My thanks.’

Rhonwen bowed.

‘You would do much I think for my wife,’ he went on thoughtfully.

‘I would die for her.’

‘Let us hope that will not be necessary,’ Malcolm said grimly. He strolled across to the table. ‘I heard disturbing rumours while she and I were at Dunfermline and I am at a loss as to how to deal with them,’ he went on carefully. He took a letter from the table and held it up, his back still towards her. ‘I wonder whether you can advise me.’

Rhonwen made no reply and after a moment he went on: ‘It seems that she is being pursued by a young court gallant.’ He turned, his face carefully expressionless. He had thought Donald’s attentions a joke. His informant, anonymous, but seemingly knowledgeable, thought otherwise. ‘The young man is the son of a colleague – a friend – whom I have no wish to upset. However, the boy’s attentions are causing Eleyne much distress. Much distress,’ he repeated with emphasis. ‘That is one of the reasons I insisted that she return here with me, but I fear he may try to follow her here.’

‘And pursue her under your roof?’ Rhonwen raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged elaborately. ‘He has a way with words, I understand.’

‘A way my lady can’t resist?’ Rhonwen was incredulous.

‘He saps her will to fight.’ Malcolm’s voice grew angry. ‘When she is here, apart from him, she is in despair, begging to be saved from his bewitchment, then she falls back under his spell and asks me to do nothing; to spare him for his youth and foolishness.’ He leaned towards her. ‘She has pleaded with me to save her. I ride back to Stirling this afternoon to rejoin the court. You must come with me and remain behind when I return to Falkland.’ He held her gaze. ‘I think you will know what to do, Lady Rhonwen, now that you have experience in these matters. You do understand me?’

Rhonwen nodded.

‘And you will not speak to my wife of your mission. It would only distress her unnecessarily.’

Rhonwen’s eyes narrowed. ‘I would not act without knowing what she wanted. I only do what I think is best for her. Ever.’

Malcolm took a deep breath. ‘I have already told you what she wants, Lady Rhonwen. That is why she is begging for our help. She is enslaved by this young man. That is why I have asked you to assist me. Do you think I would have done so did I not want someone who understands my wife and who loves her unreservedly? I could send anyone to dispose of him. John Keith would do my bidding without a second thought as you know well. But I would rather it were you.’

Rhonwen was half flattered, half wary, but he swept on, not giving her time to think. ‘He threatens your lady’s happiness; he threatens her very life, Lady Rhonwen. Don’t fail her.’

He met her eye and held it and she wondered if he knew. Was he aware of his wife’s secret lover? Did he know that he shared her with a ghost? Was this what he was saying: that Alexander, too, wanted the boy’s death?

‘Help me, I beg you,’ he repeated quietly. ‘You would be above suspicion; you would have access to him and he will come to you, knowing you are her friend, hoping to enlist your aid.’ He smiled coldly. ‘You would have the perfect opportunity, Lady Rhonwen. It can be done quickly and quietly, without fuss, in a way which would cause the minimum distress.’

He knew better than to mention a bribe. If she did it, it would be for love of Eleyne. Her reward, if she were caught, would be his complete disavowal of her and total condemnation of her act – whatever it was.

XV

Rhonwen sought out Donald in the king’s hall as the young man walked towards the door as supper finished.

‘A word with you, my lord,’ she murmured.

He stopped and stared at her, but his expression cleared as he recognised the Welsh woman who had from time to time accompanied Eleyne to court.

‘You have a message for me?’ he asked eagerly. They stood aside as a noisy group of court attendants pushed giggling past them.

‘You expect a message?’ Rhonwen surveyed him coldly.

He nodded. ‘She said she would think of me every day, and she has asked the king to call her back to court as soon as possible so that we can be together.’ His eyes were shining.

‘You think this is what she wants?’

He nodded vigorously.

‘And what of her husband and children?’ Rhonwen lowered her voice. ‘Does she no longer care for them?’

Donald was now the sulky boy again. ‘She has never loved her husband, and as for the children, I thought you were supposed to be looking after them.’

‘I am.’ Her tone became silky. ‘I look after everyone my lady loves.’

‘Oh.’ His face cleared into a radiant smile. ‘I’m glad.’

He did not add that he was much relieved; her icy manner had begun to unnerve him.

XVI

In the chamber she shared with four other ladies, Rhonwen knelt before her coffer and lifted the lid. Taking the small phial from the pocket beneath her gown, she looked at it for a few moments, then tucked it carefully beneath her spare shift. Closing the coffer, she locked it. For the time being she would reserve judgement on Donald of Mar.

XVII

When she arrived back at Falkland Rhonwen found Eleyne sitting on the straw in the stables, watching Ancret nursing a litter of puppies.

‘So what was so urgent at Stirling you had to ride there without asking my permission?’

‘Lord Fife wanted me to carry a message to the Welsh ambassadors,’ Rhonwen said. ‘He needed someone who spoke the language and whom he could trust. He knew you didn’t want to ride back so soon after you had come home.’

Eleyne nodded absent-mindedly. She reached for one of the pups and cradled it with gentle hands. ‘I trust you gave them my good wishes to pass on to Llywelyn bach.’

To her sorrow, Eleyne’s four nephews in Wales had given up all attempts at settling their jealousies amicably and Owain and Dafydd had tried to oust Llywelyn from power completely. He, showing the flair for leadership which had been apparent so early in his boyhood, had defeated them easily and they had both been taken captive. Owain was still in prison.

Eleyne had written to Llywelyn warning him that the brothers had to keep a united front before Henry if they hoped for any credibility at all, and he had written back a letter full of charm and wit, telling her in the nicest possible way to mind her own business, but that what he would really like was the support of the King of Scots. Eleyne had smiled indulgently; in her heart she knew he was right. He was the strongest of the brothers and she was very fond of him; besides, she would always back the alliance of Wales and Scotland. It seemed both countries wanted the same thing.

But for all that she missed her homeland, Gwynedd was a world away. And for now she was distracted. She could not put Donald out of her mind. What was it about him that she found so attractive? Time and again she tried to analyse her feelings: he wasn’t just a handsome, attentive squire; he was more, far more. There was a depth to him, she decided, a maturity far beyond his years; a sensitivity and an inner strength which she found irresistible. He was so different from Malcolm; so different from Robert. He was everything a woman could want in a man. He did not compare with Alexander; she did not even attempt the comparison. Alexander had been her man; her king; her god. He had been everything to her. But Donald awakened in her a physical longing she could not deny, even though it shocked her that the thought of him could arouse her. She wanted him so badly, she could think of nothing else. She knew she must never see him again. If she did she would not be able to trust herself.

A passing groom looked at the two women, then, not yet used to his countess’s ways, he stared askance as he recognised who it was who sat with the dogs in the straw.

‘I hear there were many attractions at court,’ Rhonwen said cautiously.

‘There are always attractions near the king.’

‘Young handsome attractions,’ Rhonwen persisted, ‘who write you beautiful poems.’

Eleyne felt herself colouring and frowned sternly. ‘All the squires write poems. They cluster round the ladies and imagine themselves constantly in love just as they do at King Henry’s court.’

‘And refuse to take no for an answer, is it? And pestering the daylights out of you.’

Eleyne dropped the puppy and climbed to her feet, plainly annoyed.

‘All right, if you must know the young man did pester me. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about him, do you hear? I don’t even want his name mentioned!’ She walked swiftly back across the great courtyard.

Rhonwen stooped and gently picking up the distressed puppy laid it with its brothers and sisters on its mother’s stomach. She frowned down at the dogs thoughtfully. For Eleyne to throw down that pup was so out of character as to betray her distress. But why was she so distressed? Did she really hate and fear the Master of Mar so much?

XVIII

‘There will be no knighthood!’ William of Mar confronted his son, his hand on his hips. ‘That is where this woman has got you. You are not fit to be knighted! the king has refused to convey the accolade.’

He turned away from Donald, his face working furiously. ‘That this should happen to us! I can’t believe it. The disgrace! The humiliation! That you of all people, who claim to serve the cause of chivalry before all others -’ He spluttered to a stop, speechless with fury. ‘I was so sure you would be granted it, young though you are. The king had agreed! It was all arranged! And now the king says he is not prepared to knight you, ever. And if he will not, neither will anyone else! Of course the queen mother is behind this,’ he went on after a moment. ‘We all know how much she hates Eleyne of Fife. Alexander is too fond of you – and fond of Lady Fife – to think of this by himself.’

Exhausted by his anger, he slumped into the chair at the head of the table, and for the first time looked at his son. Donald was standing quite still, his face chalk-white, his fists clenched. To his horror, his father suspected that the young man was near to tears.

‘No knighthood?’ It was a whisper. ‘Ever?’

‘No knighthood,’ William repeated with merciless emphasis, and leaning forward he smashed his fist on the table.

XIX

It would have to be the poison. Rhonwen considered the small phial on the table in front of her. Monkshood worked fast and with no possibility of error. Today, whilst Eleyne was preoccupied with the pups and with Colban, who was fretful with a heavy head cold. She could ride to Stirling and be back before dawn; be back before they had even found the young man’s body.

She told no one where she was going. John Keith called for a fast horse for her. He asked no questions and he watched her go with something like admiration in his eyes. If anyone asked, he would swear he had not seen her for three days.

She left the sweating horse in the stables and made her way into the castle, her hood pulled down over her face. Donald of Mar would guess who it was who had put the poison in his wine, but he would not tell anyone. Ever.

Swiftly she threaded her way across the great hall, where the servants were putting out the trestle tables for supper. She could see the vast ornate silver-gilt salt on the white linen cloth of the high table, the goblets, the baskets of bread. Two young men had hauled a huge log to the fire and levered it on to the dogs in the hearth. She would find a place at one of the lower tables. Later, much later, when the wine was flowing and the great hall was thick with the aroma of food and sweat and smoke from the fire, she could easily make her way to the high table, goblet in hand. On pretext of whispering a lover’s message, she would give him the poisoned wine.

No one noticed the woman in the dark green woollen cloak who sat at one of the lower tables. She ate little and spoke not at all as the hall filled around her. Her eyes were fixed on the high table. She watched the young king and queen take their places with Marie de Couci and her husband and Lord Menteith, and next to him Alan Durward and his wife. She frowned. Margaret Durward was an openly acknowledged bastard daughter of King Alexander II, conceived long before he had met and loved Eleyne, but nevertheless of his blood. Her eye moved on down the table. There was no sign of the Earl and Countess of Mar and no sign of their son.

It was some time before she found someone who knew.

‘The Mars have gone. Lord Mar would no longer sit at the same table as Alan Durward. Durward is claiming that the earldom of Mar is rightfully his and has sent a petition to the pope asking him to depose William and give him the earldom instead.’

‘And Donald of Mar? The queen’s squire? Where is he?’ Rhonwen’s question cut through the excited babble of gossip and scandal.

‘He went with them. Lord Mar wanted his son at Kildrummy. They left yesterday…’

The story went on, but Rhonwen had turned away.

For the time being Donald of Mar was safe.

XX

‘The earl and his son have ridden back to Kildrummy.’

Marie de Couci had summoned Eleyne back to Stirling. She was in her solar, but their interview was far from private. Several other ladies were present as were Sir Alan Durward and Robert Bruce.

‘You cannot, I am sure, be unaware of the disgrace. To be unworthy of knighthood, for a squire seeking such an honour, is to be unworthy of life.’

Eleyne’s mouth was dry. She saw Robert looking at her with sympathy and felt a quick stab of gratitude. He was her only ally in the room, probably in the whole castle.

‘I expect you want to know why he was judged unworthy,’ the queen mother went on relentlessly.

‘No, your grace, I don’t wish to know,’ she replied, holding the woman’s gaze.

Marie smiled. ‘Oh, I think you should.’

Robert coughed. ‘Your grace, I don’t think any of us wishes to know. It would be unchivalrous to speculate on such a matter. Our sympathies go out to Lord Donald, let us leave it at that.’

Eleyne breathed a sigh of gratitude.

The queen mother’s mouth had tightened angrily, but in the face of Robert’s firm tone even she could not take the subject further. She inclined her head in acknowledgement of his quiet victory. Turning away from Eleyne she seated herself in the cushioned chair by the fire and put her feet on the footstool one of her ladies pushed into place.

XXI

The long spring and summer away from court brought Eleyne to her senses at last. Her life at Falkland was full and pleasant. The children were growing fast, she rode and hunted and went hawking and the demands Malcolm made upon her as his wife, though frequent, grew less and less arduous. And Alexander had returned.

It had taken a long time, but at last she had put aside all thoughts of Donald of Mar. Her sorrow and guilt over the fact that his liaison with her – however brief and tentative – had blighted his life were profound, but there was nothing she could do. It was better that they forget each other.

It was then that her thoughts had turned wistfully back to Alexander. For a long time she thought that he had gone for good. Distressed, she had risen night after night and tiptoed to the west-facing window to gaze at the slowly moving stars. Night after night she called him in her mind, the phoenix in her hand, her arms aching with emptiness, knowing her lover was jealous and angry still. Night after night she waited in vain.

She summoned Adam at last. ‘You have ways of calling back the spirits of the dead?’ She could not ask Rhonwen and she mistrusted the fire. She did not want to find Einion at her side instead of her lover.

‘There are ways, my lady, but as you know there are better methods to seek the future. Easier, safer methods.’

‘I do not wish to know the future.’

‘May I ask what other reason there could be for consulting the spirits?’

‘That is my business.’ She met his gaze steadily. ‘All I need to know from you is the method you recommend.’

‘I can teach you that, lady.’ He folded his arms. ‘And also the spells you will need if you seek vengeance and retribution on those who have harmed you.’

‘I do not intend to make spells, Master Adam.’

‘No?’ his smile was cynical.

‘No.’

For a moment he watched her, then he turned away. ‘Very well, I will tell you what you must do.’

The hardest part was getting out of the castle. Men had died before for letting the countess leave. But in the end she managed it, wearing the cloak of one of the nursemaids while Malcolm was with the king at Kinross. She guided her horse along the path which led up into the wooded lower slopes of the Lomond and within minutes was out of sight of the watchmen’s fires. It was a hot airless night but as she dismounted and tethered her horse she found she was shivering. Old Lyulf was at her heels as she climbed from the track, following the natural contour of the hill in the starlight. No one would follow her here. It was well known that the hills were haunted, magic places. She glanced down at the dog and feeling her eyes on him he nuzzled her hand and whined.

She needed the fire after all, it seemed. She set it with the ease of long practice, piling dried twigs and leaves within the circle of stones, striking the flint and steel to the birchbark kindling and throwing on the herbs and berries from the pouch Adam had given her. Then she took the phoenix into her hands.

Lyulf growled uneasily deep in his throat, and Eleyne stopped, listening to the silence of the hills. A slight breeze touched her skin, and the night was full of the scent of wild thyme. Somewhere in the distance her horse whickered softly.

‘Alexander? My lord?’ The words were barely a whisper. The pendant was clutched between her fingers. ‘Why are you still angry with me? He’s gone, gone back to Mar.’

The wind moaned in the trees in the small glen behind her and she knew she was no longer alone.

‘Alexander,’ she whispered again. ‘Where are you?’

She woke beside the cold ashes of the fire as dawn broke across the plain behind her. Her hair was unbound, otherwise there was no trace of her ghostly lover. It might all have been a dream.

XXII

‘Donald of Mar is here.’

Rhonwen confronted Eleyne in the small bedchamber the Fifes had been allocated in the great tower of the castle, where they were summoned by the king the following winter. Outside, the wind howled across the Nor Loch, battering against the wooden window shutters and rattling the heavy doors as though they were made of thin board.

Eleyne tensed. She had seen Lord Mar in the great hall with the king, but there had been no sign of Donald and, after an initial moment of wistful longing, she had put the young man firmly out of her head.

She turned away to hunt in her coffer for an enamelled necklace which would go with her gown the next day. Her heart was beating fast. Donald of Mar was here, in Edinburgh, beneath the same roof. She took a deep breath; she must not think about him, she must not even look at him in the great hall. Her fingers went automatically to the phoenix pendant at her throat. Hardly realising what she was doing, she slipped the chain over her head, put the pendant into the jewel casket and closed the lid.

In front of the fire Ancret and two of her pups, Raoulet and Sabina – old Lyulf had died in his sleep the previous spring – were stretched out on the carpet of warm heather. Already the beds for Rhonwen and Eleyne’s two maids were pulled out and heaped with blankets. The curtains around the great bed had been pulled back and the feather mattress put in place. Malcolm was with the king and his lords in the great hall; he had shown no inclination to go to bed yet.

‘I trust you are not going to allow him to pester you again,’ Rhonwen said as she helped Eleyne off with her mantle and folded it over her arm.

‘I have no reason to think he will pester me at all,’ Eleyne returned sharply. ‘I had no idea he was here. It’s two years since I saw him.’

‘Oh, he’s here. And he was watching you. He was watching you all the time.’

‘Then he is a fool.’ Eleyne turned so that Rhonwen could unlace her gown. She could not believe that he had been in the hall and she had not seen him.

‘You’d tell me, cariad, if you wanted him chased away,’ Rhonwen said softly.

‘I’d tell you,’ Eleyne answered in a whisper.

She was already in bed, the curtains closed, when the tap at the door brought Rhonwen to her feet in the firelight. The other two women, curled tightly in their truckle beds, were fast asleep.

Rhonwen opened the door cautiously. Donald of Mar stood in the passage outside, a flickering torch in his hand. ‘I’m sorry. I thought – ’

‘You thought this was the Countess of Fife’s room.’ Rhonwen spoke in a harsh whisper. ‘She doesn’t want to see you. She wants nothing to do with you. Do you understand?’ She was almost sorry for the young man, his expression in the unsteady light was so crestfallen. ‘Now go. Go, before Lord Fife comes up and finds you here.’

‘Lord Fife is busy with my father and Sir Alan Durward. They will be talking for hours…’ Donald peered past Rhonwen towards the bed, and his face lit up. ‘My lady!’

Hearing the muffled whispers at the door, Eleyne had pushed back the bed curtains. Her hair loose, her shoulders bare beneath the cloak she had pulled around her, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. ‘Donald.’ Her voice was husky. Suddenly her heart was thudding under her ribs. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Eleyne! My lady!’ Pushing past Rhonwen he threw himself at Eleyne’s feet and kissed her hand. ‘Oh sweet lady, it’s been so long. I’ve missed you so much.’

Eleyne looked across at the two sleeping women and then at Rhonwen. ‘Watch the door!’ she commanded in a low voice. She took Donald’s hand and pulled him to his feet. ‘Over here, in the window embrasure. We must talk.’

Rhonwen had extracted the small dagger she still wore at her belt beneath her cloak. ‘I can call for help, my lady.’

‘Don’t be such a fool!’ Eleyne cried impatiently. ‘Can’t you see I want this! If you love me, help us. Keep watch and don’t say a word!’

Leaving Rhonwen staring, her mouth slightly open, she pulled Donald towards the window, where a heavy curtain divided the chilly embrasure from the room. In the ice cold beyond the curtain they stood staring at each other in the darkness. Tentatively Donald put out his hands, ‘My sweet love.’

Her hands met his and he pulled her gently towards him. All her resolutions had vanished at the sight of his face. Malcolm was forgotten; her dreams of Alexander were forgotten; the last two years were forgotten. He had grown if anything more handsome. Nothing mattered but that she should feel his lips on hers. Desperately she shook her head. ‘Donald, this is mad.’

‘I can’t help it. I need you so much. And you want me, don’t deny it.’ After a moment’s hesitation his hands slid gently inside her cloak. She caught her breath but did not push him away. Almost reluctantly she raised her face and felt his lips on hers. This was not the airy kiss of a phantom lover. This was the real kiss of a passionate man. The shock of her own reaction shook her.

‘We mustn’t do this,’ she breathed as she returned his kiss.

‘I think we must,’ he replied, his own doubts forgotten, as were his protestations that he wanted to worship her from afar. For the last two years he had dreamed of Eleyne of Fife and in his dreams she had been his absolutely. Throwing caution away his hands were suddenly more demanding, pushing back her cloak. ‘You want this as much as I, don’t pretend you don’t.’ She could hear his smile in the darkness.

‘Donald -’ Her whisper was almost a groan. Her knees were growing weak. He was right. She did want him. Desperately. She could not resist him as he dropped his cloak on the cramped stone floor between the window seats and pulled her down.

By the door Rhonwen stood, arms folded, staring at the heavy curtain, the knife still in her hand. So Malcolm of Fife had lied – her lady loved Donald of Mar and the husband and ghost lover were no longer needed. Sitting down, she held out her hands to the warmth of the hearth.

Eleyne lay still at last, her body sated with the young man who lay asleep, his thighs slack between hers, his head heavy on her breast. She felt no guilt, no shame. She was unutterably content, but she knew she had to wake him. The floor was agonisingly hard beneath the cloak and besides, Malcolm might return at any moment. But she could not bear to end it. She raised her hand to touch his tumbled curls.

Opening her eyes she was looking up towards the stone arch above their heads when something caught her eye: a darker shadow in the darkness. She narrowed her eyes, straining to see better; it was almost as if someone was sitting on the edge of the seat, watching.

The grief and anger, when they hit her, were like tangible weights, filling the embrasure, encompassing her and Donald like a miasma.

Alexander! Her lips framed the words, though no sound came. I’m sorry, oh, my dear, I’m so sorry.

XXIII

Malcolm regarded Rhonwen coldly. ‘I expected you to deal with the situation.’

‘What situation, my lord?’ She met his gaze blankly.

‘Donald of Mar.’ He hissed the name softly. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘I believe Lord Mar’s son is here as part of his father’s entourage,’ Rhonwen replied. ‘If you feel he should not remain, perhaps you should speak to the grand chamberlain, his father, yourself.’ With a small curtsey, she left Malcolm glaring furiously after her.

XXIV

Emma Bloet, Abbess of Godstow, stared at the tall red-haired young man who confronted her. He and his two companions wore dark cloaks over their mail and she could see no identifying arms stitched to their surcoats, but his arrogance betrayed his breeding. She drew herself up.

‘I am sorry. Nobody can see the Princess of Aberffraw.’ Her tone implied clearly that she found his use of the title distasteful.

‘Why not?’ Eyeing her with a distrust and dislike which matched her own, Llywelyn was beginning to regret coming to Godstow. To rescue his uncle’s widow from the clutches of King Henry and incarceration in a convent of old women had seemed a good idea at the time. It would tweak Henry’s nose when the King of England, embroiled in his barons’ demands for reform, could ill afford any more problems on his doorstep. And having Isabella de Braose back in Wales would serve his purpose well now, provided he kept her away from Aber. But his boyish romantic plan – light relief from his quarrel with Owain and his new-found pre-eminence as Prince of Wales, a title he had used only in the last year or two – seemed to have misfired.

He had planned to be in and out of England within three days, but this woman with her starched wimple and foot-long carved crucifix at her belt had kept him outside the convent wall like a supplicant for that long already. He was wishing heartily that he had brought some Welsh footsoldiers with him. They would have walked all over this grey forbidding place and liberated every pretty nun in the place. He hid the smile which threatened to replace the scowl on his face and with a sigh tried again.

‘Holy mother, I beg you, allow me to see her. I was like a son to the princess. She would want to see me, I assure you.’ He was sure Isabella would forgive the lie. The second part of his statement would undoubtedly be true.

For the first time the abbess’s face softened. ‘You didn’t say you were close to her.’

‘Very close.’ He smiled winningly. He could hardly tell her how close or the wretched woman might guess she had the Prince of Wales in her parlour!

The abbess seemed to be making up her mind. ‘Under the circumstances, perhaps I can allow you to see her. Poor woman, she has had few enough visitors all these years. Perhaps your presence will ease her last hours.’

‘Her last hours?’ Llywelyn echoed. ‘What do you mean?’

The abbess frowned. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you knew. I thought that was why you had come. Sister Isabella is dying.’

XXV

Isabella lay in the end bed in the infirmary, nearest the fire. The others were occupied by two frail old nuns who no longer had the strength to walk, and a novice whose agonising sore throat and fever did not prevent her from pulling herself up in bed to watch the tall young stranger follow the infirmarian down the room.

He sat on Isabella’s bed; dismissing his guide curtly, he took her hand. It was thin and brittle between his own.

‘Aunt Isabella? You have to get better. I’ve come to take you back to Wales.’ His whisper seemed loud in the silent room.

He thought she hadn’t heard him, but after a minute or two she opened her eyes.

‘Llywelyn bach?’ Her voice was very weak.

He grinned. ‘The same.’

‘You’d take me back to Aber?’

He squeezed her hand gently. ‘As soon as you are fit to travel.’

‘I was fit enough to travel last year.’ Her voice assumed some of its old tartness, ‘And the year before that and the year before that. Why did you not come then? Why did you not answer my letters?’

‘The time was not right.’ He met her gaze steadily.

‘The time was not right.’ She repeated the words softly. ‘And now the time is not right for me. It’s too late, Llywelyn bach, I’ll never go back to Aber now.’

‘Of course you will…’ His tone was bracing. ‘We’ll have you carried there in a litter.’

‘No. If you did that, it would be my corpse you carried home.’ She smiled and he saw the pain in her eyes. ‘And it’s not worth doing that. Liberating my poor bones would scarcely annoy Henry at all. That’s what you had in mind, didn’t you?’ She smiled again. ‘I thought so. We’d have made a pair, you and I, Llywelyn son of Gruffydd, if we’d had the chance to know each other. We’re both realists.’

She eased herself up painfully against the pillows. Her bedlinen was soft and clean, he noted, whereas the old nun in the next bed had sheets so coarse he could see the rough weave from where he sat.

‘I nearly got away, you know,’ she went on, ‘Eleyne agreed to take me.’ She snorted. ‘I pestered her with letters until I got to her conscience and she persuaded Henry. Then she died.’

‘Aunt Eleyne isn’t dead.’

Isabella ignored him. ‘There was a fire. No one told me, no one bothered. They forgot.’ Her voice was thin and bitter. ‘Then the abbess heard. Eleyne was killed. The poppy syrup they give me for the pain makes me confused, but I remember that. Eleyne was killed at Suckley.’

There was compassion in Llywelyn’s eyes as he leaned forward. ‘No. Henry chose to believe she was dead, but it isn’t true. She was taken to Scotland by Lord Fife.’

For a moment he wondered if she had heard what he said. Her eyes were closed, and it was several moments before she spoke again. ‘She’s alive?’ she asked weakly. ‘In Scotland?’

He nodded. ‘She and Lord Fife were married.’

‘I see.’ She turned her head away from him. ‘And do they have children?’

‘They have two sons.’

‘I see.’ Her voice was muffled. ‘Was she so much more beautiful than me, that men rushed to marry her and fight for her body and take care of her, while I was left to rot, childless and without love?’

Llywelyn cursed himself under his breath for telling her the truth. ‘She could not help herself, Aunt Isabella; and she could not help you. I suspect had she had the choice she would have wished to remain her own mistress as you have done. After all, to the English courts she is dead. Her dower, her lands, her two daughters by de Quincy – all were taken from her. As far as the English records are concerned, she died in 1253.’

Isabella’s eyes were wet with tears. ‘And as far as the English records are concerned, I shall probably never die. The death of a nun in an English convent does not merit an entry in the records. My dower has gone to the church. There are no children of my womb to mourn. No one will read what happened to Isabella de Braose, the widow of Dafydd ap Llywelyn.’

‘Of course they will.’ Llywelyn took her hands again, his voice cheerful. ‘When you die, full of years and with a dozen grandchildren, the world shall read about you in the chronicles. My bards will compose poems about you which each take a month to recite and your beauty will be sung to harps all over Wales.’

She smiled. ‘You are like your Uncle Dafydd, you have charm when you want. Are you married yet?’ He shook his head and she sighed. ‘You must marry, have children, ensure there are heirs to follow you.’ She patted his hand. ‘Your grandfather would have been so proud of you. Now, go home, forget me. I’ll be dead before you reach the Welsh border. Pay someone to say a requiem mass for me in Hay. I was so happy there when I was a child. Go.’ She pushed him away feebly. ‘Before the abbess guesses who you are.’

Reluctantly he stood up. ‘Is there anything you want?’

She shook her head. ‘Just tell the Countess of Fife that her curse worked better than she could ever have dreamed. My body has been eaten day by day by the crab she set growing in my womb with her evil eye and her vicious spells. As she cursed me, so I curse her. I pray that her famous fertility will be her downfall. I pray she will die in Scotland in as much agony as I die in, here in England, and I shall no doubt meet her again in hell!’

Her voice had risen and the other nuns stared at her in horror.

With a sob, the girl with the sore throat hauled herself out of bed and staggered to Isabella, pulling off the crucifix she wore around her neck. ‘Sister, for pity’s sake, for the love of the Blessed Virgin don’t say such things! That is mortal sin!’ She pressed Isabella’s fingers around the cross. ‘Please say you didn’t mean it.’

‘I meant it!’ Isabella summoned the last of her strength to sit up and hurl the cross from her. ‘I meant every word!’

I

The track was narrow and dangerous. Donald leaned low over his horse’s neck, peering into the heavy rain. It would soon be dark. He shrugged himself deeper into his sodden cloak. His latest poems and a gift – a pretty ring engraved with the words ‘love for eternity’ – were tucked deep inside his scrip. He shook the rain from his eyes and kicked his horse on; he must be nearly there.

A gust of wind bent the trees and roared on through the woods, leaving him even wetter than before, and in the distance he heard the howl of a wolf. Then he saw it at last, the lonely tower standing above the trees on its crag. From here it seemed formidable, an impregnable defence against the foe, but it had been long abandoned, the walls crumbling in places, the oak door hanging off on its hinges, a lonely forgotten outpost of the earldom of Fife. It was the perfect trysting place, according to Eleyne, where they could meet in absolute safety.

He guided his horse up the tortuous path, hearing its hooves strike rock at every step and, half blinded by the rain, dismounted at last by an old stone outbuilding; it was freshly roofed with thatch, just as she had described it. The shepherds used it in the summer but tonight it was going to serve as a stable. Pulling his horse’s rein over its ears, he led it inside. Her horse was already there. There was fodder enough for the two of them, and a spare rug to throw over his animal’s steaming flanks. He unsaddled swiftly, his hands shaking with anticipation and, wedging the door shut, he left the animals alone. Trust Eleyne to think of their comfort first. He suspected he would find that she was quite prepared to lie on the cold stone. Well, he had thought of that. He was wearing his thickest cloak, lined with fur. At the thought of lying anywhere with Eleyne, he felt his body tense with excitement.

They managed to meet so seldom, he and this beautiful woman who was his mistress, that when they were together the poignancy and rightness of their love seemed almost unbearable. He had never mentioned the king’s continued refusal to grant him knighthood – something he had buried deep within himself, unfaceable and unfaced – and neither had she. Their love was the most important thing in his life, and he had convinced himself that any sacrifice was worth making for it.

His saddlebags over his shoulder, he ran for the doorway. The lower chamber of the old tower was deserted, the floor a mess of rubble and weeds; a strong animal smell came from the darkness. He wrinkled his nose and peered round. The stair in the thickness of the wall was pitch dark.

‘Eleyne!’ he called softly. ‘Nel? Are you there?’

There was no reply.

Cautiously he set his foot on the lowest step. ‘Nel?’ His hand in front of him in the blackness, he began to mount, his feet crunching on the loose stones and mortar. Stumbling heavily on the stairs, he reached the upper chamber at last. Smaller than the one below, it too was empty.

‘Nel?’ He heard the anxiety in his voice. ‘Where are you?’

