It was the start of several frenzied days of activity. The castle was to be made ready for a possible siege.
Gordon frowned. ‘My lady, the fighting is all to the south. The English king will never besiege Kildrummy. Our King Robert will never let him get this far, God bless him.’
‘The English king was here in person not three years ago,’ Eleyne retorted. ‘And five years before that, when I had to give him the keys on my knees. Never, never will I do that again. If all does not go well with King Robert, this will be one of the castles where he can find support and refuge – and look at us!’ She waved her hand energetically towards the high walls. ‘The underbrush comes so close to the ditch, ten armies could hide there and we wouldn’t know it.’
She was tireless in her supervision of her household over the next days, not admitting even to herself how much she missed the presence of her dog beside her as she watched the undergrowth hacked and scythed back, checking herself the lists of provisions in the storerooms, sending out for more from markets as far away as Huntly and Aberdeen. Stocks were low. It had been a cold winter and it was a late spring. The small fields around the village were hazed green with new-planted oats and barley, but it would be a long time until the harvest.
Bethoc watched her lady’s feverish activity with alarm and delight. Only five months earlier Lady Eleyne had seemed within weeks of death; now she was everywhere, her stiffness and weakness all but forgotten. The tapping of her walking stick became a familiar sound in the courtyards and corridors of the castle. Once again she was often in the stables, watching her mares as they fed, or leaning thoughtfully against the wall in the smithy as Hal Osborne paused from forging weapons to fit new shoes, missing nothing as he laid the red-hot irons on his anvil, hammering them to shape before plunging them into the tank of water and clamping them to the horses’ hooves in clouds of steam.
She was standing outside the postern, scanning the men who were cutting back the undergrowth in the Den when one of the men perched on the rocks above the burn gave a shout. She saw him jump down out of sight into the rocks, then he reappeared and began to scramble up towards her.
Even before she saw it in his hand she knew what he had found. She tensed, her fingers tightening on the handle of her walking stick.
‘My lady.’ It was John of Mossat, a small man with bright brown eyes and a head of unruly dark hair, the reason for his absence from the war immediately apparent as she saw his twisted withered right arm. He polished something against the grubby hodden of his belted tunic and held it out to her.
The phoenix.
‘Someone must have dropped it, my lady,’ he said, puzzled that she did not put out her hand to take it. ‘It’s gey pretty.’
Even the encrustation of mud and moss could not dull the gemstone flames. She stared at it for a long time before she remembered the man standing before her. She looked up and he was astonished to see tears in her eyes.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
He shrugged and turned away, disappointed at her reaction. He had already forgotten it when two days later Alan Gordon appeared himself at the door of his bothy and pressed a small bagful of silver coins, a fortune beyond his wildest dreams, into his hand as a reward.
XI
‘So you have come back to me.’ In the silence of her bedchamber, Eleyne poured some water from a ewer into an earthenware bowl. By the light of a single branch of candles, she dropped the jewel into the water and agitated it gently, watching the dirt float to the surface.
When it was clean, she dried it carefully on a scrap of silk, then she held it up to the light.
‘Where are you?’ she whispered. Her hands, holding the phoenix, had begun to tremble.
The room was very quiet. On the floor above, Bethoc and the ladies were sitting quietly around their own fire, gossiping as they sewed or spun. Like the men of the castle they viewed their countess’s frenetic preparations for a siege with long-suffering scepticism, putting her caution down to old age, but half afraid deep down that maybe she had had a premonition …
Alexander? Eleyne’s fingers tightened on the phoenix. ‘Where are you?’
The room was completely silent; the fire burned low. Please don’t forsake me now. I need you. She stared down at the jewelled bird in her hands. Scotland needs you. But there was no reply. The room was cold and empty and there was no gentle touch on her shoulder to reassure her that she was not alone.
