They talked about Scotland, about Isobel’s trip to the court of France, about the loss of her baby, and about the death of Mairi, who had come from Mar. It was a relief for Isobel to speak to someone she could whole-heartedly love and trust, and she found herself weeping into her great grandmother’s lap, Robert temporarily forgotten.
Eleyne listened, trying to hide her distress at Isobel’s unhappiness, and comforted her and distracted her with stories of Isobel’s mother, at last remarried and living in England. Not once did she speak of the daughter of her marriage into the house of Mar, Isabella, who had married Robert Bruce, nor did she mention Robert himself.
They talked for a long time, and at last Isobel remembered the reason for her visit. She hesitated, torn between her love and respect for the old lady, and her longing to see Robert again. Eleyne had made no mention of the fact that he was at Kildrummy, and yet he must be, Gilbert had promised her …
Almost reluctantly she stood up and took the old lady’s hand. ‘You must be tired, Great Grandmama. Shall I leave you a while to rest?’
Eleyne smiled. ‘I think that would be nice, my child. I shall see you in the great hall later.’ She looked at Isobel’s face and tried to quell the feeling of unease that filled her suddenly. But there was no putting it off. Isobel’s fate was already written in the flames. She sighed. ‘There is someone else here, I believe, who would like to talk to you about France.’ She looked grave for a moment, raising her gnarled fingers to Isobel’s cheek. ‘Take care, my darling. Remember your husband.’
Isobel frowned, feeling the colour rising in her face. Did everyone know then how much she still yearned for Robert? She kissed the old lady’s cheek and hesitated just for a moment, seeing the expression in her great grandmother’s eyes. Then she almost ran from the room.
Robert was standing beside a table before the window when she was at last shown into his presence after a seemingly interminable walk through the long passages and circular corridors which linked the towers of the castle. He was reading through a pile of letters. He turned with a smile as she entered. ‘So. My Lady Buchan. It is good to see you again.’ He paused as the esquire who had shown her into the room bowed and withdrew and they were alone.
For a moment she stood without moving, almost breathless now that she was near him at last, then going to him she knelt on the strewn herbs at his feet and taking his hand, she touched it to her lips. ‘So, now you are truly my rightful king,’ she whispered.
Robert looked down at her gravely. ‘Not yet, my love. Not in name, nor yet in power, but one day soon. One day!’ He smacked his hands together then realising that she was still on her knees he turned back to her and gently raised her to her feet. ‘So, what is it, my dear? Why did you want to see me so urgently? It wasn’t easy to spare the time to ride north to Kildrummy. Do you have information for me of the delegation, or of the Scots parliament at Scone?’
Isobel shook her head. She looked away from him, suddenly abashed. ‘I have no information. I just wanted to see you. To be with you again.’
Neither of them mentioned the last time they had met, nor the precipitate way Isobel had been escorted from Scone, but for a moment the memory hung between them.
He frowned. Uncomfortably he turned away from her. ‘I had heard that you were reconciled with your husband, Isobel. I had hoped you would tell me about King Philip’s views –’
‘You still want me for a spy!’ She was angry. ‘Is that all I am to you now? A voice from the Comyn camp? An ear at the keyhole when my husband talks!’
‘You said you owed me your loyalty,’ he said gently.
‘I do!’ Furiously she paced across the small room and then back again, her long skirts scattering the dried heather stems. She stopped and collected herself with a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. You do have my loyalty, you know you do. And if it helps I will tell you all I know.’ She smiled wryly. ‘If you have time to listen, or does your new wife insist you return to her side every evening at dusk?’ She turned away, cursing her sharp tongue, and trying to hide the sudden misery in her face. No one had mentioned if Elizabeth had ridden north with him.
Robert walked over to her and catching her shoulders turned her to face him. ‘My wife is entitled to my presence, Isobel. And to my respect.’
‘And your love?’ She looked at him desperately. Her pride and her longing were tearing her in two. She could not, would not throw herself at him if he did not want her.