He almost ran across the dusty floor to the gaping darkness in the wall opposite, which revealed the entrance to another stair. Once more he peered up into the darkness. This spiral stair was narrow and extremely steep. He felt his way up carefully, one hand on the cold stone of the newel post, one feeling the steps before him. At the top he stopped, out of breath. The smallest chamber had lost part of its roof and the rain spattered on to the stone floor. It too was empty. He heard again the lonely howl of a wolf, the sound echoing in the wind.

‘Nel!’ He called sharply. There was real anxiety in his voice now and suddenly over the sound of the rain he heard a stifled giggle.

‘Nel?’ he repeated again, his heart leaping. So she was hiding. Dropping his saddlebags in the archway, he stepped out into the room and looked round. There was nowhere she could hide save the ruined archway which had once been the window. He tiptoed towards it. There she was, crouched against the loose rubble, only feet from the three-storey drop to the rocky ground. Seizing her wrist with a shout of triumph, he pulled her into his arms and covered her face with kisses.

‘You foolish woman! you might have slipped!’ He held her tightly, revelling in the feel of her warm flesh beneath the soft damp wool of her gown. He reached around to unfasten it, but she shook her head. Still laughing, she freed herself and pushed him away. ‘Let’s go down a floor. There’s firewood in the hearth – a hundred old jackdaws’ nests have fallen down the chimney – and there’s quite a bit of old dry bracken and I’ve left food and a rug down there.’ She was breathless too, as eager as he.

He laughed in delight. ‘And I have wine and some bridies, and gifts for my dearest love.’ He gestured towards his saddlebags.

It was his turn to make her wait while he kindled the fire and laid out two silver goblets, a skin of wine, the food and his cloak. Then he beckoned her with a grin. ‘The fire will soon warm us, but I think you should take off those wet clothes.’

She laughed. ‘I will, if you will.’ She knelt on the rugs and stared, distracted, at the fire which crackled and spat angrily over the damp twigs. She thought she had seen something moving in the flames and felt a quiver of anguish in the air, but that was foolish. The phoenix was in a locked casket at Falkland. She never wore it now.

She had no way of knowing that Rhonwen, noticing that it had been put aside, had taken the pendant from its hiding place. It was a powerful talisman, she had guessed that much; it was special, it carried the king’s love and it protected Eleyne. Without saying anything, she had sewed it into the hem of Eleyne’s cloak. With the weight of the furs, Eleyne would never notice and she would carry the talisman’s protection wherever she went.

Donald followed the direction of Eleyne’s gaze as she sat looking into the fire. ‘You don’t think someone will see the smoke?’ he asked anxiously.

‘No one. We shall be quite safe.’ The moment of unease, the feeling that something was wrong had gone as swiftly as it had come. ‘It will be dark quite soon.’

‘And no one will come after you?’ He approached her almost reverently and began to unplait her hair.

‘No one. Rhonwen will cover for me. We’re quite safe.’

She smiled as he fumbled with the laces of her gown. Gently she took his hands in hers and kissed his cold, clumsy fingers, then she undressed herself swiftly. With a shiver half of cold, half of anticipation, she knelt before him naked, and began to undo the brooch which held his mantle closed.

‘Oh, Nel.’ He pulled her against him, unable to keep still another moment. ‘Oh my love, how I’ve prayed this moment would come. It has been so long since last time. I thought I would go mad, thinking about you and waiting.’ Winding his fingers into her hair, he pulled her against him and kissed her again and again.

The air of the tower was icy on their naked flesh, draughts spinning round the dark chamber, the wind screaming in through the two narrow window slits. Donald pulled the rug over them both and smiled. ‘I’ll have to find some more wood for the fire soon.’ He leaned over and pushed her hair back from her face. ‘Are you comfortable, my love?’

Below her the floor was cold and hard beneath his cloak. She felt its dampness and the chill striking up through her bones as his weight pressed her down. The heat of his body warmed her body, but her feet were freezing. It was impossible to be comfortable, but she didn’t care. Her body was alive and tingling with anticipation. She looked up into his eyes and smiled.

The crash of the falling stone brought Donald scrambling to his feet with an exclamation of shock. He stared around, trying to see into the darkness. ‘What was that?’

‘The wind, it must have been the wind.’ Eleyne sat up. She pulled the discarded rug around her shoulders, shivering violently. She realised that the fire had died and no longer gave any light. ‘Come back.’ She held out her hand, but he was standing with his back to her, peering into the darkness.

‘There’s someone here,’ he whispered.

Eleyne clenched her fists. ‘Don’t be silly, there can’t be. No one comes here.’

‘I’ll check all the same.’ His voice was grim. He pulled on his gown, and reached for the dirk which hung from his girdle. He unsheathed it silently; the blade gleamed in the light of a stray pale flame which licked across the cooling embers and was gone almost as soon as it had flared.

Outside, the wind moaned through the trees and the sound of the rain on the autumn leaves grew louder. He smiled reassuringly at her, then he put his finger to his lips. They were both straining their ears trying to hear the inner silence of the old tower beyond the storm.

The touch of the hand on her shoulder was so sudden that she screamed. Donald swung round, the dirk outstretched before him. ‘What is it?’

‘There is someone here, he touched me.’ Eleyne clutched the rug, staggered to her feet and backed towards the wall. Her teeth were chattering with cold and fear. ‘Don’t leave me, don’t go down. There’s someone here, in this room.’

‘There can’t be.’ Donald’s voice was steadying, reassuringly firm. ‘Wait, let me throw something on the fire.’ He stooped, scrabbling among the rubbish on the floor for a handful of jackdaw sticks and old bracken. He tossed it on the embers, his dirk still in his hand, and turned back towards the room. As the kindling flared the empty echoing chamber was full of shadows. His own fell across the floor and up the stone wall. As he moved, it foreshortened grotesquely and thickened but, in the leaping reflections of the flames, they could see the room was empty.

‘He’s gone downstairs,’ Donald breathed. ‘Stay here.’

‘Don’t go -’ Her anguished plea was barely audible. Her terror was increasing. ‘Donald, can’t you feel it? There’s something here, in this room.’

The feeling of anger was palpable: a cold, calculated fury which was building with the storm outside. As the firelight settled into a steady glow, she saw that Donald too could feel it now. The dirk was still held out before him as he moved steadily backwards towards her.

‘What is it?’ he breathed. ‘What’s happening?’ The dust was whirling round his feet and a shower of mortar fell from the vaulted roof above their heads.

‘Alexander,’ she breathed, staring around wildly. ‘Alexander, no, please!’

‘Who is it? Where is he?’ Donald’s jaw was set, his face grim. ‘Sweet Jesus, Nel, I can’t see him, where is he?’ He swore as another stone fell from the ceiling. ‘This place is falling apart. Come on, we must get out of here – ’

‘No!’ Eleyne ran forward and clutched at his sleeve. ‘No, that’s what he wants. He wants us out in the storm, so he can separate us. Stay here. Leave us alone, please,’ she cried to the shadows. ‘I don’t want you, don’t you understand? I don’t want you any more!’ Her voice rose hysterically as she addressed the darkness.

‘Nel! What is it? Who is it?’ The hairs on Donald’s neck were rising like the hackles on a dog. ‘Sweet Jesus, Nel, what is it?’

‘Give me your dagger!’ Eleyne held out her hand. ‘Quickly, give it to me!’

Without thinking, he reversed the dirk and handed it to her, hilt first. Behind him the fire was dying again. Eleyne raised the dirk before her, hilt upwards, in the age-old sign of protection and blessing.

‘In the name of the holy cross I command you to leave us.’ She raised her voice in a wild cry against the scream of the wind. ‘Leave us now, I don’t want you. I love Donald of Mar. You’re dead, don’t you understand? You’re dead, and I’m alive! I need a living man. Don’t torment yourself. Please go. Now!’ Her eyes filled with tears and she was shaking so much she couldn’t stand. She collapsed on her knees, the dirk still clutched in her fingers. Donald’s face was white. He crossed himself, then he squatted down beside her and put his arms around her.

‘Has he gone?’ The room was still full of the sound of the wind and rain.

She raised her head, and after a moment she nodded. Wordlessly she clutched at Donald’s arm, trembling violently. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, ‘I’m so sorry.’

He squeezed her shoulder. ‘It’s all right, it’s all over.’ He kissed her gently on the cheek, then he released her. ‘I’ll get us some wine.’ His mouth was dry and his voice husky, and when he unstoppered the wineskin and tried to pour the wine he found his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He managed it at last and turned back to her. She had pulled on her gown and her cloak and was sitting silently, her arms clasped tightly around her knees.

He put the silver goblet into her hand and closed her fingers around the stem. ‘Drink that.’

Obediently she sipped, feeling the rough red wine slipping down her throat. She sipped again, watching as Donald threw more rubbish on the fire, followed by the end of an old oak beam which had been lying in the corner of the chamber. The fire flared and settled into a steady glow.

‘Can you tell me what that was all about?’ His voice was carefully neutral.

‘Alexander.’ She licked her lips and took a deep nervous breath. ‘He was someone who loved me very much.’ She took another sip of wine.

Donald said nothing; his wine remained untouched in the goblet in his hand.

She saw the expression on his face with a sinking heart. ‘He died,’ she went on.

There was a long silence, then Donald raised his goblet to his lips and tipped the wine down his throat. ‘Do I take it we are talking about the late king?’ His voice was curiously flat.

She nodded.

‘He must indeed have loved you.’

She smiled wistfully then she nodded again.

‘And did you love him?’ Tossing the goblet aside, he folded his arms. It was a curiously defensive gesture and her heart went out to him.

‘Yes.’ There was no way she could lie about her feelings for Alexander, however much it hurt Donald. ‘But that was a long time ago. It’s you I love now.’ She looked up at him pleadingly. ‘Oh, Donald, help me.’

He shook his head, bewildered. ‘I thought Lord Fife was my rival. I can fight a flesh and blood man, but a ghost?’ He crossed himself again.

‘You can fight a ghost too,’ she said softly, ‘if your love is strong enough.’

‘Can I?’ He faced her. ‘I can’t bolt the doors against a ghost! I can’t carry you off and hide you from a ghost! We came here to escape people; you promised no one could find us here, but he did! Your ghost found us and stood over us while we made love, as no doubt he has done before, though I’ve been too preoccupied to notice! How can I fight that?’ His voice rose in anguish.

Eleyne bit her lip. ‘I don’t know, but you have to fight him. You have to.’

‘Does he come like that when you are with Lord Fife?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t love Malcolm. He’s not jealous of Malcolm.’ She scrambled to her feet. ‘Don’t you see? It’s because I love you so much that he has come to haunt us. He’s jealous.’ The tears poured down her cheeks. ‘Donald, I don’t know how to fight him, I don’t know how to make him go away. I loved him. I went on loving him until I met you, but now – ’

‘Now?’

‘Now I want a real man; I want a flesh and blood lover. I want someone who can hold me in his arms and crush the breath out of me!’

He smiled and put out his hands to draw her to him. Her body was as cold as ice. ‘Then we must fight him together. Tell him to go away and find himself a lady phantom to keep him warm.’ When he smiled his eyes crinkled at the edges.

She stood on tiptoe and kissed his mouth.

‘Did you bring me a poem?’ she asked. She was still trembling.

He nodded. Releasing her, he walked over to his mantle and found the scrip which he had worn at his girdle. ‘And something else, a present for you.’ He produced the small box which contained the ring. Opening it, he took it out and brought it to her.

‘Close your eyes and give me your hand.’ The ring fitted the third finger on her right hand. She stared at it in delight, holding her hand to the fire, trying to make out the inscription.

‘What does it say?’

‘Love for eternity.’ Their eyes met and he saw her sadness. ‘Perhaps not entirely a good choice, under the circumstances,’ he said quietly.

She shook her head. ‘The perfect choice,’ she said.

II

The first thing Eleyne did when she returned to Falkland was go to the casket where she had hidden the phoenix. She threw back the lid and rummaged amongst her jewels. The pendant wasn’t there.

Rhonwen had come into the room on silent feet, and she stood watching as Eleyne tipped the contents of the casket on to her bed. ‘What are you looking for, cariad?’ Eleyne had not even taken off her cloak.

‘The phoenix, where is the phoenix?’ Eleyne spread the jewels with a sweep of her hand. ‘It isn’t here.’

How had Alexander followed her to her meeting place with Donald? How had he been so strong?

‘Why do you want it so urgently you cannot even take off your wet cloak first?’ Rhonwen looked at the muddy hem of the cloak; there was no sign that it had been torn open.

‘I need it.’ Eleyne’s hands were shaking.

‘Then I’ll find it for you.’ Rhonwen’s voice was soothing. ‘Let me take the cloak and order some mulled wine while you wash your hands. See, the girl has brought hot water for you.’ Unfastening the brooch on Eleyne’s shoulder, she retrieved the cloak. It took only moments in the ladies’ solar to unpick the stitching with her small shears. When she took the pendant back to Eleyne, it was wrapped in a wisp of blue silk. ‘Here it is, cariad, you had put it in the coffer next door. I thought I had seen it there.’

Eleyne took the pendant with shaking hands. ‘Please leave me, Rhonwen, I wish to be alone.’

The phoenix lay in her hand, glowing gently in the firelight. It brought him close; she could feel him now. No longer angry, he was a gentle, loving shade hovering at her shoulder. But he was not real.

‘Oh, my dear,’ she murmured. ‘Can’t you understand? I don’t want you any more. Please let me go.’

Outside Rhonwen pressed her ear to the thick wood of the door but she could hear nothing. Something had happened when Eleyne had gone to meet her lover. Something that involved the phoenix. But what?

III

It was four months before Donald and Eleyne were able to meet again. This time it was at Macduff ’s Castle, on the southern edge of the kingdom of Fife. Malcolm seldom went there now. Named for their Macduff ancestors, like her little son, it was primitive and bare, dating back to the years when the first Mormaers of Fife held sway.

This time Rhonwen was with her and two of her ladies with two knights to escort them. All hand-picked by Rhonwen for their loyalty and their ability to keep a secret, or rather to ignore the handsome squire who appeared out of the darkness on his showy bay horse and slipped up the spiral staircase to where their lady waited. This time there was no phoenix; the jewel lay wrapped in its silk in the jewel casket at Falkland. Rhonwen had checked where it was, and she had left it. She would be there to watch over Eleyne in person, there would be no need of a talisman.

They had mulled wine and hot food, brought to the door by Hylde, one of her new, trusted maids. The mound of dried heather and bracken which would serve as their bed was covered by sheets and rugs and furs, and the fire was fed from a solid stack of logs. Eleyne had dressed in a silk gown; under it was a shift of the finest, almost transparent lawn. She wore Donald’s ring on her finger and her skin was anointed with rose-scented salve.

At the sight of her he stopped in the doorway and smiled.

‘You are the most beautiful woman in the world, did you know?’

She laughed. ‘If at my age I am even a little beautiful in your eyes, then I am content.’

‘I’ve brought you another gift.’ He closed the door behind him and slid the bolt across. Then he came to her side and went down on one knee. ‘See.’

She looked down at his closed fist. ‘You are spoiling me.’

‘Of course.’

‘What is it?’

‘Close your eyes and I’ll put it on you.’

She did as he asked, feeling his hands on her shoulders and the cold slither of a fine chain around her neck.

‘Now, look.’

She opened her eyes and squinted down at her breasts. Nestling between them, on the blue silk of her gown, was a pendant. It was shaped like a horse. Her moment of horror at the feel of the accustomed weight around her neck turned into a gasp of delight. ‘Donald! It’s lovely.’

‘I had it specially made.’ He looked gratified. ‘Now, let me have some wine. I hear we have hot food waiting and I’m starved.’ He sat down on the floor and inspected the tray of dishes which had been left near the hearth to keep warm. She smiled, her fingers stroking the jewel at her throat. He was, after all, a strong man, in his prime; he needed his food. What she hungered for was his body, but she could wait as long as she could feast her eyes on him while he ate.

It was some time later that he looked up and smiled. ‘You’ve been watching me.’

‘Of course.’

‘And you’ve hardly touched anything yourself.’

‘I have some wine.’

He laughed. ‘I like this place better than that fearful haunted tower.’ He refilled his goblet and leaned forward to fill hers. ‘It was all our imagination, wasn’t it? What happened then? It was just the storm and the shadows and the noise of the wind. We frightened ourselves.’

For a moment she was silent. Then she nodded slowly. ‘Yes, we frightened ourselves.’ She glanced over his shoulder towards the door and then at the window, shuttered against the night. It was raining tonight as well, and a southerly gale was hurling the waves against the rocks below the castle, but the fire was bright and the candles were lit and she had walked thrice in a circle around the room, sealing it against Alexander and as she had done it she had imagined that she felt sadness and his helpless rage.

She shivered slightly. ‘Shall we go to bed?’

Donald nodded, but he made no move towards the pile of rugs. He too had looked towards the window, and he reached again for the wine.

‘Shall I undress?’ She rose and felt behind her for the laces of her gown.

At last she saw his eyes gleaming with desire. He raised his goblet in a toast. ‘Undress there, in the firelight. I shall watch.’

‘Watch then.’ She eased the laces through the eyelets which held them, and slipped the gown forward over her shoulders to the ground. His eyes widened when he saw the filmy shift beneath it. The fine stuff clung to her breasts, revealing the dark shadow of her nipples below. He ran his tongue across his lips and put down the goblet.

‘Come here.’ His voice was husky.

She obeyed him. They were within the circle. No one could harm them here. She stood before him as he ran his hands gently over her body. Nothing mattered here; not Alexander; not Malcolm; not the difference in their ages. Nothing mattered but that he was with her and she was his. Her hunger for him was physical, like a pain. She went to the makeshift bed and lay down on it, beckoning him to her side. He threw himself down next to her and slowly, sensuously, he began to push up her shift, running his hand up her leg from her ankle towards her thigh.

Five minutes later he pulled away and sat up. He was sweating. ‘Sweet Christ, I’m sorry! I just can’t get it out of my mind that any minute I’ll feel a hand on my shoulder!’ He put his face in his hands. ‘I know it was all my imagination! I know nothing happened, but I can’t get it out of my head!’ He got up, walked back to the fire and picked up his empty goblet. He reached for the wine. ‘I’ll be all right in a minute! Oh Christ, Nel, what must you think of me! you’ll think I’m a girl…’

‘Donald.’ Eleyne held out her arms. ‘Come back, you’re quite safe. He won’t come, I promise.’

‘I know he won’t come. He doesn’t exist.’ Donald threw back the wine and poured himself another cupful. ‘It’s just I can feel that ice-cold hand on my shoulder!’ He shuddered.

Eleyne stared at him. ‘He touched you before?’

‘Yes… no, I don’t know!’

She went to him and took the goblet out of his hand. ‘He can’t come near us, Donald. I’ve drawn a circle in the room, and he can’t cross it. We are safe.’

‘You’ve done what?’ His face was as white as her shift.

She looked at him anxiously. ‘I’ve drawn a circle.’

‘So you do believe he’s real?’ He stepped away from her.

‘I was afraid, I didn’t know what to believe.’

But he wasn’t listening. ‘You do! You believe in him. You think he’s real! You said you went on loving him after he was dead! Did you mean that? Is that what happened? Blessed Virgin! What did you let him do to you?’

‘Donald, please.’ Suddenly she was frightened. ‘Forget him – ’

‘How can I forget him? If he were a real man I could fight him. I could take you away and hide you from him. I could see him, for Christ’s sake! But this!’

Her hands had begun to shake. ‘There is no danger. There’s no one there. It’s you I love.’

For a moment he continued to stare at her, then he reached again for the wine. ‘Is it true you bore him a child?’

‘Yes.’ She did not dare tell him there had been two children, her two little boys.

Almost timidly she put her hand on his shoulder. He froze. ‘Does he lie with you, this ghost? Like some foul incubus?’

‘No!’

‘Oh yes, he does. I can see it in your eyes.’ His anger evaporated and there was nothing left but terrible hurt. ‘Oh, Nel, how can I compete with a king? I don’t know if he’s real, or if he’s just in your mind, or if he’s just in my mind, but I can’t compete with him. Every time I see you I shall imagine I see him at your shoulder. Every time I touch you I shall imagine he’s touching you too.’

He stooped and picking up his mantle he began to shrug it on.

‘What are you doing?’ Her voice rose in panic. ‘Donald, you can’t leave me.’

‘I’m sorry, my love, I can’t stay.’ He looked at her with terrible sadness in his eyes. ‘You belong to King Alexander. Malcolm may not mind sharing you with him, but I can’t. I’m sorry.’

She was too shocked and frightened to speak as he turned towards the door. When he was halfway across the room he stopped and hesitated. He groped in his scrip and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. Without turning round, he tossed it on to the table, then he walked out.

It was his poem.

IV

Rhonwen sat in the large chamber which had served as nursery, playroom and, while they were young enough, before their tutors came, as schoolroom to the two young Fifes. On the table before her were a dozen small piles of embroidery silks, all carefully graded by quality and colour. Her eyes weren’t as keen as they used to be. The long hours of needlework, the fine stitches, the poor light had all made her near-sighted. She peered at one of the tangled skeins and, sighing, put it down.

Behind her two young women were threading the loom. The pattern of the woollen warp was complicated and repetitive and involved much serious counting as they knotted the loom weights into place. The finished length of cloth would make a fine plaid: the broad warm multi-coloured strip of cloth the men and women of Fife wrapped around themselves against the vicious east wind which whipped across the forest from the bitter North Sea. If it turned out fine enough and warm enough, she would give it to Eleyne. She smiled fondly, then frowned.

She had known at once that the affair with Donald of Mar was over. Eleyne had hidden her devastation well. Outwardly her life continued as before, the life of a country woman above all else, less concerned with the goings-on at court, where her husband spent most of his time, and more passionately involved with her horses and the new stud farm she was building. Her aching heart was invisible to all, Rhonwen suspected, except herself. She had pondered what to do about it, once or twice going to the casket where the phoenix lay and gazing thoughtfully at it. Her cautious enquiries revealed that Donald had disappeared back to Mar. Her mistress’s pride would not tolerate a man brought back unwillingly. And did she want him back? Rhonwen watched and waited.

One morning as she sat with Eleyne, working on the tiny gold knots which were to decorate the neck of one of Macduff ’s tunics, Rhonwen found herself contemplating yet again the younger woman’s preoccupied face. Eleyne’s fingers were inky like a child’s; she had been copying lists of horses into the great ledger she had begun, listing every foal bred at Falkland since her arrival, but she had written nothing for some minutes. The ink was drying on her quill as she stared into space, the expression on her face transparent. With a frisson of shock, Rhonwen found herself reading it with ease. Eleyne of Fife had a new lover! The glow on her skin, the excitement in her eyes, combined with the dreamy expression, could only mean one thing – a man.

The embroidery dropped unnoticed on Rhonwen’s knee as all her senses sharpened. It wasn’t possible! Not without her knowledge! And it certainly wasn’t Donald of Mar. Her curiosity was aroused.

She watched for days, surreptitiously and with great caution. The obvious place for the meetings was the stables. In the old days she had often wondered if Eleyne hadn’t found comfort with that pleasant young man who had been her master of horse at Suckley. He had died for her, that young man; there were perhaps many who would do the same.

The marshal of the horse in the Falkland stables was Thomas of Cupar, a man in his mid-sixties, who had been shiningly and aggressively bald for more than forty years. He was a brilliant, dedicated horseman, and undoubtedly he and Eleyne respected and liked each other enormously – but lovers? No. Rhonwen was sure not. Stealthily, she tracked Eleyne around the castle and found her the same with all the men she spoke to. She had a way with men, as she had had since she was a child. From the most senior of the household to the most junior of the pages, she spoke with gracious dignity, combined with an almost invisible flirtation of the eyes which told them that, though their countess appreciated them as men and found them attractive, they must not overstep the mark.

Her eyes alight with wry amusement, Eleyne refused to be drawn by Rhonwen’s casual attempts to trick her into giving herself away. She still loved Rhonwen, the older woman was sure of that, but she confided in her less and less. There was a reservation there which hurt and saddened her and Rhonwen guessed why. She had been away too much; she had left Eleyne when Eleyne had needed her most, and when she had returned the habit of keeping her own counsels was established. That Eleyne had ever resented her prying and manipulation over their long years together never entered her head. Nor had she noticed that sometimes it was Eleyne who watched her, as though she too were trying to resolve a problem which would not go away.

Rhonwen sucked in her cheeks and doggedly pursued her quest. There was someone. She saw the signs again and again, but only when Eleyne was alone and thought herself unobserved; and she never saw her single out any particular man for so much as an extra smile.

So. It must be at night. He must somehow go to her at night right here in the castle under everyone’s noses. It was so convenient, her strange habit of wanting to sleep by herself when her husband was away; so easy when her servants were used to leaving her alone; no fear of interruption, no possibility of discovery; no guards save at the main entrance to the Great Tower.

The man in question had therefore to secrete himself in the Tower, in the evening, after supper in the great hall and before the door was closed and bolted for the night. Rhonwen, her eyes everywhere, watched and waited her chance.

Eleyne’s new young maid, Meg, was somewhat in awe of her mistress’s old nurse: the hawklike nose, the glittering eyes, the imperious voice with its strange foreign intonation all frightened her, as did the woman’s reputation amongst the lower servants as a witch, though the old woman had never been anything other than kind to her and she knew the children adored her. So when Rhonwen demanded that she let her wait behind the heavy curtains which screened off the window embrasure in Eleyne’s chamber, she agreed without a word.

‘Your lady and I have to talk alone late,’ Rhonwen confided, ‘and I don’t want the other servants tattling about it or trying to guess what we have to say to each other. So don’t give so much as a sign that I’m there, do you understand?’ If Eleyne discovered her, she would claim she had had a message after all these years of silence from Lady Lincoln, and that her embarrassment at being inadvertently trapped in Eleyne’s room had caused her to hide. It was a flimsy excuse, and unlikely, but it would have to do.

She took a warm wrap into her hiding place and a cushion for the cold stone seat and smiled reassuringly at Meg as the girl pulled the heavy curtain across. It was bitterly cold in the embrasure in spite of the window glass, and the wind, with the scent of wood-smoke, the cold woods and marshes and the far distant sea, sneaked through a dozen cracks in the ill-fitting leads.

It was late when Eleyne came at last to her chamber. She had been sitting in the great hall, listening to the music of their harper, Master Elias. The young man had been blind since birth, but the music his fingers stroked from the strings was like the voices of angels. He was, Eleyne was sure, the most accomplished harper she had ever heard, though as a patriotic Welsh woman she would never admit as much to her husband. Malcolm was at Dunfermline – or Roxburgh – or Edinburgh – she didn’t know which and she didn’t care. Undoubtedly he was with the king; as long as he was not at Falkland, she was content.

She sat back in her chair, listening, her eyes closed, a goblet of wine in her hand, until long after the usual time she went to bed, and it was a long time before she realised that Elias was playing for her alone. Most of the men and women in the great hall had crept away and those who remained had long ago fallen asleep, the tables and benches removed, their cloaks wrapped around them for the night. She stood up and walked over to where the man sat, gently strumming the strings as though reluctant to silence the instrument for the night. She often asked one or other of the musicians to play for her and her ladies in the bedchamber before she retired for the night. It was restful there. She could close her eyes in the chair by the fire and let her thoughts roam as the women quietly prepared the room for the night.

‘Will you come upstairs and play for me?’

‘I will always play for you, my lady.’

She smiled. ‘Tell your boy to bring your harp and come to my chamber.’ He was a handsome man; not tall, and with a slight build, but his arms were muscular and his fingers agile with the telltale calluses of the harper. When he stood up, he was a head shorter than she. ‘My music speaks to your soul, my lady?’ He looked directly at her as though he saw her clearly.

She nodded and though he could not see the gesture he seemed content with her answer. He followed her, his stick in his hand, and behind him came his servant with the precious harp.

After the heat of the great hall the courtyard was very cold. She hurried across it, her head lowered against the wind, followed by two of her ladies, and behind them Elias and his servant. The staircase in the Great Tower was broad and steep, lighted by the burning torches which had been left in the sconces on each landing. The one outside her bedchamber spluttered and spat, spilling resin on the floor.

Meg was asleep in the chair by the fire when Eleyne walked in. The chamber was lit by a single candle. The girl jumped to her feet with a squeak of fright, glancing, in spite of herself, at the curtain across the embrasure. ‘My lady! I’m sorry.’

‘That’s all right, child. I’m sorry I was so late. Go to bed. And Annabel and Hylde, you go too. Leave me with my music.’ She sat down on a stool and indicated that the harper should take her chair. His servant set down the instrument with great care and guided his master to the seat. Then he withdrew to sit silently in the shadows as Elias gently tweaked the strings back into tune before he began to play.

V

Behind the curtain Rhonwen too had fallen asleep. She awoke with a start as the door opened and Eleyne came into the room. She almost cried out in fright, but somehow she stifled the sound, remembering at once where she was. She heard the murmur of voices from beyond the curtain, and then the sound of the closing door. She held her breath. Was Eleyne alone, or was someone there with her? For the first time she realised that she was in the only obvious hiding place in the room; if anyone had been going to hide, to wait for Eleyne to be alone, this is where they would have secreted themselves.

She shivered, half expecting to see the curtains twitch before her eyes and a figure slip between them. But nothing happened. She waited in the darkness, holding her breath, and then she heard the first tentative notes of the harp. She could hear no voices now, just the single notes, dropping into the silence as they were tuned, then the music. It was slow, gentle music; soothing, lilting, seductive. Rhonwen edged closer to the curtain and pulled it cautiously a fraction of an inch from the wall; she put her eye to the gap. The room was lit by a single candle and the soft glow from the fire. She saw Eleyne sitting peacefully on the stool, leaning on the table with her elbows. The candle flickered gently, throwing shadows across her face. The harper had his back half turned towards her, sitting near the fire, his fingers stroking the sounds from the strings. They appeared to be alone. There was no sign of Meg or of Annabel or Hylde. Rhonwen eased her position, aware of the cold seeping into her bones so that she was stiff and achy. The wind was moaning through a crack in the window behind her: a desolate, lonely sound. Was it the harper then, this lover who brought the glow to Eleyne’s cheeks? Rhonwen moved, trying to get a better view of his face, though she knew it was Elias. No one else could play like that. She listened, thinking over this new idea, and then shook her head in the darkness. She doubted if Elias was the man.

She moved back from the curtain and sat down on the window seat. She was cold and stiff and she wanted to go to her bed, but she was trapped. She would have to stay there, in the window embrasure, until Eleyne had gone to sleep, and then hope that she could creep unnoticed from the room. She felt cheated and not a little angry.

The sound of voices awakened her a second time. The music had stopped, and Elias was speaking. She crept towards the curtain again and listened.

‘The time has come for you to be alone, my lady,’ he said softly. ‘I shall play for you tomorrow.’

Eleyne sat up straight, and Rhonwen saw the sudden suspicion on her face. ‘You know.’ Her voice was sharp in the silence.

Elias smiled. ‘I know, my lady. I need no eyes to see, so I see things which others miss.’ He rose and his servant scrambled to his feet and hurried to his master’s side. Rhonwen was startled. She hadn’t even noticed the young man sitting against the wall by the door.

Eleyne waited courteously as Elias moved towards the door, guided by his servant, and only when they had descended the stairs towards the lower floors of the Great Tower did she walk over to the door and bolt it behind them, then she turned back to the fire and threw on several logs. It flared a little in its bed of ash. Eleyne nodded, as though satisfied that it would burn steadily for the rest of the night. She blew out the candle on the table and moved towards her bed. She was obviously not going to call her maids.

