Shadows surrounded her now, shadows from the past; faces of people long dead, and with them other faces from the future – the faces of her child and her child’s children. The shadows were growing darker now and, at last, she understood.
Her last vestige of strength rose in a wave of anguish and frustration and despair at the cruelty which was depriving her of life and love now, after she had lived through so much. She wanted to curse, to pray, to call out to her child and her child’s children to live for her.
On the huge curtained bed where she had lain with her husband and then with her king she lay locked in silence alone and afraid and angry as the sunbeams crept across the floor towards her. Then at last she lifted her head from her pillow and, throwing off the hands of the priest and the women who crowded round her, she let out one last cry, a cry that contained all her hope and love and fear, and all that was left of her life.
Clare was still very shaken when Neil arrived. Secure within the circle of his arms she managed to tell him at last what had happened. ‘It was so awful, Neil.’ At the thought her eyes filled with tears again. ‘Poor Isobel. She had lived through so much, and to die then, just as Robert was winning his greatest victory – it was so unfair!’
‘It explains why she has never been at rest.’ Neil pulled her close. ‘Is it all over now?’
Clare nodded. ‘It is all over. She has gone.’
‘Do you want to go back to the castle to make sure?’
She nodded.
The castle was bathed in a pearly mist from the sea. Clare walked slowly to the cliff’s edge and looked over. Neil watched as she stood for a while staring out into the distance, then she turned and smiled at him. They walked slowly hand in hand over the newly mown turf.
‘Do you think she came back to try to save Duncairn?’ he asked as they walked inside the ruins.
‘I think perhaps that was part it. She loved this place.’ Clare smiled again. ‘But mostly she just wanted to tell her story.’
Neil sat down on a low wall and pulled her down next to him. ‘Was it Isobel who guided you in the snow?’
Clare nodded sheepishly. ‘I’d like to think so.’
‘She couldn’t save herself, Clare, at the end of her life, but I have a feeling she’s on your side now. You’ve nothing to be afraid of, you know.’ He too had felt her fear.
They sat silently for a while watching as the sun fought to disperse the mist and it was some time before Clare realised that they were not alone. She glanced at Neil and saw that he had seen her too. A child, a little girl, playing in the grass in a patch of warm sunlight near them, a pretty, dark-haired child, with large grey eyes and a happy tinkling laugh. As they watched a man appeared, walking out of the mist, a tall, grave figure who played with her and made her giggle and then took her on his shoulder and walked with her back into the shadows and out of sight.
Clare glanced at Neil. ‘Did you see them too?’ she whispered.
Neil nodded.
‘Were they real?’
He was staring at the spot where they had disappeared. ‘They were there –’ he replied cryptically.
‘The King and his daughter?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘She married Patrick Gordon, in the end, you know, and Robert gave them Duncairn.’
‘It was the least he could do.’
‘Oh, Neil.’ Suddenly she threw her arms around his neck. They were silent for a long time.
‘My ancestors fought at Bannockburn,’ he said at last. ‘Did I ever tell you?’
She smiled. ‘About a thousand times.’
He stood up slowly and helped her off the wall. ‘He was a fine figure of a man, wasn’t he?’ he said at last as they walked slowly on. ‘For a king.’
35
It was Midsummer’s Eve. Neil and Clare had finished dinner and were alone in Clare’s private flat in the hotel. ‘Are you sure you want to go out there tonight?’ he said. ‘You look so tired, Clare. Why not leave it until morning?’
She shook her head. ‘I want to show her we remembered the date; show her we still care. It must be tonight.’
They planted the little rowan tree in the shelter of the wall which had once formed a part of the great hall, then they opened a bottle of champagne and toasted the tree and poured a little of the wine around its roots, and then they toasted Isobel.
‘Rest in peace,’ Clare whispered, towards the moon. ‘Be happy now, wherever you are –’ She broke off abruptly, staring at the ground, her face white in the moonlight.
‘Clare, what is it?’ Neil called sharply.
She had dropped her glass, clasping her hands to her back as a wave of pain swept over her. ‘Oh Neil –’ She was suddenly terrified. ‘Oh, Neil, the baby –!’
‘Christ!’ Neil let the bottle fall. ‘It’s all right, darling, don’t worry. I’ll get you back to the hotel –’
‘No.’ She closed her eyes and groaned. ‘No, Neil. It’s no good. There is no time.’ She was clutching the rough stones of the wall. ‘It has to be here, don’t you see? Oh, Neil, it’s me she wants … I’m going to die!’
