against the sound of the wind. ‘Not even the fact that she is carrying my child.’
‘This is not your child.’ Eleyne’s hand went protectively to her stomach. ‘And you know it. I am carrying the king’s son.’
‘You are carrying my son, madam,’ Robert’s voice was harsh, ‘and he will be born under my roof. We ride south tonight.’
‘No.’ She backed away from him. ‘The king – ’
‘The king is a hundred miles away. You and I will be in England before he even hears that you have gone. You are my wife, any child you bear is my child, and I insist it is born in England. Fetch her cloak.’ The last words were shouted at Nesta as Robert strode towards Eleyne and grabbed her wrist. He was wearing armour beneath his mantle and cloak, his sword still in his right hand.
‘Guards!’ Eleyne screamed, ‘where are the guards?’ She tried to pull away from him.
‘The guards are elsewhere, and they have no orders to keep me from my wife.’ He had his arm around her shoulders now. ‘I advise you to come with me without any fuss, sweetheart, if you don’t want to hurt yourself and my son.’
Nesta, white-faced, scuttled away to fetch Eleyne’s thick cloak. ‘I’ll come too.’ She put it gently around Eleyne’s shoulders, but Robert pushed her away. ‘She needs no servants. Out of my way, woman.’ He was sweating as he turned for the door, dragging Eleyne with him.
She kicked out at him and tried desperately to pull free, but she knew he was too strong for her.
‘Call for help,’ she screamed over her shoulder. ‘Tell the king, for sweet pity’s sake, tell the king – ’
With a curt nod, Robert pushed Eleyne towards one of his men and the man swept her off her feet. In seconds she was being carried towards the door.
Robert turned back into the room, where the women cowered. ‘No one is to call for help,’ he said softly, ‘no one at all.’ He raised the sword and very gently put the tip against Nesta’s throat. She moaned with fear, her eyes rolling towards the ceiling. ‘If they do, I shall pull the necks of every woman in this room, for the squawking hens you are.’ He gave a small flick of the sword and a speck of blood appeared on the white fabric of Nesta’s wimple. She moaned again, half fainting with terror, and he gave a humourless bark of laughter as he withdrew the sword. Following the other men outside, he pulled the door closed and locked it, and on the way across the lower floor of the keep he tossed the key into the well.
He took Eleyne on his horse in front of him and kicked it forward through the gates. On either side his men carried flaring torches to light the road as they turned south at a gallop.
The wind was mercifully behind them, but within seconds the riders were soaked through. Eleyne was shaking with cold and fright and anger, but her only thought was for the baby as the horses thundered along the track. Robert’s mailclad arm was viciously tight. She could scarcely breathe. At one point the horses plunged across a broad river and she felt the icy water dragging at her skirts, her cloak drenched afresh by the spray from the horse’s hooves, then they were on the road again.
It was growing light before they reached their destination. The horses walked in single file through a gate in a high curtain wall and halted in a courtyard before a small tower. Robert dismounted and lifted her down. ‘We’ll rest here for a few hours.’ He took her arm and turned towards the door, where an old man was standing, waiting for them.
‘Where is this place?’ Eleyne could hear the sound of distant waves crashing against the rocks, and she could smell the sharp green smell of the sea. She took a step forward and winced with pain. Her feet were numb and she was stiff and aching in every muscle.
‘A friendly castle.’ Robert grinned. ‘One where your lover will not find you.’ Taking her arm he pulled her towards the door.
The man who was waiting there was a complete stranger to her. He bowed before them. ‘My wife and her servant have prepared a room for your lady, sir. She will be comfortable there.’
‘Thank you.’ Still holding her arm, Robert followed the man indoors. A turnpike stair twisted up in the thickness of the wall on the eastern side of the chamber and in single file they followed him up it.
The bedchamber was at the top of the tower. A fire had been lit and a bed prepared. Too tired to think of anything but sleep, Eleyne scarcely allowed the woman to remove her wet clothes before she collapsed into the bed and felt the bedcovers being heaped over her. The chatelaine chuckled quietly to herself as she wrapped hot stones in cloths and packed them around Eleyne’s feet. Within minutes Eleyne was asleep, her arms crossed protectively across her belly.