With a small sigh she rummaged in her jewel casket for a chain, her stiff swollen fingers picking over treasures which brought back so many memories. She found one at last, and threading the pendant on to it, put it around her neck, slipping it beneath the soft fabric of gown and shift. The enamelled jewels were cold beneath her breasts, and she caught her breath as she shut the casket lid and turned towards the fire. She would never take the phoenix off again.
She was asleep when he came at last, a shadow in the darkness, cast upon the wall by the dying candles. For a long time he stood, looking down at the sleeping face, then at last he smiled. His touch upon her hair was no more than the gentle shiver of a passing draught.
XII
The lack of news was the worst part of the next few weeks. The castle waited through the long spring without word from the south. From time to time rumours reached them of the activities of King Edward’s armies, under the direction of Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke. He had arrived in Scotland under the dragon banner – the fearful symbol of total destruction which would give no quarter. Neither women nor children would be spared if they supported the rebel king. Eleyne heard the news white-faced and went to look down into the castle courtyard. She had done all she could to prepare. Little Donald and her name-sake, Ellie, were safe at Kildrummy. Now they could do nothing but wait.
XIII
June
The last thing she expected was to find King Robert on her doorstep. He slipped into the castle in the strange half-light of the early June night, accompanied by a few dozen men and several women. ‘I want you to keep my daughter here, mother-in-law.’
He raised Eleyne to her feet as, wrapped in a bed gown, her hair loose down her back, she knelt before him in the great hall. ‘I’m terrified what would happen to her if she were captured. And my queen. And Kirsty and Mary, and Isobel. I’m going to leave Nigel and Robert Boyd here to help you hold the castle.’ He glanced over his shoulder at the Countess of Buchan who stood near him and Eleyne saw them exchange smiles. ‘Things are not going well for us.’ He scowled with weariness. ‘We’ll stay a day or two, to rest my men, then we’ll be on our way. We have to confront Pembroke and drive him out of Scotland. Unless we can do that, we’re lost. I’ll feel safer if I know the ladies are here out of harm’s way.’
He was as good as his word. For three days the men ate and slept and repaired their weapons, then in the dawn of the fourth, they slipped away as quietly as they had come.
Sir Nigel Bruce came to the Snow Tower to tell Eleyne that they had gone. A tall young man, with his brother’s good looks and hazel eyes, he smiled when he saw her dismay at his news. ‘He thought it better to leave quietly. He didn’t want any scenes. Elizabeth has not made it easy for him, and she is not making it easy for Isobel either. I suppose you can’t blame her. She knows of course that they are lovers.’ He looked at the old woman to gauge her reaction, and noted with approval her lack of shock or surprise. ‘They’ve tried to hide it, they’ve been very careful, but it’s hard. Travelling, camping … We have tried to allow them time together when they can find it, and Elizabeth of course has resented it bitterly.’ He shrugged. ‘But she is no support to Robert. He needs someone who is behind him totally, and Isobel gives him that. She’s as passionate in her support of the cause as she is in her love for him.’
Eleyne pulled her bed gown around her thin shoulders. ‘Then I’m glad they’ve had some time together. Tell Isobel to come to me here later. I should like to talk to her. And make sure our queen,’ she grimaced at the words, ‘h
as all the comforts that Kildrummy can offer her. It will perhaps mollify her a little. I shall pray for Robert. And for Scotland.’
Sir Nigel scowled. ‘So shall we all, Lady Eleyne, so shall we all.’
Eleyne was dressed and poring over one of the account ledgers when Isobel found her way to her great-grandmother’s solar. She hesitated, as though unsure of her welcome, then as Eleyne looked up and dropping her pen rubbed her cramped fingers, she ran to Eleyne and hugged her. ‘Are you very angry with me?’
‘Angry?’ Eleyne asked her in astonishment.
‘For crowning him. For making an exhibition of myself. For loving him?’ Isobel sank to the floor in front of the old lady and clasped her hands tightly.
Eleyne smiled. ‘How could I be angry? I’m very, very proud of you, my darling. It took enormous courage to put the crown on Robert’s head before the whole world.’
‘Robert told me you were there.’
‘Yes. I was there.’