He was watching her, his handsome face shadowed as he stood with his back to the narrow window. Outside there was a sudden shouting and the clatter of hooves on cobbles as a horse, frightened by the hiss of iron in water, bolted from outside the blacksmith’s shed. Neither of them heard it.
‘She has my deepest respect and affection, Isobel. She is entitled to that. And she has my daughter’s love. That means a lot to me.’
‘Isabella of Mar’s daughter!’ Isobel pulled her hands away from him, ashamed of the jealousy she still felt at the mention of his first wife’s name.
‘My daughter.’ His voice was stern.
She closed her eyes. Her whole body ached with longing for this man’s touch. She took a deep breath. ‘I am glad, for little Marjorie’s sake,’ she said.
There was a soft chuckle from Robert. ‘You are a very bad liar, Isobel,’ he said softly. ‘You always were. I can read your face like a book.’
She opened her eyes wide. ‘Then does what you read there horrify you?’
He stepped towards her again and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘It horrifies me that you should risk so much for me.’
‘I would risk everything for you,’ she whispered. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his bearded cheek.
His eyes narrowed; she felt his hands tighten on her shoulders. There was a long pause. Her heart was beating very fast.
‘What of your husband?’ he asked at last.
‘He will never know.’ She reached up to slide her arms around his neck. ‘I have loved you since I was a child,’ she whispered. ‘I would have been yours. If I can never be your wife, at least let me be your love.’
He frowned at her bluntness as his arms tightened about her. ‘You risk more than you realise –’
She buried her face in his tunic. ‘I know. I am risking my life. But I have to. I love you more than life, don’t you understand?’ Her voice was full of pain. ‘Please, please, make love to me, Robert.’ Her pride had lost. The words came out slowly, weighted with longing.
For a moment longer he hesitated, fighting his conscience, but the feel of the woman, so eager and so lovely in his arms, was more than any man could resist. He seemed to have needed her, to have longed for her, for ever. He was drowning in her gaze, lost.
Releasing her he strode towards the door and slid the bolt, then he turned back to her. ‘There can be no going back, Isobel. What we do here can never be undone.’
‘I know.’ It was a whisper.
Already he was unfastening his belt. He laid it with his sword across a stool then he began to pull at the lacings which held his tunic closed.
His hands on her body were firm and strong as he pushed her gown and kirtle from her shoulders, letting them fall to the floor, a heap of rustling scarlet silk. Then he pulled off her shift. For a moment he stared at her, then slowly he drew her against him, pressing her slim pale body against his own as he wound his hands into her hair, pulling her head back, kissing her with increasing ferocity as instinctively her body arched to meet his.
With a sudden explosion of happiness she threw her arms around him, clawing at his back. He laughed, burying his face in her hair and dropping to his knees he pulled her with him, his mouth against her breasts as he pushed her down beneath him on the scented strewing herbs, possessing her body with mouth and hands, holding her prisoner as she writhed at his touch. She could hear herself sobbing as she thrust her hips towards him and he laughed softly, holding her wrists pinioned for a moment to prevent her tearing at his back. His inhibit
ions had gone, his notions of chivalry, his sense of honour towards his new wife, the memory of his gentle Isabella, even the knowledge that the wrath of the Comyns, if her husband ever found out, would destroy her and bring down his secret cause – all were forgotten as he drowned in the wild beauty of the woman beneath him. With a shout of triumph he entered her, rolling with her in the heather, feeling the wiry, dusty stems tearing at his body as she wound her legs about his hips, fighting him now, her hands in his hair, her spine arched like a bow as with a shrill animal scream she felt her body explode into his. Again and again he plunged into her, then at last, exhausted, he lay beside her on the heather, his hand still possessively across her thighs.
She sat up slowly, trembling violently. Her body was singing; for the first time in her life she felt complete and ecstatically happy as she gazed ahead of her in silence, hugging her knees, feeling the chill of perspiration on her blazing body. Slowly she pushed her damp hair off her face.
Outside, the bailey was silent. In the heat of the afternoon men and animals were dozing in the shade.