The room was almost dark. The warm firelight flickered up the walls and threw deep velvet shadows across the floor and Rhonwen realised that Eleyne was not, after all, alone. A man was standing near her, in the pool of deeper darkness near the bed. She caught her breath so painfully she was sure they would hear her gasp, but neither figure turned in her direction. Where had he been hiding? Had he been in the room when Rhonwen had come in? Unaware that the hairs on the back of her neck and on her arms were standing on end, Rhonwen pressed her eye closer to the curtain and watched as Eleyne moved towards him slowly, almost as though she were in a dream. Rhonwen saw the figure, scarcely more than a greater darkness against the darkness of the bed curtains, open his arms and enfold her.

A log slipped in the hearth and Rhonwen jumped as a shower of sparks shot up the broad chimney, but neither Eleyne nor her lover moved. They were totally preoccupied with each other. Rhonwen watched, fascinated, half ashamed at her own prurient interest but unable to look away as she saw Eleyne turn at last from his embrace. Still moving in a dreamlike trance, Eleyne began to undress. The man made no move to help her. He had stepped away, and Rhonwen found she had to stare very hard to be sure he was still there. His shape merged with the curtains of the bed as he waited in the moving shadows. Eleyne’s gown fell to the floor, and Rhonwen saw the white glow of her arms as she raised her hands to unbraid her hair. She shook it free and then pulled her shift over her head, stretching languidly upwards as she did so, flaunting her body sensuously as she dropped the garment in a tangled heap at her feet. Only then did he step forward again and Rhonwen saw that he too was naked. Her scalp prickled warningly. She had not seen him undress; she had not seen him move.

Without warning, she was very afraid. Not once had she seen his face; she couldn’t even guess who he was and, she realised, she was shaking like a leaf, half from cold and half from terror.

The room was growing darker as the fire burned low; she could barely see them now. They were still standing up, lost in one another’s arms, as if almost reluctant to fall on the bed and consummate their passion. Rhonwen’s throat had gone dry, and the room was so cold that her feet had gone numb. She looked longingly at the fire and, almost in response to her yearning for more heat, a log slipped from the sluggishly burning pile. A sheet of flame spurted up, throwing a swathe of clear amber light across the room. Rhonwen looked towards the bed and saw his face.

For a moment her terror was so great she could not breathe; she stepped back, forgetting her hands were clutching the curtain, and as they swung inwards she stumbled and fell, pulling them open. With a moan, she crumpled in a heap between the two window seats and brought her arms around her head.

Eleyne’s voice was sharp with anger: ‘What are you doing there? Get up!’

Rhonwen raised her head, searching in wild terror for the dead king. He had gone. Eleyne stood in front of her, alone. She had pulled on her bed gown, and her face was white with fury. Rhonwen saw the gleam of the phoenix between her breasts.

‘How long have you been there?’

Rhonwen was shaking so violently she could not stand. ‘I was asleep. I must have fallen asleep waiting for you -’ Her mind groped for excuses even as it flitted around the reality of what she had seen. ‘I’m sorry, cariad, I must have fallen off the seat. So silly.’ She was kneeling at Eleyne’s feet, and she realised that tears were pouring down her face. She raised her hands pathetically and Eleyne took them, her face softening.

‘You’ve been asleep all the time?’ She sounded relieved.

Rhonwen nodded violently, unable to meet Eleyne’s eye. ‘I was dreaming, I dreamt I heard music, then I woke and found myself on the floor. I’m sorry, I must have given you such a fright.’ She was trying desperately to pull herself together; she had known that the king visited Eleyne, but to see him as real as another man, taking her in his arms… she was overcome with shock. He was still a man and he could still love Eleyne like a man. Grunting with the effort, Rhonwen stood and walked stiffly over to the fire.

‘This room is very cold, cariad,’ she said, her voice trembling.

‘That’s because it is the middle of the night,’ Eleyne said gently. ‘I’ll come with you to your room and make sure you get to bed.’ She bent and threw on another log. The fire was burning brightly now. Eleyne reached for the candle and thrust it into the flames. The light spread to the dark corners near the bed. There was no one there; nothing, not even a shadow.

I

Three nights passed before Alexander returned. Watching Eleyne’s face, following her, waiting for her at every opportunity, Rhonwen knew when he had come back. From the shadow of the wall she could see the dreamy contentment in Eleyne’s eyes, feel the heavy sensuality of her body as she moved across the courtyard and towards the stables.

Her lips set in a tight, straight line, Rhonwen hurried up the winding stairs towards Eleyne’s bedchamber. It was deserted, as she had known it would be. Sliding silently through the door, she closed it and slid the bolt. The fire had been banked up to smoulder quietly all day. The shutters were open and the heavy embrasure curtain drawn back. Rain was falling and a dull light filtered into the room. It strayed across the floor towards the bed, playing on the heavy bed hangings.

Rhonwen looked towards the bed where she had seen the tall shadowy figure and she made herself walk towards it. It had been neatly made by the bed maids, who every morning smoothed the sheets and covers with the long sticks which enabled them to reach to the very middle of the broad high bed, and it was covered with a heavy embroidered coverlet. There was no sign now of Eleyne’s companion of the night.

‘Are you there?’ Rhonwen murmured aloud. She waited, half afraid, half relieved at the echoing emptiness and silence of the room. ‘Where are you?’ She listened again, peering around. ‘I’m on your side. I know how much you loved her, I’ve always known. She can still bear your child.’ She fell slowly to her knees. ‘I’ll help you, I’ll do anything you wish. Einion Gweledydd was right, wasn’t he? He was right all along. She belongs to you. She will bear your child. Your son will die without an heir and then you will need my Eleyne, my cariad. Then you will give her a child and I will take care of him. I take care of all my Eleyne’s babes. If I’d been there before, your little ones would not have died.’ The thin daylight lay in a flat wash across the floor. In the hearth the fire smoked. The bedchamber was empty.

‘Listen to me!’ she cried out again. ‘Please. Listen.’

She scrambled to her feet and hurrying to the jewel casket on the table she threw back the lid. She rummaged through Eleyne’s jewels, her arthritic fingers clumsy with cold, and at last she found the phoenix. She clutched it with an exclamation of triumph and turned back to the bed. ‘You see, I have it! This is how she calls you, isn’t it? This is how you reach her. Your talisman. She doesn’t know I know. She thinks I’m a silly old woman, but I’m not.’ Her eyes narrowed craftily. ‘I see everything. And I wait. And I am your servant, most gracious prince.’ She was out of breath. Was that a movement at last, near the wall, behind the heavy columnar folds of the bed curtains? ‘I’ll do whatever you wish.’ Painfully she knelt, addressing the curtain. ‘I’ll get rid of the earl for you.’ Her voice dropped confidentially. ‘I know of poisons which no one will suspect; I’ve used them before, for her. She won’t know but she’ll be free. She’ll be yours absolutely.’ She looked down coquettishly at the enamelled phoenix. ‘My pretty bird. You’ll help us, won’t you? You’ll serve your king and his lady and bring them together.’ She put her head on one side. ‘But now I must put you away. We don’t want anyone to know our secret, do we?’ She climbed to her feet again. ‘No one but you and me and the king and my sweet, sweet lady.’

Hylde pressed her eye closer to the keyhole of the door. She saw the woman clearly as she knelt near the bed, but she was too far away to be heard. Only once had she raised her voice. ‘Listen to me,’ she had cried, ‘please listen!’ She was pleading with someone. Hylde pressed closer to the door. Who was in there with her? She was deeply suspicious of Rhonwen. Meg had confided that the old woman had hidden in her lady’s chamber three nights before and Hylde had immediately begun to watch her. The mad old witch was up to something.

She saw something glitter in Rhonwen’s hand as she raised it before her. She was holding it the way people would hold a crucifix or something holy, to ward off evil. Was there a crucifix among her lady’s jewels? She had never seen one, other than the carved cross she sometimes wore with her beads. Hylde crossed herself and wished she could see who Rhonwen was talking to. She found she was trembling and glanced behind her. The empty staircase wound out of sight, dimly lit from the doorway at the bottom. In the silence she heard the gentle moan of the wind.

When Rhonwen at last left the chamber, Hylde was hidden in the darkness of the stairs above her. She waited until Rhonwen’s shuffling steps had died away into silence, then she tiptoed down. Only one person had left the room, so whoever had been talking to Rhonwen was still there.

Not giving herself time to think, she threw open the door and sailed in. ‘What are you doing in my lady’s room -’ She stopped in her tracks and stared around. The room was empty, but there had been someone here with Rhonwen. The woman had not been alone, she was sure of it. Methodically she began to search – the garderobe, the coffers, the window embrasure, the gap behind the bed, the heavy bed hangings; she even stepped into the hearth and peered up through the smoke into the chimney. There was no one: the room was empty.

The small hairs on her arms prickled with fear. She walked over to the jewel casket and pulled back the hasp – unlocked in spite of her warnings – then she threw back the lid and stared at the jumble of brooches and chains and earrings which lay there. At the bottom of the casket, wrapped in wisps of silk, lay two pendants. She had never seen the countess wear either, but she had unwrapped them once to show Hylde: a fabulous gleaming phoenix with jewelled eyes springing from a nest of flames and a beautiful prancing horse. Also wrapped in the bottom of the casket was a small engraved gold ring. As she had thought, there was no crucifix; no ring which contained a holy relic. She lowered the lid and pulled the hasp back across its loop. There was only one explanation left of what Rhonwen was doing: she was casting a spell.

Hylde took her suspicions to Eleyne that evening, as Eleyne was changing for supper. She chased the countess’s other women away before confessing cheerfully to her eavesdropping, and informed her mistress that Rhonwen had hidden in her chamber three nights before as well. She waited for a reaction, and she was not disappointed. Anger and fear chased each other across Eleyne’s features before she controlled her emotions and smiled at Hylde who was holding her mantle ready.

‘You think she was casting a spell?’

Hylde shrugged. ‘She was talking out loud, my lady, and holding something up before her like this.’ She held her hand out in front of her nose. ‘She sounded as if she were pleading with someone. I searched the room, but there was no one here.’ She looked around, conscious that once more her arms were covered in gooseflesh.

Settling her mantle over her shoulders, Eleyne turned to her jewel casket. Hylde watched. If someone had been rummaging through them, would her lady notice? But Eleyne merely picked out a brooch to fasten her mantle and dropped the lid of the casket without a second glance.

‘Don’t say anything to anyone,’ she said to Hylde. ‘I’ll talk to her. If she’s casting spells to make me bear a child, at my age, I shall be very cross.’ She smiled. ‘I love my children dearly, but if Our Lady has seen fit to make me barren at last, then so be it. I shall not complain!’

And with that Hylde had to be content.

II

Eleyne summoned Rhonwen to her chamber that very evening when supper was finished. Dismissing her other ladies, she turned on the old woman as soon as they were alone.

‘I hear you have been spying on me. Why?’ Her eyes were hard. She was afraid. Rhonwen was the one person she could not deceive.

Rhonwen sat down slowly by the fire and looked at Eleyne. ‘I know.’

‘You know what?’

‘I saw him.’

There was a long silence as Eleyne gazed steadily at her, trying to gauge what she meant. ‘Who exactly did you see?’ she asked.

‘The king.’ Rhonwen spoke in a whisper. ‘Don’t worry, cariad, your secret is safe with me. You have been chosen for great things, and I can help you.’ She smiled confidently. ‘I spoke to him, you see. I told him I would help you – ’

‘You spoke to him!’ Eleyne was as white as a sheet. ‘You saw him?’

Rhonwen nodded emphatically. ‘You will bear his child, cariad. A child who will be a king – just as Einion Gweledydd foretold. He spoke the truth, all those years ago. You see? It has all come right in the end.’

‘I will bear the king’s child?’ Eleyne stared at her incredulously. ‘No, you don’t understand, it’s not like that. He’s not real.’ She twisted her fingers together unhappily. ‘You should not have spied on me, Rhonwen. That was wrong, and you know it.’

Rhonwen shook her head. ‘He was pleased. He needs my help to get rid of Lord Fife. We have to get rid of Lord Fife, cariad. He’s in the way now – ’

‘No!’ Eleyne squatted beside her and took her hands in her own. Rhonwen had begun to look like an old woman, but her eyes had the cold steadiness of the fanatic. Looking at them, Eleyne was afraid. ‘Rhonwen, you must not harm Lord Fife. I am sure the king did not tell you to. You haven’t done anything yet, have you?’

Rhonwen shook her head. ‘With the earl away – ’

‘He is coming back soon. And I do not want him harmed, do you understand?’ Eleyne clasped her hands tightly. She was frightened, not of Rhonwen knowing, but of what she might do; terrified even of acknowledging her fears of what Rhonwen was capable of doing. ‘He did not take me from Alexander, that was Robert. Malcolm is the father of my children, and if, if I should ever bear another child, before the whole world Malcolm would be its father. What would happen if I had a child and I was a widow? Think, Rhonwen, think what would be said!’

‘But the king – ’

‘Leave the king to me, my dear.’ Eleyne dropped a light kiss on the older woman’s head. ‘Now, go to bed and leave me. I want to hear no more about this, do you understand?’

Rhonwen stood up slowly. ‘If you need me – ’

‘If I need your help, I will call on you, I promise.’

Eleyne sat for a long time after Rhonwen had gone. Not once did she stare into the shadows. She shivered and sat closer to the fire. If Rhonwen had really seen him, he was growing stronger, and she was suddenly very afraid.

III

The news Malcolm brought on his return put all other thoughts out of Eleyne’s head.

‘You can’t do it!’ She looked at her husband in horror. ‘There can be no question of a marriage alliance with the Durwards!’

Malcolm scowled. ‘It’s all arranged!’

‘Then you must unarrange it. My son will not marry a child of that ambitious, lying, cheating, jumped-up nobody!’

‘I told you, Eleyne, it’s done.’ Malcolm’s face darkened with anger. ‘The match pleases me.’

‘Well, it doesn’t please me!’ she retorted. ‘Think, Malcolm, think who they are.’

‘Little Anna is the grand-daughter of the late king,’ Malcolm said with deceptive mildness. His eyes gleamed. ‘That should please you.’

‘Please me!’ Eleyne wondered for a moment if he had forgotten or if he were being deliberately obtuse. ‘That her mother was King Alexander’s bastard?’ She paused, afraid suddenly even to be saying his name out loud. ‘And perhaps it should also please me that Durward has been pursuing the earldom of Mar through the Vatican courts in a pathetic attempt to cheat himself into the noble blood he does not possess – a claim he was quick to drop when his own legitimacy was questioned!’ She was white with rage.

‘You are strangely defensive about the earldom of Mar, my dear.’ Malcolm took her wrist and pulled her towards him sharply. ‘I had thought that business with Donald of Mar finished. Can it be that I was wrong? Why should you care a jot for the earldom of Mar and who holds it?’

‘I don’t care!’ Eleyne rounded on him in fury. ‘I don’t care at all except that it proves the lengths to which Durward will go, to try to win himself position and influence in one of the ancient earldoms of this land. Don’t you see? He failed to get himself the earldom of Mar. Now he wants Fife!’

‘And his daughter shall have it,’ Malcolm growled, ‘with my blessing!’

IV

Later he sat staring glumly at the empty flagon of wine on the table. His belly ached and he felt sick and old. He looked around dazedly and gave a painful belch. His sons had gone out riding with their hawks after Eleyne had stormed out and he found himself feeling lonely. He sighed. Not so very long ago he would have worried that perhaps she still dangled after the Mar boy. Boy! He checked himself. Donald was in his twenties now. But Lady Rhonwen had put his mind at rest on that subject years ago. Donald of Mar’s infatuation had waned as quickly as it had begun. There was nothing to fear there. Eleyne had been kind to the boy, no more, and yet, sometimes, he had wondered. He had caught sight of her face at an unguarded moment, seen the secret dreaminess in her eyes and, just occasionally, he thought she had the look of a woman who had a lover.

He had given orders that she be watched, but Donald of Mar was far away, and no other man had been seen in her company. She had remained a good and faithful wife. And beautiful. It was a pity there had been no more children, but he was very proud of his two sons.

It was Sir Alan Durward who had made the suggestion: a marriage between his spirited daughter, Anna, and Colban. Malcolm had known that Eleyne would hate the idea. She had never liked Sir Alan. But he intended the marriage to go through. He was still out of the immediate government, but his initial anger at being excluded had waned when he found others in the same boat: Eleyne’s nephew, Robert Bruce, Lord of Annandale, for instance. And in the inner council or not, he had remained close to Durward and, more important still, close to the king, who had now been in full control of the country for four years or more. Little Queen Margaret too had grown up at last and was even now expecting her first child. That was good for Scotland; it would bring back some feeling of stability to the succession.

He eased his position in his chair and groaned again. The marriage should take place without delay, then he would once more be accepted into the king’s closest circle. That was part of the deal, that and the girl’s dowry, a fair exchange for the fact that Sir Alan’s daughter would one day be the Countess of Fife. One day sooner rather than later, if this accursed pain did not go away.

V

Eleyne kicked the grey palfrey into a gallop, feeling the cold wind whipping tears into her eyes, seeing the two great dogs, Raoulet and Sabina, lengthen their strides to catch up as she bent low on the horse’s neck. Her anger was still white-hot, but there was nothing she could do; she had long ago learned that. If Malcolm had made up his mind, then Colban would marry Anna Durward and nothing she could say would alter the fact.

It was a long time since she had consulted Adam and she had never before visited him in the cave he called home, but her anger and frustration after her latest quarrel with Malcolm had driven her to seek him out for Colban’s sake. Adam would know; she was sure he knew more about Colban than he had told her.

The track narrowed as it came close to the edge of the low cliffs. Below her she saw the gleam of the Firth of Forth through the trees. The water glittered in the icy wind, tossing white-topped wavelets on to the narrow curve of the beach. Her wild ride had brought her to a part of the coast near Macduff ’s Castle.

The low cliffs flattened out at the end of the bay, and the rocks ran in great black ribs out into the sea. Squinting into the brightness, she could see the Isle of May and beyond it the great mist-shrouded hump of the Bass Rock. She reined her horse in and looked out to sea. The rush of the wind and the sea filled her ears, and she strained to hear beyond them. She glanced around. There was no one there. Nothing but the wind dancing in the tossing birch and alder, and no one but the impatient horse and the two eager dogs. She walked the palfrey on, and it was barely a quarter of a mile before she saw the path. It led, zigzag, down the cliff face to the beach below. Sliding from the saddle, she tied the horse to a tree and calling the dogs to heel she began to walk down, sliding on the loose earth and sand, clutching at the coarse stems of grass to steady herself, her ears full of the rush and ebb of the sea.

The boy was at her side almost before she realised he was there, running towards her up the beach on bare feet. He bowed, gazing warily at the dogs, and stopped several yards from her.

‘My master says you are welcome, my lady.’ He grinned, a friendly cheeky grin from a dirty face, lit by two brilliant blue eyes. He gestured towards the rocks as though they formed an anteroom to a presence chamber. It was almost as if she were expected! Eleyne smiled at him, intrigued, liking his brazen, confident gaze.

‘And who might your master be, young sir?’ She had already guessed, but she wanted to be sure. She put her hand on Raoulet’s head as he growled warningly in his throat. The boy’s eyes went to the dog’s face and she saw him hesitate nervously. ‘He won’t hurt you,’ she reassured him.

He took a cautious step closer. ‘My master is the greatest wizard in all Scotland.’ He did not take his eyes off Raoulet’s teeth as the dog sat panting at Eleyne’s side.

Relieved that she had found Adam so easily, she looked around. The cave where he spent the short summer months had, so she had been told, belonged to Michael and before him probably to a long line of seers and holy men.

The implications of the boy’s welcome sank in. ‘Your master was expecting me?’

‘Oh yes.’ The boy nodded vigorously. ‘He said that today was the conjunction of two destinies.’ He repeated the words carefully. ‘He saw it in the stars many months ago and then again when he read the signs.’ He straightened his shoulders, full of self-importance. ‘It was me who fetched Lord Donald. I had to ride to Dunfermline on the mule and take a message to the king’s hall.’

‘Lord Donald?’ Eleyne echoed. A knot of excitement tightened in her stomach.

She began to run up the beach in the direction from which the boy had appeared, the two dogs bounding beside her, barking. Her shoes filled with sand and she stumbled on her skirts as she flew panting towards the base of the low cliffs, where already she had spotted the entrance to the cave.

It was dark inside, and she stood still, blinded after the bright sunshine. As her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, she saw a faint gleam coming from the wall ahead of her. The cave led back into the cliff and then took a right-angled bend towards the source of the warm glow of candlelight. She snapped her fingers at the two dogs, who immediately fell behind, crouching on the sand floor of the cave to wait. Then she tiptoed forward. Her heart was pounding in her throat as she reached the bend in the cave wall and peered around it. The walls of the cave were carved with strange symbols – signs of the old gods and with them early Christian crosses. This had long been a special, sacred place. The two figures bent over the driftwood table with its single candle were lost in thought, their concentration on something which she could not see. Adam’s tall spare figure, so stooped at the shoulders, was turned away from her. It was the other man she was staring at. His face clearly lit by the flickering candle flame, Donald of Mar was tracing something on the table with his finger.

Her heart ached with longing. He had changed in the last six months. His shoulders had broadened even more, his face had grown heavier and had more authority, but it had, she noticed sadly, lost something of its wistful dreaminess.

‘Please come in, my lady.’ Adam had not turned, but his voice echoed around the cave. ‘We have been waiting for you.’

She edged forward obediently, half mesmerised, and stood in the candlelight, her eyes on Donald’s face. She saw his eyes narrow, though he did not look surprised to see her there.

‘How did you know I would come?’ To her astonishment, her voice was quite steady.

‘I saw.’ Adam straightened at last. ‘It was written. I took the liberty of lending fate a helping hand by arranging for Lord Donald to come here to wait for you. Time is short. Nothing can be left to chance.’

‘It sounds as though you don’t believe in chance at all,’ she replied softly. She felt something strange happening to her insides, as though a great stone were melting inside her. Her misery and hurt, so carefully hidden and buried after that terrible night at Macduff ’s Castle, when Donald had walked out on her and ridden back to the great dark mountains of the north, were dissolving into a strange half-dreaming warmth.

Adam folded his arms austerely. ‘One can hinder the gods as one can help them. One can never defy them. Sometimes one man’s destiny is out of step with another’s; one dies, and another must step in to fulfil his fate. All will follow the ordained path in the end.’

There was a short silence. Eleyne and Donald were gazing at each other, half dazzled by the candlelight.

‘And my destiny is here?’ Eleyne asked at last.

‘Your destiny is in Mar,’ Adam said slowly.

VI

It was two days later.

‘Where is she?’

Malcolm was pacing the great hall at Falkland. ‘For the love of the Blessed Virgin, she can’t have disappeared off the face of the earth.’

‘She has her dogs with her, my lord.’ John Keith stood before the earl, his face creased with worry. ‘She is not in any danger with those great creatures to protect her, and I’m sure she is safe. She’s decided to take refuge somewhere from the storms, that’s all. There are scores of places where she could have gone.’

Outside the thunder rolled again around the Lomonds and shook the window screens. In the forest to the north of the castle the leaves were being torn from the ancient oaks, streaming on the wind like gold coins to lie in soggy heaps, their glory eclipsed. Sir Alan Durward was standing by the fire, warming his hands. ‘She’s sulking. You said as much yourself. She’ll come back when she finds out the wedding will take place whether she approves it or not.’ Colban was sitting restlessly at the trestle table, forcing himself to concentrate on a game of backgammon with his brother; Macduff was beating him with ease.

Durward and Malcolm had just fixed the date of the wedding: it would be three weeks hence.

Malcolm frowned. There was something wrong; he could sense it. And it was more than just the fact that he and Eleyne had had a fight. Something had changed in the air and he watched as a lightning flash lit the high narrow windows of the great hall, followed by another crash of thunder.

She came back three days later, unrepentant, refusing to tell him where she had been. But there was a new lightness to her step and a glow on her skin which stirred his old desire. His wife was radiant.

VII

She was afraid. Not of Malcolm, he would discover nothing. But of Alexander – he knew, and he was angry. She erected a wall against him and surrounded herself with it, a mental screen behind which she did not think of him, dream of him or even remember him. He was a thing of the past. She had taken off the phoenix and wrapping it carefully in a dark silk scarf, she locked it in a small casket and tucked the casket into a chest in her solar. Then, deliberately, she put Alexander out of her mind.

Her whole present and future were centred on Donald and the need to be with him. But she could do nothing before the wedding. And when she did, she could not involve Rhonwen in her plans. Rhonwen belonged to Alexander.

VIII

The marriage of Colban and Anna Durward took place on a stormy day at the end of the month. The bride was a plump and cheerful fourteen-year-old; the bridegroom, excited, confident, boasting his prowess, was just twelve. Within months his wife had confirmed she was with child.

Donald was vastly amused. ‘Why are you so shocked?’ He was stroking Eleyne’s shoulders as she sat on the floor, leaning against his knees before the fire at Macduff ’s Castle, where at last they had met again. The rugs heaped before the hearth were already tumbled with their lovemaking. The light of the flames played across their naked bodies, resting and relaxed. He saw her heavy breasts, the rounded flesh of her thighs and felt the excitement begin to build again. Her body was taut and hard; she had the figure still of a woman half her age, but it was her maturity, her ripeness which excited him. The bouncy charm of a young woman like Anna Durward left him completely unmoved.

‘I suppose I’m shocked because Colban is still my child. It’s such a short time since he was a baby.’ She shrugged. ‘I can’t see him as a man.’

‘He isn’t a man,’ Donald snorted. ‘He’s a precocious boy, but he will be a man soon enough. Give him some freedom, let him find his feet.’ His hands began to roam across her body commandingly. ‘Now forget him and forget Durward. I have. You pay attention to me, my lady.’

Much later she turned to him again, sleepy and spent. ‘Why did you not come back before, if you still loved me?’

‘I rode back to Kildrummy to try to forget you. I listened to my father. I decided I could never fight Alexander. I suppose I was afraid.’ He spoke the name openly, seemingly without fear.

Eleyne turned from her position on the floor so that she could see his face. ‘But you’re not afraid now?’

‘No. I never stopped thinking about you, however hard I tried. I used to see you sometimes at court. I used to watch you. Oh, I made sure you never saw me, but I saw you often. I used to dream about how I would fight Alexander for you; duel with him in the clouds; seek the entrance to hell and follow him there if I had to. Twice I consulted Adam when he came to court, and he hinted that I had a place in your future, but he could not tell me what. Not until now. Then he sent for me and told me that you were going to come to his cave and that the stars foretold our union.’ He smiled. ‘He was right. I want you, Nel and I’m not prepared to live without you. I know that now.’ He wound his fingers into her hair. ‘I’ll face anything to keep you.’ She saw the new confidence and strength in his face as he bent and kissed her on the lips. ‘Does he still visit you?’

She did not have to be told who he meant. It was strange that neither of them had given a thought to Malcolm, her husband. She nodded and felt him grow tense. ‘I was lonely,’ she whispered, ‘I couldn’t fight him.’

‘And you didn’t want to.’ He was looking deep into her eyes.

‘No, I didn’t want to, I couldn’t. I was torn, but it was as if I were under his spell.’

‘And if I’m there, will you still welcome him to your bed?’

She saw the muscles around his jaw tighten imperceptibly as he waited for her answer. Slowly she shook her head. ‘You are what I want.’

Neither of them noticed the sudden chill in the room.

IX

Alexander had not returned since Donald had come back into her life. Once, twice, perhaps three times she had imagined she sensed him near her and she had willed him out of her mind, feeling him dwindle and fade, confident that her love for Donald could hold him at bay.

Her physical obsession with Donald of Mar kept her totally enthralled. Somehow they managed to meet often; the custodians of the outlying castles of Fife grew used to seeing their countess and her hitherto infrequent visits became a regular occurrence. She checked the accounts, toured the demesne and after a night or two moved on, riding one or other of her beautiful grey palfreys and followed always by her stately wolfhounds and a minimum of carefully chosen attendants.

If she was often joined by a tall, handsome squire, who attended her with austere silent attention, it was scarcely noticed. Only her own servants knew that at night the squire took their countess to bed and none of them, hand-picked by Hylde and sworn to secrecy on pain of unspeakable and lingering deaths, ever said a word.

She no longer confided in Rhonwen. Rhonwen’s eagle eye had at once detected a difference in her mistress on her return to Falkland after that first meeting with Donald at Adam’s cave. The old woman cornered her alone. ‘What has happened, cariad?’ Rhonwen fixed her with a coldly analytical stare. ‘Where have you been?’

Eleyne returned her gaze unflinchingly. ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business, Rhonwen,’ she said, her resentment building. ‘I’ve put you in charge of my nurseries to leave me free to administer the Fife lands. What I do is not your province.’

‘But if you are unfaithful to the king, that is my province. I have promised to serve him.’

‘We have all given our allegiance to the king.’ Eleyne wilfully misunderstood her. But her stomach tightened with warning: she had seen that fanatical light in Rhonwen’s eye too often before. It spelt danger; danger to Donald and danger to herself. ‘Please don’t meddle in affairs which do not concern you. You have built something up in your mind which does not exist, something which is not possible.’ She raised her hand as Rhonwen opened her mouth to contradict her. ‘No, I don’t want to discuss it any more. Your province is the nursery and I do not want to find you creeping around my rooms again, do you understand?’

The two women’s eyes locked, their friendship and love lost in mutual suspicion and resentment. Eleyne had not spoken to Rhonwen for several days, and then it was to give her curt orders about the running of the nurseries. When she next left the castle, she made sure that Rhonwen did not know where she was going, and she gave Hylde stricter than ever instructions about the secrecy their visits required.

How Donald managed to evade his father and his ever-increasing duties, Eleyne never asked. Sufficient that he was there for her. The infrequency of their meetings, the danger, the inconveniences and sometimes the discomfort added to the excitement. Their lovemaking was passionate beyond anything she had ever dreamed. There was no room for Alexander.

There was no question of marrying Donald, they both knew that. She had toyed with the idea of asking the king to have her marriage to Malcolm annulled; it had after all been bigamous and there should be some way of using that to untie the knots which held her to an unloved husband. Once she had hinted as much to Donald, but he had frowned and looked embarrassed and she realised sadly that she was pushing him too hard. He could see her as a lover, but not as a wife; never as a wife. She had not mentioned the matter again, and nor had he.

X

Rhonwen threw the pile of clothes back into the coffer, dropped the lid and turned to the next one. She had been hunting through Eleyne’s belongings for several days and still she hadn’t found it. The phoenix was missing. She had spotted immediately Eleyne had ceased to wear it, but it wasn’t in the jewel casket, nor in the coffer near Eleyne’s bed, or under her pillows.

‘I’ll find it, sire, I’ll find it for you!’ Rhonwen addressed the air somewhere near the bed curtains. ‘She still loves you. She is still yours.’ The rain rattled against the window, and a rumble of thunder echoed in the distance.

Eleyne was busy, happy, confident, but Rhonwen’s instincts told her that something had changed. Her first thought was that Donald of Mar had returned, but there was no sign of him and Eleyne made no attempts that she could see to arrange any secret meetings. It never crossed her mind that Eleyne would confide in Hylde or Meg and not in her.

She turned back to rummaging through the coffers. If it wasn’t here in the bedchamber, she would have to look further afield.

She found the phoenix at last, pulling the small package from the coffer in the solar with a triumphant smile. Why had Eleyne gone to so much trouble to hide it? Unwrapping it, she held it on the palm of her hand; the enamels glowed gently against the dark blue of the silk. It was almost as though she could feel the jewel humming with a life of its own.

