‘You’re sure you’ll be all right?’ she had said as Clare saw her off. ‘You’ll have Casta for company, bless her. One is never alone with that dog, however empty the house.’ Then she had gone, pleased to be away.
Clare closed the door after her and leaned against it with a sigh. The house wasn’t empty for her. It was full of people, waiting in the shadows.
The long summer night never grew entirely dark. Isobel, standing on the battlements in the deeper black of the shadows, caught her breath as a man appeared at the head of the stair. She had known he would come. Silently she slipped from the concealment of the walls and stepped forward into the bright starlight.
‘You can see the camp fires of the English from up here,’ she whispered.
He frowned. ‘Not for long. We’ll drive Edward from Scotland for good this time.’ He smiled down at her. ‘So, why does Lady Buchan want to speak to me so urgently?’
‘Can’t you guess? I never see you alone any more.’ She tried not to sound petulant. ‘Robert, I know you loved your Isabella of Mar, but she is dead. You are free!’ Lord Buchan had told her. Before they left Duncairn the news had come and he had laughed at Isobel’s white, shocked face, and then he had ordered her to accompany him south.
‘And you are not free.’ Robert’s voice was harsh. ‘This cannot be, Isobel.’ He turned away from her abruptly and leaned with his elbows on the battlements. Below, in the luminous darkness the scent of wild honeysuckle drifted up from the hedgerows on the night wind; she heard the grating of his armour as he shifted his weight. ‘Lord Buchan must send you north again,’ he went on, without looking at her. ‘It is too dangerous here. I have given orders that all the women are to be moved on at first light.’ Staring out into the darkness he went on, almost talking to himself. ‘Everywhere our spies are telling us that Edward is leading a huge army against us from England. We knew he would when he returned from Flanders. We should have been more prepared. I am afraid we have been too confident.’ He was almost talking to himself. ‘To rid Scotland forever of the English threat we have to defeat him again, decisively, on every front. We have to chase him away for good.’
‘And I must go north, away from the fighting, and I shall not see you again for months perhaps –’ She wanted to reach out and touch him, but something in the angle of his shoulders beneath their heavy mail stopped her.
‘You must not see me, at all, Isobel. Sweet Jesus! Do you realise what you do to me when you talk like this! There can be no love between us. You belong to Buchan!’ His fists clenched convulsively on the stone wall. ‘Don’t you understand? My love is for this country. Scotland is my mistress, Isobel. For her I will fight, and for her I will die, if I must, but first, I will be her king!’
‘Then why are you leaving to march west? Why do you not march eastwards towards Falkirk with my husband, to meet up with Wallace?’ Hurt by his rejection, there was only one way to retaliate. By reproaching him for turning his back on the battle they both knew was coming.
‘Because I will not fight for Balliol, Isobel. And Wallace fights in his name. I support Wallace. It was I who knighted him. But he rules this land as Guardian for John Balliol. Oh, I too will fight the English, make no mistake about that. But in my lands, in the west, amongst my people.’
‘If you fight the English, you must fight in the name of Scotland’s king.’
Robert snorted. ‘Toom Tabard! ‘A puppet! A cypher! A nothing in exile. What kind of king is that for a proud nation?’ He sighed. ‘But you are right, of course. I shall be fighting outwardly in his name. This whole war has been one of shifting loyalties and ideals. We all have to tread a path between loyalty and expedience; between honour and common sense; between idealism and what is right for this particular moment. A woman wouldn’t understand.’
‘No.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘A woman would put loyalty before all else and be prepared to die for it.’
He turned to her at last. For a long time he stared down into her face. Then he shook his head grimly. ‘A woman like you perhaps, my Isobel. Please God you never have to put your loyalty to the test. Scotland needs her men and women alive.’ He glanced out into the strange half darkness of the northern summer night again. ‘And above all she needs a strong king. That is what we have to work for. That is what her people need.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘I long for the day when your husband kisses my hand.’