It was late morning when she awoke but the room was still dark. It was full of the sound of the sea. Robert was standing by the bed. ‘We have to ride on. Mistress Gillespie has dry clothes for you and food.’
Now that she was rested, Eleyne’s resolve had returned. ‘I am riding nowhere. Do you want me to lose this child?’
Robert’s eyes narrowed in the light of the candle he held. ‘My child?’ he said quietly. ‘No, I don’t want you to lose it. I want it to be born at home. At Fotheringhay. We’ll ride slowly once we are out of Scotland, I shall get some kind of conveyance for you if it is easier. We should be at Berwick tomorrow.’
‘I am not going.’ She could feel waves of panic rising inside her and desperately she fought them down. ‘You can’t do this. The king will kill you – ’
Robert smiled humourlessly. ‘I don’t think so. Don’t you think he would have married you by now if he were going to? Sweet Eleyne, the king is not going to marry you. And I’ll tell you why. He knows this child isn’t his.’
‘It is.’ Her cry was full of anguish.
Robert put down the candle and sat on the bed beside her. ‘Poor Eleyne. So ambitious. Not content with being Countess of Chester, she wants to be Queen of the Scots. Well, sweetheart, it isn’t going to happen, you are my wife and my wife you are going to stay. And all your children…’ he put his hand heavily on her stomach, ‘are going to be mine. Is that clear?’ He sat looking at her for a long moment, then he stood up. When he left the chamber she heard the bolt shoot home on the door behind him.
Dragging herself out of bed she went to the window and pulled the shutter open. The wind had dropped, but it was still ice-cold in her face as she leaned out across the broad wet sill and peered through the narrow lancets. The tower was built high in the woods above the sea. She could see the waves crashing on to the shore in the distance, sending up clouds of spray. On the horizon a multitude of small islands stood out of the mist. There was no escape that way. Turning from the window she surveyed the round room. It was sparsely furnished. Two coffers and a bed were all the comforts it afforded. The two archways with curtains across them revealed the garderobe and a small oratory in the thickness of the massive wall. She stood for a moment before the crucifix which stood on the altar. The narrow windows above it had small yellowish panes of glass set in a leaded frame. It was very dark.
The prayers she had thought to make would not come. Instead, she found herself concentrating on the dull ache in her spine. With a groan she braced her hands against the small of her back in the time-honoured gesture of the heavily pregnant woman and went to sit on the bed.
She ate the food she was brought and put on the clothes. She knew enough about Robert to be certain that he would have no compunction about forcing her if he had to and that he would enjoy doing it. She refused to give him that satisfaction. Her only chance of escape was to use her head. Mistress Gillespie had refused to speak to her, shaking her head sternly when questioned as to where they were, but Eleyne guessed they were somewhere in Fife. The men who had ridden with Robert wore the Earl of Fife’s blazon on their surcoats. But why should Malcolm of Fife help Robert? He wouldn’t want to make an enemy of his king, and besides, he still seemed to want her himself.
She was no wiser when Robert came upstairs to collect her. He eyed her clothes, smoky but dry from the fire, and nodded. ‘I’m glad you’ve decided to be sensible. The horses are ready.’
Even now she could probably outride him, given a decent horse. It was the only chance of escape. Gritting her teeth against the nagging ache in her back, she followed him down the narrow spiral stair.
‘I’ll ride my own horse!’ She saw with alarm that he intended her to sit behind him.
‘I think not. It’s safer for the baby if you are with me. Besides, we are not going far.’
It was barely half a mile down to the small harbour where a boat was waiting, jerking at its mooring rope on the choppy water.
Eleyne stared at it in horror. ‘I’m not going in that.’
She saw her hopes of escape receding fast and she could feel her panic growing.
‘Indeed you are, sweetheart. The ferryman is going to take us across the Forth. I have fresh horses waiting on