She took it back into the bedchamber, and making sure she was alone she closed the door.

‘I’ve found it!’ Her whisper was husky with excitement. ‘I’ve found it for you. Now you can reach her, you can come to her again.’ She tucked it under the pile of pillows and bolsters and smoothed the coverlet down. She sent a quick darting look around the room, but there was no movement, no sign that anybody heard.

XI

Eleyne tossed uneasily on her bed. The storms had returned and the night was humid. She heard the heavy rain drumming on the roof of the chapel below her window.

She and Donald had planned to meet soon. She was to ride to the Abbey of Balmerino and nearby in one of the summer granges they would be able to spend a day together before returning to their public life. She sighed with longing at the thought of him.

The touch on her shoulder was sudden and very firm. Her eyes flew open and she stared into the darkness as a flash of lightning flickered at the window. She sat up slowly and felt her heart thudding with fear.

‘Go away,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’ Another flicker of lightning showed behind the glass, sending eldritch shadows lancing across the room. She pulled the sheet tightly around her. There was no fire: the night was too muggy. In the intervals between the flickers of summer lightning the room was dark as a tomb.

He came in the darkness, his lips commanding, the touch of his hands sure. She could not fight him, he knew her too well. Her body responded, obedient, slavelike, accepting him, opening to him, drugged with the heat of the night and the languor of her dreams. As she drifted into sleep, the perspiration cooling between her breasts, her hair damp on the pillow, there was a smile on her lips and Donald was forgotten.

XII

It was easy to remove the pendant before the maids made the bed in the morning. Whisking it out of sight, Rhonwen tucked it back in its hiding place in the solar. One look at Eleyne’s face told her that her ruse had worked. It would be simple to hide it again the following night.

XIII

The huge tithe barn was swept and empty, waiting for the harvest. It was a strange place to meet. Eleyne gazed up at the slanting sunbeams as they pierced its high walls; there was no sign of Donald. She had slipped out of the abbey guesthouse and stood absorbed in the view across the Tay to the blue mountains beyond, then as dusk fell she had made her way into the fragrant darkness rich with the scent of decades of harvested riches.

The slanting sunbeams had long gone when Donald came at last, slipping through the door and leading in his horse before pushing it closed with his shoulder. She watched, her mouth dry with desire as he tied the animal and threw down some hay for it, then she slipped out of the shadows.

His mouth on hers was firm, his arms around her so strong she gasped for breath as he swept her off her feet and carried her into the darkest corner of the building before throwing down his cloak and pulling her to the ground.

They had no warning. The ice-cold wind tore through the barn, whirled the hay into the air and crashed the doors back against the wall. The horse whinnied its terror, backing so hard that its halter snapped. It turned and galloped out into the night.

Donald drew Eleyne to him, trying to pull his wildly flapping cloak around them for shelter, ducking his head against the whirlwind trapped inside the barn, which threatened to tear the great roof beams apart.

‘Sweet Christ, Nel, what’s happening!’ There was a crash as a hayfork, long forgotten in a corner, flew up into the air and slammed into the ground only inches from him. Donald threw his body on top of her, trying to protect her from the flying debris which filled the air, passion forgotten as the sky above Fife split and sizzled with lightning which forked, split again and buried itself in the soil.

Her face pressed into the earth floor of the barn, Eleyne was trembling like a leaf. ‘No, please, leave us alone.’ She didn’t need the commanding touch of the invisible hand on her head to know that Alexander was there. ‘Please, leave us alone.’ She did not guess then or later that Rhonwen had sewn a small packet into the heavy train of her mantle which she would remove when Eleyne returned to Falkland.

Donald sat up. She could barely make out his face in the darkness, and she thought he was going to push her away. But his arms enfolded her as he climbed to his feet, helping her up. He glared around and narrowed his eyes against the flying dust.

‘Don’t think I won’t fight you for her!’ he yelled into the blackness. ‘It’s me she wants, me! Get back to the hell you came from and leave us in peace!’

Eleyne closed her eyes in terror, clinging to Donald, waiting for some new sign, but the wind had died as swiftly as it had come. The only sound now was the thunder of rain pouring on to the wet ground. The air was full of the sweet scent of the earth.

XIV

Adam’s cave was deserted. There were all the signs of his presence – the neatly stowed bed roll, the books, the astrolabe, the bottles and boxes of herbs – but there was no sign of him or his boy. She glanced at the carvings on the walls, with their strange ancient power, then went back to the cave mouth and looked up and down the beach. It had not crossed her mind that he would not be there.

The weather had broken with the storm and a sweet south wind ruffled the waters of the Forth, carrying the heavy scent of the Pentland Hills.

‘Good day, my lady.’ Adam’s voice at her elbow made her jump. He had appeared as silently as a shadow on the path behind her. He saw her pale face, the dark rings under her eyes, the tenseness of her hands as she clutched her cloak, and he frowned. ‘Lord Donald is not with you,’ he observed quietly.

‘No.’ She bit her lip, then she held out her hands to him. ‘Please, you have to help me!’

Donald had gone. They had planned another meeting, but the shadow of Alexander had been between them as they parted.

‘Of course. I am here to help, my lady. Please come in.’ He gestured her towards one of the three-legged stools which stood on either side of the rough plank table. There was no sign of the boy who had been with him before.

She sat down, her green eyes fixed on his fathomless dark ones. ‘It’s the king,’ she said.

Adam met her eye steadily. He did not need her to explain which king. ‘When a man has loved a woman through all eternity, it’s hard for him to let go,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘You must help him.’

‘How? How can I help him?’ she cried. ‘I’m torn between them, torn between the living and the dead. I love them both, but -’ She broke off abruptly.

‘But you prefer the living to the dead.’ Adam looked at his long brown fingers linked loosely before him on the table. ‘And you know your future lies in Mar.’

She nodded.

He walked across to the cave mouth, his shadow long on the sandy floor behind him.

‘Your destiny is linked to the royal blood line of Scotland,’ he said at last, narrowing his eyes and gazing out across the silver glitter of the water. ‘I saw it the first time I met you and Michael saw it before me. Across the centuries you tie the ancient blood of Alba and Albion to the future destiny of this land. Your descendants will one day rule half the world.’

He turned to face her. Silhouetted against the light she could not see his expression. His hair stood out in a wild tangle around his head, highlighted by the sun behind him. ‘I have studied the stars and read your fortune a thousand times, Lady Fife, but I can tell you no details beyond that. Which of your children will carry your blood into the future I cannot see. I cannot see if the father is king or earl or commoner. I’m sorry.’

‘But you know that my future lies in Mar? Where does my husband come into all this? And my son and his wife who is of bastard royal blood? Alexander’s blood.’ Eleyne stood up so suddenly that the stool fell over on to the sand.

Adam shook his head. The shadows hung heavily over the house of Fife, that much he had seen, but he had no intention of telling her. ‘I can tell you no more,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. You must reconcile your royal lover and your earthly one, your husband and your sons and daughters yourself. The gods will guide you to your future. I can’t.’

XV

King Alexander III had agreed to knight Colban, young though he was, at the persuasion of Sir Alan Durward. At the feast which followed Eleyne sat at Malcolm’s side and smiled at her eldest son with enormous pride. He had grown tall – taller now at last than his wife, with whom he was obviously delighted. He had matured too since the birth of Anna’s baby. His tutors reported better of him; he had calmed down and no longer fought spitefully with his younger brother. Her eyes moved to Macduff, a serious nine-year-old whose gravity and gentleness belied the warlike future foretold for him.

Beyond her, at the centre of the table, sat young King Alexander, his queen beside him. He had grown very like his father now, and she felt a pang of acute sadness and longing as she looked at him.

She watched him wistfully, detached from the noise which crescendoed around her. The king was laughing; he had raised one of their precious silver goblets and was drinking a toast with Malcolm. The light of hundreds of candles caught and condensed on the bright metal, blinding her for a moment. She blinked, confused as the noise around her ebbed and died, to be replaced by the roar of the sea. She could see the wind catch the king’s hair and pull it back from his face, feel the storm tearing at his cloak, see his horse plunge through the rain with a screaming whinny as it reared and began to fall. Confused, she tried to rise, to hold out her hand towards him. She cried out, seeing behind the king the shadow of his father’s cloak, his father’s hand, then the vision had gone, leaving her shaking like a leaf at the king’s side.

‘It’s all right, my lady, I’m here.’ The arms firmly around her shoulders were Rhonwen’s. ‘Nobody has noticed, cariad, nobody saw.’ She pressed a goblet of wine into Eleyne’s hand, ‘Breathe deeply and calm yourself.’

Eleyne was trembling, the tears wet on her face. ‘What happened?’ She clutched at the wine and sipped it, feeling its warmth flow through her chilled body.

‘The Sight was returned to you.’ Rhonwen looked at her with compassion. ‘The goddess has laid her hand on you again.’

‘How can you know – ’

‘I know, I’ve seen it happen a hundred times.’ Rhonwen bent closer. ‘You were looking at the king. Was it his future you saw?’

Eleyne watched the young king as he laughed and joked with her husband. He caught her eye and raised his goblet in a toast then turned away again, the candlelight catching the gems of the coronet he wore.

Slowly Eleyne shook her head. ‘I don’t remember, I don’t remember what I saw.’

The noise had increased. Above the shouts and laughter and roar of conversation she heard the thin music of the harp. Beef had been brought in, and venison, swimming in blood gravy, and the pages were carrying around the wine yet again. Smoke from the candles rose into the high rafters and was lost in the darkness. Beyond the king she saw Sir Alan Durward lean forward, laughing, as was his wife, the king’s half-sister, the woman Durward had once tried to have declared Alexander’s heir. If that woman should die, and the king and the king’s baby son, Anna, her daughter-in-law, could come very close to the throne. Eleyne looked at her and then at Colban, and she put her hand to her aching head. Was this then the way it would go? Was it possible that one day her son’s child would be the King of the Scots?

Rhonwen was whispering in her ear. ‘My lady, people are looking.’ She took Eleyne’s hand and chafed it. ‘You are too pale, drink some more wine.’

Malcolm had also turned, and looked at his wife sharply. His own face was ruddy from the heat and wine. His pain was better of late and he felt stronger than he had for a long time. ‘Are you unwell?’

‘Just a little overcome.’ Eleyne touched his hand with something like affection. ‘This is a great day for us, my husband.’

He grinned. ‘Indeed it is.’

A messenger arrived as the final courses of the feast were being carried in. Eleyne, tired, waved them away, watching in detached amusement as heads on the tables below the dais began one by one to fall among the debris of bread and bones, and snores began to mingle with the shouts and laughter and the music. It was then she noticed the man weaving his way between the tables. It was a long time since she had seen the Countess of Lincoln’s livery; many years since her niece had deigned to answer her desperate letters about her daughters’ welfare. No day passed without her thinking of them; no night without her remembering them in her prayers, but she had long ago given up any real hope of seeing them again.

She watched as he made his way towards her, pushing between the crowded benches. Why after all this time should Margaret of Lincoln send her a message?

When he reached the dais the young man called, ‘I seek the Lady Rhonwen.’ His eyes met Eleyne’s as though aware of her sharp pang of disappointment, then he looked away.

Rhonwen rose from her seat at the foot of the dais and touched his shoulder. Eleyne saw a letter change hands, saw the flash of a coin as Rhonwen directed the man to a place at one of the lower tables where he could eat. She saw the parchment in Rhonwen’s hand as she opened it and read. When Rhonwen looked up Eleyne’s eyes were on her face. Rhonwen made her way towards the high table.

The letter wasn’t from the Countess of Lincoln. One of her ladies, whom Rhonwen had befriended, had taken it upon herself to inform the household of Fife that Eleyne’s eldest daughter Joanna, now seventeen years old, had been married in the summer. Her husband was the recently widowed Sir Humphrey de Bohun, heir to the Earl Marshal of England; a man whose son was two years the girl’s senior.

The following day Eleyne sent Joanna a wedding gift: a silver casket and a gem-studded chaplet with a letter.

Eight weeks later the gifts were returned. Inside the casket she found her letter cut in two.

Within a year Joanna would be a widow. This time Eleyne did not write.

XVI

Eleyne had given orders that her companions be ready to leave at first light. Whatever the destiny foretold for them by Adam, Eleyne and Donald had managed to meet seldom and then only briefly: a few quiet words here, a lightly touched hand there, a glance in the great hall of the king, no more; always the shadow of Alexander was between them.

Donald was constantly in the north, administering his father’s earldom, distracted by disputes with his highland neighbours. It was increasingly difficult for him to get away, but as the stranglehold of ice, borne on the east wind, threatened to make Mar impassable he turned his horse south in obedience to her summons. Aching to be with him, Eleyne planned another meeting at Macduff ’s Castle.

Malcolm was irascible. ‘Why go? For pity’s sake, woman, it’s madness! We don’t need to check on anything in this weather, let alone that old place.’

His chest hurt, he was visibly irritated and tired. Their small grandson, normally kept out of his way by his doting nurses, was playing noisily near his feet and he’d had another quarrel with Macduff; his younger son’s quietness was now revealing itself as a stubborn arrogance.

It was a long time since Malcolm had spent so much time under the same roof as his wife, and she too had begun to irritate him. The night before he had found himself impotent again. It was her fault – she was old; unattractive. What he needed was a younger woman. And a woman who was faithful. At first he hadn’t believed the rumours, but quietly, over the months, he had watched and now he was sure. He didn’t know when the affair had started, but by God she wasn’t going to make a fool of him any more.

‘I have to go.’ She pulled on her gloves. ‘You don’t normally argue about the way I run your estates. Nor do you complain about the results. Your estates are worth nearly £500 each year under my management!’

‘I know, I know, I just don’t want you to go now.’

‘I have to go now.’ She was hungry for Donald, a physical yearning which she could not fight.

‘I forbid it.’ Malcolm stood up and put his hand to his chest, wincing.

‘You forbid it?’ She stared at him. ‘You can’t!’

‘I can and I do, you are my wife, you will obey me.’ His colour was rising. ‘Take that brat away!’ he said to Duncan’s nurses. ‘And you, boy,’ he yelled at his younger son, ‘go and tell them to put your mother’s horses away.’

Macduff hesitated.

‘Did you hear me?’ Malcolm turned on him in a fury. ‘I have forbidden your mother to go out. And do you know why? Do you want to know the real reason why?’ He turned on her. ‘Did you think I didn’t know? Did you think I would never find out? All this care for my estates! All this meek, dutiful quartering of the lands of Fife! At every stop your lover is waiting for you with his poems and his kisses!’

He raised his hand as though to strike her, then he turned away. ‘You are a whore, madam. You’ve been a whore all your life; first with the king – while you were still married to Lord Chester, for all I know – then…’

‘Then with you,’ Eleyne’s voice cut in like a whiplash. ‘You made me a whore, Malcolm, when you married me bigamously. And if Robert hadn’t died when he did, I would have been a whore to this day, with your connivance.’ She noticed with horror that Macduff was still standing in the room, his face white with shock. Her heart turned over with guilt.

‘Go away, please. Your father and I have to talk.’

Macduff ran towards her. ‘Please, mama, the whole castle is listening!’ Already the boy was conscious of the need to keep silent before the household; the need to keep the rift between his parents hidden. He was nearly in tears. ‘Don’t quarrel!’ Behind him in the body of the hall a dozen people had paused in their tasks to listen.

‘Then the whole castle can find out the truth!’ Malcolm roared furiously. ‘Enough is enough!’ He stopped, then staggered a step backwards. A strange look of puzzlement appeared on his face.

‘Malcolm?’ Eleyne put out her hand. He had clutched at his throat. ‘Malcolm, what is it?’ He stumbled to his knees and before their appalled eyes fell to the floor and lay still.

‘Blessed Bride!’ Eleyne was too shocked to move. Then: ‘Quickly, Macduff, help your father!’ She dropped down beside him, groping for his hand. For a moment Macduff didn’t stir, then he turned to the hall. ‘Fetch a physician someone,’ he cried, his voice shrill with fear. ‘And you – two of you – help me carry my father to his bed. Quickly!’

Rhonwen caught Eleyne’s cloak as she followed her husband’s prostrate body, borne on a trestle top towards the earl’s bedchamber. Her eyes were wild. ‘So. You lied. All this time you lied!’ she spat. ‘You have been seeing Donald of Mar; you betrayed your king!’

‘I told you a long time ago it was none of your business!’ Eleyne snapped.

‘It is my business, I promised King Alexander – ’

Eleyne grabbed Rhonwen’s arm and pulled her aside. ‘You promised a shadow, a phantom, a creation of your own mind!’ she hissed, with a glance at the staring men and women around them. At her side Macduff listened in round-eyed terror, shocked at the outburst. ‘He does not exist! He never existed! Donald is real. A real man! And Malcolm is a real man. My husband, who might be dying at this moment…’

‘And if he is dying, you will be free at last! Free for the king! Free to be with him,’ Rhonwen gloated.

Eleyne stared at her in horror, then stepped back sharply, wrenching her cloak from Rhonwen’s grasp. ‘Do you realise what you are saying? Do you? For me to join the king I’d have to be dead!’

Rhonwen paled, and lifted her eyes to Eleyne’s without a word. The two women looked at each other long and hard then Eleyne swung round and ran after the men who were carrying her husband upstairs.

Malcolm was unconscious when Eleyne reached him. The friar at his bedside, a travelling physician who had stopped providentially at Falkland on his way to St Andrews, had his hand on Malcolm’s forehead. ‘It’s a seizure, my lady. There was too much choler in his body.’

Eleyne looked down at her husband. ‘Will he live?’

The friar shrugged. ‘If he lives the day and the night he may recover, but the moon wanes and the tides are low. That does not augur well.’

She bit her lip. ‘Poor Malcolm.’ She put her hand on his with a sigh and looked at Macduff. ‘Go and find your brother, he should be here. And Macduff -’ she smiled at her son sadly, ‘tell them to put away the horses. I won’t be riding today after all.’

As night fell, candles were lighted in the chamber. Colban and Anna stood beside the bed, with Macduff at its foot. There was antagonism in Anna’s gaze as she looked at Eleyne.

Eleyne was seated near her husband’s head when he opened his eyes and forced himself to smile.

‘So. Will you marry him when I am gone?’

Eleyne shook her head. ‘You will get better.’

‘No.’ He closed his eyes and held out his hand towards her. After a moment’s hesitation she took it. ‘There is something I should tell you,’ he said haltingly. ‘Something on my conscience.’

‘The priest is here.’ In the corner of the room the castle’s chaplain waited with the viaticum.

‘No, no, I’ll confess to him later.’ He had difficulty speaking. ‘No, there is something I have to confess to you if I am to die easy in my soul.’

‘What is it?’ It was strange that she felt so little. She had shared this man’s bed for nearly fourteen years and learned to accept him; sometimes she even almost liked him, but most of the time he had meant nothing to her at all. She had never loved him; she respected him, and obeyed him. That was all.

‘Robert de Quincy – your husband.’ Malcolm tried to catch his breath and there was a long silence. When she didn’t speak, he struggled on. ‘I really thought he was dead when I came for you, then I heard he was still alive. I… I had him killed.’

‘I see.’ Her voice was flat.

‘It was your nurse who did it,’ he went on. ‘She’s a killer by instinct.’ He gave a faint chuckle. ‘A dangerous woman.’

She did not appear to have heard him; her eyes were on Colban’s white face.

‘Eleyne -’ Malcolm went on faintly, ‘you do forgive me? I did it for you.’

His fingers slipped from her clasp and she made no effort to take them again. She stood up and looked down at his face for a long moment, then she turned away.

‘Eleyne.’ He struggled to raise his head. ‘Eleyne, please, come back.’ His voice broke into sobs.

She stood before the door until one of the weeping servants opened it for her, then she walked down the spiral stairs. She did not look back.

Colban found her in the stables two hours later. The boy’s eyes

were red with weeping.

‘Is it over?’

He nodded.

‘And was he shriven by the priest?’ Her voice was heavy with bitterness.

Again Colban nodded. ‘Mama. Is it true? Am I a bastard?’

Eleyne frowned. Slowly she rose to her feet and put her arms around her son’s narrow shoulders. ‘No, you are not a bastard. I married your father in good faith… twice. And your legitimacy was confirmed by the church, the king and the chancellor of Scotland. You are the Earl of Fife now, Colban, and no one can deny it, though I suppose you will have to wait until you come of age for the king to confirm you in the title.’ She gave a weary smile. ‘God rest your father’s soul. I hope he finds at God’s feet the forgiveness he seeks.’

‘Why did he marry you?’ Colban shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

‘Because he loved me.’

‘And did you ever love him?’ Colban’s eyes were full of pain. For a moment she was tempted to lie, but she shook her head.

‘No. I never loved him.’

‘And did you ever love us?’

‘Oh, Colban!’ She gave a miserable little laugh. ‘Of course I loved you! You made life worth living. You were everything to me. Everything.’ She paused. ‘When I lost little Joanna and Hawisa, I thought I would die of unhappiness. But then you came along, you and your brother. You mean everything to me, Colban, everything.’

‘And Donald of Mar?’ His voice had fallen to a whisper.

She sighed. So. Macduff had told him. ‘We can’t choose who we fall in love with, Colban, it just happens. One minute you’re your own person, free and in charge of your own destiny, the next you are enslaved. But it never affected my love for you and Macduff and it never will.’ She caught his hands. ‘You must believe that. You are married. You know the love of a man and woman for each other is different from the love one feels for one’s babies.’ She smiled.

‘I don’t think I love Anna in the way you describe.’ His voice was sad.

‘You will. You will grow to love her.’ Her voice did not betray her sudden misgivings. ‘Poor Malcolm. There’s such a lot to be done now. Come, let’s go in.’

‘Mama.’ Colban had not moved.

‘What is it?’

‘Will you go to him?’

She did not pretend not to know what he meant. ‘I don’t know what will happen,’ she said quietly, ‘I don’t know at all.’

XVII

She let the lid of the coffer drop. It wasn’t there; the phoenix had gone. She turned back towards her bedchamber, then stopped. Rhonwen was standing in the doorway. ‘Are you looking for something, cariad?’

‘My embroidered girdle. It isn’t in my clothes chest.’

‘It’s on the bracket where Meg left it. Your eyes must be going, if you couldn’t see it.’ Rhonwen stepped forward into the light. ‘You’re not going to wear that, surely, for my lord’s funeral?’

The phoenix was already there, beneath the feather bed. Tonight, and every night from now on, Eleyne would have the king to console her.

I

Donald arrived at Falkland two weeks after the funeral. Eleyne received him alone in the small solar in the Great Tower. He kissed her hand and looked up at her tired face. ‘You know why I’m here.’

Her heart was beating very fast. She found she couldn’t speak. She wanted him to touch her so badly, she thought she would throw herself at him. But he had been the one to make it clear that they had no future together, whatever Adam said. Besides, Alexander was there. He was everywhere in the castle, at her side, in her bed; he had been there when Donald had not, stronger all the time. And he was near her. Now.

Donald held out his arms and pulled her to him. His mouth on hers was demanding, as hungry as hers, but after a moment he pushed her away. ‘I’ve come here to ask you to be my wife.’

‘Donald.’ It was a whisper.

She could feel the anguish in the shadows around her.

‘You will, won’t you?’

‘I thought you would want to marry someone else; I thought you would want to marry someone younger -’ Brutally she forced herself to say the word which had tormented her for so long.

‘You don’t want to -?’ Anger and disappointment vied for predominance in his face.

‘No, no! I want to, you know I want to, but -’ She waved her hand to encompass the walls of the room and through them the rest of the world. ‘It would never be allowed.’

‘Why not?’ He took her hand again and lifted it to his lips. ‘I have already spoken to the king; our king; his son.’ His voice was harsh.

‘You have?’ She looked at him in astonishment.

‘I went straight to court when I heard of Malcolm’s death. Only that would have kept me from you so long.’ He smiled. ‘The king likes me and he has always loved you. And the queen mother wasn’t there to interfere.’ His voice was suddenly bitter. ‘He said he would do anything to make us happy.’

‘And your father?’

‘We won’t tell my father until it’s done. I’m of age. So are you. We are both free. Oh yes, we are. Your ghost won’t follow us to Mar and we have the king’s approval. What more do we need?’ He pulled her once more into his arms.

Rhonwen was waiting for her in her bedchamber, holding something in her hand. Eleyne’s eyes went to the open jewel casket on the table. ‘I thought I told you not to come to my room!’ she said sharply. ‘I didn’t summon you.’

Rhonwen smiled. ‘No, someone else summoned me.’ She lifted her hand slightly and Eleyne saw the gleam of gold as the jewelled pendant swung between her fingers. ‘Someone else, who doesn’t want you to receive Donald of Mar.’

Eleyne spun around. ‘Hylde, Meg, leave us alone,’ she ordered. They did not wait. They scuttled away, closing the door behind them.

Eleyne turned back to Rhonwen. ‘Put that pendant down.’

‘Why?’ Rhonwen smiled again.

‘Because I say so. Put it back in the casket.’

‘It brings him to you, doesn’t it?’ Rhonwen held the jewel up to the light. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why don’t we try it now? Why don’t we call him and ask him what he thinks about Donald of Mar coming here to Falkland? Why don’t we call him – ’

‘No!’ Eleyne cried. ‘I forbid it.’

‘You forbid me to call him? But you said he was nothing but a dream. If he was only a dream, how can I call him?’ Rhonwen moved swiftly behind the table, still holding the phoenix aloft. ‘Come!’ she cried out loud. ‘Come, your grace, come to her now. If you don’t, it will be too late. Donald of Mar will take her…’

‘It’s already too late,’ Eleyne said softly. ‘I have promised to marry Donald.’

Rhonwen stopped in mid-sentence and her mouth fell open. ‘You have done what?’

‘I have promised to marry Donald of Mar.’ Eleyne leaned across the table and snatched the pendant from Rhonwen’s slack fingers. For a moment she stood looking at it, then she threw it down into the casket and slammed the lid on top of it. ‘Alexander is dead, Rhonwen! I am alive! We can be nothing to each other any more. I shall always treasure his memory. I shall always love him in my heart, but he is dead and gone. Donald is alive. I love him, I want to marry him. For the first time in my life I have the chance to live with someone I love and trust. Would you deny me that?’ She took Rhonwen’s cold fingers between her own. ‘Please, give me your blessing.’ Desperately she willed Rhonwen to understand.

There was a long silence. Slowly Rhonwen extricated her hands from Eleyne’s. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered.

‘Why?’

‘You belong to King Alexander. Einion Gweledydd foretold it – ’

‘Einion’s prophecies were false.’

‘No!’

‘They were. Listen, you have seen Adam and you remember Michael, his master. They foretold the future for me too. They both said my future lay in Mar. If I am to found a royal dynasty, it is through Colban and Anna. She is King Alexander’s granddaughter – ’

‘Her mother was a bastard -’ Rhonwen spat the words out furiously.

‘Sir Alan Durward has great ambitions for his daughter, nevertheless. Please, Rhonwen, forget Einion Gweledydd. Think of me.’

‘I am thinking of you, cariad.’ Rhonwen folded her arms grimly into the sleeves of her mantle and drew herself up to her full height. ‘You should have been a queen.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

II

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

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

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

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

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

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

III

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

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

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

IV

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

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

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

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

V

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What are you going to do?’

‘We are leaving.’

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

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

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

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

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

He smiled, and kissed her.

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

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

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

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

The Mars greeted them coldly as they took their places.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were gone within two days and Eleyne breathed a sigh of relief. Slowly they toured the castle and Donald introduced her to the vast household. Some of them were suspicious, some amused, but most were friendly. She chose two girls, Agnes and Bethoc, to join Meg as her personal maidens and she and Donald moved into the earl’s chamber, a large room with arched windows on the first floor of what was already being called the Snow Tower.

Slowly the spring grew warmer. There was no word from the south. The earl and countess were with the Scottish court; in Fife, in spite of Eleyne’s anxious letters, Rhonwen remained obstinately silent. Still obsessed with Donald and their life together Eleyne kept her worries about the boys at bay just as she refused to face the other problem which haunted her.

She was not yet pregnant. Never in all the years of their illicit lovemaking had she become pregnant and she had borne no children for nine years. Elizabeth’s cruel comments had cut her to the quick and she brooded on them constantly. Was it true? Was she too old to give Donald the heir he must have?

Secretly she cast her horoscope. It spoke of many children and in disgust she swept her charts aside. The stars mocked her. She looked, cautiously at first, then more anxiously, into the flames. There were no pictures there.

Also in secret she stood beside the bed, staring down at her naked figure. She had no way of knowing how she looked. Donald still took enormous delight in her body, but did he also notice the slight slackening of her skin, the little wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, the streaks of silver in her hair which had broadened over the years?

She took Meg into her confidence and between them in the stillroom they made up a soft balm scented with rose petals which she rubbed on her skin to keep it soft. Donald noticed the smell at once. He buried his face between her breasts and threatened never to leave her bed again.

VI

The king had given them time enough. Rhonwen felt him growing restless. Twice she thought she saw him, shadowy on the turnpike stair above her – reproachful, angry that she had done nothing to bring Eleyne back to him. Afraid, she began to form a plan.

She stood for a long time at the door of the chapel. It was dark. The castle was asleep, but one candle burned before the statue of Our Lady, replaced and trimmed before the priest had gone to his bed. Rhonwen could feel the prickle of fear on the back of her neck, and peered at the altar. It was somewhere at the back that Eleyne had hidden the pendant. She had to break the taboo; she had to enter this chapel of the priests, but what would happen to her if she laid a hand on the fabric of this holy place? Her fingers went automatically to the amulet at her throat.

With a muttered prayer to the goddess of her Welsh mountains, she took two tiptoed steps inside the door and held her breath. The small chapel smelt of cold incense; it was impregnated in the stones of the walls and in the air around her. Her heart beating very fast she crept towards the altar and, her back to the wall, her eyes fixed on the crucifix between the candles, she made her way towards the eastern wall.

Reaching the reredos at last, she felt behind it. Sweat dripped into her eyes. She was breathing audibly through her mouth. Blessed Bride, she couldn’t feel it. There was nothing there. She pushed harder, trying to wedge her whole arm behind the carved oak panel.

The candle flame flickered. A few drops of pale wax spattered on the shelf before the statue and a trail of smoke spiralled into the air. The shadow in the corner of the chapel behind the faldstool was no more than smoke itself. Rhonwen’s hands were shaking violently.

Driven by panic to one last effort, she pushed again, groping in the emptiness with desperate fingers, and suddenly she touched something soft. The sensation was so unexpected that she let out a whimper of fright. Then she remembered. Eleyne had always wrapped the pendant. Cautiously she hooked her fingers into the object again in the darkness and slowly, carefully, she managed to draw the wisp of silk towards her.

VII

Sometimes they rode together, exploring the neighbourhood, and sometimes, when Donald was occupied with the affairs of the earldom, Eleyne rode alone, realising how much she had missed her solitary rides with only the dogs for company. Gradually she extended her range, beyond the crofts and the tofts around the township and up the broad river valley, following the meandering course of the River Don and into the mountains beyond, feeling immediately at home, although these mountains were unlike those of Eryri. These were rounded shoulders, humped massively from the great backbone of the Grampians beneath a vast north-eastern sky.

It was here, in a lonely glen where she had ridden with only the dogs for escort, that she met Morna. The woman was gathering flowers by the river as Eleyne stopped to let her horse drink. She straightened to look at Eleyne, her face solemn, her eyes direct, showing no shyness as the Master of Mar’s wife slid from her saddle. The two women looked at each other with the strange empathy that brings immediate liking, though neither had spoken a word.