‘I doubt if he will ever do that, Robert. I suspect he would rather die than acknowledge you his king.’ She stared past him into the distance and she shivered. ‘Dawn is near. I suppose I must go down.’ She took a step nearer him. ‘For what it’s worth, you shall have my allegiance, when the time comes.’
‘And I shall value it.’ He caught her hands. ‘Take care, my love. Don’t allow yourself to fall into danger.’
‘Nor you, my lord.’
For a moment she thought he would kiss her, but he turned back to his watching, staring out again at the tiny specks of fire in the hills to the south which showed where the armies of the English were gathering.
‘Where have you been, madam?’ Lord Buchan was waiting for her in the chamber she had been allocated with her serving women. Fully armed, but for his helm, just as Robert had been, he was an imposing figure in the light of a single flare which burned in the sconce near the door.
‘I went up to the wall walk for some air. It is so hot down here, my lord,’ she answered listlessly. The room was full of the stink of stale cooking which had drifted up from the hall below. The floor coverings were unchanged and the hangings musty.
‘You leave for the north at first light. That will give you air enough.’ He began to fumble with his surcoat and hauberk. ‘Boy! Thomas! Blast you,’ he bellowed towards the door. ‘Come and help me with my harness! I want you back in Buchan, Isobel, I want you to tour the castles. With my followers away and my mother ill, they need to be closely overseen. Make sure the stewards are not cheating me. I want full storerooms this winter.’ He groaned with relief as the heavy mail hauberk was lifted over his head and the padded gambeson unfastened. He waved Thomas aside when all his armour had been removed. ‘Enough. Leave us alone.’ He waited until the heavy door was pulled shut before he turned back to her. ‘And I want the cradle full as well. It is six months since you miscarried my child.’ His lips tightened grimly. ‘And still there is none to replace it.’
Macduff and Sir Alexander had between them deflected his anger from her as she lay hovering between life and death after she had lost the baby, and his fury and his fear had been tempered by his guilt; he knew his blows had led to her injuries and to the loss of the baby, but his suspicions had not gone. They festered and grew every time he caught sight of his wife’s wild beauty and her persistently slim figure. Somehow she was deliberately avoiding the pregnancy which was her duty and in doing so she was defying both him and God. Deep down his anger was hardening.
Isobel felt herself grow cold beneath his gaze in the heat of the fetid room. Dozens of times he had taken her since that fated day in the winter when her prayers had been answered and her baby had died. Twice her courses had been late, and she had prayed and drunk potions of the dangerous savine which had made her retch and vomit and cramped her stomach, and the Blessed Virgin had saved her. It was not something she wanted to do again; each time she sipped the bitter mixture she knew she was endangering her own life.
‘Do you not intend to keep vigil in the chapel, my lord, before the battle?’ Her mouth had gone dry.
‘The battle won’t be for days. First we have to join forces with Wallace and his men.’ He tightened the belt around his waist. ‘God knows, it is humiliating to follow a man who is not even a nobleman, but he is a good soldier, I grant him that. And Guardian of the Realm. And we must wait for him. Without him we stand no chance against old Longshanks and his army.’ He sat down wearily on the coffer by the wall and watched her. His patience with her was gone. No longer did he try to cajole her or win her friendship. There was very li
ttle talk between them, save over the running of the household and the Buchan estates. Even there she disappointed him. She had little interest in the duties of a countess; none of her loyalty and family pride had been diverted from her own family to that of her husband. And yet his servants liked her. He heard nothing but good of her. His stewards and constables were competent in their jobs and protected their young mistress from her husband’s wrath. Chatelaines and housekeepers supervised the duties which should have been hers. There was only one duty she could not be spared.
She watched, frozen with dislike, as her husband, clad now in his loose robe, helped himself, as always before he bedded her, from a jug of wine on the table by the door. He took no pleasure in the raping of his wife.
Slowly, almost in a dream, she pulled off the fillet and silken net which held her hair in place, and let her mantle fall in the dry dusty heather. ‘Shall I call my maid to unlace me, my lord?’ she asked meekly. She knew by now she could never fight him. Whatever had to be done, must be done later, after he had gone.