‘And I never saw you. I’m sorry.’
‘You had other things on your mind.’ Eleyne took the young woman’s hands in her own, and held them, palm up, on her knee. ‘You had the magic of the stone in your fingers that day. With the blessing of the ancient gods of Scotland, and that of our Blessed Lord, Robert will succeed.’
There was a sudden tension in the room.
‘You really believe in the ancient gods?’
‘Oh yes, they still have power. I have always believed in them. I was brought up to see them in the Welsh mountains. My first husband tried to make me believe they were wicked and sinful; he taught me the beauty of the church’s teachings. But they’re still there, the old gods. And when we call upon them, they answer.’
‘And they support Robert?’
Eleyne nodded slowly. ‘I believe so.’
‘I’m going to go after him.’ Isobel’s voice dropped suddenly to a whisper. ‘They don’t want me here. Elizabeth hates me. Nigel says Robert has mustered a further band of men from the mountains here and as soon as they are ready to follow him, I am going with them.’
Eleyne shook her head. ‘Isobel, he doesn’t want you with him, my dear. You add to his worries …’
‘He needs me, great-grandmama.’ Isobel stuck out her chin stubbornly. ‘Please, don’t try to stop me. I shan’t tell the others, I shall just slip away when the time is right. I shan’t get in his way. I’m not stupid. I know he doesn’t need any distractions, but I shall be there if he needs me. He is going to find Lord Pembroke and defeat him. This will be the most important battle of his life, grandmama.’
Eleyne nodded again. ‘I shan’t prevent you going, Isobel. I’d have done the same in your place. Perhaps …’ She paused. ‘Perhaps if I had gone with Alexander to the Western Isles he would not have died. Who knows?’ She gazed across the table, lost in a dream.
Isobel glanced up at her, still holding her grandmother’s cold hands, then she followed the old woman’s gaze and stared. A man was standing by the wall watching them: a tall, handsome man in his early fifties, his rich blue mantle caught on his shoulder by a gold brooch. His hair, red-gold and streaked with grey, was encircled by a golden coronet. She gasped. It was the same gold crown with which she had crowned Robert King of Scots. Her face white, Isobel scrambled to her feet. She was shaking.
Eleyne blinked several times, then she turned back to the young woman. One look at Isobel’s face told her what she wanted to know. Alexander had been in the room. ‘You saw him?’ she whispered.
Isobel was staring at the place the man had been standing. For a moment he had remained, his eyes on hers, then he had faded from sight.
‘Who was it?’ Isobel gasped. She crossed herself quickly with a shaking hand.
So this child too could see him clearly. What else had she inherited, this great-grand-daughter of hers? Could she see the future too? Eleyne shivered. ‘He is someone who blesses our cause, my dear. The man who once recognised Robert’s grandfather as his heir.’
‘King Alexander?’ Isobel whispered. ‘Oh, grandmama! He was wearing the crown – the crown I put on Robert’s head.’
Eleyne sighed. Sweet Jesus, why could she not see him? Why would he not show himself to her? Was her belief not strong enough? All she had seen was a shadow; a patch of darkness against the wall.
‘He wore that often. The Bishop of Glasgow kept it hidden when the wars started, to preserve it from Edward.’ She pulled herself to her feet with a groan and groped for her stick. ‘Isobel, my dear, I know I don’t have to tell you to keep silent about what you have seen. There are people who have seen him – Kirsty is one of them – but he’s my secret.’ She forced herself to smile. ‘I don’t want panic to break out in the castle.’
‘Even though he’s here to give us hope?’
‘Even though he supports us and will help us.’ Leaning heavily on her stick, Eleyne went to Isobel and hugged her. ‘Leave me now. Let me rest. We’ll talk again later.’ She moved painfully towards her chair. Then she stopped. ‘Promise me one thing, my darling. Don’t leave without saying goodbye.’
‘I promise.’
Eleyne held back her tears until the door had closed, then she fell back in her chair, letting them roll freely down her cheeks. ‘Why won’t you show yourself to me?’ she murmured. ‘Oh Alexander, why?’