Eleyne smiled. ‘Good day, mistress.’ The woman, whom Eleyne judged to be only a little younger than herself, was heavily pregnant.

She nodded gravely in return. ‘You’ll be wanting a drink too, perhaps.’ Her voice was low and musical. She glanced at the horse and Raoulet and Sabina, and Sabina’s son, Piers, as the animals drank greedily from the cool brown water. There was no need to ask who her visitor was. Word of Lord Donald’s wife, with her silks and velvets, riding her horse unescorted like a man, followed by the three great hounds, had spread for miles around.

‘I can drink with them.’ Eleyne dropped the horse’s rein and pushed up the sleeves of her gown.

The other woman smiled. ‘I have something you might prefer: there’s blaeberry wine in my house if you would care to follow me, my lady.’ She set off without looking back, the withy basket full of flowers on her arm.

Her house, set back from the shingle bank of the river, on the side of a small hill, was a small stone-built bothy, roofed with turves. She led the way inside and gestured Eleyne to sit on the rug-covered heap of heather which served as a bed. The place was spotless, swept with a heather besom which stood against the wall, furnished sparingly with a rough oak coffer, a girnel kist, a table and two stools and by the fire a polished bannock stone. The cup in which she offered the wine was a finely chased silver. Eleyne took it without comment. Such was the woman’s dignity it did not occur to her that it was out of place in such a poor hut, and that it might be stolen. She sipped the wine and smiled. ‘This is good.’

‘Aye.’ The woman nodded. ‘It’s the best you’ll taste in Mar.’ Her hand to her back, she sat down gracefully on the floor, her ragged checked skirts swirling in the dust of the dry earth floor.

‘Is your husband a shepherd?’ Eleyne looked around the hut.

‘I’ve no husband, lady. I prefer my own company. The bairn – ’ The woman put her hand on her stomach with a possessive gesture of affection. ‘Well, maybe she’s a child of the fairies.’ She gave a humorous scowl, and shook her head in mock despair. ‘I’m Morna, my lady. I’m the spaewife, or so the cottars call me.’

‘I see.’ Eleyne smiled. ‘Yes. I’ve heard about you. The people of the castle think very highly of your powers.’

She was much loved, this Morna of the glens. Eleyne had heard her name repeated often with tales of healing and magic and love spells. She leaned forward and set her cup down on the ground before her. ‘Perhaps you could help me.’

‘You want to know your fortune?’ The woman sounded incredulous. ‘Usually the lasses come out to me to know the name of the lad they’ll marry. You already have your husband.’

‘But will I give him a son?’ Eleyne wasn’t aware how desperate she sounded until the words were out.

The woman leaned forward and took Eleyne’s hands in hers. She turned them palm up and looked at them. The only sound in the bothy was the high trickling song of the skylark, lost in the brilliance of the sky above the glen, and the small murmur of the river outside. Eleyne found she was holding her breath. Her hands grew hot in the woman’s cool grasp. When at last Morna looked up, she was smiling. ‘You will give your husband three sons.’

‘Three!’ Eleyne echoed in astonishment. She laughed, half in disbelief, half in delight. ‘I had suspected I was past the age of childbearing. I still have my courses, but it’s nine years since I conceived. If you are right, I shall be the happiest woman in the world.’

‘I hope so, lady.’

‘When? Can you see when it will happen?’

The other woman nodded. ‘You already carry your first son.’

Eleyne stood up. She walked outside the small house and stood staring down towards the river numb with shock.

Morna followed her. ‘Why do you ask me all this? You have the Sight yourself.’

Eleyne shook her head. ‘I see other things: visions of the past and of the future, but never for myself. I’ve tried to learn, but I can never understand; never see clearly.’

‘Perhaps you try too hard.’ Morna folded her arms across her stomach. ‘You have lived too long in the castles and courts of the south. If you want to see, the mountains of Mar will teach you. All you have to do is listen and watch with stillness in your heart.’

VIII

It was another six weeks before Eleyne was sure in her own mind. Only then did she tell Donald. Solemnly he undressed her and kneeling before her he kissed her stomach. Then he gave her a twisted rope of sea pearls.

‘Don’t tell your parents, Donald.’ Suddenly she was afraid.

‘Why?’ He pulled her on to his knees, ‘They’ll be delighted.’

‘Suppose something goes wrong?’

‘It won’t.’ He touched her belly again, gently stroking it, ‘Nothing could go wrong now.’

It was an idyllic time. The long summer drowsed over the hills. She and Donald made love as often as before, though he was more careful with her now, watching in wonder as her breasts and belly grew. Sometimes they rode together into the hills and he would undress her there, on his cloak, spread on the heather amongst the wild marjoram by the burns, surrounded by clouds of butterflies.

She would still ride out alone though not so far now. More often than not she went to visit Morna, taking gifts for the woman and her coming baby, and they would talk for a long time, companionably, sitting by the babbling river or, if the soft highland rain poured down, by Morna’s fire. Morna’s knowledge of the magic of the hills was vast; Eleyne found herself listening enthralled to her hostess’s tales, and then almost without realising it she was talking too, about Einion and his prophecies, and about Alexander.

She still feared sometimes that he would return, suddenly while she and Donald were together. But it had not happened; he had not come to Kildrummy.

‘Perhaps he could not follow me here,’ she said softly. ‘Perhaps he has forgotten me at last.’

Morna was watching her closely. ‘If his love was as great and as deep as you say, he will never forget you,’ she said slowly. ‘He will love you through all eternity and through all ages.’

Eleyne was silent.

‘Did you love him as much?’ Morna asked.

Eleyne nodded. ‘He was everything to me, but he turned his back on me. If he had really wanted, he could have had me as his wife, but he chose not to. He chose not to make our sons legitimate. He put Scotland’s honour before mine.’ She considered for a minute. ‘Malcolm of Fife killed so that he could have me as his wife. Does that not make his love the greater?’

‘Do you measure love in bloodshed and honour?’ Morna’s voice was sharp. ‘Has Malcolm returned from the grave to make you his own again? Would Lord Donald?’ She was stern. ‘Has not the king crossed the greatest boundary there is, for you?’

‘You sound as though you would make me choose between Donald and a dead man,’ Eleyne replied, ‘and there is no choice, not for me.’

‘Perhaps it is not up to you – one day the gods will decide: ghost or mortal; king or man.’

Eleyne went white. ‘There is no choice,’ she repeated. ‘Donald is my husband. You are frightening me.’

Morna was apologetic. ‘I didn’t mean to do that. Of course Donald is your husband and you belong to him. Perhaps the prophecy your Einion spoke of will yet be fulfilled. You have four children and another on the way. One of them may be a king or the father of kings.’

‘Can’t you see?’ Eleyne sat forward.

‘I have no powers like that. I see who is to fall in love with whom, in the hills; I look into a woman’s wame and see how many bairns she is to carry. I don’t see people’s destiny; I don’t see their deaths.’ Morna touched Eleyne’s hand. ‘Forget your king; forget the past. Live now, for the present, for your child, and be happy.’ She smiled fondly. ‘Now, go back to your lord. He is waiting for you full of anxiety because you have ridden out alone and he dares not reprimand you.’ She laughed.

Donald and Eleyne rode back to Kildrummy late on a hot August evening when they had been alone together in the hills. Donald had taken her on his horse before him and held her in his arms, Eleyne’s palfrey following loose behind them. They rode back along the slow Don, made shallow by the hot summer, past the lonely monastery of Cabrach, its stone buildings dozing in the late summer’s warmth, and turned in at last under the gatehouse and into the courtyard of the castle. It was crowded with horses and wagons and milling crowds of people.

Donald reined in his horse and looked around, his heart sinking. ‘My mother!’

‘Oh no.’ Eleyne turned in his arms, appalled.

‘It is. See, her standard, and the carts bear her coat-of-arms.’ He slipped from the horse and lifted Eleyne down.

‘You told her about the baby!’ she said accusingly.

‘I didn’t, my love, but you can’t expect people to keep it a secret forever.’ He looked fondly at her thickening waistline. ‘Come, let’s find out what she wants.’

The Countess of Mar was in the great hall. She wore a cloak and gloves in spite of the heat of the evening, and stared in horror at the sight of her daughter-in-law’s loosely knotted hair and tanned face and arms.

‘So, it’s true.’ Her eyes travelled down to Eleyne’s belly. ‘You do carry my son’s child. I can see it’s just as well that I came.’ She turned to Donald. ‘I hear you have been using the earl’s chamber. Please give orders for it to be cleared for me. You and your wife can sleep elsewhere. I suggest, madam,’ she addressed Eleyne, ‘that you dress yourself decently and cover your hair. I cannot imagine what my household think of you. I hear, Donald,’ she swept on, ‘that you have been neglecting the running of the estates, just as you have been neglecting the affairs of the kingdom. Now I am here, you can turn your attention back to both. I shall look after your wife.’

Eleyne could not believe Donald would allow his mother to speak to him like that, but he said nothing. Sheepishly he asked, ‘You won’t mind moving to another chamber, my love?’

‘Of course not,’ she said as coolly as she could. ‘I shall give orders at once. Please, excuse me, Lady Mar. As you say, I need to change my gown.’

She bowed to Elizabeth and walked from the great hall. Donald did not follow her.

‘No one forbids me to ride, Lady Mar,’ Eleyne said coldly to her mother-in-law who had walked into the bedchamber the following morning and dismissed Eleyne’s servants from the room.

‘Then you should forbid yourself, madam.’ Elizabeth sat on the chair near the hearth. ‘If you value your child’s life. Surely I need not point out to you that at your age it is scarcely suitable to be galloping around the country in your condition. You should rest.’

‘I do not need to rest.’ Eleyne reined in her temper with difficulty. ‘I am accustomed to riding and I assure you it will not harm me. I rode in all my pregnancies until the week of my delivery.’

‘And you lost two children, as I recall.’ Lady Mar looked her in the eye.

Eleyne blanched. ‘Neither died as a result of my riding I assure you.’ She changed the subject. ‘Do you intend to stay at Kildrummy long?’

‘It is my home. I intend to live here, and to run the estates.’ Elizabeth’s eyes gleamed with triumph. ‘You may have been accustomed to running the Fife lands, madam, and you may have learned to expect your own way, but here from now on things will be very different, I think you will find. You are not the mistress of these lands or this castle; I am. Here, you are nothing but the wife of the heir.’

I

Colban sat at his father’s desk looking blankly down at the empty area of oak in front of him. ‘All you have to do is give the order, boy,’ Sir Alan Durward had said. ‘Do it now.’ He had walked from the room, leaving Colban staring unhappily at the servant standing just inside the door. Colban cleared his throat and took a deep breath. ‘Please. Fetch the Lady Rhonwen here,’ he said. His voice slid and squeaked uncomfortably from tenor to falsetto and the servant, hiding a smile, bowed and turned away.

Still upright, still slim, her hair white beneath her coif, Rhonwen entered slowly. She was, she calculated, in her sixty-sixth summer, like the century.

Seeing Colban standing so formally behind the desk, she smiled to herself. He had done well in his efforts to step into his father’s shoes. He missed Lord Fife and she knew he had been devastated by what he saw as his mother’s defection, but he had not showed it. He had turned his attention to Anna and to his son and concentrated on learning how to run the Fife estates. If he resented the overbearing interference of his father-in-law, he gave no sign.

‘You sent for me, my lord?’

He nodded and she saw him swallow nervously. ‘Lady Rhonwen, I’m sorry, but Sir Alan and Lady Durward feel – that is, I feel – that it’s time someone a little younger ran the nurseries here.’ She could see the sweat breaking out on his upper lip. ‘I shall of course give you a pension. And I shall always love you -’ that bit was not part of the speech he had prepared and he blushed unhappily – ‘but I think it’s better if you go.’

Rhonwen was not surprised. One by one Eleyne’s personal servants and companions had been demoted and sent to remote castles in the earldom. It had only been a matter of time.

As it happened the decision suited her plans very well. ‘I’m glad you told me yourself, cariad bach. I shall be sad not to see to the growing up of little Duncan and I shall miss you and your brother, but, as you say, I am growing old.’ She shook her head ruefully.

‘What will you do, Rhonwen?’ Suddenly he was a boy again. He ran round the desk and took her hand.

‘Why, I shall go to your mother, of course. She’ll look after me.’

‘My mother.’ Colban turned away, shoulders stiffening, his eyes unhappy. ‘She has forgotten us; she never writes to us.’

‘She hasn’t forgotten you.’ Rhonwen’s voice was gentle. ‘Have you ever wondered if perhaps her letters don’t reach you?’ Surely the boy could see that Durward would never willingly let Eleyne contact her sons. ‘Remember how she loves Joanna and Hawisa, even though they determined to shut her out of their lives. Don’t ever do that to her, Colban.’ She reached out and touched his shoulder, feeling the unhappiness in the boy’s rigidity. ‘You’ll be your own master soon, cariad, then you can visit her as often as you like and you’ll see she still loves you.’

‘But why did she go with Donald of Mar so quickly?’ He looked bewildered. ‘Why didn’t she wait and say goodbye properly?’

Rhonwen knew the answer to that. She had fled because otherwise she would not have had the strength to fight Alexander. ‘She went quickly because too many people wanted to stop her marrying. If she had waited they would have succeeded, and your mother thought that would make her unhappy.’

‘And is she happy now?’

‘I don’t know.’ Her fixed smile betrayed her true feelings. ‘I hope so.’

II

Elizabeth of Mar summoned her son to her side whilst Eleyne was out visiting Morna. ‘You are happy with your wife, Donald?’ she asked doubtfully.

Donald stiffened. ‘You know I am. Eleyne is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me.’ He straightened his shoulders, unconsciously preparing for the attack he knew to be coming. His mother always made him feel like an unruly child and he hated her for it.

Elizabeth could read her son like a book. She concealed a smile as she seated herself on the chair nearest the fire. ‘Perhaps your father and I were wrong to try to put you off marrying her. For all her age, she seems a healthy woman and she has brought a good terce to the marriage as her dower from Fife. Her ladies tell me she carries the child with ease.’ She paused. ‘Because of that you do not seem to have realised just how delicate a woman in her condition is.’ She watched him mockingly. ‘I am sure she is anxious to please you in every way she knows, but for her sake you must leave her alone. I am surprised that you have not realised that yourself. You cannot continue to share her bed.’

‘That is none of your business – ’

‘I think it is. Obviously she hasn’t the strength or the wit to tell you this herself, so I have to do it for her. It is customary for a man to leave his wife alone in the later stages of pregnancy. Amuse yourself elsewhere. Bed that pretty red-haired wench who eyes you constantly in the hall. Your wife will understand. All she will ask is that you do it discreetly. She will be nothing but relieved that you have freed her from what must be a dreadful ordeal for her.’ She paused. ‘What you have been doing, Donald, is a mortal sin.’ She hissed the word at him without warning and was gratified to see him flinch as though she had struck him.

Donald’s face was white, then slowly it blushed to a deep crimson. ‘I never thought.’

‘Men never do.’ She watched him with grim satisfaction. Once she had weaned him from his wife’s bed, his infatuation would be doomed. It was too late to annul the marriage and the child might yet be a boy, but at least she would have the satisfaction of being proved right. Her son would realise what a terrible mistake he had made.

III

Morna’s baby arrived at dawn on Lammas Day. She delivered the girl-child herself neatly and efficiently and alone, then wrapped her in the lacy shawl Eleyne had brought the week before. She called her Mairi and when Eleyne came – no longer alone: for the sake of peace and quiet at home she brought one of her ladies with her now – the baby was sleeping peacefully in a woven reed cradle. Eleyne bent over the child and smiled. Then her smile faltered. Just for a moment in the shadows of the cottage she thought she had seen flames licking around the cradle. She put out her hand as if to snatch the baby up, but the flames had gone. Morna had not seen what had happened. ‘Blessed Virgin; Sweet Bride, protect you,’ she murmured soundlessly. Perhaps it was her own birth she had seen, no more – an image which had floated up from the past. Though the August day was airless and muggy, she had begun to shiver.

Morna came up behind her and stared past her at the child. ‘It’ll be your turn soon,’ she said softly. ‘And yours will be a boy.’

IV

Eleyne sat on the edge of the high bed and watched as Agnes and Bethoc hung her gown on a bracket on the wall, put away her shoes and readied the room for the night. It was the tenth night that Donald had not appeared. Her back ached and she felt heavy and ill and bored, cut off from the world by her condition and the very remoteness of Mar, which before she had loved. She looked down at the bulk of her stomach and groaned.

She could no longer pretend to herself that Donald found her attractive. Now that her belly had grown, he had drawn away, no longer pulling off her clothes to kiss her stomach, no longer touching her at all, no longer sharing her bed. Overwhelmed by misery and loneliness, she turned away so that her ladies could not see her tears.

‘Agnes,’ she asked, ‘will you fetch me a posset? It will help me to sleep.’

She had lost him. He had gone. Her bed was empty and cold. Agnes nodded sypathetically. ‘I’ll fetch it at once, my lady.’

Dismissing Meg and Bethoc, Eleyne leaned against the pillows. She was feeling strangely uneasy. Her head ached and her eyes were tired. She glanced towards the narrow lancet windows. West-facing they had seen the last of the stormy sun sink into a black pall of cloud.

Alexander.

It was many weeks since she had thought of him, but suddenly she found herself longing for his presence. She was lonely for him, lost without either of the men she loved.

When Agnes returned, she was not alone to Eleyne’s astonishment; Rhonwen was with her.

Eleyne stared at the old woman for a full minute in complete silence, then she levered herself off the bed. She understood now why her thoughts had returned to Alexander and she felt a momentary wave of panic sweep over her.

‘You’re pasty-faced, cariad, and your eyes are puffy. What have you been doing to yourself?’

‘You can see what I have been doing!’ Eleyne moved awkwardly to a stool and sat down. ‘Why have you come to Kildrummy? I did not send for you.’ She did not want Rhonwen here. She did not want the fear and the suspicion and the dread.

Rhonwen sat down near her. She was exhausted after her long journey, accompanied by two servants and three armed men. Her worldly possessions had been loaded on two packmules. ‘Sir Alan forced your son to send me away. He wants no friends of yours left at Falkland.’

‘I see.’ Eleyne looked at her thoughtfully. ‘And are you my friend?’

Rhonwen looked despairing. ‘How can you ask that? Of course I’m your friend. I love you, and I want what is best for you.’

‘It didn’t seem like that to me,’ Eleyne retorted harshly.

Rhonwen shrugged. ‘I did what I had to.’

‘And do you still serve Alexander?’

Rhonwen looked away. ‘He has not returned since you left.’ The phoenix was in her saddlebag, carefully wrapped in lambswool and wedged inside a box of dried lavender heads.

‘Good.’ Eleyne was watching her carefully. ‘If you stay here, I shall want your complete and undivided loyalty to be given to my husband. I do not want Alexander here.’

‘Of course, cariad,’ Rhonwen replied meekly. ‘I shall serve you in whatever way you wish. He would not come anyway, while you carry another man’s child.’

Dismissing Agnes, Eleyne poured two beakers of mulled wine and passed one to Rhonwen. ‘We need not speak about it any more. Drink this, then tell me what has been happening at Falkland. How are my boys?’

When Rhonwen had finished speaking at last, Eleyne laid her head in her arms. ‘Poor Colban, poor Macduff. I’ve written to them both a score of times. Do they really think I would have forgotten them?’

Rhonwen shook her head. ‘They realise now Sir Alan would intercept anything you sent. You must send messages they are bound to get. Write to the young king, cariad. The Durwards can’t stop him from giving them your love.’

Rhonwen found out at once where Donald had gone. The pretty wench from the castle dairies had long glossy red hair and skin like curds. It was Elizabeth of Mar’s maiden, Maggie, who told Bethoc who told Rhonwen that Elizabeth had told Donald to leave his wife alone; had told him that pursuing her was a sin whilst she was with child and pushed the red-haired girl – who looked a little as Eleyne had when she was a child – in his direction. It took no one to tell Rhonwen that when he had lain with the slim girl, he would turn away in revulsion from Eleyne’s swollen body.

Rhonwen was torn: part of her wanted to rejoice that Donald had proved a broken reed; part of her, convinced that Alexander would want nothing to do with Eleyne while she carried another man’s child, wanted to comfort Eleyne’s misery.

When she told Eleyne where he had gone for his comforts, Eleyne wept.

‘I knew it, I suppose. I’ve seen them together,’ she sobbed. ‘He was looking at her the way he always looked at me. And can you blame him!’ She pressed her hands to her sides. ‘Look at me! I’m disgusting.’

‘You’re beautiful, cariad. And seeing that you know where your husband spends his nights, you should know as well that Lady Mar told him to leave you alone.’

‘Lady Mar?’ Eleyne looked up, the tears sparkling on her lashes.

‘Who else?’ Rhonwen had very quickly formed an unfavourable opinion of the Countess of Mar. ‘He wouldn’t have left you had she not told him it was a mortal sin to lie with his wife whilst she was with child.’

‘Mortal sin?’ Eleyne was aghast.

Rhonwen nodded. ‘Be thankful he’s not in your bed now, while you are so large and uncomfortable. He’ll come back to you as soon as you are delivered. You’ll see.’

V

Gratney was born at midnight as the first great gale of the autumn swept up the strath, battering the walls of the castle, toppling the battlements on the south-western gatehouse, turning the burn which flowed down the Den, the ravine behind the castle, into a raging torrent.

He was a large baby, with his father’s hair and eyes. The delivery was easy and quick and even Elizabeth was satisfied that her first grandson made a lusty heir.

Exhausted, Eleyne lay back on the bed. She had been bathed and lay in fresh lavender-scented linen, her hair brushed loose on her shoulders. Only then did she let them bring Donald to her. He sat on the bed and took her hand. ‘My beautiful, clever love.’ He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth.

Beside them the baby lay asleep in its carved oak cradle.

VI

Donald was standing alone on the battlements of the Snow Tower staring at the distant hills. Behind him the castle drowsed in the winter sunshine. The great fortress, built largely by his father at the instigation of King Alexander II over forty years before, was still in the process of being finished; the tower in the south-west angle of the wall near him was at this moment covered in scaffolding, though there were no workmen to be seen.

He had come from the bedchamber where he had been sitting with Eleyne and the baby, watching them as they drifted together into a warm, milky sleep. He leaned on the cold stonework, his chin in his cupped hand. His son was the most beautiful child he had ever seen: tiny, delicate, his violet eyes fringed with long dark lashes which, when he slept, lay on a skin as white as alabaster. It was unheard of to write a poem about a child, unless it was the Blessed Saviour himself, but already the words of adoration were pounding through his head.

It was a moment before he realised that there was someone behind him. Annoyed at the intrusion he was tempted to do nothing in the hope that whoever it was would take the hint and go away; then some sixth sense made him swing round.

There was no one there.

Puzzled, he stared across the stone slabs which roofed the tower. The door into the stairwell stood open as he had left it. Inside, it was in deep shadow. He strode across the roof and, stooping, peered in. The staircase disappeared down into the darkness. There was no sound of retreating footsteps from the deeper recesses of the tower.

Ducking back into the sunlight he looked around again uneasily, the skirt of his heavy gown blowing against the stonework near him.

Across the steep sides of the ravine behind the castle he saw the trees on the hillside opposite, behind the quarry where the stone for building came from, stirring gently as the wind strengthened, moaning amongst the boughs of the tall Scots pine, rustling the last crisped leaves of oak and birch to the ground. If he listened hard, he could hear the sound of the burn tumbling over the rocks far below into the boggy ground of the Den.

He shivered violently. Sweet Christ, he could feel the cold sweat of fear between his shoulder blades! He stared round again, then he dived for the staircase.

‘Nel!’

Two at a time he hurtled down the narrow, winding staircase, floor after floor until he reached the bedchamber, gasping for breath.

‘Nel! Are you all right?’ Without realising it, he had his hand on his dagger.

She was startled into wakefulness. Pulling herself up on the pillows, her eyes were wide with fear.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ She clutched little Gratney tightly in her arms.

He looked down at her and sheepishly pushed the dagger into its gilded leather sheath. His relief that she was all right was palpable, the flood of adrenalin in his body draining away, leaving him weak and exhausted.

‘I’m sorry, my darling. I shouldn’t have woken you – ’

‘What was it?’ She reached out her hand to him. She was afraid now as suddenly, staring at his face, she knew what had happened.

‘Alexander is here?’ Soundlessly her lips framed the question, while her eyes held his.

He shrugged. ‘I saw nothing. I can’t believe he would follow us. How could he? It was my imagination.’

‘No, you’re right. He’s here.’ Her arms tightened around the baby. Rhonwen had brought him somehow and now that she no longer carried Donald’s child in her womb he was searching for her.

She could taste the strange metallic sharpness of fear in her throat. Slowly she knelt up on the bed, peering around the dimly lit chamber. Only a ray or two of pale winter sunshine pierced the double lancets of the window.

‘Please go away,’ she called softly. ‘Please, my lord; my love. Give me time with Donald and with his son. Please, if you love me, go away.’

Donald held his breath. He realised his hands were shaking and he clasped them together over the hilt of his dagger.

‘Please, don’t take me now.’ Eleyne’s voice was pleading and there were tears in her eyes. ‘Please, not yet.’

‘Sweet Christ!’ Donald whispered. ‘What do you mean, not yet?’ He threw himself towards the bed, enveloping Eleyne and the baby in his arms, and buried his face in her neck. ‘What do you mean?’ he repeated in anguish.

Eleyne was trembling. ‘I… I don’t know.’ She swallowed. ‘I suppose that one day I’ll grow old. I’ll grow old long before you, Donald…’

‘Don’t talk like that!’ His eyes blazed with anger. ‘I forbid you to talk like that! It’s obscene! He’s not getting you, not ever, do you hear me? I’ve already told you -’ he was shaking his head like a wounded animal – ‘I’ve already told you that I will fight him in hell itself if I have to. You are not going to him, Nel, not ever. You are mine. Do you hear me? You are mine!’

He realised suddenly that she was crying and, trapped between them, Gratney let out a thin wail, his little face screwed up with misery. Eleyne kissed him gently then she looked up at Donald and smiled through her tears.

‘We’ll fight him together,’ she said softly. ‘Somehow we’ll fight him. It will be all right, I promise.’

VII

Rhonwen’s eyes were unfathomably hard. ‘I don’t know what you mean, cariad. Why should the king come here? There’s nothing for him here, surely.’ She looked at the cradle by the bed. ‘Unless Lord Donald has grown bored with you, of course.’

‘He hasn’t grown bored,’ Eleyne retorted. ‘He’ll come back to my bed as soon as I am churched.’

‘I am glad to hear it. Just as long as you are happy with him. It’s when you’re unhappy the other will come to claim you.’

‘He’ll have to kill me first, Rhonwen,’ Eleyne said slowly. ‘Don’t you realise that?’

‘No.’ Rhonwen shook her head. ‘You’ve to bear his child.’

‘No!’ Eleyne grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. ‘No, I’ll never bear his child. Can’t you get that into your head? Never!’

She was angry to find she was trembling like a leaf. Stooping over the cradle, she scooped Gratney into her arms and hugged him. The women of the castle were afraid of Rhonwen, she knew; there were whispers that the old woman with her cold eyes and her fanatical concern for Eleyne was mad. Eleyne had heard them and sometimes she felt the doubt creeping back. ‘I want no more babies, Rhonwen, no more at all. But if I must have them, they will be my husband’s.’

Rhonwen smiled. ‘Of course, cariad,’ she said. She glanced at the bed. There, safely hidden beneath the pillows and bolsters, the phoenix lay where she had left it. As long as it was there, Eleyne belonged to her king.

VIII

The first time Donald returned to his wife’s bed he was shy and tentative, like a stranger. He had watched her trace the circle of protection around their bed, seen her command Alexander to leave them alone. It seemed too easy; too simple a way to hold their fear at bay, but she believed the king had gone and she was hungry for Donald.

Laughing, she had to guide his hands to her hard flat belly, her soft breasts, but from that moment she had to guide him no longer. Their lovemaking, after so long an abstinence, was almost better than before.

IX

Donald took her south to the king’s court when the snows turned to rain and the frozen ground began to thaw. He wanted to get her away from Kildrummy, away from his mother, away from the ghost which haunted them. The lively atmosphere of the court would distract her, and surely the dead king would not come near his son.

As he had hoped, the castle was crowded, noisy and full of good humour. The great hall rang with music and laughter. Troubadours and minstrels, acrobats and animal trainers vied with one another to amuse the king and queen in the frenzied run up to the austerities of Lent. It was a shock to discover that one of the reasons for the excitement was the visit of Prince Edward, the queen’s brother. He had arrived from Haddington, where he was recruiting troops to fight the rebels in England. At twenty-eight, Edward was a fine figure of a man; tall, handsome in a reserved manner, he had been married since he was fifteen years old. His first two daughters had died in infancy but now he had a son, John, just a year old, named for their grandfather. The antipathy Eleyne felt for her English cousin was, she knew, more than returned. They regarded one another with dislike, suspicion and resentment, something which had grown and developed over the years on the rare occasions when they had met. She wasn’t quite sure why, even from a child, he had marked her out for his spite. It didn’t occur to her that he sensed in her a rebellious spirit which he would never be able to tame and that as such he regarded her as a personal threat.

His presence cast a blight over the visit. Eleyne avoided the king and queen and their guest as much as she could; but she could not escape Edward’s attention entirely.

The lower tables had been removed and the guests had settled down to listen to the music of one of Prince Edward’s minstrels, or sleep away their heavy meal, when Edward addressed her directly for the first time.

‘So, our fair cousin is now wife to the heir to the Earl of Mar. I understand from my brother-in-law that there are five more earldoms in Scotland for you to collect.’ He inclined his head towards those within earshot, waiting for their laughter. When it came, dutifully, it was muted.

Eleyne tensed, but Donald’s hand was firm on her arm. He turned to Prince Edward. ‘My wife is so fair she merits a thousand earldoms, your highness,’ he said quietly.

A spot of colour appeared on Edward’s cheeks, then he gave a slight bow. ‘Your gallantry shames me, Lord Donald,’ he said. He smiled coldly, then he turned away.

Donald and Eleyne looked at one another as the minstrel tuned his lute. Both had felt a shadow hover over the hall before the music soared towards the high rafters. Eleyne shivered. The happiness of the visit was spoiled.

X

By the time they returned to Kildrummy she knew she was pregnant again.

Instinctively certain that her condition kept her safe from Alexander, she tried to hide it from Donald for as long as possible. When at last she told him, he was overjoyed, but in spite of his reassurances and her pleas he left her even sooner this time. The red-haired girl in the dairy was married to the castle baker and hugely pregnant herself, and he had sworn he would not look, ever, at another woman, but even so he found it necessary to ride south to join his father at Dunfermline and she was left alone.

Rhonwen confronted her at once. ‘So, cariad, he has left you again. Do you still swear that he loves you?’

Eleyne was sitting in the window embrasure, and did not turn round. ‘I wouldn’t blame him if he found me ugly. But it is his mother. He cannot argue with her. The church says it’s a sin to touch me while I am great with child.’ She wrapped her arms around herself miserably.

Rhonwen snorted. ‘The church says,’ she echoed mockingly. ‘Your bitter, twisted church.’ She bent close to Eleyne. ‘Lord Donald is not for you, cariad. Have you not seen that yet? Have you not seen who it is who truly loves you?’

Eleyne turned to look at her, almost afraid of what she would see. Her face was drawn as she met Rhonwen’s eyes. ‘No one loves me while I am pregnant,’ she said wearily. ‘Alexander has no use for me while I carry another man’s child.’