He turned and looked at her over the rim of his goblet. Abruptly he set it down. ‘Come here. You have no need of a maid.’
Behind them the flare sizzled and spat in the sconce, adding to the heat of the room. She could smell the animal sweat on him as he spun her round and began to pull open the laces which held her gown closed. As the blue fabric rustled to her knees he turned her to face him again, pulling open the neck of her shift, and thrusting his hands in, he grasped her breasts.
She gritted her teeth, her eyes fixed on the wall beyond him as his mouth travelled down her neck and on towards the soft, shrinking nipple.
She heard herself gasp as he pushed her on to the high bed, but that was the only sound she made. Her pride would not let her cry out as he thrust into her. Instead she was thinking of the moon. At the first quarter her courses would come – in only four days time – and they would wash away his unwanted seed. There would be no need this time of the bitter life-threatening potions. Her eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the window, she bit her lips and lay, cold and uninvolved, a marble statue in her misery as the sweating, heaving body possessed hers.
The attack came at dawn. The sudden violent shouts and yells, the clash of iron on steel, the scream of a man, cut off short, and then at last the deafening clanging of the bell from the watchman on the walls. Lord Buchan woke from his deep sleep and raised himself from his wife’s inert body. ‘God in Heaven, what’s that?’ He did not wait for an answer. Leaping naked from the bed he was already in his tunic when his men came to arm him.
‘It is the English, my lord! They cut down our patrols!’ The man gabbled as he tried frantically to lift the heavy mail. ‘The ladies were getting ready to leave in the bailey –’ He glanced, embarrassed, at the pale, naked woman in the bed, sitting clutching a crumpled sheet to her breasts.
Lord Buchan followed the man’s gaze. ‘Get dressed!’ he shouted at her angrily. ‘You should have been gone an hour since.’ Outside the narrow window the sky was already showing streaks of gold. He had meant only to bed her, try yet again to get a child on her, and leave her. Cursing his wife and his own exhaustion he snatched the embroidered surcoat with its emblazoned wheat sheaf from Thomas and pulled it on; then he was gone, walking awkwardly in his heavy armour as he ducked through the door and began to descend the winding stairs, followed by his men.
Isobel slipped from the bed and pulling off the sheet, wound it round her. She ran to the window and peered out. Below in the bailey all was chaos as men and horses milled around beneath the hail of arrows which descended from beyond the wall. From where she stood, high in the keep, she could see over the wall to the enemy who surrounded the castle on every side. She wasn’t afraid. The clash of swords and shouts of the men exhilarated her. She felt a sudden tremor of excitement which caught with her breath in her throat.
‘My lady!’ Mairi’s voice was angry and frightened. ‘Dè tha thu ‘dèanamh? Come away from the window! Do you want an arrow through your head!’
Reluctantly Isobel turned and stepped down from the embrasure. She was laughing. ‘They don’t appear to have many marksmen there. I see no signs of King Edward’s Welshmen. It’s only a small band on their way to join the main army.’
Mairi stared at her. ‘Blessed Mother! You are enjoying it!’ Her mistress’s face was alive with excitement.
Isobel laughed again. ‘I wish I had been born a man! To have been able to learn how to use a bow and a sword; to ride out into battle and fight for my country! Oh Mairi! I was born the wrong sex!’
‘I think you were, indeed, my lady.’ Mairi, helping her off with the sheet, was holding out her lady’s shift. She noted without comment the bruises which always followed a night with the earl.
‘Are we to be besieged?’ Isobel turned to allow Mairi to lace up her gown.
Mairi shrugged. ‘Lord Carrick was directing operations earlier. He said that they were only marauders. He said our men would break out and chase them off before any reinforcements came to help them. And as soon as they do that we must leave. The horses are ready, my lady, to take us north to Perth –’ she broke off at the sound of a step on the stair.
Robert, fully armed, stood in the doorway.
‘Lady Buchan? Why are you not below with the other women?’
She saw his eyes on her long, wild hair, as yet unbraided and she saw him swallow as he glanced beyond her to the tumbled bed.
