‘It does matter, Eleyne. I’ve never seen you cry.’ Abruptly he released her. He turned to the table and taking the candle he used it to light half a dozen more so that the shadows drew back and he could see her face more clearly. He swore softly and took her in his arms again. ‘Has that bastard de Quincy hurt you?’
She nodded. ‘It doesn’t matter, I’m used to it – ’
‘Used to it?’ His whisper became a roar. ‘By Christ I’ll make him sorry he was ever born! I’ll have his head on a spike on – ’
‘No, no! Please, you mustn’t! You can’t.’ She was sobbing openly now. ‘Don’t you see? He has threatened to tell King Henry of our affair; he has threatened to tell the church that we commit incest.’ Her voice broke and she flung herself down on her knees on the cushions he had thrown ready for their lovemaking in front of the hearth. ‘He says it would lead to war,’ she went on, ‘Uncle Henry would make it the excuse to invade Scotland. Oh my dear, don’t you see he’s right, we can do nothing.’ Knuckling her eyes, she rocked back and forth on her knees.
‘He overestimates his importance,’ the king said succinctly.
‘I know, but at the same time he’s right. Henry could make it an excuse to cause all kinds of unpleasantness. Oh, please, don’t you see…’
Alexander stared down at her, his fury tightly in check. All his instincts told him Robert de Quincy had to die, but she was right. Above all, the king was a statesman and Scotland must come first, even before this beautiful wild creature whom he loved, as he had at last acknowledged to himself, almost to distraction.
He knelt beside her and pulled her against him, gentling her sobs, then slowly he kissed her on the lips. She responded, unable to resist the longing which his kisses kindled, allowing him to pull off her bed gown. She heard him catch his breath as he saw the bruises on her buttocks and she felt his fingers tighten on her shoulders until she cried out with pain.
‘It doesn’t matter, love,’ she whispered. ‘Nothing matters as long as I still have you.’ She put her arms around his neck, pulling him down towards her. ‘If harm came to Scotland because of me, you would grow to hate me. I could not bear that to happen. Leave it, my love.’ Her tongue was in his ear, fluttering down his jaw line, dipping, seeking the small erect nipples hidden in the golden chest hair where she was pressing her face as his gown fell open.
The firelight made a golden halo of his hair. Smiling up at him, she lay back on the cushions, pulling him with her, holding his head in her hands, bringing it down to her breasts, wanting to lose her pain and fear and humiliation in the golden, worshipping body of the king. She gasped as his lips caught at her nipple, teasing it, sucking, and her body arched towards his from the soft pile of cushions.
She flung her head sideways, staring at the fire, unseeing, turning inwards, feeling only the growing rush of pleasure as it built towards its crescendo and final explosion.
‘Eleyne, what’s the matter?’ The king’s voice was sharp. Just as her body seemed ready to crest into a climax, she had become still, withdrawn, almost as though she no longer knew he was there. He felt the heat leaving her skin beneath his hands. Around them the room had grown cold. ‘Eleyne!’ He knelt up, cupping her face in his hands. ‘What is it? Where are you?’ Fear knifed through him.
She stared at him blankly as he knelt over her, her mind still with the galloping horseman, then she glanced back at the fire. But he had gone. The flames had died, leaving a red, glowing bed of ash as the logs collapsed into cinders.
Alexander followed her gaze, the hairs stirring on the back of his neck. ‘You saw something in the fire?’ he asked sharply.
She nodded, shaking violently. ‘Don’t be angry.’
‘Why should I be angry?’ He sat up and pulled one of the rugs around her shoulders before reaching for his own gown.
‘What did you see?’
‘A man. Riding.’
‘Who?’
She shrugged. ‘I never see his face.’
‘You’ve seen him before?’ He felt her fear.
She nodded miserably. ‘Several times. And I’ve seen other things.’ Suddenly she didn’t want to have any secrets from him. ‘I saw Hay Castle when it burned; I saw my father’s illness. Once when I was a child I saw the massacre of the Druids on Mon.’ She stopped abruptly. There was someone in the room with them. The temperature had dropped so sharply she could see Alexander’s breath as a cloud in the air between them. Two of the candle flames paled and smoked and went out, leaving a trail of acrid blue smoke.
She saw the king look round as he felt it too. His face was white. Silently he rose and reached for his mantle. From its folds he produced a dagger and pulled it from its sheath. But the shadowy bedchamber was empty.
‘Einion -’ She had whispered without realising it, searching the shadows, her fingers clamped into the rug she was holding around her shoulders. Her part in Scotland’s future, if she still had a part in Scotland’s future, had been Einion’s secret and Einion’s vision. He had seen her at a king’s side; he had seen her as the mother of a line of kings. Unconsciously she put her hand to her stomach beneath the thick folds of the rug.
‘What is it?’ Alexander’s whisper was harsh. He had backed towards the wall, lightly hefting the dagger from hand to hand, his eyes everywhere, his whole body poised for attack.
Eleyne shook her head. ‘It’s nothing, it will pass…’
‘Nothing! There was someone here – ’
‘Yes, my lord, and he has gone.’ Eleyne smiled wanly. She was still trembling.
‘You spoke a name.’
‘Einion. He was my father’s bard. It was he who taught me to look in the fire.’
‘Sweet Christ!’ Alexander peered around the room again. The remaining candles had steadied, and the strange unnatural cold, the cold of the grave, had lifted. Still holding the dagger in his right hand, he pulled his mantle over his shoulders, then he bent and threw a couple of pine logs on the fire.
‘So. My Eleyne is a seer.’ His voice was carefully neutral. ‘And protected by the spirits of the dead.’ Behind him the logs spat blue sparks up the chimney.
‘No, it’s not like that. He wants to tell me something – ’
‘He wants to tell you something!’ Alexander sheathed the dagger in his belt and threw it back on the stool. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘He doesn’t choose his moment with any tact, this bard of yours, does he?’
Eleyne gave a wry smile. ‘I’m sorry.’ She leaned past him towards the rugs and pulled another around her shoulders. ‘Do you hate me now?’
‘Why should I hate you?’ He was recovering rapidly. ‘There are seers in Scotland, it’s a gift of our people as it is of yours. You met Michael.’ He put his arm around her shoulder. ‘But you’re afraid.’
‘I can’t control the visions and I can’t understand them. This one,’ she flung her arm in the direction of the fire, ‘it’s a warning, I know it’s a warning. But of what? Who is he? Who is it I keep seeing? That’s why Einion came. He wants to help me understand.’ There were tears in her voice.
He pulled her against him. ‘Perhaps it was me you saw?’
The lion flag; the billowing streaming standard. Was it the standard of the king? Perhaps. But the shoulders of the man in the cloak, the angle of his head – she did not recognise him. ‘I would know if it were you, my love,’ she whispered. ‘I am sure I would know if it were you.’
IV
It was still early when the king summoned Robert de Quincy to his bedchamber the next morning. The ashes of the fire had grown cold many hours before, and the candles had burned down into pools of wax. There was no trace of the strange coldness which had permeated the room. The two narrow windows let in broad slashes of early