‘I can bring him to you,’ Rhonwen whispered. ‘Look.’ She produced her hand from behind her back. In it something sparkled, and as the enamelled jewel swung on its chain free of Rhonwen’s fingers, Eleyne caught her breath.

‘I hid that – ’

‘And he showed me where.’ Rhonwen dangled it in front of Eleyne’s eyes. ‘He guided me to it, he commanded me to bring it to you. It binds you to him. You cannot throw it away. You cannot hide it. It will always find you.’

Eleyne reached out but Rhonwen took a quick step backwards. ‘I’m going to take care of it, cariad. We cannot have it lost again, can we?’

Eleyne’s eyes blazed with anger. ‘You are meddling in matters which don’t concern you, Rhonwen. Give that to me!’

Rhonwen shook her head. Turning, she skipped out of reach with surprising agility, slipping the phoenix through the slit in her skirt and into the pocket she wore at the waist of her shift. ‘The king told me to guard it well,’ she said triumphantly.

‘He won’t come.’ Eleyne did not try to chase her. Aware of her dignity, she sat down and turned back to the window. ‘He will never come while I am carrying Donald’s child.’

XI

Day after day Eleyne found herself seated next to Elizabeth at the high table. They ate in a silence occasionally broken by the gallant chatter of Hugh Leslie, Father Gillespie the castle chaplain, and Sir Duncan Comyn, Elizabeth’s cousin and head of her personal household.

Elizabeth had grown very thin over the last twelve months. She kept more often to her rooms and sometimes failed to appear at meals at all, but when she did her tight-lipped dislike of Eleyne showed no respite.

Twice Elizabeth’s brother, the Earl of Buchan, had come to Mar and on both occasions he brought his wife. With Elizabeth de Quincy at Lady Mar’s side, Eleyne felt outnumbered.

‘They sit side by side and glare at me,’ she told Morna, taking little Mairi on her knee. ‘I don’t know which one of them hates me most.’

‘Poor lady.’ Morna laughed. ‘You threaten them. You are young – oh yes you are, compared with them – you are beautiful and above all you are fertile, whilst their wombs have shrivelled and died.’ Morna sat down on the grassy bank next to her. ‘And neither of them can forget that you are loved by a king.’

‘So, the story reaches even the glens of Mar.’ She shivered.

‘I need no gossips to know what happens to the people I love.’ Morna sounded reproachful. ‘I hear the news on the wind; I hear it in the rain and see it written in the clouds.’

‘And the fire,’ Eleyne said softly. ‘Do you ever see it in the fire?’ She touched Mairi’s face with her fingertip.

For a moment Morna said nothing, studying Eleyne. ‘No,’ she said at last, ‘I don’t see things in the fire.’

There was a long silence. ‘I hear things from the gossips as well, of course,’ Morna went on in a more energetic tone. ‘For instance they told me that your nephew Llywelyn has now been recognised as Prince of all Wales by Henry of England.’

Eleyne smiled. ‘It’s strange how the shadows from Yr Wyddfa stretch as far as the mountains of Scotland.’ She shivered. ‘I pray all goes well with him.’

‘But you see trouble for him in the future?’ Morna asked tentatively.

‘Perhaps. I don’t know what I see, except that destiny sits heavily on our family.’ Eleyne sighed. When the news had come only the week before of her sister Angharad’s death, she had wept bitterly. But it was so long since she had seen any of her sisters. Margaret, who had written to her to tell her the news, had herself been widowed for the second time only three years before and had been too ill to go to Angharad’s funeral.

Morna was watching her. ‘Destiny sits heavy on you, my friend, certainly.’ She smiled. ‘To be loved by two men at once is never easy. It’s even harder if you love them both in return.’

Eleyne looked up at her. ‘You know that Alexander has followed me to Mar?’

Morna shrugged. ‘As I said, I hear it in the wind and rain. One day you will have to make a choice.’

‘But not yet.’ It was a plea. Eleyne wrapped her arms around herself with a shiver. ‘He doesn’t come near me when I’m pregnant. It’s as though he never existed, as though he were just a dream. I find it hard to believe in him at all when he’s not there.’

‘Perhaps he is a dream.’

‘Perhaps I don’t exist for him. Perhaps I’m the dream.’ Eleyne put Mairi down and climbed restlessly to her feet. ‘Oh, Morna, why did Donald go away again? Do I cease to exist for him too when I’m with child?’

‘Perhaps.’ Morna pulled her daughter to her and dropped a kiss on the toddler’s head. ‘But you still exist for yourself and that’s the only true reality,’ she said enigmatically. ‘You are too much ruled by your passions, my dear.’

‘I can’t help it.’ Eleyne shook her head. ‘I love him so much.’

It was Donald she meant.

Elizabeth of Mar followed her on her next visit to Morna, her chestnut palfrey flanked by four mounted knights.

‘So, this is where you come. I thought perhaps there was a man.’ She snapped her fingers at one of her escorts. He dismounted and helped her down.

Little Mairi had fallen asleep in Eleyne’s arms. Carefully she laid the child on the ground without waking her and stood up, controlling her anger with difficulty. ‘How kind of you to be worried. As you see, I am not with a man, I am visiting a friend.’

‘A friend?’ The Countess of Mar looked down at Morna, who was sitting on the grass by the river, and raised a haughty eyebrow.

Morna smiled at her, unruffled. ‘I could be a friend to you too, Lady Mar, if you would let me.’ Her low voice halted Elizabeth in her tracks. ‘I can see the pain inside you and I could help you, if you would let me.’

Elizabeth stared at her. Her face was white, her thin, lined face drawn with the effort of the long ride. ‘Why? Are you some kind of leech?’ For a moment there was something like longing in her eyes, then it was gone.

‘No, but I know something of healing,’ Morna replied, ‘and I know of a holy well, the waters of which would help you and bless you with long life.’

‘Indeed.’ Elizabeth hesitated for only a fraction of a second, then she turned back to her horse. ‘Then I suggest you use your knowledge in the clachan, where no doubt it would be of some use. Eleyne, accompany me, please.’

‘I shall follow soon.’ Eleyne kept her voice even. ‘I had planned to return in time for the midday meal.’ She made no move towards her horse, which waited with those of the two men who had escorted her. They were sitting playing a lazy game of knucklebones at the far end of the glen, well out of earshot of Morna’s cottage. After a moment’s hesitation Elizabeth beckoned the knight forward to help her mount, and rode off without looking back.

XII

‘Why did you follow me?’ Eleyne went straight to Elizabeth’s chamber when she returned to the castle.

Her ladies, sitting around the broad table with their embroidery and their spindles, looked up in astonishment.

‘Your husband suspects you of being unfaithful,’ Elizabeth said.

‘No, that would never cross Donald’s mind. Not unless you suggested it to him, as you suggested to him that he leave my bed.’ Eleyne held Elizabeth’s gaze without wavering, and was gratified to see the countess look away first.

‘I suggested he leave your bed, madam, to relieve you of a presence which must have become intolerable,’ Elizabeth said stiffly. ‘As for the other, it is as well I told him of your rides. No faithful wife goes completely alone, day after day, into the hills.’

‘It is something I have always done,’ Eleyne replied, ‘and something I shall continue to do. When Donald is here, he often rides with me.’

‘Indeed.’ Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. ‘How annoying for you. So, unwittingly I have done you a favour, it seems, in reminding my son of his duties at his father’s side. You can once more ride alone. Though I must say, I’m astonished that you persist in riding in your condition. Tell me -’ She changed the subject unexpectedly. ‘Have your lonely rides taken you to this sacred well? Do you know where it is?’

‘I know,’ Eleyne said quietly. Guided by Morna, she had ridden there and splashed the crystal water over her face and breasts, leaving an offering to the gods in the hope that the magic waters would keep her young. Only days later she had conceived this second child.

XIII

When Eleyne arrived at Morna’s cottage a few days later, she found her friend seated by the cool brown water of the river. The birch trees had scattered golden leaves in the whirling pools of the backwater eddies, and Morna was watching as Mairi tried to catch the flying leaves on the bank.

‘Your mother-in-law was here again this morning,’ Morna said as Eleyne sat down beside her. ‘She arrived with such an escort I felt sure she had come to arrest me.’

‘And why did she come?’

‘To ask my help. Her heart pains her a great deal and she doesn’t dare ask the castle physicians in case they tell her she is mortally sick.’

‘And what did you tell her?’ Eleyne raised an eyebrow.

‘I told her, as I told her before, that I was no physician. If she doesn’t want the doctor at the castle, she could send for the infirmarian at Cabrach. I sent her home with water from the sacred spring, and I told her to rest.’ She smiled. ‘And I told her you were a faithful and obedient wife.’

‘Thank you.’ Eleyne groaned as she sat down. ‘What else could I be, like this? Look at me! I’ve never been so huge.’

‘It won’t be long,’ Morna said comfortingly. ‘Then you’ll be slim again. And I will tell you what to do to prevent another baby coming.’

Eleyne stared at her. ‘You can?’

The other woman nodded. ‘When the time is right I will show you. But you must say nothing to anyone, especially your husband. Such things are considered a sin against God.’

XIV

Eleyne was resting on her bed; her back ached and she was tired. The child in her womb did not kick so much now, held too tightly in its dark prison. She was larger than she had been with any of her other children. A few weeks before, while there was still room, it had kicked and flailed endlessly until Eleyne had wondered if she were going to give birth to a litter of pups, just as Sabina had done a few months before. She sighed, trying to ease her position on the bed. The command to go at once to Elizabeth’s chamber did not please her at all.

Lady Mar was lying on her bed, her face very pale. It had been a hot day and the stone of the castle held the heat as one of the first of the heavy dews of autumn started to fall.

‘You said you knew where the sacred well is?’ Elizabeth began without preamble.

Eleyne nodded. A century or so before a hermit had built himself a stone hut beside it and now it sheltered pilgrims who came to bathe in its healing waters or make offerings to the saint who guarded it.

‘I want to go there.’ Elizabeth’s hand was pressed against her chest.

Eleyne stared at her in astonishment. ‘But it’s a long way. It’s up in the hills and hard to reach. Morna will give you more water from the spring – ’

‘That’s no use!’ Elizabeth lay back on the pillow, pressing her lips together tightly as a wave of pain hit her. ‘Morna is away from her bothy. I hear she is sometimes away for days or weeks on end. I can’t wait until she gets back. I want to go to the well myself.’

‘You can’t possibly!’ Eleyne was shocked out of her attempt to comfort the woman. ‘It’s a long steep ride; even for someone who is fit it’s difficult. Water can be fetched…’

‘I want to go there. I have to go there,’ Elizabeth repeated stubbornly, willing herself into a sitting position. ‘I shall order a litter first thing tomorrow and you will guide me there.’

‘I can’t. It would be madness,’ Eleyne cried. She was sorry for the anguish and fear she saw in the other woman’s eyes; the fear of illness and death. ‘It would be foolish for you to try to ride that far when you are unwell.’

‘It will kill me if I don’t go.’ Elizabeth shook her head. ‘I have to go, don’t you see? I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. I remember hearing of the spring when I was a child in Buchan. My grandfather, Fergus, was full of old tales of the hills. He said if you bathed in its holy waters you would live forever. I had forgotten about it until that spaewife told me the story again. I have to get there, it’s my only chance.’

Eleyne shook her head and put her hand to her stomach. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t ride that far, even if you can. My time is close…’

‘I see!’ Elizabeth’s voice was mocking. ‘You protest that you must ride all day to please yourself, but to save my life you’re not prepared to ride at all – ’

‘That’s not true!’

‘Then come with me.’ Elizabeth stood up. She staggered slightly, then straightened. ‘I will order you a litter too. We have two I believe.’

‘No.’ Eleyne was looking at her in disbelief. ‘Please. Neither of us is in a fit state to go.’

‘I have to.’ Elizabeth’s face tightened in a grimace of pain. ‘You are my daughter-in-law, it’s your duty to obey me in this.’ She snapped her fingers at one of her ladies. ‘Go and order the litters and an escort of armed men. Tell them to be ready tomorrow after mass.’ She turned again to Eleyne. ‘Of course we have to take into account the fact that you are no longer as young as you were,’ she said spitefully. ‘But you have always insisted your age made no difference to your activities. Is that it? Are you afraid?’

Eleyne clenched her fists. ‘Of course not.’

‘Then you will come with me.’

XV

They had an escort of ten men. Elizabeth had forbidden any of her ladies to accompany them. Eleyne looked up at the sky as her groom brought her horse, and she shook her head. However much she hated the litter, she knew she could not ride.

The clouds were high and wild, though on the ground the air was still. Wind would come later, and with it rain. She could smell the cold and salt from the distant sea. She pulled her cloak more closely around her as one of her attendants came to help her awkwardly on to the cushions and she felt the baby move resentfully.

They travelled very slowly, leaving the track almost immediately and heading across the rough, slowly rising ground. Eleyne’s litter was at the front of the riders, Ancret and Lyulf close beside her, a deeply disapproving Sir Duncan Comyn riding at her side. He had insisted on accompanying them and had hand-picked their escort.

Eleyne’s back ached and she was very tired. Every now and then she called a halt, peering around to orientate herself to the unaccustomed view from the litter.

At one of the halts Duncan turned in his saddle. ‘Do you think we should check to see if she is all right?’

Wearily Eleyne nodded, glad of the rest. She waited, slumped uncomfortably on the cushions, whilst he rode back. Above the rising wind she heard Elizabeth’s harsh voice demanding to know why the devil they had stopped, and even more clearly, as he rode back towards her, she heard Sir Duncan’s muttered imprecation that his cousin was a selfish vicious old harridan and deserved to roast in hell. She smiled. It was reassuring to know that she was not without allies on this journey.

They found the spring in the end and she climbed wearily out of the litter, gratefully allowing Sir Duncan to help her into the stone chapel and settle her on the long low ledge which had served the hermit all those years before both as seat and bed. He called his men to build a fire in the ring of blackened stones which had obviously formed the hearth over the centuries. Only then did he leave her to help Elizabeth from her litter.

The spring bubbled gently from beneath an overhang of rock, filling a shallow pool rimmed by smooth stones which had been used since time immemorial as a resting-place for people’s offerings. Coloured bits of rag, stones and coins lay in the glistening spray, protected by small curling ferns, brilliant green in the late afternoon sun.

‘Now, I want you to leave my daughter-in-law and me here. Take all your men. I want no one left here with us.’ Elizabeth’s grating voice was still strong as Sir Duncan helped her from the litter. ‘You may return tomorrow at noon.’

‘My lady, we can’t leave you!’ Sir Duncan was horrified.

‘Why not? No one will harm us here. We have my daughter-in-law’s great dogs to protect us. Build up the fire and leave enough wood to keep us warm and unpack the food and bring me all the rugs and towels from the litter. Then go. I have no intention of bathing with a dozen men ogling through the bracken.’

Sir Duncan appealed to Eleyne. ‘My lady -?’

‘Do as I say!’ Elizabeth cut in sharply. ‘I have to be alone and I have to bathe in the moonlight. It’s part of the cure. She can stay and seek her own blessing from the water, but no one else. No one at all.’ She staggered slightly, her hand to her breast. ‘Go now.’

Eleyne closed her eyes in despair, wishing fervently that she hadn’t come. The wild look in her mother-in-law’s eyes frightened her. ‘Surely, if Sir Duncan and his men wait out of sight,’ she said, ‘that will be good enough. Then they can take us back.’

‘No!’ Elizabeth cried in a frenzy. ‘They have to go. I have to wait for the moon. It’s my only chance. My only chance,’ she repeated through gritted teeth.

‘You had better do as she says,’ Eleyne said softly to Sir Duncan. She glanced at Elizabeth. ‘The Blessed Virgin and St Bride will protect us.’ And so will the old gods who watch here, she added to herself silently. Whose power is still strong in these hills; whose watch over the sacred springs has never lessened.

With one final anxious glance at Eleyne, Sir Duncan did as he was bid. The rugs and towels were piled in the chapel, the fire built up and a neat stack of firewood fetched from the copse at the foot of the rocks; dried rowan and pine and birch and even sharp, prickly thorn were heaped in the corner, then the escort left and they were alone.

Eleyne and Elizabeth watched as the horsemen rode down the hillside, then Elizabeth turned to her. ‘We’ll eat while we wait for the moon to rise,’ she said.

The two women sat before the fire in the deserted chapel as the dusk, coming in from the east, threw purple shadows across the glens. The light was dying fast. Through the open door, Eleyne looked up at the sky. It had turned to an opalescent aquamarine, remote and cold, streaked with carmine cloud. Between the mountains the shadows grew black and soft, folded in secrecy. From somewhere far away there was the howl of a wolf. Eleyne saw her dogs’ ears flatten. The hackles on their necks had risen, but neither animal moved from its watch by the door.

‘You’re afraid.’ Elizabeth’s mocking voice was loud in the silence.

Eleyne clenched her fists. ‘I’m afraid for you. Supposing you were taken ill – ’

‘I won’t be taken ill. I’ve come here to be cured and as soon as the moon has risen, I shall bathe in the pool.’ Elizabeth shivered suddenly. ‘Throw some more wood on the fire and put the towels to warm.’ She made no effort to move as Eleyne heaved herself awkwardly to her feet and did as she was bid. Her back was aching so much, she could barely move as she threw some branches on to the fire. For a moment she hesitated, staring down into the flames, seeing them beckon, then she forced herself to look away. Wearily she reached for the towels and spread them across the stone ledge.

‘It’s nearly dark.’ Elizabeth sat forward. ‘The moon will be up soon.’

‘I’ll go and see.’ Eleyne went slowly out into the wind. It was cold outside. The red was nearly gone from the west. Cloud, shredded and black, streamed across the darkening sky. In the east she could see the glow of the rising moon behind the hills. In a few moments its silver rim would float clear of the clouds. The water behind her was black as velvet, bubbling quietly from the deep centre of the mountain.

‘Is it time?’ Elizabeth’s husky voice behind her made her jump.

‘The moon is nearly up.’ Eleyne turned. She caught her breath in surprise. Elizabeth had removed her gown. Dressed only in a white shift beneath her cloak she was like an apparition in the darkness as the silver moonlight slowly spread across the mountainside.

Kicking off her shoes, Elizabeth began to walk, slowly and with laboured breath, towards the smooth flat rocks. Eleyne followed her, taking her arm as the woman stumbled. ‘You can’t mean to bathe completely. It’s ice cold!’ she protested.

‘Hold my cloak. It’ll serve to warm me when I come out.’ Elizabeth groped with the fastening at her throat.

‘Splash yourself. That will be enough.’ Eleyne tried to hold her back. ‘Here, let me get some water for you – ’

‘Leave me!’ Elizabeth’s voice rose sharply. She pushed Eleyne away and took the last few steps to the edge of the pool.

Moonlight flooded the dark water as the heavy strips of cloud scudded west, and Elizabeth paused, catching her breath as the pool turned silver. Cautiously she stepped into the shallow rock basin. The icy water clung to her shift, soaking her ankles then, as she took another step, her knees. She could hear her heart beating; her head was full of the sound. The moonlight filled her eyes. Slowly she raised her arms towards the sky.

On the bank Eleyne watched, a dog on each side of her. She saw Elizabeth move cautiously to the centre of the pool and she saw her raise her hands towards the moon. She smiled ruefully. So this woman too, descendant as she was of the ancient Celtic line of the Earls of Buchan, remembered earlier gods. Eleyne shivered, huddled in her cloak as the wind freshened across the mountainside, wincing as the child in her belly moved sharply, as if sensing her unease. Preoccupied with her thoughts of the impatient life within her, it was a moment before she saw that Elizabeth had fallen to her knees in the pool. She took a step nearer, peering into the moonlit dazzle from the water.

‘Help me!’

She barely heard Elizabeth’s call over the trickle of the spring. Dropping the woman’s cloak she ran to the edge of the pool. Elizabeth had slumped forward in the water, her arms flailing, her face contorted with pain.

Sabina got there first, bounding into the water with a fearful splash, dragging at the woman’s gown. Eleyne reached her seconds later, scarcely feeling the cold on her legs as she caught Elizabeth’s arm. The woman’s head was lolling out of control. Gritting her teeth, Eleyne felt Elizabeth’s weight sagging against her as she began to drag her bodily from the water, half helped, half hindered by the dogs.

A pain knifed through her back and she gasped, nearly dropping Elizabeth back into the water. She took a deep breath and, with a groan, put her hands beneath Elizabeth’s arms, pulling her step by step towards the edge of the pool. Though thin, Elizabeth was a tall woman and with her shift soaked with water she was enormously heavy. Eleyne heard herself sobbing as she gave another heave. She was shaking uncontrollably, the pain in her back arcing through her belly.

At last she pulled Elizabeth halfway up the bank. She sank to the ground next to her, struggling for breath before she reached for the woman’s cloak and tucked it around her gently. ‘Are you all right? Can you hear me?’ she gasped. She took one of the cold limp hands and began to chafe it. ‘Can you hear me?’ Her voice broke into a sob of pain.

She stared up towards the moon, taking deep breaths, trying to calm her heartbeat. Her whole body had contorted suddenly with agony.

‘Blessed Bride, help me.’

She was alone on the empty mountainside with a sick woman – and her baby was coming.

Elizabeth, scarcely conscious, looked up at her. ‘What is it?’ she murmured. Through her own agony she had at last realised Eleyne’s distress.

‘My baby. It’s going to be born.’

‘You shouldn’t have helped me.’ Elizabeth grimaced. ‘I’m sorry.’ She closed her eyes, her breathing harsh and irregular. ‘Leave me. Get into the warm,’ she muttered. ‘Go on.’ She reached feebly towards Eleyne with a clawed hand. ‘God bless you’ – She paused. ‘Daughter.’

Eleyne stared down at her. ‘Don’t die!’ She gritted her teeth as another wave of pain hit her. ‘You can’t die, you’ve bathed in the pool. You have immortality.’ She clutched at Elizabeth’s hand. ‘Please, don’t die!’ It was a frightened plea.

Elizabeth’s head rolled sideways and her eyes opened slightly, but the life in them had gone. After the harshness of her breathing, the silence was even more terrifying. Eleyne dropped her hand and stared around in a panic. The mountainside was deserted. The night was silent. Only the silver moon watched the stricken woman as she knelt beside her mother-in-law’s body, and the only sound now was the gentle bubbling of the spring.

She found she was shaking uncontrollably again and, after a moment’s hesitation, she pulled the cloak from Elizabeth’s body and wrapped it round her own. She dragged herself to her feet and staggered towards the chapel, the dogs pressing themselves against her anxiously as she sobbed out loud as each new pain took her. In the doorway she looked back at the dead woman sprawled on the soft bed of fern and moss by the side of the spring and for a moment she envied her peace.

Painfully she built up the fire and spread blankets on the stone bed before she collapsed on to it, clenching her teeth against each new onset of pain.

The dogs seemed to know what was happening. Raoulet remained on guard by the door, staring out into the night, whilst Sabina lay down beside Eleyne. It was the bitch’s tongue on her face which revived her as she drifted in and out of consciousness, her shaggy coat to which Eleyne clung as spasm after spasm of agony knifed through her body.

It was just before dawn.

In a short lull between contractions, Eleyne pulled herself up slightly on the bed. The fire was dying; she had to put on more logs. Somehow she managed to do it, and to finish her preparations for the birth. She had torn strips from her shift to wrap the baby and had plenty of rugs to keep it and herself warm. She unpicked threads from her hem to tie the cord. Morna had borne her child alone; it was better that way, she had said. No fuss, no gossiping cronies taking the opportunity to poke around her house. At this moment Eleyne would have welcomed anyone poking around her house. At the end of the chapel, almost beyond the angle of her vision, the flat slab which acted as an altar carried a small carved Celtic cross, crude in its design. There were no statues in this deserted place. And no prospect of any pilgrims arriving to help her in her hour of need. She had to keep calm. Her baby’s life, and probably her own, depended on it. She must think back to her previous births and cope on her own.

The first rays of sunlight were falling pale and cold across the floor when at last the child slipped free of her body and lay whimpering feebly. It was a boy. Eleyne did what was necessary. Gathering the last reserves of her strength, she tied the cord and nipped it with her teeth, then she dried the baby carefully in one of the towels, wrapped the tiny scrap in the piece of her shift and then a rug against the cold beyond the fire, and put the baby to her breast. Sabina whimpered in her throat and Eleyne smiled across at the dog. Moments later the contractions started again. She lay back, cuddling the baby to her. Once the afterbirth was passed, she would be free of pain. But the pain did not go: it grew worse and she became frightened. She looked down at the baby, which had fallen asleep in her arms, and laid it beside her. When were they coming back? Noon, Elizabeth had said and it was only just morning.

Beside her Sabina nuzzled the swaddled baby. ‘Guard him, Sabina, guard him well,’ Eleyne murmured. ‘Take care of him for me.’

As the pain built again, she began to drift away. Her spent body tensed and fought the waves of agony and she slipped in and out of unconsciousness, to be awakened by renewed spasms of her contorted muscles as a second child was born. Somehow she found the strength again to tie off the cord and wrap the baby in the rug which lay near her, then she fell back exhausted.

Sabina sat up. Head to one side she looked down at the second baby lying at Eleyne’s side, where it had slipped from the crook of her arm. The baby whimpered miserably and gently the bitch nuzzled it. Not swaddled like its brother, it waved its arms, dislodging the loosely wrapped rug, and as the small body began to grow chill it let out a feeble cry.

Sabina nudged it, agitated, then she began to lick it, her rough tongue covering every inch of the small human, working as efficiently as when she dealt with her own puppies. Satisfied at last that the baby was warm and dry, she stood up, shook herself and looked enquiringly at Eleyne. When there was no response from her mistress, she looked down again at the two babies. The smallest was crying weakly and the sound worried her. Leaping up beside the babies on to the stone bed, she curled her great shaggy body around them, nosed them gently and settled down to sleep.

Next to her Eleyne drifted further and further into blackness.

I

‘They told you to return at noon?’ Rhonwen confronted Sir Duncan in the great hall. ‘And you left them alone?’ She stared at the man in complete disbelief.

‘Lady Mar ordered it,’ he said crossly. ‘She said they had to be alone.’

Rhonwen put her hand to her head. ‘For the love of pity, they have been out there all night! A sick woman and a woman only weeks from giving birth!’

Outside the trees bent before the wind, their branches streaming, leaves whirling in vortices on the ground beneath. Above the castle, great patches of purple shadow raced across the hillsides.

Rhonwen took Agnes and Bethoc with her as she rode stiffly on her roan palfrey beside Sir Duncan. He guided them unerringly up the track, threading his way across the mountain until they came in view of the spring and drew up abreast at the edge of the holy place.

‘Blessed Virgin!’ Sir Duncan stared, appalled, at the body sprawled on the edge of the pool, one foot still trailing in the water. The ravens and kites had already begun work on her face. There was blood on the rocks and on her shift – the black slow blood of death. There was no sign of Eleyne.

At first Raoulet would not let them pass, but Rhonwen coaxed him out of the doorway so that she and Bethoc could get in.

‘Holy Mother!’ Bethoc’s eyes got used to the dark in the windowless cell first. Eleyne lay half wrapped in a blood-soaked cloak, her face white, her eyes closed. Beside her the second great wolfhound had curled up with the two babies cuddled up in her fur. They were clean and warm and both very much alive.

Rhonwen and Bethoc were speechless, then at last Rhonwen spoke. ‘Twins! And one is Alexander’s child,’ she breathed. ‘Sweet lady, it’s a miracle!’ Her voice rose in triumph. ‘Donald of Mar’s son had to make room for his sovereign’s child!’

Bethoc stared at her in bewilderment. She crossed herself, her face white. Then she tiptoed across the floor. ‘Is my lady alive?’ she asked in a whisper.

Rhonwen took Eleyne’s hand and chafed it gently. ‘She’s breathing, but only just. It’s a miracle this place stayed warm.’ She looked across at the dying fire and shuddered. ‘But there are great powers at work here; great powers to guard over the birth of a king’s son.’ She stooped and reverently picked up the baby which had been wrapped in the torn shift. ‘This is he. The first-born. Lord Donald’s child was not important to my lady. She did not even bother to wrap it.’

Bethoc gave a superstitious shiver, then she scowled. Deftly she caught up the second baby and wrapped it warmly in her own cloak. ‘Whoever fathered these children, it is for us to take care of them, and of their mother,’ she scolded sharply.

Rhonwen nodded. She could not contain her sense of triumph. At last, Alexander had his son!

II

‘I swear before God they are both your sons!’ Eleyne was terrified at the fury in Donald’s face.

‘How can they be! Everyone knows that twins are born only to women who have lain with two men. My mother warned me, and I didn’t believe her!’ He slammed his fist on the palm of his hand. ‘God’s bones! I should have listened to her!’

‘Donald, please!’ Eleyne was still too weak to get out of bed. It was three days since Elizabeth’s funeral in the parish church in Kildrummy village; seven days since the twins had been baptised in the castle chapel by Father Gillespie. On Rhonwen’s instructions they had been named Duncan and Alexander. Neither Donald nor Eleyne was present at the christening. Nor was Rhonwen.

‘I swear I have not lain with another man. I swear it! I have been faithful to you.’ Tears trickled down her cheeks and she clutched at his hand. ‘I swear it, Donald.’

He moved to look down at the two cradles. ‘Then it was Alexander,’ he said quietly. ‘Rhonwen is right. One of them is Alexander’s son.’

‘No!’ Sobbing, Eleyne reached out towards him. ‘How could it be? He was no more than a figment of the imagination! I haven’t seen him or thought about him or dreamed about him since we came to Kildrummy. I swear it!’

Donald turned away. ‘That’s not true and we both know it,’ he said softly. ‘And the fact remains, you have given birth to twins and you called one of them Alexander.’

‘I didn’t call him Alexander, that was Rhonwen. Rhonwen!’ She pulled herself up on her pillows and pushed her hair out of her eyes. ‘Donald, you must believe me. I will swear on anything you hold holy. On the relics of the Blessed St Margaret. On the children’s heads! Look at the boys, see how like each other they are. And they are both like you. How could they have had different fathers?’

Donald looked down at the babies. They were indeed alike and he had to admit they were like Gratney too. His eldest son had no qualms at all about his little brothers. He adored them and spent long hours with his nurse gazing at them in awed silence.

Donald turned back to the bed. ‘You would swear on holy relics?’ he asked uncertainly.

‘I would swear on anything you like.’

He still looked doubtful. ‘Mother was so sure.’

‘Your mother was mistaken.’ Eleyne’s voice, though still weak, took on a firmness which he recognised. He smiled in spite of himself.

‘I think perhaps she was.’ He sighed. ‘As she was mistaken about her illness. The physicians have told me she brought her death upon herself. The shock of the cold water on top of the exertion of the journey stopped her heart. There was nothing wrong with it until then.’ He looked questioningly at the two cribs. ‘But you have given birth to twins. How did it happen?’

Eleyne gave a tight unhappy laugh. ‘How do you think, husband mine? We made love too much, that’s how. I’m surprised it didn’t happen when Gratney was born as well!’ She raised an eyebrow at him provocatively and was relieved to see an answering light in his eye.

III

‘I want the phoenix!’ Eleyne fixed Rhonwen with a furious stare. ‘How dare you hide it from me!’

‘The king told me to hide it,’ Rhonwen repeated stubbornly. ‘He wants it near you, so that he can reach you.’

‘I could have this castle torn apart,’ Eleyne said slowly. ‘And I’ll do it. Rhonwen,’ she appealed, ‘I thought you loved me.’

‘I do love you, cariad, I love you more than life itself. That’s why I serve the man who is your destiny.’