Neil stared at her, his face white in the moonlight. ‘Don’t be silly! Don’t even think such a thing! Come on, Clare, darling, you’ve got to let me take you back inside!’
She shook her head, biting her lips as another wave of agony swept over her. ‘Go and get Mrs Fraser, Neil.’ She was sobbing now. ‘Please! Quickly –’
He stood for a moment, torn, then he turned away from her. ‘You’ll be all right if I run? I’ll only be a minute –’
‘Yes, yes. OK. Just go!’ She was breathing deeply, trying to hide her fear and pain from him.
Already Neil was sprinting across the grass.
Clare fell to her knees where she was, beside the wall, gasping as her body convulsed once more. So this was to be the end after all. History was going to repeat itself. She too would die at Duncairn on Midsummer’s Day, and Isobel would no longer be alone.
Closing her eyes she let the pain take her, Neil already forgotten, as her mind focussed inwardly on the very centre of her being and she felt herself floating upward, away from the castle ruins and into the vast eternity of the sky above her.
Neil came back at a run, and with him were Jack and Mrs Fraser and Catriona, all panting hard.
‘Clare, are you all right? Clare?’ Neil threw himself down on his knees beside her on the grass. ‘Clare –’
‘She’s fainted, man.’ Jack was directing a torch at her face with a shaking hand. ‘Poor lass.’
‘Aye, the baby’s coming.’ Mrs Fraser had laid a practised hand on Clare’s stomach. ‘It’s coming soon. Away now and phone the doctor, Catriona, lass. She was right, it’s too late to move her. Jack and I will see to things fine here.’
She glanced up as her daughter disappeared into the darkness.
‘Did you put the whisky in your pocket, Jack Grant? I think Neil there needs a wee drop, and so will you.’
Neil tried to smile. ‘It’s too early. The baby is much too early,’ he said anxiously.
‘It’s the seventh month; she’ll be all right.’ Mollie Fraser had delivered babies before now, down in Duncairn village. ‘We’ll cope fine.’ She glanced up at the luminous sky. ‘It’s St John’s Eve – a night of magic. She’ll be all right, you’ll see.’
Neil stared at her astonished. How on earth, had she, a good Presbyterian, known that?
He looked up and closed his eyes, stroking Clare’s hand as he knelt in the dewy grass. Was Isobel there somewhere in the darkness, waiting? Surely she did not want Clare to die?
‘Please, spare her. Leave her for me. I need her. Please …’ He was whispering into the silence. ‘You don’t need her. Let her live. Please, let her live –’
‘There.’ Mollie’s voice was calm. They had managed to wrap Clare in blankets to keep her warm. ‘There we go. Hold the torch, Jack, lad. You don’t have to look if you don’t want to, man!’ She chuckled comfortably. ‘
One more push, lass, and we’ll be there –’
Clare was staring up at the hangings over her head as the pain took her, wave upon wave. Someone was near her, holding her hand. Robert … it was Robert. He had come after all. No, it was Neil … Neil, and beyond him she could see the sky, sewn with stars. There was no bedchamber. She was outside … drifting … almost asleep. Her body convulsed suddenly with agony worse than she had thought it possible to bear, wrenching her back to wakefulness, and she heard herself scream. Then it was over and she was floating again, floating in a painless dream.
‘There we are! It’s a little girl.’ Mollie’s soft voice was jubilant. ‘A bonnie, tiny lassie. And she’s fine.’ She was crooning now as she swaddled the crying baby warmly in a soft towel.
‘And Clare?’ Neil was almost too awed and afraid to ask.
‘Clare’s fine too,’ Mollie said comfortably. ‘Everything’s going to be all right. Just you see if it isn’t.’
‘Thank you.’ Neil stared up at the sky. ‘Wherever you are. Thank you.’
Mother and daughter were taken to Aberdeen by ambulance less than an hour later. They were both pronounced fit and well within two days.
Clare never saw Isobel again.
Requiescat in pace.
POSTSCRIPT
The low morning sun slanted into the nursery at Duncairn, warming the carpet, reflecting on the toys on their shelves. A pink furry rabbit lay on the floor, and little Margaret Isobel Forbes stared at it happily as she lay kicking on her blanket, waiting for her mother to come and feed her. Near her lay a golden retriever puppy, sleeping deeply in the sunlight, Archie’s slightly embarrassed present to his step-daughter and his adored grandchild.
