with cold, Eleyne jerked awake and scrambled to her feet. Her heart was thudding with excitement. She ran towards them, but Thomas was waving her back under the trees, his finger to his lips.
‘Don’t wake her. She’s all right.’ He grinned at his companion, who was carrying the child. Behind them came a hooded figure. Eleyne stared at her and then smiled. ‘Annie.’
‘She had to come,’ Thomas said curtly. ‘Robert would have killed her for losing the little girl.’
‘And I wanted to come,’ Annie put in hastily. ‘I wanted to serve you, my lady, if you will have me.’ There was no pleading in her voice, only a cool certainty that Eleyne would indeed want her.
‘So. Robert was there.’
Thomas nodded grimly. ‘We drank him under the table. It didn’t take much. He was pretty nearly unconscious when we got there. Andrew says he’ll sleep all morning, but we can’t be sure of that. We’ve got to get away fast.’
Handing Eleyne and then Annie into the boat, he and David passed Joanna carefully down into Eleyne’s arms. The child was still three-quarters asleep. Warm and heavy, she snuggled into her mother’s lap with a little smile.
As the boat slid silently through the mist, the sky turned slowly from green to gold. Somewhere nearby a moorhen called as they passed, the sound echoing across the still water. Eleyne tightened her grip on the little girl and kissed the small closed eyes.
They rode all morning, Annie on the crupper of David’s saddle. They found a boat across the Forth almost at once and headed south again, aware that Robert could already be on the road behind them. Fully awake now, Joanna was talkative. Her papa had given her a new pony. He had given her clothes and toys and she was devastated at leaving them behind. While pleased to see her mother, she had obviously enjoyed her stay.
As they rode past Melrose, she knew she had to stop. However fast they needed to travel, however frightened she was, there was one last farewell she had to make.
Abbot Matthew greeted her alone in the new hall of the old abbey beneath the Eildon Hills. If he guessed who she was he gave no sign, listening to her quiet request with a gracious inclination of the head. ‘It is of course our blessing that many pilgrims come to visit the grave of our late king,’ he said. He stared thoughtfully at the heavily veiled, unknown woman who had asked for an audience with him and knelt to kiss his ring with such humility, sensing her tightly controlled grief.
He was a realist. He knew the king had had many lady friends in his time. The numbers of royal bastards married into the prominent families of Scotland bore witness to the fact, but this woman intrigued him. She was younger than the others, more vulnerable, and more dignified. He guessed who she was: the whole of Scotland knew that during his later years Alexander had eyes for only one woman. The old man gave an indulgent smile. He had decided that he personally would lead her into the great abbey church.
The king’s tomb lay before the high altar, the carved alabaster of his effigy lit by four tall candles. Eleyne stopped before it and stared at the cold stiff features of the sculpted face, the hard formal ringlets of the beard, the helm surmounted by the crown. Her heart was beating very fast, and there was a lump in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. The light, which filtered, cool and dim, through the coloured glass of the great east window, bathed the pale stone in shadows. The abbey was completely silent.
The abbot moved back and stood, his hood pulled forward over his head, his arms folded deep within his sleeves, his lips moving in prayer. It was as though she were alone. For several moments she stood, trying to control the pain which filled her chest, then she moved to kneel at the prayer stool at the foot of the tomb. Swallowing hard, she raised her eyes to the window. The stained glass was blurred. She could see nothing.
They were ten miles from Roxburgh when the horsemen caught up with them. They wore the royal livery.
Eleyne froze in the saddle. Her joy at having Joanna sitting before her, her chubby legs stuck straight out on either side of the pommel, her small gown rucked up to her thighs, vanished in another wave of misery which almost overwhelmed her. These were not Alexander’s men; Alexander would never send for her again. These riders wore the livery of her godson. Fighting to contain her tears and knowing they could not outride their pursuers, she ordered her companions to rein in and waited, silently praying that Robert was still drunkenly asleep in Fife.
The leading rider saluted. ‘Sir Thomas, Sir David, Lady Chester. Her grace the queen demands that you attend her at Roxburgh Castle.’
‘The queen?’ Eleyne echoed.
‘How did you know we were in Scotland?’ Thomas enquired sharply.
‘You were seen yesterday on your way north, sir.’ One of the riders had made himself spokesman. ‘Her grace was not pleased that you did not have the courtesy to call on her, especially as Lady Chester had not asked permission to come to Scotland and had no safe conduct for the journey.’
Eleyne cursed herself under her breath for walking into Marie’s trap. ‘That was my fault, I was in a hurry.’
‘Indeed, madam.’ The man’s smile was knowing. ‘So her grace imagined.’
Eleyne felt her anger mounting. This oaf was going to delay them and Robert would catch up with them. ‘I shall explain to the queen,’ she said haughtily. ‘I am sure she will understand and allow us on our way.’
‘I’m sure she will.’ He had fallen in beside her, and she had no doubt that he would remain at her side until they reached their destination.
XVIII
Queen Marie was seated in state on the dais when Eleyne was ushered into the great hall, still holding Joanna by the hand, the two young men beside her and Rhonwen and Annie behind them.
‘I am given to understand that you have been visiting your husband in Fife,’ the queen began without preamble.
Eleyne tried to conceal her hatred of this woman, who had taken Alexander from her. ‘You are well informed, ma’am,’ she said drily.
‘Of course. Whilst the king – my son – is so young, I make it my business to know everything that goes on in Scotland.’ She leaned back in her ornate chair. ‘And I hear you have also visited Melrose.’ Her face darkened. ‘Can you not leave him alone even now?’ she hissed. She glared at Eleyne.
Her next question was silky with innocence. ‘Is your husband not returning with you?’
‘Not yet, your grace.’ Eleyne’s voice was icy. ‘He is unwell.’
‘Indeed.’ The queen gave a pert, humourless laugh. ‘Poor Sir Robert. Though it must be a great relief to him to have you all to himself at last.’ Her voice was heavy with innuendo, the smile honeyed. Satisfied that she had scored a hit, she turned her attention to the child who was hiding in Eleyne’s skirts. ‘Is this your daughter?’
‘This is my daughter, Joanna -’ Too late she tried to hold the name back; the woman’s eyes hardened at the name of Alexander’s first wife. ‘Named for my mother, Joan,’ Eleyne said softly. She could feel Joanna’s wary restlessness as the child sensed the tension in the atmosphere.
‘You have no sons, I think.’ The queen retaliated with a knife twist.
‘No sons, your grace,’ Eleyne repeated firmly. ‘No sons who lived.’
‘Quite.’ Marie smiled again. ‘I intend to keep you here, my lady, until your husband is well enough to ride south with you.’ A look of triumph swept across her face as she saw Eleyne recoil. ‘You will be a very welcome guest, I assure you.’ She turned to Thomas. ‘Your father is here, Sir Thomas. I am sure you will be pleased to see him. And Lord Fife has joined us with Sir Alan Durward. We shall be a very merry gathering this evening.’
Eleyne stepped forward. ‘Do you really wish to keep us here, your grace?’ she asked forcefully. ‘The memories I bring back for you cannot be happy ones.’
The queen flinched as if Eleyne had hit her, and for a moment she didn’t speak. ‘Yes, my lady, I really wish you to stay here. I want to see you given back to your husband with my own eyes.’
XIX
