Malcolm moved towards her uneasily. ‘Madam, I – ’
‘And did you really kill everyone in the house?’ she went on relentlessly. ‘Every single person? How you must have lusted after her, Malcolm, my friend!’ She eyed Eleyne with cold appraisal. ‘She obviously knows how to attract men.’ She stretched out a foot and eyed the toe of her shoe. It was stitched with silver thread. ‘They think she’s dead, you know. Or did you plan that too?’
Malcolm said nothing, but Eleyne moved forward. At the queen’s words, her heart had stopped beating. ‘What do you mean, he killed everyone in the house?’ Her voice was icy as she stepped on to the dais. Her eyes were so large they seemed like great hollow shadows in her skull. ‘What do you mean?’
The queen shrank back in her chair. ‘My dear, I am only repeating what I heard. You were there. You must know what happened.’
The two women looked at each other, then Eleyne turned to Malcolm. ‘How many people did you kill?’ she asked. Her voice sounded thin and high in her ears.
‘I killed no one.’
‘But your men did. My children. They killed my children -’ Her voice rose sharply, the fear which had been lurking at the back of her mind suddenly unspeakably close and real.
‘No.’ He cut in sharply. ‘I never saw your children.’
‘Do you think I believe that?’ Her voice was shaking now. ‘Joanna, Hawisa. Rhonwen. What did you do to them?’
‘I told you, I saw none of them.’ He was growing irritated. ‘I have no idea what happened to them and I couldn’t care less. They belong to the past. Forget them. You are here now. With me.’
‘You think I could stay with the man who murdered my babies?’ The pictures were returning. Flashes of violent, blood-soaked terror. Nesta, gentle, faithful Nesta, a sword through her belly, her eyes huge with agonised pleading. Michael, his dark blue gown scarlet from the gaping hole in his chest as he collapsed at her feet.
‘You will do as you are told!’ Malcolm’s patience snapped. ‘And you will remember that her grace is our guest at Falkland.’ He moved towards Eleyne threateningly.
‘Murderer!’ Eleyne screamed. ‘Her grace’s son will release me from this pretence of a marriage!’ She had begun to tremble violently as she backed away from him, her memories spinning in her mind, a blackened, bloody nightmare.
The queen settled back to enjoy herself. ‘I don’t think so, my dear. Alexander was very pleased to hear of Malcolm’s marriage, very pleased. He has already given it his blessing.’
Eleyne shook her head. ‘He would never do that. And nor will the King of England, my uncle, when he hears what has happened.’
She was wrong.
VI
‘What do you mean, she’s alive?’ Henry thundered at the Earl of Winchester. ‘How can she still be alive?’
Roger de Quincy took another few paces around the table. ‘She is alive and well. My steward has seen her with his own eyes. Word is in Scotland that she has run off with her lover! The whole thing was arranged. He came and burned the place to make it look as though she were dead and carried her off.’ He struck his fists together in fury. ‘She fooled me, the scheming Jezebel! She fooled us all. I believed her when she told us Robert mistreated her. We all believed her.’ The expansive sweep of his hand included the king, who flinched slightly. ‘She was just making sure that we got rid of Robert for her; God’s bones, but I was an idiot!’
‘And who is her latest lover, pray?’ After an initial moment of disbelief, Henry was recovering from the shock of Lord Winchester’s statement.
‘Lord Fife. He has taken her back to Scotland. He is even pretending she is his wife.’
Henry raised an eyebrow. ‘So, she still sees herself as a Scots whore, no matter who the man.’ His anger had been slow in surfacing. ‘So be it, I’ll not raise another finger to help that woman, or save her reputation. I did enough when I sent Sir Robert to the Holy Land and played right into her hands. All right. She wants to be dead to her English friends and family, let her stay that way. As far as England is concerned, my niece died in that fire. Her lands and property are confiscated. They will be redistributed amongst the Chester heirs. See that the enquiries post mortem are set in train. Are her children alive then? For that at least we might be grateful.’
Roger shook his head grimly. ‘My informers say they are not in Scotland. It looks as though they died. I cannot believe she meant that to happen, that she could be such an unnatural mother, but they were Robert’s children…’ His voice trailed away and he sighed. ‘And Robert?’ Roger asked at last. ‘What do I tell my brother?’
The king sat down and beckoned his clerks. On the desk was Eleyne’s letter about Isabella. In his sorrow over Eleyne’s death he had been about to carry out her last wish and order that Isabella be released from her captivity at Godstow. He stared at the letter as if he had never seen it before, then tossed it to the nearest secretary. ‘Destroy this,’ he said curtly. ‘I never wish to hear Isabella de Braose’s name again.’ He turned back to Roger. ‘Tell your brother that his wife is dead,’ he said succinctly. ‘Otherwise he will probably kill her himself and imperil his immortal soul.’
VII
Eleyne looked at the twelve-year-old king, so agonisingly like his father, and her throat tightened. ‘You have to help me. You have to tell Lord Fife to let me go home.’ Her voice was shaking and she was painfully aware of the queen and Lord Fife standing immediately behind her. They had all ridden to Dunfermline that same afternoon.
Alexander glanced at his mother and then at Alan Durward, who was at his side. ‘Lord Fife is our trusted friend,’ he said solemnly, his high voice clear against the murmur of voices in the vaulted audience chamber. ‘Mama says I must not offend him.’
‘And me? Am I not your friend?’ She held out her hands to him and, startled, the boy stepped towards her and took them in his own.
‘Yes, of course you are.’
‘Then, please.’ Clutching his hot fingers, she sank to her knees. ‘Please help me.’
He was distressed. ‘I don’t want you to be unhappy – ’
‘Then don’t interfere. Sir.’ Malcolm added the last word as an afterthought. ‘Leave my wife to me.’
Marie de Couci smiled reassuringly at her son. ‘Lady Fife is still feeling strange in our country, but I am sure she will settle soon. And until she does, Malcolm must keep her at Falkland. We do not want her upsetting the king.’
On the ride back to Falkland Castle Eleyne was silent. Malcolm’s men surrounded her and he rode close at her side, looking from time to time at her closed face.
‘Do you like the horse you are riding?’ he asked at last as they splashed through the shallow water of the River Leven. They had left the misty waters of the loch to their left, the castle barely visible on its island. Eleyne had not even glanced at it. Now before them the Lomond Hills rose, folded and dark against the sky. Eleyne nodded mutely. Even through her anger and misery she had taken unconscious note of the delicate white palfrey she rode. ‘He is half-brother to your Tam Lin,’ Malcolm went on, ‘and he’s yours.’
She stared down at the horse’s neck. Her slim brown hands were steady on the soft leather reins; on her hand Malcolm’s ring still clung to her finger. Why had she not thrown it away as she had thrown away Robert’s ring sixteen years before?