Bored with the rabbit, Margaret began to look around the room, her eyes caught by the movement of the curtains in the slight breeze, and by the shadows of the bars of her cot, thrown obliquely across the wall …
As she frowned, on the point of tears, the puppy sat up. It stared for a moment into the corner of the room, then with a yelp of fear it fled for the door. It scrabbled it open with its small paws and vanished into the hall. Margaret didn’t notice. A lady was standing near her suddenly, smiling, bending towards her, and the child held out her little hands for the toy she was offered, an ivory rattle, with a silk ribbon and silver bells.
She heard her mother’s voice, laughing, in the hall and she turned her head away. When she looked back the lady and the toy were gone.
HISTORICAL NOTE
The story of the Countess of Buchan’s revolt against her husband, her desperate ride to Scone to crown her king, her subsequent capture and her terrible fate are well known and matters of recorded history. That she was Robert’s mistress was the conjecture or invention of the more malicious English chroniclers; Robert’s roving eye was well documented, although in later years he and his wife Elizabeth were reconciled and she went on to bear him four children.
Isobel disappears from history in 1313 when the last time she is mentioned in the records was when she was transferred to the custody of Sir Henry Beaumont, Earl of Buchan.
When Robert reclaimed his surviving scattered family and friends after Bannockburn, Isobel was not amongst them.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I should like to extend my thanks to all those who have helped me with information for this book and who have so patiently answered my questions on so many diverse subjects.
Amongst them I must mention especially the Revd Edgar Pearson, the Revd Brian Toll and the Revd Peter Disney for their advice on the subject of possession and exorcism; Janet Hanlon for her information on childbirth; Ann and Michael Grieve; Richard Smith-Carington; Michael Unsworth for all his help on the subject of the oil industry. Also my husband Michael Hope-Lewis for his information on the City and the way it works, and for his tolerance in putting up with a diet of spaghetti for two years while I wrote the book!
I am very grateful to the Sheldon Press for allowing me to use the extracts from the prayers of exorcism from Healing the Family Tree by Dr Kenneth McAll.
Thank you too, to the people of Buchan, especially David Rennie at Dundarg, who welcomed us into their homes and showed us the ancient castles which form the frame for this story.
Duncairn does not exist. Had it done so, it would have been very near to Old Slains, and looked not unlike Dunottar!
Barbara Erskine
Great Tey 1988
About the Author
Kingdom of Shadows
Barbara Erskine is the author of Lady of Hay, which has sold well over a million copies worldwide, Kingdom of Shadows, Encounters and Child of the Phoenix, which was based on the story of one of her own ancestors. Midnight is a Lonely Place and House of Echoes were shortlisted for the W H Smith Thumping Good Read awards of 1995 and 1997 respectively and were followed by Distant Voices and On the Edge of Darkness. Her most recent novels, Whispers in the Sand and Hiding From the Light were both Sunday Times top ten bestsellers. Barbara Erskine’s novels have been translated into thirty languages.
Barbara Erskine has a degree in mediaeval Scottish history from Edinburgh University. She and her family divide their time between the Welsh borders and their home near the coast of North Essex.
Praise for Barbara Erskine:
‘Barbara Erskine’s storytelling talent is undeniable’ The Times
‘Fascinating, absorbing, original – and hypnotic’ She
By the same author
LADY OF HAY
ENCOUNTERS (Short stories)
CHILD OF THE PHOENIX
MIDNIGHT IS A LONELY PLACE
HOUSE OF ECHOES
DISTANT VOICES (short stories)
ON THE EDGE OF DARKNESS
WHISPERS IN THE SAND
HIDING FROM THE LIGHT
SANDS OF TIME
Copyright
HarperCollinsPublishers
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Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk
This paperback edition first published by HarperCollins 2004
First published in Great Britain by Michael Joseph Ltd 1988
Published by Sphere Books Ltd 1989
Published by Warner Books 1992
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictionally.
Any resemblance to actual events or locales or organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The quotation from ‘I Have a Dream’ composed by Bjorn Uluaeus and
Benny Anderson, is copyright © Bow Music Ltd, 1979, 1 Wyndham
Yard, London, W1H 1AR, reproduced by kind permission. It is specifically excluded from any blanket photocopying arrangements.
Copyright © Barbara Erskine 1988
Barbara Erskine asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
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Epub Edition JANUARY 2009 ISBN: 9780007290673
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
The Dream
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Kingdom of Shadows Page 85