‘I am almost ready, Lord Carrick.’ Meekly she lowered her eyes.
‘Be ready now, madam. As soon as we have created a diversion I want the women away. You. Leave us.’ He gave the order to Mairi curtly. She curtseyed and with a glance at Isobel she ran from the room.
Robert stepped forward. ‘You must go. But for God’s sake be careful. The countryside is alive with English soldiers.’
‘I’ll be all right.’ She bit her lip. ‘And God go with you.’ Lightly she put her hands on the cold steel of his shoulders and on tiptoe she kissed him on the lips. ‘Take care, my love. Take care. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.’
‘Nothing will.’ Almost unwillingly he encircled her waist with his arm. ‘Nothing will, my Isobel. I intend to drive these devils from this land. Now go. Quickly.’ His kiss was hard and lingering. Then he pushed her away. ‘Don’t wait to put up your hair.’ For a moment a trace of grim humour showed in his eyes as he looked down at her, so much a tomboy still, for all she was the wife of a powerful earl. ‘Take a mantle and go. Now.’ His voice was curt. ‘See to it that the other ladies are mounted and ready to leave at once.’ And he was gone.
Isobel closed her eyes for a moment. She took a deep breath, trying desperately to steady herself, then obediently she picked up her mantle and flung it around her shoulders. Throwing a veil over her hair she ran down the stairs after him and into the great hall, but already he was gone, striding out amongst his men as they gathered in the shelter of the outer wall. She stared after him for a moment, then the heavy door of the keep swung to and hid him from sight.
‘So, my lady.’ Her husband had appeared suddenly behind her. ‘Lord Carrick will lead the counter attack.’ His eyes were fixed on her face. ‘And I am to lead the remainder of our men to escort you ladies north before joining Sir William Wallace.’ He smiled coldly. ‘I trust you have said your farewells. It will be a long time before you return south.’
10
‘I hope your husband won’t mind my taking you out like this, Mrs Cassidy.’ Rex ushered Emma through the door of the theatre. ‘It was just such a coincidence that I should have a spare ticket for this show and had been wondering who to take. Mary was so angry that she couldn’t come, and then Diane told me how much you had been trying to get hold of one before the show closed. It seemed too good to be true.’ He helped her off with her coat as they found their seats in the dress circle.
It had taken his secretary a morning’s strenuous telephoning to get the tickets, and then at an exorbitant pri
ce.
Emma was staring round. ‘I still can’t believe my luck.’ She glanced at him. He was a tall, distinguished-looking man with a tanned, permanently youthful face belied by the shock of white hair. And he was extremely attractive. She made up her mind to enjoy herself.
By the interval she was aware that tickets to a show such as this were not something Rex Cummin would have normally come by.
‘You’re bored stiff!’ she accused as the lights came up.
‘Hey, come on.’ Sheepishly he stifled a yawn. ‘I guess I’m tired, that’s all.’
‘I thought Americans never got tired.’ She was teasing.
‘You’re right. I must up my vitamin quota. A nice bit of steak later will perk me up.’
‘Steak?’ She looked disgusted.
‘Emma.’ He looked at her in real despair. ‘Don’t tell me you are a vegetarian?’
‘No. But steak! Late in the evening! That will drain your energy and poison your system.’ She sounded amused.
‘Jesus!’ He stared at her. ‘So, where do you suggest we go?’
‘I’ll give it some thought.’ She settled back happily in her seat. She was enjoying herself – enormously.
He took her to a French restaurant in Knightsbridge in the end, just as he had originally planned. Sitting opposite one another they both watched in silence as the waiter poured their wine. After he had gone, Rex picked up his glass. ‘To us. I hope we can do this again.’
Emma smiled. ‘It’s been fun.’ She looked at him quizzically. ‘Tell me, how long have you known Diane?’
‘Since she was born. My wife and her mother knew one another as kids.’
‘And you are in the financial world too?’
‘No.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m in oil.’
‘Oil?’ She seemed intrigued but not suspicious.
He gauged her reaction carefully. ‘Sigma Exploration. You’ve probably heard of us.’
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