Robert rolled towards her and put his hand on her back. Slowly he ran his finger down her spine. With a sudden exclamation of surprise he sat up. ‘Are these the marks of a whip?’
Isobel leaned contentedly towards him. ‘The scourge was part of my penance.’
‘You did that to yourself?’ He stared at her, awed.
She shook her head. ‘I refused. The sisters did it, at Dundarg.’
‘Dear God!’ He touched the scars on her back with gentle fingers.
‘It’s over, Robert. I want to forget it.’ She knelt up and put her arms around his neck again, nuzzling his ear.
‘Like the hair shirt and the prayers?’ He looked at her quizzically.
‘The nuns were kind in their way.’ She didn’t want to think about it, not now. She must not think of Mairi any more. She couldn’t bear to think of Mairi, not here. ‘One of the sisters took me down to the sea to bathe my wounds,’ she rushed on. ‘We went in near the rocks below the castle. I took off my shift and swam naked.’
‘Did you indeed?’ He raised his eyebrows, amused. ‘And how many of the garrison saw you?’
‘None.’ She was indignant. ‘Afterwards we lay to dry ourselves on the sand at the foot of the cliffs. Sister Eleanor put salve on my wounds.’ She frowned suddenly. ‘She … she touched me as a man would … here, and here …’ Her hand strayed towards her legs.
Robert’s eyes narrowed with amusement again. ‘A follower of Sappho, your nun. And did you enjoy her attentions, my dear? Did she make you cry out in ecstasy as I did?’ He pulled her suddenly across his knees.
‘Certainly not!’ Isobel’s eyes flashed with indignation. ‘It was wrong! I didn’t let her –’
‘That is because you are a man’s woman.’ Robert buried his face between her breasts. ‘I’d like to have seen you with your nun, my dear.’ He bit her gently, just above the sharp angle of her collar bone, holding her as she tried to wriggle away. ‘Did she whip you twice as hard afterwards?’ He laughed as she struggled with fury to be free, and he pushed her over on to her back again.
When he had finished this time she lay quite still, too exhausted to move, her slim body curved into the heather, her hair tangled in the dried brown stems. Robert stood up and slipped on his tunic and hose. He took a checked woollen plaid from a hook on the wall and tucked it gently around her, then he pushed her hair back from her face.
‘Rest for two minutes, love, then you must dress. I fear the whole castle knows what we’re about in here.’
She looked at him dreamily. ‘I’m too tired and too happy to move.’ Her body felt heavy and languid.
‘Two minutes,’ he repeated threateningly. He moved back to the desk and picked up the letters he had been working on when she had been shown into the room. In two minutes he had forgotten she was there.
An hour or so later she awoke. He was still working. Wearily she stood up and pulled on her kirtle and gown, piling her hair up beneath her veil, and dragging her mantle around her shoulders, then she walked over to him and putting her arms around him she kissed the back of his neck.
She slept alone in one of the guest chambers in the Snow Tower that night after dining at the high table in the great hall, seated between Robert and the Countess Eleyne. There had been no sign of Robert’s wife.
It was dawn when the door opened and Robert slid into the shadowy room. His hands were cold on her warm body heavy with sleep, exciting, rousing her, his mouth on her eyelids, her hair, her throat where the mark of his bite showed as a purple bruise.
When they lay quiet at last he raised himself on his elbow. ‘I must go away today,’ he whispered.
‘Away?’ She stared at him sleepily.
He nodded. ‘And you must go back to your husband.’ Seeing the expression on her face he smiled grimly and leaning over he kissed her firmly on the lips. ‘You cannot stay here, Isobel, you must see that. For Scotland’s sake you have to go back. People will know I was here, and he will guess you came to see me. Open war between me and your husband would be disaster now.’
Wriggling away from him she sat up abruptly and stared at him in desperation. ‘You can’t send me back. You can’t!’
‘I can Isobel, and I must.’
‘I won’t go.’
‘Then I shall have you taken back by force. Oh, my love, don’t you see?’
