Dafydd ap Llywelyn,’ she rushed on not giving him time to speak, ‘you find your sister and make her lift her curse! Until you do that, I will never have a baby, and when you die, Gwynedd will be handed on a plate to your Uncle Henry or little Prince Edward, with your signature to speed its going! And God help you, husband, when the people of Wales find out what you have done.’
She walked past him to a stool and sat down, then she burst into tears.
Dafydd frowned uncomfortably. ‘If I make Eleyne lift this curse, if it exists – ’
‘Are you calling me a liar?’ She lifted her head, her eyes glittering with tears.
‘No, no, of course not.’ He frowned with irritation. ‘For the love of the Virgin, Isabella, why didn’t you say all this when Eleyne was at Llanfaes? If you really believe it, why wait until now when she is in Scotland?’
‘Because now it is urgent. And she isn’t in Scotland. Robert de Quincy says she’s at Fotheringhay.’
‘Then we’ll go back that way.’ Dafydd gave an inward sigh of relief.
‘And if she isn’t there?’ Isabella dabbed her eyes. She had not passed on to Dafydd the gossip that his sister was missing.
‘If she isn’t there,’ Dafydd replied in exasperation, ‘I shall find her.’
VI
Days of heavy ceaseless rain and cold gusty winds had turned the small bedchamber into a damp, dismal prison.
Huddled over the fire, Rhonwen turned to the window, where Eleyne was staring out across the black waters of the loch. ‘For pity’s sake, put up the shutters,
The side of her face was still swollen from the massive bruise she had sustained when one of Robert’s henchmen had hit her with a wooden club three months before. It had been a full day before she had regained consciousness when they had reached their destination.
The two women had been transferred from the oxcart to a light, horse-drawn wagon and for the last few miles they had been thrown across two sumpter horses like so much baggage. When the horses came to a halt at the edge of this great wild loch, they had been thrown into the bottom of a boat and rowed across the water to the lonely castle on its island.
Stiff, bruised and frightened, still thinking that Rhonwen was dead, Eleyne was dragged to the castle’s bedchamber and Robert allowed his frustrated anger its full rein. When he left the castle at last in the stern of the rowing boat which had brought them, his wife lay insensible across the bed.
The castle had a garrison of three and as many servants. Eleyne and Rhonwen were allowed wherever they liked on the small island. Where was there for them to go? There were no boats. Supplies came every few weeks from the shore; the rest of the time they were cut off from the world. Slowly Eleyne nursed Rhonwen back to health, and slowly she too recovered from her bruises, learning from Rhonwen how to find healing herbs on the tiny island and how to make them into potions and medicines she had never dreamed existed.
In her loneliness Eleyne found an unexpected companion on the silent island. A woman in a black gown and stiff lace ruff was often there, standing in the shadows. Eleyne caught sight of her as she walked alone through the twilight by the high barmkin wall and she stopped, staring. ‘You?’ She rubbed her eyes. It was the woman she had seen at Fotheringhay: the black, shadowy apparition who haunted the upper floors of the keep in faraway Northamptonshire. Yet how could that be? The two women looked at each other, silent, both locked in their own misery. Eleyne saw recognition in the other’s eyes, then darkness fell, the shadows grew black and the woman disappeared. Eleyne could feel her heart thudding uncertainly beneath her ribs. She stepped forward, peering into the darkness. ‘Where are you?’ she called softly. ‘Who are you? Why do you come to haunt me?’ She knew already there would be no answer. The woman was from another world.
It was a long time before Eleyne realised she was pregnant.
‘It’s the king’s child?’ Rhonwen kissed her gently and took her hand.
‘Of course it’s the king’s child. Robert hasn’t – hadn’t -’ she changed the word with a shudder – ‘been near me in months.’ She was standing looking across the black waters towards the low hills which divided her from Alexander.
‘Then perhaps the prophecy was true after all,’ Rhonwen whispered under her breath. ‘Perhaps that child, in your belly, will one day be a king.’
When Robert came back, her pregnancy was already showing. Outside, the winter gales roared across the loch, churning the shallow water to waves, hurling spume against the walls of the keep. He threw off his cloak in the tower room below her bedchamber and turned to look at her, his dark hair sleek with rain. The expression on his face turned first to thoughtful calculation and then to cold anger as his eye travelled slowly down her figure.
‘Your lover’s child, I take it – not mine, certainly.’
Eleyne pulled her cloak around her defensively. The chamber was cold in spite of the fire which burned in the hearth.
‘The king’s child.’ She raised her chin. ‘And this time you will not dare to lay a hand on me.’
‘No?’ He spoke with deceptive mildness.
She swallowed. The baby kicked her sharply and she brought her arms involuntarily around herself to protect it. ‘He knows,’ she said desperately. ‘He knows about the baby. If anything happens – ’
‘He doesn’t know,’ Robert smiled. ‘He believes you to be safely at Fotheringhay, whence you were summoned by your uncle. Your other uncle.’ He looked around the room. Rhonwen was seated unobtrusively in the shadows, and the other two women squatted near the fire, their eyes on the couple in the centre of the shadowy room. Of the lady who haunted the shadows there was no sign. There were no candles alight, though indoors it was nearly dark. Outside the February afternoon was as colourless as the leaden water of the loch.
‘What a merry household!’ Robert shouted suddenly. ‘I come back to see my wife and all I see is gloom. Wine! Fetch me some wine! And lights and food. God’s bones, what kind of welcome is this?’
No one moved. Robert scowled. In three paces he was beside Rhonwen. He grabbed her arm and, swinging her to her feet, flung her towards the door. ‘You heard me, woman! Wine!’
‘There is very little wine, Robert, and candles are short. So is the firewood.’ Eleyne’s voice was weary. ‘The storms have been so bad the boat has not been able to get here.’
‘I got here!’ His eyes blazed angrily.
‘Then you should have brought supplies with you.’ Eleyne moved away from him to Rhonwen’s chair and sat down. ‘You are not welcome here, Robert.’
‘So I gather,’ he said. ‘And you will be glad to hear that I don’t intend to stay long. Not long at all.’
He stayed barely two days and during that time he did not touch her; instead he finished the last cask of wine in the cellar. He was very drunk when he summoned Eleyne from her bedchamber.
‘I’m going back to England.’ His words were slurred, his eyes bleary. ‘I am going back to England,’ he repeated carefully, ‘and I am leaving you here to rot. You and your bastard.’ He slumped against the wall, his legs braced in front of him. ‘It’s a very easy place to forget, Loch Leven Castle.’ He pronounced the words with enormous care. ‘Very easy.’ He gave a sudden high-pitched giggle. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if I forgot you forever.’
‘I hope you do.’ Eleyne’s voice was cold.
‘You want to be forgotten?’
‘By you, yes.’
Robert giggled again. ‘And by the king, oh yes, by the king. I went to see him at Roxburgh on my way here. I sent him your greetings and told him you were well and happy. You are well and happy, aren’t you, sweetheart?’ He pushed himself away from the wall and gave a small hiccup. ‘Though I can’t imagine how you can stand being cooped up here with that woman.’ He made an obscene gesture at Rhonwen. ‘In fact, I think I shall do you one last kindness. I shall relieve you of her company.’
