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
FALKLAND CASTLE January 1266
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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I
FALKLAND CASTLE
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 k
ing; 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 – ’
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