‘Donald is my destiny – ’

‘No, cariad.’ Rhonwen raised her voice. ‘He is an obsession – a passing passion. He is nothing. Einion Gweledydd knew. That is what he tried to tell you…’

‘No – ’

‘Oh, yes, cariad, he knew. Donald of Mar is no one. So much thistledown, tossed on the wind.’ She snapped her fingers in the air. ‘And now you have the king’s son, Alexander, a child of royal blood – ’

‘No!’ Eleyne raised her voice at last. ‘I forbid you ever to say such a thing again, ever. Sandy and Duncan are both Donald’s sons. Donald’s, do you hear? Now give me the phoenix.’

Rhonwen shook her head.

Exasperated Eleyne took a deep breath, her anger mounting. ‘Rhonwen, I have loved you for a very long time. I have stood by you and helped you when you have caused me nothing but heartache and trouble. You have not done me any favours by claiming all over the castle that Sandy is a dead man’s son. My husband doubts my faithfulness and half the household think I am a whore or a witch or both. Now, give me the phoenix.’

‘I haven’t got it any more.’ Rhonwen stared at her defiantly. ‘It’s gone.’

‘You think I’d believe that?’ Eleyne’s voice was hard. She folded her arms wearily.

‘Believe it or not, cariad,’ Rhonwen said slowly, ‘it’s the truth.’

She curtseyed with only the smallest hint of mockery as Donald walked into the room and then she fled.

Eleyne stared after her in helpless fury.

‘You look tired.’ Donald’s voice was gentle but there was still a certain constraint between them.

‘I am tired.’ Eleyne wanted to go to him, to touch his face, to feel his arms around her, but she sensed his distance from her. ‘Rhonwen continues to make trouble.’

‘Why don’t you send that mad old baggage packing? Back to London? Didn’t you say Mistress Luned had offered her a home?’

‘It would break her heart.’ Eleyne sat down at the table. She put her face in her hands. ‘She won’t give me the phoenix.’

‘So.’ His voice was bleak.

‘We can fight him, my love.’ She looked up at Donald pleadingly. ‘Just as we have always fought him. Please.’ She held out her arms.

‘Has he come back to you?’ Donald did not move.

She shook her head.

He shivered. ‘Yet I feel him. He watches over you all the time.’

‘No.’ She went to him and put her arms around his neck. ‘I am yours, Donald. Gratney, Duncan and Sandy are your sons. I have sworn it and I will swear it again.’

She reached up to the neck of her gown and pulled it open at the back, slipping the dark green velvet from her shoulders. She saw his eyes go at once to her heavy blue-veined breasts. He had begun to breathe deeply. ‘Lock the door,’ she whispered. She let her gown and then her shift fall slowly to her knees. He hesitated, then walking like a man in a dream, he did as she bid, and she opened her arms.

At dead of night in the cold moonlight she had traced a circle of protection around the castle walls: phoenix or no phoenix, Alexander was outside it, in the darkness. He could not come near her or her sons.

IV

The visit was not a success. Bethoc, Agnes and Rhonwen had remained behind to look after her three sons at Kildrummy, but Eleyne missed the children desperately. Colban and Macduff were reserved, though polite; Anna was hostile; Eleyne’s grandson, Duncan, did not remember her at all. On her last evening at Falkland, Eleyne followed Colban to his father’s countinghouse, set in the thickness of the grey wall which overlooked the Lomond Hills.

‘Are you and Anna still content?’ She put her hands on his shoulders and held him at arm’s length, forcing him to meet her eye.

‘We rub along well enough, mama.’

‘And your brother, is he happy?’ After greeting her happily enough, Macduff had disappeared. He had not been present at supper the night before.

Colban shrugged. ‘I think so. Don’t worry, mama, we’re grown men. In two years I come of age. You worry about your new family.’

She held his eye a little longer, overwhelmed with love for her proud, independent boy, then she looked away. ‘I love all my children equally, Colban, but there is always a special place in a mother’s heart for her eldest son.’ She smiled. ‘I’m very proud of you.’

He looked embarrassed, then at last he put his arms around her and gave her a quick, tight hug.

From Falkland they rode to Dunfermline, where they spent some time in private with the king. When they left, Eleyne had letters for her nephew, for they were to ride on south to Wales.

She was torn: she badly wanted to go back to her boys, but the chance to go south again to Wales, the chance to show Yr Wyddfa to Donald was a temptation hard to resist. And the king’s orders were clear. As his father had before him, he wanted her to be his go-between, his royal messenger, riding south on the pretext of visiting her family to discuss a Welsh-Scottish Celtic alliance with her nephew.

V

By Midsummer’s Day, Eleyne was once more home at Aber.

‘Well, has it changed?’ Llywelyn, resplendent in the talaith, the gold coronet of the Welsh princes, stepped down off the dais in his great hall and hugged her.

She gazed around and shook her head. ‘Yr Wyddfa is still there, and the strait and beyond it the island. I can still smell the mountains; I can still hear Afon Aber in the valley.’ She looked at Rhonwen, who had cried as once again they crossed the border into Wales. Ostensibly it had been a last-minute act of kindness to send for Rhonwen before they set out, so that she could visit her native Gwynedd again, but Eleyne had two other reasons: she did not want the old woman left in charge of the nurseries at Kildrummy; especially she did not want her near Sandy. Also, she wondered secretly whether she could prevail upon her nephew or one of her remaining sisters, Gwenllian or Margaret, to keep Rhonwen in Wales.

Llywelyn grimaced. ‘You loved it here as a child, I remember. Whereas I spent most of my childhood as a prisoner!’ He sighed.

‘Tell me about Isabella.’ He had only said that she had died.

He shrugged. ‘There’s nothing to tell. She had a wasting disease.’

‘And you were with her when she died?’

He nodded.

‘Did she speak of me at all?’

‘No,’ he said abruptly.

She watched him thoughtfully as he walked away from her, aware of a slight shiver down her back. She did not question him on the subject again.

VI

‘Donald.’ She shook his shoulder gently. ‘Donald, are you awake?’ They had made love long and passionately the night before and now he slept heavily, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed. Smiling fondly, she crept from beneath the bedcovers. The servants on the truckle beds were all asleep; it was barely light.

Pulling on her shift and then her gown and cloak, she tiptoed to the door. Nodding at the dogs to follow her, she let herself out on to the dark stairs. Meg opened a sleepy eye and watched her, debating whether to get up, but Eleyne was already outside. No doubt her lady was going riding. Had she wanted a companion she would have woken someone, not tiptoed from the room like a lover off to a secret meeting.

It was a long time since Eleyne had slipped from the prince’s hall, through the gate, past the night guard and out down the hill past the forge and the church and the mill and out through the village. With a rueful smile as she thought of all the years which had passed, she walked along the river, the dogs gambolling at her side. She was not tempted to go to the horses after spending the last three weeks in the saddle. All she wanted was to walk quietly along the river, watching the cold colourless early morning suffuse with light. And she wanted to think; think about the past and the people who had gone. Her father, her mother, Dafydd, Gruffydd, both buried with their father at Aberconwy, even Isabella.

She wandered out of sight of the village, following the valley. The air was cold beneath the trees, rich with the scent of rotting wood. The path, though well trodden, was deserted.

Behind her, Rhonwen paused, keeping well out of sight. She shivered in the cold dawn, and looked up through the trees at the slopes of the hillside which were still covered in mist. Almost, she decided to turn back.

Eleyne walked on, slowly and dreamily, smiling as she saw the blue flash of a kingfisher beneath the trees. She stopped, peering at the place it had vanished, and for the first time she realised how cold it was in the shady ravine. She pulled her cloak round her more tightly, and looked behind her. The mist had advanced through the trees, drifting closer, lapping around the gossamer-hung bushes, curling among the old rotting vegetation which hung over the path. Both dogs had disappeared, eagerly exploring the scents of the morning. The birds were silent, the mist drifting closer, and with it came the cold, suffocating aura of menace.

She hesitated, then firmly she walked on a few steps and stopped again. She pulled her cloak tighter still, glancing up at the hillside. The earlier patches of thin sunlight on the high western flanks of the mountain had gone – all she could see was the mist.

Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. The mist was all around her, touching her face, soaking her clothes. Someone was near her, but she could see nothing. The silence beat against her eardrums.

‘Who is there?’ She spun round, holding out her hands in front of her. ‘Who is it?’

But already she knew. She could feel him trying to speak, feel the frustration beating round her head, feel the cold air vibrating against her mouth, her eyes, her ears.

‘Einion?’ She turned round and round on the path, her feet slipping on the mud. ‘Please leave me alone.’

A wind had arisen from nowhere. The air was alive, and near her the trees began to bend and creak, their branches thrashing the water, whipping it into spray, shredding the mist.

She had lost the path now. She could feel brambles catching at her skirts; nettles whipped across her face, and a briar wound itself around her arm, tearing her gown and leaving a long bleeding scratch. With a scream she lost her footing and fell on her knees among the flat pebbles on a shingly strip of beach where the low summer river had left the margin dry. The wind was still tearing at her head; she felt the hood of her cloak fall, felt her hair pulled free, tangling. Desperately she closed her eyes and crouching down she wrapped her arms around her head.

It was then that she saw him: tall, his white hair blowing in the wind, his eyes a piercing fury in his head. ‘My prophecy was true!’ The words exploded in her mind. ‘It was true! The child. The child. Your daughter. Your child…’ The words were fading. ‘Your child…’

‘No!’ Eleyne screamed. ‘Leave me alone!’ She flailed out desperately. ‘Go away.’ Frantically she tried to regain her feet, sobbing. ‘I don’t believe you, I don’t want to know. Go away, leave me alone.’ Her feet kept slipping on the pebbles as, blindly, she tried to find the steep bank. Her hand closed over a tree root and she tried to pull herself up. She was panting, unable to catch her breath. Clawing at the soft earth, she found a foothold, then another, and, hampered by her skirts, she pulled herself up on to the path once more. The mist was thinner there. Stray rays of sunlight filtered through the trees and she could see a figure running towards her.

‘Cariad!’ Rhonwen’s breath was rasping in her throat, her hand pressed to her side. Behind her were the two dogs. ‘I heard you scream! Dew! I couldn’t go any faster. What is it? What’s happened?’ She stared in horror at Eleyne’s torn stained clothes and her tearful face. ‘What is it? Did you fall?’ Rhonwen looked down the bank at the shingle. Wisps of mist still floated over the river between the trees. Somewhere nearby a dove had begun to croon, high in a treetop where the sunlight was suddenly strong.

Eleyne seized her arm. Her teeth were chattering. ‘Einion!’ she gasped.

‘Einion?’ White-faced, Rhonwen peered around. All she had seen was the silent white mist drifting down the hillside until it enveloped Eleyne and she had vanished from sight. ‘What did he say?’ She put her arms around Eleyne and held her tightly.

‘I don’t know. I didn’t understand. He said the prophecy was true. He talked about a child.’ She was crying.

Rhonwen could feel her whole body shaking. ‘You must look in the fire, cariad, you will see the future there. Yours and little Alexander’s. You never look in the fire now. You avoid it. I’ve seen you. You keep away from it, even when the east wind blows at Kildrummy.’ She tried to smile. ‘Almost as though you were afraid of it.’

Eleyne shook her head. ‘I don’t want to see the future. I don’t want to know what happens next.’ She bent and put her arms around Sabina’s neck.

‘Oh but you do, cariad. All your life, destiny has marked you for her own. Whatever is to happen to you, you are special. You must have courage, you must look.’

Eleyne shook her head again. Sunshine shone obliquely over the shoulder of the hill and caught the water, setting diamonds amongst the shadows. ‘I used to think Alexander was my destiny,’ she whispered. ‘That I would marry him and be a queen… When he died, I wanted to die too. I couldn’t bear to live without him.’ She was talking to herself.

‘And you didn’t have to,’ Rhonwen said softly.

‘Then Donald came,’ Eleyne ignored the interruption, ‘and the shadows receded and I no longer thought about destiny. Our love was too strong to question. No other man could have been my destiny, only Donald.’

Rhonwen shook her head. ‘No. Lord Donald stole you from the king.’

‘No one stole me, Rhonwen.’ Eleyne was feeling calmer now. The sun’s beams had strengthened, and she could feel the heat of one striking through the soft leather of her shoe on the path.

‘Oh, but he did,’ Rhonwen insisted. ‘Alexander was your destiny and somehow, something went wrong. Your life and his did not run parallel; destiny was out of line. And now the gods are trying to put things right. Lord Einion is their messenger. How can you still be happy with Lord Donald, when you think of the grief he has caused you?’

‘That’s over.’ Eleyne was still trembling. With her hand on Sabina’s head, she turned slowly back towards the village. ‘Now his mother has gone, it will be different. We are happy again. He won’t leave me any more.’

‘I hope you are right.’ Rhonwen walked ahead slowly. ‘Because if ever he makes you unhappy again, I swear I shall kill him and give you back to your king.’

Eleyne stood still, staring at Rhonwen’s retreating back. She was cold with horror at the flat note of certainty in Rhonwen’s voice and, as if she heard them for the first time, Malcolm Fife’s words rang in her head. It was your nurse that did it. She’s a killer by instinct.

‘Rhonwen!’ Her voice was sharp.

Twenty yards ahead of her along the track, Rhonwen stopped and turned.

‘Did you kill Robert de Quincy?’

Rhonwen smiled. ‘Oh yes, cariad, I killed him. For you.’

VII

The August sun was unremittingly hot. The mountains baked; the earth dried and cracked. Grass and crops shrivelled and the trees began to shed their leaves as though it were autumn. In the lush orchards of Aber the trees carried small hard apples, red before their time on branches crackling with dryness. The air was heavy, laden with dust and carried the acrid scent of a hundred scrub fires.

Donald and Eleyne lay together in their bedchamber after lunch. They were both naked. They had made love then slept. The whole world slept. The servants who usually shared their room had made their way to the hillside behind the castle where the trees and the bracken shaded them and a slight breeze blew from the strait.

Eleyne awakened suddenly and lay looking at the tester above the bed. She had been dreaming about Colban, and tried to recall the dream, but it had gone. Leaning on her elbow, she gazed down at Donald. At twenty-eight he was, if anything, more handsome than he had been at eighteen. His face had matured as his body had hardened and the small laugh lines at the corners of his eyes gave promise that he would grow more attractive still. Smiling secretly to herself, she kissed him lightly on the mouth and felt her body respond with instant excitement as, still half-asleep, he reached up and pulled her down.

The letter for him came that evening. He read it sitting at the high table beside the Prince of Wales, and at his exclamation of horror and anger Llywelyn turned to him.

‘Bad news from Scotland, my friend?’

Eleyne leaned forward. ‘What is it, Donald? what has happened?’

‘Father!’ Donald slammed the letter down on the table amongst the trenchers. ‘He has remarried.’

‘Your father is still an active man,’ Llywelyn said. ‘Surely you wouldn’t deny him the comfort of a wife.’

‘Who is it, Donald?’ Eleyne put in. ‘Who has he married?’

‘Muriel, Malise of Strathearn’s daughter.’

Eleyne forced a smile. ‘I’m glad. She’ll be good to him.’

Muriel of Strathearn was several years younger than she was.

‘You shouldn’t be glad!’ Donald rounded on her. ‘He’ll have more children. He may even try to threaten the succession to the earldom.’

‘You really think he hates me that much?’ Eleyne was taken aback, then she shook her head. ‘No. He adores Gratney and the twins. He would never do anything to oust them.’ She reached across the table and touched his hand. ‘It’ll be all right, Donald, I promise.’

VIII

It was a joy to be home. However much she thought she would miss Wales, to be back with her three boys in the cool mountains of the north filled her with enormous pleasure. The fact that Rhonwen had refused to stay in Wales did not. She had tried persuasion; she had even tried to forbid her return, but Rhonwen, tight-lipped and cold, had been adamant, and Eleyne, unable to forget the woman’s years of devotion, had at last given in. She had dismissed Rhonwen’s claim to have killed Robert; no woman could have done such a thing. Almost wilfully her brain had blanked out the death of Cenydd: that had been an accident, a dreadful accident, no more.

Only days after her return north, she knew she was pregnant again. She went at once to see Morna.

‘You told me those things would work!’

She had assiduously done what Morna had told her: the spells, the charms, the salves which would prevent another baby.

‘And they do.’ Morna was watching little Mairi playing by the burn.

‘But they haven’t. I did everything you said. I can’t have this child. I will lose Donald. Morna, I’m too old to bear any more children. You must help me.’

Morna stared at her. ‘You are asking me to help you lose it?’

‘You’ve done it for cottar women, you told me.’

‘But I won’t do it for you. I’m sorry, but I can’t.’ Morna frowned. ‘This baby is special. The gods would not have allowed you to carry her otherwise. Don’t even think about trying to rid yourself of her. You would never forgive yourself if you did.’

‘I would never forgive myself if I lost Donald,’ Eleyne went on. ‘Don’t you see? Each time I’ve been pregnant, he’s gone away. He can’t stand the sight of me. Do you think he’ll go on coming back? At my age? I am old, Morna, old! I have grey hairs and wrinkles on my face and neck. My breasts are sagging and my stomach is no longer flat. Another child and I’ll look like his grandmother!’

Morna was amused. ‘Let me tell you what I see: a beautiful woman with red-gold hair with some streaks of silver, and a slim, firm body. But she is more than just a body. She has charm and humour and intelligence and a knowledge of men and how to please them. And that’s worth far more than the insipid body of a girl.’ She smiled. ‘Very few wives please their husbands as you please Lord Donald.’ She paused and glanced up. ‘I will make you a spell to keep your baby and your man.’

IX

A week later Donald was walking beside her in the herb garden which she had planted on the gently sloping ground outside the south wall beyond the great ditch.

‘Muriel is pregnant,’ he said without preamble. His father’s wife had taken over Elizabeth’s rooms in the Snow Tower. She was quiet and pleasant and seemed inclined to allow Eleyne to run the castle.

‘I know.’ Eleyne avoided his eye.

‘She’s a pretty creature.’ Donald bent to pick a sprig of mint and twirled it between his fingers. ‘Having a child seems to agree with her.’

Eleyne gritted her teeth.

He laughed out loud. ‘I do know, my darling; I’ve learned to spot the signs. You too grow more beautiful every day.’ He put a possessive hand on her stomach and patted it.

Eleyne caught his hand. ‘You won’t go away this time, will you? Promise me.’ She despised herself for saying it, but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘If you need to go to court, take me with you. I can’t bear to be away from you.’

He put his arm around her. ‘I shan’t leave you. I find you infinitely desirable, knowing you carry another of my sons.’ He kissed her gently.

‘And if it’s a girl?’ She heard an echo in her head of Einion’s voice and of Morna’s.

He grinned. ‘If it’s a girl, I shall be even more pleased. I would like a daughter, especially one who looks just like her mother.’

X

A blizzard raged across the Grampian Mountains; thick snow blanketed everything; the skies behind the blinding whiteness were bruised and louring; the castle, in spite of the huge banked fires, was cold and draughty.

Eleyne and Muriel sat with their ladies around the fire in the great hall, embroidering by the light of a hundred candles whilst Donald and his father played chess at the table. In the body of the hall, where most of the household still sat, the trestle tables had been put away and a minstrel was playing a succession of old ballads with choruses in which everyone could join.

Eleyne looked at Donald surreptitiously. His move made, he was gazing down into the body of the hall whilst his father studied the board. She followed his gaze and her heart missed a beat. Catriona, the baker’s wife, her red hair bundled beneath a green snood, was sitting near the minstrel. As Eleyne watched, she looked up at Donald and the two exchanged knowing smiles.

Eleyne closed her eyes. The night before Donald had failed to come to her bed. So. It had begun again and this time she could not blame his mother. Without realising it, she put down the piece of fine linen on which she was embroidering a border of flowers and her hand went to the gently swelling mound of her stomach.

Bethoc glanced at Agnes and both grimaced, sensing their mistress’s unhappiness. Rhonwen, concentrating short-sightedly on her embroidery in the flickering light, appeared to notice nothing.

Eleyne stayed in the great hall until the candles had burned too low to see. She dreaded going to bed; she knew he would not come.

Not until the last flames began to gutter did she rise. Folding her work and putting it into a rush basket, she smiled wanly at Agnes who dozed near her, her head propped on her arms. In the body of the hall men and women were asleep, on benches or wrapped on the floor in their heavy cloaks. Donald and William had long ago disappeared. As had Catriona. Eleyne had not looked for her in the hall – she knew she would not be there.

Head erect, shoulders back, she walked slowly across the great hall, followed by Agnes who carried her basket, and out into the ice-cold darkness of the stone stair which led up to the Snow Tower.

The whole castle was alive with the scream of the wind as the whirling snow filled the air, drifting into every nook and cranny and every space; creeping beneath the doors, seeping through the ill-fitting glass of the windows and through the shutters. Agnes followed her, carrying a candle which she had collected in the ground-floor storeroom of the tower. The flame streamed, scattering hot wax across her wrist, and she flinched. At the doorway to her chamber Eleyne turned and held out her hand for it. ‘Thank you, Agnes, I won’t need you again tonight.’

‘But my lady -’ Agnes protested, the deep moving shadows on her face accenting her prominent nose and eyes, ‘let me help you undress.’

‘No.’ Eleyne spoke sharply. ‘I can manage. Goodnight, Agnes.’ Taking the candle from her, she groped for the door handle and pushed open the heavy door. The room was completely dark. She closed the door and leaned against it. In the leaping shadows thrown by the single flame she could just see the great bed. The covers were smoothly drawn. It was empty.

Until that moment she had refused to let herself cry, but now the tears began to slide down her face. She stood there long after the candle in her hand had flickered, flared and died. Then she groped her way in total darkness to the bed and threw herself down on it.

She was awakened by a light shining in her eyes. Rhonwen was standing over her. ‘You’re cold, cariad,’ she said. ‘I called the boy to make up the fire. Come, let me help you into bed properly.’

‘No, I’m all right.’ Eleyne blinked, dazzled by Rhonwen’s fresh candles. ‘Please, let me sleep.’

‘When I’ve tucked you in. Look at you!’ Clucking and cajoling, Rhonwen pulled off Eleyne’s shoes, then dragged at the bedcovers, piling them over her. ‘I won’t have you crying, cariad, not ever again.’ Rhonwen’s face was grim. ‘Now, you go to sleep and I’ll look after everything.’

Eleyne buried her face in the pillows, welcoming the darkness as Rhonwen picked up the candles and carried them away, pulling the door shut behind her, taking the light.

Still enveloped in misery, she dozed for a while, then all of a sudden she was wide awake. Rhonwen’s words had echoed back into her mind with appalling clarity.

‘Donald!’ She sat bolt upright. ‘Sweet Blessed Virgin! Donald!’ Groping in the darkness she found a candlestick beside her bed, then ran to the fireplace, guided by the glow of the newly banked peats. Thrusting in the candle, she waited impatiently for the wick to catch, then she ran to the door.

Where was he? Where would he and his mistress go? Sobbing, she ran down the stairs, realising for the first time that she was barefoot.

Kildrummy was a huge castle. Five towers linked by stone passages, the great gatehouse, the chapel, the kitchens, the bakehouse, the smithy, the stables and storerooms and the great hall itself, all within the high wall. He could have taken her anywhere.

The doorward stared at her sleepily as she ran, candle streaming, across the store chamber towards him. Behind her the great square wellhead hid the black, still water. ‘Lady Rhonwen. Have you seen her?’ she shouted. ‘Quickly, man, she was here not long ago. Did she go outside again?’

‘No, my lady. No one has gone out.’ The man stared at her in bewilderment.

‘Open the door, let me see.’

Ignoring his protests, she waited impatiently as he pulled back the bolts and dragged the door open. A whirling wall of whiteness greeted them. She could see nothing. Her candle blew out instantly, as did his lantern, and they were left in the darkness. ‘No one could slip out past me, my lady,’ he called, his voice lost against the roar of the wind.

‘All right, shut it.’ She watched him put his shoulder to the door and heave it shut, bracing his back against it to catch the massive latch, and she waited, her heart beating with fear, as he groped for kindling and held it in the fire to relight his lantern and then her candle. ‘No one would go out on a night like this, lady,’ he repeated.

‘All right, thank you.’ She turned. They were still in the tower then, or in one of the curtain towers linked by narrow wall passages to the great hall.

‘Blessed Lady, help me! Let me be in time.’ She turned left and headed towards the stairs again and the passage which linked the Snow Tower with its neighbour. Used for visiting guests, the huge south-western tower, newly finished, was empty at this time of year – the servants and household preferring to huddle together by the fires in the great hall. The passages were deserted; the rush lamps which usually lit them had gone out; the corners were full of leaping shadows cast by her own candle.

‘Rhonwen!’ she screamed. She heard her voice echo dully against the stone and die below the shriek of the wind. ‘Donald!’ Frantically, she peered into an empty storeroom opening off the passage. It was deserted. Opposite it, another store was full, packed with great earthenware jars of mustard and honey, barrels of dried fish and salt beef, loaves of sugar, locked spice chests and sacks of grain. She held her candle high, trying to see into the depths of the room, then she hurried on, throwing open door after door, her feet icy on the cold grey flags. The lower floors of the tower were deserted. She brushed the tears from her eyes and hurried on. A sharp pain knifed through her side and she stopped to catch her breath. It was a stitch, that was all. There was nothing wrong with the baby. In despair, she stood at the foot of the spiral staircase and stared up into the darkness.

‘Donald!’ Her voice was thin. It would never carry. Perhaps she was already too late. Slowly she began to climb, feeling the dryness of panic catching at the back of her throat, and the constriction of her chest as her breath came in shorter and shorter gasps.

‘Donald!’ She paused and stared upwards, seeing the shadow of her candle flame slanting across the underside of the steps above her as the stair wound upwards.

‘Donald!’ He would never hear her. Wherever he was, he had no doubt shut the door and was by now fully distracted by his red-haired love. Her only hope was that he had bolted himself in somewhere where Rhonwen could not reach him.

The echo of a door slamming above her in the empty tower brought a sob to her throat. Frantically she began to climb again, tripping on her gown and nearly dropping her candle.

XI

Rhonwen held her candle high. Her soft leather shoes were silent on the stone flags, the whisper of her skirts lost in the howl of the wind. She crept on up the stairs. She had already searched the warden’s tower and the half-built carcass of stone at the southeastern corner of the walls. They weren’t there, nor were they in the warm bakehouse or in the kitchens. Only the south-western tower remained. She gripped the candlestick more tightly, feeling the warm wax dripping on to her fingers as she stumbled upwards. Pushed into her girdle was a newly sharpened knife.

She looked upwards. The door of the chamber on the top floor was closed. The candlelight veered wildly across the heavy oak. Pausing to catch her breath, she waited until the flame of her candle had steadied then she put her hand to the handle. The iron ring was ice-cold and heavy. With a silent curse she stooped and put down the candle, then she grasped the ring with both hands and began to turn it. The door was stiff. Holding her breath, she pushed. It creaked as it began to swing open, but the noise was lost in the roar of the wind from the unglazed lancets. Her candle went out.

She inched into the dark echoing chamber, silently taking the knife from her girdle, and stood looking at the scene before her.

Donald and his paramour were lying in each other’s arms on a pile of empty flour sacks. In the small circle of lamplight, Catriona’s pale body was indecently white against the flaming red of her hair, her eyes huge and terrified as she stared up at the old woman who stood over them with a naked dirk in her hand.

Behind her, the door banged in the draught.

XII

Her heart beating in her throat, Eleyne climbed the last flight of stairs. Her legs were trembling, and strange sharp pains were pulling at her chest. Desperately she sheltered the flame of her candle with her free hand, tripping on her skirts, her eyes blinded with tears.

‘Donald!’

Her breathless cry was lost in the night.

XIII

‘So.’ Rhonwen looked down at Donald with scorn. ‘You are no better than I thought, no better than any other man, for all my lady thought you were some sort of god!’ She tightened her grip on the dirk. ‘And no doubt you will bleed like any other man.’

Donald, his gown around his waist, looked up at her helplessly. His mantle and his belt, with his own dirk, lay in a heap on the dusty floor outside the circle of light and out of reach. He was pinned by the slack weight of the frightened woman who lay half across his body.

‘Rhonwen!’ His voice was a husky whisper. ‘You don’t understand!’ He tried to push the woman off, but paralysed with fright she could not move.

‘Please, Rhonwen, wait.’ His eyes went towards his own weapon and then back to her, drawn irresistibly to the gleaming blade in her hand.

‘I’ve waited long enough,’ Rhonwen said softly. ‘In fact, I’ve waited too long for this moment. You’ve caused my lady nothing but heartache and misery. You are worthless. Trash. Even Robert de Quincy was a knight.’ She smiled as she saw his eyes darken and her fingers tightened imperceptibly on the hilt of her knife as she raised it above her head.

The door crashed open.

‘Rhonwen! No!’ Eleyne’s scream brought Rhonwen up short, but she was distracted only for a moment. ‘It has to be, cariad, I have to do this.’ She raised her arm until the blade caught the soft lamplight. ‘He betrayed you. He is not fit to live. I shall give you back to your king.’

As she lunged downwards at Donald, Eleyne threw herself across the floor, grabbing for the hand that held the knife. The door banged again. Only the small flame in the lamp on the floor beside the lovers lit the scene. ‘No you can’t! You can’t kill him! I forbid it!’ She was sobbing as her fingers locked around Rhonwen’s wrist. How could she have been so stupid as to let Rhonwen return to Kildrummy? Why hadn’t she seen the extent of the woman’s madness? Why had she fooled herself for so long? ‘Drop it! For Sweet Jesus’ sake, drop it!’

‘I have to, cariad.’ Even as she struggled, Rhonwen’s voice remained totally calm. ‘I have to give you back to your king. I have to.’ She was panting slightly as Donald, at last disentangling himself, rose to his knees, his gown falling into place to cover his nakedness. Breaking free of Eleyne’s clutches, Rhonwen lunged at him with an animal growl and plunged her knife into his shoulder.

Eleyne grabbed for her hand. ‘No!’ she screamed as blood poured down Donald’s arm. ‘For pity’s sake, no!’

The two women swayed back and forth, slipping on the scattered sacks. Rhonwen’s eyes were blank. Her lips were fixed in a snarl as she threw herself at Donald once more.

She was surprisingly strong for a woman of her years and Eleyne, already bulky, had not yet recovered her breath from her desperate climb up the stairs, but at last the strength seemed to go out of Rhonwen’s arm. Forcing the dirk as hard as she could away from Donald, Eleyne felt the woman’s arm give way.

There was a moment’s total silence as Rhonwen stepped back, a look of astonishment on her face. Her mouth opened. ‘You’ve killed me, cariad,’ she murmured. ‘Silly child. I was doing it for you – ’ She crumpled to her knees. A trickle of blood had appeared at the corner of her mouth. The dagger was embedded in her chest she fell backwards on to the piled sacks and lay still. Eleyne staggered and leaned against the wall gasping for breath, tears pouring down her face as Catriona grabbed her shift and fled from the room.

‘Is she dead?’ Eleyne whispered at last, her voice all but lost in the howl of the wind.

‘Yes.’ Donald bit his lip. ‘She’s dead.’ He stooped and, pulling out the dirk, he flung it on the ground.

He went to his wife and tried to put his arms around her, but she pushed him away. ‘Don’t touch me!’

‘Eleyne!’ His hands dropped to his sides. ‘I know you’re upset, but – ’

‘But what?’ Her eyes were blazing. ‘I just found you making love to another woman and – ’

‘That didn’t mean anything.’