XIV
12 June 1306
It was ten days before the last group of men were mustered from the mountains and braes of Mar, and assembled in the courtyard at Kildrummy. The night before they were due to march south, towards Perth, Isobel came to say goodbye to Eleyne. ‘We’re leaving as soon as the first light touches the strath. Before the castle is awake. May I take your blessing to Robert?’
‘Of course.’ Eleyne touched the young woman’s face.
‘And … his … King Alexander’s?’
‘If you think it right. Robert should know that the shades of his ancestors are watching over him.’
‘And you will pray for us. To your old gods.’
‘To the one god and all the gods.’ Eleyne smiled. ‘Bless you, Isobel. Bring Robert some happiness. I shall take care of his family here, and we’ll be waiting for him when his battles are won.’
XV
Robert did not let her remain with him, but it was many days before Isobel returned to Kildrummy. And when she did it was with news of a disaster. At the sight of the anxious faces awaiting her in the great hall, she dissolved into tears and they heard the story of Robert’s defeat.
‘He sent me away the night before the battle. Two of James Stewart’s men were to escort me back here, but I made them turn back to him. I couldn’t leave him, I couldn’t.’ She began to cry again.
‘What happened?’ Eleyne asked at last in the silence of the great hall. She raised a thin beringed hand to her own shoulder, caressing it slightly, almost as though it covered someone else’s hand.
As Isobel seemed unable to speak, one of the two men who had ridden back with her took up the story. ‘They were defeated, my lady. Near Methven. Terribly defeated. The king’s army was massacred. The survivors are scattered.’
‘And my husband?’ Elizabeth whispered.
‘And Christopher?’ Kirsty added, her face white.
The man shrugged. ‘As far as we know the king wasn’t injured. We met men from the battlefield, who said it was his own men who dragged him away in the end to save his life. I don’t know about Sir Christopher, my lady. Most of the men we saw were from Lord Pembroke’s army. They are everywhere, burning villages and farms, slaughtering the people they find.’ He passed a weary hand across his face.
For a long time there was no more news. Nigel sent out scouts daily as the castle remained on full alert, the small garrison constantly at the ready for the sign of Lord Pembroke’s army. But no one came and there was no news.
The days grew hotter as a blue, cloudless sky settled over Scotland, and Kildrummy was shrouded by a heat haze. The first sign that they had not been forgotten by the w
orld came in the shape of a messenger wearing the Pembroke colours. One man alone, the scouts confirmed; there was no army behind him. He brought a letter for Elizabeth from her father, the Earl of Ulster. It informed her that as her husband’s cause was lost she should return to England at once. If she did so, he would intercede with Edward for her. Reading the letter through twice, Elizabeth passed it to Nigel. ‘My father says I should go to him, but my place is with Robert,’ she said. ‘Robert is my husband.’ She eyed Isobel coldly. ‘In spite of what you all think of me, I shall stand by him.’
Nigel looked up at her and she saw the admiration in his eyes. She gave a tight smile. ‘I may not believe in what he has done. But I could not turn my back on him now,’ she added.
The women spent most of their days in the solar in the Snow Tower. The tension was enormous. There was no more news as the sky turned from blue to copper in the heat. Isobel and Elizabeth avoided one another as best they could whilst Kirsty spent her time with her children and Marjorie in the nurseries. Finally another messenger found his way to Mar. Exhausted and badly injured, he had been sent by Neil Campbell, Mary Bruce’s betrothed. He was well, as was Robert, but Sir Christopher Seton, Kirsty’s husband, had been captured on the battlefield. No one knew what had happened to him.
Alone with the nurses and her children, Kirsty wept. Before the other women she tried to keep a brave face, but in the nurseries her mask slipped. She had little hope that she would see Christopher again. How could fate deprive her so soon of two husbands, two men whom she had loved? She had barely got to know Christopher in the short time they had been married; she had borne him no children. But she loved him dearly.
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