going to send you back to de Quincy and he can have the governance of you from now on. You will learn in future to live in obedience to him as the church and the law require. I wash my hands of you. I do Alexander no more favours! I should imprison you for what you have done!’
Eleyne could feel her hands shaking. Her mind was spinning in confusion.
‘I don’t understand. Where is Gruffydd? I want to see him. Whatever he did it was not of my doing. How could I have helped him? What have I done?’
‘What have you done?’ he spluttered.
‘Your grace.’ A priest who had been seated on a bench at the back of the room stood up and stepped forward. ‘Lady Chester has obviously not heard what has happened.’
For a moment Henry was taken aback, but his fury was unchecked. ‘Then I shall have to tell her! Your brother, niece, is dead!’
‘Dead! My brother?’ Eleyne stared at him, her face white.
‘Your brother, Gruffydd, my lady. The prince was killed last night.’
‘Killed?’ She was ashen.
‘Killed,’ Henry repeated. ‘You talked him into trying to escape when you visited him yesterday, didn’t you? For three years he has been content to live as our guest here in the Tower. You visit him and that same night he tries to climb from the roof and, Sweet Lady! I lose my hostage and now your other brother will no doubt stir up the whole of Wales again!’ He thumped the table with both hands.
Eleyne was trying to hold back her tears. ‘Where is he?’ The king was right. It was her fault. Gruffydd’s death was all her fault.
‘He lies in St John’s Chapel, my lady.’ The priest looked at her stricken face with some sympathy. ‘I am sure his grace will allow you to see him to say goodbye.’
Henry nodded grimly. ‘Say your farewells to him, then you will return to Fotheringhay with your husband. I have told him to keep you there. It will not be possible for you to go to Scotland again, nor will you ride to Wales.’ He folded his arms, his malice a clear expression of his fury. ‘And I do not wish to see you or your husband at court again.’
VI
‘It’s all your own fault!’ Robert de Quincy was seething with anger. ‘It suited us both, the way things were, and now we are both exiled.’ He was watching the long baggage train ride into the courtyard at Fotheringhay from the steps to the door in the keep. ‘And I am appointed your jailer! By the king this time.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘What irony. You must appreciate the humour of the situation. To have brought all this on yourself was quite some feat, was it not?’ His mood changed. ‘It will be pleasant, sweetheart, will it not, to play house again together at last?’
‘I hardly think so, for either of us,’ she retorted. She would not wait even a day. Tam Lin was still fresh; they had ridden barely ten miles on the last leg of the journey. As soon as Robert was nodding over the last of their midday meal, drugged with wine, she would ride north alone.
Rhonwen had stayed in London at her insistence, as had Hal. There was no one here to whom she could reveal her plan. She would ride alone and fast and pray that Alexander would welcome her. Ducking into the keep out of the wind, she stood in the cold, dark chamber on the first floor. Someone had lit a fire but it still smouldered sullenly, smoke curling from the damp logs and being sucked sideways across the floor. The floor coverings were stale and no furniture had yet been set up. It was not a welcoming place.
She shivered, then glanced around. One friend at least was still here, in the shadows: the lady who had haunted Loch Leven Castle – the lady with whom, by some strange alchemy, she shared her blood.
‘Grim, isn’t it?’ Robert was at her shoulder. ‘We shall be hard put to keep ourselves amused.’ He took her arm and she felt the familiar cruel grip of his fingers with a shudder. ‘You are to be guarded, sweetheart, did the king tell you? In case you should inexplicably feel the urge to run away. Not that Alexander wants you any more. Did Henry tell you that too? The King of Scots has refused leave for you to travel north again. He has lost interest in you. But you knew that, didn’t you? And if your behaviour gives me any cause for worry, I have the king’s permission to lock you up.’ He paused. ‘And chastise you as I think fit. And no Scot, noble or baseborn, king or peasant, is going to stop me.’
VII
Within four months she was pregnant and on Easter Day the following year she went into labour. Robert stood by the bed as pain after pain tore through her straining body. He was smiling.
‘At least this time I know it’s mine. My son.’ He was completely sober. He watched with detached interest as Eleyne’s women scuttled around her preparing the room. The carpenter had brought a crib up to the bedchamber that morning, beautifully carved and polished, furnished with small sheets and blankets, and the new swaddling bands hung by the fire to warm.
Alice Goodwife stood beside Eleyne, her hand firmly pressed to her mistress’s distended stomach. ‘He’ll come soon now, my lady. I can feel your muscles all tightened and ready. Girl, fetch a cloth for my lady’s face!’ Alice did not stop her expert gropings as one of the servants wiped Eleyne’s forehead. Eleyne groaned. Neither of her two previous births had prepared her for this pain. Both had been quick, the babies small. She moaned, throwing herself away from the midwife’s probing fingers, hunching her knees towards her stomach. Then she sat up.
‘I must walk about. I can’t stand this any more. Help me up.’ The sweat was pouring down her face.
‘Best lie still, my lady.’ Alice pushed her back on the pillows with surprising strength.
‘I can’t lie still! For pity’s sake. An animal walks – ’
‘And you are no animal, my lady. Do you think our Blessed Virgin made such a fuss when she bore her sweet babe?’ The woman leaned close, her eyes narrowed; her breath stank of onions. ‘For the sake of the baby now, you be still.’
‘No.’ Eleyne pushed her away. ‘I have to walk. I have to.’ She kicked off the blankets and tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Her shift was soaked in blood.
‘Lie still, Eleyne.’ Robert’s voice was harsh above the sound of her laboured breathing and the agitated tones of the women. ‘Or I shall have you tied to the bed. I won’t have my son harmed.’
Eleyne closed her eyes, aware that Alice’s expression had not changed. ‘Take no notice, my lady,’ Alice said softly, ‘but lie still, please.’
‘So your son can be saved, but not your wife!’ Eleyne cried, through clenched teeth.
‘I’m sure there will be no need for choice.’ Robert folded his arms and turned to Alice. ‘How much longer?’ He affected a yawn. Outside it was growing dark.
‘As long as God wills,’ Alice retorted. ‘Women are born to travail. The babe will come when it’s ready and not before.’
‘I reckon it needs turning.’ The old woman who had been tending the fire joined her by the bed. ‘I’ve seen births like this before. The babe is feet first, you mark. He’ll have to be turned.’
Eleyne bit her lip as another spasm tore through her body and she tasted salt blood on her tongue as she realised that she was too tired to argue. Her body was exhausted. She felt the pain carry and lift her as though it
