over a pile of letters with a group of his advisers.
Eleyne stopped so suddenly that the servant behind nearly bumped into her, and she realised that her heart was thumping fast as she watched him walk to the edge of the dais.
‘Lady Chester, Sir Robert, greetings.’ His tone was formal.
Beside her, Robert had stopped too, taking his lead from her. She forced herself to walk on towards Alexander, her head high, her eyes on his. At the edge of the dais she curtseyed low. ‘We bring you the King of England’s greetings and condolences, sire. He was – we were with your queen when she died…’ Her voice trailed away and there were tears in her eyes.
Alexander stepped from the dais, took her hand and raised her to her feet. ‘I’m glad you were there. She always loved you, lass. It was good of you to make the long ride north.’ He smiled at Robert and bowed. ‘And you, Sir Robert.’ He looked at him, perhaps a moment longer than was necessary, then he turned his attention back to Eleyne. ‘Come, sit by the fire and take some refreshment. Tomorrow we ride to Dunfermline to prepare for the Easter celebrations, and there I can make you welcome in more style.’
XVIII
It was two days after Easter before she saw the king alone, five days and nights of tormented, sleepless anguish as she tried to hide her hopes and fears from her husband and even from herself. Alexander was in his office at Dunfermline with three of his clerks when he sent for her. As she curtseyed to him, her heart thudded with fear and excitement. She took the proffered chair and he ordered the three men from the room.
On his desk a small coffer lay open, and she could see that it contained jewellery. He leaned against the desk, his arms folded.
‘Joanna made her will twelve days before she died. She wanted you to have something to remember her by. I have chosen some rings and chains which I thought you might like.’
She had dreamed so often of being alone with him, but now she could think of nothing to say. She was drowning in his presence, aching for his touch, yet this small casket of jewels stood between them like a stone wall. They represented Joanna and guilt.
She bit her lip. ‘Thank you, sire, that would please me very much.’
‘Come here and look at them.’ He had not moved from the desk.
She moved numbly towards him. The coffer was in the middle of the desk; to reach it she had to lean past him.
‘Do you wish me to choose something, sire?’
‘They are all yours. Here, let me try some of them on.’ He pulled out a ring of garnets and sea pearls and held it out. She gave him her hand, holding her breath as he placed it on her finger. His touch burned her skin like fire.
‘Are you happy with your new husband?’ he asked quietly, his concentration entirely on her hand.
‘No.’ She did not elaborate.
‘You married him against your will?’
‘Yes.’
‘I cannot believe the fiery Lady Chester allowed such a thing to happen.’ His lips twitched into a quizzical smile.
‘I had no choice, I was forced. By the King of England’s order.’ She looked into his face, unaware of the transparency of her expression. It was all there for him to read – hope, fear, love, longing, frustration and the blind resolution that he should see none of them. ‘They told me that you agreed.’
‘I was not consulted. Henry told me he had arranged a suitable match for you and that you were pleased with it. We were at York – ’
‘And you did not wish to jeopardise the treaty with England.’ Her voice heavy, she pulled her hand from his. ‘And women’s lives are of so little importance.’
‘That is not true, Eleyne. You had enormous wealth, it was important that you marry – ’
‘Why? To give my wealth away? To allow a thriftless callow nobody to run through it, spending a fortune on tabards and herygouds and embroidered garnaches to decorate his person while his wife wears darned gowns, cuts the number of courses at meals by half and can find no money to pay her servants!’ The colour had risen in her cheeks. ‘I shall have to ask you to tell my husband, sire, that you have given me these jewels or he will take them from me to pawn or sell. He would have taken the material Aunt Joanna gave me for new gowns had I not sneaked it away to be made up before he could lay his hands on it.’
Alexander stared at her. ‘I am sorry, his brother is made of finer stuff.’ He walked across to the window; unglazed and unshuttered in spite of the cold, it looked south across the Forth, which gleamed brilliant blue in the icy sunshine. In the far distance was the grey of the Pentland hills, and towards the east the humped shoulder of Arthur’s Seat, brooding next to the black silhouette which was his great rock-bound castle at Edinburgh. When he turned, he had control of his anger.
‘Come, see what else I have for you. Joanna would want you to look at them.’ He cursed himself for speaking her name, but knowing he had to. ‘I shall speak to your husband. He will not take anything from you again.’ There was an underlying note in his voice which made her look up, startled. What she saw in his face brought the colour flooding to her cheeks.
‘Your grace -’ Her voice was breathless. Without realising it, she had taken a step towards him.
For a long time he looked at her in silence without moving, then at last he reached towards her and pulled her into his arms. His mouth was hungry as it found hers, his grip fierce, imprisoning her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want to breathe; she wanted to cease to exist and find herself in eternity. She wanted to melt into him as the cold winter snow melts in the blazing heat of a summer sun. She could feel her body quivering with longing, her hips pressing shamefully against his, her breasts aching for the touch of his hands. She did not think of John or of Joanna. She did not think of Robert. This man was her whole world, her whole existence, her destiny.
Still he had not spoken, nor did she want him to. She did not want words to come between them.
Almost without realising it she was pulling at the fastenings of her gown, offering him her throat, her breasts, gasping as he reached greedily for her nipples. Then he was wrenching her garments from her shoulders, stripping them down, so that she was naked as he bore her to the floor, dragging at his own gown so that flesh met flesh without impediment.
She clung to him, pulling him on top of her, wrapping her legs around his hips, feeling him thrusting inside her with a force which was as agonising as it was exquisite.
When her pent-up excitement was released in a long animal howl of triumph, the king put his hand across her mouth. He smiled down at her, his eyes silver slits. ‘You’ll bring every guard in the castle to us if you scream,’ he said softly, his voice husky with passion. He dropped his mouth to her breast and she felt her breathing quicken again.
‘What if someone comes in?’ she gasped. She could not have pushed him away if she had wanted to. Her whole being had fused with his, cleaving to him as though it had found a part of itself.
‘No one will come in,’ he said softly. Easing his weight slightly, he rested on his elbows, staring down into her face. Then he knelt up, sitting astride her, keeping her imprisoned between his thighs, his gown rumpled around his hips. He groped above his head on the table and brought his hand down laden with jewels from Joanna’s casket. As Eleyne gasped at their coldness, he festooned her naked body with golden chains and precious stones, nestling a circlet of pale river pearls in the silken hair which covered her most secret place.
‘Sweet Virgin, lass, but I have wanted you for so long,’ he murmured at last. He stroked her face. ‘Since I first laid eyes on you.’
‘And I you.’ She gave a languid smile. Her body seemed to be cushioned on air; she was floating on contentment. ‘Have we done wrong?’ She felt no hint of conscience or shame.
‘How could it be wrong?’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘My wife is dead, and so is the husband you loved.’ He paused. ‘Your present husband – ’
‘Means nothing.’ For the first time her voice was sharp. ‘I was meant to be yours. Even John…’ she hesitated,