‘Of course it meant something! Why else would you have done it?’ She was almost hysterical. ‘I nearly lost my baby trying to follow Rhonwen to save you and now – and now -’ her eyes flooded with tears – ‘and now she is dead and I killed her.’

‘You saved my life, my darling.’

‘I killed her!’ Rhonwen lay sprawled on her back, her eyes wide open, gazing sightlessly upwards at the shadowy vaulted ceiling. ‘I killed her…’ She held out her hands in front of her, staring at them in revulsion.

‘And how many people has she killed in her life, Nel?’ Donald asked gently. He did not try to touch her again. ‘You told me that she admitted having killed Robert de Quincy. You told me you suspected there were other people she had poisoned: John of Chester, Alexander’s queen – even Malcolm himself perhaps! Sweet Christ, Eleyne! She nearly succeeded in killing me!’ He clamped his hand to his shoulder, where his gown was slowly turning red, and brought it away, his fingers sticky with blood. ‘Do you realise that woman might have been responsible for the deaths of all your husbands! Christ only knows why you kept her near you!’

For a moment they both stood staring down at Rhonwen’s body. Eleyne was shaking her head. ‘But she loved me!’ she whispered. ‘And I killed her!’

‘She was a dangerous, mad woman, Eleyne.’ Wearily Donald stooped and picking up a sack he threw it over Rhonwen’s face and shoulders. ‘Come away now.’

‘Someone will have to be with her.’

‘I’ll deal with it.’ He picked up the lantern. ‘How did you know where to come?’

‘I searched the whole tower.’

‘And you knew what she was going to do?’

Eleyne nodded. ‘It was something she said in Wales. That if you made me cry she would kill you.’

‘And I made you cry.’ Donald’s face was full of anguish.

‘It was tonight that I realised you had gone to that woman again and I knew this time you wouldn’t come back.’ She gave a helpless, angry shrug. ‘We both knew this would happen one day; that I would grow old.’

She knelt beside Rhonwen and gently pulled back the sack.

‘Old!’ Donald shook his head. ‘How could you be old? You are carrying my child!’

‘And it makes me unattractive to you.’ She shrugged, not looking at him. ‘I understand.’

She touched Rhonwen’s face with a gentle hand and closed the staring eyes. Then, summoning all her dignity, she stood up and turned towards the door. The shock was beginning to hit her afresh, and she could feel herself trembling. ‘I think I’ll go to bed.’

‘Eleyne.’ His voice stopped her. ‘I love you. That whore meant nothing. Nothing at all, I swear it.’

She smiled faintly. ‘Goodnight,’ she said.

He did not follow her. When she looked back from the door at the head of the stairway, he was standing looking down at Rhonwen’s body.

I

Eleyne’s daughter, Isabella, was born at the end of May. To commemorate the occasion, Donald gave his wife a gold filigree chain. To his new daughter, for a christening present, he gave a silver casket.

Neither of them ever mentioned the events of Valentine’s Eve. Rhonwen was buried without the benefit of the Christian requiem, which she would have abhorred, in an unmarked grave in the woods far to the north of the castle. When at last the snows thawed, her embalmed body was lowered into the ground by four men from the village. It was left to Morna, at Eleyne’s request, to plant flowers on the spot and whisper prayers to the old gods for the comfort of her soul. Catriona and her husband were sent to Aberdeen with enough money to set themselves up as baxters to the burgesses there.

A few days after Rhonwen died, Bethoc brought a small wooden coffer to Eleyne’s chamber and put it on the table. ‘I’ve given all her clothes away as you asked, my lady,’ she said gently, ‘but there are more personal things. I thought…’ She hesitated, looking at Eleyne’s pale strained face, ‘I thought you might want them.’

She did not touch the coffer for a long time, then at last she moved across to it and laid her hand on the wood. It was heavily carved in the Welsh fashion. She remembered it from when she was a small child, following Rhonwen everywhere, from Aber to Llanfaes, from Caernarfon to Degannwy to Hay and later to Chester and Fotheringhay and London. Fighting her tears, she turned the key in the lock and pushed back the lid. There were pitifully few possessions – an ivory comb, a few enamelled buckles and a silver brooch, some beads and a silk kerchief. Eleyne’s hands strayed to the kerchief, then she took it out and unwrapped it.

The phoenix lay in her palm. She stared at it with a pang of longing. It was so beautiful, catching the thin morning sunlight which slanted through the lancet windows. Carrying it, she went to the window seat and sat down. Until her child was born there was nothing to fear. But then… Thoughtfully she weighed it in her hand. It was the link and she must get rid of it.

Donald did not return to Eleyne’s bed until Isabella was nearly three months old, but as far as she knew he did not seek comfort elsewhere. When he came back, they were both changed by what had happened: calmer, more reticent and sad. It was a complete surprise when he brought up the subject of Alexander again.

‘Rhonwen believed he had come back, didn’t she?’ he said as they rode side by side through the woods towards Glenbuchat Tower.

Eleyne’s hands tightened involuntarily on her palfrey’s reins and the horse threw up its head in resentment. ‘She believed in him, yes,’ she said quietly.

He examined her: her seat on a horse was still neat and beautiful, her head erect as she looked straight ahead between the horse’s ears. She was a princess, he reminded himself; perhaps she should have been a queen.

She went on without looking at him, her words painfully slow as she confronted her memories. ‘She thought she saw him once and she believed he was waiting for me and that only you stood in his way.’

‘We believe that too, don’t we?’ Donald put in. He didn’t give her a chance to reply. ‘How did she propose to give you back to him once I was dead?’

Eleyne was staring ahead towards the mountains. ‘I think in the end she would have killed me too.’

She thought for a minute. ‘It’s his love that brings him back, Donald. He doesn’t mean to frighten me and he would certainly not want to hurt me.’ It was hard for her to speak calmly about something she kept buried so deep. ‘I think perhaps it was my belief that first allowed his spirit to return. When I was married to Robert and then to Malcolm, I had to believe he was still there to keep my sanity and because I longed for him so much I allowed him to come to me.’

‘Through the pendant.’ Donald had reined in beside her.

She nodded. ‘It was as though he had planned it that way when he gave it to me all those years ago. I think he knew we would never be together in this life. He uses it as a link; a bridge of some kind. But I don’t think he needs it any more.’ He was still there, she was sure of it, even though the phoenix was no longer at Kildrummy. She glanced across at him, pain and something like fear in her eyes. ‘I think he’s growing stronger all the time. It’s love gone mad. Out of control. Even without the phoenix.’ She bit her lip. ‘He’s no longer a king, so he sees no reason for us to be apart. He doesn’t have to think about Scotland or what men like your father think. All he cares about is me.’ It was a relief to have voiced her fears at last.

Donald reached across and touched her hands. ‘But you can control him. He can’t cross your magic circle.’

‘No.’ It was a whisper. ‘He can’t cross it. He can’t come back without the phoenix. Not yet.’

‘And Rhonwen has gone.’

‘He didn’t need Rhonwen, Donald. He doesn’t need anyone. He doesn’t even see anyone else. Except you.’

Donald could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck.

‘It was when I met you. I tried to turn my back on him and he knew. He knew that I loved you.’ She looked at him for the first time. ‘No ghost could compete with the love I felt for you.’

He blushed and she smiled. She loved the way he still coloured at her compliments, like a boy.

‘And do you still feel that way about me?’ he asked after they had ridden on some way.

‘I think I must…’

‘Even after I betrayed you?’

‘Even then.’

He stared at her. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. ‘I think you bewitched me the first time I met you, and I think you have kept me bewitched ever since.’

She laughed. ‘I sincerely hope so.’

‘I’m a very lucky man. Poor Alexander.’

The laughter died in her eyes. ‘We’re making him so unhappy. I’ve tried to tell him I hate to hurt him but he makes me afraid.’

His eyes sought hers. ‘Where is the phoenix now?’

‘Gone for good, where no one will find it.’

‘I see.’ He urged his horse on thoughtfully. ‘But you don’t think that will keep him at bay?’

Her eyes went back to the mountains in the distance. ‘I don’t know any more,’ she murmured. Then she went on, so quietly he didn’t hear her words, ‘I can only pray, because if he gets much stronger I shan’t be able to control him.’

II

She adored the children unreservedly. Gratney at three was a chubby, mischievous child, into everything, already a determined rider, hanging on to the mane of the tiny fat pony she had found for him at the horse fair in Aberdeen. His twin brothers seemed equally extrovert and equally determined to succeed, tumbling over one another like the puppies they played with, and the three children were noisy favourites throughout the castle.

Secretly Donald watched the twins as they played, searching for signs of differences between them, searching in spite of himself for the clues or mannerisms which would identify one of the children as the son of another man, a man who had been dead for twenty years, but it was impossible. As they chuckled and wrestled and climbed over him on his visits to the nursery, he found himself responding with equal delight and love to all the smothering eager little bodies which hung around his neck. As did his wife. Never once did he catch Eleyne making any difference in her treatment of the children. Kisses for Duncan matched kisses for Alexander and so did slaps. There was no sign that she considered any of her sons to be of different blood.

When she found she was pregnant again in her fifty-second year, Eleyne cried. She was bouncing with health. She felt no sickness or aches or pains. Her hair was glossier and thicker than ever and Donald had been, if anything, more attentive than at any time in the last four years. This time she told him at once. He stared at her. Then he laughed. Then he kissed her. ‘My lovely fruitful wife!’

‘You will stay with me, Donald?’ She could not keep the fear out of her voice.

‘I promise.’ He kissed her again.

III

She had no premonition of disaster, no seeing in the flames. When Donald came to her in the stillroom, he found her with an apron over her gown poring over an old book of recipes.

‘Nel -’ Curtly he dismissed the servants and, with one look at his face, they all obeyed immediately.

‘What is it?’ Guiltily she slid a box of dried orris over the parchment page. The recipe was one for ensuring the fidelity of one’s husband.

Donald hesitated. How could he tell her? His mouth was dry. He didn’t know what to say. He should have brought the letter to her, shown her that.

She was suddenly full of misgivings. ‘What is it? What has happened?’

‘It’s Colban.’

‘Colban? What’s wrong with Colban?’

‘He’s dead, Eleyne.’

‘Dead?’ Her face drained of colour. ‘That’s not possible.’

‘His horse fell. I’m sorry.’ He was doing it all wrong, but he didn’t know how else to break the news.

She stood, stunned, the pestle she had been using still in her hand.

‘No.’ Her whisper was pitiful. ‘I would have known. It can’t be true. It can’t.’

‘I’m so sorry, my darling.’ He put out his arms and blindly she went to him.

‘I must go to him.’

He frowned. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’

‘Of course it’s wise!’ she flashed. ‘I have to go to him! I have to be there. Don’t you see?’ Her voice was broken. ‘I have to see him.’

IV

‘I’m sorry, my lady.’ John Keith looked unhappy and embarrassed. ‘Lady Fife will not receive you.’

‘What do you mean?’ Exhausted after the precipitous ride from Mar, Eleyne had ridden to the door of the great hall at Falkland with all the confidence of long ownership. It had not crossed her mind that she would be denied entry.

‘I think there is some mistake, Sir John,’ Donald said sharply. ‘My wife has come to be with Lady Fife and her son at this terrible time.’

‘I know.’ Keith shrugged miserably. ‘She has told me not to let you in.’

‘Where is my son’s body?’ Eleyne’s voice was very tight.

‘In the chapel, my lady.’

‘I take it Lady Fife does not object to my going there.’ She did not wait for an answer. Riding to the chapel door – the scene of her first marriage to Malcolm, the place where both her eldest sons had been baptised – she slid from her horse and went into the cool darkness.

His body lay on a bier before the altar, his sword clasped between his hands. Candles burned at his head and his feet. Eleyne walked slowly to his side and stood staring down at him, ignoring the monks who prayed near him. Colban looked younger than when she had last seen him the year before. His face was serene, boyish, happy. He was seventeen years old.

Closing her eyes, she felt a wave of dizziness sweep over her. She did not cry – she hadn’t cried since the news had come. Leaning over, she kissed him gently on the forehead and then went to kneel on the faldstool at his feet.

Behind her Sir Alan Durward had come into the chapel. He stood beside Donald for a moment without speaking, gazing at Eleyne.

‘I’m sorry that Anna was so cruel,’ he said quietly at last to Donald. The two men eyed each other with hostility, the long court case between Sir Alan and Donald’s father over the earldom of Mar as always in both their minds when they met. Simultaneously they made the decision to ignore it for Eleyne’s sake. ‘Anna is beside herself with grief. Of course you are both welcome here. It’s unthinkable that you should not be at the funeral.’

His sympathy was not endorsed by his wife or daughter. Neither Margaret nor Anna would speak to Eleyne and, to her fathomless grief, they refused to let her see her grandson, Duncan.

‘I’m sorry, mama,’ Macduff was red-eyed and pale, ‘Anna doesn’t want you to go near him.’ He didn’t know how to say that his sister-in-law thought his mother possessed the evil eye.

‘Why?’ Eleyne was bewildered and hurt.

He shrugged. ‘Give her time. She’ll get over it.’ He grinned wanly. ‘I had a little chat with Duncan, uncle to nephew, you know, and he sends you his love.’

‘Does he realise what has happened?’ Eleyne asked Macduff. He was like his brother in many ways, though she had to admit a sturdier and more reliable version. Her heart went out to him as she watched him fighting his tears.

‘He knows his father is dead. He knows he is the new earl, or will be one day.’ Macduff grinned ruefully. ‘It’s a shame a brother no longer seems to have a claim to inherit. This fashion for primogeniture is a disaster for the Earls of Fife. I’d have made a good earl.’

Eleyne gave a wistful smile. ‘Yes, you would.’ She put her arm around the boy and hugged him.

‘You told me once I’d be a great soldier, that you had seen it in the stars. Did you see this for Colban? Did you know he was going to die?’ he asked, biting his lip.

Eleyne shook her head. ‘It wasn’t me. It was Adam, the wizard, who saw your futures. He never told me what he saw for Colban, so perhaps I should have guessed.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Why did it happen?’

He shook his head. ‘Why does anything happen? Bad luck. A bird went up under his horse’s feet. He wasn’t paying attention. He was never as good a rider as me -’ He stopped guiltily at the sound of his own boasting – it had come so automatically – and she smiled reassuringly.

‘It’s true, you always were the better horseman, even when you were both small.’

He grimaced. ‘The earldom has been in a minority for four years already. Do you realise they will have to wait now until Duncan is twenty-one before there is someone in Fife who can administer the earldom personally? In the meantime, no doubt, the king will take the revenues again.’ The king was already taking the revenues on the few lands left directly to Macduff by his father.

Eleyne nodded thoughtfully. ‘When you are twenty-one, I will speak to the king for you. I’m sure he will make you one of the earldom’s guardians and give you some of its revenue so that you can set up your own household.’ She smiled fondly. ‘Fife will need you, my darling,’ she said gently. ‘For the sake of your father’s people you must be patient.’

V

When Donald left Kildrummy again, twelve weeks after they had returned home, to join his father in the king’s council, Eleyne smiled and kissed him and wished him well. If it were the will of the gods, he would come home. He did, three days after Marjorie’s birth in August, with gifts for her and all the children and an invitation from the king.

‘He commands your presence at court, my darling,’ he said as they sat at table in the great hall with Muriel. His father’s wife had become Eleyne’s friend. Childless after a first, sad miscarriage, the Countess of Mar, though younger than Eleyne, had assumed with ease the role of the grandmother and confidante to the children. ‘He says you have been away too long. As soon as you are fully recovered from the birth we will ride south.’

Donald adored his two daughters. They both had their mother’s hair and eyes; they both laughed a lot and played with the toys he brought for them. As he surveyed his overflowing nursery, he sometimes found it hard to believe all these children could be his. Five children in four years. Three sons, two daughters and a wife who, to his infatuated eyes, seemed younger than ever.

VI

Now she did resort to magic and to the tricks that Morna taught her; to go alone into the hills and whisper to the gods; to stand naked under the moon and let its cold benign light stroke her skin and iron away the signs of age. There would be no more children. The knowledge had come to her as suddenly and as surely as she knew now that Donald would return each time he went away; knowing it, she was more certain, more alluring, when they were together. But it was less often. She accepted that now too.

As if to make up for the lessening at last of passion, the Sight returned. On the hills she had visions. She felt the tides of magic which ebbed and flowed with the moon and she grew less afraid. She foresaw that the young man Agnes loved would tumble from the back of a wagon and break his leg. She knew when Sir Duncan Comyn would fall ill with fever and she knew he would recover. Three times she had the vision of the horseman in the storm. But still she could not see his face. And unknowingly, as she opened her heart to worlds beyond the whirling darkness, she allowed Alexander back into her life. With her collusion, even though it was unwitting, he had no need of the phoenix. He was growing stronger.

The night of the first full moon in September he returned. Eleyne was watching Isabella as she took her first unsteady steps from one nursemaid to another in the warm afternoon sunshine. All the children were there. The three boys playing boisterously with a ball, little Marjorie asleep in a plaited straw basket and Isabella. For some reason it was to this one child above all the others – not to Sandy – that her heart reached out, and with it a fear she couldn’t name. It was then that she felt it: the faintest breath against her cheek, a touch on her arm so light it could have been her imagination. For a moment she didn’t understand.

Eleyne…

She heard her name so clearly she looked around, puzzled. There was no one there, save the children and their nurses. No one who would dare to call her Eleyne.

Eleyne …

It was fainter this time, just an echo in her mind, but suddenly she understood. She stepped backwards, her heart beating fast, staring around her. She had given the phoenix to the gods at the sacred spring, thrown far out into the pool where Elizabeth of Mar had died. How could he be here? How could he? What had she done to allow him near her?

‘My lady, look!’

‘Mama! Look at Isabella!’

‘Mama! She’s walking by herself!’ The chorus of cries claimed her, pulled her back to the present and he was gone.

That night she clung to Donald as though she would never let him go, worshipping his body, touching him with greedy fingers, kissing him, pulling him inside her with a hunger that delighted him. When they lay apart at last, spent and exhausted, she peered into the shadowy corners of the room with something like fear. ‘Don’t come again, please,’ she murmured into the emptiness. ‘Don’t take me from him.’ With her heart closed and without the phoenix, surely he could not come near her?

VII

‘You have to help me,’ she said to Morna. ‘There’s no one else I can talk to. It’s as though he’s trying to win me back, as though he’s pulling me. Tearing me in half. I got rid of the phoenix, but still he comes.’

She put her head in her hands. ‘I think I’m going mad. He’s there all the time even when Donald is with me. I can feel him, sense him – he won’t leave me alone. Why suddenly, after all these years? Why has he come back?’

Morna shrugged. ‘Something has happened to give him hope.’ She sighed. ‘You have learned to walk in the world of the moonlight. He senses you near him there and his love is so strong that it builds the bridge between you. Perhaps you should do as Lord Donald wishes and go to the king. You said before that you thought he would not follow you near his son.’

VIII

The king greeted Eleyne and Donald warmly and at once drew them inside. ‘Lord Donald, your father has reminded me that you, the most chivalrous and knightly of men, have never been given the accolade of knighthood. It is my intention to confer it upon you here at Michaelmas.’ He took Donald’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder, then he glanced at Eleyne with an embarrassed little shrug. ‘I’m glad we can put it right at last and that you can be presented with your spurs by your king.’

Eleyne’s heart was bursting with pride. In all their years together, they had never discussed the terrible day when the king had denied his knighthood. Eleyne had never mentioned it: her guilt was too profound. If he thought about it, he kept it to himself. He had never reproached her, never given any sign that he thought about it at all. But now the incredulous joy on his face reminded her of how much he had been prepared to give up for her. Silently she touched his arm; he smiled and that smile told her what she wanted to know. His love for her still came first. He would give up a thousand knighthoods for her if she commanded it. She gave him a little push and stood back as Donald knelt before his king and kissed his hand.

The day after the ceremony of knighthood Eleyne walked in the great park at Scone. Bethoc was with her, half-heartedly twirling a spindle as she followed her mistress. ‘You look happy, my lady,’ she smiled. ‘You must have been so proud of Sir Donald.’

Eleyne stopped. ‘I am.’

She had much to be happy about: Donald. Their children. Mac-duff. Little Duncan.

There was a special place in her heart for Joanna and Hawisa, apart, toughened to keep the pain at bay, and another there for Colban and her two dead babies by the king and for Rhonwen, but she did not let herself dwell on them. Her mourning for them was done in the dark and in her prayers. And there was Alexander. Her love for Alexander – a thing apart, a piece of her future after she too had died. She frowned. What had made her think such a thing? Alexander was nothing to her now, nothing. There was no place for him near her or near his son. But even as she thought it she knew that was not true. She had been wrong to think he would not come near his son. He was here. He was everywhere. This was still his kingdom and next to her he loved Alexander more than anyone on earth.

The sun was reflecting on the distant curve of the river, sending zigzags of silver across the rippled water. Bethoc’s voice came to her in waves, advancing, retreating, muffled as the silver broadened and merged into a carpet which darkened and flattened under the weight of the rain.

The horse was a grey, a stallion, its eyes wild, its neck arched, its scarlet bridle studded and decorated with gold. The rider sat forward eagerly, his hands wet on the slippery reins as he urged the animal forward through the storm. He was excited, exhilarated by the crash of thunder around him, alone with the darkness and the elements.

‘Slow down,’ Eleyne could hear herself calling, ‘slow down, be careful, please.’ Behind her Alexander – her Alexander – was watching with her. She could feel him, feel his fear.

He was going faster now, the animal’s great muscles bunching and flexing as it covered the ground. A flash of lightning sliced through the sky and the horse shied, nearly unseating him. She heard him curse above the roar of the wind; another flash of lightning and the horse reared with a piercing scream. In that moment he turned his head and for a fleeting second she saw his face at last.

‘My lady.’ Bethoc was shaking her arm, her face white. ‘My lady? What’s the matter? what is it?’ The woman looked terrified.

Eleyne looked at her blankly.

‘My lady, what is it?’ Bethoc repeated, shaking Eleyne’s arm. ‘Shall I call someone? What’s wrong?’

‘The king,’ Eleyne whispered, ‘I have to see the king.’ She turned as though Bethoc wasn’t there and began to run up the park back towards the palace. ‘I have to see him, now, alone.’

She was gasping when she reached the king’s hall, and pressed her hand to her side as the pain of a stitch knifed through her, barely aware of how she must look to the staring attendants. Her gown was dusty and her face pale. Her head-dress had fallen back and her braids hung loose around her shoulders. ‘Please. I have to see him, now – ’

Her raised voice must have reached the king for he looked up from the table where he was studying some documents with two of his advisers. ‘Aunt Eleyne…?’

‘Please, I have to talk to you. Alone.’ Trying to steady her breath and talk calmly, Eleyne hastened towards him.

‘Of course.’ After one puzzled glance at her anguished face, Alexander gestured those around him away. ‘Sit down. Here, let me pour you some wine.’

Eleyne collapsed on to the stool he pulled forward and took the wine with a shaking hand. ‘Forgive me, sire. I had to see you.’

‘So, I am here.’ He sat down opposite her and smiled. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’ He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his rich blue gown, stitched with silver, hitched up to show his cross-gartered hose. He was like his father, very like – his colouring, the strong face, the eyes which could within seconds turn from anger to compassion. He had shown himself a strong and effective monarch, and under his rule Scotland was prospering. He had two sons now and a daughter. He was absolutely in control of himself and of his country’s destiny, so why was she filled with such a certainty of disaster?

She tore her eyes from his face and looked down. ‘Ever since I was a child I have had the gift of the Sight. One of the visions I have had again and again was of a man riding his horse in a storm. The horse is scared by the lightning and throws his rider.’

There was total silence in the big room. The king did not move. His eyes were on hers.

‘This morning I had that vision again, and for the first time I saw the rider’s face.’ Alexander had shown it to her. ‘It was you, sire.’

At last he spoke. ‘You think you have foreseen the manner of my death?’ His voice was calm.

‘I’ve never seen what happened after the rider falls, but my feeling is one of such fear and dread…’ She opened her hands in a gesture of hopelessness.

He smiled. ‘Perhaps I should take it as a warning never to ride again in a storm.’ Standing up, he took her hands and raised her to her feet. ‘Thank you for telling me.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘What can I do? If the manner of my death is already written in the stars I cannot avoid it. Except, as I say,’ he grinned, ‘by keeping in out of the storm.’

‘Please God the warning can save you.’

He nodded fervently. ‘Amen to that! I receive many warnings – from sages, from soothsayers, from spaewives, as I ride around the kingdom. Most of the time they are wrong, the Lord be thanked. Sometimes they are right.’ He followed her to the edge of the dais, and rubbed his hands over his face. ‘You know, Michael Scot of Balwearie once prophesied my horse would be the cause of my death. And Thomas of Ercildoune himself has said I would be killed by a storm. They would seem to have had the same premonition as you. So,’ he put his hand on her arm, ‘just one more thing, before you go. What colour was the horse?’ There was laughter in his eyes now.

‘Grey.’

‘Then the answer is simple. Never again shall I ride a grey.’

IX

Alexander – her Alexander – came to her again that evening as she sat at the table in her bedchamber writing a letter to Macduff. Bethoc was near her, hemming a gown, her eyes narrowed as she held the garment up to the last light from the window. Eleyne felt her pen slow and falter as she became aware that someone was standing behind her. When she looked around there was no one there and she turned back to the letter but she did not pick up the pen. Alexander was at her shoulder; she could feel him watching her, feel him wanting her to turn to him and smile.

Trembling, she got to her feet and walked to the window, only dimly hearing Bethoc’s exclamation of irritation, hastily cut short, as her mistress blocked the light. Bethoc looked up and for a brief instant she thought she saw a tall shadow hovering at Eleyne’s side. Her mouth dropped open and she crossed herself, dropping her sewing on to the table where light from the lancet window fell across the old polished oak. ‘My lady,’ she whispered. Her mouth had gone dry.

Eleyne didn’t appear to have heard her, then she turned. ‘I’m sorry?’ The window was empty now, the shadow gone. Whatever it was had disappeared as soon as Bethoc spoke.

‘That’s all right, my lady, it’s just that I thought I saw something…’ Her words faded uncertainly.

Eleyne looked at her sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I thought I saw someone standing in the window near you.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know. It was only for a moment, then he was gone.’

Eleyne shook her head. ‘That’s nonsense. It was a trick of the light. Come, let me help you with your stitching, then we must go down to join the men in the hall for supper.’

She sat down, gathering her skirts neatly around her, and picked up Bethoc’s work basket, searching for needle and threads and thimble, but twice Bethoc saw her glance back at the window where she had been standing. The expression on her face was troubled.

That night as Donald drew the curtains around their bed she clung to him with fear rather than passion. ‘Nel, what is it, my darling?’ He held her close, stroking her hair. Her skin was cold as ice.

‘Hold me.’ There was nothing flirtatious in the way she nestled into his arms. She reminded him more of a frightened child.

‘What’s wrong? What is it?’ he whispered. Something in her fear was communicating itself to him. ‘For pity’s sake, tell me.’ He tightened his arms protectively.

‘He’s here,’ she whispered back. ‘He wants me. And he’s grown so strong!’

‘Sweet Jesus!’ He did not need to ask who she meant.

‘Hold me, Donald. Don’t let him take me.’

‘No one will take you anywhere.’ Sitting up, he pushed back the bed curtain and groped for the tinder. The sudden pale glow of the candle flame sent shadows leaping round the bedchamber, over the truckle beds along the far wall with the three sleeping women and up the hangings on one of the walls. The room was completely still.

‘There’s no one here, Eleyne. Look, the dogs are asleep. They wouldn’t let anyone near you, you know that. It’s your imagination, Nel. He wouldn’t come here.’

She gave a doubtful smile. ‘I’m sorry. It must have been a dream.’

The candle flame spluttered in an unseen draught and a spatter of wax spilled across the coffer where it was standing.

Eleyne stared into the shadows. It was no dream. He was there. She could feel him, feel the anguish, feel the longing. His raw pain made her flinch. It was like a scream deep inside her.

Donald felt it too. ‘Why now? Why has he come back now?’

‘It was my fault. It was because I let him back in.’ Her voice was all but inaudible.

‘How?’ He sounded incredulous.

‘I didn’t mean to. It was after Marjorie was born, as if he knew I could no longer bear you any children.’ Her voice broke into a sob. ‘I was afraid I would grow ugly in your eyes, and I prayed to be beautiful again. I opened myself to the forces of magic, and he came back. Don’t let him near me, please! Hold me!’ She threw herself back into his arms, pressing her face against his chest.

‘He can’t hurt you, Eleyne,’ he murmured, stroking her hair. ‘If he loved you so much, he won’t want to hurt you.’

‘No?’ She looked up at him. ‘No,’ she repeated thoughtfully, ‘he doesn’t want to hurt me. He knows he can’t share me, not any more. So he wants to take me away from you.’

The truth had come to her in a flash. ‘Today I told the king the manner of his death.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I foresaw it long ago, but I didn’t understand. I never recognised him before. Then today I saw his face. I saw his face because Alexander showed it to me.’ She pressed herself against Donald’s chest. ‘Now that he knows, now that I have warned him – there is no need for me to live. My purpose has been fulfilled and Alexander knows his son has been warned. Don’t you see, Donald? He wants me dead!’

‘Nonsense.’ Donald looked over the top of her head into the darkness. ‘He’d have to fight me for you.’ The hair on his forearms was standing on end. He could feel an eerie coldness around them as he strained his eyes into the shadows. ‘Tell him, tell him I’m not letting you go. Tell him to go away.’

‘I have, I’ve begged him.’ Her voice rose hysterically and Bethoc stirred and sat up.

‘My lady?’ she queried sleepily.

‘Go back to sleep,’ Donald commanded.

Gently pushing Eleyne from him he stood up and reached for the dagger which lay on the coffer beside him. Unsheathing it, he raised it before him, hilt uppermost, the thought of his all-night vigil in the royal chapel on the night before his knighthood still fresh in his mind. ‘In the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ and of Our Blessed Lady, I command you to leave my wife alone. Go back to wherever you came from. Leave her in peace. Tell him.’ He pressed the dirk into Eleyne’s hand. ‘Tell him this is what you want.’

‘Please, Alexander, please go.’ Eleyne raised the dirk in front of her, holding it in both hands. ‘I loved you. I still love you, but I’m not ready to come to you, not yet. I want to stay with Donald and with my children as long as they need me. Please leave me. I’ll watch over your son, I’ll show him the danger, I’ll keep him safe from the storm.’

In her bed Bethoc realised she had stopped breathing. Clutching her blankets under her chin, she watched the bed curtains, her heart thundering with fright. She could see the shadow again, quite clearly, standing over Eleyne.

Eleyne looked up as though she too could see it. ‘Please,’ she whispered brokenly, ‘if you love me, go.’

He was fading now. Bethoc lost the shape amongst the shadows.

Eleyne felt him drawing away, his sadness tangible. ‘Bless you, my love,’ she whispered. ‘God keep you. One day I’ll come to you, I promise. One day, when they don’t need me any more.’

‘No!’ Donald cried, anguished. ‘Never!’

Eleyne laid down the dirk on the bed and put her arms around Donald’s neck. ‘Oh, my love, don’t grudge him that. If I die before you, then you will marry again. Of course you will. Then I shall be with him.’

‘Has he gone?’ Donald stared over her head.

‘Yes, he’s gone.’ She smiled faintly.

‘And he won’t come back?’

‘No.’ There were only empty shadows where the darker shadow had been. ‘No. Now he knows that one day I shall be his, I don’t think he’ll come back. Not until I die.’