‘No!’ She jumped from the bed, dragging a sheet with her to wrap around her. ‘No, I don’t see! We love each other! We belong together. We have always belonged together! You have to let me stay. Your wife isn’t here. She won’t know –’
‘Isobel, everyone in this castle knows you are here. The people of Mar are my people, and loyal, but one cannot burden this household with this sort of secret. Human nature is too frail. Someone will tell Buchan.’
‘But I will leave him. I will stay with you –’
‘No, Isobel.’ His mouth closed in a hard line. ‘I have a wife. She has the connections to help my cause; she is faithful to me; she is good for my daughter, and one day she will be my queen.’
Isobel went white. ‘And I? What am I?’
‘You are a wild, beautiful creature from the furthest corner of my realm.’ He stood up and put his arms around her again, his eyes burning as they looked into hers. ‘You are the woman I love.’ He put his hand under her chin and raised her lips to meet his. ‘You are part of this land, Isobel, your spirit is part of the sea and the mountains, the wind and the rain, the wildness that is my kingdom. And I love you! One day, perhaps, we can be together, but not now. Now I have a kingdom to win, and you, if you are loyal to me, must obey me.’
He caught her wrists and pulled her to him. The linen sheet fell to the floor and there was nothing between their bodies in the pre-dawn cold of the room.
She struggled to be free of him. ‘But I want to stay! I can fight with you!’ She knew she sounded like a child, pleading. ‘You can’t send me away!’
‘I must, my love.’ He kissed the top of her head gently. ‘I shall send for you when I am crowned. To follow tradition I need your brother, the Earl of Fife, to come from England to place the crown on my head, and I will need you to support him.’
‘Without the Earl of Fife you cannot be king!’ Her eyes were blazing with pride again.
‘Oh, I will be king and with no one’s permission, but I should like to honour the old customs.’ He smiled grimly. ‘The proxy John Balliol used to place him on the throne did not help his cause at all, so I shall insist on a descendant of the house of Duff to do the honours.’ He grinned. ‘And when I am king,’ he kissed her hard on the mouth, ‘no one shall question who I take to my bed. Now, dress. I shall have your escort summoned to take you home to Buchan.’ He was still holding her wrists. ‘That is a command, Isobel.’
Furiously she struggled to be free of him. ‘What if I refuse to go?’
‘Then you will be taken by force.’ He released her abru
ptly. ‘Please, my love. Do as I ask. We will be together soon, I promise.’ Turning away from her he pulled on his tunic and began to buckle his belt.
She was putting on her pale silk shift when suddenly he caught her in his arms again. ‘You will take care, my love. If there were only a way I could keep you with me, I would –’
‘I know.’ She swallowed her misery as best she could.
‘Don’t provoke your husband, Isobel.’ Suddenly he was terribly afraid for her. ‘Obey him, love. We both know we were betrayed before, and we both know that your maid paid with her life for our moments together at Scone. Remember her –’
Her eyes were on his. ‘I will never forget her.’
He nodded grimly. ‘Then go now. And pray that you haven’t been missed.’
17
Emma answered the door to Henry and ushered him in. ‘It was sweet of you to come. I know this is a bloody thing to ask anyone: to get involved in someone else’s family crisis! But we need advice.’ She pulled him into the sitting room where Peter was sitting reading the paper. The two men greeted one another laconically and Peter moved towards the tray of bottles on the sideboard. At the table in the window Julia was sitting scribbling furiously in an exercise book. Peter glanced at her. ‘That homework won’t be even half legible, you know.’
‘It will, Dad,’ Julia smiled at him impishly. ‘They only gave us a tiny bit because they knew we’d all be going to Guy Fawkes’ parties. Tamsin will be here any minute to collect me. We’re going to the Scotts. Hello Mr Firbank!’ She flashed Henry a smile and went back to her work, a curtain of fair hair falling across her eyes.
Henry grinned. ‘I was hoping I was coming to a fireworks party too!’ he said as he accepted a large gin and tonic from Peter. ‘No sparklers even?’
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